Oregon or Bust!

There’s nothing like experiencing an exciting road for the first time. Crossing the state of Oregon on the way to the 2010 BMW Motorcycle Owners of America (BMWMOA) rally at Redmond, Oregon, there are two possible routes, one short and one long. Naturally the longer route is the more exhilarating ride.

You know you’re in Oregon because the Tourist Information Kiosks are replicas of the venerated Conestoga Wagon.

Highway US26 out of Ontario runs flat and straight for many miles through farm and ranchland. The wait is worth it. First through hilly scrub brush and then through alpine forests, the road is a ribbon of twists and turns. Most of the curves are easy to track and suggested at 30-45 mph, so there’s no grabbing for handfuls of brake in an unexpectedly tight curve.

Once you pass through the town of John Day, you will begin to see that name a lot. Seems everything is named for this fellow, starting with the river that runs through this whole area of

eastern Oregon. There’s even a National Park named John Day that’s all about fossil beds andpaleontology. So who is this John Day guy?

Idyllic campsite at the BMW rally site – first come first served must mean these folks arrived very early.

Well, it seems that John Day was an early settler who got robbed one day in 1810 at a well-known river crossing. From that day forward everyone called the river John Day, and the rest is history. Nice to be famous for something.

The curvy road is a delight, as is the BMWMOA rally site, the Dechutes Fairgrounds. Lots of grassy campsites, a very pretty central water feature that flows like a babbling brook, and plenty of air-conditioned display halls and event centers.

The Beer Ladies having more fun serving brewskies than drinking them!

Like any big motor bike rally, there’s food, a beer tent, music, every sort of motor bike gadget and farkle for sale, and plenty of seminars on everything from avoiding dehydration to picking the right kind of tires. And of course there are thousands and thousands of BMW and associated brand bikes to look at and their owners nearby ready and willing to gab at length about their bikes.

New roads, new bikes, new people to meet, there’s nothing like it.

Western Colorado’s Wonders

All due respect to Ike, our 34^th president and Head Coach for the last big world war, but the Intersate sucks. Okay, for truckers and for everyone else trying to get everywhere else as fast as they can, the U.S. Interstate Highway System is a wonder. But for the love of Mike, if you’re not in a rush, use the exit and take the back road once in a while, you will not regret it.

The blogger aboard a 2009 R1200GSA headed north from Santa Fe to attend the 2010 BMWMOANational Rally in Redmond, Oregon.

The story goes that Eisenhower, after the war, was so impressed by the beloved German Autobahn that he set about trying to duplicate it in the U.S. The guy responsible for the autobahn idea has a “good idea” “bad idea” ratio that’s so heavily weighted on the bad side that it’s really, REALLY hard to give him credit for what a good idea the autobahn is.

The autobahn, technically called the Bundesautobahn, which roughly means “divided carriageway,” is a meticulously maintained, gently curving scenic highway system in Germany mostly famous because most of it has no speed limit, it has lots of other rules, though, like very strict lane discipline and a hard-nosed no insults rule. It's amazing what you can learn from the Discovery Channel.

Any one who has driven any part of the U.S. Interstate system knows that it is not, in any way, meticulously maintained. If you’ve driven the Interstate in any of the western or Midwestern states, you know how mind-numbingly flat and straight it can be – sleep inducing in its arrow-like trajectory.

So here are three roads that will not put you to sleep even though they do have speed limits – which you might want to think of as guidelines, rather than strict mandates.

For a head-spinning drive, go straight north out of Durango, Colorado on US550 and into some of the most beautiful mountainous terrain in the world. From Durango to Silverton and up into Ouray, experience all the beauty of the Western slope of the Rocky Mountains, and all the curvy roadway delights on a stretch of asphalt some call the “Million Dollar Highway.” This road is almost impossible to describe. If a piece of asphalt could be made to fold over on itself like a ribbon of taffy in multiple figure eights, this would be the $1,000,000 road.

Twisties and mountains and twisties, US550, oh my.

The story varies on how this road got its name, some say it’s because of all the

riches taken from these mountains during the 19^th century, others claim its because of the cost of building the road – given its engineering complexity, an easy argument to believe. But who cares? The road is a bargain at any price.

There’s another surprisingly fun road that marches straight up the Roan Plateu from Loma, Colorado, a small farming community just west of Grand Junction, to Rangely, Colorad0.

