Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Back Entry to the Gem State

 

I was up at 4:30 a.m. - and immediately turned on the electric wall heater.  My room did not have A/C, but I hadn't needed that the evening before.  I hadn't needed the heat all night either, but now there was a damp chill that I wanted to rectify while I could.  The puddles and clouds outside meant that, like the day before, I'd soon be at the mercy of less than ideal elements again - at least for a while.

I'd slept very well, but the tips of my fingers were sore.  Sounds strange, I know.  But it's quite common for me by the third morning.  Always goes away though, once my hands get used to the constant vibration again, I guess.  My back and shoulders were much better.  And I'd be grateful for that when I got down to all the twisties in the Idaho panhandle.

I was off by 6:00 and reached the end of the pavement in only a few miles.  It had actually been dry while I loaded up, but began spitting immediately after leaving St. Regis.  The correct road had not been hard to find, as it was well signed.  The big question was whether there would be snow up on the unnamed pass.  Down here, it was 50 degrees.

There'd been some washboards on the flats, but when the route began to climb, the surface smoothed out nicely.  The conditions reminded me a lot of the Tillamook Forest in Oregon - road, trees, and weather.  That short bridge behind me looked very similar to one I had specked out before leaving my job with the Department of Forestry there.  Good times.

It seemed just a shade lighter up ahead.  I took it as a good sign.

Again, this rock cut above the road reminded me of another project I had worked on.  Guess I was in a nostalgic mood, as I prepared to reenter the Pacific Northwest after three years away.

It was gratifying to be on gravel - after abandoning the plan for that the previous day.  And it was oh so encouraging to see some blue sky above the next mountain range!

This sign was posted at a junction near the top.  I'd come 16 miles from town, with two more to go before leaving Montana and entering Idaho.  The Little Joe was the route I'd be following toward Washington.  It would meander along the Saint Joe River.  Always nice to get confirmation that you're on the right track.

But remember what I said about both sides of a pass rarely having the same weather?  In those last two miles to the summit, the clearing conditions swung around 180 degrees, until I was pointing into a fog that was nearly as thick and wet as the one I'd fought my way through on Day 2.

I got off the bike and unstrapped and pulled on my rain jacket.  But at least there was no snow.  That top white sign says, "ENTERING SHOSHONE COUNTY."  It was the closest I got to "WELCOME TO IDAHO."  

As reported on the Internet, the pavement had resumed at the border.  And as I dropped in elevation, the weather  had improved.  There would be no snow that day!

The tight curves had only just begun, however.  It was supposed to be 30 miles from St. Regis, over the mountain, and back down to the river - and 70 more after that to the nearest real town.  And it would be twisty all the way!

I think this was the point at which the smaller stream I'd been following met the Saint Joe.  But there was water everywhere.  I can't say for sure.

I'm more confident that it was near this point that I encountered my first fellow travelers in two hours.  It was 8:00, and some early rising fishermen had made it up this far from one of the campgrounds downstream, I surmised.  I waved enthusiastically, yet maturely, of course.

The nicely-paved road was always within sight of the water, and occasionally at the base (or top) of rocky canyon walls.

At one point, I spotted this swinging trail bridge - and had to double back for a closer look!

Ryker wouldn't fit, so I had to go on foot.

The view from the middle was worth the extra few minutes.  It was time to get off the bike and stretch a bit anyway.

The first sign of civilization - unless you count campgrounds - was the near ghost town of Avery.  One of central Idaho's many one-store communities, it was the perfect place for another little break.  I went in for a drink and a snack, of course, as they had just opened for business.

Think I might even take off my rain gear!

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Cold and Wet - Mostly

 

I don't remember rain being a prominent feature of my ride through Yellowstone, but the above photo says it hadn't been completely dry.  I do remember a couple of things.  First, I'd encountered a bear with cub somewhere near Tower Junction.  Traffic had been backed up pretty severely with gawkers, but I'd been able to pick my way through the line and get on my way without too much delay.  Ryker's not as narrow as a two-wheeler, but much more svelte than your average SUV or cross-over!

