Day 5 Farragut to Olny-ish

The next morning, we didn't hurry too much to get our stuff together.  We knew we were headed towards Glacier, but weren't sure where we'd end up.  We both decided to grab one last shower, because who knew when our next chance would be?

I'm fairly certain the bottles are just empties left over from the previous evening.

I waited a little too long to grab mine, and had to wait in line for a shower to become available, but it came soon enough and it felt great.

 

We packed our stuff and headed out, but stopped by the bathroom on the way before hitting the road.  We rode back past our site on the way out, and saw the camp hosts scrubbing it clean--literally scrubbing.  I guess they thought that we'd partied too hard, and it had been too much debauchery for a family friendly campground. It was a bit embarrassing, and we got the hell out of there.

Since we hadn't seen the lake in our whole stay, we decided to take a look before leaving the park.  We went to a scenic overlook, and learned that Lake Pend Oreille (pronounced "pond door-ray") is the 5th largest lake in the US, and is deep enough to apparently facilitate submarine maneuvers.  So needless to say, the thing is HUGE, and it was strange that in all our cruising around the park, we hadn't seen it before then.  In any case, you can only look at a lake for so long, so after getting a good eyeful, we headed out. As it turns out, we would spend a lot of time seeing the lake for the rest of the morning anyway.

Lake Pend Oreille 

We stopped in Sandpoint, ID for some breakfast and found a good place, Connie's Cafe.  It was a nice day and not too hot yet, so we decided to eat on the porch.  The food was great, I had the Country Breakfast, which was biscuits & gravy, with another biscuit, and some eggs and sausage.  It was good rib stickin' food.  I should also add that Sandpoint, seemed to be filled with lots of attractive ladies.  When I think of Idaho, I typically think of small towns and farms, and not really a boon of hot girls.  Well, Sandpoint definitely proved me wrong.  There were hot girls aplenty, but we were just passing through, and there was no room on our bikes anyway so it wouldn't do any good to linger on it.

We headed off eastward and then north along Bull River Road, a road that some guys had recommended to us at breakfast.  It followed along a lake, and they raved about how great it was for motorcycles.  When we located it on the map, It looked good to us too, but when we cruised the road, we weren't all that impressed. Yeah, it was better than straight and boring, but as far as motorcycles go, or at least sportbikes, it was pretty sedate.

By the time we got to the end of that road, we were getting hot, so pulled over at a rest stop.  There was an old timer there on an old trike, a chopper made with a VW engine.  It looked straight out of the 70's and so did he.  He was cool, and we just chatted a bit about riding and motorcycles and such.  He too also raved about Bull River Road, saying how it was one of his favorites of all time and such.  It makes me curious about buying a cruiser, maybe roads automatically become more exciting when you have a slower, less nimble machine?  In any case, he geared up and soon headed off, wishing us a good trip and warning us to keep an eye out for deer.

Our route took us along Lake Koocanusa, or Cookin' USA as we dubbed it.  Looking at it later, I see that the name is  actually a conjunction of Kootenai (the river it dams), Canada and USA, since it  crosses the border.  The road was smooth and scenic, and we were able to go at a pretty good clip along the length of it.  

Taking a breather somewhere in Idaho. Or maybe Montana.

We stopped along the way for gas at a small general store type place in the middle of nowhere.  While I was getting all my gear situated, an old farmer came and talked to us with a very concerned look on his face.  He asked us where we were headed, and Chuck explained that we were taking side roads and such.  Hearing that he seemed to grow more concerned and said that staying on the main highways is safer, and that we should be on the lookout for deer, regardless.  Seeing as that was our second warning in a few hours, we agreed that we'd be extra vigilant.

Not too much later, as luck would have it, we were going at speed and I was riding point, when I noticed a familiar four legged shape by the side of the road.  I flashed my brakes and immediately started downshifting and braking.  Chuck followed suit. A doe was standing on the side of the road looking at me with that "duuuuuuh" look that deer like to give when they see a vehicle.  I'd almost come to a stop and honked my little weenie motorcycle horn, until she snapped out of it and proceeded to run across the road.  A moment later, two fawns hopped out of the woods and followed mom across. The deer hadn't caught us off guard, really, but it was a wake up call.

The light was fading and we knew that the conditions would just become more deer filled, so we agreed that it was time to look for a place to camp for the night.  The closest "town" was a place called Olny, so we figured we'd stop there and get some provisions for the night.  This was also bear country, so we didn't want to eat any meat or anything, and just planned on getting something to snack on.

We pulled into Olny, which was a small cluster of houses and other buildings by the train tracks, and one store.  I think that Chuck and I can both agree that the Olny store was the most surreal experience of the trip.  Most small towns, when a motorcyclist pulls up to a store, packed for a long haul and covered in road patina, he can expect a little chit chat about the trip.  The lady who was running the store, a dour woman in her 50's or 60's, couldn't have cared less that we were on motorcycles, or that we were on a trip.  In truth, she seemed annoyed to actually have customers.