CO190 winds its way through the Salt Creek Canyon

This road, Colorado State Road 139, is a blast. Prepare for bunches of 20 mph hairpins that are long, sweeping and heart pounding when taken at significantly higher velocities – again 20 mph is a suggested speed, right? There are also lots of nicely spaced passing lanes (thank you Colorado Department of Transportation) and multiple s- and double-s twisties that climb high into the aspen trees over two mountain passes, Baxter and Douglas, and then pitch downward with the same zeal at an 8% to 10% grade. Ride it at your ultimate pleasure. Oh, yeah, and the road is just about deserted, so enjoy your solitude, too.

Once you get over into the North East corner of Utah, there’s yet another “don’t miss it road" that runs north out of Vernal, Utah, US191, toward the Flaming Canyon National Recreational Area.

The Flaming Canyon National Recreational Area

More curves, more scenery, an unreal azure lake that emerges from the canyon, and a drive that you will always remember with a smile. Honestly, when was the last time you could say that about the Interstate?

Custer’s (and very nearly my) last stand

A Motorbiking saga in two parts

Part Two – Cascading Mistakes Prompt Early Exit

The “Big Summer Tour 2009” route plan included one funky collection of roads in Montana that would lead from the Little Big Horn battlefield to Red Lodge, a welcome night in the KOA campground and a next day ride across the Bear Tooth Highway and into Yellowstone National Park. But that was not to be.

Readers of this blog have realized by now that I don’t typically write in first person, but this one time (I hope) I’m going to break with tradition, because there really is no other way to tell this particular part of the story.

So, I rode all the way from Thermopolis, Wyoming, to the Little Big Horn fueled only by the wonderfully greasy and delicious breakfast I had in Greybull. I assumed there would be some kind of food (and air conditioning) at the national monument. There was neither. Mistake number one.

Because it was ungodly hot, I rushed through my tour of the monument and forgot to take a break – you know, sit in the shade, drink some water, take it easy. Mistake number two.

The little mini-mart at the Little Big Horn looked pretty unappetizing, so I assumed there would be someplace to eat in the next town, Crow Agency. Mistake number three.

I had chosen a route from Crow Agency to Red Lodge that was pretty obscure and most likely would include some unimproved roads. The names of the roads should have been a clue. I took the Crow St. X cutoff to State Road 313 to the Prior St. Xavier Highway, where, as predicted, it turned into Prior Road – a pea-sized gravel ranch road. Mistake number five.

So, now I’m really tired, really hungry and really thirsty. Add on top of that the fact that I got hit right in the breastbone by a honeybee at 80 m.p.h near the little burg of St. Xavier. The little buzzer amazingly survived the impact and crawled around in my jacket stinging me at least once in the middle of the chest. It was several minutes before I figured out what the heck was happening, get to a stop and do the wacky “I got a bee in my jacket” dance. Should’ve taken a break right then, but didn’t. Mistake number four.

As I rode Edgar Road all was going well, the gravel was loose and dusty but in pretty good shape and in my addled mind I could see a glistening Tasty Freeze in the little town of Edgar just a few miles ahead – mmmmm ice cream treats. Daydreaming; mistake number six.

As I approached Edgar I came down a hill, going 35-40 mph, standing up on the pegs. At the bottom of the hill I hit a patch of deep gravel and the rear tire on my 2006 R1200GS washed out right. I counter-steered, but not enough and the tire washed out left, just a little bigger. Mistake number seven.

Instead of giving it a bit of gas, I rolled off the power just a bit, and it made my loss-of-traction issue even more serious. Mistake number eight.

The rear tire oscillated back to the right, at a much higher wavelength this time. I tried to get my weight back and up on top of that rear tire, but it was too little too late. Mistake number nine.

The tire whipped back left and the bike went down hard on its right side as I did my best to do a standard “dirt bike get off” but I slammed into the road on my right side, skidding head first as my helmet filled with light brown dust and gravel. I don’t know if I lost consciousness or not, at the time I didn’t think so, but it was such a remote landing site that there were no other vehicles or witnesses, so I really have no way of knowing. To me it seemed that I instantly got up and began to assess the damages to both myself and the motorbike, but I could have been out for some time.

Happily, my Aerostich combat-lite riding boots and Roadcrafter jacket performed as advertised. My Nolan helmet was essentially totaled, but my face was untouched. Later I’d discover quite a nice “hangman’s” bruise on my neck from the chinstrap, and I’d develop a black right eye, but other than that the helmet performed very well. No cuts, no blood, no broken bones. No mistakes made here. I was going to be sore, though, and black and blue all over.

