July
There was a point that Saturday night when I was standing on the second floor balcony of the Motel 6 in The Dalles, smoke from my friends' intoxicants mixing with the night air and wildfire smoke, friends chatting about how great the riding had been and my stomach full of beer and chicken fried steak that the simple unabated joy of existence became apparent to my conscious mind. Days like this is why I ride a motorcycle and why on days I can't ride I daydream about it.
Twelve hours earlier we were excitedly drinking Red Bull, checking Facebook, and smoking at an ethanol free gas station on the edge of Lebanon Oregon. One by one our numbers were growing until everyone who had RSVPed was accounted for. Today was the day and we were doing the legendary Fossil run. Talk to any Oregon rider about where the best spots are to ride and you'll eventually hear about highway 218 from Antelope to Fossil. Its 36 miles of relatively empty un-patrolled twisties and sweepers out in sunny central Oregon.
My current group had mostly never done it. We made a plan and set a date.
Our motorcycle line up was as diverse as it was fast.
S1000RR x2 CBR1000RR, GSXR 1000, Ducati 848, ZX6R, Triumph Tiger
Normally on group rides the excitement pulling out of the gas station is palpable and holding back is a challenge suited for a saint. On this ride it was like trying to hold back a herd of mavericks, except the mavericks are men wrapped in leather on sport bikes. Our run from Lebanon to Sisters was uneventful and quick. Most of the weekend traffic hadn't herded the kids into the minivans yet and we beat them to the highway. As usual the roads all the way out to Madras were slow, congested, boring. Again is was like holding back wild horses, except in traffic.
No matter though, we were almost to the good part. Our first real taste of the twisties on 293 between boring hwy 97 and Antelope got our appetites whetted. At Antelope we stopped to meet some locals, friends of a friend type of thing, and had one of those odd experiences you only get in small town America.
Antelope Oregon doesn't have a gas station. Its for intent and purpose a ghost town with a population of less than 100. There is no gas station here. The guys we met there didn't subscribe to Lazyeye's rules of ride planning and were already 70 miles into their superbike sized gas tanks. As fate would have it the shade tree we parked at to meet these fine gentlemen was in front of a house where people lived. Those people came out to talk to us and graciously offered to sell gas to the two thirsty superbike owners from their metal gas tank on the side of their house.
Like I said, the interesting things you see in a rural area. All needful things out of the way and it was time to actually start the Fossil run. I'll leave the embellishments up to travel authors that have a better command of verbs than I. Highway 218 was beautifully clear, traffic light and amiable, and devoid of those that would write us a ticket.
Like a freight train made up of superbikes we wound our way to Fossil and then into the canyons up to Condon Oregon. Seeing the ballet of synchronized corner lean in is a thing of beauty only a rider can fully appreciate.
At Condon we had lunch at a drive in and conversed with the locals. Everyone there was quite friendly to this rowdy group of bikers. With our stomachs full and gas tanks topped off we departed out Highway 206 towards Cottonwood canyon. To say this part of the ride is fast is an understatement. You climb out of Condon to the high prairie and then follow the gently curving road for twenty miles to Cottonwood Canyon state park.
A wise man once told me; if a corner is boring, go faster until its fun. We tested that theory all the way until the road drops into the canyon and we carved it. This is the real canyon carving that we all dream of. The only detractor was the somewhat low quality chip-seal pavement. We pulled into Wasco with our sense of speed completely de-calibrated from the high speed run through the prairie.
According to the plan this was just a regroup point but we discovered as the last two bikes rolled in we were stuck there for a little longer than anticipated as our Ducati friend had a rapidly deflating rear tire. Unable to find a plug kit in Wasco and finding out our support rider on the Tiger with the tools had forgotten his, I did the next sensible thing I sent a mass text to all The Dalles riders I know with an SOS.
This is where its good to have friends. Old man Mike, a friend of the Jackal, was willing to ride out and assist. We waited for an hour chit chatting and napping in the shade until we heard the distinctive sound of a Triumph triple approaching.
Our hero old man Mike had the tire plugged in a few minutes and then we were back on the road. Along the way he showed us a side road through another canyon that was pretty great and then we were onto the freeway for the last leg into The Dalles.
We checked into our motel, hit the pool, and then went to Cousins restaurant for some good country cooking. That brings us to where I started my story. Hanging out with friends on the balcony at a motel chatting about how great our riding day had been. Life is good.
The next day we backtracked our route since fires had overrun our planned route and had a great time. Along the way we met some friendly locals that shared fresh picked fruit with us and saw some classic cars from a meet in Fossil. All in all a fantastic trip that everyone is itching to recreate.
Favorite roads: 293 From Willowdale to Antelope. 218 From Antelope to Fossil. 206 from Condon to Wasco. Upper Fulton Canyon road.
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