And the store itself was weird...some things like drinks and chips she had a decent stock of, but for most of the goods, there was only one of each item on the shelves.  You want Froot Loops?  Well you're in luck, because we have one box left!  A can of soup? Yes, we have one!  The goods were all arranged neatly too, labels out and parallel with their neighbors, as if it were a museum of common consumer goods.

We got some pretzels and some waters for a cool $10 and proceeded to GTFO.  Since we were in Montana by now, we figured we wouldn't have much trouble finding an unpopulated area to set up camp for the night, and we turned off when we saw a sign for National Forrest access.  It was one of those roads where we'd think that we were miles away from anyone, but then a house would appear around the next bend.  Eventually though, we came to a gravel road, which is a good sign for that you're getting farther from civilization. We turned down it and and looked for a site to camp.

We found a spot to with wheel tracks leading into the woods, and Chuck set off to investigate.  He was communicating via the Sena and commented that it looked promising.  I saw him disappear behind a little hill, so headed after him.  Just as he was telling me it looked like we'd found our spot, I felt a clang and heard the dreaded "BLAP BLAP BLAP" of my exhaust again.  I'd scraped another rock and disconnected the muffler, just like last time, only in less dire circumstances.

I was slightly bummed about it, but after seeing how easily Chuck fixed it last time, I wasn't too concerned.  In any case, we'd found our site for the evening because we sure as hell weren't going anywhere now. I cut the engine and Chuck came to give me a push down the hill to our site.

It turned out to be a pretty good site, though in retrospect, we were a little too close to the road, even if it was only gravel.  It was mostly flat, and we were close to a stream, although the only part of the stream that was easily reachable from our site was a stagnant green pool. We set about building a fire pit with rudimentary tools (e.g. a couple of branches).  Neanderthalish as our methods were, they worked. We saw that we weren't the first people there, there was evidence of a previous fire, as well as many small trees and branches that had been chainsawed.  We gathered some fallen wood and chopped it up into manageable pieces with The Choppah.

Not a bad spot.

Pretty discreet, but still visible to the eagle eyed passerby

We had a good night of snack food and whatever libations we had on hand.  We actually agreed that the fire turned out to be unnecessary, as it was actually a fairly warm night since the clouds had rolled in.  Before too long, we covered up the fire with the dirt we used to dig the fire pit, and went to bed.

 Day 4 - Farragut

The first order of business at Farragut was disc golf--it was after all, pretty much the whole reason we camped there.  After reading reviews on DGCR, we decided that A.W.O.L. was the first course we should play.  it was the longest and most difficult, so we figured it would be best to do that one first while we were still fresh and the sun wasn't hot.  

Part of the fun of the Farragut experience was that our campsite was a couple miles or so from where the disc golf courses were.  Naturally, we didn't want to walk all the way there, nor did we want to deal with the hassle of trying to stow our bike gear.  There are apparently no helmet laws in Idaho, so Chuck and I decided to live like the locals and rode over there in full squid status.  I can safely say I don't like riding like a squid, I felt exposed and cold, and douchey.

The course turned out to be pretty good, we figured it was about the same difficulty level of Seatac back home, but with more space to work with, and no blackberries.  It definitely was less grueling than Four Mounds, being flat for the most part, and having less rocks to scrabble over with each step.  Neither of us kept track of score, as far as I know, but I think we shot fairly decently for being out of practice. Even though we had the early start, it got hot soon enough, and towards the end of the round we were running pretty low on energy and water.

Chuck taking the picturesque route to the basket.

Some of the holes were creatively renamed.  I liked this one.

We finished up the round, squidded back to camp, took a quick breather and then loaded up our dirty clothes and headed to Spirit Lake. We had errands to run and chores to do.  Once we got into town, we put a load of laundry in at the laundromat, and then walked across the street to a little food truck type operation called "As You R" that specialized in burgers and fish and chips.  We both ordered burgers from the quite attractive chick running the place.  We sat outside on a tiny picnic table and when the food came out, it was everything we'd hoped for.  In essence, it was everything that Zip's was not--and cheaper to boot. It might have been just as simple burger and (steak) fries, but it was done right.

Cool as Ice.

"Yo, where da ladies at?"

I'll go out on a limb and say these were the best burgers in town.

After our meal, I went to finish the laundry while Chuck went to secure food for the evening. While hanging out in the laundromat, an older couple chatted with me about our trip and all. They both seemed really excited and happy for us, and they definitely did not seem to have a negative stereotype of motorcyclists (good thing they hadn't seen me after our round.) Just more friendliness in Spirit Lake. 

By the time I got over to help Chuck shop, he was already in the checkout line.  He'd gotten some chicken and veggies for hobo packs again, hoping for better results than what we'd had at Four Mounds. While the laundry was finishing drying, we took a stroll over to the local liquor store and got a bottle of Bulleit, for at least $10 cheaper than what we'd pay in Washington.

Recharged and loaded with clean clothes and supplies, we went back to Farragut.  There was still plenty of daylight and we had energy, so we headed to the disc golf courses again to check out another of Farragut's offerings.  The two remaining courses to pick between were North Star and Wreckreator. Not having much preference, we only hoped to have a couple holes play by the water, but weren't sure which courses did.  The "map" provided at the entrance to the courses didn't do much for indication, but it looked like both courses should play by the lake at some point.  With about as much reason as a coin flip, we chose Wreckreator.

