Today was the easy day, or at least it was supposed to be. The goal was to simply have a relatively leisurely ride back to Canada, home in time to wash the bikes and lube the chains, and then have a nice dinner, glass of wine, relax, and recuperate.
We got up and showered, went down for breakfast and a coffee. We often stay at Best Western hotels simply because you usually know what to expect, and the included breakfast is a time and money saver. Last night was a bit of a disappointment because of the lack of a hot tub, but oh well. However, the coffee this morning was terrible, and I could only choke down a half a cup. The waffle didn’t cook through fully in the time the machine allowed, and it was doughy. I ate half of it, but that was enough. I took a non-fat yogurt, only to discover that it was the consistency of pudding and sweeter than sin. So I tried the strawberry Yoplait, and although at least it tasted a bit more like real fruit, it still had a texture that was less than appetizing. What do they do to yogurt down here? It should just be milk, bacterial culture, and fruit. I can’t fathom how that can go wrong, or how the same company can make something taste and feel so different just across the border. At least the orange juice was fine.
So now I’ve gone two days without a decent coffee. That’s not a happy thing.
We geared up and headed out. The sky was grumpy, a solid slate grey, but there hadn’t been any rain in the forecast so we assumed it was just marine air hanging over the region. The cool air was a welcome change. We pulled out the map book and decided to do a side route that would take us up through a less populated area, popping out at Granite Falls. Looked to be about a 30-40 minute ride. Couldn’t have figured that more wrong. Not because it isn’t that far, but because we managed to make it three to four times farther.
I had noticed that Kirk had blown a headlight on yesterday’s ride, so he wanted to stop for a new bulb. There was an AutoMart two blocks from the hotel so we pulled in and picked up a four pack. (He’s been going through HID’s at an alarming rate). We then got back on the road and I ended up in a turning lane that was semi divided. I played stupid tourist and dodged around and waited for a moment before illegally pulling back into the main road. A moment later a State Police car went past. Timing is everything! We turned up the right road and slipped past the fairgrounds before heading up and into a lovely curvy road that twisted through residential homes, hobby farms, expanses of dense forest. . . and then 15 or 20 minutes later popped out into a strip mall. We rode through for a bit and when we stopped at a light I said to Kirk, “It’s official, I have no idea where we are!” We pulled into the mall parking lot and pulled out the book. But with no reference it was tough to figure out. We both had a vague feeling that we’d come in a loop and I suggested that maybe we were back in Monroe. Then I looked across the road and started to laugh. I pointed and Kirk also started to laugh. We were directly across from the AutoMart we’d been at earlier. Not only can we find the accidentally scenic route to almost anywhere we are trying to go, we can also do the same for places we are trying to leave.
So we looked at the map to figure out where we’d gone wrong and realized there had been a Y in the road that we’d missed. We took a good long, hard look at that map, because after that mistake we also realized that there appeared to be an awful lot of road switches on the routes in this area. We tried to memorize at least the next three direction changes, and still failed miserably. Every time we hit a fork in the road we stopped and pulled out the map again. That was usually followed by a bit of backtracking. We passed through a beautiful community on a lovely lake – Lake Roesiger – and encountered some road work that involved a slow ride through some thick loose gravel. I still hate that stuff, I think I always will, but I am getting a bit better at it and it doesn’t freak me out quite so much anymore.
One thing that was rather neat was the use of portable intersection lights. Hadn’t seen those before, but they made a lot of sense. We encountered them twice, bot where bridge work was being carried out and the road had been reduced to a single lane. Since it was a weekend, there wasn’t a flag person so the lights controlled things nicely. I have to say that, in so many ways, Americans are just head and shoulders above us when it comes to traffic. Both in dealing with it, and in driving in it. Except for the woman in a big truck hauling a horse trailer who almost took me out while she made a corner and I was at the stop sign, and she continued her cell phone conversation. Might work better if you out two hands on the wheel idiot!!!!
Everything seemed to go smoothly from there until we popped out at a three way stop with a gas station on the corner. We refueled and consulted the book again. We decided we knew where we were (we were wrong) and headed off on the road we thought we were supposed to be on. As I rolled on the throttle I looked back and saw Kirk follow me through the intersection, and then I turned my attention back to the road ahead. I typically check on his presence about every 10-30 seconds or so. More if the road is boring since we ‘talk’ to each other with motions a lot, less if the road demands more attention. Around a bend was a lovely farm house and I turned my head to look at it as I passed. I let my eyes drift down into the mirror and didn’t see Kirk. I flicked my eyes to the other mirror to reassure myself that he was still there. Nope, not there either. I sat upright and leaned a bit so I could see directly behind me. Nope, not there either. Those damned Greek aliens had sucked him off the road again!!!
