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!
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