It was a good course, but like A.W.O.L., it didn't really have anything that stood out as great.  It was more forgiving than the former, but in recalling the round, there are only a couple holes I can really bring to memory.  And it never played by the water.

One of the vestiges of the old naval base

Northern Idaho countryside

Though the course was easier, Chuck and I were tired by the end, and if we had been keeping score, we probably would have done worse in our afternoon round.  We finished up golfing and headed back to camp for dinner.  

JC Whitney cases: More than just a fashion statement.

Chuck made up some hobo packs, though rather than putting everything into one pack, he tried separating the meat and veggies into separate packs so that the meat wouldn't get overdone.  He had 1" cubes of chicken seasoned with white wine, cumin, salt and pepper.  He was planning on coating everything with a cream of mushroom sauce he made up, but, um, that didn't go as planned.

At one point, he wanted me to take a picture of the packs cooking in the coals, so I got up to get my camera from the picnic table.  In my defense, it was dark out, and there were many things on the table, including the camp stove with the sauce.  And we had been drinking beer and whiskey.  I grabbed the camera easily enough, but as I turned around, the lanyard snagged on something and the next thing I knew, there was an intense, searing sensation across my feet.  Yup, that was the stove the lanyard had snagged on, and yes, it was indeed filled with creamy, boiling sauce.  I think I yelled some not so family friendly things and did a panic dance, kicking off my Crocs in the process, as most of the sauce had collected there.  We rinsed my feet in cold water from the spigot, and fortunately, they were just superficial burns, but alas, there would be no sauce for the meal.

I've seen similar looking scenes that happened in an entirely different manner.

Believe it or not, I think the Crocs actually helped me here.

As it turned out, it didn't really need it.  The chicken came out really well, and the potatoes too.  The mixed veggies (onions and pepper) were kind of bland, but that was because they had been intended to be covered in sauce.

It wasn't long after eating that we were ready to call it a night. Even though we'd had a rest day in terms of riding, we still ended up being more active. We weren't sure where we'd end up the next night, somewhere on the way to Glacier is all we knew.

Sunrise at Four Mounds

Day 3 - 26 Aug Spokane to Farragut State Park

We woke up to sunshine and set about getting our morning coffee and such.  We took our morning constitutionals in a nearby shack equipped with a toilet.  The shack was interesting, I told Chuck it was like a disc golf themed crack den, and he agreed it was a perfect description.  

Gordy and his wife were in the process of building a house on the property, an ongoing project that they’ve been working on.  We took a stroll around the place to see how it was coming along, and it seems to be a really nice house.  The notable oddity though was the kitchen. Gordy and his wife are both tall people, and as such, they designed the kitchen with their stature in mind. The kitchen, while well equipped and laid out nicely, had extremely high counters, closer to what you'd expect a bar's height to be.  It made us feel like we should be standing on a stool and looking for the cookie jar.  

Since I hadn’t been hugely productive with my journaling the previous night with Gordy outside the tent, I wanted to catch up some more.  Back out on the porch, I found the makings for an ad hoc desk and set about to getting things documented.  

Having some coffee in my "study"

I'd has some issues with my Buell pegs earlier in the trip. They didn't come with springs on them, like my stock pegs had. I didn't think it would be an issue though, as gravity should keep them in the downward position, right? What I hadn't taken into account that if I were riding at speed, the wind would be plenty enough force to push them upward if I were to take my feet off the pegs. This led to a few awkward moments on the previous days’ rides when a foot peg would fly up into the retracted position and I ended up kicking my leg like a dog getting its back scratched as I tried to get it back down.  Certainly not the safest maneuver to be performing on winding roads, and furthermore, any cool points I may have previously accumulated were automatically deducted.

Not one to sit idly by, Chuck decided to get MacGyvery with my footpegs while I typed away.  Armed with some pliers, a Leatherman, and some scavenged surveyor’s flags, Chuck did a not too shabby job of rigging up some springs for my pegs.  They seem like the only time they’ll come off is if I purposefully want to take them off, but I don’t really see why I’d want to do that.

Chuck's roadside engineering

We wanted to make good time, so packed up all our stuff before heading out to play Cape Fear, the signature course of Four Mounds.  We also wanted and make it out before Gordy showed up (apparently there’s a group of regulars that always play on Sundays).  Chuck got his bike all loaded up, and I just got all my things consolidated, ready for loading when we got back.

We played Cape Fear with only a couple hiccups in trying to find our way around (the multiple courses on the property sometimes overlap and it’s hard to determine which way you should go).  The day was quickly getting hot though, and we were going through water like it was...well, water.  The course is pretty big and rugged, with lots of lava-rock filled elevation, and stabby plants everywhere.  The course takes its name from Hole 9, which itself is called Cape Fear.  It shoots over 500’ across a nasty ravine where if end up short and/or left (the most common direction for weak/bad throws) there’s a good chance that you’ll never see your disc again.  Or if you do, you’ll likely come back bloody.  I forget what Chuck and I scored on that hole, but we both came out intact and with all our discs, so we were winners.  As tired as we were after that though, it was hard to believe we were only halfway through the round.