Second, after turning north for the park exit at Mammoth Hot Springs, the road became extremely entertaining, as it winds serpentine-like above the Gardner River.  I'd never been on that road before (last two photos), having accessed Mammoth previously from the south only.  It was almost as convoluted as some of our routes in the Black Hills of South Dakota!

I crossed the park boundary at the edge of the town of Gardiner, MT - the original entrance to Yellowstone.  And yes, the town name has an "I" in it, but the river does not.  The train made it here in 1903, but no farther.  Seeing all the famous thermal features to the south required significantly more adventurous travel!  Gardiner is still a frontier kind of place and will merit a longer, accompanied visit in the future.  I'll have a talk with my wife Kim about that.

There's a rest area on 89, about halfway to Livingston.  Besides what most people do at such places, I also walked over to that picnic shelter you see in the distance.  It was still raining off and on (more on than off), but had finally become significantly warmer.  I took cover while I removed my outer jackets so that I could shed an inner thermal layer.  That done, I opened the vents in my primary jacket, then replaced it and my waterproof overcoat.  It's a process.  But with luck, it would keep me comfortable enough for the rest of the day.  If you're in a hurry, my good friend Dave used to say, take the car.

I joined I-90 at Livingston, then rode west through Bozeman and Butte.  It was not fun.  The rain had gotten harder, and there was occasionally standing water on the freeway.  If you read my account of my last trip home from Canada, you'll remember that Ryker hydroplanes quite easily - with sometimes terrifying results.

I decided to follow a semi-truck for a while, who was going nice and slow.  It didn't help that my face shield kept fogging up, and I had to repeatedly wipe the inside with my gloved finger.

I was relieved to finally exit onto Highway 1 for Anaconda.  It would be another new-to-me town, and the gateway for the first of two off-pavement passes I'd hoped to ride before reaching Oregon.  After skirting around Georgetown Lake, I turned at the intersection of Highway 38, aka Skalkaho Pass Road.  I parked there for a moment, gazing up toward the summit,  still 30+ miles distant.  The top of the ridge was completely obscured in a darkish cloud.  Rain?  Fog?  Snow?  None of the possibilities would be pleasant.  A glance at my onboard thermometer revealed a recent dip back down to 40 degrees! 

Remembering what they say about discretion and valor, I swung back onto Highway 1 and headed north instead.  Maybe I'd do Skalkaho on the way home.

I rejoined I-90 at Drummond and turned northwest toward Missoula.  Conditions were much better now - less rain and less traffic.  It was still sprinkling, but I could see farther ahead and didn't have to crouch behind a truck.  By the time I stopped for gas in Missoula it was 60 degrees!

Which brings us finally to the photo above.  The Little River Motel in St. Regis, MT, is an hour past Missoula - and I had a reservation.  A classic "Mom and Pop" establishment, it was exactly the kind of place many moto-travelers prefer - myself included!

I arrived at 6:30 and snapped this shot from inside the office, while "Mom" stepped away to get a towel for wiping down my ride.  Now wasn't that thoughtful of her?  You just don't get that level of service from a national chain.

My room was the center one in a block of three.  But there were other similar groupings nestled in the trees on the expansive property.  It obviously had been a cozy stopover for travelers for many decades.

My plan was to unload Ryker, then hop on again for the short trip back to a burger place I'd spotted nearer the freeway exit.  That's the office in the distance.  The other rooms are between here and there but out-of-view to the left.

Winki's Diner was another classic, though it probably hadn't been around as long as the motel.  I lucked out with a parking spot right next to an outdoor table!

My bacon cheeseburger was juicy and delicious, and the fries were even more memorable.  They were about mid-way between traditional French fries and crispy kettle chips - with the best features of both!  And after 10 hours of rain and temperatures in the 30s and 40s, it felt extremely good to be enjoying a meal outside.

Back at the room, I opened the glass on the screen door - yes, a screen door! - so the fresh mountain air could waft in while I unpacked the things I would need for the night.  I also called Kim and texted my father and my buddy Dan. 

