Coast Range: Friends & Stablemates

Following an after lunch departure, my good friend Jonathan and I began our mini adventure by taking Highway 6 to the unincorporated community of Lee's Camp, Oregon.  About half way to what Tillamook County residents call "The Valley" (Interstate 5 corridor), it consists of a hand-full of houses and one tiny general store/motorcycle shop.  Oh, and Dan, the owner, also sells electric bicycles and installs stereo equipment in cars.  When you're literally the only business in town, it pays to wear multiple hats.  And on top of all that, he's a genuinely nice guy.

Normally this time of year, when I stop by Dan's it's for my afternoon break, and I'm there for an ice cream bar and a cold soda.  You see, Lee's Camp is also in the middle of the Tillamook State Forest, where I've worked as a Roads Specialist for almost 15 years.  And yes, that is relevant to the story at hand.

A few days prior to this July 4th excursion (on the clock, if you can believe it), I'd decided to check on a logging road that I'd previously designed and laid out.  I hadn't seen it since they'd harvested the timber, and I was interested in three things - how the road had held up to the heavy log truck traffic, how the culverts had managed the flow of a couple of winters' worth of heavy northwest rains, and how the view was from the top!  OK, that last one didn't really have anything to do with what they pay me for.  But hey - every job has its perks.

From Lee's Camp, we turned off to the south onto a gravel road that immediately begins climbing into the Coast Range mountains.  Shortly after crossing Ben Smith Creek, the fun began in earnest, as we ascended several switchbacks to arrive here at this rest stop.  It was the steepest road the Ural had negotiated to date.  And despite the street-oriented tires, it did quite well.  Jonathan was on my trusty KLR - a companion he'd become accustomed to on a few previous single and multiple day trips, when I was riding one of my KTM's.  This was the first outing, however, of these new stablemates - the KLR and the Ural.

So far, they were getting along well enough on the trail.  But when we stopped, they preferred to maintain a little distance.

By the time we'd reached the top of "my" new road, however, they pulled right up next to each other.  Nice to see.  Shared adventure often has a way of bringing travelers together.  Sixteen years ago, it had worked for me and Jonathan.  And I'm grateful we can still add another one to the list, now and then!

Before I leave this shot, I want to bring something else to your attention.  Below my left hand, hanging from the grab handle by the seat, is the newest addition to the Ural's touring accessories.  The genuine leather saddlebag is the custom work of the same craftsman that made the handlebar cross-bar pad cover for me a couple of months ago.  On my last trip to the Ochocos, I was having trouble keeping the pack on the seat from sliding around.  This was the solution I dreamed up on the way home - and my friend Rich agreed to make it a reality.  I can't imagine it working any better - or looking any more classically appropriate on the bike.  The tooling on it even matches that of the cross-bar pad.  Thanks Rich!

As you can see, the view from here's not bad at all - a full 360 degrees of it, in fact!  The road on the left was the existing access route that I'd prescribed some improvements to.  The one on the right is the entirely new one that we'd just come up.  You're looking basically east, toward the highest ridges between the coast and Portland.  The pile of tree tops in the foreground was left over from the logging operation, and will most likely be cut up and hauled away for use as firewood in someone's stove this winter or next.  Tree seedlings will soon be replanted, then the view will slowly disappear, but "my" road will still be there to facilitate the next harvest - after my retirement!

Here's the view in the other direction - toward the ocean.  But there were too many clouds to see it that day.  In fact, it was beginning to look like it could shower at any moment.  Jonathan was able to get a text through to our wives, who were decorating cookies together back at the house.  With that extra incentive, we decided to head back down.  The mountains will always be here, but cookies - now that's a different thing entirely.

Once we'd descended the steepest part, we swapped machines so Jonathan could get the feel of riding the Ural on gravel - and later, a bit of the highway.  He'd carted me around my neighborhood on his last visit, but this was his first real test drive.  Don't tell his wife, but I'm trying to get him hooked!

We returned to the highway via a different route that wound around the south side of the ridge and into the Jordan Creek drainage.  By the time we made it back to the house, we'd ridden about 70 miles - almost 20 of it off the pavement.  Three-hour tours don't get much better than that!

Oh yes, the cookies!  Glad you asked.  They were whimsically beautiful - and still fresh.  We were reluctant to destroy, by eating them.  But it got much easier after the first bite!

The Ochocos: Wrapping it Up

Arriving at a trailhead parking area (not this one) we dismounted and descended through the forest on foot - hoping to find remnants of the mine indicated on the sign.

We did not.  Returning to the bikes, we noticed the sign said Mine "Site."  Evidently, all the structures had vanished into history.

The Jeep trail continued up the mountain, but its condition appeared to deteriorate rapidly.  Leaving his Triumph Street Twin, Dan climbed into the sidecar and we pressed on together.  This was the end of the road and the start of two more signed trails, neither of which mentioned the Mother Lode Mine a coworker had told me about.

But there was a third option, an old closed road - unsigned.  A mine would need a road, I surmised, and if the Forest Service was concerned about vandalism, they just might not want to make its location too obvious.

Within a quarter mile, we came across a smaller structure that indicated we just might be on the right track.  A bit farther and we spotted the one I'd seen in pictures!

Three stories tall, it sits in a beautiful opening in the trees.  From what I could gather with a quick Internet search, it began operating in 1901 to extract mercury from cinnabar ore.

