The Long & Winding Road AKA

Emu's 6 Week Tour

Look Here For Raymond's Version Of Events

Part 20
Meandering with Purpose: Wild (Spruce) Goose Chase

They said you can't miss it. We were told you ride right by it as you enter town. We were told it was in McMinnville. Ha! We came close to making fools of them all ... You can't miss it ... perhaps not, but it wasn't for lack of trying on our part.

Florence that fateful morning, was socked in by mist accompanied by very fine rain. Not at all heavy or uncomfortable to ride through but very soaking just the same. We rode Hwy 126 east and once through the mountains the rain let up and the temperature climbed rapidly. It was our intention to ride north on 99 W. but settled for Interstate 5 northbound after missing our turnoff and bypassing Eugene. At the first rest area, we shed our rain gear and consulted the map. At the next interchange we headed west to 99W. It's amazing how easy it is to head north on 99E. and not know the difference. When we hit Albany and wound up on I-5 again, we knew our pulp GPS (AAA state map) had malfunctioned once more. As soon as we could, we got off the interstate and rode the back roads in a general northwesterly direction. We came to a fork in the road. There was a sign with arrows, one pointing north with the word "bridge" and the other west with the word "ferry". We now planned to catch the ferry at Buena Vista, ride to Independence and hopefully, finally travel 99W to McMinnville.

We rode the extra miles out of our way only to find that of course, the ferry was not running. We stood at the dock looking at the other side of the river and just laughed. We didn't mind having to backtrack, these were nice winding county roads. The arrow was still pointing north to the bridge. We read that as a good sign. Again along the way there was another fork in the road. Veering to the right, according to the pulp GPS would have been the most direct route. That is, if we had looked at the map. But we merrily took the left fork without really slowing down because it looped down under a small railway underpass. This route added a few extra miles, but rejoined the main road right at the bridge. We rode through Independence and found 99W. To the untrained observer, we even looked like we knew where we were going. About 30 miles from McMinnville the rain caught up with us again.

The town of McMinnville. Current home to the object of this day's quest. Howard Hughes legendary flying boat the "Spruce Goose"! Although it only flew once for a mile, attaining an altitude of 33 feet, barely higher than its own fuselage height, at a speed of 80 miles an hour, the "Goose" is a milestone in aviation history. It took jumbo lift capability from theory to reality and essentially was the first of the modern jumbo air carriers. During its development, the Spruce Goose was referred to as, impractical, unsafe and the object of a dreamer. All terms that the outside world has used to describe motorcycles. The "Goose" deserved a place on this cross-country motorcycle trek.

"You can't miss it!" It was supposed to be just off the road as you enter town. We entered McMinnville on 99 W. The rain had stopped sometime earlier, but the road was still wet in places. You'd think in a small town an aircraft 218 feet 6 inches long, 30 feet 6 inches in height with a tail height of 80 feet and a wing span of 320 feet, might just stick out a little. 99W became a one-way street through the business section and the center of town. No Goose! Not even a sign to acknowledge the Goose's existence. We rode to the far end of town, always looking for anything that might be a big airplane. Then, while refueling at the last gas station at the edge of town, despair setting in, we did the unthinkable. After much discussion and arguing amongst ourselves, we decided to ask the gas station attendant for directions. Yes it's true! Without any women nagging us, two motorcycle riding, manly men asked for directions ... but we draw the line at quiche. The attendant sent us back through town and told us to turn right at 3rd St., go to the edge of town, "you can't miss it"! Of course, there's more than one road into town and McMinnville most certainly would have other edges of town. Why didn't Raymond think of that?

We rode to the "other" edge of town. No Spruce Goose. We rode past the edge of town to an overpass leading to Hwy 18. Still no Spruce Goose. We backtracked into town, rode around some back streets looking for any building big enough to house the Goose. No joy! Finally, we did that unthinkable thing once more. A lady with a couple kids, loading up her minivan, took the time to listen to our plight. She told us we hadn't gone far enough and to head out on 18 for about a mile. Knowing trick directions when I hear them, I asked "A mile in what direction on Hwy 18?"

True to the lady's directions, on our right as we rode Hwy 18, was the Evergreen Aviation Museum and Educational Center, home of the Spruce Goose. We rode right by the entrance! Turning around, we made our way to the center's parking lot and once again shed our rain gear. Our wild "Spruce Goose" chase was finally over.

