My Money Made It to Lewiston

My Money Made It to Lewiston

(This is a post I sent to my Yahoo Biker Group)

It was a fabulous weekend even if it didn’t turn out as planned. Unlike some of you slackers, I had to work Friday and Monday so I didn’t have extra days to lollygag. I did anyway.

I left Portland for Lewiston Friday after work, a little after 6 PM. I had hoped for an earlier start but duty called. I made it as far as Madras, OR before the cold and dark got the best of me. It didn’t help to discover that my headlight was pointing toward recently defrocked Pluto, rendering the dims inadequate while my brights searched the sky for interplanetary life.

Saturday morning I got straight to the lollygagging and didn’t get rolling until eleven AM. I had planned to deke off Highways 26 for a few extra twisty jaunts but since I was so far behind already I stayed on 26 all the way to John Day. That was actually a better ride than I expected and I had a blast winding through the Oregon foothills at speeds occasionally flirting with triple digits.

I continued past John Day until just before Unity and took Highway 245 through Hereford to Baker City. Someone posted a message about that road on the PNW site and I couldn’t resist checking it out. It was well worth the slight detour. Magnificent twisties! I stopped about halfway through for a breather and washed the bugs from my face shield in the creek a few yards from the highway before toiling through some pretty tight curls in pristine blacktop. For 30 miles I passed only a handful of other vehicles.

By the time I rolled into Baker City I’d been on the road for close to six hours and still had a long haul into Lewiston. The plan was to head toward Hells Canyon then go over the summit to Joseph, hook up with Highway three and cruise into Lewiston. Note to self: check highway reports before making plans.

After dodging rock slides and fallen trees for twenty miles, I neared the summit only to find the road closed behind a foot of snow on the pavement. By this time it was six o’clock. Backtracking to Baker City would have put me another 200 miles from my destination and I was trashed so I got a room in beautiful downtown Halfway, OR.

Halfway is a pretty little place and I got settled in my room in time to watch the Jazz whup up on the Rockets. Halfway wasn’t half bad but I’ll probably never know exactly where it’s halfway from (or is it to?). The good news is that since I’d guaranteed my room in Lewiston with my VISA card, my money made it to Lewiston even if I did not.

I awoke on Sunday morning and realized that Halfway is a long way from home. I filled the nine-one-nine with regular (yes, regular runs just fine) and filled myself with the Truckers Special Breakfast before reluctantly super-slabbing I-84 into a fierce headwind for the next 200 miles. Not my idea of a good time on a motorcycle.

At Hood River I crossed into Washington (am I the only one who hates metal grated bridges on a bike?) and took a little detour up Wind River road to NF-90 then over to Cougar before catching I-90 at Woodland for the cruise home.

On Wind River Road I was having a pretty nice time working the gears when I rounded a curve and found 2 Sheriff’s cars, two ambulances and two fire trucks on the shoulder. A sparkling blue Sportster was parked among the emergency vehicles and two blond, leather-clad women were walking along the road. Their faces were soaked with tears and as I cruised past, the grief etched into their faces left a snapshot in my mind that I won’t soon forget.

Obviously, a bike had missed the curve and gone over the embankment into the trees, easily a 30 foot drop. I couldn’t see the wreckage nor did I need to. The activity at the scene, or more precisely the lack thereof, told me that the rider didn’t survive. It was a sobering reminder that this sport we all love can be deadly. It caused me to be extra cautious for a good twenty to thirty minutes.

I joke, but seriously, be careful out there. I tend to ride pretty fast, probably faster than most, and I never forget how easy it would be to make a deadly mistake. I don’t plan to quit because this is what I love to do. It’s part of who I am but it’s also part of who I am to try to be sensible. I hope that my sensibilities always temper my need for speed but I always breathe a little sigh of relief when I arrive home safely from a ride.

I have people who rely on me and I sometime feel very selfish indulging in a sport that could not only harm me but jeopardize my family financially as well.

I hate to end on a morbid note but maybe we should discuss the financial repercussions that an accident could have. I’m sure that I’m under insured and I’m planning to take a hard look protecting my family financially.