Kurt, Eddie and the Frankentrike

I was advised that there was no self-service at gas stations in Oregon. If the attendant catches you pawing at the pump, they’re likely to get pretty upset. It’s the only state in the US where this is the law – it’s about job creation, so it’s not a bad thing. The whole business of paying before you fuel up takes a little getting used to though. Some terminals work well and others ……. Fuel is pretty cheap here at $2.84 9/10 USD per gallon this morning for 92 without ethanol and, yes, 9/10 of a cent. This is the equivalent of $0.99 per litre in AUD. Could live with that. When I crossed over from Canada and saw the price, I nearly had a fit. Forgot it was per gallon!

It’s going to be pretty desolate heading west from here. I’ll have to take some bitumen and won’t have a lot of route choice – there are only so many roads I can take to get to where I need to. I have to say, time is marching on and I need to be in San Francisco by the 18th. I’ve also booked into the Horozons Unlimited rally at Yellowstone for 3 days which I’m looking forward to. Have to say, it’s pretty expensive – close to $250 USD with meals.

I’ll also be trying to catch up with Scott Perry in San Fran and hopefully go for a ride. He’s another one of the recipients of Jon Florea’s KIT690 first batch. It will be great to meet him and see how he’s gone with his conversion. It will also be good to see a bit of the city – I was there 5 or 6 years ago and it was a pretty cool place. I’m also going to have to find somewhere to dump the bike for 4 or 5 days and get a plane ticket to New York sorted. I had a quick look online – very confusing, so a travel agent might be worthwhile. I’m sounding like my parents!

Was a really good ride on some wide open bitumen west through Rome out to Burns Junction where it meets Highway 95. There was an abandoned gas station there and I pulled it check my bearings and have a stretch. Just as I did, in roared a big black Harley and an even bigger, blacker trike that seemed to have been made of chain. I’m not kidding! On them were a couple of seriously mean looking, scary dudes. So, I did what anyone else would have in the situation and wandered over to say g’day. I’ve found that taking the lead and getting on the front foot always works best.

As always, you can’t let looks deceive. As Shane Fisher at work would say, they were a pair of pussycats. There’s no question that they were a bit rough around the edges, Eddie especially, but they were super friendly and keen for a yarn. Turns out they were both ex military, had travelled the world and we’re now out to see a bit of the USA. They’d last been on a big destroyer (it wasn’t but I’ll call it that) supporting helicopters and the marines. They were proud of their service (and rightly so) but didn’t want to talk about it in detail (again, understandably). Eddie used a wheel chair to assist him getting around – he could walk, but with difficulty. They’d spent a year custom building the trike from the ground up to account for this. It was huge but only had a 160 mile capacity despite the massive fuel tank on the back. They both affectionately called it the Frankentrike – it certainly created attention wherever they went. Kurt was on the Harley and they were headed over to the Redwoods – don’t think I’ll make it that way as I’d planned, but who knows, maybe I’ll catch them there! While they wouldn’t contemplate my style of riding themselves, they liked the look of it. They knew some of the roads I was taking, so that was helpful.

Check out the link below. It’s so true. Traveling solo has some huge benefits,  especially the part about making new friends and engaging with locals on a personal level. My half an hour with Kurt and Eddie was a perfect example of this.

7 things everybody learns travelling solo

I bid the boy’s a matey farewell and continued south down the bitumen to Whitehorse Ranch Rd where I got back onto the dirt. It was very dusty and quite gravelly, with wide open expanses of nothing and a little snow on the mountains in the distance. I had a feeling I’d be running up the base of them – they seemed a long way away though.

I came across the odd vehicle and a mining truck (they seem to bob up everywhere) and just enjoyed rolling through the desert. There was miles and miles of grasslands, the occasional antelope and a few cattle. It was only 20 degrees, but was so bright it was hard to discern the variations in the road. This made travelling a little difficult.

I pulled up at Fields Station for fuel and was going to have some of the food I’d bought in Jordan Valley for lunch. But, without even being asked, I was provided with a bacon and cheese burger, fries and a shake. You can’t beat that for hospitality. The food was apparently ‘world famous’ and they recorded the number of milkshakes and burgers they sold each year. It seemed that 2016 was going to be a very good year.

