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.