Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Final Leg

 

For my break at the resumption of the pavement after Skalkaho Pass, I scrambled down to the creek you see here.  It's a nice spot.  I also walked around the trike a couple of times, kicking the tires and other things to determine if anything seemed amiss after the preceding rough road.

Everything was still in place and solid.  Ryker is a tough little beast.

On the road again, the surface was really just tar-sealed gravel - but it followed the mountain stream beautifully.

Once it left the water, though, the route widened and reverted to loose rock.  Unlike the conditions over the pass, however, the last unpaved section was well-graded, fast, and fun!

I made it to the intersection with Montana HWY 1, having ridden 55 miles on HWY 38 from Hamilton.  It was the same spot where I had turned around five days ago in highly questionable weather, opting to leave Skalkaho Pass for my return trip.  Wise choice.

Heading southeast, I soon was flanking Georgetown Lake again - the peaks of the Anaconda Pintlar Wilderness standing sentinel.

Fifteen minutes later, I gassed up in Anaconda - an interesting town that needs a longer visit someday.  Then it was back to the I-90 superslab.  Butte, Bozeman, and Livingston passed in relative bliss.  But, as usual, Billings was where things really started heating up.

By the time I made it to Ashland, on HWY 212, it was unbearably hot!  I pulled over at a convenience store with an adjacent park.  After making a selection of fine drink and snacks, I ambled over to a covered picnic table and settled in under the shade of the pavilion.  There was just enough breeze to make it a tolerable place to update some friends and family via text.  I was only 200 miles from home!

Finishing up my meat and cheese sticks, I finally noticed the brand name on the wrapper - Werner.  You can see the outline of the state of Oregon in the bottom right corner, but you probably cannot make out the tiny white print on the lines above the "Best By" date.  I'll read it for you, "Werner Gourmet Meat Snacks, Inc. Tillamook, Oregon 97141."  How appropriate is that?

After a 30-minute break, I made it another 100 miles (half the remaining distance) to the community of Alzada, near the Wyoming border.  There's a spreading shade tree by the post office there that has become my traditional last stop before home.  It did not disappoint!

It was after 6:00 by then, but temps had not dropped much.  On the plus side, the area's frequently strong winds had not yet materialized.  And the lower angle of the sun was really beginning to light up the lush grass and trees.  This final leg of my Oregon trip was going to be a largely enjoyable one.

Wyoming only lasts for 30 miles on 212 (the far northeast corner) before you hit the South Dakota border.  The Mount Rushmore State has been my home for over three years now - hard to believe it's already been that long since our move from Oregon.  It doesn't look like much from here, though I've come to appreciate the plains.  But as you approach Rapid City and the Black Hills, you'll start to think you've warped back somehow to the edge of the Rockies.  I recommend you plan a visit!

I rode up my driveway at 8:00.  Kim had been following my GPS breadcrumb trail and was standing on the front porch when I arrived.  Within minutes, I was eating homemade chicken pot pie and fruit and berry crisp!  No, good food is not the only thing I miss about home - but it's up there in the rankings.

We talked until 10:00, when I finally fell into bed.  It had been a roughly 700-mile day - 14+ hours on the road.  Guess I still got it!  Barely.

  

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Limping Home

 

It was somewhat cloudy but still dry at the Missoula Super 8, as departure preparations were underway.  I'd risen at 4:30 after a fraction over three hours of sleep.  The hope was to make it home by dark - even though I'd be tackling the gravel pass I'd skipped because of bad weather on my trip west.

The collision with the deer the previous night had broken some of the fasteners that hold on various plastic parts.  There'd been no issue at the slower speeds I'd maintained getting to the motel, but I thought I'd better batten down the hatches before achieving full daylight velocities.  To that end, I zip-tied the lower edge of the left side cowling to the frame, below the headlight.  Notice the big crack in that corner of the hood?  It wasn't going anywhere though - just unsightly.

