Anatone, Washington
I began my morning, as I do each morning, in bed. Once I figured out where I was and that I need not be filled with the dread and self-loathing that getting ready for work brings, I set about searching for my glasses. Perhaps that's far too much detail. Fast forward to me leaving Pendleton, fighting to digest a complimentary intercontinental ballistic breakfast as I rode. My chosen route took me north along Hwy 11 to the Washington State border where it becomes Hwy 125, near Walla Walla, and then east on Hwy 12. I looked for but didn't see the Wishy Washy Washing Machine Company (of Walla Walla, Washington). I think it might have been taken over by ACME or Road Runner Manufacturing. Along Hwy 12 I encountered one of Washington's most prized historical landmarks: I'm talking, of course, about the Lewis and Clark Memorial Rest Stop. I took the time to stop and have my motorcycle snap a picture. The inscription is probably difficult to read, so I'll repeat the text here:
Leaving behind Lou, Clark and breakfast, I moved on to Clarkston (which is right next to Lewiston... I hadn't made the connection before). Pulled in for some petrol, stood obediently next to the pump for a while and then remembered that I was in Washington. I followed the directions and had myself gassed in no time. Got some for the bike too. Then I turned onto Hwy 129. This road is to die for -- in fact, if you don't watch what you're doing, you just might. Coming out of Clarkston, 129 ascends several hundred feet through a series of winding switchbacks. I took this opportunity to use some of the rubber on the sides of my tires. No bike parts touched down, but that's only because I lack the skills (and the guts.) About 20 smiles later, I arrived at Anatone... and then I left Anatone. What up? I didn't see Boggan's Oasis Cafe anywhere. I turned around, drove slowly past the two (closed) storefronts in "town" but nothing looked like my rally point destination. I got off and walked most of the "town" and didn't see it. Fighting my instinctual male chromosome disdain for asking directions, I called them up. The conversation went something like this: A man answered, "Boggan's Oasis." "Hi, I'm in the motorcycle rally and I'm trying to find your place. I'm on Hwy 129 in Anatone, but I'm not sure where you're located exactly. Please understand, asking for directions is difficult for me. As a man, I'm sure you can relate." "You're breaking up." He said. (just like the six million dollar man.) "Sorry... cell phone, you know." I repeated the question about three times until he could separate the message from the digital hash. "Oh, okay, you need to come all the way down. Where are you now?" I told him... again. "I'm on Hwy 129 headed south out of Clarkston." "Uh... I don't know from South, but you need to come all the way down. About 15 miles." I thanked him without actually telling him what I was thanking him for because I didn't know. Then I took a picture of my bike in front of one of the closed businesses just in case I could use it as credit for a rally point. I mounted up and headed for Enterprise thinking that I had gone 150 miles out of my way for nothing. On the way... I discovered "all the way down."
Note the Spartan application of guard rails. Guard rails only serve to make the body more difficult to identify later anyway. As a wise man once said: "If it can't kill you, it isn't a sport." At the bottom of this blacktop bonanza, nestled into the trees a bit, stood the Boggin's Oasis. A bonus to say the least because I had pretty much written it off. I went in, passed off the stares from locals who were thinking, "who's they guy in the red bunny suit covered in dead bugs," and bellied up to the bar. After being ignored by the teenaged girl behind the counter, a man walked out of the kitchen, looked at my tour book and said, "Oh. The biker." As it turns out he really didn't "know from south" because he placed the stamp upside down. I thanked him again, this time really having something to thank him for and left. A few miles down the road I met up with the cows. Cows are basically big sheep except that they have no wool and they don't play instruments (see yesterday's installment for that story.) They're dumb as a rock (also covered in yesterday's installment) with eyes the size of your fist and brains the size of your fingernail. They also weigh quite a lot which was paramount in my mind when I saw the first one standing dead center in the road. I almost didn't see the others. I made my way carefully (nice doggie) around the belligerent bovine and encountered about five more of them walking down the left side of the road, some of them had stopped to chew at the grasses there. Slowly, I moved along on the far right (I'm registered Democrat, actually), rounded a corner and found ten more -- the lead cow being herded by a Jeep. Apparently these tall sheep were being moved to another location (like, maybe McDonald's) by way of the road. There's really no other way to move around on that terrain. I moved past the Jeep and resumed my trek. About a mile later I saw a UPS delivery van coming up the other way. Not knowing the universal sign for "there's a bunch of stupid cows in the road so slow down, you idiot," I gave him the old steer horns sign. He probably took me for a Metallica fan. I arrived at Enterprise. Ate lunch. Observed the Youth of Enterprise trying desperately to be cool. Gone forever are the stereotypical images of boys in rusted out pickups with banjo music playing (banjo-playing sheep in the bed and one in the passenger seat named Baby). This has been replaced by boys driving lowered Honda Civics with 80 series tires on 12 inch wheels with the stereo blasting Busta Rhymes (I wonder if he's related to LeAnne?) I blame cable TV. I beamed out of there as soon as I could, destined for La Grande. Yawn. At La Grande I turned left onto I-84 and fought 30 MPH cross winds and avoided pesky state troopers all the way to Ontario. The scenery was breathtaking -- when I dared to look at it. More of the left side of my tires was used as I leaned 15 degrees off center to go straight -- with mind-wrenching corrections when I'd pass a semi. When I finally retired to my hotel room and began working on this epic so that someday I could share it with my brother's grandkids. Tomorrow I cross another border and into the Land of Spuds. Stay tuned. |
Today's Grand Tour destination was Anatone, Washington. But what about the journey? I'm glad you asked because I have a tale to tell.
"LEWIS AND CLARK
The most spectacular set of switchbacks stood before me -- this time downhill. "Oh dear," I thought, "I hate to scrub those tires so many times in one day but somebody has to do it!" And then I proceeded to race down them like a flying nocturnal mammal originally residing in Hades.