The "Goose" is overwhelming. You really don't get a perspective of the size of this plane from pictures. You have to see it with a Douglas DC-3 "Dakota" and a few other planes parked under its wing. At the time, the Goose was still in the preparation stages for opening the interior of the plane to public viewing. When we returned to our bikes, a motorcycle group had just pulled in. We talked for a bit and they told us they had a little trouble finding a place as well. McMinnville would do well to advertise this jewel in a hanger. As it is, there is very little to direct anyone to the museum.

From the Spruce Goose, we rode to Portland and crossed the Columbia River into Washington. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the interstate up to the Seattle area. At one point along the way, off in the distance, we could see what I think was Mt. Rainier. We reached Renton and contacted GMan. But our two days in the Seattle area is another story ... altogether.

Part 21
Meandering with Purpose:Seattle

It was close to 6:30 PM when we finally reached Renton WA. We pulled off I-405 and found an entertainment complex to hole up at and give GMan a call. It had been a long day chasing down the Spruce Goose, riding in and out of the rain, making wrong turns and backtracking. In all we had ridden about 380 miles. Waiting in the parking lot for GMan gave us time to check over the motorcycles and a chance for me to take off my boots and dry my socks on the engine. The day's adventure wasn't really winding down, but merely merging into our Seattle adventure with GMan.

The laws of physics, still allow for sound to travel faster than a 1500 LC. Even if the 1500 has been uncorked. We heard the rumble and a few moments later GMan (Gary Ford) rolled into the lot, decked out in leathers and proudly flying the stars and bars from the sissy bar. It was an impressive entrance on a very clean machine. With the introductions out of the way, we headed for GMan's home. It was a good thing GMan was doing the escorting because finding his residence in this maze of city and back roads would have proven impossible for the likes of Raymond and myself. But that's not the worst of it. Over the next day and a half, every time we rode somewhere from GMan's, the return route changed. We never returned to his place by the same route twice. This opens two possibilities. One: His residence is in the Twilight Zone and changes location randomly so that even he must circle the neighborhood to find it.(What the government can't find, he must save a bundle on property taxes!) Or. Two: It's GMan's way of ensuring that cross-country motorcycle trekkers like ourselves, call first ... even on return trips! Given it was Raymond and I enjoying the best hospitality in the Pacific Northwest, I would say this only proves GMan is wise beyond his years. GMan's home consists of a few acres, a horse or two, and one big old lovable, but mental golden retriever. We parked the bikes in the garage, unpacked and changed the oil before the 1400 cooled down too much.

The next morning I was up early, made the coffee and sat on the small ridge to the east of the house watching the sun rise. A most perfect way to start Canada's Birthday. Then with a refill of coffee, wandered around the property so as not to wake those sleeping and missing the best part of the day. Had a rather one-sided conversation with the horse, then settled on the porch step and watched the morning mist dissipate from the meadow to the south of the house. Eventually the others awoke. We washed our bikes as GMan stripped his LC down and pulled the carbs. The man has it down to a science. By the time the bikes were dry, the LC was back together ready to roll. But first, we had to impress Mrs. G. (Val) with our biker Three Stooges antics. A bird had flown into the house. The front foyer is very tall with a staircase to the second floor. Remember the Three Stooges music? Start playing it in your head and visualize three grown men chasing a very smart Robin all over the place! Hey Moe, yuk yuk yuk! Eventually Val stopped laughing long enough to direct us in the bird's capture and return to outside freedom. Now, it was time to ride.

