Sunday, July 13, 2008
Chilliwack, BC to Leavenworth, Washington
Well here we go. Me and Shane and Garry left the farm at about 8:00am after spending a couple of hours saddling up with our gear. I was up most of the night, making final adjustment on my will and wondering what the hell I thought I was doing. What am I proving here. At 64, why am I getting on a bike that I only just learned to ride and setting off with seven others to ride to .... Montana? I know there is a reason, somewhere, I just don't know what it is. Bravado, macho, a guy-thing, trying to recapture the glory days I vaguely remember? Not sure. And worse, now that I snapped at the opportunity to ride with the guys, I have now chosen to not back out. Chicken out, quit, be a pussy, a wimp - that is on the scale being balanced against common sense and a desire to not leave behind a widow and two orphans. Which do you think will win? You got it, the last Hurrah!, the thrill of the road trip. I will never learn. I just hope I will survive. Such were my thoughts in the middle of the night.
Anyway, the morning dawned and Jan and I and Shane got up, made coffee, and had a light breakfast which we were in the middle of as Garry arrived. Garry and Shane are both very experienced riders, and I am not, so they had a bit of a chuckle at my preparations and what I was taking with me. And gave me conflicting advice, Garry saying be sure to wear your leathers, they will save your hide if you go down. (Go Down??? Shit!!) And Shane saying Nah, leathers are for pussies, leathers will make you look like some gay biker. (Gay Biker??? Do they have those??) In my mind I was going for the Hell's Angels look, not some coffee shop queen at Robson and Thurlow. Conflicts everywhere, and Jan fussing around giving me anxious looks. Really, it would be nice to spend the week here on the farm. Chopping blackerries would be better than being a brain-dead lump of road-rash in some Hospital bed. But you can't think like that as you set off on a week long ride full of blue skies and sunshine. So I focused on the details and got myself ready to go.
Finally, out on the garage apron, bikes loaded, Jan with camera in hand, we get on and start the engines. My bike is the loudest, the mufflers are shot as far as I'm concerned but Garry and Shane say naw, they sound like a bike ought to sound. Still makes me nervous, and the bike is vibrating more than I think it should as I buckle on my helmet. Some more poses for Jan's camera, looking alternately brave and mean and smiley-like-we-mean-it. Then pull the clutch with the left hand, press down with the left foot to get first gear, a final wave with the right hand, ease out the clutch, and the three of us ride toward the gate. A left turn, to the west, up through the gears, and we're gone. Gee, I miss Jan already.
Down Keith Wilson a way, just toward the bridge over the Vedder, a gentle left turn and climb, and a wave of panic hits me. I suddenly recall, from last summer on the abortive ride to the west coast of Washington, the moment in the rain. I was heading down a long but fairly steep hill north of Ocean City in logging country. I was the last of seven riders, the others way out of sight ahead of me, and its raining a downpour. It's two days after I got my motorcycle licence and I was way, way over my head on that ride. Anyway, its pouring so hard the windscreen of the bike is a mass of rivulets and my goggles are too. I'm soaked to the ass and water is running down my legs into my boots and down my stomach into my crotch in cold little trails. And I notice something ... the raindrops that are between me and my windshield are falling upward. Upward. How strange. The air blast coming up my legs as I sit in the saddle carries the rain drops upward, those that don't hit me along the way. The little things you notice. And looking down, nothing between my feet and the ground going by at 100km/h but the pegs. And the gearshift ahead of my left foot and the rear brake ahead of my right foot. And the blur of ground. So don't look down. Look ahead. At the right-hander at the bottom of the hill. And the loaded logging truck that is as far on the other side of the apex of the 30 degree right-hander as I am on this side. Going the same speed, we will pass at the apex of the corner. Panic. I can't stop because there are cars behind me and I am in the only lane. How do I turn??? How does that work again?? Common sense, turn the wheel to the right because you want to go right. And lean to the right a bit said Shane and Garry. But no!! The ICBC book I read says what you do in this modern era is to Counter-Steer, if you are over about 20km/h you push with your right hand on the bars and what that does is points the wheel momentarily left, but then the bike leans right because of the gyroscopic force of the spinning front wheel, and tracks to the right. A very gentle right hander, push gently with your right hand. A tighter corner, push harder with your right hand. Through the corner, you want to straighten out your track, quit pushing and the bike will right itself. I tried it as I was learning, and it worked. I talked to the guys about it, they all said Shit!! don't do that, you'll crash, just lean right, its what we do and always have done. I process it, think about it, I could go either way I guess. But now, I'm seconds away from the apex of the corner, time to do something. But what? The speedometer I can barely see is pointing at 100, time to do something. But what. Pick a horse. Do something. But what. OMFG!! At last the time to turn, my instinct takes over together with the short experience I have, and I push with my right glove on the hand grip. The bike leans right and I track through the corner and pass the truck at the apex. The spray and mist is blinding, I can't see anything at all and I hold my line by steady pressure with my right hand. My vision clears a bit, I'm still in the left-hand tire track on my side of the road, just where I want to be. The road straightens out, ease the pressure with the right hand, the bike goes straight. Now going up the hill, I roll on a bit more throttle and push with my left hand to go into the climbing left hander. Crisis past, I am in a zen-like state of calm. Or maybe shock. I think, something I rarely do, that if this were one of my daughters on this bike on this trip, I would ask her to slow down until she had control. I'm at least 10mph over the 50 mph speed limit, trying to catch the guys, forget it, let them go, stay alive. And that's what I did for the rest of the ride.