The eponymous hole.  If you zoom in, you can see a white dot to the right of the trees.  That's the  pin.

Spokane Valley from the other side of Cape Fear (basket lower right)

If you look closely, you can see two wild turkeys in the center.

One of the interesting holes on the course

Where the hell are we supposed to be shooting?

One of many baskets scattered around.

On hole 15, Gordy's truck came around the corner, and he had Wobbly Bob with him.  Bob is another big disc golf guy in Spokane and they were going around doing some maintenance before the Sunday rounds would start.  We shot the shit a while with them, talking about our tentative route and general disc golf small talk.  We didn’t want to be impolite, but we wanted to finish the round, get on the road and get some food in our stomachs.

We moseyed on and they took off to do more maintenance, until the 18th hole where they caught up again to throw the final hole with us.  We all had good shots, but Bob parked it.  Chuck asked Gordy if we could hitch a ride back to camp, and we hopped in the back of the truck. Gordy then took us to another corner of the property, in the opposite direction of our campsite, to show off a new hole he'd just put in.  We apparently weren't done with golf just yet.  It was soon over though and we were back towards the camp.  

A couple sportbikes grazing in the wild

For whatever reason, it took me way longer than necessary to get my shit together and Chuck was obviously losing patience with my lagging.  We were hungry, it was hot (especially in leathers), and it had been a while since he'd had a cigarette.  I felt bad, because I sure as hell wanted to get out of there too, but everything just seemed to take so long to get in place.  

Finally though we were on the road and looking for something to eat.  We'd wanted breakfast again, but it was too late for the place that Gordy had recommended, so we were just looking for anything that looked good.  Somehow though, we found a stretch of Spokane were no good restaurants exist.  We rode up and down several roads and it began to feel like the time we couldn't escape Yakima.  Tired of looking, Chuck made the call and pulled into a place called Zip's, which turned out to be a regional fast food burger chain.  

It was...food.  I can't say much more for it than that. My burger was basically McDonald's burger with Wendy's bacon on top and the fries were eerily similar to the frozen crinkle cut fries I've undercooked in my own kitchen.  The highlight was the soda machine that dispensed about 500 different flavors.  We scarfed the food down as best we could, tried not to dwell on it, and headed towards Idaho.

Our destination for the next two nights was Farragut State Park, a popular park on a former naval base.  Yes.  A naval base.  In Idaho.  Idaho, as it turns out, has lots of huge lakes, and this particular one, Pend Doreille, was large and deep enough that the US Navy had a training station there during WWII.  Now in more peaceful times, it's a state park and like Four Mound, has several disc golf courses on site.  

We were looking for a back way to Farragut, of course, and according to Google, there was a sweet road leading up and over Mt. Spokane.  We took it, and there were some pretty cool twisties on the way up, but our fun soon came to an end when we saw that it became a fee road, and that the road would be gravel at best on the other side of the summit, if we could find the correct one.  Kind of a bummer because turning around would make it about a 40 minute diversion, but there wasn’t much else to be done. So, heads hung low, we turned around, headed back, and found Blanchard Road, a road that Gordy mentioned, which led straight into Idaho.  It was a pretty cool road in parts, some of it having fresh virginal asphalt laid down where no lines even been painted yet. There were some nice turns over the crest of the hills on the border and Chuck wanted to turn around to have another run at them. But at that point, I was pretty pooped and just wanted to get to Farragut, so we forged ahead.

We made it into Idaho and headed south towards Farragut and stopped in a little town called Spirit Lake that seemed to be exceedingly friendly and had a nice little grocery store with a laundromat, several restaurants, gas stations and a liquor store.  Pretty much all  a weary traveller could ask for.  We got some easy food for the evening at the grocery store, some sandwiches and potato salad, and headed to Farragut which was only about 20 minutes away.

In order to get a spot at Farragut, we had to reserve online and by the time we were trying to do it, there were only two campsites available.  One with water and electricity in the RV area, and one in the tent area, with no water or electricity, that was right by the bathrooms and camp host. I had tried to consult with Chuck, but was unable to reach him, so I made an executive decision to go for the RV site, figuring that it would probably be quieter and wouldn't have to worry about the camp hosts so much.

Well, in hindsight, we may have been better off with the tent site.  The RV site, while having nice amenities like a picnic table, firepit, water and electricity, lacked any sort of personality.  It was a basic slab of asphalt with a rectangle of gravel attached.  And there were lots of families, with lots of kids.  They were generally well behaved, but still, there was always noise and commotion around.  On the plus side we only had one neighbor.  And while we were settling in to the campsite, a not-unattractive mom walked by with her young daughter.  The little girl was utterly transfixed by us--greasy, smelly, leathery visages that we were.  The mom  started chastising her playfully, telling her  she was “too young to be interested in boys...cute boys,” and glanced at us with a bit of a cougarish gleam in her eye.  I think she may have had a couple glasses of wine, but she nonetheless made two scruffy dirtbags blush.

