A motorcycle adventure to Boise and back

The Warrior.

Kelly has a big motorcycle. In fact, it’s too big. It’s called a Warrior and has a 1700 cc/102 cu inches engine, weighs 600+ lbs., emits a thundering roar, and gives the feeling when you twist the throttle that you may not be able to hold on. Fast on a straight away, but not so fast in the twisties. Looks awesome, but it's not easy to ride hard on a multi-day trip.

John Hatches a Plan.

So, last week our friend John gets it in his head that it’s finally time for Kelly to get the right kind of bikefor her lifestyle, a BMW dual sport that she can use on the highway and the forest roads, in the city and in the woods. So,he hatches a plan in which Kelly sells her Warrior, and buys the BMW from his favorite dealer, Big Twin, located in Boise, Idaho. Well, it also sounded like a great excuse for a multi-day motorcycle adventure which is one of Schaeffer's areas of expertise. John, Leslie and I would leave Portland on Friday and ride to John Day that night and Boise the next. Kelly would fly into Boise on Saturday morning and we would meet at Big Twin to pick up her new bike. Sounds like a plan, eh?

A potential obstacle is the need to sell the Warrior. Lo and behold, a buyer materializes and the Warrior is sold for cash in 3 days. Then, Kelly buys the plane ticket, and on Friday at 1 pm, John, with Leslie riding bitch, and I take off towards Eastern Oregon with the goal of getting to John Day by evening.


John's 1200 GS Adventure, or GS #1

John is riding with Leslie on his BMW 1200 GS Adventure, the top of the line dual sport bike that is the best choice for anyone who is thinking of riding around the world, and riding anywhere around the world.

My SV 650 S

I am on my Suzuki SV 650 S with which I have fallen deeply in love. I just ordered a whole bunch of new parts to boost it’s power, and was planning on new suspension and tires to make it track ready and therefore be able to live my dream of getting on the race track and going around the turns at speeds that force the rider to “drag a knee”.

Over the mountain, but not death defying this time.

So, we head out to go over Mt. Hood, and down its’ east flank to Maupin. The weather is beautiful, unlike two weeks ago when the four of us went over Mt. Hood and what started as rain became snow, and visibility went down to next to nothing. By the time we got over the mountain we had sheets of ice covering the front of our bodies and bikes, hands were so numb that they couldn't use the controls, and we had lost our wits.

I realized at that moment that I had just done one of the craziest things ever. And, at that moment I felt the need to tell Leslie that one of the thoughts that had crossed my mind in the past few harrowing minutes was that we ought to do something about the fact that I really didn’t even know her as well as I should based on the possibility that all of us could have just died together.

East of the Cascades and into the High Desert

There is no way to describe what it is like motorcycling across Central Oregon. The topography is so varied and beautiful and the roads tend to follow rivers so they are full of curves- we call them “the twisties.” These are perhaps some of the best motorcycle roads in the world. John has been riding almost 30 years and even with the bike being loaded and carrying a passenger he attacks the twisties like a road racer.

So, I mostly stay behind him and let him pace and pick the line through the curves. We had committed to making good time, on our last trip back from John Day we took our sweet time and that was 10 hours. We couldn't afford to do the same since we were leaving on Friday at around 1pm, otherwise we would be pulling into John Day too late to get a decent dinner, relax and get a good rest for the push to Boise the next day.

And God said, "Let there be motorcycles!"

So, John set a fast pace and for the first time riding with him I was able to stick right behind without losing ground. We were flying and I was smiling ear to ear, and occasionally unable to stop myself from shouting out loud. There were a number of times when we would emerge from a series of curves and look up to see a vista open up with a view of a river curving through a wide open space with the painted hills all around and a snow capped mountain range on the horizon. That is what created the phrase “breath taking.” At those moments, Schaeffer likes to let go of the bars and hold both hands outstretched with palms up like the priests do before communion in a gesture that matches one of his favorite lines, "And God said, "Let there be motorcycles!'"

Friends, Motorcycles, Rivers, and Cigars

After spending a lot of the day in the 80+ mph range, and not enough of the day in the 100+ mph range (in which I think I topped out my bike at 124 mph), we got to within a half hour of John Day. Knowing that we are within a short ride to our destination, John slowed and motioned me up to ride side by side. He waved his traveling cigar case with a smile barely concealed by his full face helmet. So, we stop at a now familiar spot by the John Day River to smoke some fine cigars. We shed our motorcycle gear and sat in the warmth of the sun, smoked, and talked about jumping into water from high places.

