Day 3.17: Challenges

At the top of Coal Creek Canyon, above Pinecliffe, CO, the road merges with the Peak-to-Peak Highway, and as it does, it slants against the turn, putting the rider at a somewhat awkward angle at the stop sign. 

Back in September, my rotator cuff surgery was months behind me, and I thought I was in shape to ride. Indeed, I felt that a ride would do my spirits good, help with the healing.

At the merge I put my foot down and found nothing there. The bike leaned to topple, and I slid off the seat, slammed my foot down, and pulled up on the bars, saving the bike. At that moment I heard a loud pop over the exhaust’s roar, felt a surge of adrenaline, and knew I had done myself some damage. 

Back to surgery, a brace, and serious pain for another ten months.

Now, on a sloping shoulder outside Big Lagoon, CA, my front tire hit a rock, deflected into the soft sand, and the bike slid under me. In my mind I could hear the plastic fairing smashing against the shoulder. I shifted in the saddle, planted my foot, and hauled on that handlebar, waiting for the pop, waiting for the smash. Everything slowed down to one, maybe two, long heartbeats.  

Then the adrenaline surge. 

No pop. 

No smash. 

Bike okay.  William okay.

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No two ways about it: this was a tough day. Leggett, CA, to Cascade Locks, OR, was about 540 miles. Far shorter than, say, the ride from Salt Lake City, UT, to LA, CA.

But this was a tough one.

The ride promised to be beautiful, and it was. Breakfast at Eel River Cafe in Garberville couldn’t have been better and gave me plenty of fuel. The waitress told me that the road to the Avenue of the Giants was closed out of Redway, and I should enter at Miranda. She was right, and I did. 

Nevertheless, by Big Lagoon the fog had thickened up and I was shivering. I pulled into the shoulder to get a picture. I got more than I reckoned for, but I made it.

I dropped down to sea level and, almost as a reward, the fog cleared and I got a beautiful vista.

I turned onto 199 at Crescent City, heading east into the Jedediah Smith Redwoods, towards Oregon, a surprisingly wonderful road. 

At the state line, the road turned from asphalt to loose chip seal—basically a layer of tar with gravel poured over it, tamped down, and left for the traffic to bed in or cast aside. Again, the front wheel slid. I went loose on the bars and let it find its way. The traffic built up, and eventually stopped, letting me crawl along at a walking pace for the next ten miles, muttering about road improvements and consideration for motorcyclists.

I picked up I-5 at Grants Pass. I-5 in Oregon is a glorious highway of fast turns climbing and descending, sweeping, twisting, and turning. By Salem I was exhausted and still had Portland Rush Hour Traffic to contend with. 

Traffic came to a dead stop just as I hit the highest overpass in Portland. Standing there, in the heat, wedged in between cars, suspended 100 or so feet above the ground, I could feel the 18-Wheelers shake the roadway beneath me. Not reassuring.

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Gary and Su have lived in Cascade Locks for over twenty years. They’ve built an amazing garden, with apple and plum and fig trees, multiple flower and vegetable beds, and a hen house.

Howdy! has run of the yard. I’m not sure if his name is spelt with an exclamation point, but it should be—such is his exuberance. 

Gary is Richelle’s dad. I met Gary and Su before Richelle and I were married. We’re coming up on our thirtieth in July, so I’ve known them a good bit over thirty years. 

I drop in on them whenever I’m in the Northwest. They are both readers and deep thinkers. Gary, in particular, thinks like a double major in Poli Sci and Philosophy. He was, I believe, a Forestry major at the University of Maine and headed out to Oregon to apply what he learned. 

So, we philosophized.

As the evening wore on, the night and the talk became darker, to the current 421 parts per million of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere and what happens when it hits 450.

I’ve always known Gary to be an optimist, to believe that the natural cycles of the world will out. His point this evening was that it’s hard to know what the rate of change will be over the next decade—linear? exponential?—and how that change will impact those cycles, as well as the migration of fish, of animals, and of humans across the planet. 

Staring into the fog is difficult. 

Everybody was polite enough not to point out that I was burning a lot of gas on this trip. 

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A day of challenges asks the question: “Why do this?” Why not fly to visit friends or, at the very least, take the car? Heck, my car is a Miata. I can drive it with the top down and wear a helmet if it’s so important to me.

It’s a big question, this question of “why,” one I’m not ready to answer yet. I do feel that I’ve answered my original question—whether I’m still a motorcyclist.

I am.

As to the question “why?,” I would say riding through the fog and surviving has something to do it. 

Let’s end with chickens: