Catching up and goodbye Beast

FOUR months since my last post which is a new record.  Sometimes a person is just not feeling it and distractions are many.  As time goes by and more and more things go unrecorded, it becomes a bit daunting to catch up.

But since I rule this blog, I can be brief and leap over the past four months, as little or as much as I want.

First of all, you may have noticed that the title no longer says "on Wheels"....... this is because the wheels .... AKA "The Beast" is  <<SOLD>>  As of six days ago.  Husband and I are still celebrating.

Backing it out of the driveway for the last time.

Wait, you may say.  Didn't I love The Beast?

Yes.  I did.

Then I didn't.

The Beast served its purpose for over two years, keeping us adequately sheltered.  I thoroughly enjoyed the escape from yard work and from multiple rooms that were seldom occupied except by dust mites who had to be evicted regularly.  And as I have previously said, I hated moving the thing.

Motorhomes are large investments .... even 12 year old ones like ours.  In fact I shouldn't call it an "investment" because the longer you own it, like with any vehicle and unlike a house, the more the value goes down.  And repairs can be costly and frequent.  We had to deal with a few of them.  So when you add a worrier (like me) into the mix, the result is not optimum.  I was always afraid it would break down on the side of the road.  Or present us with another leak on a rainy day.  Or that it would age beyond its appeal to any prospective buyer.  Or that it would suddenly demand new tires, shocks, radiator, batteries, a new fridge, AC unit, or what-have-you.

So after a few repairs and much cleaning ....  it sold within a week.  (Happy Dance!)

And we have decided that, for now, our version of camping will be in a tent.  In fact, just last month, we were in our little backpacking tent in a campground in southern Colorado .... the only tent-dwellers amongst many RVs, and we no longer envied the comfort of those big rigs with their kitchens, bathrooms, and flat screen TVs.  We were traveling minimalist-style on our motorcycle with no concerns of maneuvering in and out of our site, if our slides would retract in the morning, or if we'd be able to find a gas station we can fit into the next day.  

(Note:  Husband is not a worrier (like me) which is good, because if he was, we'd probably never venture out, take a risk, or do much of anything.  He provides the big ideas and optimism, and I provide the angst to keep us somewhat grounded.  It's called balance.)

Therefore, with that, another chapter in our life is now closed.


So ....... over the last four months, we have done TWO motorcycle trips.  The first was a sequel of last year with our great motor-biking friends.  We traveled into Idaho -- the Boise area where the guys could fish, up near Sun Valley where the guys could fish, then over to Rexburg where the guys could fish.  I got to see my delightful sis and some cousins.  Total score.  (Sadly we don't have many pictures.  We were all too busy having fun.)

All the bikes in our garage the night before the trip.  They all spent the first night with us, three days after we moved into the house.  (Thanks, Julie.  I took this from your Facebook pics.)

Husband on the Big Wood River, Idaho.

Awesome sister and cousins.

In August, we introduced our new home to our progeny (kids and grands) at our annual reunion and plan on hosting many more.

AND, to check another biggie off our list, we finished moving ALL OUR STUFF.

AND THEN Husband backpacked 85 miles (one week) on the Pacific Crest Trail with friend, Steve, who was hiking the entire Oregon portion.

Alas, I did not think to take an "after" shot when I picked him up a week later.

Then our second motorcycle trip we went alone, first by hauling our motorcycle in our little utility trailer to Utah where we visited some awesome relatives,

then we left the car and trailer

and rode our motorcycle into Colorado for nine days, camping and motel-ing along the way.  We saw Mesa Verde again ....

I went through there too.  It was the only way out.

And up this.

Cliff Palace in Mesa Verde

..... the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, the "million dollar highway" and the majestic Rockies with their splashes of golden aspens among the evergreens.  (I cannot EXPRESS how gorgeous those mountains are!!  Oh, poor Oregon .... you've been bested by Maine and now by Colorado too.)  We rode in elevations well above our own 11,000+ ft. high Mt. Hood.  