So, I figured I’d grunt the motorbike up on its wheels and be on my way. Unfortunately, my beloved GS was down for the count. Headlight and instrument cluster totaled. The front fork and the handlebar were decidedly out of alignment; seriously bent. The right side cylinder head was cracked and leaking oil – its protective crash bar bent all the way back and broken at the welds. No point in even trying to start it.

Even though I was about six miles from Edgar, there was good cell phone coverage. After dialing 911 I had about a ten-minute wait for the arrival of a Montana State Trooper. The motorbike was eventually hauled to a U-Haul rental place where it could be loaded for the long ride home inside the truck’s box.

These are the moments when you find out who your friends really are. One of mine dropped everything and flew from Santa Fe to Billings the next day to help me drive the bent and broken BMW back to its final resting place. That same friend would come to the aid of my frightened wife when I developed a fairly common concussion-related syndrome one week later that would land me in the hospital for four days.

My medical malady turned out to be something called “syndrome of inappropriate anti-diuretic hormone secretion” or SIADH, and I’d advise anyone who has experienced even a minor concussion or blow to the head to be on the lookout for this particular reaction, also known as “hponatremia,” because it’s pretty freaky and, in my experience, hard to diagnose.

Happy Ending

Exactly one month after the Montana crash I took possession of a new 2009 R1200GS Adventure. My State Farm Insurance agent (also an avid rider) did an amazing job guiding me through the claims process for my totaled ’06, paving the way for the purchase of the GSA. Now all I have to do is remain patient through the long, long, snowy winter until the 2010 riding season starts – so I can go on the next tour, and finish one this time.

Custer’s (and very nearly my) last stand

A Motorbiking saga in two parts

Part One – The Little Big Horn

Because of classic shows like “Bonanza,” Gunsmoke,” “The Lone Ranger,” and “The Rifleman,” the lore of the old west is engrained in anyone who watched TV in the 1960s.

The ultimate old west tale – one taken from real life – is the story of Custer’s Last Stand, the battle of the Little Big Horn, June 25, 1876. Adding to the fascination is the more modern difficulty that Americans have with how this country’s indigenous people were treated by those American through immigration.

It’s for these reasons, and others, that the site of the battle in southern Montana is a fairly major attraction that would be a really major attraction if it weren’t located in the middle of nowhere. But for the motorbiker, the middle of nowhere is sometimes the ideal, especially when it’s combined with the boyhood fantasy of joining the Calvary, strapping on a six-shooter, holstering a Remington, and doing some old fashioned Indian fighting.

Luckily we grow out of most of our boyhood fantasies – hopefully all of the politically incorrect ones, anyway.

One fantasy remains, though, to stand where Custer and hismen once stood, where they drew their last breaths, to look out over the landscape that they saw for the last time. To try to understand better why it happened the way it did.

Getting to the Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument is a hike. Steadfastly avoiding the highway makes getting there even more of a hike, but a hike well worth the effort.

One route begins in Thermopolis, Wyoming, and winds its way north on U.S. 20 through rich farmland to Greybull. At Greybull you head east on U.S. 14 and the ride gets really interesting. Winding your way through the Bighorn National Forest is a real blast because of both the exhilarating road and gorgeous scenery. After you crest the mountaintop and pass Burgess Junction the road gets even more interesting. Ride this one right away because they’re building a new road even as we speak that takes out about 90 percent of the coolest curves you’ll ever ride.

At Dayton you can take State Road 343 to U.S. 87 north to Lodge Grass, or stay on U.S. 14 and take Interstate 90 all the way to the National Monument.

The Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument has a small museum that does a good job of giving nearly equal time to both sides of the story, native and military. Several of the park service personnel are Native Americans and they add credibility to the interpretive explanation of the times and motivations. The walk up to “Last Stand Hill” is a somber one, given that the whole place is basically a big graveyard.

Standing at the monument to the fallen U.S. soldiers you’re struck by the smallness of the battlefield and reminded that fighting a war from horseback is a decidedly smaller scale experience than the more contemporary, 20th century battles.

In summertime, bring water and food if you can. It’s blast-furnace hot and there is precious little infrastructure near the site other than a gas station with a mini-mart.

The distances between stops in this part of the country are immense. Infrastructure is sparse – so the old rule of “eat, sleep and poop when you can” really applies because you can’t be sure there’s an Applebee’s in the next town over – meaning you can inadvertently find yourself overly hungry, tired, and distracted at the end of a long journey. In fact you could easily find yourself at journey’s end.