Mechanical by nature and extensive experience, Dan was fascinated by the heavy equipment, perched high above the building, and was able to determine how it most likely operated.

Dan's first ride in the sidecar was quite rough - the roughest ride I've given yet, in fact!  But we made it back to his bike, and then back to the pavement, and finally to US Highway 26.

From there, we retraced our route from the previous day until we turned off at the junction for Timothy Lake - a "shortcut" to the Portland area that neither of us had ever taken before.

So far, it had been a perfectly paved two-lane road with gently sweeping corners.  We pulled off here for a little break, and to check the map.

The plan had been to go around the north side of the lake, but somehow we'd missed that turn and ended up on the more developed south side.  According to the very nice map on the sign, that would mean we'd need to traverse about 5 miles of gravel to hook up with 224 to Estacada, to the northwest.  Or go back the way we'd come.

No, that wasn't going to happen!  We continued across the dam  - and then the pavement ended.  Check out Dan in my mirror.  Don't remember if I planned that or not.

I'd been afraid of more washboards, with all the boat trailer traffic this road no doubt gets - but it was well-graded and quite wide.

Last gratuitous mirror shot, I promise.

Once down along the creek, the road became perfect Ural habitat.  Solid underneath, with just enough loose gravel on top to allow the three-wheeler to slide a bit around each corner, it was super fun!

When the pavement began again, it was one tight 40 mph curve after another - all the way to the Clackamas River.  When I first brought this rig home, there was no way I could have negotiated those curves at anywhere near the posted limit, but after nearly six months of practice now, I'm finally beginning to get the hang of it!

Dan and I parted after refueling at a gas station, not far from his place, just south of the city.  My first real trip on the Ural had been a rousing success.  We'd had an incredible time on and off the bikes, and I'd made a list of eight issues to address before the next big trip.  Reviewing them in my mind as I covered the last 100 miles to the coast, I began to come up with some possible solutions...

No, it never ends.

The Ochocos: Day 2

Following breakfast in our suite the next morning, we loaded up the bikes and headed out.  Before turning east on Highway 26, however, we ascended the steep road that leads from downtown Mitchell to the residential part of town above.  You can see portions of that area in this photo, from the Skyhook's parking lot.

The morning was predominately cloudy but dry - perfect for riding, in my book!

On our first day, we'd explored the northwest corner of the Ochoco National Forest.  On Day 2, the plan was to skirt the northern edge on the highway, start in about 2/3 of the way across, then work our way back to the southwest.

We entered via paved Forest Road 12, where I gave Dan the chance to try out the Ural.  He rather quickly got the hang of it, and enjoyed muscling it around the tight ascending corners.  It was my first time on his bike, and I immediately noticed how powerful and smooth its engine is!   While the Triumph looks satisfyingly retro on the outside, its power plant has undergone nearly seven decades of refinement, while the Ural's stood basically still!

Wonder if I could squeeze a Triumph engine into the Ural's frame.  Maybe next year.

As you can see, this part of the Ochocos is vastly different from the area we were in the day before.  The topography is much more gentle, and the trees are often broken up by large grassy meadows.

We'd switched bikes again when the road became gravel, and after about 15 miles, came to this junction, which presented another option for returning to Mitchell.  Having our sights set on some old mines farther west, however, we left Forest Road 3010 and County Road 8 for another day, and followed the sign for Prineville - 47 miles distant.

You may have noticed that by this time I'd given up trying to secure that little green pack onto the back of my seat, and stashed it instead under the cover in the sidecar.  That certainly turned out to be the best plan, as the road was about to get so plagued with washboards that I could barely hold onto the handlebars.  Mental note, between stiff suspension and a third wheel that does not line up with either of the other two - Ural does NOT like washboards!

Now this is the kind of road the Ural likes best - fairly smooth, with just enough loose gravel on top so you can slide a bit around the corners!  Ear-to-ear grins and an occasional chuckle are the inevitable result.

A few more miles of that and we were back on pavement - Forest Road 42 this time.  A quick walk-around revealed that nothing had shaken loose on the washboards.  The stock shovel, visible on the right rear of the sidecar, was still firmly attached to its rubber mounts.  I suppose there wasn't much chance we'd need a shovel on this trip - but you never know.  There could have been a snow drift up there on one of the passes.  Besides, it looks so cool that I couldn't leave it at home.  It's a key part of the whole Ural aesthetic package.

Honestly, I was looking forward to some nice, smooth pavement for a while - but this was NOT it.  About every two bike lengths, there was a crack in the asphalt that varied from an inch to about six!  This went on for miles.  I don't think I'd ever seen anything quite like it before.  It didn't seem to slow Dan down much, but the Ural's extra firm suspension kept me throttled down to about the same speed I'd been going on the gravel.

After about a dozen miles of that, we arrived at the junction for a side road that I wanted to check out.  Obviously, this was going to be a rougher road than any we'd attempted yet.  It would be a good test of the Ural's climbing ability, and I wasn't sure if Dan would want to try it on his street bike or not.  On the plus side, it was only supposed to be about a mile long, and lead to some impressive abandoned mines.

I got to a flattish spot and turned to see if Dan had followed.  I shouldn't have ever doubted.  Dan and I suffer from the same malady - a nearly irresistible compulsion to see what's around the next corner.

There's no known cure, but it can (and should) be managed.  If you're not careful, it can get you into trouble.