I discovered that the ceiling light in the bathroom was out - sort of.  It was extremely dim, so it would serve as a good nightlight.  Taking a shower was more difficult.  But I think I found and addressed all the dirtiest parts - on my body, that is.  The enclosure was already spotless.

I turned in at 10:30, grateful to finally relax my sore back and shoulders.  It had only been 500 miles, but the cold and wet always keeps me somewhat tense.  I did not at all regret having skipped Skalkaho Pass.

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: The Hard Way

 

As predicted, the morning of Day 2 was wet.  Apparently, it wasn't actually coming down in this photo, but that didn't last long.  I left my motel in Cody, WY, at 7:00 after rolling out of bed at 5:30.  No, it doesn't normally take me an hour and a half to get my head from pillow to helmet.  But rain has a way of delaying as well as dampening pre-ride preparations.

A temperature reading on the bike of a brisk 43 degrees didn't do wonders for motivation either.  But surely, it would only get better from here!

I could have gone straight west from Cody and entered America's first national park near Yellowstone Lake.  It's a designated scenic route but crosses no official mountain passes.  I'm sure it's wonderful, but with Dead Indian Pass only 30 miles away to the northwest...  Well, how could I resist?  And besides, I'd already seen the lake in years past.

I encountered this sign after turning off of Highway 120 and onto 296.  It caused some angst at first, but after a reread and a map check, I realized it did not pertain to my route.  It basically stated that Beartooth Pass (on the Montana border) was closed.  It's much higher elevation.  But I wasn't planning to go that way.  I wanted to take the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway (296) up to 212, but then turn west and head for the park, not east (toward Red Lodge, MT).  That is an incredible ride, but one I'd done on an earlier cycle.  

No, the primary reason I'd spent the previous night in Cody was to ride the Chief Joseph for the first time.  I'd wanted to take it in the morning to lessen my chance of running into an afternoon thunderstorm.  I hadn't anticipated this early rain/drizzle.  But it was late June, and the pass is only 8,000-some feet.  How bad could it get?

If you ever find yourself asking that question, you probably don't really want to know the answer.  In this case, it was significantly worse than I had imagined.  I think this is the top, though visibility was so poor that it was hard to tell.  Yes, that's snow, but it wasn't sticking to the road.

The real issue was fog.  Coming up the switchbacks, I'd never experienced a mountain fog so dense.  In fact, I nearly turned around multiple times before getting to this point.  But I was the only vehicle on the road, so I just took it slow - and kept going up.  It had actually lifted a bit by the time I took this photo.  It had been even worse.

The weather on both sides of a mountain pass is hardly ever the same.  I sincerely hoped I'd just come up the bad side.

The air was 35.  The road surface was surely a tad warmer.  But I'd keep a sharp lookout for any indications of freezing on my way down.  And I'd keep it very slow for a while.

But I was right.  The far side of the ridge was better.  The fog was still there, but it was much higher above the road.

I could actually see limited views in most directions.  And the temperature was climbing as I descended.  

Here's a good shot to point out some new stickers.  That's one for the Northwest Territories above the headlights - and the Yukon Territory below.  The upper one even says Tuktoyaktuk on the bottom of the oval.

What a ride that was!  Now it would be smooth sailing on into Yellowstone.

Wrong!  The weather had improved as the road dropped to the Clark's Fork River.  But then, as I followed the stream up towards its source, the snow had begun to fall in large sticky flakes.

By the time I pulled up to the pump in Cooke City, my entire windshield, and parts of the handguards and my jacket were covered.  I'd had to continually wipe snow off the helmet visor as I rode.  And a couple miles of pavement had been coated in a thin layer of slush.  Not fun.  It was the most falling snow I'd ever ridden in.  And I was COLD!

This little guy had greeted me outside.  I had not been unfriendly.  But when I opened the door, I stepped through it in such a way as to prevent him from following me.  I just assumed he was an outside dog.

When his owner (and that of the store) came shortly after me, I realized my error in judgement.  I swear the dog stuck his tongue out at me as he trotted in, the man holding the door open.  But by the time I was ready to leave, we'd made up.

