While talking with my uncle a week ago I mentioned the bad luck that had befallen me lately. Pandemic cancels stuff, lose job, bike breaks down, oven breaks and needs to be replaced because its a fire hazard... He put forth the idea that like a losing streak while gambling, other things tend to have a certain "inertia" to them, be it some cosmic thing or fate or just a mental losing streak. To overcome that momentum you have to hit the reset button and go in a new direction.
Even with the new bike I couldn't make up my mind where to go to get back on track with my "sabbatical". I agonized and looked at maps, and agonized. I think what it came down to was that I had gotten into a mental rut so that even once I had the tool to do what I intended, I was too stuck where I was to actually do it. Even once I made up my mind to go up the Olympic peninsula, I was second guessing that decision until I had actually crossed the bridge into Washington.
I second guessed everything from the route to what level of clothing to take (its hot in the valley and cool on the north coast, and my bike doesn't have lots of luggage). Add to the second guessing that I was stuck in traffic on my supposed scenic route up to the Astoria bridge. Its amazing the amount of misery you can put yourself through just in your own head.
After crossing into Washington traffic was not that bad on highway 101. There's even a few sections of curves here and there, but otherwise its pretty much boring once you're inland and cruising through the hills. Not a lot of curves, and with the forest on either side, not much to see other than trees. It took the better part of thirty minutes to get through Aberdeen because the highway goes through the center of town, stoplight to stoplight. The SuperSport does many things well, but stop and go riding isn't one of them. While looking around Aberdeen I started to understand some of Nirvana better, and thought if I lived there I'd probably want to kill myself too.
Eventually I got past that and to more enjoyable riding, and on in to Forks Washington. 387 miles for the day. Forks? yes, I said Forks. The Twilight place. I checked into one of the non-Twilight themed hotels, had dinner, and walked around the town. A lot of the businesses still have Twi-crap up in their windows from the hey-day of the craze, and if the hashtag on Instagram is any indication, there is still some lingering Twi-demic bringing Twilighters to Forks. Otherwise its mostly just a stop on the highway and place for outdoorsman to fish.
Pictured: the door of an out of business cafe and shows the remnants of the craze.
Day 2. I departed Forks and cruised up the highway to where it turns off to Neah Bay/Cape Flattery. There was an electronic sign advising that the indian reservation was closed to outsiders. No worries, I had no intention of interacting with anyone much less going door to door in the reservation coughing on people. The road out here is beautiful and curvy but in crap shape. Finding a rhythm is hard, enjoying it is hard, and if you spend too long looking at the scenery you'll hit a pot hole and crash.
Regardless I did stop for some views like this:
Unfortunately to get to the North Westernmost part of the US takes you through the indian reservation, which is closed. They closed the whole damn road rather than simply ask dumb tourists to not go door to door coughing on people. This was either ironic or hypocritical seeing as an hour to the west the Indian casinos were open. Was this negative momentum or just poor planning?
Pictured, a checkpoint manned by a bored tribal "police" officer with a small man complex.
Onward. There's no turning back since I'm way the heck up in Washington! I got back on the road to Port Angeles. Just like before the curves were great but the road was in bad shape. I got into Port Angeles and followed the signs to Hurricane Ridge.
Well so did every other tourist on the Olympic. I had to pay $25 at the checkpoint to go up the road and be stuck in traffic the whole way up and down. At the top there were license plates from all over the US and tons of people. So much for everyone staying home this summer. The road down was just as busy.
Enjoy this picture of the Olympic glacier because I paid $25 to take it.
Out of Port Townsend I was stuck in heavy traffic for an hour and a half until all the heavy traffic turned off to go to the ferry to Seattle at Port Townsend. Go figure, it was Seattle traffic. The highway opened up and was fairly nice for a while, I stopped in a nowhere town for a Gatorade and Oreo break and to observe the small town. it was kind of a dump. lot of transients. lot of abandoned rotting buildings.
At this point I was getting tired. Riding in traffic, hiking to a viewpoint, and dealing with disappointment was getting to me. It seemed like I'd brought my negative momentum with me. I examined my map and tried to decide what to do next. It was too early in the day to stop but looking at my butler map, nothing interesting lay ahead.
I pressed on ahead. The roads near Hoodsport are nice and curvy, but once again I was stuck behind whatever person in an SUV more expensive than my net worth until I could pass them and get stuck behind another. Rinse and repeat.
Also why the hell does this gas station advertise ethanol free, but its 87 octane? Freaking boat people. Freakin' premium drinking European bike. Haha.
One of my friends from a previous life recognized me while I was filling up and said hi. I realized I had lost all of my ability to speak and probably came across like a weird leather clad Sasquatch (haven't gotten a haircut in months). He was there for the Hood Canal diving, I was just passing through.
My day ended many miles of highway and freeway slab later in Centralia. Its that place on Interstate 5 you pass with the outlet stores. Well it also has a Motel 6 which is still cheap. Mileage, 293. I retired with a large beer and what passes for a dinner salad.
The last day I decided I was going to go to Mt St Helens. I've lived in the PNW for thirty years and never been. Well after a decent breakfast at Cousins Country Kitchen I slabbed out to Randle WA. What I've heard is that the east end of Helens is less visited so the roads have less people. Sounds great! It wasn't ten miles into the NF road that I realized: less people = less maintenance. I averaged about twenty MPH the 40 miles out to the Hurricane Ridge Viewpoint (this entry only cost me $5, which I probably could have not paid because nobody was enforcing it). The road was really quite terrible but the view on either side of the road was epic.
A quarter mile hike up the ridge to the viewpoint gave me a better view of the mountain, Spirit Lake, and the leftover devastation.
I continued on South on the bad road using every inch of suspension my bike has.
Again I was getting hungry and beat up from the roads by the time I was near the crossroads. I stopped at a river, took my boots and jacket off, and sat for a while listening to the water. At the crossroads ahead I could continue on NF roads another 40 miles to Carson, cross the Columbia at Hood River, and go home via Mt Hood/Breitenbush area, another 250+ miles. Or I could go west, hit the slab, and be home in 160 miles at the risk of getting caught in Portland traffic. It was early enough in the afternoon and I was pretty beat up from the NF roads so I went west.
The road past Cougar and into Woodland isn't bad, its just busy. Still managed to maintain decent speed though. Refueled in Woodland and hit the slab. I didn't want to waste time on lunch and make the odds of bad traffic worse. Well I won/lost on that bet. Traffic was fine through most of Portland and then it was a stop and go crawl from Tigard to past Wilsonville. Which is no fun on a hot blooded Ducati.
I stopped in Woodburn to fill the burrito shaped hole in my life. Ironically my Ducati is parked next to a Starbucks, although I didn't give them my patronage.
While scarfing down a life saving burrito I got word that one of my moto-friends had just bought a yellow Ducati 999. Outside I watched a couple of Subi-bros eyeballing my bike. They came into the restaurant and asked me about it. Somehow I remembered enough English to tell them the basic stats and that yes it goes quite fast. Hopped back on the slab and made it home in one piece.
Mileage: 300.
The next day I embarked on another adventure: changing the oil on a Ducati! I had clicked over 3100 and change during the trip which means I'd put on just over two thousand miles since I bought it in two weeks. Since the oil was at least a year old, it was time to come out.
Did I break my losing streak? Am I moving in a positive direction now? Who knows? An object at rest will stay at rest yada yada yada. I got out of the valley, and that's important. Me and the bike came home in the same condition we left. I got no traffic tickets.
