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.
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.
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!
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.
Thanks for sharing Troy. Very good to hear that you were not injured in that bump in the night
ReplyDelete