Tag Archives: motorcycles

Letting Go

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There’s no use denying that it’s time.

Yesterday, I listed my motorcycle for sale on Craig’s list.

Yamaha Seca II
Here’s my bike, with the bags removed, parked in front of Bob’s house.

It’s a 1993 Yamaha Seca II that I bought brand new in 1992. I vividly recall the day I bought it in Paramus, NJ. I was still riding my first bike, a 1981 (I think) Honda CB 400 Hawk. I’d gone to Americade in Lake George, NY, with my future wasband and the sport touring motorcycle club we rode with and had test ridden the Seca II. It had more power and was sportier than the Hawk. I decided to upgrade and went to the Yamaha dealer in Paramus. I did the paperwork for the bike and then went next door to the BMW car dealer with my future wasband, who was a big BMW fan. They had a new 1991 (I think) K65 (I think) parked in the lobby area. He bought it. We showed up a week or two later at a club event, each riding brand new bikes.

Thanks for the Memories

Other Motorcycling Posts
I started this blog in 2003, which is after my primary motorcycling days. But I do have a few posts (with photos) here about motorcycling, if you’d like to read more:

I have a lot of really good memories tied up in that bike. I bought and rode it at a time in my life when I was in a good relationship with a man who still knew how to laugh and have fun. A man who knew how to say yes instead of making excuses to say no.

We took our bikes on a motorcycle camping trip down Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway, all the way down to Georgia, then rode up the Outer Banks, right after a hurricane. It was an incredible trip — one of the best in my life.

We also took our bikes up to Lake George for Americade trips with the club and other long rides in New Jersey and New York. It was on a trip up to the Finger Lakes that I found the top end of the bike — 110 mph, if you’re curious — on a country road and began thinking about more power. I bought my 1996 Ducati 900 SSCR not long afterward.

But I kept this bike. It had the hard luggage and the comfortable seat. It would be my “touring” bike. Or so I thought.

We moved to Arizona and did a lot less riding. I bought horses and rode out in the desert. I bought a Jeep (which I still have) and drove that out in the desert. I learned to fly and bought a helicopter. There just didn’t seem to be time — or a point, I guess — to ride to the same old places, over and over. The magic was gone.

When I packed up my Arizona life to move to Washington, the Ducati was the first thing to go. I rarely rode — I certainly didn’t need two bikes. Besides, the Yamaha was already up in Washington, where I’d had it shipped a year or two before. I was tired of driving a truck all summer during cherry season so I’d had the bike shipped someplace where I would want to ride it. And I did — I rode more in Washington than I did in Arizona.

Time went on. I did a trip to Friday Harbor with my friend Bob — me on that Yamaha and him on his big old Moto Guzzi. He rode like a Harley guy, slow and ponderously — not at all like the sport touring club members who had helped me find my bike’s top end all those years ago. I think I frightened him. Occasionally, I’d take it out on a ride to Leavenworth or Lake Wenatchee or Silver Falls up the Entiat River. But then I just stopped riding it.

I was busy with other things.

Too Much Stuff

As anyone who has glimpsed the interior of my 2880 square foot garage can tell you, I have a lot of stuff. Too much, probably.

Owning motor vehicles comes with a cost: maintenance. Even if you don’t use them, maintenance is required. In fact, I’d venture to say that more maintenance is required per hour of use if you seldom use them than if you use them often.

My motorcycle became a perfect example of this. Because I didn’t use it, the crap they put in gasoline these days would foul the carburetors and cause all kinds of problem. Tires and hoses get dry rot and crack. Dust accumulates. Lubed chains get clogged with dirt. Batteries die.

After not riding for a few years, I took the bike to the local Yamaha dealer to get it running again. I rode it a few times and parked it for another year. One day I charged up the battery and started it up, only to have fuel spew all over the ground. I covered it back up and left it for another two years. I stopped registering and insuring it. There seemed to be no point.

I had my hands full using and maintaining my other vehicles. The Yamaha was neglected and ignored.

Downsizing Means Letting Things Go

I had a kind of epiphany this winter when I was traveling. I think I have to thank my friend Bill for that. He lives a simple, mobile life and seems very happy. While I’m happy in my home and have no desire to give it up, he helped me realize that I’m probably at the point where I have too much crap in my life. I’d be happier if I could make things simpler.

And, for me, that means getting rid of the stuff I don’t need or want.

Let’s face it: I’m not getting any younger. I’m 59 now and starting to think seriously about retirement. I’m already semi-retired, with real work (my flying business) only a few months out of the year and busy work (my jewelry business) off and on for the rest of the year. I have big plans for my retirement years and they definitely do not include a bunch of stuff I have. Why not get rid of it now?

With that in mind, I decided that the motorcycle would be the first thing to go.

My friend Bob — the Moto Guzzi guy — came by and helped me load the bike onto a trailer so I could bring it to a repair shop in town. They put about $700 of work into the carburetor (again) and a new battery. That got it running pretty good.

Yesterday, I picked it up and rode it to Bob’s house. He’d very graciously offered to sell it for me at his house, which is a lot easier to get to than mine. He has a garage to store it in and won’t take crap from potential buyers.

That 5-mile ride — my first time on a motorcycle in at least 4 years — brought back a flood of memories. Accelerating away from traffic, gliding around curves. Feeling the power of the bike beneath me, feeing it respond to the throttle twist and pressure on the brakes. I seemed to flash back to Sunday rides in Harriman State Park or out to the Delaware Water Gap. To trips where I could feel the wind against me, sense the subtle changes in temperature, smell the aromas of things I passed.

God, how I loved riding!

But I need to be honest with myself: if I keep it I will not ride it regularly. As I age, my reflexes will deteriorate. If I don’t ride regularly, my skills will decline — as I’m sure they already have. Poorer reflexes and skills are likely to get me killed on one of the rare instances I do decide to ride it. And then there’s the maintenance of keeping it when I don’t ride it: battery tending and carburetor repairs. Ugh.