I pulled over and looked back. No sign of him in any of the traffic coming. Bad thoughts immediately leapt to mind. But the flow of traffic also seemed to indicate that nothing terrible had happened behind me, and no one passing was gesturing wildly. I find that American drivers are far more courteous, interested, and concerned about riders, so this seemed like a good sign. A break in the traffic offered the opportunity for a U-turn and I zipped back the short distance around the bend where I found him sitting at the side of the road. I did another U-turn and asked if everything was OK. He’d forgotten to do up his helmet strap and pulled over, and watched me disappear around the bend. He said he figured he wait for a bit assuming I’d eventually notice his absence, and if that hadn’t worked he would have come after me shortly.
So, back on track, together again, we had a lovely, and short, ride to the intersection at State Route 92. The sign pointed left to Granite Falls so we went that way. Now we were on a very straight, and more heavily driven stretch of road that ended at another T-junction for Highway 9. We again followed the sign pointing to Granite Falls, indicating it was 8 miles away. The road ahead was a four lane, busy, dead straight, stretch of road. We followed it for about 3 minutes before I pulled over and announced “This sucks!”
So we backtracked again, all the way to the gas station, and followed the rider ahead of us, he must be going to the same place as us. Except that the sun was now indicating that we were heading South instead of North. So after a few minutes we again pulled over, examined the map, and threw up our hands in exasperation. It made no sense and neither one of us could get our bearings.
So we again backtracked to the gas station and Kirk went in with the map. Turned out we had missed a easily overlooked (attendants words) Y in the road about a mile before the gas station (the first time around). So back we went along OK Mill Road and discovered a road that I had actually let the throttle go at in a pause. Gads!
After that the only excitement was coming around a corner and being confronted with a pickup truck across the middle of the road doing a slow and leisurely 16 point turn. Around Lake Bosworth and straight on into town. Cranky and badly in need of a good coffee at this point, I spied a cafe sign (The Way Cafe) and a little sign in the window that said OPEN, and I swerved suddenly and sharply into a vacant parking spot. Kirk looked at me and all I said was “I WANT a real coffee!” I was also a bi peckish, and the window promised fresh made sandwiches, baked goods, and prayers served for lunch and dinner??? I could overlook that part.
We entered a very nice, cool, and inviting space. The woman running the shop promised me an excellent cappuccino, and we added two slices of pumpkin loaf to the order. She said she would bring everything to us and we could go choose a table, we took the one at the window so we could keep an eye on the bikes as all the gear in the tail bags (cameras, GoPros, iPhones, etc) wasn’t inexpensive. I glanced down at the table and beneath the glass it was painted with hearts and phrases – all of them religious. I commented that the table was somewhat inappropriate for my presence and Kirk pointed up at the wall. There was a phrase from the Bible stencilled onto the wall. The Cafe’s slogan turned out to be “The Way Café exists to provide excellent coffee, care, community and customer service in Jesus’ name.” Sigh. I don’t care, I’ve already ordered my coffee and the desire for that caffeine was too strong.
I looked around and realized I was surrounded by bookshelves full of bibles, artwork with phrases and depictions of religion, and Kirk just laughed at me and said something along the lines of “Maybe you were ‘drawn’ here.” The only thing that drew me in was the lure of a desperately needed coffee. If people want to believe in some invisible man in the sky, that’s their business, but it’s no different than Santa, the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny.
When she brought us our coffees we took them up to the counter to add a bit of fixings to them, and a gentleman said “Are you riding motorcycles or are you just dressed funny?” Sarcasm? Here? Both of us answered “Nah, we’re just dressed funny.” and went back to our coffees. When we sat down I asked Kirk if perhaps we’d been a bit rude. We knew that wouldn’t have been perceived badly back home where sarcasm tends to be the norm, but that’s not always the case down here. But then again, he was sarcastic to us, so what did he expect?
It turned out that it had been a stroke of luck, because his next victim wasn’t so deft at escape. The poor man had been sitting enjoying his lunch and suddenly he was the recipient of the fellow’ life story. He went on about his two Japanese exchange students, prayer sessions, his fiancé, his hobbies and pastimes, the topics just kept coming, and I never heard the victim ask anything even once. In fact the only words I heard him utter, when asked if he was passing through, were “No, I live here.”
We made our getaway before he could find his way back to us. And as we geared up Kirk pointed to the sign above and indicated that I should have known what sort of cafe I was stepping into since there was a reference to John 14:6 underneath “The Way cafe.” Well, if there is one thing I am not familiar with, it is the bible, so that was completely meaningless to me.
But it was a damned good cup of coffee! And the influx of caffeine had improved my mood. A 30-45 minute ride had turned into two hours of rerouting and we had a bit of time to make up.
Granite Falls to Sedro-Woolley was straightforward along Highway 9 with a detour off along Finn Settlement Road. No strange changes in direction, no confusion. At one stop sign Kirk asked if I’d seen the small deer on the side road we’d just passed. I said “No, but he better run judging by the gunshots echoing through the forest.” We stopped at a small lake along the way, and parked in a gravel pullout. We were alone. In front of us a series of “No shooting” signs. I asked Kirk if he could hear the strange electrical buzzing sound and he pointed up at the massive powerlines on the other side of the clump of trees. Fascinating, I don’t think I’d ever been anywhere quiet enough that I could hear the escaping electricity. We crossed the road to take in the scenery and suddenly everything changed. A truck came racing to a stop right in front of our bikes and two people hopped out to look around. A moment later the sharp staccato of gunshots in rapid succession rang out around us. Then a second truck came whizzing to a halt and pulled in next to our bikes on the other side. He pulled back out and took off in the other direction. More gunfire. Then a medical truck came around the corner and turned its lights and siren on and shot past.
