Last Day of Ass-Molded-Seat Tour; 6 May 2018

Last day of the Ass-Molded-Seat tour.  I dragged myself out from under the polyester bed spread and stumbled into the shower for a little wake-me-up time under a steady stream of hot water.  On the new diet—a sadistic plan of voluntary starvation—I moseyed over to the Safeway for some fluids.  I met Jon in the hotel office sucking down coffee and spying a glass cake dish with 3 day old donuts.  After guzzling a Poweraide, turning my piss back into something clearer than the deep well-aged Scotch color this morning, I packed the bike and donned the trusty armor.

We fueled in town, and then headed North-north-west toward Bend.  It was a pretty road of long sweeping turns through cattle ranchs and forested hills.  A few miles out we dropped into a valley with a looming wall of rock, a few thousand feet high, on the East side.  We veered left on Rt 31 where the valley widened with a vastness that had its own sort beauty.  A beauty only a mother could love, but today I was a foster parent.  The asphalt disappeared ahead in a straight flatness that encouraged me to edge up the cruise control to 100 mph (unconfirmed, officer).  The ranchs were spread thin through this landscape where a hardy breed of cattlemen and women called home.

Riding through the small village of Paisley, OR at 30 mph we had to yield for three deer using the 31 bridge to cross the small river in town.  Approaching Summer Lake Resort, and thereafter, the wind increased to a sufficient speed to knock us around a little.  This continued until we went up and over the range that separated this valley from the Silver Lake valley.   The closer we got to La Pine and Rt 97 the heavier the traffic.  Heavy being a relative term, in this situation meaning we could see about three vehicles in addition to the motorcycles in our caravan.  

Suddenly, we approached a dust cloud.  A truck pulling a horse trailer advertised “Cattle in Road.”  We were waved ahead by the woman driving, and then again by the rear-most cowboy on horseback.  We cautiously approached the herd, the cowboys kept waving us into the herd—are they nuts?!  So, slowly we herded the cows along with the riders on horseback.  With the herd cleared just enough to let us pass, we left the experience with a smile.  Its great to see real old-fashioned cowboys in the West—Americana.  

We stopped for fuel in La Pine, my fuel was petroleum for Trafalgar, Jon’s was an Egg McMuffin.  Jeff decided to keep going to Portland to split up the long ride home to Poulsbo.  Thus the ingredients of a spectacular Ass-Molded-Seat travel adventure dissolved until the next excuse for an adventure off the beaten path on motorcycles..