So it’s best to just let it go.

Let go of the object so many good memories are tied to. Let go of a piece of my past that I really wish I could cling to forever.

It’s hard not to cry while typing this.

In Bob’s Hands

Anyway, I brought it and its hard luggage and the big plastic box labeled “Motorcycle Stuff” to Bob’s house. I discovered that I had not one but three motorcycle covers — two of which Bob will keep for his bikes — and not one but two tank bags. I also had two helmets (and will keep one of them in case Bob ever wants to take me riding). It’ll all go in a package.

I’ll admit that I priced it high. The bike only has 22,000 miles on it and is in very good condition with all those extras. But the way I see it, if I can’t get a decent amount of money for it, why sell it? I’m not desperate for money. Besides, it’s spring in Washington, and riding weather is upon us. It would make a great bike for commuting to work or taking a trip. Even the fix-it place said there’s a high demand for used bikes right now.

It’s in Bob’s hands. I know he’ll do a great job finding a buyer for it.

Meanwhile, it’s both sad and nice to have the space the motorcycle and its box of accessories occupied available in my garage.

Letting Go

I realize now that letting go of the things you cling to for emotional reasons is part of getting older and winding down. I think I’ve been in denial for a long time about my stage in life, but letting go of my motorcycle has helped me come to terms with it.

For my whole life, I’ve been building up skills and knowledge and wealth and possessions. It’s part of a cycle that I suspect was ingrained in me from my childhood. But the cycle has another part that I wasn’t prepared for: the winding down. That’s what I’m facing now.

Back in 2013, my godfather, Jackie, died. He was single, in his 80s (I think), and, in his later years, had become a bit of a hoarder. My mother and her first cousin were his next of kin and were tasked with getting his affairs closed up. It was a mess and a lot of work for them.

I also recall when my wasband’s dad passed away suddenly and his family — wife and three adult offspring — were tasked with clearing out the stuff he’d stored in the basement. They used a dumpster.

The way I see it, we should all be tidying up our own affairs as we age to make things a bit easier for ourselves while we’re alive and our next of kin when we die. The older we get, the less stuff we should have.

Downsizing is, in a way, admission that we’re getting old. And while I’m not “old” yet, I’m undeniably getting there. It’s time for the downsizing to begin.

And that’s why I’m preparing to let things go.

Mate: The Solution to a Problem

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There is an ebike in my future.

I was minding my own business yesterday, checking in on Twitter, when I came across a tweet by my friend Mike in Brooklyn. He was linking to an Indigogo campaign about an electric bike. I’ve been looking at ebikes for some time now and clicked the link.

Indiegogo, in case you don’t know, is a website that entrepreneurs use to raise capital for new products. They create prototypes, produce slick videos, and put information on the site that includes support levels and perks. The perks are usually versions of the products or a chance to buy at a reduced rate when the product becomes available.

The video for Mate, the ebike Mike linked to, was slick in a way that only Europeans can make them. In it, the Mate designer described the bike while video clips played, showing off how fun and practical it was. I watched closely; I was interested in two features: motor control and foldability. When both features appeared, I was sold.

Mate
Nicely designed and feature-packed. This is the solution I’ve been looking for.

But Mate has more features that make it perfect for my needs. It has a good suspension with all-terrain tires — that means it’ll work on rough road surfaces. (The video shows it riding on cobblestones.) It weighs in at less than 50 pounds. It has an onboard trip computer that helps control the motor and keeps track of distances. The rechargeable battery is hidden in the frame so there’s no bulky box to deal with. There’s an ergonomic handle that makes it easy to lift if you need to carry it up a flight of stairs. And on the top-of-the-line S model, the battery can take you up to 50 miles and an independent throttle can get the bike up to 20 miles per hour. In other words, this bike can go the distance.

Although Mate isn’t cheap, it’s a heck of a lot cheaper than every other ebike or portable bike I’ve seen. Better yet, it’s a lot cheaper than the Honda Grom I’ve been looking at (about $4200) or the cost of getting my new used 100cc dirt bike street ready (about $1200). Yes, it won’t go as fast as either one of those, but I already have a road-ready motorcycle (and now a dirt bike) so I don’t need another fast bike. And with a Mate, I won’t have to worry about how I can take one of those motorcycles with me when I travel (the front hitch with bike carrier solution I was looking at would cost about $700). This will fold up and fit inside the Turtleback, my truck, or even — dare I say it? — my helicopter.

So I signed up for the Mate S. The way I see it, the money I saved by not going with any of the solutions I was already looking at paid for this ebike. And if it does fit onboard the helicopter, I’ll get a lot more use out of it. My only tiny concern is delivery; more than a few Indiegogo campaigns have failed to deliver in the past. This one looks pretty solid, though. I guess time will tell.

As for Mike, well his wife is getting one, too.

Motorcycling with “Biker Bob”

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A weekend motorcycle trip with a good friend.

We’d been talking about doing it since spring 2014: riding our motorcycles on the Cascades Loop. That’s a scenic drive on Routes 20 and 2 in Northern Washington State that goes through the Cascade Mountains. Here’s a great description from the Cascade Loop website:

Beginning just 28 miles north of Seattle, circle through the Cascade mountains, along the semi-arid Columbia River Valley, past glacier-fed Lake Chelan, through the wildlife-filled Methow Valley and North Cascades National Park, and into the Puget Sound. We are a path into nature, a road through friendly towns, and a rest stop at the end of your day with comfortable lodging and delicious Northwest cuisine. The Cascade Loop is the best road trip vacation in Washington State!

Cascade Loop
Here’s what the Cascade Loop looks like on a Google Maps image. Wenatchee is in the southeast corner.

Of course, you don’t have to start in Seattle. You can start anywhere on the loop. And since the loop goes right through Wenatchee, it makes sense for people who live in that area to start there.