We had our sandwiches and potato salad for dinner, and treated ourselves to some nice hot showers. They were the first we'd had since departing on Friday, and they hit the spot.

 Our not-so-special campsite

Day 2 - 25 Aug, Conconully to Spokane

A glimpse of the lake near our site

With the worry in the back of my mind, well, forefront of my mind, I woke up at probably 4:30 in the morning, and try as I might, I just couldn't get back to sleep.  I laid in bed a while, and as I was about to get up, I heard Chuck moving around.  

Industrious fellow that he is, he got up and immediately started working on my bike.  He tried to be surreptitious about it, but there's only so much you can do in a campsite privately, and mechanical work is not one of them.  I got out of bed with an urgency in my bowels and Chuck was already pretty much done with it.  By the time I got back from my trek in the woods, Chuck was having a cigarette beside my intact bike, and immediately a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders.

Another shot of the site

I spent some time journaling with my snazzy new tablet and keyboard, and had almost completed the previous day's events, when a message popped up saying that the app had unexpectedly failed.  It was a quick lesson with this app--it does NOT have autosave.  Yes, yesterday’s entry had to be retyped in today's entry.  Sigh.

Getting in touch with nature while tapping away on a keyboard. Yes, I'm fully aware of the irony.

Chuck: Roadside Mechanic and Forgetter of Coffee Cups

One of the paths leading to the site.  This isn't the one we used, but it gives you and idea.

After the technical difficulties, we decided to motivate and get on out of there.  We got packed up, and now there was just one more hurdle to cross:  actually getting out.  Chuck loaded up his bike, but I chose to leave all my luggage off until I had my bike free and clear of the slope we had to climb.  Chuck went first again, with me walking with him on foot, just in case (he didn't need me, but I wanted him nearby for my attempt, so I figured I should extend the gesture as well.)  Chuck made it up the slope without issue, so once again, I was to follow in his tracks.

With more moral support, Chuck stood by, and really, without too much issue, I made it up and out of our little gully.  It was just one of those situations where you have to charge forward and don't give yourself time to hesitate once you've committed.  If I had lost my nerve part way through, that's when disaster would surely come.  But all was well, and my spirits were high.

The guy who was camping across the way had come by earlier and we'd gotten some basic directions from him, which quite possibly saved us from having to ride 15-20 miles more on dirt, and instead was more like .75.

Saying goodbye to the lake.  Our camp spot had been around the bend on the left hand side.

We came to a tiny little town called Tenasket.  We were looking to grab some breakfast, but the one place that advertised itself as offering breakfast all day had plastic over the windows.  We stopped at a family restaurant and thought it was a good sign to see two motorcycles already parked there.  As soon as we pulled up, they came out and we shot the shit a little bit.  One guy was from Kirkland, and the other from Yakima, and neither seemed to have a sense of humor, or at least not one like ours.  They told us the food was good, but that breakfast had just stopped being served.  We were hungry and willing to have lunch instead.

The restaurant itself was decent enough, what you'd expect to find in a small town.  The menu was basic burgers and sandwiches and we got our orders in.  The food was fine, nothing special, but they appeared to be kind of small portions.  Chuck commented as such, but as we go deeper into our meals, we both agreed that the portions were more than adequate.  We finished eating, and Chuck wanted to fill up his hydration bladder, our waitress was nowhere to be seen, so Chuck got up and peeked his head around the corner in the kitchen area (we were sitting right next to the waitress station.)  

He was next to the fountain drink machine, and got the attention of one of the waitresses (we'll call her Brabara because she had a slightly lazy eye) and asked if he could fill up his bladder.  She was like "Um, no if you'll just return to your seat sir, I'll be happy to help you do that."  And she took his bladder, obviously not happy at all about it.  When she came back, I fished out one of my water bottles from my tank bag and handed to her and asked if she could do mine as well.  Wordlessly, she took it and walked away.  I looked at Chuck and mouthed "She hates us." and Chuck nodded in agreement.

We planned out our route for the rest of the day and then motivated to head out.  We were in the back of the restaurant, and there was a door directly behind us.  I was busy getting all my shit together, and Chuck was ready for his after meal cigarette so he was headed out before me.  Again he poked his head around the corner to the waitress area and asked if he could use that door.  As luck would have it, Brabara was there doing something.

Chuck:  Hey, is it OK to use this door?
Brabara:  Ummm, nothankyou!  If you could just leave through the front door, like everyone else, that would be great.

Chuck and I looked at each other and couldn't help but chortle audibly.  With that we left, and now "Ummmm, nothankyou!" has become a theme when we discuss any locals that might not have the greatest opinion of motorcycles.

After our breakfast/lunch, we hit the road and got to see some magnificent roads, particularly the 20 east of Republic.  By the way, Republic seemed like a nice little touristy town, similar to Winthrop but dialed back on the kitsch Old West theme.  We only stopped for gas there, but remarked on how nice it seemed.  The roads, as I say, were great and we had minimal traffic holding us up all day long.  

