Trenton Ontairo Ride

July -2002

Chapter #1 (Pacifica CA/Payette ID)

Oh boy! The national BMW motorcycle owner's group was having it's 30th Annual Rally in Trenton Ontario starting on July 11th, this was the first 'out-of-country' rally in the organization's history. Having been to most of the previous 30 (including Rally #1 - in Morgan Hill, CA), I knew what to expect. However a motorcyclist doesn't go to a rally for 'the rally', they go for the ride to and fro.

I was eager. Pat wasn't going with me this year and I was taking a route which had me poised for a lot'o roads I'd never been down. Thursday AM, 6/27 I sallied forth. The bike was previously packed with seven days of clothing changes, camera, tripod, tent, air-mattress, etc. I left home with the odometer ('clock') reading 31,654 miles, that same clock read 13,370 on my arrival home. No, I didn't 'spin it over', it stopped, started, ran backwards and quit. And it quit on the first day out too! Was it an omen?

Note that mileage, 20,000 less than when started.

I left the house at 8:43 AM and slipped right into and through San Francisco. I arrived in Oakland, at the east end of the Bay Bridge just 34 minutes after leaving home. Only drawback was the cold, wet fog that covered me well into San Francisco. I was wondering if I'd done the right thing by leaving the lower fairing assembly at home - it provided heat and wind protection. I was being reassured by Vacaville when I cleared the overcast skies and was conscious of rising temperatures.

First break occurred in Citrus Heights, just east of Sacramento. Now that was about a 115 mile 'sitting' and my 'tush' was NOT complaining. Gassed, called a friend of ours and was back on the road. 11:58 AM found me atop the Sierra Nevada Mountains at the Donnor Lake Rest Area, 81 miles since gas (odometer was working here...), and as I approached the off-ramp I saw (before I heard) burning rubber and smoke - an accident was occurring right in front of me, one involving an 18-wheel empty flat-bed truck and I'm not sure what else. He'd locked-up his breaks and jack-knifed so tight that the corner of his trailer had impaled part of the cab (which was now headed in the wrong direction). The driver was okay and others were stopping so I continued on into the rest area.

It was 12:11PM when I paused at a view-area to take this picture of Donnor Lake.

Donner Lake, note cooler, very important!

For those of you who don't recall, the infamous Donnor Party was caught here on the banks of this lake for an early and severe winter circa 1849. They survived by eating their animals and their own dead. Note how the motorcycle is packed, that red'n white cooler is the most important item packed. It contains ice, water and whisky - essential ingredients for a summertime trip across the country.

Well, the odometer problem (mentioned previously) was not the first equipment failure; that 'honor' took place on the California/Nevada state-line when my new, adjustable voltage regulator buried itself on '0' and left me running on battery alone. Hotter'n hell at the time too! Well, I didn't like the way the regulator had been behaving prior to departure so I threw my old unit aboard..(thank you Lord!). However, to get at the voltage regulator I had to unpack the bike, this to get the seat 'up' so as to remove the gas tank and have access to the regulator. Unplugged the old unit, plugged in the new and fired-off the engine. She was charging! Hot Damn! I didn't have to give-up time at the dealer's in Reno. But now I had to unscrew the mounting bracket, reattached the new regulator, mount it and pack. I was down'n sweat'n bullets for 40 minutes but the first crisis had been surmounted. I was back'n running at 12:51 PM. I took a break at the Hwy. #50/Interstate 80 junction at Fernley NV, 155 miles from last gas so I gassed-up. Clock read 31917 miles.

I broke for a meal at the casino in Lovelock (where I've always been able to get the best Chef's Salad, and did yet again!). Besides the meal'n beverage the casino got to me for a whole $3.20 Interstate 80, for those who don't know, is four-laned with a median strip that sometimes stretches a hundred yards. I took a picture from the saddle while moving - it helps to break the tedium. This route is fast and only slightly more interesting than watching a side-load washing machine at work.

One half of IS# 80 E. of Reno; IS#80 skirts mountains (both taken from 'moving saddle').

Crosswinds picked-up! I was soon riding at a 15º angle for the better part of 40 minutes. It was 4:55 PM when I finished gassing-up in Winnemucca - where I noticed, for the first time that the trip meter on the odometer had 'acted-up'. The odometer read: 32,166. I paused in town long enough to find the red-light district and take a couple of pictures for my dear friend Bill Grass. Years ago we drank our way through everyone of those bordellos...then had to break-into our own motel room as my daughter, Esther, had thrown the 'security lock' and was not about to wake-up!

Winnemucca's Red-light District, both sides of the street (hard to find).

For those of you who are NOT familiar with Nevada you should perhaps know that the state is covered with mountain ranges, all going basically on a N-S 'line', so going N-S through Nevada is to stay low (it's all high dessert, 4300-4500' elevation) and skirt the mountains. (Note: This is what makes riding US. Hwy. 50 (an E-W highway) such a joy, all those 6,000+ foot mountain passes...)

Pictures taken it was time to leave Interstate 80, effectively taking a 90º left turn up Highway 95. The problematic wind became an immediate blessing. I was immediately destined for the home of an old, long-time partner, fellow Retiree Roy Hicks. Roy now lives in Payette Idaho, on the very road I was then riding. It was just after 6 PM when I rolled to a stop in McDermitt, a poor Indian Reservation town with a casino, a convenience shop/gas station, market and auto parts store. Nothing to write home about, but it was time to call Pat, she wasn't keen on this ride from the get-go. Pay phone right there, on the building side. Feed the coin - nothing! I go inside and am THEN told the phone doesn't work, use one in the casino across the street. Well, my tush was starting to make complaints so the exercise, such as it was, was welcomed. I called Pat. Yes in-deedy, she was gonna live and at this point, said she still loved me.

US #95 NB, e/r Oregon Boarder (through windshield)

Walked back across the street as this bear of a man on a Honda sports bike rolled-up to gas. He's a Fire Captain for the City of Spokane named Gregory Borg and a 'union rep.', then on his way home from a conference in Las Vegas. We rode together and I 'nailed' his picture from the saddle. Yes, it's too bad I got my helmet and camera strap in the picture, but it gives a good view of Hwy. 95 in Oregon.

Greg Borg, Spokane FD, US#95 in Oregon (red thing's my helmet, with camera strap).

Bid 'good-bye' to Fireman Borg in Jordan Valley OR at a gas stop. He was through for the day. Me? Felt good, so long as I got off the motor every hour, to 50 minutes. A check of the map shows me that I'm real close to Bro. Hick's place (read free camping, shower, pool-playing etc.). I pressed-on. It was 9:38 PM when I rolled into Wilder ID, a Snake River Valley community (the one valley that produces all those famous potatoes and stretches a couple hundred miles E-W). That night, then'n there, there was this 'light show', not just in my honor mind you, but a full-blown electrical storm. At first I thought the bright light was the airport beacon at Boise, but even a wild town like Boise can't jump that far, that fast! I saw bolt lightening, sheet lighting the works - only no thunder, and no rain. But! You could smell 'lightening'.

It was 10:33 PM (my time), when I pulled onto Roy'n Jan Hick's parking pad. A 13.5-14 hour first day's ride was done. My tush told me, "GOOD!" I had to gently wake-up Roy as he'd locked the door by the 'motorcyclist entrance'.

We drank (I'd brought him a full 1.75 ltr. bottle of our favorite whisky), and played pool till well after 4:00 AM on the morning of the 28th.

Roy's table, me, about to miss a shot. Roy's Vet friends (the Hangar Club)

Between my arrival late on 6/27, and my departure on 7/01, we played a lot'o pool, drank more'n a minor amount, punched holes in targets, fixed a tractor, did some spraying, grocery shopping and damn good eating! Some where in there was some clean-up work and a dump trip too. Roy had to prove to me that a land-locked community such as Payette Idaho could produce a decent sized lobster. He did! Damn good eating too! Now, about the 'Payette Sourdough Bread'....we're still waiting.

Nice target, blackpowder from rest. It's a long way from Maine!

Roy likes guns and reloading and plays with his equipment. He has become very fond of the smell of modern-day black powder, a product known as Pyrodex. However, black gun powder is not at all like modern-day smokeless powder because there's so much bloomin smoke! If you're shooting clay pigeons for instance, you rattle-off a shot then duck and crane your neck to see around the smoke to know if you did, in fact, 'nail the bird'

Did I hit it? Can anyone see?