Grandiose Welcome

Sleep in regular bed is always nice. By this time I had noticed that there was several of us on the same path of travel. You start to run into and pass the same people over and over. There was a late 80’s Mercedes station wagon with a paddleboard atop and a elderly gentleman with a snow white short stubby beard. There were the 2 bikers, one a Goldwing and the other on a 1^st generation Honda crotch rocket. Between the 3 of us it looked like we could unpack and set up a small village with all the gear we had strapped to our bikes. The Goldwing had a stuffed animal monkey sitting on the rear luggage box attached to the antenna. Regardless of who we are, what we are driving or riding, and where we are heading we all have something to talk about and something in common. We travelers are not lost, we just never stop seeking. I thought back to the concrete jungle New York. So many people that grow up seeing anything but the city, so many people trapped in their cubicle jobs, so many people on autopilot missing out on all of the beauty out there and the interaction with others who have caught on.

The temperature was chilly but the sunshine was bright. I knew it would eventually warm up and I was glad I made the decision to push through the nasty weather. Every clearing in clouds you look at all that surrounds you and realize it was all worth it. There was a few spots where the gas stations were few and far between. The higher elevation didn’t help my fuel air ratio in the carbureted engine. I was pushing it and on one stretch had to use my reserve. Made it up a massive hill and felt Cindy sputter. I quickly shut the engine off and coasted down the hill in neutral. Ahead of me another hill, I started her up again and pulled back on the throttle being careful not to open her up too much, just enough to make it up the hill. The 2^nd hill was a success but my last. I pulled the bike over and took my gear off. I was going to sweat a bit so might as well make it as comfortable as possible. I was lucky, there was a pilot station at an exit only ½ a mile away. Started to push the Cindy in the direction of her watering hole. It was good to strain my legs a bit, haven’t had a leg day in a minute. I only had to push half of the distance and another one of the travelers that I had been crossing paths with stopped to give me a lift. Another fellow biker on a BMW with a single wheeled trailer. He dropped me off at the gas station, I bought a gallon tank, and gave me a ride back up a frontage road right to the bike. I jumped the fence, filled her up and was back on the road in no time. About 2 fill-ups from that one, I ran out of gas once more. This time the next service station was at least 15 miles away and the additional gallon that I now had was a lifesaver.

I stopped at Smokehouse BBQ and Saloon and had some… yes you guessed it BBQ. It was a cozy little town tuck up against the steep hills and huddled around a small creek that ran through town. Again I ran into other travelers that I had passed and re-passed as I needed to fill up more often than they did. As I finished my meal I looked around the shelf that ran the perimeter of the saloon. A bunch of familiar labels and names decorated the otherwise dull bottles. A majority of them had been Oregon breweries, and it made me feel close. A lot of old pictures of the building from years back, all taken in the middle of different seasons. I imagined this place in the winter. Two tracks would run the length of the road from a heavy snowfall, the snowplows giving favor to the more traveled interstate. The saloon would be packed with bodies trying to warm themselves with a warm meal, a drink, and some laughter from catching up with the other locals. Once in a while the little bells on the door would ring alerting everyone of an addition to the pack. They would shoot the arriving party an unpleasant look, as they wanted to keep all of the warm air selfishly to themselves and not share with the outside that was trying to creep through the door as it opened briefly. I would like to live in a place like this when it’s hardest to do so, just to experience it.

I eventually took off all of my warm riding gear as the mountains subsided and gave way to the higher deserts of eastern Washington. I was making good time. The lack of gear exposed more of my skin and I could feel the sun starting to burn rather than warm. As I crossed into Oregon my heart sang. Portland has quite the introduction to travelers. It puffs its chest and shows off as you come down the Columbia River Gorge. I traveled to all the states only to realize that the most beautiful one was the one I turned my back on. The lighting was perfect and I caught the gorge at sunset. As I passed by familiar landmarks I was reminded of the memories behind them. The miles went extremely quickly as my attention was occupied by the beauty surrounding me rather than the progress. Before I knew it I had made it to my friends house. I sat on Cindy for a minute letting it all soak in. It was difficult to fully comprehend the feat that I had partially completed. My head was buzzing. Vadim set me up with a bed whose softness matched the bed my brother provided for me in Minnesota. The rest is history.