We also hit a fantastic road connecting the little towns of Hunter and Springdale.  Just great motorcycling to be had through there.  Nice turns that would be tighter than what we'd label as "sweepers," but not so tight that they were technical and required intense concentration.

By the time we finished the road to Springdale, we wanted to make time, so didn't take the most curvy roads we could find, and instead opted for medium curvy roads that followed the shores of Long Lake.  That was also some pleasant riding and was gentle sweepers with a gorgeous and huge lake on our right hand side.  

Taking a rest stop and confirming our accommodations for the night

As we got closer to Spokane, Chuck and I got separated by a car between us, and he'd disappeared in my rear view.  I pinged him on the intercom, and he said he'd catch up soon, when he had a good opportunity.  So onward we went, and in not so long, I saw a motorcycle behind me.  After a while, I heard a weird musical note coming through my headset, and quickly deduced that it was a phone call coming in, I saw that it was Chuck calling and it then dawned on me that the motorcycle behind me was actually not him.

Chuck had stopped at a little grocery store about five miles back to get supplies for the evening, so I turned around to come back and meet him.  I got to the store and cruised through the parking lot, but didn't see his bike.  Wondering if somehow I'd come to the wrong store, I cruised to the side of the store to see if there was parking over there, and seeing that there wasn't, turned back around.  I then saw his bike in the main lot, but parked discreetly behind a bush to be in the shade.  I was relieved to see it, but then realized that I was in mid u-turn and about to hit a curb.  Instinctively, I grabbed the front brake, which is a big no-no when turning at low speed on a motorcycle.

The bike stopped, and started to lean hard to the left.  I tried my best to get it back upright, but the weight of the luggage was working against me and I was fighting a losing battle.  Ever so slowly, the bike made it's inevitable descent to the ground.  There are fewer things more embarrassing for a motorcyclist than dropping his bike in public.  I immediately hopped of, cut the engine, and picked it up with almost no effort.  I suppose it was adrenaline or just sheer urgency, but I got out of there as quickly as possible--well, just to go and park 50 yards away.

While we were making plans at lunch, we decided to try camping at Four Mounds, a private disc golf reserve owned by Gordy C.  It’s basically a huge plot of land, probably in the neighborhood of 100 acres, that he has dedicated to building disc golf courses on.  There are 3 full 18 hole courses there, plus different combinations that integrate holes from each.  And with a small fee to help out with the maintenance costs, Gordy allows people to come out and camp there, provided they call and make arrangements.

I should preface the Four Mounds story by saying that when we were originally planning the trip, Chuck wanted to avoid the place.  Not because it was bad--because it's an awesome plot of land and great discing to be had there.  No, without going into too much detail, in previous times on the regional disc golf forum, Chuck had disagreed with something Gordy did, and he'd voiced his opinion. And he hadn't exactly sugar coated it either. It suffices to say, Chuck and Gordy had conflicting personalities, and Chuck hadn't planned on crossing paths with him again.

We found Four Mounds without much trouble, and had originally hoped to play a round there, but it was late in the day and we were fairly beat.  We just wanted to set up camp and get some dinner going.

Gordy welcomed us and showed us where we could pitch camp and such, and explained ad nauseum how dangerous fires could be there (its remote land, and very dry and very windy).  We understood.

Arrival at Four Mounds

While we set up camp, Gordy was working on the course, mowing some fairways.  Chuck said I could try to catch up on journaling while he made dinner, so I took him up on that and started typing away in my tent.  Before too long though, I heard Gordy come into the site and he brought some beers to share.  

This was pretty much the exact situation Chuck had hoped to avoid--by himself, chatting mano y mano with Gordy.  They talked for a good 45 minutes or so while I tried to get words on the page.  Chuck was doing a good job of staying conversant, and I could tell that the wine and beer were flowing.  There were some points where disc golf politics came up and Chuck played dumb to avoid going down that road.  There were also a few references to the forums and such, and Gordy made it apparent that he knew exactly who Chuck was.  

Eventually Chuck called me out saying that dinner was almost ready, so I came and joined them by the fire.  There was some more chit chatting until Gordy finally decided to pack it in for the night and head back to the city.  Chuck confessed that he'd been doing his best to harness his adrenaline through the whole conversation, and was probably fiending hard for a cigarette the whole time, but couldn't exactly light up in front of Gordy, given their track record.

We had a good time after Gordy left though, just drinking and talking by the fire.  The hobo packs (or bum packs, as Chuck insists on calling them) turned out not as great as we'd hoped.  They didn't cook enough initially, and we had to put them back on the fire.  By the time we pulled them out (probably like 10 PM by now), the veggies were done, but the meat was pretty dry.  Still though, it was hot food, and it was certainly edible.  

I made Chuck stay up until the moon passed under the horizon, which was a struggle for him, but entertaining for me.  He made it though, and I made it to bed a little while later, some time around 12:30.

