The craggy spine of the Washington Cascades mountain
range was backlit by the dawning sun as I headed east out of Seattle on
Interstate 90. I drove through the fog-draped valleys approaching the final
grade up to Snoqualmie Pass. The traffic was very light at this hour, mainly
truckers bound for parts unknown bearing goods packed into the long trailers.
It was Saturday, June 16th, 2001, and I
was beginning a sabbatical for the summer. My plans were purposely vague,
though they included traveling around the United States for about three months.
I did have a few things to accomplish during that time. I wanted to investigate
the possibility of relocating to the Southwest. Perhaps Arizona, or maybe the
Austin, Texas area. I had lived in the Pacific Northwest for 27 years. I still
loved the area, but have become increasingly tired of the cool, wet weather.
I also wanted to make it to Sturgis, South Dakota
the second week of August for the annual Black Hills Rally. This is an event I
have been to before. Huge numbers of motorcycle-riding people come from all
over the United States and many other countries for a week of fun, riding and
occasional rowdy but mostly harmless fun.
The last firm goal was to attend my niece’s wedding
in New York City over the Labor Day weekend. How I filled in the time in
between was completely up to the weather and the whims of each day’s travels.
I was traveling in what I call the Six Ton Suitcase.
It consists of a 1997 Dodge 2500 ¾ ton pickup with a V-10 engine. Atop that is
a 2000 Bigfoot Camper, the finest truck camper made. Towed behind is a 1997
Wells Cargo trailer, specially designed to safely carry a motorcycle. Inside
the trailer is a 1998 Harley Davidson motorcycle. It is a model called the
Heritage Springer. It is a truly fine piece of American-made machinery. And it
is also a source of constant joy and pleasurable riding.
I call this rig the Six Ton Suitcase for one main
reason. I have had to do quite a bit of business traveling in the jobs I have
had in the high-tech software industry. I did not enjoy this business travel
very much. The business part was usually fine, but the travel did not appeal to
me. When you travel on business, you are forced to compress your entire
existence into a small black box with two wheels and a handle. They do not make
suitcases large enough to carry the things I wish to have with me during
travel. And if they did the airlines certainly would not allow me to carry it
aboard!
When I travel, I much prefer my Six Ton Suitcase. I
have worked over the years to make it my home away from home. The camper has
all the needed amenities, albeit small and some might think cramped. Propane
stove and oven, refrigerator and freezer, bathroom, queen-sized spring bed,
heat, and plenty of storage space. It
also has a fine stereo with CD player, satellite dish TV, and a DVD player. I’m
not exactly short on creature comforts.
In addition, unlike business travel, I have control
over the means and execution of my itinerary. When you travel on business, it
is usually home-airport-airplane-airport-taxi-hotel-taxi-meeting-taxi-hotel-taxi-airport-airplane-airport-home.
This is perhaps fun the very first time. The luster wears off quickly.
When I travel in the Six Ton Suitcase, I can choose
the type and location of the State park or campground I will stay at. It takes
mere moments to get the camper set up for an evening’s stay. Most days I can
then roll out the bike and go for a ride, often in a stunning area. If the area
is really nice, I stay for another day and put in a long day’s ride on the
bike. This is my idea of the best way to travel.
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I crested the summit of Snoqualmie Pass on I-90 just
as the sun rose above the eastern horizon. I have traveled this stretch of I-90
so often that I knew every bump and curve. At Ellensburg I turned off the
interstate to travel south through Yakima Canyon. Of the many places I have
camped in the great Northwest, Yakima Canyon was my most frequent destination.
It is a most wonderful place, and as I drove by it, I said goodbye to this area
I loved so very much.
I hooked up with I-82 in Yakima and continued east
following the winding Yakima River valley. This is a land of sprawling fields
and hills covered with sagebrush mixed in with large cultivated fields of hay,
wheat and other crops. The crops are irrigated by the Yakima River, which
eventually empties into the mighty Columbia River in the Tri-Cities of Pasco,
Kennewick and Richland. Nearing the Tri-Cities, I headed southeast and crossed
the Washington/Oregon border at Umatilla. A little further south, I hooked up
with I-84 and traveled southeast into Pendleton, Oregon. This is the home of
the well-known Pendleton Roundup, a rodeo of epic proportions.
East of Pendleton the highway goes up a fairly steep
grade for 10 miles ascending about 4,000 feet in 10 miles. The Blue Mountains
of Oregon are a biker’s paradise. You can wind through wonderful back roads
with little traffic and appreciate the piney woods and stunning vistas. Both
the back roads and the highway lead eventually to La Grande, where there is an
annual biker’s rally that is held in response to the Pendleton Rodeo. I went a
few years ago and had a blast.
