FINISHED

The End.

Bend, Oregon 3 October 2016.  I woke to sun poking rays through the cracks in the drapes of my room.  I pulled open the synthetic curtains to see it was mostly sunny and the wind appeared to have died down from yesterday’s typhoon.  I packed everything on the bike for the last time on this trip.  I situated everything just like I’ve done for the last two months.  Tom said to go North, so north I rode.  Damn it, Tom, we should’ve gone to a nice warm casino in Reno.  The wind was there, the temperatures hovered around 40 F.  I took Nevada route 447 through a very picturesque valley, that would’ve been allot more attractive had the temperatures been up in the 60-70-80-90-100’s, not lower than the setting on my freezer at home.  It was a lonely highway.  I thought I was alone.  I came up over a little blind rise in the road, when I came over the top I found three cows grazing roadside—OPEN *&$%ing RANGE!  My hands were going numb, my core was going numb, my ass was going numb (I forgot and left the beads on my seat—used for air flow), and I had another 45 miles to go.  The wind was howling and I was too cold to dare stop to adjust or make any change.  I slowed down for the damn cows and settled my resolve to tough it out.  The discomfort, which is like saying being eaten by a shark a tad inconvenient, was unfortunate because it really was a remarkable sight.  I had no idea where I was, and when I went over the line of mountains to the west, the road twisted through a chink in the rock ranges armor.  I dropped down into a small town with a cafe open.  I backed the bike into the curb fearful of dumping it, knowing my senses were gone and my judgement impaired or frozen shut.

I dug out my winter gloves (I took off with my middle weights), another two layers, and the insulation to my motorcycle pants.  I was quite a sight, the five people in there eating breakfast all stopped and sat expressionless in my direction.  I tore off my jackets, pulled my numb hands out of the gloves, ordered some hot tea, and made off for the head.  I applied the layers and insulation to my assemble, all the while playing tennis in my mind whether or not to brave elements.  I sat there, nursing the tea trying to thaw-out.

A couple of hunters came in, snow piled atop their truck, “You the guy on the motorcycle?”

I mumbled some unintelligible reply through my lockjaw.

“You going over the pass or to Fallon?”

“Is there a pass I have to go over?  I’m going to Bend, Oregon.”

“Snowing up there, we just came through it.  Saw one car in the ditch we had to pull out,” Mr. Camouflage hunter said.

I looked out the window at the snow.  “Is there any other way to go?  Around?”

Mr. Camouflage hunter smiled, and then said, “Nope.  That’s the only way.”

Back to tennis.  It wasn’t going to get any warmer, unless I headed South again.  Maybe I could rent a room from someone in town?  So close….Adventure, I have a damned adventure bike, let’s go experience some adventure.

The pass was relatively dry, but cold.  I was bundled up better than fragile glass in a UPS package, but I was still a little too cold to say I was enjoyable.  Finally over the pass, I turned right onto 395 to Longview, Oregon.  I stopped there for fuel, and looked at Tom’s display, it was only 4 hours to Bend, it was 4 degrees, and I didn’t dare move from my seat.  I pushed on.  Somewhere near Spring Lake I had to brake for some real cowboys gathering up a head of cattle that must’ve got loose on the road.  I managed to snap a few photos, wish I had the wherewithal to push the video button, but it was hard enough with my winter gloves on to find the photo button.

I finally pulled into my driveway, kicked out the side stand, stepped off Trafalgar, and looked back at her.  The yellow Touratech weatherproof bags were marred with black smudges, the Trader Joe’s insulated bag, strapped atop looked weathered, the blue waterproof tent bag was lined with white creases, a dusty film covered the shaft and rims, the seat was well worn with mud where I climb up into the saddle, the boxes have more stickers, she was definitely showing some mileage.  Trafalgar had served me without complaint.  It was sad to get off her for the last time of this trip.  I will be storing her for the winter.  We were compatible, comfortable, and intimate.  I’m home, but feel as though I should do a little maintenance on Trafalgar and take my place back in the saddle tomorrow, riding off toward other adventures.

I sat there, nursing the tea trying to thaw-out.  the mountain pass.