Then I zip-tied the radiator grill cover to the steel guard underneath it.  That should do.  Funny how I'd overcome two instances of electronic "Limp Home Mode" activation on this trip - only to end up limping home physically with a broken headlight and temporary body work repairs.

I was all ready to go at 5:30.  The full breakfast was still not set out, so I grabbed a couple of pre-wrapped muffins and stuffed them in my tank bag for later.  There'd been four other cycles parked around the front door when I'd arrived in the dark - and they were all still there.  It was not a race, of course, but I was winning!

An hour later, it sprinkled a little as I passed through Hamilton, MT.  On the south edge of town, I found the turn for Highway 38 (aka Skalkaho Pass Road) and took it, heading east.  At first, it was a nice two-lane, running through a residential area.  Then I passed an open gate, and it narrowed to a roughly paved single-lane route, as it began to climb into the mountains.

The rain had stopped, and it looked like I'd have no more trouble in that regard.  The observant viewer will notice though - only one of the two primary headlights is shining.  Fortunately, there are still the LED lights down lower and the marker lights over each wheel.  My degree of visibility remained rather high. 

Near the top, the pavement gave way to a hardened native surface with frequent boulders poking through.  There was no real gravel to smooth things out.

It was nothing Ryker couldn't easily handle, but I took it pretty slow - so I could handle the beating better!  Guess it looks fairly nice in this photo, but it really wasn't.

Beautiful scenery though!

Eventually, I met a couple of pick-ups coming the other way.  They didn't say anything, so I figured the road must be open all the way through.

This gushing falls was a pleasant surprise.  It reminded me a lot of one of my last road improvement projects on the Tillamook Forest.  A very similar cascade used to frequently wash out one of our district's mainlines, so I specified a larger culvert and administered the contract to have it replaced.  Problem solved - a least for a while.

When the road narrowed even further, I began to wonder how bad it was going to get.  I'd been going only 10-15 mph for miles - a far cry from the well-graded 35 mph gravel road I was expecting.

And then the surface turned muddy - and I was even more glad that I hadn't attempted this route in the rain and snow earlier in the week.

About this time, a small two-wheel-drive car approached, meandering around the largest rocks.  If he could make it, so could Ryker and I!

There never was an obvious pass, but the road slowly began to descend.  Down in the dense timber again, the surface finally improved.  There was even a highway sign!  Nice to know I was still heading east.

This is not a great photo, but that's pavement - just beyond the cattle guard.  I still had 10-15 miles to go to get back to a real road, but the most challenging part was behind me - always a realization with mixed emotional impact.

I pulled over (there on the right) to stretch my legs a bit and savor the trip's last moments of relative wilderness.  Within the hour, I'd be back on Interstate 90.  The world is different there.

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: A Bump in the Night

 

The birds woke me up at 5:00.  They must have known it was going to be a big day for me, and that I'd better get started.  By the time Ryker was loaded, Vicki had a hot salmon scramble ready for breakfast!  Yes, you can get seafood in South Dakota, but I don't even try.  The Rushmore State is famous for some pretty cool things, but not surprisingly, seafood isn't one of them.

Once a final set of photos were snapped and a final round of praises and supplications were raised, I mounted my three-legged steed and idled down the driveway.  It was unbelievable, really, how much we'd crammed into only two days and three evenings!  My heart was full.

I hadn't been able to say goodbye to Matt the evening before, as he'd had other commitments, so I turned toward the office once more.  I expected to just meet him in the parking lot, but there were half a dozen waiting for me on the patio when I pulled up!  I was honored - and I hope it showed.  That's a good group of guys.  And while we weathered some tough storms together over the years (figurative and literal) it was the best job I could ever have imagined.   

But no, they didn't serve me this pie!  For that, I had to ride three hours east.  I left Tillamook at 7:30 and got to Dan's place in Portland at a quarter past nine.  Traffic through the city wasn't great, but it was better than my last time through - and I was proud of myself for not making a single wrong turn!