Time to go. That was all a little strange for a seemingly deserted stretch of road.
The road disappeared under our wheels, and as we passed through Clear Lake we pulled over and made an abrupt U-turn for an amusing sign photo opportunity. Really? someone thought that a good sign would advertise worms, potatoes, and sausages, together?! I like potatoes and sausages together, but please hold the worms, I’m good without that as a side dish. There was another great sign across the road in Clear Lake that we’d missed as we’d ridden through, and as we got back on the bikes and turned to make sure it was safe to get back on the road, my eyes fell on the Burn Ban sign. . . see below. Someone in town has an interesting sense of humour. The red car in the photo had done an equally abrupt U-turn and sat there for some time, Kirk was pretty sure he was also taking a photo.
I had been on this stretch of road before, and there was a section I was still trying to sort out. I’d seen riders disappear South from Alger, but I’d been unable to find the route from the South on two previous occasions. Today turned out to be no different. The first road completely went the wrong way, ending up at I-5. Definitely NOT where we wanted to go. We doubled back again. Then we found the right road, but it turned out to be another complicated series of poorly described turns that we failed miserably at interpreting. When we turned a corner and saw a sign that said “Prairie Road Detour” I knew exactly where we were, and it wasn’t anywhere near where I wanted to be.
But at this point we were now almost four hours past when we should have had lunch and my blood sugar had descended down to “Code Red Critical Cranky Bitch” level.
Kirk salvaged the moment by directing me to a Power Bar and suggesting we stop at the Blue Mountain Grill, a restaurant along Highway 9 that I’d mentioned as having heard was excellent and that always had a parking lot full of motorcycles. I muttered something about him wanting to get home and get the bikes washed before dark, waved my hands around and snarked about the road I kept trying to find, and probably made a lot of other unpleasant remarks that I choose to forget and to which Kirk simply indicated I should eat my Power Bar and have a drink of water. Such patience.
He took the lead at that point, and after I indicated which direction to go at the next stop sign, we rode along until a quick corner that held the restaurant and Kirk made a sudden right off the road and into the parking lot where he announced that he won for the trips fastest and most abrupt parking job.
As we took our bags off the bikes another rider came over and asked where we were from, and if he could show us something. We followed him around a few cars to the fence surrounding the grounds of the restaurant and he showed us a memorial to riders lost. It was humbling. He said that almost every rider knows someone who has been killed on a motorcycle, and this wall was installed and sponsored by the community as a place to memorialize them. It’s a very nice tribute, and he was an interesting person to speak with. He had been putting up a new plaque on the sponsor board. The group he represents is BRO – Bikers Reaching Out. It turns out that he is the founder and president of the organization, although he didn’t tell us that, I just figured it out from the web page when I went to look it up. Regardless of the religious undertone to the organization, I can appreciate the kindness of reaching out to those who have suffered a loss. Too often I hear people call motorcycles “Murdercycles”, of they imply that death was deserved because the rider chose a more dangerous lifestyle. Yes, riding a motorcycle comes with risks, so does crossing the road. The majority of riders die at the hands of a person who was driving inattentively, far more often the fault lies with the car driver than the rider. He was a very kind man, and yet again proved to me that looks can be so deceiving. Why do we all stereotype people?
After a beer and a fabulous lunch we made the run for the border at Sumas, expecting a traffic snarl as it was going to be about 5:30pm on the last day of the long weekend when we hit it. A stop for gas, and we turned the corner to face the. . . . . four cars at the entire border crossing?!?! Well, that was a shock! We didn’t even really need to bother with the Nexus lane, except that it makes things faster even under quiet circumstances.
As we crossed into Abbotsford and over to Highway 7 (no WAY either one of planned to travel the Number 1) the traffic thickened, the drivers became aggressive and much less attentive. I know I am not imagining it, drivers here are just terrible compared to across the border. Left lane campers abound, apparently feeling some sense of entitlement to what is supposed to be a passing lane. They bumper hitch, don’t move out of the way of faster traffic, and are just generally assholes. Sure, not ALL of them, but the vast majority are! Needless to say, the last hour and a half was tense and stressful. All the weekend warriors were trying to get home as fast as possible and no one was going to get in their way. Pulling into the driveway was relieving.
A fast wash in the fading light, a good lube, and the bikes were put to bed.
Then we finally collapsed on the couch, poured a glass of wine, and toasted a fabulous long weekend that ended safely and without rain. To impromptu trips and flexible plans made on the fly.
Awesome!
Here is today’s ride
And here is the complete trip –>
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