Seattle is a very pleasant city to ride through. The expressways this time of morning were not too crowded. GMan took us downtown and showed us the two stadiums that replaced the Kingdome. We rode an older, narrow expressway from downtown to the largest Suzuki dealer in the Northwest. GMan picked up a part for his carburetor. I thought he was going to strip the bike and initiate repairs in the parking lot. Okay by me, probably would have taken him ten minutes start to finish. Maybe an hour if Raymond and I helped. We rode back into downtown and had lunch at a dock side seafood restaurant. Now GMan would not accept payment for the oil he supplied me the night before. So I warned the waitress, if he tried to take the check, there would be massive carnage.
We boarded the ferry to cross Puget Sound and parked the bikes in front of a lone Harley Sportster. GMan had planned a nice long return ride. Any city skyline looks great from offshore. Seattle is no exception. It's a working waterfront blended with recreational use in the downtown core area. As we sailed along, picture taking and joking around, GMan pointed out local points of interest, historical, local folklore and places he personally had a link to. It was a very enjoyable crossing. We returned to the bikes a few minutes before docking. The owner of the Sportster was attending his bike and as we all nodded our greetings, without warning it happened!.
The Scotsman cometh ...
Every now and then, the Scotsman invades and takes over my vocal cords. I have no control over this. When the Scotsman wants to talk, he talks. Apparently he wanted to talk Sportster.
"Aye laddie, thot's a wee fine motorcycle ye got there ... Harley-Davidson is it? Aye we don't see too many oh those back home, aye, just a wee bit oh coin ya know. So till me a wee bit about yer bike laddie! " The accent was thick as bugs on the headlight, Raymond and GMan just stood back trying not to roll on the deck. The Sportster Guy took great pleasure in explaining and talking about his Harley to this Scot from the other side of the world. The Scotsman stayed with the Sportster Guy right up until we shook hands at the gates of the ferry dock and headed in different directions. GMan was dying from trying to hold in his laughter.
We hit some rain, but dried quickly as we rode the back roads and freeway back to Renton. Again GMan managed to find his ever relocating house without any problem.
Arrangements had been made for dinner with the Seattle area Intruder Alert members. It was a great pleasure for Raymond and I to meet the likes of Ratcityguy, Unca Doo & Auntie M, Gimp, Truderlady and Brewman to name a few. We ate, drank, laughed, talked bikes and got to check out everyone's motorcycles. A great group of people! Seattle rocks!

The next morning we bid our farewells to Val and thanked her and GMan for their more than generous hospitality. GMan escorted us out of the city and in the direction of the Cascade Mountains. We stopped at a Denny's for breakfast and again had to fend off GMan in order to grab the check and partially repay for the motorcycle oil. It was Amsoil, so he will be a fat man if restaurants are the only way I can slip payments passed him. It was a true pleasure meeting and staying with the Ford family. I hope one day I can return the hospitality.
The Cascades, the interior of Washington State and the great trek east to Wisconsin lay ahead of us. We said our last goodbye to GMan, and rode off to the southeast horizon ... Well, at least around the bend in the highway anyway!

Part 22
Meandering with Purpose: Lewis & Clark
Part: 1

One unexpected pleasure of this trip, was that we found ourselves following the Lewis and Clark Trail. It's always nice to have little history lessons thrown into an adventure ...

Oct. 18, 1805: "Soon they pass through the raging falls of the Columbia and into the Gorge, emerging from the arid semi-deserts of eastern Washington and Oregon into the dense rainforests of the Pacific Northwest."

July 2, 2003: Having said our goodbyes to GMan, we headed southeast from the Seattle area on I-90. We rode through the Cascade Mountain Range. Although not giants, these mountains are densely tree covered and mostly green from the peaks to the valley floors. The highway lazily sweeps around and between the mountains, following rivers and other natural passes. The Snoqualmie Pass had some nice sweeping downgrade turns making the highway a joy to ride. East of the Cascades Washington becomes a great plane, a prairie really. Such a contrast in terrain in such a short distance. We took a break and fuel stop at Vantage, overlooking the Columbia River. It was sunny, barely a cloud in the sky and the late morning heat had us packing away our jackets that were so necessary while riding the mountains. We crossed the Columbia and rode Hwy. 26 east. Had I not known better, I would have thought I was riding through southern Saskatchewan. It was flat farmland and wheat fields as far as the eye could see. Hwy. 26 is straight as an arrow, so after 80 miles or so, we turned south taking secondary roads through the countryside. We stopped under a gigantic train trestle spanning the Snake River Valley. This structure must have been over a mile in length. From our vantage point, the view of the Snake River, and the valley it has cut over the eons was fantastic. At one point a freight train started across the expanse. We stood looking up the 80 feet, as the engine pasted overhead. Both Raymond and I simultaneously did the only thing we could think of at that moment. Like little kids staring up in awe, we waved at the engineer. The engineer looking down in awe at the two Intruder motorcycles and the big kids waving, waved back. A time-honored tradition continues.

