I guess the pistachios were too much.

20 Aug 2018–Our room was on the third floor, so we loaded up the luggage cart and looked on amazed that that was going on our motorcycles.

Departed in smoke, like some movie set prop simulating 1970’s LA smog, through the many redlight-filled 95 southbound, via Sandpoint, Coeur d’ Alene, and the little towns between.  Stopped at the Fighting Creek Indian Reservation fuel station for some petro and coffee and hot foam in a cup, sold as Chai Tea Latte.  Bob, a tree faller asked to join us, so he filled us in on his life story as we gathered our wits.

Bob, the lonely tree faller.

We turned onto Manito Road at the gas station, a country road through picturesque farm country, despite the toxic cloud of fire exhaust blanketing the west.

I missed our turn to stay on 27, so instead travelled down 195 into Lewiston.  Once in town, Jon and I walked to an out-of-business cigar shop, and then made our way back to Stax for lunch.

Good thing we had our needs met, because it was off to one of the most challenging motorcycle roads in the country.  This series of 20 mph switchbacks winds its way down into Snake River and Chief Joseph canyons and back out with 2,000 ft cliffs waiting behind every blind turn.  I led us through, praying there wasn’t an RV stopped for a picture around each of the thousand turns we had to negotiate.  Without a straight away for 50 miles, and only the opportunity to take a glance over the cliff edge, I did not have the opportunity to take any pictures.  Luckily, we were unencumbered by traffic.  It was zoom ahead, slow, lean, scrap the pegs, twist the throttle, on to the next one.  No pause for rest between.  The exhilaration.  The fear of hazards behind every blind rock wall on the inside of each turn.  The looming cliffs.  It was a thrill ride with no long wait in an amusement park.  With some of the side walls of the tires properly worn, we stopped for a photo opt at the scenic overlook.

Jon surveys one of the most enjoyable treks of asphalt ever constructed.

In Enterprise, Tom my trusty GPS, gave us a little trial in confusion as Wallowa, and Lake Wallowa were at opposite directions.  Like good school kids, we followed the green signs.  “I need a drink to celebrate that ride,” Jon said as I tried to play Christopher Columbus with the directions to the new world.  One of the first commercial buildings in Joseph was a business I recognized, parked and stormed into the counter as the tour guide was giving a tasting.  “Would you like a taste?”  “I know exactly what I want.  Give me a bottle of Rye.”  So, I left Stein Distillery with a bottle of their delicious whiskey, while Rachelle went ahead to the market for food.  With a few plastic bags full of goodies, I was trying to cram them into the aluminum boxes when my bike overturned, on the kickstand side, on the street.  Jon’s first reaction, “Take a picture.”  Along with a good samaritan, we righted it and went on our way.

I guess the pistachios were too much.

We checked in Eagle Cap Chalet at the end of Lake Wallowa and met for whiskey and cigars and milk shakes, to celebrate a great day of riding and falling.

After enjoying a little sugary dairy and whiskey, we eyed the golf course.  The challenge was on, so with whiskey in hand we headed over for a little miniature golf.  Jon, Rachelle, and I were giggling like school girls at the craziness of the course.  Despite two hole-in-ones, Jon walked away the victor.  At ten cents a point, Rachelle and I owed him a whopping 10 cents each.

As we sat there, we met two people that would enter our lives afterward.  One a woman from Redmond that we saw on our last day in Prineville getting fuel, and Dan from Virginia who has offered up Rachelle and I his cottage in Nova Scotia on next year’s motorcycle tour.