There were a few bikers there having lunch – they were heading to a BMW rally at the Narrows just to the north. They’d trucked their bikes in and were just cruising the area. They asked if I was going – a lone KTM at a BMW rally – it would have been fun.

I also had a good talk to Cheryl and Alex from Portland. They suggested I go up to Frenchglen and do the Steens Loop. ‘Don’t miss it’ they said. ‘It’ll blow your mind’. They also recommended just going to the top of the range overlooking the valley and returning the same way. ‘The last 2/3 of the loop is pretty uninspiring’, they said, with the road being appalling washboard (what we call corrugated). I was over this and, with time getting on a little and this being and unexpected detour, their suggestion made sense.

It was a slow easy ride to the the East Rim overlook. The elevation at Frenchglen was only 1,275 feet above sea level while the top was over 10,000 (2,965 m to be precise). While the bike’s temperature gague said it was 14 degrees, it felt like 2. It was so cold that my teeth hurt – must have been the elevation.

I’m not sure how I’m going to choose just a few photos (without boring you) to try and capture the grander of what I saw. It was one of the most amazing things I’ve seen in my life. The views were, without a doubt, the best I’d seen on the trip. It was all the result of glacial action millions of years ago. The rim was unbelievably high and the valleys ran forever, with so much symmetry. I’m tempted to dedicate a post to the whole experience, but it’s hard enough keeping up as it is.

There was snow in places and only a few other people wandering around. This was a case where isolation made the experience so much better. ‘How on earth did you find this place’ they all asked? ‘Very few Americans even make it here’. You just have to talk to people – one of the benefits of travelling alone!

I buzzed back down to Frenchglen pretty quickly, fuelled up, bought some supplies and got straight back on the road. The track across to Lakeview looked pretty straightforward, quite a bit of dirt with an interesting looking National Park half way along. Because it was green on the map and showed lakes, I thought it would be pretty lush. I was very wrong there. I headed due west into the Kregon Desert and the lowering sun. The GPS didn’t like it at all, but it had to be the right way. The road was very straight, full of black gravel and a bit treacherous, so I poked along steadily.

After a while, I came to a sign – Hart Mountain Antelope Reserve. Wow, I hadn’t been expecting that. I saw a few antelope, but not the great herds I had hoped for. I had to concentrate on the road pretty hard – the conditions made it difficult to look around too much.

Eventually I came to a deserted (of course) ranger station. There was a bit of info on the area and an outline of the program. I followed signs to some hot springs and a campground a few miles away. It was a pretty established area with 20 or 30 numbered sites that the signs were insistent people use. These ware half full with, wait for it, hunters. There were 400 tags issued to hunt antelope in the reserve. Go figure ….. in a ‘reserve’! A big rig and a pickup arrived after I’d set up camp and a bloke called Hunter came over to say hi and talk bikes. Turned out he was a guide with a client who’d won his first tag after 22 years of trying. The client was a big soft guy who sounded like a very angry Ray Barone (if that means anything to you) who spent the evening ‘liquoring up’, nasally dropping F bomb’s and complaining about anything and everything. I could hear every word that was said from my camp – ‘Ray’ the client (his name was actually Dave, believe it or not) did all the talking. Poor old Hunter was in for an interesting few days, albeit this was very soft hunting. No walking or slugging it out in the mountains and no carrying meat back out of the hills. An interesting comparison to the people and the approach that I’d seen in previous days, especially around Jarbidge. It was easy to respect the real hunters, even if I didn’t really like what they were doing.

I’d had an hours soak in the hot springs earlier where I met Kim doing the same. She was trying out some new gear in anticipation of a 6 month walk after the winter. A true greenie and conservationist, it was interesting to hear her take on what was going on in America, as well as a lot of the things I’d seen and places I’d been. An older bloke turned up just as I was getting back on the bike. He knew his way around and suggested some places I might like to go too. He said it’s great to see young un’s just out of college seeing some of  America. Just out of college! He was either a whole lot older than he looked himself or blind as a bat.

I had a simple meal and was in bed pretty early as it was simply too cold to stay out despite the big fire I’d lit. Long johns on and into the sleeping bag – snug as a bug in a rug. Winter was on its way and it was time to head further south.

This had been one of the best days of the trip …… so far.