And I was there for a while - chatting with the man and his wife (who was behind the counter), purchasing and consuming food and a beverage, using the restroom, etc.  Basically, I did whatever I could think of as an excuse to remain in the well-heated building.  Finally, I took a chance and asked about the road ahead, though the snow was still coming down heavily.

"So, is it likely to get better or worse as I head toward Mammoth Hot Springs?"

"Oh, this should be the worst of it," the woman assured me.  "You'll drop in elevation quite a bit.  And it's not sticking to the road here, so you shouldn't have any problems going that way."

"Well, I know you may just be telling me what I want to here," I replied.  "But I appreciate you saying it, true or not.  Sometimes false hope is better than no hope at all!"

And with that, I donned my helmet, stepped back into the cold snow, remounted Ryker - and continued west.

But she was right - so far.  Three miles later, the snow had stopped - and I pulled over at the park's northeast entrance sign for the obligatory photo.  The white stuff sure was pretty on the trees though!

Ryker Goes to Tillamook: Over The Bighorns

 

It was time.  Just over three years had passed since my wife, Kim, and I moved from the coast of Oregon to Rapid City, South Dakota.  We'd lived in the Tillamook area for 15 years - a record for us.  It was time to reconnect.

The trip can be made in two long days - if one sticks to the most direct route.  But I have trouble with that.  No, actually, the route I'd planned is more "direct" than I-90, the quickest way.  But it would take me over several high mountain passes - two of them unpaved!  These "shortcuts" would certainly take longer.  For that reason, I'd added half a day to the plan, and done something I've never done before on a multi-day cycle trip.  I left home after 11:00 a.m.

Heading slightly southwest over the Black Hills, I crossed into Wyoming after riding through Jewel Cave National Monument.  The other option would have been an immediate stint on the aforementioned I-90, to the north.  But two hours of two-lane is a much more pleasant way to begin a journey.  There'd be plenty of time for some super slab later.

I'd made a few small changes to my luggage system since my last big trip to the Arctic - most recently on departure morning.  My method for carrying drinks had never worked well, so the old camera case in the photo above was Plan B.  When I left the house, I hadn't yet employed the purple cord around the bottle neck.  The "lid" of the case had flapped around so much in my mirror, however, that something else had to be done.

Also in this shot, you can see a key lock installed in the center of the fuel jug.  I'd had them last year (one for each side) but hadn't yet figured out how they work.  They should make it harder for ne'er do wells to steal my extra gas.  Not that that has ever happened in 3+ decades of moto touring.  But there's a first time for everything, they say.

My first fill-up was in Newcastle.  It's just a tradition of mine, I guess - to take a photo at the first pump.  Doesn't Ryker look nice?  I'd recently hand scrubbed it for the first time ever (two years) - took me hours.  But I had to do it to prep the surfaces for the new stickers!  There are two in this view, but the angle's not good.  Oh, and you can see two more in that first shot.  Watch for close-ups later.

I haven't mentioned the weather yet.  Obviously, it was sunny.  In fact, I was quite happy to be hanging out in the shade for a bit.  At the house, it had been in the mid-80s.  Then, it climbed into the mid-90s, before dropping in the Monument (higher elevation).  But down in Newcastle it was in the 90s again.  Summer is not my favorite season.  And this one was heating up faster than usual, it seemed.  But most backroad passes in the Rockies are snowed in before then.  You do what you have to do.

I continued on Highway 16 to Moorcroft, where I finally joined up with the interstate to head west.  Shortly after merging onto I-90 and getting up to speed, the left side of my face shield completely popped out of its socket and began flapping wildly!  The same thing had happened in Canada last year - to the right side.  But I hadn't been on a controlled access freeway then.  I couldn't believe I'd let it happen again by not ensuring the bolts were tight before setting out.

I reached up with my left hand and grabbed the shield, holding it as close to the correct position as I could.  I slowed some, but decided to try and make it to an exit, rather than merely pull onto the shoulder.  I had to go nearly five miles that way, but was able to get off the interstate and onto a side road before stopping to assess the damage.