Dan was prepping his Triumph motorcycle out front when I arrived.  As it was his first time to see Ryker in person, we circled it a few times before saddling up again and heading for the mouth of the Columbia Gorge.

We stopped to fuel up at Cascade Locks, but not before Dan had noticed a tiny leak in my coolant reservoir.  I hoped it was just the cap, but it was hard to tell.  I'd keep an eye on it.  I had a small bottle of the appropriate fluid in my saddlebag - which would easily get me home, if it didn't get much worse.

We agreed to stop again in The Dalles (that's a town) at a restaurant Dan knew about.  And that catches my story back up to the picture of the slice of marionberry pie - an Oregon favorite.  Dan and I chatted for perhaps an hour, then suited up again and started our engines.  I followed him for another 20 miles to the HWY 97 junction - where we waved to each other as he peeled off the freeway to head south.  He'd be taking a circuitous ride home over the crest of the Cascades - and I'd continue east.

It was the first time we'd ridden together in years, but there'd been many before that.  We've known each other since Kim and I lived in the Desert Southwest 25 years ago.  And besides a riding companion, he and his wife, Lauri, have been dear friends.  

I stopped for gas again in Arlington.  There's a nice shaded park there that is a good place for a break before things really heat up outside the gorge.  A check of the coolant reservoir revealed no new drops.  Not sure what had happened, but maybe I wouldn't have to worry about it until I got home.

By the time I got to Lewiston, Idaho, temps were in the upper 90s!  I was turning left through the last intersection in town when the same warning lights that had interrupted my westward journey began flashing again!  Along with them, the same message was being displayed - VSS FAULT - LIMP HOME MODE.

I couldn't believe it.  But this time, I had a plan.  I pulled into an empty parking lot and initiated a tight figure-eight maneuver - hoping to trigger the "nanny" and cancel the fault.  It didn't work.  I tried again in the other direction.  Still nothing.  I returned to the highway, resolving to take the next turns a bit faster than I normally would - while remaining safe, of course.

Success!

Hours later, I was at the top of Lolo Pass on HWY 12 (aka the Montana border) - and it was nearly completely dark.  Getting there had not been as easy as expected.  The last ten miles had been under reconstruction and gravel.  Now, the gravel was well-graded, but the heavy equipment that was still working it had not bothered to put up any warning signs as to their presence.  To reduce my anxiety factor (by reducing the chance of being surprised by oncoming truck traffic) I'd had to take it quite slowly.  Then, there was the strip of ice in the center of my lane for the last two miles.  I was able to avoid it with all three tires, but again, it required more care and less speed.

But I'd made it.  From here, it would be around 30 miles to the town of Lolo, where I hoped to get a hotel room for what was left of the night.  I might have to deal with potentially slippery conditions for the first few, but then all would be well.

But all was not well.  Though it was a whole lot better than it could have been!  The far side of the pass had been dry - that was good.  But I knew that the danger wasn't over.  Lolo has a reputation for heavy foot traffic - hoofed foot traffic, that is.  And I'd confirmed that on previous rides over the 5,235-foot pass.

For that reason, I was already going slower than usual when my headlights illuminated two deer standing in the oncoming lane.  I cut the throttle even more and crept around onto the right shoulder.  Neither of them moved.  A mile or two later, the scenario repeated itself but with only a single quadruped this time.

Perhaps ten miles outside of town, the road straightened up and sight distance increased.  I hadn't seen another animal of any kind for a while and was just about to increase my speed a little - when my peripheral vision detected a doe emerging from the tree line to my left, running full-speed toward the road!

I hit the brakes, but could quickly tell that our paths would intersect, regardless.  Ryker struck the deer broadside - right in its middle.  Like two billiard balls, there was an opposite reaction in both of us.  Ryker and I slowed even more abruptly than the application of all three brake binders had thus far produced - but we maintained forward motion, and I remained in contact with the seat.  The poor doe, however, ricocheted off the angled hood and flew at least ten feet into the air, over the right shoulder of the road, and off the embankment!