John Day, Friday night and a Good Night's Sleep

The exhilaration of the day's fast paced ride and the headiness of the smoke combined in a way that I long for still. As we rolled into town, I looked forward to a hot tub, a hot meal, Dairy Queen, and a good night's sleep.

Not so fast. There's no room at the inn.

Except that there was a High School rodeo and an Oyster Feed going on, so there were no rooms available, and we are in the middle of nowhere. So, we pull out of the motel parking lot not sure how far we will have to ride to find a room, right as the women from the motel comes running out to let is know we can stay in the owner’s suite. We are so grateful that we really pour on the appreciation until she lets us know that what differentiates this suite is that it has a VCR. That’s VCR, not DVD, just VCR.

And, even though there is the pounding of footsteps from the fellow travelers and rodeo fans from above; and even though as I lay down on my bed it feels like I am riding; I remember nothing from the moment I closed my eyes.

Saturday- John Day to Boise- I have learned to fly!

It’s Saturday morning and we are on the road, we have breakfast in a great little town called Prairie City. The eggs and meat are good; but the coffee stinks, the butter is margarine, and the maple syrup isn’t real. The best part of the stop was the large woman who came in dressed as if this was the 1800s with a long dress, one of those bonnets, a shawl…I thought that was her regular get up until this very moment when I remember a poster describing an historical event for that weekend.

Well, if it seemed like we were riding fast the day before, we really made time that morning. We may have averaged 90+ mph over a 2 hour period. But, while we were arcing through these long sweepers something happened. Even though the speedo said 98 mph, my brain said it was closer to 20. Time had shifted. I was filled with calm even though traveling at a lethal rate of speed. I realized that if I was on a real race bike that I would have been ready to take it up to a whole new level. I had learned how to fly.

Never say never.

Later, I was so happy I said to John, ‘I will never sell this bike; I am going to keep it for the rest of my life.” That is not too unusual a statement for me since I still have the bicycle I rode cross country in 1985. I was imagining what my SV would be like with some new sticky tires, great suspension, and the engine mods- I could not wait to get the bike into the shop and experience the difference these changes would make.

Anyway, a couple of hours later, we pulled over for a break and I said, “Hey Schaeffer, guess what?” And, he answered, “You are going to buy a GS, aren’t you?” Incredulous, I said, “Yes.”

What happened to alter my thinking was a number of things: 1) I realized that if John and Leslie were going to be on his GS and Kelly was going to be on her new GS, then I would be the only one on a strictly road bike; 2) there were lots of unpaved road all around us; 3) I had been looking at my maps before the trip and realized that my urge to explore was overwhelming; 4) I needed a bike set up for the long haul; and 5) I always wanted a BMW.

So, for the next hour or so I let my lust for Teutonic engineering and the wanderlust for all the places to explore from the roads of Oregon to the tip of S. America at Tierra del Fuego run happily amok in my mind. We crossed into Mountain Time when a road sign told us so right in the middle of Harney County- one county and two time zones? That county is at least as big as Rhode Island I’ll bet. And then we crossed over the Snake River into Idaho a good distance south of Hells Canyon and the spot where Evel Knievel years ago climbed into a jalopy of a rocket looking like he was going to puke and failed in his attempt to cross the divide.

Big Twin- Boise, Idaho

It was odd to get on I-84 in Boise after all that time on the back roads with next to no cars. Being around cars is scary as hell to me; I have four mirrors on my bike, the standard two plus bar ends to make sure I can see what is going on around me. We finally get off at the exit and pull into Big Twin and it’s like nothing I have seen before. Big Twin only carries European made motorcycles, and virtually all of them are twin cylinders. There are BMWs, Ducatis, Triumphs, and Aprilias – lots of them. There is not one of these that you wouldn’t be proud to own and overjoyed to ride. (Except for the scooters.) It’s a beautiful, hot Saturday, and the motorcycle hungry are out looking at the new metal. I think, “It’s summertime and a young man’s mind turns to motorcycles!”

We have beaten Kelly to the shop, but soon know that she has landed safely. As John works on her transport form the airport, I walk into the showroom and spot a red 2007 BMW R 1200 GS. I throw my leg over it and notice that it is the only red one there. As the owner, Henry, approaches with a customer in tow, he motions to the bike I’m on. “I’m buying this one.” I said. I had only been there about 3 minutes.

Leslie, who is our Teutonic Runway Model, is getting affectionate with a variety of Italians of the Ducati family when John returns with Kelly from the airport.