Oct. 16, 1805: "Having raced down the Clearwater, then the Snake rivers, they reach the Columbia. The river teems with salmon – Clark estimates 10,000 pounds of salmon drying in one village – but the men want meat to eat, so they buy dogs from the Indians."

July 2, 2003: About 30 miles from Lewiston and the Idaho border, we stopped at a historical marker on Hwy 12. The sign said that the Lewis and Clark expedition , after enduring a day of hardship, set up camp for the night and ate a meal of "dried meat and dog". The path they followed down the hill side is still visible from the highway to this day. I really don't understand all this hardship Lewis and Clark experienced? The highway is a joy to travel, and why eat dog, when they could have eaten at the Italian restaurant in Lewiston like we did. Okay, perhaps things were just a little different 200 years ago. We spent two days following the Lewis and Clark Trail.
From Lewiston we backtracked and found the Spiral Highway. This is a 10 mile switchback that twists and turns back and forth from the Snake River valley floor up into the hills overlooking Lewiston. It was a fantastic ride. Looking down from the summit, the road is layer after layer, like a ribbon cutting in to the hillside leading toward the far off town. Engines off, we coasted down the entire highway. At times we were reaching speeds of 60 miles an hour, with no sound other than the tires meeting the asphalt and the wind passing our ears. It was the perfect way to end the riding for the day. We spent the night in Lewiston.

Part 23
Meandering with Purpose: Lewis & Clark
Part: 2

Oct. 7,1805: "Near what is now Orofino, Idaho, the expedition pushes its five new canoes into the Clearwater River, and for the first time since leaving St. Louis has a river’s current at its back."

July 3, 2003: The next morning we had breakfast and were on the road by 7:30 AM. We rode Hwy 12 to Orofino and followed the Clearwater River to Kooskia. The highway then turns east and runs parallel to the Lochsa River (Wild Scenic River Corridor) for close to 70 miles. This was not anywhere near the most challenging road I'd ever ridden. But, for lifting the motorcycle spirit, it was one of the best. For 70 miles, with a cool morning air pushing gently against the flesh, the sounds and beauty of a shallow river constantly rippling and babbling over its rock bed, this two-lane blacktop religiously followed every curve, every bend of this river as it wound its way through this lush green valley. We stopped several times, just to stand on the banks and take it all in. God must have known that one day man would build a road to follow his river through these mountains and that between the river and the road, motorcyclists would call it Heaven.
By Lolo Hot Springs I was on reserve ... again! We had figured to gas up there. Wrong! No pumps, just a resort, called "Travelers Rest". It was about 12 miles to Lolo and gas. It was the longest 12 miles of the trip. For the second time in the seven years that I have been riding this magnificent 1400, she actually ran out of gas at the pump, just ahead of me reaching to turn off the ignition. Some might call that luck. But I know better ... I call it a whole lot of LUCK! We rode on to Missoula for lunch.

Sept. 9, 1805: "They camp south of present-day Missoula, Montana, at a spot the captains call Travelers Rest, preparing for the mountain crossing".

July 3, 2003: We wanted to be in the Yellowstone Park area before dark, so we rode the I-90 from Missoula to about 20 miles east of Butte, before heading south. We rode between the Tobacco Root Mountains to the west and the Madison Range to the east. The expanse between the two mountain ranges is miles across, with Hwy. 287 sweeping down the middle. It is magnificent as the sun gets low in the west and one set of mountains darken, while to your left as you head south, the other snowcapped mountains facing the sun almost glow. All the way down the valley, the road just lifts over hills and sweeps down by the river and curves off out of sight. From a motorcycle you truly do get to understand the meaning of "Big Sky Country"!

July 4, 1805: "The party celebrates its second Independence Day on the trail (as well as the completion of the portage) by dancing late into the night and drinking the last of their supply of whiskey."

