Getting Ready to Travel

Another Spring day, and I’m wondering what I’ll do this summer, and where I’ll go. As of today, I have no idea - but plenty of ideas.

Since I usually travel via motorcycle, I still have a few months to make plans, clear some dates on my calendar, and scheme the routes. This may be my favorite part of travel - getting ready and the anticipation. Being organized is important with this mode of travel. What I carry is similar to what is possible with a big backpack, so there are always trade-offs. Can I fit a pair of shoes and my compact camp chair? Am I cooking or buying food along the way? Is my coffee making kit ready?

The weather is typically a big factor, too. How many days in a row getting swamped by rain can I take? What about cold AND rain? In the planning stage, I’m always an optimist, but out on the road, weather changes always happen.

Time to get my maps out.

The results of perfect trip planning is a photo like this, near Stanley Lake and the Sawtooth Mountains in Idaho. Not shown: 10 million hungry mosquitos.

My Butler maps and park maps have a distinct Western USA bias. Time to add some better Midwest route maps.

Coffee, A Love Story

Genesis

When did it all start? I can remember with precision. Sophomore year of college. Saxe Hall at CMU. My roommates and I had dinner together every day outside of soccer season. We lived at the far end of the dorm hall, so we’d usually pick up guys and gals on the walk to the stairs. We usually had a fairly large group. Just a small indication that we had a really nice dorm floor of friends. 

As we finished up our meals, people who had stuff to do (homework?) would peel away. We almost always had a group that would hang around and grab a cafeteria coffee. I'm not sure if the coffee was any good. Sugar packets for the win.

Doesn't matter, I'm hooked on the coffee habit.

Pacific Northwest Amplification

The view from West Seattle’s Alki Beach back towards Seattle.

Immediately upon college graduation, I loaded my car and drove from Michigan to Seattle. I had an apartment a block from the water, and coincidentally, a Starbucks right at the beach. This became a regular part of my day, especially on weekend mornings. Always an interesting place for watching the Washington State Ferries cross on their way to Bremerton or just catching a view of the Olympic Mountains across the Sound.

Even in the late 1980’s, coffee was a big part of daily life in the Northwest in a way that wasn’t common in the Midwest. Blame the 6 months of cool rainy weather each year or a more international mix - whatever - most folks joined right in.

It wasn’t really even Starbucks that was pervasive. It was the small coffee shops and the many kiosks strategically located at the entry point to a day commute. Snarly traffic was always a constant. Getting a large coffee for the road was important. I had an out-sized commute while working at Boeing. I’m not sure it would have been possible without the caffeine.

Brewing Perfection

Of course you can’t drink the coffee until you make it. Over the years, the coffee machines got more complicated, to include espresso, and then simpler again, but with a timer to start the morning automatically. The trusty Cuisinart shown above had the coffee ready and waiting. Such simple joy.

Sometimes too much joy leads to pain. For a number of years, I drank too much coffee. Brew a pot, drink a pot. Adjustments were made.

The Pour Over Phase

Like many things in life, eventually quality over quantity will prevail. That has been my approach to coffee for the last 5 years. I source good coffee, then make a cup or two a day, as I need it. I think the pour-over method of brewing makes a better tasting cup of coffee and wastes less coffee too.

I’ve always enjoyed coffee while traveling. Whether making my own while camping, or visiting cool coffee shops from Austin to Australia.  Coffee shop culture is a good indication of culture more generally.  Especially since COVID times, I’ve found coffee shops to hold less appeal. Too many people ordering in advance and just swooping in to grab and go. This defeats the community, the third place, of a coffee shop. Almost universally, a great coffee shop has no drive through.  Even so, I still like to give them a try.

My Top 5 Coffee Establishments

1. McDonalds (Kalispell, MT)
   A stop here on a roadtrip opened my mind to possibly moving to Montana. Seeing a lobby full of “retired guy” fly fishermen made a lightbulb go off above my head.

2. Thomas Hammer (Pullman)
   Most memorable as a destination while walking the dog.

3. Starbucks on Alki (Seattle)
   Walking distance from home with the best scenery.

4. Degraves Street is an iconic Melbourne laneway that distills everything into one pint-sized street. Stop and sip specialty coffee at hole-in-the-wall cafes. 

5. My kitchen.
   Featuring high quality pour-over coffee from Mexico or Guatemala.

Winter Wonderland

“There’s no crying in baseball!”

— Jimmy Dugan

Also, there is no complaining about snow in Michigan, in February. It is OK to cheer for a little global warming, like the past 3 weeks. No snow in late January and early February is just a bit weird, but also the new normal.

You’ll see me out in the driveway, enjoying a crisp (15°) sunny morning, pushing the snow around. No complaining here.

Why I Ride

In mid-February, as I see the snow melting, my thoughts turn to the road. Since relocating to Michigan from the PNW, I have pondered how I will find interesting places to travel to easily. It may turn out that there is no rival for the places I have already seen via motorcycle. Time to go hunting for the hidden gems here in the Midwest.

Finding Awe - Living Off The Slab

My riding story is very similar to Craig’s, who runs the Living Off the Slab channel. His content is very thoughtful, and thought provoking. He is based on the East Coast, so when he decides to ride the great roads of the Western USA, it takes him a week, just to get to the “good stuff”. I now understand the challenges he has.

Mountains scenes from my GoPro.

When I look back at the awesome scenery that I have ridden into, that gives me the spark to do it again. Never the same trip twice, but when well executed, the awe is out there, waiting.

North Cascades Highway, Washington State.

Snake River canyons, west of Lewiston, ID.

