Just started posting my recent ride up to Oregon from California on my blog. This ride also included a visit to GP Suspension in Oregon City, OR to finally cash in my fork upgrade group buy from last year. 

Check it out here : Cali to Oregon Ride

Here's a few pictures from the ten day, 2840 mile ride:

Dude!

Seriously, hit the Pelican Brewery in Pacific City and have a Kawanda cream ale.

Greg 

Nice job Frenchy. Thanks for taking us along.

--G 

Cool stuff. Thanks for sharing in your adventure. Looks like fun. 

Thanks, great job! 

Napa. 

Just the name of the place conjures in my mind images of crusty old farts surrounded by snotty, towel-armed sommeliers, sitting in antique chairs, sipping their $100 glasses of grape juice while looking down from their high horses on all the annoying little people.

I love pissing off folks like that, which is most of the reason we decided to visit Napa - to crash the party.


Awake early again, Sleeping Beauty and I set off for Napa. We have a reservation on the lunch time wine train. Before we leave Jenner, I made sure to try and get some of the wrinkles out of my best black Old Navy T shirt, and I even wipe some of the mud off my riding boots. 

I'm sure I'll fit right in.


Even though it cost more than a new set of Michelin Pilot Road 2 tires, the whole wine train experience is actually a pleasant surprise. We show up mid-morning at the train station, and they immediately pour some wine to taste. To be honest, drinking wine at 10:30 in the morning wasn't all that hard from Sleeping Beauty and me. Maybe these wine boobs are on to something.

As we sip our aperitifs, a helpful tour guide tries to point out the finer notes of what we were tasting. "This medium bodied Merlot has hints of blackberries, with subtle undercurrent of citrus and a nice, smoky note. Does anyone else detect that?"

We try, but all we can taste is... wine. I already know I am blessed with a beer and whisky palate. Then again, my idea of a 'good' wine is anything that doesn't come in a box, so maybe I'm not the best judge. This wine thing could take some time to learn. But hey, if they start drinking before noon, I'm game! Let's get our learn on!

We board the train, and are amazed at the lavish interior. Our dining car is a beautifully restored 1915 Pullman car. Actual sommeliers, sans towels on their arms, come to our table, suggesting excellent food/wine pairings. This is a bit too much for me, and it's hard for me to keep from laughing at the seriousness the sommeliers display. It probably doesn't help that we've already tasted five different kinds of wine, and haven't eaten anything all day. 

We kindly take their suggestions, and soon hoist our first of many, many vino toasts to the Best Day Ever.

With a gentle lurch our train departs the station. We sip our wine, trying to detect subtle hints of mocha, tobacco and leather. We keep our snickering to ourselves. We may not exactly fit in, but this is definitely fun.


Our balloon pilot, an almost insanely cheerful woman, rattles off facts about her balloon faster than my early morning, wine soaked mind can comprehend. Fully inflated, we load the basket with four other victims, and with a huge blast of the propane jet, we slowly depart terra firma. 



I'm hard to impress, and flying over the beautiful vineyards of the Napa Valley in a hot air balloon was one of the most impressive things I've ever done. 

Tomorrow, on to other impressive things, as the newest members of Wine Snob Nation leave the civilized refinement of Napa for the wilds of the Oregon Coast. 

Nice...lifes to short to drink cheap wine. 

Every visit to Napa includes wineries, that's almost a given. I'd venture to say that a fair amount of visits to Napa also include visits to the pharmacy, to stock up on Advil for the next morning's inevitable wine tasting hangover. We did both. I doubt that many visits to the world's most famous wine vine growing region take in some of the more off-beat sights.

I live for off-beat, and riding to a quirky attraction is probably the best reason to ride at all, so, after a fantastic breakfast of Advil and tap water, we're up early once again (a disturbing trend of 'up early' seems to be evolving on this trip) to take in the quirkier sights of the area.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to say that for the first time in recorded ride report history, somehow Sleeping Beauty was actually awake, geared up, packed and ready to ride before I was. Long before. And I heard about it for the rest of the day. I'll just chalk it up to a lucky coincidence, and too much wine tasting in Napa, and leave it at that.
Our first stop of the day, touted as being featured in National Geographic, promises to be one of those Crap-Tastic roadside amusements that always sound much much better than they turn out to be.




Old Faithful Geyser registered an eleven on the Frenchy Crap-Tastic Wonders of the World scale. This is the kind of picture they use for advertising the place to potential suckers... I mean visitors like us.



One Of The Top Ten Wonders of the World?


