After I shook off the bumping incident,
I stopped along the coast for this photo. The sun hadn't quite
burned away the clouds yet, but the beauty was still there.
Page 5 - The Oregon Coast and Crater Lake National Park
I slept late on this Tuesday morning. About time I suppose, but I wanted to get on down the road. My tires had felt a little squirrely when I stopped last night, so I checked ‘em out before I left the motel. Both needed about 5 lbs of air. I gave ‘em each 7, just to teach ‘em a lesson. It only cost a quarter and it worked out fine.
I stuffed down a couple of unhealthy McBreakfast sandwiches in Newport and headed down the coastal highway. On the way out of town, I learned my second lesson in Oregon tension. I guess I taught myself one too. I was feeling pretty worn down that morning. Instead of my usual habit of clearing traffic in the left lane, moving a little faster than most others, I stuck to the right lane and bumbled along with the traffic, letting other folks rush by on their way to work. I was in no hurry. The road narrowed from four lanes into one lane on each side of the street as it approached a bridge on the south edge of town. Just before the bridge, my side of the road opened into two lanes again, or so I thought.. I noticed a big new urban assault vehicle in my rear-view mirrors barreling down the road in back of me, obviously in a hurry. I started to get into the upcoming right lane to let him pass, without realizing that it was just a turn lane. Ooops! I noticed the lane's true nature and didn't pull over into it afterall. I didn't cut the UAV off either, I just didn't get out of its way. In an instant my mirror was full of UAV grill and a (very) live picture of an irate, round red faced driver with fists doubled, throwing some pretty offensive gestures at me over the steering wheel.
He was right up on top of me, like he wanted to push me out of the way. I didn't want this idiot on my tail going over the bridge, so I tapped the brake lightly, asking him to back off. That not only didn't work, he wanted me to know it didn't work. So, I slowed down to encourage him to give me a little more room .. . no effect ... . his bumper almost resting on my tent roll ... so, I continued to slow down until I rolled to a stop .... . . .
. . . Boom! He hit me.
The sound was loud, but I felt only a hard nudge. I shut down "Bear" and got off to inspect the damage. No plastic on the ground ... no sick "Bear" that I could see. I figured I should explain to this clown what had prevented me from letting him pass (he musta been a clown - his face was painted bright red with a pinch of blue). I might even suggest that it was time for his 60 year old self to finally leave his adolescence and join others in an adult life (but not me). By now, I thought he might begin to understand why I thought it would be a good idea for him not to ride my tail. I figured he'd have vented, now that he'd had his way with "Bear."
Nope. He was only getting started; he saw me coming. He backed the UAV up with a jerk and started to drive around me and "Bear." No sir, says I, and I stupidly stepped in front of him. In about one second I was on his hood, hanging on and watching his wide-eyed wife reach for the dashboard. He stopped with a jolt and I figured this had gone just about as far as I was willing to take it. I started to slide off the hood and he started up again, brushing me off to the side. Without thinking, I ripped the plastic bug screen from above Bozo's grill and left about 4 and ½ feet of (his) plastic in pieces on the pavement; better his plastic than mine. This made an impression on me, but didn't seem to faze him. Bozo was down the road in a hurry. I stood in the street for a second wondering if there was something in the local water supply and why I'd had let myself get into such a stupid position.
Another driver asked if I was OK. I told him I was, then got back on "Bear" and went on down the road. It took me a couple of minutes to understand what had happened. I'd never been assaulted with a vehicle before and it had happened to me twice within a minute. The old bugger ran like a brat from his mommy though, so I figured his nerve stopped at his bumper. I wished there had been one of those fuzzy cheeked revenuers around to see this upstanding citizen stand up bold for his rights to his road .. . the whole dang road. I wondered how his side of the story would sound. He'd probably sound a lot like me trying to explain why bikers should be able to play slalom around and through stalled traffic.
I saw Bozo again ahead of me a few miles up the road. He saw me too. I could almost see sparks fly when he punched the accelerator and scooted out of sight for good after the next curve. I wasn't going to chase him. That'd be kinda like a dog chasing a Chevette. After you catch ‘em, what next? I'll bet he wet his pants hiding behind a gas station somewhere, the sorry excuse ... I still wonder what the heck he thought was happening.
OK, back to the trip. I had been warned by several parties about traffic and congestion on the Oregon coastal highway. I should have listened. There were beautiful spots along the way, but it wasn't long before it was apparent that the cost was too high. I turned east at Reedsport onto Oregon 38 and headed back into the mountains. Pop. pop, fizz, fizz, ooh what a relief it was, no traffic, a twisty here and there, cool air, and cooler heads. I played tag with a couple of rednecks in a pickup truck for several miles through the mountains. I thought I was back in Missouri for a minute. I wasn't sure if they were playing or not until we were stopped by road construction. They were playing; we had a friendly chat. I turned southeast onto Oregon 138 shortly after the obstruction cleared. OR-138 took me on a pleasant ride to I-5, "THE" west coast SLAB. I stayed on it just a few miles until I reached Roseburg, then it was back onto OR-138 for Crater Lake National Park.
After I shook off the bumping incident, I stopped along the coast for this photo. The sun hadn't quite burned away the clouds yet, but the beauty was still there.
Another park and another song and dance about my lost ticket ... same tune, same chorus. I got a smile, some advise, and another wave-through. This time, I even got a Washington, D.C. phone number in case I couldn't get the missing ticket resolved. I don't want to hear anything bad said about Park Rangers, and there's going to be a real long wait before I say something bad about them.
I know this looks like a "put-up" shot, but it is real. The sun was obscured and it began to cool off (finally).
Crater Lake is my second-favorite church. I'd been there before, but not on a bike, and at the time I couldn't drive around it because of snow. This time it was open and, yup, even hot. The heat was still chasing me, not a drop of rain anywhere yet, and good God, it was still hot. Still, I am amazed by this sanctuary.
I took a short side trip up to the highest point on the rim and was treated to a most unnatural natural sight. The lake was evaporating before my eyes and forming clouds with great speed. It looked like a big vacuum was sucking visible moisture up off the lake's surface. The mist snaked up the cliffs without a turn or a pause and formed into clouds. Vapor only became visible when it cooled neared the top of the ridge, and it was moving straight up then at what appeared to be about 40 or 50 mph. I could have watched that awhile longer, but all those clouds were starting to darken and beginning to look pretty ominous. I was still a little slow on the uptake and decided to circle the lake before I left. Not long after I left the high rim, a mist hung over the road, then droplets appeared, and then scattered drops. I looked over my shoulder at the coming storm and raced down the deserted Oregon 62 toward Klamath Falls to escape the storm .... and that I did. I stayed dry. This was an odd experience. I was disappointed that I had to leave so early because of the pending storm. But ... (and there's almost always a but) I felt real lucky to be there when the lake helped create the storm. I did not know if watching water vapor rush up those cliffs was a common sight at Crater Lake or not. I do know it was not a common sight for me. Geeze, another great day on a great ride.
I tried to take a photo of the Lake making clouds and you can see the mist traveling up, there on the right of this image. Alas! I could not capture the spellbinding speed of the mist's rise from the Lake. Go there. See that.
I wanted to stop in Klamath Falls for the night, but I had to be in Long Beach, California, in 2 days. That would be an easy job if I just wanted to point "Bear" toward the horizon and ride straight and true. The trouble was that I also wanted to play on the coastal highway to get there and see if California 96 was as good as it looked on the map. Soooo. .. I went west on Oregon 66, a very interesting road. It was full of poorly engineered twisties (tight and unpredictable), but it was almost deserted and in pretty good shape. My forearms were sore from wrestling "Bear" by the time I reached Ashland. We like to wrestle at altitude. OR-66 came out of the mountains high above Ashland and had some nice tight twisties and long smoooooth stretches on the road down to town. A sedan pulled out in front of me near the top of the pass and took off racing down the hill. It wasn't long before it was clear that the car was full of teenagers, driven by a teenage girl who knew something about driving down that mountain. Well, I'm no expert on mountain roads, but I know a thing or two about teenagers. I backed way off to let them play by themselves. They slowed up enough for me to see them driving alive on the flats at the edge of town. They were way ahead of me and scooting along at a pretty good clip. Dang, I hate to see kids playing with fire. But then, I sure wouldn't trade a few memories of my time in youth. As stupid as I was, I knew even then that you have to live a little or die a lot.
I stayed in Ashland that night. It was already dark and I was tired and sore. I didn't think I'd enjoy much of California 96 if I rode it at night. Golly momma, I only did 452 miles today and it felt like 4,200 miles. I caught dinner at a friendly diner across from the Super8. A couple of beers and good meal made a reasonable stab at substituting for home and hearth, as long as I didn't think about it much. There were two young girls (I suppose 19 or 20) working as waitresses. One of them was celebrating her last night night at this job; in the morning she was on her way to Spain. Another young girl was learning the business and it was her first night. I tipped them too much, but I felt good doing it. That old Super8 sack made me melt into the night .. . even this night when I felt a long way from home.
Where's Motor? I need someone to hold my hand. Ohhh, my knee .. wrist . the constant throttle ... . . zzz.
As soon as I wake up, it'll be time for a ride through northern California's Klamath River Recreation Area and down the coastal highway to Monterey. Then again, you can go back to my ride across Idaho and along the Columbia Rivers. I'd ride again tomorrow, but I don't know that I'd want to read about some other fools ride through there all that much.