The Back Story

Who’s “we”? My friend Bob and I. I met Bob back in the summer of 2013, during Century Aviation’s annual hangar party at the airport. It was a memorable party, mostly because (1) I was on crutches and (2) the cliffs up behind my future home were on fire and we could clearly watch pine trees exploding into flames from the airport only 4 miles away. Bob works for the local PUD as a quality control inspector at building sites. He’s been riding motorcycles his whole life. He prefers cruisers, like a typical Harley Davison, but these days he’s riding a sweet Moto Guzzi. He keeps his bikes — he always has a few of them — in pristine condition.

We talked about doing the ride, but never did it. That’s because it never got on my calendar. The summer ended and fall came briefly before it got very cold. Highway 20 closed for the season.

In the meantime, we traveled together to visit Bob’s friends Liz and Brad for Thanksgiving weekend. They live in Friday Harbor, which is on San Juan Island out in the Sound near Seattle. It was a long drive on Route 2 to the ferry. Bob drove his truck, which is only two-wheel-drive but had brand new tires. That was a good thing because my snow driving skills suck after years of living in Arizona and it snowed in Stephens pass on the way home that Saturday. So when we started talking about the Cascades Loop again in spring 2015, Liz and Brad’s house became a potential destination.

I told Bob that if it wasn’t on my calendar, it wasn’t going to happen. So in May 2015, we put it on my calendar for the last weekend in August. From that point forward, I scheduled everything around it to ensure it would happen. We made plans with Liz and Brad so they’d expect us for the weekend. I even made ferry reservations.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature wasn’t going to let us do the trip as planned. She threw some lightning down near Twisp and Newhalem in mid August. That started a number of wildfires that soon got out of control. WADOT (Washington State Department of Transportation) closed down Route 20. We waited patiently for them to reopen it, but it didn’t look as if it would happen.

Keep in mind that the main goal of the trip was to ride the Cascade Loop — including Highway 20. I’d done part of it earlier in August with Kirk on a camping trip, but I really wanted to do it on my motorcycle with Bob. I’d already ridden the other half of the loop — Route 2 — multiple times. I was prepared to postpone the trip for another time. But Bob didn’t seem interested in postponing it. And since I looked forward to a motorcycle trip — my Yamaha had been gathering dust in the garage for almost a full year (!) — we did the trip.

The Ride Out

I brought my motorcycle to Bob’s place a week before the trip. He said he wanted to look it over for me and I had no problem with that. I think Bob really likes to tinker with motorcycles.

I’d been having a problem with a wobble in the front wheel since I had new tires put on in the spring of 2012. I’d bought good tires — Metzelers — but Bob seemed to think one of them was defective. He ordered a new tire for me. Unfortunately, it didn’t arrive in time to get it mounted, so I stuck with the tire I had. The wobble wasn’t really that bad anyway. (More on this in the Postscript below.)

Penny on a Motorcycle
Here’s Penny on the back of my motorcycle. This shot was taken right before we left on the ride home, but it shows the setup with my hard luggage and Penny’s crate atop the back seat.

On Friday morning, I arrived bright and early in my truck with Penny and my luggage. I’d packed a few changes of clothes and toiletries and a my journal in my big zipper tote bag, which would fit comfortably in one of my bike’s two Givi hard bags. I’d put the Givis on back in 1993, when the bike was new; it’s remarkable how much the bags have changed since then. I also had a smaller bag with snacks and food for Penny. Yes, Penny the Tiny Dog did come with us — she rides in a hard-sided dog kennel bungee-netted to the back of my bike. I also had the red waterproof shell I’d bought as an outer layer for cross-country skiing. (Mother Nature was being extremely uncooperative by throwing rain into the forecast for the weekend, too.)

We loaded up and I wore my leather motorcycling jacket for the first time in at least eight years. It fits a bit loosely now after my big 2012 weight loss, but is very comfortable and quite warm — even without the cold weather lining, which I’d left home. All I needed under it was a t-shirt. Bob wore his Harley boy leathers — t-shirt, leather vest, and leather jacket. He made fun of my hiking shoes — he wore worn cowboy boots — but I explained that I needed traction when I stopped and my cowboy boots didn’t cut it. He told me he wanted me to lead and to keep on the right side of the lane. We’d ride in a standard staggered formation and he promised not to crowd me. That was all fine to me. I was rusty and I knew it would be a while before I was back up to speed — literally and figuratively.

We stopped for gas in north Wenatchee before getting on Route 2 and heading west. I had a stop to make in Leavenworth — I needed to pay for the closet doors I’d ordered from a supplier there — and I took the opportunity to don my waterproof jacket and tuck some plastic around the outside of Penny’s crate. It was a good thing I did because we hit rain between Leavenworth and Stevens Pass. By the time we got there, however, I was feeling quite comfortable on the bike again — comfortable enough to pass all the cars in front of me so they wouldn’t spray me with road water.

The ride was uneventful and admittedly not very pleasant. Although I was mostly warm and dry within my layered jackets, with my full-face helmet keeping my head dry, my jeans were a bit wet and my hands were cold in my summer-weight gloves. Not the best riding conditions. But as we headed down the west side of the mountains, the rain cleared out and and it warmed up. I’d be dry soon enough.

Bob took the lead when we stopped for a light in Skykomish and guided us off the main road. It was around 10 AM at this point and I was hungry. I guess he was, too, because he stopped in front of the Cascadia Inn, which was still serving breakfast. There was a fenced-in yard beside the restaurant and after asking permission, I let Penny loose in there. She (predictably) sat by the gate, waiting for us to come back out. I had a nice bacon and eggs breakfast, saving a bit of it for Penny, who doesn’t eat well when we travel. She chowed it down when we came out forty-five minutes later. We took a short walk to stretch our legs, then mounted back up and continued on our way.

Because we were taking Route 2 rather than Route 20, we faced a choice on getting to Anacortes, which is where the ferry would take us from to Friday Harbor. We could either ride north on the I-5 corridor to Anacortes or ride slightly south to Mukilteo to catch a ferry to Whidbey Island and ride up the island to Anacortes. Neither of us wanted to take I-5, so we did the Whidbey Island route instead. I let Bob lead the way.

