Trip days: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8-9 | 10-12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20
I woke up shortly after sunrise, but I was so comfortable that I didn't want to get up ... suprise, suprise. After rolling around for a while I finally managed to get one arm out of my sleeping bag and fail blindly for my cell phone, the only personal item that I have that readily tells time. 7:19 am it read ... jesus cheeeerist, what the hell's wrong with me? Then I remembered that I did get to sleep by 10:00pm the night before, not at my customary party-o-clock time. I guess that is over 9 hours of sleep. I crawl into my clothes, courtesy of the low ceiling in my tent, and shuffle my way to campground bathroom. Ahh, far out ... metal mirrors and cold water. Something about poor lighting, metal mirrors, cold water, and sleeping on the ground that makes someone look a little haggard. A quick tooth brush and face slap and I was packing up camp. On the road, south on highway 97 towards Bend, Oregon. The Columbia River Gorge definitely is a windy place. After driving at a 5 degree angle leaned into the wind for 20 miles I was glad that it finally let up. Eastern Oregon is an interesting place, I guess. Pretty amazing views of the rolling farm land to the east and the cascade range to the west, all usually in view from atop this hilly plateau. What the hell do people do out here? Most every town I come to is pretty much closed for business. Shops, restaurants, and gas stations, all empty and run down. A sign of the prosperous times before the interstate freeways came into existance. I hit Madras or some such place, and headed off south east to Prineville. I stopped in Prineville and inspected my map. I had ideas of going to the Malheur lake and wildlife preserve south of Burns. Ah hah! I can take 27 south to highway 20 and then east to Burns. I set out. 27 runs through a beautiful canyon the twists and turns with a river. It felt like a perfect place to film a cowboys and indians flick, what with high up plateaus looking down on the river valley and the little grassy clearings in the sparse pine woods. A ways along, a sign read "Paved Road Ends." Oh great, I thought... I missed that one little unpaved road marking on the map. The road wasn't too bumpy, gravelly, or muddy and I was suprised that I could comfortably maintain a brisk 60 mph. The new Ohlins suspension I put on the bike before the trip was a big help too; extremely compliant, yet firm. I felt the washboard fly by under the bike, but I wasn't uncomfortable from it at all. Before I knew it I was pulling out onto highway 20 headed to Burns. Highway 20 was dead straight running across a mostly flat plain with no sights to see, or places to stop. Being able to see a mile or two down the road I pushed the speed a little bit in an attempt to make the monotony cease more quickly. Clipping along at 85+ the bike felt tip-top. I swerved left and right weaving down the highway trying to create my own entertainment as an alternative to focusing on the boring road. Burns at last appeared in front of me. It was definitely time to eat, as I had just realized that I hadn't eaten anything yet today and it was 1:30 pm already. I found a quaint little deli cafe on Main St. that looked just right for the occasion. $6.45 later I had choked down one of the better Pastrami sandwiches I've ever had, a bowl of beef barley soup, and a slice of homemade strawberry-rhubarb pie. The mid-40 something deli owner and her friend wer pretty chatty and we talked about music in the public schools, education, and where I should head to next. She recommended going down 205 through the Malheur wildlife preserve down to Nevada. The distinct change of scenery from highway 20 west of Burns to that of the Malheur wildlife preserve was striking. The fore was barren shrub brush covered plateu and the latter was a wetland full of waterfowl of all shapes and sizes, stepped plateus, and a simple, clear sort of beauty. I had been thinking of camping just south of the Malheur Lake but since it was only 3:00 pm I decided to make the haul to Nevada. South of the Malheur area the scenery was still more diverse than highway 20, but began to blend into the same sort of environment. With other cars at 5 minute intervals, if even that, and nothing in sight in any direction the speedo began to climb again. After going through Frenchglen, a turn of the century little town with a white washed school house surrounded by a white picket fence, I began seeing even fewer people on the road. At one point I didn't see anyone for over 15 minutes. 80, 90, 100, 110 miles per hour, the bike was happily humming away and definitely not lacking of power at this high 4200 foot elevation. Between 100 and 110 mph felt the most comfortable, feeling like 70 mile per hour on the freeway. The surroundings were so barren, with nothing in view other than vast expanses of shrub covered grass lands, which I deducted from the periodic hay barns must have been a vast free range ranch. My fuel light came on at 125 miles, meaning that I had another 35 to 55 miles left on this tank. Comforting when there's not another human in sight for dozens of miles. Did I mention it had started raining? After a short while with the light on I came upon Fields, a small town 20 miles from the Nevada border... check that, a 5 building town with one multi-purpose Swiss Army Knife of a grocery store/farm tool depot/post office/tire fix shop/gas station. I stopped to get gas, but was horrified to see only 87 octane on the menu. Not good considering my bike chokes on 89 octane, let alone some dirty water excuse for gasoline 87 octane. I walked in and asked how far to the next gas station. "What?" The old greasy cowboy guy said, looking me up and down, bewildered to see a city slicker riding a BMW motorcycle at the ends of the earth. I asked him again and he replied with "20 miles." Short and sweet, this cowboy was living up to the simple cowboy stereotype I had in my mind. I bought a bar of soap, thank god for stores in the middle of nowhere. Heading south on 205 again, I made a run for the Nevada border hoping I'd make the next gas station before my bike breathed it's last puff. Denio Junction, the Bethlahem of southern Oregon, the holy land as I like to call it. Smack dab in between nowhere and nowhere and a general store in nowhere was the Denio Junction gas station. Featuring premium unleaded fuel for a mere $2.59/gallon, a nicely done full bar, restaurant, hotel rooms with a sign proclaiming "Denio Junction welcomes: Hunters", and an employee that asked if I had anything smaller than the $20 bill I was using to pay for my $10.51 cents worth gasoline. I thought highway 20 took the cake for boring, straight, and neverending... That was until I hit the stretch of 205 between Denio Junction and Highway 95 heading south to Winnemucca. I couldn't take it anymore, and with no living thing in sight for miles, I rode at more than 2 miles per minute for 10 minutes straight (until I saw headlights in the distance). Never was I below 100 during this last 98 mile stretch to Winemucca; There's no speed limit in Nevada, right? Well, there weren't any signs out there that was for sure. I even came upon a truck (one of 3 vehicles I passed on this 98 mile stretch) that had 2 metal canoes on it's roof, a mattress, a bicycle, and a bunch of junk in it's bed, and towing a Wells Fargo trailer, all while doing over 90 mph. At this point I was wishing I was riding that Blackbird I had rented during my Europe trip, a year and a half ago, so I could be doing a comfortable 160 mph instead of this measly 125. Many people might think anything over 100 mph is too fast ever on a public road, but you havn't seen this road. No shrubbery taller than 2 feet to hide cows, bears, or other vehicles in, and clear 5 mile+ visibility. A perfect setting to stretch the legs of my autobahn burner doing what it was made to do. High speed touring, german style. Finally I made it to Winnemucca. Hoping to find a nice campground, I rode around the edge of town a little. It was starting to get a little chilly, and I saw the rain clouds boiling around between the peaks of the Nevada high plateau, so I opted for a cheap hotel. $30, 60 TV channels, my own toilet and shower (with hot water!), and restaurants all around, not to mention power outlets for all my techno-gadgets to refuel with. What a perfect way to end a 580 mile day of riding.
Total Mileage for Day: 580 |
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©2003 John Meloy <jam@nas.com>