I could hardly believe what had just occurred - and that Ryker was still tracking straight down the road.  I blipped the throttle to see if the engine would still respond.  It did.  I raised my arms in turn - to see if they would still respond.  They did.  Incredibly, all four of the deer's legs must have been spread far enough, fore and aft, that no contact with any of my appendages (including my head) was made.  And evidently, they'd even cleared both of Ryker's protruding front wheels.

I decided not to stop until I'd made it to town - in case there was damage I hadn't noticed yet that would prevent me from getting going again.  Engine temp was holding steady, so the cooling system was still working.  Making much of an assessment in the dark would be difficult anyway.  

I took the above photo under the bright overhead lights of the first gas station in Lolo.  A few plastic pieces were broken, including the hood itself - and one of the headlights was shattered.  But it looked like nothing would fly off before I'd had a chance to work some zip-tie magic in the morning.  I could not even find a scratch on the fenders, air intakes, hand guards, or windshield.

So far, it looked like all I'd need to replace would be the light and hood.  Maybe I could fix the hood somehow.  And Ryker's got three headlights - so that could wait.  I certainly had no plans to do anymore night riding this trip!

After fueling up, I rode across the street to the only promising-looking hotel in the small town.  I had high hopes, but they were soon dashed.  No room in the inn.  But Missoula was only eight miles north.  I wasn't thrilled about heading out into the darkness again, but at least it was a four-lane road.  Still, I took it extra slow.

Near the city limits, the first hotel had a couple of rooms remaining.  "I'll take one!" I enthusiastically agreed - very glad I didn't have to go any farther.

I checked in at 11:30 and was allowed to park right in front - so long as I didn't block the entrance ramp.  I hauled my gear up to the room, then came back down.  I wanted to do one more thing - to help me sleep.  During those last eight miles, I'd concluded that there must be some kind of damage under that plastic hood.  I'd decided I'd rather know now than find out in the morning.

I removed the fasteners, lifted the cover, and used my flashlight to inspect all the critical elements underneath.  Everything looked good.  The steel rails that frame the compartment had done their job of protecting the softer parts - and not even bent in the process. 

Back in my room, I had much to be thankful for.  Hitting a deer on a motorcycle had always been a concern - and I'd heard some horrible stories.  Over a decade ago, I began taking wildlife crossing signs much more seriously.  But there's really not a whole lot you can do.  I ride at night less than I used to - but obviously, not never.

It was 1:00 in the morning before my head hit the pillow.  Only then did I think that maybe I was supposed to call someone - state game and fish?  Maybe she made it though.  Might depend on how she landed - and how far down the hillside.  One of my friends hit a deer in his truck once.  Said it tumbled and spun down the road for a hundred feet before jumping up and taking off into the bushes.  I'll just assume that's the way it went.  Maybe we both learned a valuable lesson. 

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Reconnect

 

I woke up at 5:30 with a pretty bad headache that first morning in Tillamook.  Was probably those coastal smells I was raving about in my last blog post.  Guess there's a readjustment period.  Makes sense.  I'd slept well, though, and the cool foggy morning was the perfect way to begin to reconnect with the Pacific Northwest.

Shortly after six, I heard noises in the kitchen and ventured out of the guest bedroom to investigate.  Dave was seated at the table, taking stock of the new day.  I settled into a chair in front of the picture window and did the same, as we began another round of too-long-neglected conversation.

Vicki joined us within the hour, then took a few steps back to begin preparing some of the best French toast I've ever eaten!  Once we were all fortified for the day's activities, she headed out to pick berries at the neighbor's place - a very Tillamooky thing to do.  The climate of Oregon can produce amazing berries of  many varieties.  In fact, you often have to beat them back from vehicle rights of way, just to maintain access.  No joke!