Colorado National Monument

We reconnected with more awesome family and then to our beloved southern Utah .... Arches National Park (for the umpteenth time), our fave Moab campground, and more.  Over 1800 fantastic miles on the bike

On the Home Front, we finished laying gazillions of pavers for our driveway.  Plus we watched someone put up the outside portion of Husband's new shop.  (Husband will finish the interior, as you may have guessed.)

There's a cement floor in it now.

The sand pile has shrunk considerably.

Landscaping is still on The List.  It WILL be minimal.

In spite of a warm fall, we're starting to use our wood stove, which I love.

And ..... we got a new puppy.  (I know, I know.)

Winnie The Poop

That's all.

For now.

Awesome-sauce on Lolo Pass

It all started four years ago with Awesome Friend Garth who rides a motorcycle.  He hatched a plan of riding to Canada on said motorcycle and began inviting anyone who is fortunate enough to count as his friend, along on the trip.  The problem was, at that time, Husband, who is one of those fortunate friends, did not own a motorcycle.  In fact he had not owned a motorcycle for a very long time and those one or two periods of his life in which he did own one, were very brief.  But he wanted to go, because anything AFGarth does ..... is awesome.

My heels immediately dug deeply into the ground, so to speak.

"People get hurt on motorcycles.  People die on motorcycles."  And so it went for a year or so.  I even enlisted the support of Experienced Motorcyclist Friend Steve**, who wisely counseled, "Don't do it."

Needless to say, Husband didn't go to Canada.

But I eventually gave in.

Fast forward to now.

Much to Husband's joy, AFGarth hatched a plan for another ride.  And this time I was on board (figuratively and literally) along with Dear Friends Steve**(see above; note the irony) and his bride Robyn ....

and New Friend Dallas, who lived locally until his career took him and his young family to China ..... yes, China .... as in .... Asia.   He popped back to the U.S. to visit friends/family and to do this ride.

The plan:  Six days, 1400 miles (turned out to be 1500 for us), through Washington, Idaho, and into Montana, then back through central Oregon.  The highlights:

First day, it was hot.  97 degrees.  We rode through the famous Columbia Gorge on the Washington side where, in my opinion, it's prettier because you can see Oregon better from across the river.  And Oregon hits a scenic home run in the gorge.   Husband and I decided en route that we couldn't NOT stop and see Favorite First Son and family who lived about 20 miles out of our way.

Favorite First Son and grandson.  

We managed to keep the visit very brief, which was not easy, and we caught up with our group in Walla Walla, where we spent the night in a Best Western.  315 miles.

Second day.  It was not quite as hot, fortunately.  165 miles.   We went through a portion of Washington similar to (and not far from) its gorgeous Palouse area (where we visited a year ago), then had lunch in Lewiston, Idaho, and on to the small town of Kamiah (pronounced Kamy-eye) which sits on the banks of the Clearwater river and is where we spent the night.  

Since he knew we'd have time, AFGarth had called the local LDS (Mormon) bishop and arranged a service project for us to do.  Hence we spent a few hours doing yard projects for K, the sweetest lady you'd ever meet.  Her humble home and yard was awash with what most observers would call junk, but to her, it held dreams of potential.  It was easy to see that without help, very little, if any, of her dreams would reach fruition .... the shed she planned to paint, the potting sink she wanted to make, the fence she was going to mend, and on and on.   As we worked, she flitted about joyfully in her flowered house dress and pink straw hat, telling us of her plans for this and that, and how blessed she was to have her own little home and garden that she was able to purchase some 15 years ago for $15,000.

Afterwards, she invited us in for "hors d'oeuvres" of fresh fruit, home-brew cider, and hot dogs baked in biscuit dough.  We sat in her tiny cluttered kitchen, at a small table neatly set with a fresh table cloth, where she continued to express her appreciation for her blessings.   It was a lesson of gratitude and humility that none of us will ever forget.  And no doubt, if any of us ever pass through Kamiah again, we will be visiting K.

Third day.  Perfect weather.  There is something in Idaho/Montana called Lolo Pass.  It is up there on the list of great motorcycle rides.  Of course Husband had been wanting to ride it.   And better yet, with AFGarth.

Lolo Pass takes you through scenery for which Idaho gets little credit.  Most of the time, the only part of Idaho that travelers see is along I-84 which, sadly, passes through the very unimpressively brown lower portion of the state.  The middle/upper portion is one of the best kept secrets because it is .... stunning.

