While the morning sun wrestled dark clouds I walked next door to the Red Light Garage for the "Miner's Special," a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage and diced potatoes, which would sustain me on the long ride ahead. I hoped to make it half way home if the weather channel's predicted rain didn't get too intense. So far, so good, but best not to linger long in Wallace. I was soon rolling west, closing the 80-mile gap to Spokane.
Except for a few rough stretches of Interstate 90 playing havoc with smooth video, the morning ride was enjoyable. I was blessed with no rain, no wind, warm sun at my back and beautiful scenery as I swept through sweeping curves around light traffic, mile after mile fading in my rear view mirrors. Even Spokane was a breeze to negotiate, its multi-lane freeways free of the heavy traffic I expected. I was thankful the rain-threatening clouds that lay ahead held off until I was a good ways south of the big city. I was even allowed time to pull off and batten down the hatches .... i.e. cinch down my rain gear and gauntlet gloves.
Starting off with a sprinkle here and there, before long I was treading water at 60 miles per hour with the rest of the world settling for 70 on the 75-mph freeway. As the saying goes, "If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch." Maybe if I could see I could find that porch. Maybe if I could breathe. It was getting hard to do either, especially in the wake of big trucks barreling by. In times like these I seek refuge under an overpass but they're scarce in the emptiness of Eastern Washington. I glanced at the GPS who was having her own issues with survival and could only give a gurgling display upon my request for the nearest town. She sputtered the name, "Sprague," as being near an exit not far ahead. By then we were crawling along the shoulder to avoid becoming a Peterbilt's hood ornament.
The Harley clung to a patch of dry asphalt under the freeway as I administered CPR to the GPS. Not really, but I'm sure her overall health was jeopardized by the deluge. I dried her off and checked her vitals. She rallied and not only gave directions to Sprague (it wasn't exactly at the exit), but suggested an isolated backroad to Ritzville. Couldn't vouch for the condition of the road but said it's paved and most likely void of traffic. As for flash-flood vulnerability, she wasn't sure.
Under the awning of an abandoned gas station in Sprague, waiting for the rain to quit, I was giving serious consideration to checking into the motel about a block away. Was it my imagination, or did I just hear the word "wimp" emanate from the GPS?
The rain subsided to drip and drizzle and then quit altogether, which improved my outlook immensely but not enough to return to the freeway. Instead, I rode the backroad 25 miles to Ritzville where I joined the fast lane once again for the remaining miles to Kennewick. By then, the "Miner's Special" was no longer special. Time to stop and grab a couple of granola bars from my pack and a swig or two from my water bottle. I chose the handy parking lot of Kennewick's Harley shop, probably because after years of owning Harley's I am conditioned to visit at least one of their shops in each state and empty the contents of my wallet. This time though I didn't even have to go inside. Apart from that minor tire issue in Cookeville, Tennessee the Harley's been running like a fine watch.
A young man on a blue '94 Heritage rolled in beside me. We traded road stories before he went inside. He was completing a week-long ride to Boise, Carson City and San Francisco and had also had his share of rough roads and nasty weather. Like me, he was getting anxious to be home. Learning each of us came from the direction the other was headed, we inquired from each other the weather conditions. The boy was glad to hear my storm was moving north and should be well past Spokane and even past his home in "Trail", British Columbia by the time he got there. His news for me wasn't as good, saying heavy rain wasn't far behind him, which meant not far in front of me.
Once again I eye-balled a nearby motel, a comfortable looking LaQuinta Inn. Maybe 230 miles was enough for today?
"For crying out loud, it's only 3 p.m," chided the GPS.
Nevertheless, I was soon at the front desk of the LaQuinta, attempting to sign up. I was shocked to learn they were sold out. I couldn't understand why but had to accept it. Perhaps it was a case of discrimination against old grizzled bikers?
I entered into the GPS our new destination -- Biggs Junction, a freeway truck stop on the Oregon side of the Columbia River, 110 miles from Kennewick. The GPS estimated our arrival would be 5 p.m. We hoped there'd be available lodging because the "pickings" only get slimmer after that. I opted for Washington Route 14 for the westbound approach rather than Interstate 84 in Oregon. It was light traffic and an enjoyable ride in spite of hovering clouds in various shades of black.
Right on schedule, I rolled into Biggs Junction and was soon standing at the desk of Dinty's Motor Inn, signing up for my last night on the road. I was eye to eye with a lap-anchored poodle who watched in expectation as I reached for my wallet. Must've thought I was going to give him a treat. I suppose he was satisfied his boss got the treat, $55 off my threadbare credit card. It was a treat for me, too, to get a clean, spacious and comfortable room at such a reasonable price.
P.S. .... It never did rain.
 |
| Sam Hill Memorial Bridge As Viewed From The Oregon Side Of The Columbia River |
 |
| Window View of Washington From Dinty's Motor Inn at Biggs Junction, Oregon |
 |
| Twilight On The Columbia River |
 |
| Wallace, ID to Biggs Jct, OR (326 Miles) |
No comments:
Post a Comment