TUESDAY, JUNE 28, 2011

Tacoma, Washington to Maryhill, Washington


Next morning we all arose early and Mike very considerately escorted us to a restaurant for breakfast that was located right on Rt. 7.  After a good breakfast, all we had to do was start riding south.  A quick good-bye and we departed and down 7 in good spirits.  The route was kind of citified at first, but then became rural and beautiful. Somewhere on the road before Elbe, we saw Mt. Rainier, the highest mountain in Washington state and in the Cascades off to our east and partly obscured by clouds.      

Mt. Rainer

When we arrived in Elbe, logging trucks were being unloaded by this machine that could lift the entire load of logs off the truck at once. Having been around logging operations quite a bit as a child, I recalled how in those days they had to just let the logs roll off the truck onto the ground and handle them basically one at a time after that.  We also gassed up in Elbe, and while standing at the pump, I happened to look up and saw a car stopped waiting for a mother duck to cross the road followed by 6 or 7 ducklings all in single file – a very orderly and impressive procession. Missed the photo op, though.

Al, with Logging Truck

We only stopped one more time on Route 101 south, at a small store with no restroom, but did offer a port-a-potty outside.  Al may have a thing for port-a-potties, since I recall he posed for a picture up in Idaho next to one.  No photo this time, however, but take my word for it, Al was impressed and even complimented me on my “good eye” for pointing it out to him.

Moving right along, now...We reached Morton on the 7, turned east on the 12 and found Randle and the 135.  Parked next to the restaurant located on the intersection of the 135 and 12, where we would go up into the Cascades again, we rechecked the map.  A waitress on break from the restaurant asked us about our travels and opined that the side road up to Mt. St. Helens might not be open yet.  As we got ready to leave she invited us to come back by for a cup of coffee.  However, our intention was to continue south through the mountains to the Oregon state line and not return to Randle.  

The 135 is a beautiful road and we were both impressed with the forest. At one point we stopped at an abandoned park facility where the overgrowth was impressive. It had that deep, dark forest kind of feeling. Although the white lines were still visible on the abandoned parking lot and some signs were still in place indicating the park facility had been in use probably not all that long ago, the forest had retaken much of it. It was a small mystery why it had been relegated to disuse. Nearby, there were some berries ripening on a bush that resembled blackberries in shape but in their unripened state (I tested a couple) were salmon pink in color. The aforementioned waitress later told us (foreshadowing) they were probably salmonberries, which a quick Internet search has just verified was indeed the case. We noted Mt. Rainier again in the east.

Route 135

That Deep, Dark Forest Kind of a Feeling

Al, with Mt. Rainer in the Distance

Now we ascended the road into the hills. The road was narrow, in disrepair in many places and curvy. Except for the potholes and bumps it was a nice motorcycling road.  I even enjoyed negotiating the bad spots.  At one curve we came upon what I took to be a forest service vehicle parked on the side of the road with its emergency flashers going.  I didn’t see a ranger, but as we went by noticed an odd scene.  My momentary impression was that of a young, bearded man, possibly wrapped in a blanket or wearing a heavy coat of some kind standing on the other side of the vehicle next to a bulk lying on the ground.  When we stopped later I asked Al if he had noticed what was going on back at the scene and that it seemed “odd” to me.  The guy seemed out of place and I thought since we hadn’t seen the officer that maybe the bulk on the ground was the fresh murder victim of the stranger next to the car.  However, that concern was not enough to cause us to go back down the hill and check it out.

We continued up the hill until we came to the sign for the turn off to Mt. St. Helens.  I took the right and suddenly spied the “Road Closed” sign directly in front of me.  I turned around and remarked to Al, “Well, that settles that, the road’s closed.”  I figured it was no big loss, we’d just continue along the 135 through the mountains. But Al exclaimed, “And the other one’s closed too!”. What the F..., closed?  And sure enough, it was.  I hadn’t noticed it myself as we came up the hill, but Al had.  Both roads were blocked at this point.  

"What the F..., Closed?"

"And the Other One's Closed Too!"

