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