One thing I learned about trips in August--bring a swimsuit. Or just swim in form fitting lycra cycling shorts. Everyone loved the shorts except Chandita, who pretended not to know who I was (which hurt a lot).
Bikes lined up at the top of the Spiral Highway:
After everyone left the top, I stayed behind to take a group shot. I can tell that's Chandita leading the way on the bottom right, but my camera (POS) was on max zoom and I still couldn't get close enough to make out who's following.
At the Lolo summit. Mobilemike and Chandita have refused to park with the group.
Hey little buddy.
As mentioned, it was hotter than hell. Andrew rubbed ice into his head,
and pmackie used the break as an opportunity to take the shower he'd been putting off for 3 days.
On Sunday night, after a long drive in the dark looking for cheap hotels, we pulled into the worst hotel in the North America. Located in Priest River, it ranks as my #1 for the crappiest place to stay on a motorcycle trip. The bathroom is in what was once a coat closet, so when you shower your ass hangs out over the sink. Red and I enjoyed this little jewel on a trip a couple of years ago, and I was eager to introduce mobilemike and pmackie to its charms. However, defying all known physical laws, it had actually grown worse over the last two years. There were hoodlums hanging out in the parking lot who seemed a little too interested in the bikes, the proprietor looked like a reject from the Chicken Ranch in Nevada, and a creepy old guy kept popping out of one of the adjacent rooms and unscrewing light bulbs in the walkway. I felt a little unsafe, and Red smelled like fear after losing control of his bladder and urinating in his leathers. So, undaunted, we pressed on and found a nicer place down the road. I was disappointed there was no stains on the carpet, and that the price was too high, but I relented after somebody handed me a drink.
One nice thing about this place: the girls could sleep in the room with us.
This allowed Mike to practice his cornering form until 1 am. Personally, I think he leans the wrong way in the corners.
This also gave me the opportunity to clean Mike's bike, which hadn't seen a bath in 3 years.
Before:
After:
Mike laid around drinking rum while I was doing this, and made noises about feeling guilty that I was polishing his motorcycle.
Monday morning we set off, rode some great twisties, and then said goodbye to our token Canuck, pmackie, in Colville. We headed east on 20 to Republic, where Mike and I split to head south, and Red kept heading west. As we were heading into Grand Coulee, a horrific dust storm started up--something we learned the locals refer to as a "dirt wind." Lovely. We soldiered on, passing a group of Harleys (the last guy in line was wearing shorts and tube socks with no shoes), found some rain in Ephrata, and finally pulled into my garage around 7 or 8 o'clock last night.
The other bit of drama on the trip was the continual discussion regarding Mike's tires. He had decided that his Pilot Powers, which he had used for trackdays and which were almost to the wear bars, would be more than sufficient for a ~1500 mile trip. I told him he was crazy, and that he wouldn't even make it to the second day. To everyone's amazement, the tires kept regenerating themselves over the next 3 days. They lasted all the way back to my house, and which point the rear sprang a leak. By now, it had become a point of honor for Mike to see if he could make it home. He borrowed my pump, and set off this morning for home. I last heard from him in Goldendale, when he called to say he had only lost 3 psi over the last 150 miles. I think Mike is a little bit insane. Here's how they looked when he left this morning:
A great trip, albeit a little warm. Great to meet everyone, and to have some attendance at one of these get togethers.