My headache gone, I left Dave at 10:30 and was pulling into my old parking space at work (by the back door) only a few minutes later.  That's right.  I couldn't believe it was still available, as most of the Department of Forestry staff begin their workday at 6:00 a.m.  When Matt (the guy whose desk was closest to mine for years) came out to greet me and take this picture, I figured he must have kept it open somehow!

Many of my old coworkers came out to the back patio to see me, including my direct supervisor, and we all chatted there for a while, before three of my closest friends took me out for lunch at a favorite burger truck on the north side of town.

That's Matt on the left.  He can reenact a scene from a movie more accurately and entertainingly than anyone I've ever known.  Next is Trevor.  One of his claims to fame is surviving the longest Ural sidecar ride I ever gave to a coworker - mostly on rough gravel roads.  And he really seemed to enjoy it!  Aaron is on the far right.  He came to ODF just a month after me - way back in 2006.  Before he began accumulating additional responsibilities (i.e. sons), he and I climbed multiple Cascade Range peaks together - including the infamous Mount St. Helens.  But that was well after it had blown its top.

Yes - Three Amigos, for sure.  And I haven't even attempted to recount any of the crazy work-related adventures we actually got paid for!  And yes, our boss, Scott, knows all about them.  Well, most of them.

Back at the office, I was able to see another good friend in the breakroom, while she finished her lunch.  Debbie would be retiring at the end of the week - the reason I'd absolutely had to make this trip before July.  She was called away to deal with an emergency that had just occurred on the forest, so our time was short.  But I planned to attend her official send-off the following day.  We'd have another chance.

From the breakroom, it was only a short walk to my old department - and then a few steps to my old desk.  Yes, I spent 15 years at the same desk.  Got a new chair once in that time, though.  My replacement was "in the field," as we say, so I took a seat and surprised a couple more coworkers when they came down the hallway and saw me there.  That was fun!  

I had plans for supper back at my hosts' house and a couple more places I wanted to go first, so I took my leave and headed back out to the patio.  But there, I met a few more coworkers and ended up staying until after 4:00.

Once I broke away, I rode out to the small community of Netarts - right on the coast.  Kim and I had lived most of our Oregon years there - just seven miles from Tillamook.  I climbed the hill to our old neighborhood to check on the house we'd bought and sold.  It's the nearest one in the photo.  From street level, the environs were not that memorable.  But the ocean views from the upper windows were a pleasure that we will always cherish.

This pic shows a lot of the work we did to the front porch and the landscaping between the houses.  We hauled a ton of river rock and bark mulch in our five years there!  And Kim planted most of the greenery you see.  Was nice to see how good it all still looked.

Next, I cruised by the house we'd rented before that.  It did not have a view but was closer to the water.  The benches in this photo were only a couple minutes walk away.  And there's a trail/stairs that go down to the beach from this point.  It was our favorite walk to do with our dog Pika.

This is the view to the south.  We knew the owner of that hotel and would sometimes encounter him on our walks.  The dark distant land jutting out into the sea is Cape Lookout.  We hiked to the tip of that a couple of times - but it was not easy.  The low rise of green in front of that is the Netarts Bay spit.  A state park, it's off-limits to motorized vehicles, but I rode my bicycle out to its point once - and waved at Kim (and probably Pika) who were standing here.  Good memories all.

This had also been our favorite point from which to watch New Year's fireworks.  Didn't have to worry about parking - just walk out from the house around 11:45 p.m. and fall in with the other locals who were gathering to witness the barrage being launched (impromptu) from the beach below.  It was one of the most community affirming celebrations I can remember - in all the places we've ever lived. 

Before returning inland, I rode 2.7 miles north along the coast to Oceanside.  Much of the route remains within sight of the waves, and I would often tack on those additional miles (out and back) to my ride home from work - just because I could.  We'd always known we wouldn't live by the sea forever, so I vowed never to take it for granted.  Every time I wound along the top of those bluffs, I thought, "I can't believe I live here!" And I thanked the Lord for planting us in such a spectacularly beautiful place, if only for a season.