One of the great things about being on a motorcycle on Washington State’s ferry system is that you get to go right to the front of the line. Bob bypassed the dozens of cars lined up for the ferry and went right to the fee booth. He paid for two ferry tickets and took off. I was fumbling a bit with my headphones so I was about 20 seconds behind him. When I got around the bend to where I thought he’d be waiting, he was gone! The ferry had begun loading and they directed him right on board. I wasn’t so lucky. They made me wait. I was the last one on the boat before it set off.

We met up once we were underway and Bob scolded me for not staying closer to him. But who’d have thought the boat was there and ready to load right up? No worries. We joined back up just past the town on the other side.

It was a nice ride though the hills of Whidbey Island. I’d been there only once before: with my wasband and his cousin at least 15 years before on a trip to Seattle. I didn’t remember much about the trip except stopping at some sort of farm and at Deception Pass.

Ironically, I think we stopped at the same farm that Friday. It looked familiar, although there weren’t nearly as many vegetables and flowers as I remembered from that trip long ago. We walked around a bit in search of ice cream and settled on pie with ice cream at an outdoor cafe. Penny, on her leash, sat with us and tried hard to reach a duck that wandered through the fenced-in area.

Deception Pass Bridge
The bridge at Deception Pass. I think I took the same photo — but from the other side of the bridge — the last time I was there; I really like the symmetry of the bridge at this angle.

We also stopped at Deception Pass. That’s where we took a short walk — probably a mile round trip — and I took some photos. Bob’s not much of a hiker and he did look a bit funny walking on the trail in his leather motorcycling clothes. I guess I did, too.

Dinner at Anthony's
The obligatory dinner photo.

Our ferry reservations were for 8:20 PM. It was about 4 PM when we finished at Deception Pass. There was another ferry at 4:45 and I was game to try to go standby on it. But Bob didn’t want to hurry. Instead, we rode into Anacortes, stopped at a supermarket to pick up a bottle of Jaegermeister (which Bob apparently likes), and zeroed in on Anthony’s. Although it’s a chain, it’s one of my favorite places to get a nice seafood dinner. (I always grab a meal or at least dessert at their SeaTac location when I pass through.) Because there was a wait for a table, we sat at the food prep bar. They had a really great deal on a four-course meal and we each ordered that. My salmon with shrimp was amazing and the “burnt cream” for dessert was perfect.

Another stop at Safeway and then on to the ferry terminal. We paid for our tickets and rolled up, as directed, to the beginning of the line. There was another motorcyclist there who wasn’t very friendly. He told us that the ferry was delayed 30 minutes. Soon afterward, it began to rain — a light drizzle that kept up for the entire hour we waited. It wasn’t heavy enough to seek shelter, but it wasn’t light enough to ignore. By the time we got on the ferry — first on! — we were wet and chilled.

Waiting for the Ferry
Our bikes parked at the front of the line, waiting for the ferry. Can you see Penny?

I fell asleep on the ferry. There’s ample seating there and Bob had led the way to a pair of facing benches. He stretched out and, after a while, I did the same. Penny stayed in her box on the back of the motorcycle; dogs aren’t allowed in the passenger area unless they’re crated and I wasn’t about to take her crate off the bike.

In the Ferry
180° panoramic view of the inside of the ferry. Bob was already asleep on the bench when I shot this.

I heard the pitch of the engine change and woke up with a start. Bob was already awake. It was about 10:15 PM. We went back down to the bikes. I made the mistake of not starting mine up right away. I forgot that it needs to warm up. The result was repeated stalling to the point where I was holding up traffic. Then some issues with the throttle control. Not fun when you’re half awake and the pavement is wet. But I finally got things sorted out and followed Bob the last three miles or so to Liz and Brad’s house. Bob opened the door to their barn and we rolled in as we’d been instructed. Liz came out to meet us. When we went inside, the various discomforts of the trip were quickly forgotten.

At Friday Harbor

The next day started rainy, cleared up, and then got rainy again.

Bob and Penny
Bob grabbed Penny and sheltered her from the wind while we sat atop Mount Young and took in the view.

We had a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs, then headed out while the weather was dry, for a hike up Mount Young. It’s about a mile each way, with a 600-foot climb on the way out. We took our time on the climb up, stopping at one viewpoint along the way. Penny was a champ, very well behaved off-leash and obviously having the time of her life as she ran circles around us. At the top, the wind was absolutely howling, with gusts that must have topped 50 mph. (Indeed, wind storms knocked out power to thousands and killed two people in the Seattle area that day.) I took some photos of the view, as well as this great photo of Bob holding Penny. I also had a close call when I slipped on some wet moss and fell, twisting my knee and ankle pretty badly. Fortunately, I was able to walk normally within a few minutes. (Must remember to be more careful.)

From Mount Young
The view from the top of Mount Young looking out toward Vancouver Island on that blustery summer day.

Afterwards, we ran some errands in town — including getting me a pair of rain pants for the trip home. We stopped at the farmer’s market, which was smaller than usual because of the weather, and the market, where we picked up some groceries. Then back to the house where we snacked for lunch.

And then, because the day was so rainy and gray, we all napped. I slept for a full three hours!

When I woke up, Bob and Liz were making peach cobbler. Football was on the schedule for the evening — a preseason game between Seattle and San Diego. Liz and Brad’s son and grandson came over. We had pizza and watched the game, fast forwarding through the commercials via DVR and Brad’s skill with the remote. The Seahawks won.

The peach cobbler was amazing.

The Trip Home

We were up early the next morning. We needed to leave for the ferry terminal by 7:15 for an 8 AM boat back to Anacortes.

Group Photo
Bob, Liz, Penny, and I, waiting for the ferry at Friday Harbor. The weather was just beginning to break there when we left.

