I hugged Mom and Dad Lalanne, for what seemed like my hundredth farewell to friends and family. The last “Finally” before I head out in earnest on my travels as rain did the rumba on the cart port roof. Modern technology has done wonders for preparing and protecting us from the harsh hand of mother nature. I was thankful for my high-tech, water proof, combat, riding gear, although the new tires I mounted gave me a little concern.
A few miles into my journey I passed a motorcyclist on a Yamaha Star Stratoliner, I waved a brother-in-arms acknowledgment as I rode by. It was a surprising comfort to see him take position in my wake. There was a sense of security, not being alone to face the challenges, and a camaraderie that none of the bipeds caged in their artificial environments, distracted by incoming texts, trying to get their coffee cups back in the junk-filled center console holders, could ever appreciate. We rode, with him following behind, following in formation as I passed cars, or changed lanes to make way for the occasional Indie Driver racing off to god knows where. We did all this in down-pouring rain. All’s I could think of was that postcard in the Ye Old Curiosity shop on the waterfront, Miami gets more rain than Seattle! I lived in Miami, this was no Miami. Maybe it should read, Miami get more rain in ten years of Hurricane seasons, than Seattle gets this summer. I digress, so there we were, enjoying a leisurely ride across the Cascades when my exit came upon us. I hoped he would follow me in, but we waved and left satisfied like a good thanksgiving dinner.
I needed to pay my respects to Douglas Munro, arguably the greatest Coastie in the service’s history. I stopped in Safeway for some cucumber sandwich ingredients and asked the cashier, a tired looking mom I suspected, if she knew about the Cel Elum hero. She gave me that blank stare that either indicated aliens just sucked her brain dry, or she had no clue or care about Douglas Munro. I believe when the adventure is over I’ll join forces with the likes of Eric Olson to campaign for a name change from Main/First street to Douglas Munro Street. I offered my salutations to the Medal of Honor winner, and then bid farewell. I wanted warmer, drier weather.
I took the Yakima river canyon road, a sweeping stretch of tarmac that follows the river, south toward a looming dark sky. Not a vehicle to contend with. This was a desert canyon that was receiving her annual rainfall, today. Through the canyon, I rode to the irrigated desert valley that is probably the largest apple and hops growing region in the world. I don’t know why they irrigate with all the rain they were receiving today. I rode into the state park to claim a campsite, but all the sites had sprinklers spraying. The Ranger said come back later to claim my homestead. I was tired and anxious to setup camp. I just parked at my site and stood out of reach of the sprinklers. The rain let up and then the sun let me know this was a desert, Sahara hot. I was sweating in my gear. I shed my protective layer and snuck in when the sprinkler finally shut off.
With room to spare in my bags, the tent setup, my valuables safely locked-up inside that zippered vault, I rode to town for water. I definitely need to drink more on the road. My urine looked as dark as a 50 year old Scotch. I loaded about 100 lbs of fluids and a bag of ice back to camp and enjoyed strawberries and Nutella—my chocolate fountain was on the fritz. I wish I had that crack-cheese dip Susan Lewis made for Tim & Lori’s Herf, but Nutella is pretty damned good when your dehydrated and the brain functions button has been turned to “power save” mode.
I another good day on the road. Good Day and Good Ride.
trafalgar adventures 