Heading southeast from La Grande, I-84 runs through
the hilly plateau of northeastern Oregon, a most beautiful area. It loosely
follows the Oregon Trail, and there are many historic markers detailing
interesting facts about the folks who used it or incidents that happened along
it. You pass through or around Baker City and through the Walt Whitman National
Forest, which is a very pretty area. Eventually you pass Ontario and then
you’re into Idaho.
If you’re so inclined you can head north at this
point and visit Hell’s Canyon. It is very spectacular, and probably best seen
in one of those jet boats that roar through it daily. I continued southeast.
I stayed at Bruneau Dunes State Park in Southern
Idaho near Mountain Home, Idaho. I'd been there before years ago, and
remembered it fondly and accurately. It is a very nice park, with a huge sand
dune in the middle of (relatively speaking) nowhere. It was far enough away
from everything that the night sky was brilliant with stars and the silence was
incredible.
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In the morning I continued my travels. Southern
Idaho seems schizophrenic to me. Parts of it are breathtakingly beautiful,
while other areas are mind-numbingly boring. I have a very good CD player in
the cab of the truck, but on occasion I like to listen to the radio. As I got
closer to Boise, I got more serious about fiddling with the radio, since I was
passing through a very boring area. I was pleased that I could find an NPR
station from the University of Boise. But as anyone who has traveled a good
distance on the highways listening to their radio will remember, the pleasure
of a good station is fleeting. Within an hour, more or less, you are out of
range of the good station and searching for a new one.
My observation, confirmed by this trip, is that when
you’re more than 50 – 75 miles from a city, the last types of radio stations
that serve the real boonies are Hispanic stations (they play excellent music
along with incomprehensible talk if like me you don’t speak Spanish), County
Music stations (they vary – some are good and some give me a toothache) and
Religious stations (not my cup of tea – I’d prefer to meditate in silence).
When you are at the extreme edges of the boonies, the last stations remaining
are the Religious stations. I guess you can say that in the end, God wins.
Boise has finished the loop around the city, so
passing it was no big chore. As you head southeast towards Twin Falls, to the
north and out of sight is the Sawtooth Mountain Range. There are some wonderful
roads that go up through this area, and you’ll find a whole lot of great
campgrounds, including some very primitive and scenically rich camps and parks.
Shortly after Twin Falls I-84 cuts down into Utah.
This stretch of road is one of the more bleak and boring you’ll find. And there
are a number of signs warning of the high likelihood of blowing dust storms. I
didn’t encounter any on this trip, though I have on previous trips.
I made my way down I-84 and reached the Great Salt
Lake and entered the outskirts of Salt Lake City. Jeez, that city has grown!
The air was brown as I drove towards it. I also encountered bad traffic and
rude drivers. I found a loop bypass and scurried away from this huge city.
Southern Utah is another story. There is simply
incredible terrain. I found a campground in Cedar city, a smallish city just
off the freeway. The next day I went for a fantastic ride on the bike to Bryce
Canyon. This ride illustrates of why I like to travel in the Six Ton Suitcase.
I am able to drive in comfort on the long stretches of highway surrounded by
the creature comforts provided by my rig. Once I am near a scenic area, I can
hop in the bike and travel the winding, mountainous roads that would be a chore
in the truck, but are a pleasure on the bike. The ride to Bryce Canyon is a
good example.
The road out of Cedar City on Highway 143 winds up
through the foothills and quickly becomes so steep and curvy that the signs
warn truckers and campers to take an alternative route. This means a fun ride
on the Harley! I turned onto Highway 89 at Panguitch and rode south through the
high plateau road, surrounded by pastureland with cows, sheep and even a few
bison grazing and blissfully ignoring the sound of my bike.
Once I arrive at the Bryce Canyon National Park, I
discovered to my chagrin that for some reason this National Park did not charge
less for motorcycles, as most parks I have visited do. It seems that in some
places we just get no respect. The narrow, winding roads with a 35 mph speed
limit are perfect the bike. There are numerous pullouts where you can stop and
see the beautiful terrain. I take advantage of most of them. What a place! The
rock formations are visually stunning and the colors of the stone are
mind-boggling. Near the end of the road are some of the more scenic viewpoints.
It came as a bit of a shock to discover that we were just shy of 10,000 feet in
elevation!
In areas like this at this time of year, it is a
sure bet you’ll run into other motorcyclists. As a rule, these folks are the
nicest people you could ever hope to meet. Like any segment of the population,
there are a few bad apples, but they are the exception. The average Harley
rider today is most likely a Baby Boomer whose kids have grown and are off on
their own, leaving them with a little more time and disposable income, which is
needed to afford the pile of iron, chrome and leather that makes up a Harley.
Armed with the common bond of the large, loud bikes, it is very comfortable to
go up to a perfect stranger getting off their bike and strike up a conversation
as if you’d known them for years. I meet a lot of nice people this way, and
some remain long-distance email friends to this day.