Bob and I got to the head of the line right on time and shut down for the wait. I took Penny for a walk to grab a cup of coffee. When I got back, Brad and Liz were waiting with Bob. Liz would be taking the boat over with her son and his family; they’d all go to a birthday party somewhere on the mainland. Brad took this photo of the four of us (including Penny); I look like a wreck with my four layers of clothing and helmet hair!

We all sat together for the 90-minute ferry ride back to Annacortes. It was beautiful outside with the bright sky and low clouds.

Friday Harbor
I shot this photo of Friday Harbor as the ferry pulled away from the terminal. It was going to be a gorgeous day there.

I had some trouble getting my bike started (again) when we got off the ferry, but not bad. I was determined to drop it off for maintenance later in the week.

We’d decided to head east on Route 20, which was due to reopen at noon. But with rainy weather forecasted, neither of us wanted to take that longer route home. Instead, we’d head south on Route 9 from Sedro-Woolley to Route 2. Of course, that plan went astray with detours for a bridge repair near Big Lake. We got a chance to see all the damage caused by the previous day’s heavy wind as we used Google Maps on my iPhone to navigate around the area, skillfully avoiding I-5. It was a pleasant ride, despite the navigational challenges, and it stayed dry the whole way.

Stuff Yer Belly
This might explain why obesity is such a problem in America.

Back on Route 2, we stopped at a cafe in Gold Bar for lunch. It was just about noon and we had a short wait for a table. I had breakfast food — I do so love chicken fried steak and eggs — and, again, saved some for Penny. While we were inside, the sky opened up and it absolutely poured. But by the time we came out, it had cleared up again. We took Penny for a walk and donned our rain gear. Well, I did. Bob was all in leather again — he’s a real hard core biker guy. I know I looked ridiculous in the yellow rubber pants and my bright red jacket, but I also knew I’d be seen no matter how bad the weather got.

By the time we started the climb up to Stevens Pass, I was glad I’d suited up. It was raining pretty hard and got downright cold. (Hard to believe just a few weeks befofe it was pushing 100°F every day.) Just when I started cursing myself for not buying warmer gloves, we reached the pass and started down. At 3000 feet elevation, the rain stopped and it started getting warmer. The sun was peeking through the clouds by the time we reached Leavenworth. And it was actually warm by the time we crossed the bridge into East Wenatchee.

We rolled into Bob’s driveway as Bob’s girlfriend, Alison stepped out the door. It was a very pleasant surprise for him. I hope she hadn’t been waiting long. I think it was about 3 PM when we got there.

I unpacked my bike and loaded the truck. I didn’t stick around to mess up Bob’s homecoming. Penny and I made a quick stop at the supermarket and headed home. We were back by 5 PM.

It was a beautiful day.

View From Home
I relaxed on the deck, taking in this view for a while after getting home. Honestly, it’s so beautiful here that I don’t know why I leave.

Postscript

I headed out of town on Tuesday for yet another trip — this time to Portland with Kirk. On the way, I dropped off my motorcycle at the local Yamaha dealer to check into the wobble and throttle problems.

The shop manager called Friday to tell me what they’d done: balance the front wheel and give it a tune-up. He asked if it had old gas in the tank. I admitted that it had some but that I’d topped off the tank three times in the past week. He told me — at least three times — that I needed to ride the bike more. “What it needs,” he said, “is to be ridden.”

Message received. I’m planning my next trip now.

Heck, I’m due to attend a weekend-long mushroom seminar at the North Cascades Environmental Learning Center early next month. Maybe I could get that Route 20 ride out of my system then?

A Full Fourth

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Probably the busiest Fourth of July I’ve ever had.

These days, I’ve been challenging myself to keep busy. Downtime between jobs has been damaging in the past, causing depression, frustration, and weight gain. I began fighting back last summer and remain determined not to spend time sitting on my ass when there are better, more interesting things to do. And let’s face it — almost anything is better than sitting around on your ass, letting the days of your life just tick away like a clock with an aging battery that can’t be replaced.

I try to sketch out a rough plan for each day of my life. Sometimes I tweet what I’m tentatively planning. Sometimes I don’t. Having a rough idea of what I plan to do helps keep me focused. Stating it publicly makes me responsible for doing — or trying to do — it. But I always let things take their course when I can. After all, no plan is set in stone. Spontaneity is what makes live truly interesting.

Yesterday, July 4, I set a busy schedule for myself. But I did even more than I planned. (And boy, am I feeling it today!)

Ross Rounds

As the time on that tweet hints, I wake up very early nearly every morning. Although its great to get an early start on the day, there’s a limit to what you can do that early when stores are still closed and friends are still asleep.

So while I sipped my morning coffee, I assembled my Ross Rounds.

Ross Rounds
Completed Ross Rounds. Photo from the Ross Rounds website.

Ross Rounds are a comb honey system that makes it possible for bees to produce packaged honey comb. You set up the special frames with plastic rings and pure beeswax foundation and insert the frames in their custom hive box. You then put the box on top of a honey-producing hive of bees. Eventually, the bees move into the Ross box and begin building and filling honeycomb in the special frames. When the rings are completely full of honeycomb and honey, you remove them, cover them, label them, and either sell them or present them as gifts to friends.

Ross Rounds Frame
Here’s a fully assembled Ross Rounds frame.

Assembling the frames took some doing. I had to split each frame, lay in the ring halves and snap them into place, lay in a sheet of wax foundation, and snap the frame closed. The ring halves only go in a certain way, so much of the time was spent lining them up properly. But once I got the hang of it, the process went quickly. I got all 8 frames, with 4 pairs of rings each, done in about an hour.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to use the Ross Rounds system. I’ve been told that because I started my bees so late in the season I probably won’t be able to take any honey from them. They’ll need all that they create now for winter. But I’ll do a hive inspection on my first hive — probably today — and see how much of their top hive box is full. If it’s more than 80% full, I’ll add a queen excluder and the Ross Rounds frame and see how far I get by the end of the season.