There was no explanation why.  No snow or rockslides were apparent, but we had no choice but to return to Randle.   Somewhat dispirited by this, Al pretty much decided we’d take the 12 east to Yakima and continue on the 97 south, basically heading to our respective homes.  I didn’t object.  We were both kind of tired at this point anyway, and without the prospect of riding through beautiful mountain country now, were more or less disposed to wrapping up the ride.  Al was already envisioning connecting with the I-5 again and calculated he’d need to spend a couple of more nights on the road before getting home.

Returning down the hill to Randle, we came upon the scene of a tow-truck having just winched a car up the hill from where it had apparently run off the road.  I didn’t recognize it as the same point where we had noted the official car earlier, but Al did, as he later told me.  I thought the accident had occurred while we had been up the hill discovering the roads were blocked.  But not...the young man I had noted earlier had apparently run his car off the road and the officer had been down at the bottom inspecting the wreckage as we had driven by.  No wonder I thought the guy had had a strange demeanor.  He was probably in shock from the accident that had happened just prior to our arrival.

Back down the hill, we decided to go into the restaurant.  On the way in I noticed the pie case.  At the table I noticed the menu offered fresh-made cinnamon rolls.  After having passed up a few opportunities for cinnamon rolls (particularly at Minnie’s in Thompson Falls), I resolved now would be the time to get ‘er done. And so it was.  While Al had a regular meal of some kind, I enjoyed a cup of soup and a cinnamon roll with coffee.  The last two or three days I had been suffering from drowsiness while riding.  On a couple of occasions I had actually nodded off.  You wouldn’t think it would be possible on a motorcycle, but it is.  I had been drinking a lot of coffee to stay awake on.  

Anyway, having brought the road atlas into the restaurant, we verified the way we’d take now.  Vexed about the closed roads, Al wondered why the waitress hadn’t mentioned the road was closed before we went up.  My guess is, she just didn’t know.  Now she did know as we filled her in and she could advise other riders intending to take the 135.  Sitting there, we observed the aforementioned wrecker pull the disabled vehicle into a service station across the street.  On the way down the hill we had seen other cyclists headed up but we didn’t know any hand signals for “the road is closed ahead” and just had to watch them race by enjoying the road for now.  We did meet a motorcycling couple in the restaurant who, if not glad the road was closed, at least learned they couldn’t get through the mountains that way.

Now we set off on the 12 east toward Yakima and crossed the White Pass through the Cascades for our last time in the mountains. On the way we had to stop for construction. While stopped another biker came up behind us.  He was taking the relatively short ride from Packwood (a small town on the 12 we had just come through) to Yakima.  Once the traffic started moving again, he passed us on an open stretch.  

Once we made Yakima and connected with the 97 south, the ride was pretty uneventful.  We gassed up in Wapato.  A fireworks stand was in operation nearby, and someone kept lighting off firecrackers to attract the customers.  I said the ride was uneventful travelling down the 97, but after driving through some impressive rock formations, probably in the Dry Creek area, the country opened up and there were beautiful vistas of mountains and farmland.

Rock Formations, Dry Creek

Beautiful Vistas

 As we approached the Columbia River at Maryhill, we came upon giant fields of probably hundreds of wind turbines in the hills. You don’t realize how huge these things are until you come to within a few hundred feet of one. They tower many stories high and their bases and blades are huge. They have a graceful appearance with their gigantic blades turning slowly around.  They continued until we finally arrived at the Columbia River at Maryhill, WA, where there was an attractive campground with lots of grass. 

Evening in Maryhill, Oregon

It was an inviting scene as we came down the hill toward the river and I pulled over and suggested to Al that we stop there instead of going on down the highway to Madras, OR, where we knew there was a KOA.  He agreed.  We pulled into the camp to register and the ranger told us there were grassy tent spaces.  He gave us a list of available sites to check out, told us to go on in, pick one and come back and let him know which one we had chosen, and to pay, of course. We drove in and it was all very attractive and cool looking.  However, on the way in I noticed signs that said you couldn’t put tents on the grass, that it was all scheduled for watering. And indeed, there were sprinklers going all over the park. Tents had to be set up on the gravel!  Well, by this time, we had more or less committed and it was a long way to the KOA in Madras, so we just noted that the gravel here was finer than it had been in Winthrop, WA, and wouldn’t be so bad.   Al started setting up his stuff and I went back to pay the ranger.  