Kelly arrives for her F 650 GS, that's GS #2

When Kelly arrived we connected in the middle of the showroom and held on to each other in a deep, sustained hug. Holding her body in a room full of beautifully curvaceous motorcycles while inhaling her animal scent mixed with the smells of new machinery, tires, and gasoline was intoxicating and made my head spin.

As Kelly worked through the process of getting her 2007 BMW 650 GS, I was strategizing all the different ways I would be able to come up with enough money to buy this bike if my credit application didn’t go through. I had put a freeze on my credit after an ID theft attempt years before and didn’t think that the credit verification was going to work. Schaeffer could see the predicament I was in, and he could understand completely what it was like to be this close to living a motorcycle dream. He offered to co-sign, which shows what kind of a friend and complete motorcycle maniac he is. When Schaeffer gets a vision he puts his analytical and problem solving skills to work without concern for mere obstacles like the price tag of a new BMW motorcycle. In fact, he was working on a plan to have Leslie buy my SV so she could ride it home and then we'd be able to tie this whole thing up neatly.

When the app went through I felt like I’d scored the winning goal. I shouted out load and bounced around the show room high-fiving another guy who was in the process of buying a Triumph. Then I looked at the bike and for the first time thought, “This is mine.” What a feeling: to own a world class motorcycle.

Hooligan Bike!

I went to talk to the techs in the back of the shop. One of them rode an SV, and the other guy had a tattoo of a spark plug on his forearm. He said he loved the GS, but didn't mention what he rode. A while later, after the shop closed, he rode up on this insane, hand-built, hooligan machine.

We closed the shop at around 2pm, long after last call. We were the only ones left. It was hot in Boise, high 80s at least. We need to get going; it’s going to take a lot longer to ride back since Kelly and I will be in the engine break in period and shouldn’t go over 4,000 rpm which tops us out at around 60 mph. It was not a fun ride to get out of Boise; it was hot, there was lots of raffic, and it took too much attention getting used to the controls of the new bike. But, before long we were back over the Snake River into Oregon.

Three in a row! GS #1,#2, and #3

So, here we are cruising the back roads on our 3 BMW GSs. It was unreal. We were getting such a thrill of just looking at the three lined up together. Three in a row. I couldn't help but scan the open spaces all around with a new potential for motorcycling possibilities. I kept asking myself about what was on the other side of that hill, or what would it be like to ride across that terrain?

Going from the highway to off road- what a GS is for!

Then, Schaeffer did it, he took his GS and Leslie off the road. It was just for a few hundred yards but it expressed something I think we were all feeling. A little while later, Schaeffer signals a left turn and I see that he has spotted a dirt track heading off from the road which he heads down and we follow. As we begin to bounce along in the ruts, John is up front forming a plume of dust for Kelly and I to suck up. So, I stopped and let them get ahead. At that moment I see a guy on one of those 4 wheel ATVs moving quickly and with purpose across the cultivated field which the dirt track borders. Ok, I'd better see what this guy wants. So, I waited right where I stopped and he pulled right up next to me. I got the sense that he was feeling that we were doing him some harm because he wanted to know just what the hell did we think we were doing? That only lasted a few minutes though, before long he calmed down. I explained that we just got the bikes and were dying to get them off road. We started talking about what he was growing. And, then he turned hospitable, and just asked that we be sure not to go into the cultivated area. "See that gray house over there? Well, next time you want to ride here just stop and ask permission, OK?"

Saturday night- Prairie City, OR

As the day wore on, we road through a number of passes, some at around 4000 feet elevation. It was cold and getting dark when we finally get back to Prairie City. We find out that there’s no use pushing on to John Day since there were no rooms available. Others travelers like us were camping that night for the same reason. We had no camping gear.

But, we had passed a B&B in town and a motel a few miles back, so we weren’t completely out of luck yet. But, I was hungry and felt like the best thing to do was eat first. My stomach was telling my brain that if I was well fed I could just keep riding all night long if I had to, so shelter was secondary. But the others convinced me that we should seek shelter first then return for sustenance. The B&B looked closed for the season but I knocked until the proprietress opened the door. She was not smiling. She looked at me in my motorcycle gear and then past me at the four bikers in her driveway and simply declined to offer us shelter for the night.

What's that smell?