Our campsite, plenty of sky and no neighbors

2012 Road trip - Prologue and Day 1

Prologue - Preparation and (sort of) planning

It’s my second year of owning a motorcycle, and though it took me a long time to actually get one, I’m pretty sure it’s a life long change for me.  Having always been a fan of road trips, it was an unspoken assumption that I should go on at least one big motorcycle trip every year.  

Last year, 2011, I wanted to do a long trip with my good friend and motorcycling mentor, Chuck, but unfortunately circumstances made it so that Chuck couldn't do more than an extended weekend trip at most.  In dire need of a vacation, I had to make the uncomfortable decision to strike out on my first big motorcycle road trip solo.  As it turned out, it was a successful trip all around, and a good learning experience.  But I wanted to do a bigger trip, and preferably one with Chuck.

So this year, Chuck and I were able to coordinate better and both requested time off at the end of August.  We didn't plan out a route, or even agree on a destination until a week or so before we were supposed to leave.  We had ten days to work with and one night we had a summit to try to figure out where our route would take us.  We had all sorts of ambitious ideas to begin with, including going to Yellowstone or the Bay Area, but when we looked at the logistics of motorcycle travel (and keeping things pleasurable), we agreed that Glacier National Park would be a good destination.  For both Chuck and I, the farthest east we’d been in this part of the country was Spokane--Idaho and Montana were uncharted territory for us, which made it all the more appealing.  We plotted out a very basic route, essentially looking to avoid major highways wherever possible, and looking for twisty roads that would provide enjoyable riding as well as good scenery.  Most of our navigation would take place on day by day basis, if not stop by stop.

In preparation for the trip, I acquired several new pieces of gear in the preceding months which I would put to a trial by fire, as it were:

• A new tent - I had a Sierra Designs tent that my mother gave to me over 10 years ago that has been a fantastic trooper through many camping trips, but, it was wearing out as equipment tends to do.  So one day I saw a good deal for a tent on Steep and Cheap, a Mountain Hardware Hammerhead 3.  It’s bulkier and heavier than my Sierra Designs tent, but has more features.
• A parang - Figuring that I’d be doing camping in more rugged environments, I wanted something that I’d be able to chop firewood with.  I’d been keeping my eye out for a hatchet, but I saw this parang (a variation of a machete) on sale at REI.  Besides being endorsed by Bear Grylls, it seemed like a solid piece of equipment.  I quickly dubbed it “The Choppah.”
• A new sleeping pad - For years I'd been using an old backpacking model of a Thermarest (rolls up to be about half the size of a standard one, and consequently, offers about half the padding.) It's served well for all the years, but strolling through REI, I'd seen how much sleeping pad technology had progressed in the last few years. During the same sale where I got the parang, I splurged and got myself an Exped Synmat 7, which folded up smaller than my Thermarest and was 3-4x thicker when inflated.
• A Bags Connection tank bag - Whereas most tank bags stay on the tank via magnets or straps, Bags Connection bags stay on with a latching mechanism on your gas cap.  The advantage of this is that the bag is more secure, attaches and detaches easily, and won’t scratch your paint.  I got the bag for everyday use, but would put it to the test on the trip.  It is in all ways nicer than my previous bag, the Icon Urban tank bag, but it is smaller, so I’d have to be smarter about packing.
• Collapsible water bottles - Basically, these are smaller versions of hydration bladders.  Before, I’d brought two Nalgene size bottles on my trip, which work great, but they always take up a significant amount of space, even when empty.  I like the idea of having a malleable container, so got two Platypus soft bottles, one with the “Hyper Flow” bite valve, and one with a normal cap.
• Buell foot pegs - After getting my Sargent seat, my biggest weakness in terms of riding time is that my legs cramp from being crunched up.  The Buell pegs are an easy way to lower your feet by an inch or so, which doesn't sound like much, but small changes can make big differences in motorcycling.
• Helmet cam - Like the tank bag, I got this for everyday use, mostly for safety purposes in case anything bad happens on my commutes.  But I figure it would also be great for road tripping.  I also had to get a bunch of Micro SD cards to go along with it so that I could be sure to be able to record all trip long.
• Android tablet - This was pretty much an impulse buy.  I happened to see one go on sale for a relatively good price, and jumped on it.  I didn't have a need for it, but I did want to have some sort of mobile computing solution, and this is way more compact and cheaper than a laptop.  I also had a bluetooth keyboard to use with it, so I could do journaling along the way.
• Sena intercom units - Chuck and I split the cost on a dual pack of these.  With these we’d be able to listen to music, take phone calls, and most importantly, communicate with each other. No longer would we have to flail about and gesture like mute cavemen when we want to head in a direction or ask a question.

Day 1 - 24 Aug. 2012 Seattle to Conconully

After a bit of a delay, I made my way to Chuck's around 8:30 AM, to see him rocking out on Guitar Hero.  I got to watch him finish the level, and we had a cup of coffee and a frittatta before striking out.  

