The architecture of wedgies and other reason's not to use a stock GS seat!

I left you last in Haines, Alaska, heading South. Tonight, after floating for a few days, and riding a little more, I sit in Boise, Idaha, with much to tell of our recent mishaps and adventures (mental as well as physical!). In the past seven days we have met many people, and therefore many names have been abandoned to the cracks which litter my memory. Henceforth, for any misnomers or inaccuracies involving said names, it is only due to poor recall, and for that I do
apologize.

We woke early to "Check In" for our 9:00 ferry (we had to be there two hours early). As it so happens, our booking got mixed up, and the boat we would be traveling on wouldn't leave until 9:00 PM. Instead of waiting for it, we got the next boat to Juneau, what we had been told was a nice little town. This allowed us to hop on the boat to Bellingham that night at 3:30AM. On the ferry ride over we met a couple, Kevin and Shannon, riding Harleys. They were from Juneau, and had taken a short jaunt up from Haines into the Mid-Western part of Alaska.

I hate to say it, but the advice given to us on this "quaint little college town" was dead wrong. It's a tourist trap of the worst kind, with pitfalls and bear-traps in the form of seasonally open jewlry stores and gift shops. Five huge cruise ships waited like angry rotweilers in the harbor of this little, land-locked town. Don't get me wrong, some of the people who stopped to ask about our trip were great folks. We met a couple from Greensboro, and Arne, a guy from Washington who ran a tour company in the summers and rode a Honda. Then there were the crazy eyed, foamy mouthed tourists trying they're best to devour this city like a rabid ten-year-old on a blow-pop. It was disheartening to see what mass-tourism can do to a place.

While in Juneau it began to rain, and tourists, being the typical tourists that they are, donned their $10.00, oversized, bright yellow poncho's, while I strode around in my dashingly too-small, bright orange, one piece, rain suit. Getting to the ferry terminal around 9:30PM we checked in (feeling a bit damp), and tried (in vain) to find a soft spot in the thin veil of carpet that masked the concrete floor. Quite unexpectedly, I found that the crotch on my rain suit had leaked judicious amounts of water soaking the groin region of my blue jeans, giving me the appearance of having a major bladder control problem. Standing on my toes to dry my pants with the bathroom's hand dryer, I got some strange looks from the terminal workers! Staying up reading, (and eating junk food), Dad snored his way through a few hours of intermittent naps. Around 3:30 the boat arrived and we donned our rain gear to get in line to board the boat. With no cabin to our name, we found what looked like the most comfortable piece of flooring, laid out our sleeping bags, and promptly fell asleep.

Sleeping in was a testament to our recent sleep deprivation, and before we knew it, the boat had arrived at Sitka, where we gave ourselves a short walking tour of the small, foreign Russian, island. Upon returning to the boat we met Emily and Sara, two quite incomparable, and extraordinary UVA graduates. They proceeded to invite us to play Spades with them, where we stayed up late talking, and ended up playing very little of the card game. They exuded a pleasant combination of exuberance, yet refinement, adventure, and a sense of deepset loyalty to their fellow man and country. Like an unexpected color scheme, something that surprises you with it's unorthodox and raw beauty, these two were a refreshing change from the poisonous gift shops of Juneau.

Over the next several days Emily and Sara turned what could have been a long and boring ferry ride into a great experience, and it was with a note of sadness that we said goodbye on Friday. Sadness, however, cannot last long when you get back in the saddle. The on-ramp to I-5 was hit well above the recommended speeds, and brought pleasures one should only experience within the enveloping grasp of romance. I know, I have problems.

Riding through Seattle we stopped at Touratech's National Headquarters to ogle the bikes and accessories. These great parts were about as affordable as Michael Jackson's pinball machine collection (may he rest in peace), so we didn't buy much. We passed into Oregon, and made a beeline for Portland, and Powell's bookstore. Powell's is by far the largest bookstore I have ever been to, and we only visited one location, there are other "specialty bookstores" scattered throughout the city. I picked up books on mountaineering and Ironman Triathlon training, and an awesome t-shirt.

Getting up late the next morning we ended up driving in circles (literally) trying to find McMinnville, were a famous 356 Porsche campout is held every year. Finally finding it we saw some of the most beautiful specimens of the Typ 356 I've ever seen, and met some really cool people while we were at it. Time forced us to leave the camp out, and we stopped in Bend, meeting a few cool Harley riders on the way.




Finally, we get to today, which has been one of the odder (I'm not sure that's a word, but I'm using it anyways) days so far. Looking at the map I decided 22 East looked about as interesting as Kansas, so I saw a small road heading North, and intersecting 26, which looked much more jagged on the map (read as: more curves, therefore more fun) and led us in the same general direction as 22.

Around one o'clock this afternoon, a large insect collided with the side of my mouth (it is HOT here, and so I had my windscreen up to try and encourage a cooler atmosphere for my head). I wiped my mouth as best I could, and closed my visor. A few miles later I felt something crawling on my cheek, and reaching up to wipe whatever it was off, as I did so, I noticed a rather large yellow jacket clinging as if life depended on it, to the inside of my helmet. My first thought was, "This is not going to end well.". Naturally, there wasn't a decent place to stop in sight, and there was a small convoy of vehicles following us. I lifted up the whole front of my helmet trying to throw the insect out, and finally was able to slam into a pull off, kill the engine, and rip off my helmet. Nothing bad came of it, but it just goes to show how even small things can affect you're riding in a big way. I've heard of people wrecking when a bee got in they're helmet, I'm just glad I didn't.

Not ten miles down the road I found myself slamming on my brakes again for, wait, no, is that a tree full of shoes? It was. And, myself having my trusty old pair of Brooks running shoes with me, shoes that have been with me through nearly a thousand miles and a marathon, (and freshly laundered to boot), it seemed only fitting that I add these sneakers to this monument of tired soles and threadbare laces. It took me three tosses to get them up there, but there they will stay, on the "shoe tree" near mile marker 89 on route 26, near Dayville, Oregon.

At the next gas station we stopped to fill up, (rather they helped us fill up, Oregon has an inordinate number of full service gas stations) where a large plastic triceratops accompanied the bathroom key, and the attendant happened to know where Dad could buy some antlers. Riding up the road we stopped to meet Clint, who was at the swimming hole, but should be home in a minute. Great guy, he ended up selling Dad way too many antlers, of which we now have 30-40 pounds strapped on our bikes in various locations. It looks awesome!

Now time for a quick wash up and bed! Dad, who I think may have a rather strong addiction to cleaning supplies, is currently washing his windshield and face shield. Personally I try to do this as in often as possible so the bugs can see the vast wasteland of the comrades coming at them, and hopefully move out of the way. I guess that's why I lead most of the time.





God it feels good to be riding a motorcycle!


Zack