So, we headed back up to Sag's Motel. We had gone by it on the way down from the pass and I remember thinking that it had the appearance of an abandoned gas station. Lucky for us, they had vacancy! So after securing rooms without so much as bothering to look we headed back to town. At the entrance to the restaurant was a silhouette etched in glass of a reclining naked Indian woman in which the artist had taken great care to show her breasts and nipples. I couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. The restaurant is located in an old stone building which 120 years ago started as a butcher shop. It had large trophy animals hanging on the walls, two very large and ornate bars , and enough locals to keep one simultaneously amused and wary. To the eye, the place had a distinctive historical flair. Unfortunately, to the nose, it also had flair, but it was the flare in one’s nostrils from the damp, moldy odors seeping out of the rock walls and from whatever there was beneath the wooden floor. John could hardly stand being next to the wall because of the smell. And, with her nose, I’m surprised Kelly wasn't grossed out. I was too hungry to care. And, although Leslie didn't have an issue with the smell, she did have an issue with her meal, a dish served soaking inches deep in who knows what kind of oil. That grossed all of us out. We did enjoy the dessert though, some sort of brownie, ice cream, whip cream thing. We used four spoons, a ridiculous idea since Schaeffer and I could no doubt have each eaten one by ourselves, and even then we'd each be eyeing the women's to see if there would be any left over and who would get there first. But we exercised some discretion, and stopped before things got ugly.

Sag's Motel- a Disney paradise or flaming inferno?

By the time we got out of there it was dark and cold. We got back to the motel and entered our room. It was cold. And, the attempt at decoration was a haphazardly done Disney theme that was really just a few Disney posters and things in a shabby motel room in Central Oregon. It did not do anything to make me feel like I was on a Disney vacation, that’s for sure.

Once in the room, I discovered that the heat was to be provided by a 220 volt electric heater that looked like it was made pre-WWII. I searched for the 220 plug and finally found it behind the couch which needed to be moved into the middle of the room in order for the heater to be plugged in. And because of the short cord, the only spot for it was right in front of the bathroom door making it highly probable that I would end up breaking my toes if I woke up in the middle of the night to pee.

Then, as I lay in bed, I started to think about that heater. I didn't like it. I began to assess how many minutes it would take to get all our stuff out of the room when we woke up to the fire already blazing and filling the room with smoke. Then, after explaining to Kelly the likelihood of the inferno causing our new bikes to melt because they were parked right next to the structure, I came to the conclusion that there was no way I was going to fall asleep with that thing plugged in. So I pulled the plug and left myself dependent on the too thin covers, my under layers, and Kelly to keep me warm through the night.

Sunday- Prairie City to Portland

It worked. I woke up and was still in a Disney paradise. We got all the gear together and again I was the last one to be ready to roll. Schaeffer enjoyed bitching at me about that again. But, we got on the road; it was cold and we rode to one of our favorite breakfast spots, even though their coffee sucks, the Dayville Café in Dayville, Oregon.

It started to rain. We decided that even though it is quicker, we were not risking going over Mt. Hood. We would go north to the Columbia River Gorge which the forecast said would only be winds of 15-20, not the 60+ that are common and have made Hood River one of the world’s hot spots for wind surfing.

This route, although it did not have as many curves, was not a let down. First, the topography was rolling hills with contours that wheat farmers had outlined with care to take advantage of almost every surface. Spontaneously, Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Our Land” came loudly in my mind so I swerved my bike back and forth rhythmically while singing it out loud under the cover of my full face helmet and a lot of wind noise. It might look like I’m singing, but you can’t really tell.

Then, we came upon a beautiful sight. It was a wind farm. I have long thought that certain motorcycles are the sexiest machines on the planet, but I realized that the machines I was looking at are perhaps the most graceful. They are tall, and starkly white, set against the earth tones and smooth shaped hills with three long white airplane wings apiece. They were mostly still except a few were slowly turning hypnotically. And there are dozens in long rows across the platform of land above the gorge which had been carved out by the Missoula floods eons ago.

The Columbia River Gorge is one of the most scenic drives in the country, and it is best if driven on the Washington side of the river instead of I-84 on the Oregon side. And it was scenic for a while, until it really started to rain, as can be expected once you pass the point where you are no longer east of the Cascades. East of the Cascades is where the mountains have already pushed the moist air from the Pacific up to cool, condense, and rain down on the western portion of the state. But, before that happened, we stopped for one of our customary diversions, to smoke a cigar by a river.

When the rain really started to come down after we had dinner, John and Leslie said goodbye and picked up their pace homeward and Kelly and I in our matching rain suits, and requirement to stay under 4000 rpm, slowly and steadily made our way through the crummy weather until we crossed back over the Columbia River on I-205 right near the Portland Airport and parked our brand new BMWs in the apartment’s garage.

Well, just another weekend in the Great PNW.