Looks kinda vaguely, sorta, maybe a little interesting, right? Here's a photo showing the true scale of this wonder of nature:





If the massive spectacle of literally tens of gallons of water spurting literally tens of feet in the air isn't enough excitement, this marvelous park also has... llamas!!





Right. I am almost sure I saw some pipes leading from the pumphouse that makes the whole 'Geyser' work, cleverly disguised with some bamboo trees. I imagine that this park was featured in National Geographic's "Top Ten Crappy Parks Impersonating Good Ones." Oh well. What should we expect for $10?





From the mild disappointment of Rip-Off Land it's a fun, pleasant ride on tiny, cracked one lane roads up and over the mountain range that creates Napa Valley to my second Crap-Tastic stop, Litto's Hubcap Ranch. This one I knew would be cheesy, especially by the website description: This is a unique example of automobile-era folk art that you are not likely to find elsewhere. Believe it or not, this is even a California State Historic Landmark. The Hubcap Ranch must be seen to be believed! With a writeup like that, how can the Hubcap Ranch be anything else BUT cheesy?







We pull up in front of the ranch, unsure what to do. There is no admission booth, no signs, not much of anything besides shiny hubcaps. From the end of the driveway, a kid beckons us to come down and check the place out. Fiona, eying a single hubcap blowing in the wind, clanking against a post, says, "This looks like the perfect place for a double motorcyclist murder."


I turn down the driveway anyway.



Nice Doggy

A man with a running chainsaw in hand stands at the end of the driveway. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all? Against Fiona's better judgment, we abandon the relative safety of Rain Cloud Follows to learnt the legend of the ranch.


I ask what the story is, and Chainsaw Man points at the kid who beckoned us down the driveway, shouting over the din of his clattering Stihl, "Let him tell ya! A tree fell on that shed and I gotta go take care of it!" His chainsaw revs menacingly as he walks away.


The kid, an intelligent boy of about 13 or so launches into a well-rehearsed speech. "This place was my great grandfather's ranch. Long before there were paved roads here, cars would bounce down the rutted dirt roads, and often lose a hubcap. My great grandfather would put the hubcap on the fence, figuring the drivers would see them and get them back on their way home. Other people thought it was an art project, and started dropping off more hubcaps. Thousands of hubcaps later," he sweeps his arms around the chrome covered landscape, "this is what we got. Feel free to check the place out. Take pictures too, just be careful of the pigs, sometimes they bite."











Awesome! And free. I should notify National Geographic.


And, we managed to escape without being chainsawed into a million pieces too! Always a bonus in my book. Leaving Litto's, it was more fantastic roads provided for our entertainment by the Golden State as we head back to the coast.








Crap-Tastic stop number three - Leggett, CA and the World Famous Drive Thru Tree.



Driving Through a Tree... On Purpose.


What can I say? $5 to drive through a tree is about what we expect it to be. What this place really needs to put it over the top is some llamas.


In Southern Humboldt, we detour to another free attraction, the Avenue of the Giants. Huge, gigantic, unbelievable redwoods tower millions of feet into the sky. The place is awe inspiring. We stop by one fallen giant and elbow some pesky camera-toting tourists out of our way for some pictures.







Big Tree. No Photoshopping Involved.


All this Crap-Tastic sideshow viewing is fun, but it has taken up most of our day. To stay on schedule, we should have been in Oregon already. But, on a ride such as this, on any ride really, I have always been willing to sacrifice the destination for the day, and while we didn't get as far as maybe I would have liked, the wonderful weirdness of the day more than made up for it.


As is was getting late, we decided a fitting end to the day would be in Trinidad.





My riding buddy Dark Meat Snacks hails from the Fiefdom of Trinidad, so we thought we'd stay in the real Trinidad in his honor.


Of course we quickly realize there is no vacancy at any of Trinidad's few crapulent hotels. Before we leave, we snap a quick picture next to Trinidad's most famous landmark, in honor of my friend and his homeland.





At dusk, we ride several more hours, with darkness rapidly approaching. Northern California is mostly desolate, undeveloped wilderness. We pull off once again to watch the sun set into the Pacific from a parking lot, toasting the Best Day Ever with a quick swig from my emergency Macallan flask.



Several hours later than we wanted to, we make the outpost town of Crescent City our home for the evening, ready and willing, looking forward to, even eager to take on the wilds of Oregon the very next day. 

Frenchy,

As always, such a spirited and awesome ride report! I am planning a trip to Klammath Falls the weekend of the 25th of Sept for my last long trip of 09. I'll be going solo cause all of my other panzy friends wussed out! I like my own company anyway!