Our bikes, fully loaded and ready. My silver SV and Chuck's blue FZ6-R

After leaving Chuck's place, we headed on I-5 for a little while, up to Marysville, until we got sick of the interstate lifestyle and ventured east to find Hwy 9.  Before too long, we found our route and set off towards Darrington.  It was a pretty typical ride, some nice stretches of road with clusters of cars piling up and us passing them on opportune moments.  At one point we got stuck behind a long line of cars, maybe 7 or so long, held up by a codger in a Buick.  

Chuck and I made our way forward in the procession until I was behind the Buick, and Chuck was two cars back from me.  Finally, out of other priorities, or courtesy, the codger pulled off to the side of the road, and happy to have free road in front of me, I accelerated.  

Unfortunately, that also happened to be a 30 mph zone.  Even more unfortunately, there was a corner, behind which were two deputies by the side of the road. With a radar gun.  To make a long story short, they waved me to the side of the road, and I "got off" with a ticket for 5 over the speed limit, which meant it was $113 instead of $195.  It wasn't the best news of the day.  Chuck got away fine, there were only two deputies so they were only two tickets to issue and Chuck was #3 in line.  

I caught up with him farther up the road, where I learned that my new snazzy Platypus soft bottle with the fancy bite valve had been leaking all over my tank bag.  Chuck stopped at a really scenic spot, that was at the bottom of a steep, loose shale embankment (with a sign saying not to go down the hill.)

Chuck had parked himself on top of a rock and was lounging in the sun with his iPad.  I hadn't know that he was as far down on the rocks as he was when I walked to find him, and as such, still had all my gear on, including my helmet.  He took delight in filming me trying to make my way down the trail.  I wasn't nearly as amused as I was freshly $113 poorer, holding a dripping bag containing expensive electronics, and one slight misstep away from serious injury if I were to lose my footing.

I was in somewhat sour spirits, but after a few deep breaths,  and taking in the surroundings, I was back in the mood for travelling.  (Though Chuck had picked a spot with questionable accessibility, it was a gorgeous locale.) We got back on the the bikes and followed a black Subaru speed junkie for a while, trying to stay in sight of him and using him as the sacrificial lamb.  Fortunately no other encounters with the law occurred, and we stopped in Winthrop for lunch. 

Chuck's rest stop

Chuck and his perch...this was close enough for me, in my mood.

Winthrop turned out to be a pretty cool little touristy town, set in an Old West manner with boardwalks and all.  We ate at the Old Schoolhouse Brewery, at a table down by the river.  It was good beer and good food, and there was a crowd of British bicyclist chicks outside.  I'd been hoping that they'd come in and dine with us, but apparently they weren't in the mood for beer and burgers.

Winthrop, WA

Winthrop, WA

Our table at the Old Schoolhouse Brewery.  Great food and beer --I recommend the Hooligan Stout

We figured we were good for another couple hours and wanted to find a place to camp.  In Okanagan, we wanted to find a grocery store to get some supplies for the evening, but it seemed that all we could find were empty husks of stores that had gone out of business.  Eventually on the outskirts of town, we found Caso's, a Mexican grocery store, and went about procuring some snacks and libations for the evening.  We found their "ethnic food" aisle and snagged some Triscuits and Gardettos, and 2 bottles of wine.  I also picked up a bottle of Coke, probably the first I've bought in 2-3 years, to see if the cap from that might fit on my Platypus bottle (spoiler: it didn't.)

Caso's!

We looked at the map and concluded that our best bet for camping would be to ride down a dirt road connecting Conconully and Riverside and that we'd find some sort of guerrilla worthy spot.  After about half an hour of dirt and "primitive" roads, we found one leading down to a lake, with a couple pre-ordained camp sites, complete with flat spots and arranged fire rings.  

We knew that we'd found our place for the night right away, the site we came to was below the road, with a steep little slope leading down.  It was obvious that the intended method of camping here was to park on the road and carry your gear down into the camp, but Chuck being adventurous and cavalier, charged right down one of the walking paths on his bike, with a slight bit of excitement, but all in all well executed.

I wasn't nearly as confident in my off road capabilities, but machismo and Chuck's demonstration convinced me I should try it myself.  With some moral support and some alignment assistance from Chuck, I trepidatiously guided the SV down the slope.  I don't even want to think about the consequences of if things went horribly wrong.  Likely it would have been broken pieces and/or bones, and a motorcycle in a very irretrievable position...possibly even wet.  Couldn't let any of that enter my mind though.

I made it through the dangerous sections without much trouble, but as I made the last bend into the campsite, I went over a bump a little too quickly and suddenly the hum of the SV turned into snarl of  "BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP."  I cut the engine immediately, knowing I'd crunched my exposed exhaust pipe.  Chuck took a look and told me it wasn't bad, but I was scared to look myself.  When I did get off and look, I saw that Chuck was right, the pipe had just come apart at the midway joint, whatever that might be called.  Should be an easy enough fix in the morning, but way too hot to deal with at the time.

We set up camp and had a really pleasant night next to the lake.  There was a family camped on the other side of the lake, but they were quiet and besides a couple random cars passing through the roads, we were the only people out there.  It was a gorgeous night and we slept soundly, though the lingering question of fixing my exhaust, and also making it back out of the site without incident, were heavy in my mind.  

Our campsite