But the view pictured above was a bit new to me - from a significantly higher perspective.  Before we'd left the area, the road that used to wrap around past the Cape Meares Lighthouse and down to the town of the same name had washed out - and not been repaired in years.  But I'd heard that an entirely new road had been built in the three years we'd lived in South Dakota!  This one climbs steeply up from the original route and goes over the top of the mountain, before dropping back down to join the old road.  Naturally, I had to check it out!

In this photo, I'm parked in a large gravel viewpoint at the top of the initial climb.  More earthwork could be done to improve the vista and useability, but maybe that will come later.  It's a brand new road, after all.

A few steps past the boulders, and the utilization of my camera's zoom lens produced a more scenic result - but with the obvious downside of not being able to get Ryker into the frame.

I rode all the way over and down the other side - to where it joins with the road along Tillamook Bay.  From there, the quickest way "home" would have been to continue southeast.  But I wanted to do it again in reverse, so I turned around and went back up!  This shot is going down the last pitch toward Oceanside.  Afraid I neglected to take any pictures of the northern side - a pity.  It's at least as impressive, from an engineering standpoint anyway.

I made it back to Tillamook with just enough time to change and clean up for supper.  The majority of the Bible study group Kim and I had been a part of our entire time in Oregon was gathering on a non-scheduled night - just to see me!  Vicki had planned the get-together and asked her friend and neighbor to cater for us - and it was incredible!

You know Dave, on the left.  Next is Rich.  He's the craftsman responsible for all the leather accents on the Ural and now Ryker.  Mary Ann is his wife and one of the editors of my second (and hopefully third) book.  Jeanie raises Jack Russell terriers and gave me motorcycle gear at one of our first Christmas parties.  Her husband, Gregg, is a semi-retired log truck driver and road builder, who worked on many of the State Forest projects I was assigned.  That just leaves Vicki and me, on the far right.  Being immediately accepted into this close group of locals (and others, not present) is a blessing for which Kim and I will always be grateful!  Also of note in the photo is the framed aerial shot of the property, all covered in white ash after the eruption of St. Helens in 1980 - a hundred miles away!

We all had a great time catching up and reminiscing.  And they even suffered through a few of my tales from the road.  I'm a much better writer than speaker.  The evening was over too soon, but not before more Tillamook ice cream was dished out.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning I slept in til 6:30 and rose feeling much better than I had the previous day.  But I was still glad I had 24 more hours before I needed to head back over the mountains to the Dakotas.  Ryker is a lot easier to pilot than Ural was but more of a workout than a two-wheeler.

Following another stellar breakfast - this time omelettes - Dave and I went out to the garage to prep the trike for the return trip.  We added a splash of oil to the motor and a pound of pressure to each tire, cleaned the windshield, and brushed the dead bugs out of the air intakes and radiator grill.  All the chores done, we ambled over to the front porch for some quality sittin' time.  Life was good.  And we knew it.

We must have had some lunch, but I didn't write it down, so that detail was lost.  Probably grazed on left-overs from the night before.  Nothin' wrong with that.  I left for the office again at half past one and got there in time to reconnect with a few who had retired before I'd left in 2022.  I also talked some more with Debbie, whose official, career-capping "shindig" was to begin at 2:00.  That's what she'd derisively called it - when she'd basically been forced into it.  But it ended up being an honorable and enjoyable way for those she'd positively impacted over the years to say so.  She will be missed.

No, she's not dying.  But she is moving to northeastern Washington - which is pretty far removed from the Oregon coast.  Though not as far as South Dakota.

When the official event had concluded, I accepted Aaron's invitation to follow him home to see his new house, north of town.  His wife was still at work, but I got to see his two boys again, who had changed considerably since our last encounter!  They all seemed to be enjoying their spot at the edge of the forest now - where there's certainly more room (inside and out) than at their last place.