I won't be taking the same route North, I think I'll go through Mammoth and Reno? What do you suggest?

I'm really lookig forward to it!

Take care Bud! We need to ride one of these days! 

nice report, and ride. thanks


going to have to do that balloon ride thing ... 

Great report, nice pics....heard great things about the winery. 
Feeling really inspired by your shared experience.
 

Frenchy,

 
Nice report as always. Keep it coming. You need to figure out how to make money from your riding (or writing) so you can do it full time. (Then let us know so we can all do it.)  

Just one suggestion. You take pictures of Fiona. We know you're there, we just don't need to see you in the photo. 

Great report...I liked all the Crap-tastic stops...keep up the great reporting 

Oh Yeah !! Great stuff Frenchy - as always  

Welcome to Oregon. 

The so-called 'Beaver State' is the furthest destination of not only the Oregon Trail, but also of our little joyride. In two short days it'll be time to turn around and head for home. Of course, if we had a bit more time, and another Map-kin, we'd do what I really want to - keep heading north, all the way to Alaska. Ah well, guess that'll have to wait until next year...

With all our quirky sightseeing the day before, we know that we're a little behind schedule. We're going to have to put in a fairly long day to reach Oregon City. Once again it's another of those get-up-and-get-ready-early mornings, Sleeping Beauty's least favorite kind. Even with a full day ahead, we're still tourists, and still want to see as many sights as possible along the way. That is the main reason for this ride, to see new things. We decide to make compromises on this day, stopping briefly when we can to take in a view or two. After a quick snapshot of the Battery Point lighthouse in Crescent City to add to the collection, we settle in for the journey ahead.




Oregon is absolutely beautiful, and the Pacific Coast Highway doesn't fail to disappoint. The curvy road that hugs the rugged coastline, endless miles of beaches, the sea scented air and the serene beauty of the spiny evergreens surrounding us on both sides has me lost in a state of blissful reverie as my mind winders, trying to take it all in.


My reverie is shattered as something slams into my neck with a THWAAPPP! My head snaps back, and I feel like I've been shot. I check my neck for an entrance wound, and am relieved to find my skin intact. I'm not sure what it was, a rock, a bug, or something else, but whatever it was that hit me, it HURT! I pull off into one of the thousands of scenic vistas for a momentary breather.


"Are you OK?" Fiona asks.


"Yeah, just a little stunned." I'm a little stunned the same way that molten lava is a little uncomfortable when poured in your pants. Trying to not cry like a baby from the pain in my neck, I say, "Hey, since we're stopped, let's go take a picture down there by the ocean." Fortunately, the worst pain of the impact is already starting to fade, so, I reason, we may as well take advantage of the stop.


As I get the camera ready, things suddenly get worse. I feel a sharp, needle-like pain just above my right armpit. AHHH!! OOOHHH!! SHEE-IITT!! There it is again!! 
AAAHHHH!!! I start jumping around, tearing at the zipper of my riding jacket. Something's in there, and whatever it is, it's not happy. YYEEOOOWWW!! I slap at my jacket with one hand while performing the silliest strip tease with the other.

Fiona, unaware of exactly what is taking place and stunned by my impromptu exotic dancing performance, laughs. It must've been quite a sight, me flailing around and slapping myself. Fiona is one lucky girl, because I don't perform this dance for just anyone!


Finally, the offender, a very angry wasp, falls to the ground, where I crush it with my boot. The wasp must have kamakazied directly into my neck and managed to fall, stunned but very much alive, into my jacket. When he came to, he was not happy, and proceeded to let me know in that rotten way that wasps do.


The little bastard left quite a few welts.


Welcome to Oregon.


I grumble a bit as we wait to find out if I am allergic to Oregon wasp stings. Fifteen minutes later, sore and stung three times, I grumble some more as we get back on Rain Cloud Follows and continue our trek up the coast.
We detour down a small, gravel-strewn road to stop briefly at Cape Blanco lighthouse. While there we decide that $2 each is reasonable to go up to the top, so we pay and climb up.





The oldest continuously operating and most western lighthouse in Oregon, this beacon has a beautiful first order Fresnel lens that rotates with the help of a little Home Depot looking motor, sending a beam from a 1000 watt lamp deep into the horizon every twenty seconds.





The tour guide, a crusty old salt that looks as if he was selected directly out of the Central Casting 'Lighthouse Keeper' book confides, "Yep, with radar and GPS and all that, lighthouses don't really serve much purpose for ocean liners anymore. But," he adds wistfully, "if all that stuff quits working one day, those captains will sure be glad we're still here."


Cool stuff.