Motorcycle Ride

Meanwhile, I was texting back and forth with another early riser, my friend Brian, who lives in Wenatchee. He’d seen my plan for the day on Facebook and was wondering if I wanted company for my motorcycle ride. After some texting back and forth and a call to my friend in Chelan — who I woke at 8 AM! — we decided to ride up to Silver Falls together and do a hike before going our separate ways for the day.

Penny on my Motorcycle
Here’s Penny in her dog kennel on the back of my motorcycle. (Yes, she fits fine in there and can move around freely.)

Penny the Tiny Dog and I were at Brian’s apartment at 9 AM. Penny rides with me on the motorcycle. I bungee-netted her hard-sided dog carrier to my motorcycle’s little luggage rack. It’s rock solid there. She rides in the dog carrier behind me. I don’t think she actually likes the ride, but I do know that she likes coming with me wherever I go. So when I lift her up onto the motorcycle’s luggage, she scrambles into her carrier without protest.

What’s weird is when we stop at a traffic light and she barks at other dogs she sees.

Brian rides a cruiser — my Seca II is more of a sport bike — and he led the way, keeping a good pace. We made the turnoff at the Entiat River about 15 minutes after leaving his place. We both thought Silver Falls was about 12 miles up the river, but a sign about a mile up the road said that it was 30 miles. I saw Brian look at his watch as we rode past the sign. He had a BBQ to go to that began in early afternoon; I had other plans, too. But we kept going. We’d make it a short hike.

I really enjoy riding my motorcycle in Washington State. This road, which wound along the banks of a rushing river, reminded me of the riding I’d done in New York State years before: mountains, farmland, trees, and cool, fresh air. I think one of the reasons I stopped riding motorcycles when I moved to Arizona is because it was simply not pleasant. Too much straight and flat and hot and dry. The road up to Silver Falls is full of curves and gentle hills, with orchards and hay fields forests along the way. Every twist in the road brings a new vista in the granite-studded canyon. Every mile brings a different sensation for the senses that are switched off inside a car: the feel of temperature and humidity changes, the smell of fresh-cut hay or horse manure or pine. This is part of what makes motorcycling special.

We arrived at the parking area, which had only one car. It was just after 10 AM. I got Penny out of her box and on her leash. We stripped off our riding gear and started the hike.

Silver Falls

This was my second trip to Silver Falls. My first was back in 2011, not long after I had my motorcycle shipped from Arizona to Washington. I blogged about that trip here. And, if you’re interested, you can read more about Silver Falls on the Washington Trails Association website.

Brian at the Creek
Here’s Brian alongside the creek. Penny refused to pose with him.

Penny and Maria on Bridge
Brian shot this photo of Penny and me on the bridge near the top of the falls.

The three of us — Brian, Penny, and I — headed up the trail together, stopping now and then to take photos. The stream was rushing wildly, with crystal clear water cascading over rocks and logs in the stream bed. We followed the same path I’d followed on my first trip there, taking the trail on the right up to the top of the falls and coming back the other side. The temperature was perfect — a bit cool in the shade but nice and warm on the wide switchbacks in the sun. Brian led at a fast pace and I did okay keeping up. I remembered my first trip there when I was still a fatty and how long the hike up to the top had taken. What a difference 45 pounds makes!

We ran into some other hikers on their way up the other side as we headed down. Because of time constraints, we only spent about an hour and a quarter there. It was 11:15 AM when we geared up and headed out.

Because we were going our separate ways and I was running late to meet my friends in Chelan, Brian let me lead the way with the understanding that I’d go at my own pace. I let it rip and covered the 30 miles in 30 minutes.

Blueberry Hills

It was 11:45 when I reached the junction of Entiat Road and Route 97A. I had a choice: continue with my plan to visit friends in Chelan or head back to Wenatchee Heights and take it easy for a while before heading out to the BBQ that afternoon.

I turned left toward Chelan.

There were a lot of cars on the road, but they kept at a good speed just over the speed limit. I fell into place behind them. It was a lot warmer back on the main road, but not too warm for my denim jacket. The road left the river, passed through a tunnel, and climbed into the mountains. It crested and started down, with beautiful Lake Chelan spread out before me: blue water surrounded by green orchards and vineyards capped by a perfectly clear blue sky.

I pulled over in town to get my friend Jim on the phone. He and his wife Teresa agreed to meet me at Blueberry Hills, a you-pick blueberry place and restaurant in Manson. Penny and I stopped for gas along the way. We wound up behind Jim and Teresa’s car as they pulled into the Blueberry Hills parking lot.

They had their dog, Zeus, a red heeler puppy with them. Penny and Zeus became friends months ago when we were in California on a frost contract with the helicopter. Zeus was much smaller then. He’s getting close to full grown now and is a lot bigger than Penny. They looked genuinely glad to see each other.

We climbed the stairs to the outside patio overlooking the blueberry fields. Jim and I went in to order lunch. I bought the dogs a pair of frozen beef bones, which the restaurant sells for their four-legged customers. Penny and Zeus got right down to business. When our food came, so did we. Blueberry Hills makes excellent food.

We talked about all kinds of things while waiting for our food and then eating. Teresa had just come back from a visit to their daughter’s family in Anchorage. Jim, like me, was just recovering from a hectic week of cherry drying. We had stories to swap and insights to share. It was a pleasant lunch — one I wish I could have lingered over, perhaps with a piece of pie. But it was getting late and I was supposed to be at a friend’s house in Wenatchee at 3:30. So we headed out, stopping to pick up two pounds of blueberries along the way.

I took the road on the east side of the river on the way back to avoid the traffic in Chelan, Entiat, and Wenatchee. It was a quick 50-mile ride to the south bridges between East Wenatchee and Wenatchee. Two more traffic lights and I was winding my way up Squilchuck Canyon, back to my temporary home in Wenatchee Heights.

