Cigar smoking buddy, Jon G., rides a Gold Wing F6B–the GoldWing Dragster–and sitting in the AshHole Cigar Lounge excitedly announced his plans to take a motorcycle trip to Yellowstone National Park this summer. He also stated he planned on camping on the trip, and admitted he hadn’t been camping in 50 years. Well, us contributing members of the cigar camping society knowitalls (CCSK) soon had him spending close to a thousand dollars for the latest and greatest motorcycle camping equipment. The Kermit chair, Marmot sleeping bag, etc. Before he committed himself to a 10 day trip to Yellowstone it was decided he needed a test run.
The Test Run. We loaded up the bikes, me on Trafalgar with my well-worn equipment, and him on the GW Dragster. He showed up with, what looked like a body bag strapped to his pilon seat, and headed off to warmer climates along the Columbia River near Hermiston, OR. After a quick fuel stop, we headed out through Prineville up into the Ochoco Mountains on Rt 26. The weather was in the mid-60, relaxing riding temperatures, and stayed with us throughout the weekend test run. We rode the twisty mountain road, and then turned off near Mitchell, OR onto Rt 207. This mountain route is a beautiful twisty asphalt path through rugged, tree lined landscape of Umatilla National Forest.
Just shy of the little hamlet of Spray, we stopped along the John Day River for a break. “Shit, I packed the chair somewhere in here,” Jon said, pointing to the body bag. Luckily, he retrieved it without much effort, and we enjoyed a cigar and wondered about the fishing. After an hour, we packed up the Kermit chairs and stopped for fuel in Spray, a tiny oasis in the mountains with an old fashion analog pump that you didn’t pre-pay for your fuel. Fueled up, we continued northeast into wheat country, passing through little clusters of homes, villages with names like Hardman. We stopped for espresso in Heppner–hey, this is a rough camping trip–having fun talking with the locals. We continued on through treeless, rolling farm country until the GPS (remember Tom?) took us through the red lights of Hermiston. I had the “Avoid Highways” selected. Finally, about ten miles out of town we found our campsite. Hat Rock Campground and RV park, 10 miles from food.
We set up camp and decided after 6 hours on the bikes that we didn’t want to gear up for the trip back into town, that 10 miles looked like 100 to us. So, I being the resourceful mate, nuked two cans of Chef Boyardee Ravioli in paper coffee cups in the camp office, cracked open the bottle of George Dickel, and lit cigars by the fire. Soon we were entertained by the local permanent residents, one ADD chap gave us a wheelbarrow full of wood. Jon’s foray into the hardships of motorcycle camping. Somewhere that evening a box of Wheat Thins got knocked over near Jon’s tent–more on this later.
trafalgar adventures 