Returning down the gravel-strewn road, another of Oregon's creatures rushes out to greet us. As we lean through one tight turn, a huge deer decides it's time to see what's happening on the other side of the road, and bolts across, inches in front of us. Rain Cloud Follows anti-lock brakes pulse as Bambi comically scrambles in the gravel. The sight of the deer's four legs pinwheeling in the sand would be funny if it wasn't happening right in front of me. The deer and the bike maintain enough traction to avoid a collision, and we miss adding a deer head to the mantle by the slightest of margins.


Welcome to Oregon, indeed.



Always Time For A Photo Op


We wind our way up the coast, as the sun does it's thing in the sky. After lunch it's decision time. Break off the Pacific Coast Highway and head for Oregon City to make Rain Cloud Follows fork-ectomy appointment, or blow off the appointment and just see what happens. Surprisingly, I'm the one that is on the fence. Fiona becomes the voice of reason, saying, "We came up here to get your fork done, so let's go do it."


We reach Oregon City just after dark, find a decent looking hotel, and have the privilege of being those annoying people that walk into a restaurant five minutes before it closes. Dinner is good, and we toast the Best Day Ever in the conveniently attached casino.


The next morning I head over to GP Suspension while Sleeping Beauty sleeps in. Within seconds of parking in the garage, as if in the world's most efficient chop shop, my precious motorcycle is dismantled.








The coolest thing about GP Suspension is they let me hang around and watch the upgrade. I ask hundreds of questions, and am amazed at the care put into the upgrade.





 






The operation to insert beefier springs, change the fork oil and rework, repair and upgrade all the other mysterious internal suspension parts takes almost two hours, start to finish. The difference in the ride is immediately obvious as I pull out of the garage with a huge smile on my face.


Now to find some roads on the way home to really give the reworked fork a proper workout! 

Outstanding thread!. You have a nice eye with the camera (Fiona helps the shots look nicer). I am pleased you like our neck of the woods. The camera shots rival Old Mikes and belong in a travel magazine. Just make sure to get some shots of long, boring roads in the rain so nobody discovers Oregon, OK?

The guys at GP are great aren't they? They gave me a first class tour when I delivered my forks a couple years ago. 

And the wildlife: Was it a yellow-jacket wasp? I've had the displeasing multiple sting experience more than once, I'm afraid. I'm sure every ride to cinch my neck and wrist cuffs tight. The only thing we have more of is deer -- if there are trees there are deer. I wish deer hunters luck every season now.

Wonderful write-up. More pics of sleeping beauty though, OK?

Most every trip has a climactic point, the one moment that defines the entire ride. Many times, the turn around point, when it's time to stop exploring, stop going further away from home and start returning is that point. Not on this trip. The climatic point actually comes in tomorrow's earth-shattering finale, so hang in there with me for one more post. Today we'll just anticlimactically get to that point.

While I was away at GP Suspension, Sleeping Beauty grabbed the map and, after a few minutes of study picked a return route that, if I can manage to follow it, will put the upgraded fork internals through a vigorous workout. 
We wind our way out of Oregon City, and head through pleasant, quaint little towns. The road is more or less straight, and I find myself trying to test the fork by hitting every little bump, crack and pothole I can find. At first, I am not too sure about the improvement, but then again I'm not sure what I expected. 




Route 126 winds through more evergreens and Christmas tree farms than I ever thought existed. Just before the tiny town of Rainbow, we fill up, then exit on to one of Sleeping Magellan's smaller, yet excellent choices - an unmarked 'little gray road.' 

Wow.

For the next three hours we wind through a dark, spooky forest on a lonely road built just for us. The fork gets its workout, and then some. On the tight, winding little one lane roads, the upgrade benefits are readily apparent as the bike tracks effortlessly through the bumpiest, most crumbled roads. 

Fiona took a picture to show me how much she enjoys the view from her perch on Rain Cloud Follows.




Just more motivation to ride her own next time I tell her.

Most of the day is spent twisting through this lost forest. At times it feels like we've stumbled on to the set of Lord of the Rings, with thick, moss covered trees surrounding us on all sides. At other time the road gets slick from the thick green moss growing in the damp, shaded places that the sun never manages to warm.

All in all, it's a good day. In fact, it's a best day, as any day still riding on the on the right side of the grass is.




We stop briefly to marvel at gigantic lava rocks strewn along both sides of the road, and realize we've got a little problem. Once again we've spent the entire day having fun, now it's getting late, and we aren't anywhere near Crater Lake, out intended destination for the day. In fact, we aren't near anything at all, no towns, no gas, no lodging, no beer... nothing. 