The Teachers’ BBQ

By the time I got into the Mobile Mansion, it was 3:26 PM. I texted Kriss, who I was supposed to meet in 4 minutes to let her know I’d need at least an hour. That was fine; we weren’t due at the BBQ until 5 PM anyway.

I cleaned up, dressed, and threw the blueberries into a cooler bag. I still needed to get the other ingredients for what I planned to bring to the BBQ: strawberries, whipped cream, and cake. But when I got down to Safeway, there wasn’t a single strawberry in the store. I wound up with a single package — the last one! — of raspberries. And frozen whipped topping. I did get a good deal on a July 4 themed serving plate, which I’d leave behind with my hostess.

At Kriss and Jim’s house, I assembled my fruit and cream and put it in the serving dish. Kriss gave me some red sprinkles to dress it up. I was disappointed at myself for not bringing something better. (I’m really looking forward to having a full kitchen again.)

I met Kriss and Jim’s daughter and husband. I gave Jim the nuc box and frame holder I’d gotten as a little gift for him. (I met them through beekeeping; Jim has four hives and has been going out catching swarms lately. My first bee hive is in their backyard until I close on my Malaga property later this summer.) I watched at their three kittens, two of which are just staying with them temporarily. I unwound from the frantic pace I’d been keeping all morning.

We all headed out to a friend’s home about a mile away. It was an annual July 4 BBQ where Kriss’s fellow teachers — some still teaching, others retired — gathered for burgers, grilled salmon, excellent sides, and dessert. I met a lot of new people and answered a lot of questions about my cherry drying and other flying work.

The BBQ wound up after 7:30 PM. I said my thanks and goodbyes and climbed back into my truck. I was exhausted from my day out and stuffed from a good meal. I wanted to go see the fireworks but had no desire to deal with the traffic. A nice evening back home might be a good end to the day…

The Spoons Party

But I passed right by another friend’s house on my way home. Shawn and his wife were hosting the BBQ that Brian had gone to. I’d been invited but had turned it down to attend the other BBQ with Kriss and Jim. Was the party still going on?

I drove past and discovered that it was. I parked and walked around back to see what was going on. My rafting friends — as I’d begun to think of them — were playing a card came I’d heard about on my last rafting trip with them. It involved collecting four of a kind and grabbing a spoon off the table. There were five players and four spoons. The person who didn’t get a spoon lost.

A silly game, but nonetheless, I pulled up a chair and another spoon was added to the table. I didn’t play very well at first, but got slightly better. The vodka may have helped.

This party had kids — four of them — and later had fireworks out on the street. The whole area, in fact, was full of fireworks. Fireworks are legal in Washington — at least this part of Washington — and were readily available all over the place. Shawn and Brian had bought a bunch. When it got dark enough to enjoy them, they put on a show out in the street. Family fun.

When they broke up and headed back to the backyard, I took my leave. It was about 10 PM and I’d had enough for one day.

Silver Falls

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A motorcycle ride and a hike.

I had my 1992 Yamaha Seca II motorcycle shipped up to Washington State so I’d have something other than the pickup truck to ride around in while I’m here. Not only does it get about 50 mpg (compared with the trucks 15 or so mpg), but it’s a hell of a lot more fun to get around in.

When it first arrived, I discovered — without any real surprise — that my motorcycling skills were extremely rusty. I took it for a few short rides to get get the feel for it again. Then I took it to Chelan to visit a friend. And I’ve been riding it a few times a week since then.

But it was yesterday that the rust finally shook off.

Along Entiat Road

I decided that it was high time to take it out on some mildly challenging twisty roads. After consulting a map, I decided on Entiat Road (County Highway 19), which winds up the side of the Entiat River. The road is only about 38 miles long — or at least that’s what I gathered by the “Road Ends 38 miles” sign near where I picked up the road in Entiat on the Columbia River. I figured I’d ride it until either it or the pavement ended.

I left Wenatchee Heights at noon and, after winding my way through the city of Wenatchee and up route 97 toward Chelan, reached the turnoff for Entiat road at about 12:30. It was a typical two-lane road in good condition, smooth with no loose gravel. I was able to open up the bike and get some good practice leaning into the curves at speed. I drove past orchards snuggled into the valley — the apples and pears still hung, ripening, while the cherries had already been picked.

I was hungry — I hadn’t eaten before leaving — and figured I’d stop for lunch at the first place I found along the road. That first place happened to be about 10 miles up the road at Ardenvoir, a place called Cooper’s Store. It was also the last place; a sign nearby said “No services past this point.” It didn’t look very appealing, but I didn’t have a choice, so I parked the bike and pulled off all my gear: helmet, gloves, denim jacket. A sign outside said “Food voted five stars by Odee.” So, of course, when I went inside I asked who Odee was. Turned out to be the owner’s dog, an aged terrier that came up to sniff my hand when he heard his name.

I had a chili burger. In Arizona, that’s a burger with a green chili on it. At Cooper’s Store, it’s a burger under a heap of chili con carne with chopped onions and shredded cheese. To put a positive spin on it — it’s always nice to stay positive, no? — I can confirm that it was edible. I grabbed a popsicle out of the freezer in the store for dessert, paid up, and went outside. I sat on a bench out front to eat my popsicle. Three vehicles went by. A Jeep stopped at the store and the driver went inside while the passenger looked at me sitting on the bench. I guess there was nothing else to look at. Finished, I geared up and continued on my way.

The road continued up the river, sometimes quite close, past farms and homes and unlikely subdivisions that had never been sold. Many of the homes were for sale. Lots of waterfront property. A beautiful log house, brand new, with a “For Sale” sign on it. A real homesteaded property. An area that had obviously suffered a forest fire only a few years before — the weathered skeletons of burned trees were all that remained with tall grass on otherwise bare hills.

I have no idea how far up the road I was — 20 miles? 30? — when the pavement became rough and a sign informed me that I was entering the Wenatchee National Forest. No more homes along the side of the road. Now it was just tall pines along steep inclines with sharp curves in the bumpy road. I slowed down after being jarred violently going over a bump. A sign mentioned a place called Silver Falls 8 miles farther up and I figured that was as good a destination as any.