Exploring farm roads on the might Ural Gear-up bike near Pullman, WA,

Daily Zen + Smiling Faces

It is remarkable how broadly powerful a sunny weekend day can be. If it also is well above normal early February temperature, then a perfect day can exist.

I’ve read a few articles recently about how many steps are the correct amount to achieve daily. An argument was made that the widely stated “10,000 steps” is a number pulled from the sky; not really scientific. Is the number actually 7,000 steps? Or did the hunter-gatherers of yore actually move 18,000 steps a day, so that should be the number?

Like most things these days, there is no shortage of correct answers, all vigorously defended. But to my thinking, missing the point. On a surprisingly nice February day, the time spent outdoors in the sun to walk 4 miles (so about 9,000 steps for me) has far more value mentally and spiritually than any cardio or physical benefit from the exercise value. The number of folks out walking, biking, pushing strollers, and walking dogs all had one less layer of winter clothes, and broad smiles on their faces. Hard to measure the benefit, but so easy to see.

Looking upstream along the Tittabawassee River, near the original site of Dow Chemical, or at least the brine well part of the company.

The Most Challenging Motorcycle Rides Have No Photos

A TRAVEL RETROSPECTIVE

Over my years of riding, I have always made a point of carefully planning routes that will bring me to some of the most scenic areas in the US. I allow time to pull over and take photos or read the roadside historical markers. But even with that as a goal, it is not unusual to get home from a trip and have a few days that have no photographic evidence. This story is from June 18, 2017 and describes one of those missing days.

I was on a multi-week trip from Washington to Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Colorado and Utah. It was a big circular loop through the Rockies. As the trip was wrapping up, I had made it to Salmon, Idaho after starting the day in the mountains east of Salt Lake City. As the day progressed, it looked like I was headed into a rainstorm, so I had stopped to put on my rain gear. And then it never rained. So while a bit cloudy, I had a nice ride up into Idaho along the Lost River Range, and eventually following the Salmon River in to Salmon for the night. For the last night of the trip, I stayed at the Stagecoach Inn, which is right on the river. A good way to end the trip.

The Lost River Range (Idaho Highway 93). One of my favorite travel photos.

Unfortunately, the storm that I had missed stuck around and intensified. So for the final leg of the trip, 350+ miles, I would be riding in the rain. Riding on curvy mountain roads for an entire day is a grueling ordeal. Much of Idaho is so sparsely populated, that I always had to be aware of miles between gas fill-ups, and where the big gaps between stations were. My bike was pretty consistent with the fuel reserve light coming on right at 150 miles. I’ve never run out of gas on a ride, so I can only guess that my reserve would get me another 30-35 miles.

Idaho Highway 12, know as the Lolo Pass Road. The section here is along the Lochsa River.

From Salmon to Lolo, Highway 93 followed the Salmon River north until the Salmon makes an abrupt turn to the west and crosses Idaho without roads and railways, making a destination for river runners, and also one of the most remote areas in the lower 48 states. The highway continues north and crosses into Montana at Joseph Pass. This is where the weather took a real turn for the worse. Steady rains began here, and would continue for the rest of the day.

Fortunately, this is not an area of steady traffic, so I was able to keep vehicles away from me and I had all the gear on to stay as dry as possible. The wind at 55 mph is your friend, sort of. I eased off the road for lunch and fuel in Lolo, MT. From this point forward, I was familiar with the route home, as I had taken a couple trips over Lolo Pass before. For most motorcyclists in the US, this route is a bucket list trip.

The location of my emergency turnout, Fort Fizzle Historic Site (on a nicer day via Google)

After fueling up in Lolo, Montana, I eased back onto the rainy highway and turned west on Highway 12, which would take me all the way to Lewiston, ID (almost to Pullman). I only made it a couple miles before a problem arose. The BWM shuddered, or sputtered and stalled, which had never happened before, especially at 50mph. I eased over to the side of the road and turned the ignition off. After waiting a couple minutes, I tried starting the bike again, and it worked. So I eased onto the road and picked up speed, but I could tell that something wasn’t right. I had just passed a sign for a small park, so I took the turnoff into Fort Frizzle Historic Site.

Now I was sitting in a parking lot about 200 miles from home with a faulty ignition system, in the rain, I needed to figure out what could be done. There is no way to troubleshoot electrical issues in the rain. It wasn’t like I had tools for that, nor any experience. My only thought was that the water was to blame, and perhaps I could make it out of the storm and riding along would air dry it. Or I could figure out a tow truck option or try to reverse course towards Missoula, which was only 35 miles away. Motorcycle shops are always closed on Sunday & Monday, and it was Sunday. None of these sounded like great choices.

According to the historical markers at the edge of parking lot, Lewis & Clark also stalled here on their way to the Pacific Ocean. They were way behind schedule and not expecting the rugged Bitterroot Mountains in 1805. Lewis & Clark were not having ignition issues, however, they were having issues with crossing mountains and starvation. They ate some of their horses. Not really a solution I could use. Waiting a few minutes was all I could do.

I’m not sure why this worked, but the trusty BMW did start up. I had about 10 miles of highway ahead that was level before I would begin to climb Lolo Pass from Montana into Idaho. I convinced myself that I would turn around if there was any continued issue, as there was almost 100 miles of wilderness ahead before the next small town.

The rest of the day was a slog through the rain. I only made a couple additional stops for fuel and made slow and steady progress through the rain. Highway 12 twists and turns as it follows the Lochsa River to the Clearwater River all the way to the Snake River. Each curve into a new section of canyon just revealed a deeper, darker rain cloud. There was nothing to do but hold on and hope it ended safely. And true to form, I have no photographic evidence of anything that day. The smartphones and cameras just get stowed away in the panniers.