Who knew?  At the far end of that 99 miles, we diverted up to Missoula in search of pizza for Dallas because, apparently, China doesn't have a Papa Johns "where they make the best".  We spent that night in some homely little cabins in Darby, Montana, where it seems that fly fishing and rodeos rule.   195 miles.

Fourth day.  283 miles.  Back into Idaho and after lunch in Stanley we came upon a road which, by common consensus, outdid Lolo Pass.  It was through or near the beautiful Sawtooth mountains (or was it the Bitterroot mountains?) .... with all the classic tight, hairpin curves ..... qualifying as pure motorcycle-Nirvana.   The more timid ones in our group (me) just hung on and leaned with the curves.    That night we stayed in an Airbnb house in the historic small town of Idaho City, where Steve and Robyn celebrated their 33rd anniversary, and where I slept on the top of a bunk bed.

Idaho City is the result of one of the biggest gold strikes, second to the one in California.  In its heyday during the 1860s, it was the largest city in the Northwest.

No explanation for this.

Fifth day, 295+ miles.  Realizing that we would be within five miles of my One-and-Only-Best-Sister-Ever, Husband and I diverted over for a quick, twenty minute visit.  We seem to have developed a tendency of arriving at their home in non-conventional ways.  Last time it was in a 40 foot motorhome.  This time, in helmets on a bike.  The detour put us about 30 minutes behind our group and needless to say, we blew through some long back roads of eastern Oregon and reached the prescribed rally point in the charming town of Prairie City, 45 minutes ahead of them.   From there we passed through John Day which, coincidentally, was hosting a BMW motorcycle rally and we found ourselves among dozens of kindred BMW riders.

We lunched with fellow rider, Kim, a longtime friend of Steve & Robyn, who just happened to be there for the rally.    

We spent the night in Mitchell, Oregon, which, if you are familiar with this town, you will be wondering, "Why on earth!?"

In spite of the fact that it still contains residents and a smattering of businesses, it is on the list of ghost towns which is not surprising since it has obviously seen better days.  The character of the ramshackle buildings that line its one street in the "business district", is in a class of its own .  We stayed in the very over-priced Sky Hook motel, circa sometime in the 60s(?), perched on a hill overlooking the town.

Sixth day, 223 miles and home.  Obnoxious high temps were forecasted, so we started early, stopped for breakfast in the delightful town of Sisters (of course), and parted ways for the home stretch.  Later in the day, everyone reported that they had arrived home safely.  

Thoughts:   There were no Harleys, nor beer drinking, nor even a tattoo (that I know of) in our group.  If not for Dallas' leather jacket and jeans, we'd be hopelessly dismissed as nerds in our padded mesh gear and ample helmets.  But a better group of people with whom to ride, you will never find.   I don't know how we deserved to be among them ...... needless to say, for the honor, we, like K of Kamiah, are grateful.

P.S.  All details that I have inevitably omitted, hopefully will be compensated for with pictures.

P.P.S.  Does anyone know who the heck was Lolo and why the pass was named after her/him?

P.P.P.S.  Thank you Garth, for your time and effort in making it happen, for your patience in keeping us all herded and on schedule, and for simply being awesome; and thank you Steve, Robyn, and Dallas for your wonderful company.  Let's do it again sometime!

Rushmore, et al

We camped on the wrong side.  The fun, touristy towns like Custer, Hill City, and Keystone, along with the scenic mountains and valleys of Custer State Park and Black Hills Nat'l Forest were on one side of Rushmore and we were on the other side, parked in a shadeless field.  (Think of the prairies in the movie, “Dances with Wolves”.  You might even hum the John Dunbar theme.  It helps.)  Sad occurrences like this can happen when you don't know the area and are lured, sight unseen, to campgrounds offering discounts.  But we were relatively close to the Badlands, to which we went first, so I’ll start there.