July 3, 2003: We arrived at the KOA campground some ten miles from the village of West Yellowstone. There was about 40 minutes of daylight left, so he set up our tents and managed to catch the barbecue grill before it closed down for the night. It had been a great day's ride, and the burger and Coke went down real well. The evening air was still warm when we turned in. Yellowstone National Park was only ten miles away and we wanted to get up early and hopefully be one of the first few to enter the Park when the gates opened. All we had to do we survive a July night that would turn out to be cold enough to form ice on the motorcycles.
Lewis and Clark suffered many hardships on their expedition. This cold night started a hardship that plagued me for the remainder of our meandering with purpose.

Part 24
Meandering with Purpose: Poor Old Raymond

Summer 1976: The Canadian Rockies.
"Last night was the coldest yet, but the new sleeping bags kept us warm and toasty. The days are warm, almost hot, but the nights in the mountains are something else. Once we load the Suzuki 500 Titan and break camp, we plan on riding up to ....."

Independence Day 2003, Predawn:
3:07 AM ... My teeth chattering woke me up. I felt frozen to the core. Five hours earlier when we had turned in for the night, the temperature was starting to drop, but the day's warmth was still in the air. Although I had warned Raymond not to shower prior to turning in, I had forgotten just how cold the mountain nights could get. Also I didn't realize, after 27 years my sleeping bag had lost it's ability to fend off the cold. When I fell asleep I was only wearing a T-shirt and knickers and was very warm and comfortable. By 3:30 AM I had put on socks, bluejeans, denim shirt, vest, light jacket and was now lying in the sleeping bag, eyeing my Joe Rocket jacket thinking "you're next".
I was frozen to the bone and decided to walk around and hopefully get the circulation going and hopefully warm up. Raymond was sleeping like a baby. I ended up in the campground laundry room. I was actually eyeballing the large dryers, contemplating getting in for a dollar's worth of warmth. I was dead tired and settled for a quick nap on one of the laundry tables. By 4:30 AM, still stiff and very cold, I started striking down my tent and packing the motorcycle. Raymond was still sleeping like a baby. Both motorcycles had a layer of frost on the seats and small icicles on the handlebars. The puddle by the side of the roadway had a thin covering of ice. The cold had affected the plastic in my air mattress as well. I couldn't roll it for packing because it was too stiff. Raymond was still sleeping like a baby! At one point while squatting on my hunches to roll my sleeping bag, I felt my left knee "pop". I didn't think much of it at first because it didn't really bother me any. I think the cartilage was still cold and when I bent the knee, something gave. As the day wore on, my leg stiffened and started swelling below the knee. It became difficult to bend the knee and moving my foot from the highway peg to the foot peg to operate the toe shifter took quite an effort. Walking and getting on and off the motorcycle became a somewhat painful experience. And to top things off, as the day wore on, I came to realize I was suffering from a very mild case of hypothermia. The old body just didn't feel right. Felt very lethargic for the next day or two. But that's just minor inconvenience and of little consequence because Raymond was still sleeping like a baby!
Now, Raymond is a novice to motorcycle camping and being from Florida, knows nothing of cold mountain nights. Prior to this trip, in conversations by e-mail, I had advised him on what to expect and what camping gear he would need. Raymond paid attention and reaped the benefit of my experience as a long time motorcycle camping enthusiast. His tent was brand-new. His sleeping bag was brand-new, fluffy and full of all that good stuff that keeps the camper warm and toasty all-night no matter what the temperature. Although I had been up half the night freezing, I had to feel sorry for Raymond as he slept like a baby.
There is just something magnificent about watching the sun rise over tall Mountain pine trees into a perfectly clear morning sky. The only wisp of anything cloud like was my breath as it hit the cold morning air. Raymond started to wake. Raymond couldn't believe how cold it was. He saw I was half packed, and I told him how my night had been. He said he'd slept like a baby! I knew that. And I felt very sorry for him. You see, I was thinking 27 years down the road. An experienced motorcycle camping Raymond, touring the high elevations of the mountains, will be up half the night freezing to death because his 27-year-old sleeping bag will have lost the "right stuff(ing)" to keep him warm.
........ All together now "Awwwww Poor Old Raymond!"

The Journey Continues Here

Note This is Ed's story of his almost 19,000KM journey.
It has not been edited by me in any way and is posted here,
so others may enjoy the trip Vicariously
Emu is a member of the Intruder Alert Cafe

Be Sure to Check out Raymond's Abridged Version of Events

Type @ ya'll later
Night_Wolf

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