Back in the present, I cross the bridge as the last in line behind Garry and Shane, we turn left on boundary rd. then right on #3, then the first left and we are on our way through farm country to the Sumas border crossing. No problems at the border, and I remembered to take off my helmet for the guards. Then fire up the bike and roll along to join with Garry and Shane at Big Boys Burgers, down the road in the heart of Sumas Washington. Almost simultaneously, the other guys arrive after crossing the border at Blaine. In we go for breakfast and coffee, all of us talking loudly and making plans for the journey.
Our road captain is Brent (no last names, we're outlaws. Shane has taken to calling me 'Dirty D'.) and he is the one who had the idea in the first place of going to Montana and going on 'the ride to the sun' in Glacier National Park. His idea so that makes him Road Captain. So he has planned the itinerary and where we will stop for the night. It will be Leavenworth, a kind of Alpine-theme'd Austrian town ahead of us. I've never been there but many of the others have, and they say the beer is good.
After the BigBoy Breakfast, we saddle up again and start the bikes. Gloves on and helmets buckled, we pull out. Brent first, then no particular order. This time I try to maintain a position in about the middle of the pack and not fall behind, and that works. Garry is usually just ahead of me or just behind, no plan there it is just the way it works out. Shane will often drop back to last, the turn on his camera and film all of us as he rides to the front. Sometimes he will go to the front and take off like a rabbit. A short time later we will see him at the side of the road, camera in hand, filming us as we go by. Then he catches up again. He has been this way before and knows Brent and where he is going. Lunch and a gas stop along the way, a pee break, and we're off again.
The day is brilliant sunshine and blue sky but we're on highway 9 south and its a busy road so I can't spend too much time looking around. We pass through small towns, trying to keep bunched up and ride two abreast and not get separated at traffic lights. A couple of delays here and there, once for a long train at a railway crossing and another rest and stretch stop. Then through Sedro Wooley and Arlington heading south and then turning east on highway 2 around Everett. Highway 2 east is a busy traffic road, but not as many communities so more time to enjoy the scenery. We're more spaced out now, single file, occaisionally cars will pass groups of us and sit in the middle for a while then pass on. We maintain between five and ten kilometers over the mph speed limit. No point in getting a ticket. Easy ride, winding road, consciously pushing left to turn left, push right to turn right, no leaning, get in the habit so that it is automatic.
On we go through the mountainous National Forest, all reaction automatic now but my mind wandering a bit. That is not good, things can go wrong in an instant and also we are riding through deer country and if they dart onto the road you have to see them early and react. On we go. This bike riding makes your butt numb and the constant vibration is tiring. On and on. The hands and arms get tired. On the down hill roads, if it is steep enough to back off the throttle, I take my right hand off the grip and flex my hand, or press it against my thigh to keep the blood flowing. Other times I take my left hand off the grip and rest it against my leg or in my laps, hanging down so the blood flows. The left hand does the clutch so if I'm not changing gears or holding on in traffic it doesn't have to be on the grip. The right does the twist throttle and the front brake, so it has to stay on task most of the time. To keep the blood flow in the lower body, I sometimes grip the tank with my legs, or push back to straighten them and press my rump against the luggage. Just keep moving around. Brent has provided for enough breaks for a stretch or a pee. At last, Leavenworth signs are in sight and we are off the road.
We mill about in town as Brent consults his GPS for the hotel, then we trail off toward the destination. Checked in, Garry as my roommate, we drop our bags, I phone Jan, and head off across the street to the Beer Garden. Shane is in excellent form, making friends with tables of girls. The hungrier of our group hangs with Shane, Garry and I are content to drink a beer in the sunshine. I'm happy to survive the day.
Later we go for dinner as a group. More beer and wine. Soon most except for Garry and I are pissed, and I'm getting close to the edge. We have to ride tomorrow so I'm controlling myself. Later, after dinner, Brent got into an altercation with some locals, I'm not sure what was behind it. Eventually, Danno and Barry pulled him away and we went home to the hotel and to bed. The bikes were happily side by side in the parking lot.