By the time I'd ridden back into town, many of the shindig attendees had transferred to a nearby restaurant with ample outdoor seating - my favorite kind!  I knew I was going back for another of Vicki's incredible meals, though, so I just made the rounds and said my goodbyes - including to the guest of honor.  I told them all I was hoping to return in less than three years next time - and with my wife, whom many of them know.

The supper I didn't want to miss was fish tacos and grilled salmon, caught locally - just another aspect of the Tillamook region's bounty.  And don't even get me started with fresh tuna and dungeness crab!

I retired to my room a bit early that night, as I wanted to get most of my things packed up before bedtime.  My friend Dan, from Portland, called to confirm our plans for brunch.  I'd meet him at his place on the south side of the city, and we'd ride from there.  I'd be ready.

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Familiar Territory

 

Avery, Idaho, is not what it used to be.  From the 19-aughts through the 1970s, it was a railroad town, believe it or not.  Now, the focus is tourism and summer homes, but there's not too much of either.  It's a delightfully laid-back place.  There is also a seasonal Forest Service office.  Perhaps these larger old buildings now serve as staff housing.  They're just up the street from the store I parked in front of.

Walking back to the trike, I noticed the gas pump there on the right.  But I'd filled up the previous evening in St. Regis, MT, and still had a gallon in each of my jerrycans.  I'd have no trouble making it to St. Maries - about 50 more miles.

But I did have trouble - of a different sort.  By the time I took this stunning photo near the Washington border, though, all seemed well again.  And I was very thankful for that!

Now back to the "trouble."  Just ten miles before entering St. Maries, I rounded a moderately tight corner.  There was some moisture on the pavement, but nothing too unusual for that particular morning.  The rear tire may have slid a tad, but it was barely noticeable.  What was immediately noticeable was the reduction in power from the motor.  Then a message began flashing on the dash, "VSS FAULT."  I knew that stood for Vehicle Stability System, and that it had something to do with the "nanny" that's supposed to keep you from flipping over.  I was beginning to wonder what that would mean for the rest of my trip, when an even more ominous message began alternating with the first one, "LIMP HOME MODE."

As you know, by this point, I was a long way from home.  I'd read about Limp Home Mode in the manual - and it was not good.  My maximum speed and acceleration would be electronically limited until an authorized mechanic could rectify the issue.  There was a Can-Am dealer, I knew, in Portland, Oregon, but it was Monday, and they'd be closed.  I could spend the night with my buddy Dan and take it in the next morning - hoping they'd look at it ASAP.  Or I could continue to Tillamook, as planned, and come back Tuesday or Wednesday.  Neither option sounded great.  They'd both significantly alter my pre-arranged appointments.

I made it to St. Maries with severely restricted power but a higher top speed than anticipated - 59 mph.  It just took a long time to get up to that - and couldn't maintain it on any kind of hill.  It was a lot like riding my Ural sidecar rig, actually.  After filling up with gas, I hoped that maybe when I started Ryker up again, the fault would be cleared.  No such luck.

A few miles down the road, however (on a similarly tight curve), the flashing warnings disappeared.  I slowly increased the throttle on the next straight and was immensely relieved to realize that full horsepower had been restored!  Maybe with all the rain the last two days, moisture had seeped into a wire connection somewhere, tripped the fault, then dried up - since the sun had finally appeared.  Good an explanation as any - when computers and electronics are involved.

Now we can get back to those brilliant yellow fields!  They're canola flowers, aka rapeseed - though there are slight differences.  In this Palouse region, canola is used as a rotation crop between plantings of wheat.  The farmers get healthier soils (and another economic crop), and the tourists get dazzling displays in early summer.

At the Washington line, I really began to feel like I was heading home.  Kim and I had lived in the Pacific Northwest for 15 years, after all.  And many of my long motorcycle trips had neared their conclusion with a crossing of the Evergreen State.

