Worden, Oregon

Friday, August 2, 2002

I finally got some real time off from work and I was unsure just what to do about it. The first thing that came to mind was to ride my motorcycle for about 387.94 miles. It seemed the only logical choice.

While I had been anticipating this excursion for quite some time, I didn't actually do any planning until the day before. STraddle had been shod with a new front tire but I'd had no time to work the "new tire numbins" off. Planning went swiftly the day before, as did packing.

To stave off a repeat of the dehydration incident in Agness, I included voluminous amounts of sports drink for easy access in the tank bag. Four liters of GatorAid (the yucky punch flavor) in handy, no-leak bottles rode neatly above STraddle's tank to supplement the water in my drink tube system. This would turn out to be a winning combination.

Uncle Jake (who always seems to have the neatest toys) lent his GPS receiver to the cause. I'm hooked. How did I travel before without a GPS?

I rode south, out of the Portland area on I-5 in an almost completely straight line. Doing so allowed me to scrub the center of my new front tire, but surprises (and lack of traction) were in store the few times I found it necessary to lean.

At or around Eugene, the opportunities for leaning increased as I turned southeast along Hwy-58 (the Willamette Highway). This is a pretty little road offering moderate curves -- just the thing for breaking in a new tire -- and breathtaking views of Dexter Lake. There's also boatin' 'n' fishin' 'n' campin' for the whole family! ...I just used the highway.

Crossing the cascades was a warmer experience than my previous visit in May. No snow was to be seen but the elevation and slightly thinner air did lend to some cooling conditions. As I passed one of the elevation markers, I was able to confirm the 3000 foot point with my uncle's GPS. See? Before I had the GPS, I had to take the accuracy of those signs by faith.I turned south along US-97 and was greeted with increasingly "grimy" skies. The smoke from wildfires to the west was hanging in the air. You would think that the smell of burning wood would conjure pleasant thoughts, but the odor was one of charcoal. More reminiscent of the bottom of the fire pit than of the top.

By the time I reached Worden, the distant hills at the horizon were barely visible. The wait staff at the Cafe told me that it had been like this for nearly four weeks but that some clearing had been expected soon. Rain wouldn't hurt matters either.

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