Husband found a long loop from Rapid City through the Badlands which he figured would make a great motorcycle ride.  And it would have been, if not for the monstrous headwind.  It tried its best to blow us off the road every exhausting inch of the way.  The route took us 60-some miles from Rapid City down to Wall, another small South Dakota town.  On the way we became well acquainted with Wall Drug, a store which, many years ago, decided to become better known.  So it did ….. with signs all along the freeway every minute or two.   

http://www.lisagiulietti.com/?p=423

This constant, yet light-hearted advertising probably made it the most famous drugstore in America.  If you’re ever in the area, you must go.  Not for any good reason, just for curiosity.  The town has eagerly jumped onto the bandwagon with a western theme.  It’s cute and corny and appears to sell every silly souvenir and cheap T-shirt under the sun.  I did notice a small section of actual medicinals in one corner of the sprawling complex, to give it sufficient credibility for being a drugstore.  (I look awful in the obligatory photo in front of the store, so it's not getting posted.  Blaming helmet hair.)

The Badlands.  The only pics I got were from the bike as we rode through the pounding wind.

In my opinion, having been to scenic giants like Bryce Canyon in southern Utah, the Badlands were worth seeing (I suppose) but once is enough.  Just my opinion.  It's well named, though.   Our trip back, however, rewarded us with a tiny ghost town called Scenic, that featured one small functioning store and post office.  The rest looked like this:

Notice the cattle skulls hanging over the sign.

And there was even an old jail.  So cool!

The store proprietor said the town dried up when they stopped selling alcohol.  It went, he said, from rowdy to peaceful, almost overnight. 

The next day we wound through narrow mountain roads and single-lane tunnels to the wonderful and incredible Mt. Rushmore.  When you’ve seen something in pictures and movies throughout your life, and then… finally ….. see it in person … it has impact.  

And wow.  It was Grand Central in the middle of nowhere.  There was a huge, multi-level parking garage, cafeteria and other eateries, gift shops, visitors center with two theaters, a large amphitheater, and enough displays to keep a very large crowd busy.  All colorfully bedecked with the flags of our 50 states.  But all trappings aside, the carving of the four men on the mountain is truly a masterpiece, an engineering marvel, and worth the trip.

Selfies -- rarely our thing.

I have never before noticed that the carvings included more than just their faces.  Do you see Washington’s lapel and Lincoln’s collar?  We learned that it was originally supposed to go down to their waists as you can see in the model below.  I did some googling to see why they didn’t finish it. Later I heard a tour guide say the rock had too many faults and cracks further out in places where, for example, Lincoln’s ear should be.  They feared it might eventually break off.  So they stopped carving.  It wasn’t due to lack of funds, as per comments on the internet.

(Lincoln is holding a pipe.)

They say ya gotta go see Crazy Horse while you’re there.  “It’s HUGE”, they say.  So we did.  If it is ever finished, it will definitely dwarf the four presidents on Rushmore, to say the least.  But in over 60 years, what is meant to be the top half of a man on his horse carved from a mountain, is yet only his face and the beginning of his outstretched arm.  It was started in 1948 (shortly after work stopped at Rushmore) by one man, a sculptor, who was invited by a group of Native Americans to create a monument to show the world that they too, have heroes to honor.  He worked on it mostly alone with old, worn-out equipment and few tools, while his devoted wife bore him many children.   As the years went by, those children took up the cause and to this day, his descendants (none of whom are Native Americans) continue to spearhead the work.  To their credit, they refuse any government funds.  It’s all financed by donations and entry fees.  ($11 per person)  The lovely knotty-pine visitors center shows a somewhat longish film meant as a tribute to the family and to promote support for their cause.  But to be honest … it was kind of sad.  It seems like such a futile effort.  You can’t help but notice in the display photos that it has hardly changed in the last 20 years.  

Sufficiently visible from the road.

We wound through Custer State Park and saw buffalo, deer, antelope (still no moose) and traveled some very winding, high, mountain roads.   We held our breath as we squeezed our Jeep through more VERY tight tunnels, feeling glad we had left our motorhome behind.  We saw another RV in a pullout along the road between two of those tunnels that were spaced a mile or so apart with no escape road between them.  We have no idea how it got there and how on earth … it will get out.  The thought of it still haunts me a little.

With that, it was time to point our caravan west and trek home.