The Hike

My Yamaha at Silver FallsThere were National Forest Campgrounds along the side of the river. I passed two before I reached the parking area and campground for Silver Falls. I parked and stripped off my gear, locking it up in my bike’s Givi saddlebags. Looking up, I saw the top of the falls — can you see it in the photo? It didn’t seem that far away.

I checked the information kiosk. There was no information about the hike, although I could clearly see a trail disappearing into the forest across the road. I did see that there was a $5 day use fee. Although it was midweek and I thought I’d only be there a short while, I know how much the parks are struggling. So I filled out the form on an envelope, put a $5 bill in it, and tucked it into the payment slot. Then I grabbed my camera and started the hike.

At Silver FallsI immediately found myself in a deep, somewhat dark pine forest. As my eyes adjusted to the light, my nose picked up the scent of pine and moisture and my ears heard the sound of rushing water. I came upon the creek immediately — a healthy stream of water gushing over rocks between trees. For me — a desert dweller — it was a real treat.

Rustic BridgeThe path was well-maintained, with rustic protective barriers to prevent hikers from accidentally falling into the stream. The bridges were especially rustic looking, sometimes with curved logs making attractive rails. It was surprising to find something so attractively designed on a trail. I began to wonder how much of the trail dated back to the CCC days, when National Forest trail projects were a source of employment during the Great Depression.

I followed the path as it climbed gently upstream, first on one side, then the other. The trail forked at a bridge where I stopped for a rest. A family of three was just coming down the right side of the creek. “It’s worth it,” the Dad assured me.

I continued up the way they’d come down. The trail began to climb. It moved away from the creek and then back to it, offering stunning views of the rushing water. The farther I went, the steeper the trail got. In many places, it was rock steps. I paused at another rest spot. The mist from the falls chilled the otherwise hot air. I could see the main falls above me. When another family joined me, I asked whether the trail went all the way to the top. The Dad told me it did. Remembering the other guy’s assurance, I continued the hike.

At one point, the trail came back to the creek just beneath a large fall. Although the rustic wooden logs made it clear where the trail stopped, I did as many others had likely done and slipped beneath the two rails. I was able to safely get to a spot beneath the waterfall, tucked under a rocky ledge. I experimented with my camera, trying hard to protect it from the mist, until mosquitos found me and I decided to move on.

Behind the Waterfall

After that point, the trail swung far from the stream — so far that I could no longer hear the water’s flow. It also leveled out. Perhaps I’d misunderstood the other hiker? Perhaps that spot under the falls was as high up as the trail would go? Perhaps it would continue back along the mountainside, away from the falls?

Purple FlowersBut I stuck with it and was rewarded with a switchback and another climb. A while later, I was back alongside the stream at yet another streamside bench, photographing some beautiful purple flowers just past the peak of bloom.

It was then that I noticed a similar rest area on the other side of the creek. The trail had split and, apparently, the other trail climbed up the other side. Would they meet again at the top, forming a loop? Could there possibly be another bridge? It was too much to hope for. I’d assumed I’d be returning the way I’d come. Now I was starting to wonder.

I continued on my way, up more stairs and another turn away from the creek. After another switchback, I returned to the creek and saw the bridge over a smaller falls. I spent a lot of time up there, relaxing in the shade, snapping photos of the water falling over the rocks. Again and again I wished I’d had a tripod or at least my monopod along with me — the shade was dark in the dense forest.

Bridge at the Top of the Falls

Stairs on the TrailThen I started down the other side of the creek. At first, it was one long flight of stairs after another. Then the trail moved away from the falls in a series of relatively level paths with switchbacks. In some places, the trail emerged from the forest into the sun; not only could I feel the heat on my skin, but I could smell it. Then back into the trees for cooling shade and pine aromas.

Waterfall with RainbowAt one point, the trail came back to the falls just below where I’d walked along the ledge on the other side. The mist and sun worked together to produce a small rainbow. I did the best I could to capture the scene with my camera; I really do need to learn how to photograph waterfalls properly.

A while later, I was back near place where the trail had split. I took my time following the trail back out to the main road. The parking lot was empty except for my motorcycle.

It was 4:30 PM. I’d been there for nearly 2 hours.

I’d gotten my $5 worth of nature — and more.

The Ride Back

Although the road continued farther up the river, I was tired and thirsty. I figured I’d save it for another day — perhaps a day when I could share it with someone. So I geared up and pulled out.

I did take time to check out the three campgrounds I passed on the way back. The first and third were partially occupied and had nice sites looking out over the Entiat River. I’m not sure, but I think I could get the mobile mansion into at least some of the spots if I wanted to. It would be tough, though. The second campground was deserted and I could understand why; the sites were small and unappealing. None of the campgrounds had utilities, although they all had centralized water spigots and outhouses. The single campground host was not around.

I rode more aggressively on the way back. I felt as if I’d regained a lot of the motorcycling skill I’d had back in the 90s when we rode all the time. It felt good to lean deeply into the curves and accelerate through them, especially when I was out of the National Forest and the road conditions were a little better.

I passed Cooper’s Store with only a momentary thought of stopping in. I do wish I’d taken a photo, though. The Odee sign was pretty funny.

The motorcycle started losing power about 5 miles from the end of the road. I was able to switch to the Reserve setting while moving and before the engine quit.

At the junction of Route 97, I turned left toward the town of Entiat. My first concern was fuel; I took 3.6 gallons. Then I pulled up to 97 Brew, one of Washington State’s ubiquitous drive-through coffee stands. I rode up on the shady side and after getting my smoothie, asked if it was okay to stay parked there in the shade until someone else pulled up. No problem. I sucked my smoothie down while reading an article on the Web on my phone.

Then I geared up again and headed south on 97. About 40 minutes later, after winding my way through Wenatchee traffic, I was back in my RV. It was 6 PM.