Settled in and looking around, we noted we could still see the blades of some of the wind turbines turning over the tops of the ridges across the highway. The Columbia was 200 ft. away and was impressively wide. The only waterway that I had seen that was wider was the St. Lawrence Seaway in Canada. I had crossed the Mississippi at least four times, but couldn’t remember any of those crossings. Maybe they had been at night. Anyway, we took a short exploratory walk along the river, took some shots of the landforms  and then decided to cross the bridge across the Columbia to Biggs, OR, where the ranger had mentioned there was a restaurant called Linda’s.

Biggs consists of a McDonalds, a filling station, one or two other fast-food places and Linda’s combination convenience store and restaurant on the Oregon side of the Columbia river. It was a good thing we decided to ride over from the campground because there was no place for pedestrians on the bridge. From the bridge we saw a barge and a couple of other watercraft on the river. I wondered just how navigable it was. 

The menu at Linda’s was not memorable.  Can’t recall a thing from it. Don’t even know what we ordered.  While we were sitting there, however, we chatted about the trip and this and that. I recalled that there used to be a chewing gum that contained caffeine that drivers could use to stay awake.  I wished for some of that because of my bouts of drowsiness while riding but hadn’t heard of it for a long, long time.  I also recalled a product called “No Doze”, but couldn’t remember if it was the same as the chewing gum I was thinking of.

Looking out the window I noticed  a motorcyclist in leathers standing next to his sport-touring bike that had two big square side cases on it. Then a car with New Jersey plates parked in front of Linda’s. The driver, a man, had long brown hair that was braided into a single pigtail that hung down the middle of his back. I thought it looked kind of odd. His wife, I could see from my vantage point, was quite the lady, maybe the 300 lb variety, lots of big, black-dyed hair with a big red rose pinned in it. The man’s clothing was normal, but when the lady got out of the car I saw she was extremely colorfully attired, her blouse was cut pretty low and her makeup was heavy, lips painted dark red. Not wanting them to catch me staring at them I turned my head away noticing no more details but thought “circus act”. They entered the restaurant behind be. Now Al got his first look at the couple, but didn’t reveal anything through his facial expression until they had passed behind him and taken a booth. I hadn’t paid particular attention to them when they entered since their backs were mostly to me.  Al looked at me and rolled his eyes while giving a little jerk of his head in their direction. Had I gotten a load of that? He said he had gotten the full frontal view of the woman and her entire amply visible bodice was covered with tatoos. I regretted I had missed that particular detail, but it went with my thought about them maybe working in a carnival. The fattest tatooed lady and her pigtailed, probably knife-throwing husband. We decided not to take pictures. Proof, however, that you see all kinds on the road.

Since I had paid $22 for our campsite, Al gave me $10 to help pay the check. What a good guy he is. I scanned the chewing gum display on the way out to see if they had that caffeinated one.  Nope. I paid the check and went outside where I struck up a conversation with the aforementioned rider, who was riding a V-Strom 650cc, as it turned out. He had been over in eastern Washington where he said he liked to go riding and was headed for Portland where he wanted to be that night. He had had something called a Power Master, or Power Controller, or the like mounted on his bike. It’s function was to use a microcomputer to somehow monitor the engine’s performance and utilize it more efficiently and smoothly. He reported he had noted some improvement in performance. He didn’t really understand the device and had just let his mechanic install it for experimental purposes. I didn’t quite see the value of it either.  

Anyway, as we were discussing the merits of the 650cc versus the 1000 (my version of the V-strom) and had both admitted to dropping the bikes several times when we had first gotten them (probably due to the height of the bike), Al came out of Linda’s and handed me a pack of “No Doze” in tablet form. Pretty nice of you, Al, thanks.  At this point, we all saddled up and departed for our respective destinations.

Back at the camp, Al and I took a walk around before it got dark, took a couple of pics, but didn’t take showers that night. They had pay showers that cost 50 cents for three minutes! Not such a great place after all, gravel to sleep on and pay showers, bummer! The toilets were free, at least. We noticed that two female bicyclists, who had started setting up camp right next to us before we went to dinner had now moved to another part of the camp. We wondered if they had taken offense at the motorcycles and maybe didn’t want to be woken up by our leaving in the morning.