Like last year, the retaining bolt for that side was completely gone.  I'd have to find a replacement.  But also like last year, I had plenty of duct tape in my tank bag to facilitate a surprisingly strong emergency repair.  And yes, I did check the tightness of the opposite side before continuing on.  As Kim's grandfather would have said, "I was born at night - but not last night."

I exited again - for gas this time - in Gillette.  I'd decided to wait until the following afternoon to try and find a hardware store.  I'd be near Missoula, Montana, by then.  And success would likely come easier.

Then, I glanced over to my right.  Hardware Hank was only steps away!

Not only did Hank provide the bolt and washers I needed, he'd also offered a break from the heat and a refreshing cool beverage and snack.  And I gladly took him up on it! 

At Buffalo, I ended that day's utilization of I-90 (about 95 miles) and rejoined 16 for my romp through the Bighorn National Forest.  I pulled over at Powder River Pass.  At over 9,600 feet, you're really up there - 3,000 feet higher than the highest paved pass in the Black Hills.  I was well on my way to the spine of the continent - the Continental Divide.  But I wouldn't cross that until Day 2.

The last time I was here had been with Kim, in our old Nissan X-Terra.  We'd hike up a small peak from the pass - but not that one behind Ryker.  The one we'd chosen was less... technical.  Still, it had been a similarly beautiful day.  And we'd lingered for quite a long while.

On the west side, the highway heads down Ten Sleep Canyon to the town of Ten Sleep, WY.  It was so named, they say, because of its distance from Fort Laramie - 10 days of travel.  Ryker could probably beat that.  But we weren't going that direction.

Somewhere near here, Kim and I had gotten out for another hike that year.  But I'd stick to the road this time.  You can see from my custom-installed thermometer that temps were already rising again, after having dropped into the 60s on the pass.  Stunning country though.

Hadn't included a self-portrait yet.  Now you can see who you're chatting with.  Well, you may still not recognize me if we bumped into each other at the supermarket.  I don't generally wear all my cycle gear there.  But my mother can tell it's me.  And the selfies are really for her.

From Ten Sleep to Manderson, the road was pretty rough.  It's a cutoff to save time over going through Worland, but it wasn't always pleasant.  There was even some flood damage in a spot or two.  And it was HOT.

I got gas for the last time in Greybull, then turned west onto 14 and into an extremely strong wind.  It wasn't quite a headwind - would have been better if it was.  I could have just ducked behind the windscreen and been okay.  But it was more from the northwest, and by the time I'd completed the 50+ miles to Cody, my neck was quite sore from the struggle to hold my head up.

It was a relief to finally pull up to my motel around 7:30 and check in for the night - eight hours on the road.  I was glad I hadn't bit off an even longer day.  The first one is always one of the toughest.  Riding a three-wheeled motorcycle uses a different set of muscles than writing books about it in my home office.

I couldn't help but notice the yellow and green logo across the parking lot.  That would do nicely for a cool-down walk to supper!

But first, I wanted to unload the necessary luggage.  And a parking space right in front of my room door on the ground floor is impossible to beat.  It was looking like rain, but so far it had held off.

The wind was still blowing, but not as strongly as before.  I'd intended to eat inside, but the youngsters employed there were having a lot of ruckus fun.  It had been difficult to speak loudly enough to make my order heard, in fact.  Don't I sound like the old fuddy duddy?  But I'm 53 now.  So, if the shoe fits...

This outside table was much more conducive to relaxing reflection on the day's ride.  I even texted with Kim some, my father, and a friend I planned to visit on my way home.  Oh, and despite all his distractions, the kid had somehow made a great sandwich!

Back at the room, I learned it was definitely supposed to be raining by morning.  I deployed Ryker's travel cover and went inside to take a shower and get ready for Day 2.  I never saw the rider of the cruiser next door.

I'd covered 390 miles so far - out of approximately 1,400 total to Tillamook.  The following day would be around 500, I thought.  And a little rain would be nice.