As I write this in my notebook I'm sitting on my bed in a motel in Heppner, OR decorated in "God Bless America". There's a framed poster on the wall behind the TV with the text floating over the Capitol, which in turn floats over a waving flag. A knitted American Flag waves over the bed. The quilt, rug, and wall hangings all are flag patterned, as are the doily on the potty and hangings on all 4 bathroom walls. "Land that I love" is stenciled in imitation crosstitch on the doily by the bed and the pillowcases, and small plaster Uncle Sam's and hearts labeled "Home Sweet Home" are scatteredhere and there on windowsills and other surfaces.

 

The owners are oriental, possibly Korean.

 

I left Redmond, home of Microsoft and Minet this morning, early. Volcanoes were on the agenda. It was raining that Pacific Northwest light but pervasive drizzle.

Out of Redmond I headed east on 202, intending to head south for 123 that loops around Mt's Rainier and Baker, then through the Gifford Pinchot National Forest to Mt. St. Helens.

From there, I'd intended to ride alongside the Columbia on Hwy 14 (the interstate is on the Oregon side) till nightfall.

The agenda changed in the first 20 miles of two lane drizzle. There's not much of anything less pleasant than a steady diet of road splash and drizzle in rush hour traffic on what should be a delightful twisty two lane. When I got to I90, I turned east toward clear skies.

If you have to ride an interstate, I90 through the Snoqualmie Pass isn't a bad choice, even in near freezing rain. With several lanes to choose from I was able at least to ride in fresh drizzle instead of tire slop. Though I did wish that my heated vest heated, and my waterproof boots were waterproof. The heated grips saved me. It's amazing how much difference having warm hands makes.

I was getting low on fuel by the time I crested the pass and headed down the eastern side. I was ready for a break anyway; except for my hands I was frozen and my water resistant Aerostitch Combat boots had proven that water resistant is not water-proof. While I was changing my socks the chatty cashier asked me if it was still snowing in the pass. Seems, the last customer to stop had been wearing icicles. Nope, no snow. Just fog and rain. She fussed over me, brought me hot coffee and generally made it very easy to hang around until I was good and thoroughly warmed up. Thanks Sweetie!

The rain stopped at Cle Elum, just a few miles farther east. There are pullouts every few miles with signs listing the names of all the famous scenic peaks you should be able to see from there. I saw exactly no peaks, just that even more famous Pacific Northwet hiding its secrets. I've never yet managed to see either Rainier or Baker. Are they really there? Mt. St. Helens does exist, I've been there.

Having by this time my fill of interstate, I turned south on 82 to get to 97 and back to the Columbia just outside the park zone.

The ride through the Yakima reservation and along the Columbia was scenic, if not spectacular. Stonehenge, a local version in stucco by Sam Hill the famous pacifist, was worth a photo.

 

 

Crossing into Oregon I headed for a marked scenic Highway between Heppner and Ukiah. It was getting late so I spent the night patriotically in Heppner OR. as previously mentioned. Inexplicably, Heppner is "The Gateway to the Blues".

 

The next morning bright and early I'm off for that scenic route, an unnumbered road from Heppner to Ukiah. Ten miles out of town there's a Road Closed sign hanging from a closed gate across the road. So I was left to the numbered highways, 207 south, then turning east on 402. It was plenty scenic and damned cold as I climbed to snow country over and over on Hwy's 19, 395 and 26. Not exactly the most direct route but I've still got a week to get home, and I'll get to flat and hot soon enough. At the intersection of Hwy 26 and 7, there

was a sign pointing in the direction of a snowpeak indicating "Austin Next Right".

Doesn't look much like the Texas Hill Country to me.

Not to far after that, I came out of the pines and into the high desert as I approached Idaho. And the first real excitement of the trip.

I was rounding a fast sweeper along a river canyon with a rail and dropoff on the right, when I saw the 18 wheeler parked on the opposite (uphill) side of the road at the tight part of the curve. The driver's back at the tail end of the trailer closing a gate and as I round the curve I see that the cab is completely blocking the oncoming lane.

Just then a little 4 door Mazda crests the hill on the other side of the road going at least 80. I grab a big handful of brakes since I'm timed to meet the oncoming driver right exactly at the cab of the truck. The Mazda sees the truck and locks up his brakes. I slowed and got as close to the rail as I could to make room since I couldn't stop in time. At least, that was the plan. OH, SHIT! I squeezed those sensitive and quite powerful brakes HARD and got ready to hurt real bad.

And nearly fell over. I'd made a sudden but quite controllable stop 30 feet shorter than possible, and almost didn't get my foot down in time. Nice brakes! The Mazda is now sideways, smoke billowing from all 4 tires. He manages to avoid slamming into the truck which points him directly at me. He finally stopped like a slo-mo sequence in an action movie, exactly where I would have been without these Italian grabbers. He's completely sideways in the road next to the cab, and has to back up a bit to get straightened out so he can get out of my lane. There's a braided set of four darkies coming down the hill for a hundred yards. The truck driver is back at the gate with his mouth open. Mine is too.

The Mazda driver is a young guy, mid 20's. He rolls up to me, rolls down his window and says "That was a close one!" I didn't have a good rebuttal. He put it in gear and, fairly cautiously continued on his way, as did I.

At the Idaho line all the fun ended as did every eastbound road except
  he interstate. At least it was neither cold nor miserably hot.

The campground tonight is at Three Islands Crossing on the Snake, an important crossing for the Oregon Trail. 

 

 

Pictures are wagon ruts on the trail; wagons left single deep ruts like ditches, not the double ruts we're familiar with. Because the animals chewed up the middle of the track with their hooves, excavating the entire track instead of just two tire-tracks.

The campground is landscaped like a retiree's front yard, with decorative exotic plantings between each of the (rather close) campsites and mow marks on all the sites like a golf course. My neighbor is a motor home, and as I was setting up an old guy (nearly my age) came over with an offer of a beer. So I set up, cooked supper (poached salmon with boiled corn and red potatoes; just because you're camping doesn't mean you need to eat out of cans) and carried it over to his site to drink that beer.

I got to inflict my increasingly long collection of photos on yet another group of willing victims. Bwah ha haaa!

Tomorrow isn't going to be much fun. Lets hope it's not quite as exciting either. The next five hundred miles are all desert and the only way through is an Interstate. And there's just no way to avoid Salt Lake City. But after I get through that, I get to ride the Escalante Staircase and the Capitol Reef! Reward enough, I think. And I betcha it's NOT going to be rainy.