There's a rest area at the junction of 127 and 12 that I always stop at when I come through.  Nowhere near as developed as an interstate facility, it's got only one pit toilet and a garbage can.  But the giant shade tree is a welcome oasis of cool in an otherwise sunbaked land.  And the farther I'd ridden from the forests of Idaho, the hotter it had become.

That's Highway 127 on the left.  I'd come down that hill from Colfax, a charming agricultural town.  I would join the more trafficked US 12 from this point and continue southwest to Walla Walla and beyond.  But first, a short break.

I first saw the Columbia near the Oregon border, on Highway 730.  All that cool water doesn't change the ambient temperature as much as you'd hope, but it does have a positive psychological effect.  

I could have taken 14 West on the Washington side of the river.  It's a gorgeous route with lots of tunnels, but it's also much slower.  I opted for I-84 in Oregon.  Exiting at the town of Cascade Locks, I refueled at my favorite spot, then parked under the shade of the Bridge of the Gods to report my progress to my soon-to-be overnight hosts near the coast.  I was running a little late but not terribly so.  Much would depend on the traffic in Portland.

And it was horrible.  Granted, it was rush hour.  But it was the worst I could remember - bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-go from well east of the 205 all the way through the Vista Ridge Tunnel.  I was more than a little concerned that the transmission would overheat, as it is air cooled.  But it continued to operate normally.  As for the engine, the radiator fan was on most of the time, but the temperature reading only climbed slightly.  In the western suburbs, traffic was still very dense but much higher paced.  And Ryker had no trouble keeping up!  So glad we weren't still in Limp Home Mode.

Upon my entry into the Tillamook State Forest, I pulled over at Gales Creek Overlook.  I wore the Oregon Department of Forestry Logo on my work shirts and hats for many years, but it had been over three since I'd seen it mounted on a sign.  And come to think of it, this one looks brand new!

Every forest has a unique smell, to a career forester, anyway.  And I breathed deeply of all that comprises the Tillamook - Douglas fir and red alder, salmon streams and salmonberry.  Compared to higher elevation inland forests, the Tillamook has a noticeably moist odor - like rotting vegetation, critics would say.  But I hadn't realized how much I missed it!  It had been a primary facet of life for fifteen years.

And this street had been another.  In fact, were it not for the couple living near the top of this hill, Kim and I would likely have never moved to Oregon.  Good friends from our early days as an item back in Oklahoma, they owned a rental house here that would become available - just as our stint in South America was ending.  With no other plans yet solidified, we'd agreed to move in until they were able to wrap up things on the plains and retire to the town they'd loved and missed since the 70s.  Then, if we'd found good jobs and wanted to stay, we'd find our own place.

And that's exactly what happened.  And many holidays and birthdays and just average days were shared together - with them and other new friends - behind these very walls.  The porch swing you see there on the right was also a focal point - especially for Dave and me.  In fact, one of my primary goals for this trip was to sit there with him, gazing at my bike parked out front - and talk about life and motorcycles.  I'd probably missed that even more than the smell of the forest.

I pulled up at 7:00 - about an hour later than I'd hoped.  It had been a 14-hour, nearly 600-mile day in the saddle.  Vicki showed me around her yard, garden, and greenhouse (which she calls the Oklahoma room because of how hot and humid it always is) and then we settled down to supper.  A feast of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and toasted bread with Tillamook brand cheese was concluded with bowls of Tillamook ice cream!  The culinary skills of my hostess, paired with the bounty of the region, is hard to match.

Afterwards, Dave showed me his new truck while we began to catch up.  He'd cleared a spot in the garage that was just perfect for backing Ryker into, so I did just that, while pointing out its finer features.

We all talked more, back inside, before finally getting to bed around 11:00.  Ryker had made it to Tillamook, updating the list of five of my bikes now that have been parked in front of the red and white house on the hill.  I'd sleep well.