Most every trip has a climactic point, the one moment that defines the entire ride. Many times, the turn around point, when it's time to stop exploring, stop going further away from home and start returning is that point. Not on this trip. The climatic point actually comes in tomorrow's earth-shattering finale, so hang in there with me for one more post. Today we'll just anticlimactically get to that point.
While I was away at GP Suspension, Sleeping Beauty grabbed the map and, after a few minutes of study picked a return route that, if I can manage to follow it, will put the upgraded fork internals through a vigorous workout.
We wind our way out of Oregon City, and head through pleasant, quaint little towns. The road is more or less straight, and I find myself trying to test the fork by hitting every little bump, crack and pothole I can find. At first, I am not too sure about the improvement, but then again I'm not sure what I expected.
Route 126 winds through more evergreens and Christmas tree farms than I ever thought existed. Just before the tiny town of Rainbow, we fill up, then exit on to one of Sleeping Magellan's smaller, yet excellent choices - an unmarked 'little gray road.'
Wow.
For the next three hours we wind through a dark, spooky forest on a lonely road built just for us. The fork gets its workout, and then some. On the tight, winding little one lane roads, the upgrade benefits are readily apparent as the bike tracks effortlessly through the bumpiest, most crumbled roads.
Fiona took a picture to show me how much she enjoys the view from her perch on
Rain Cloud Follows.
Just more motivation to ride her own next time I tell her.
Most of the day is spent twisting through this lost forest. At times it feels like we've stumbled on to the set of
Lord of the Rings, with thick, moss covered trees surrounding us on all sides. At other time the road gets slick from the thick green moss growing in the damp, shaded places that the sun never manages to warm.
All in all, it's a good day. In fact, it's a best day, as any day still riding on the on the right side of the grass is.
We stop briefly to marvel at gigantic lava rocks strewn along both sides of the road, and realize we've got a little problem. Once again we've spent the entire day having fun, now it's getting late, and we aren't anywhere near Crater Lake, out intended destination for the day. In fact, we aren't near anything at all, no towns, no gas, no lodging, no beer... nothing.
Great.
I drop the hammer as the sun traipses along its arc. Nothing around. This is getting to be an adventure now. Finally at Odell Lake, I see two of the three signs we are looking for, a bed and a plate with fork and knife. Only thing missing was that lovely martini glass sign. Ah well, beggars can't be choosers. The manager Odell Lake Resort seems a little stunned and confused when we just show up. After some stammering and haggling, the great news is we can rent an awesome lakefront cabin, though it might be haunted. The not-so-great news is we find out from the cook we're about twenty minutes too late for dinner. Fiona, hungry and eying the vending machine's assortment of stale chips for dinner puts on her best boo-boo face and says to the cook, "Please, sir, can't you give us something? Anything? Even just some bread?"
Nobody can withstand the awesome power of the boo-boo face. The cook relents and says, "Well, I suppose I can make you some popcorn shrimp and fries..."
"We'll take it!"
Instead of going to the cabin that will be our night's home to clean up, we go directly to the restaurant. Another couple is there, slowly finishing up their meal. Taking pity on us, they offer us a glass of wine each from their bottle. The four of us toast the Best Day Ever, then our popcorn shrimp shows up.
I slip the cook $20 to say thanks, which he greedily pockets. While we are choking down our crunchy, tasteless fried balls of cholesterol, the cook comes out and asks the other couple if they want dessert. They order chocolate cake.
Chocolate cake? What a perfect way to end off the Best Day Ever! Except, the ******* cook never offered us any. I want my $20 back.
Ah well, he's actually doing me a favor. My riding pants are getting pretty tight these days anyway.
Sleeping Beauty and I never find out if our cabin is haunted or not. If it is, it needs better ghosts, because we sleep right through the terrorizing.
With three days left of our tour, we decide a little visit to Crater Lake won't take up too much extra time. At one scenic vista, we ask a nice couple to take our picture. We slip behind the wooden fence, so the picture will be just us and Crater Lake.
Great job, Dead-eye.
As I always tend to do, I take a wrong turn in Klamath Falls, and we return to California on an alternate route from the intended one. We spend about three hours on the hot, desolate nothing that is Highway 139, getting thirstier and thirstier. I start getting mildly concerned about running out of gas, as the little FJR fuel indicator keeps sinking and sinking, with nary a town in sight. I'm pretty sure Fiona won't enjoy pushing the motorcycle to the next gas station, so I slow down to conserve what little fuel we have left.
I gamble on a turn off, and we roll down a smaller, more deserted road. If my wild guess is correct, at the junction there will be a gas station. My gamble pays off as we stagger into the tiny town of Lookout.
Lookout could easily be the real life set for the movie
Cars. A big, burly guy in overalls stands in front of the station. Fiona chuckles at the pumps, which are the old fashioned, analog kind I remember from childhood. Sadly, Sleeping Beauty, being
*AHEM* somewhat younger has no such memories.
Mr. Overalls yells into the garage, saying, "Hey! You gotta come see this bike! It's not a Beemer, it's a Yamahaw!!"
We're joined by two other burly, tough looking guys. A slight uneasy feeling starts creeping up my spine.
The biggest, burliest guy gives
Rain Cloud Follows the once over, then points to his scooter, a 1950's era Panhead kick start chopper. "Hey man, come check this out!" A million thoughts rush through my head as I warily head over to see what he has in store. In one of the more surreal things that has ever happened to me, Mr. Burly Panhead shows me how he wired a Fiat horn onto his scooter, then wants to compare his horn to mine.
Soon we are in the middle of a competitive 'beeping contest.' We escape Lookout victorious.
Before the sun sets, we take an opportunity for a quick motorcycle photo op in Lassen Volcanic National Park.
As the sun lets us down again, the creatures of the night start coming out to visit. As we search for dinner and a home, I play Twilight Deer Dodge 'Em with ten of the little *******s. The final score: Frenchy - 10, Dumb Deer - 0.
The inviting lights of the St. Bernard Lodge entice us to stop in for dinner. Well, that and the fact that there was no other place open for hundreds of miles. We walk in, and are met at the door by a Kathy Bates (when she starred in
Misery) lookalike. Gruffly she asks, "Yeah? How can I help you?"
We want to eat. We say so. Thought it was pretty obvious, standing in a nearly empty restaurant that is open.
"Oh. Well. We're by reservation only. We are a bed and breakfast. Do you have a reservation?"
There are a grand total of four people eating and at least twelve empty tables. We're having a Mexican standoff in the middle of the room. Fiona tries the boo-boo face, and even that doesn't work. This lady is tough. Finally, we resort to the old standby - a staredown.
Finally Ms. Bates huffs loudly and turns away, saying, "I'll check with the chef."
What feels like an eternity passes as we stand there waiting. Finally our lovely hostess comes out and says, "OK, but you can't order off the full menu. I suppose you'll want water too?"
The meal is average, and we wolf it down before the angry woman returns and chops us to bits. Needless to say, dessert is out of the question once again. For the tip, I wrote on the check, "Next time, don't be such a ******."
This version of the Best Day Ever ends in the logging town of Chester. Unloading all our junk from the bike into the hotel room, I notice
Rain Cloud Follows' rear tire is close to the end of its life. With both the Ebbetts and Sonora Pass on the menu for tomorrow, I send out a silent plea to let the rubber last at least two more days, and one more report post!