Great. 

I drop the hammer as the sun traipses along its arc. Nothing around. This is getting to be an adventure now. Finally at Odell Lake, I see two of the three signs we are looking for, a bed and a plate with fork and knife. Only thing missing was that lovely martini glass sign. Ah well, beggars can't be choosers. The manager Odell Lake Resort seems a little stunned and confused when we just show up. After some stammering and haggling, the great news is we can rent an awesome lakefront cabin, though it might be haunted. The not-so-great news is we find out from the cook we're about twenty minutes too late for dinner. Fiona, hungry and eying the vending machine's assortment of stale chips for dinner puts on her best boo-boo face and says to the cook, "Please, sir, can't you give us something? Anything? Even just some bread?"

Nobody can withstand the awesome power of the boo-boo face. The cook relents and says, "Well, I suppose I can make you some popcorn shrimp and fries..."

"We'll take it!"

Instead of going to the cabin that will be our night's home to clean up, we go directly to the restaurant. Another couple is there, slowly finishing up their meal. Taking pity on us, they offer us a glass of wine each from their bottle. The four of us toast the Best Day Ever, then our popcorn shrimp shows up.

I slip the cook $20 to say thanks, which he greedily pockets. While we are choking down our crunchy, tasteless fried balls of cholesterol, the cook comes out and asks the other couple if they want dessert. They order chocolate cake. 

Chocolate cake? What a perfect way to end off the Best Day Ever! Except, the jackass cook never offered us any. I want my $20 back.

Ah well, he's actually doing me a favor. My riding pants are getting pretty tight these days anyway.







Sleeping Beauty and I never find out if our cabin is haunted or not. If it is, it needs better ghosts, because we sleep right through the terrorizing. 




With three days left of our tour, we decide a little visit to Crater Lake won't take up too much extra time. At one scenic vista, we ask a nice couple to take our picture. We slip behind the wooden fence, so the picture will be just us and Crater Lake.




Great job, Dead-eye.

As I always tend to do, I take a wrong turn in Klamath Falls, and we return to California on an alternate route from the intended one. We spend about three hours on the hot, desolate nothing that is Highway 139, getting thirstier and thirstier. I start getting mildly concerned about running out of gas, as the little FJR fuel indicator keeps sinking and sinking, with nary a town in sight. I'm pretty sure Fiona won't enjoy pushing the motorcycle to the next gas station, so I slow down to conserve what little fuel we have left.

I gamble on a turn off, and we roll down a smaller, more deserted road. If my wild guess is correct, at the junction there will be a gas station. My gamble pays off as we stagger into the tiny town of Lookout.

Lookout could easily be the real life set for the movie Cars. A big, burly guy in overalls stands in front of the station. Fiona chuckles at the pumps, which are the old fashioned, analog kind I remember from childhood. Sadly, Sleeping Beauty, being *AHEM* somewhat younger has no such memories.

Mr. Overalls yells into the garage, saying, "Hey! You gotta come see this bike! It's not a Beemer, it's a Yamahaw!!"
We're joined by two other burly, tough looking guys. A slight uneasy feeling starts creeping up my spine. 

The biggest, burliest guy gives Rain Cloud Follows the once over, then points to his scooter, a 1950's era Panhead kick start chopper. "Hey man, come check this out!" A million thoughts rush through my head as I warily head over to see what he has in store. In one of the more surreal things that has ever happened to me, Mr. Burly Panhead shows me how he wired a Fiat horn onto his scooter, then wants to compare his horn to mine. 

Soon we are in the middle of a competitive 'beeping contest.' We escape Lookout victorious.

Before the sun sets, we take an opportunity for a quick motorcycle photo op in Lassen Volcanic National Park.










As the sun lets us down again, the creatures of the night start coming out to visit. As we search for dinner and a home, I play Twilight Deer Dodge 'Em with ten of the little bastards. The final score: Frenchy - 10, Dumb Deer - 0. 

The inviting lights of the St. Bernard Lodge entice us to stop in for dinner. Well, that and the fact that there was no other place open for hundreds of miles. We walk in, and are met at the door by a Kathy Bates (when she starred in Misery) lookalike. Gruffly she asks, "Yeah? How can I help you?"

We want to eat. We say so. Thought it was pretty obvious, standing in a nearly empty restaurant that is open. 

"Oh. Well. We're by reservation only. We are a bed and breakfast. Do you have a reservation?"

There are a grand total of four people eating and at least twelve empty tables. We're having a Mexican standoff in the middle of the room. Fiona tries the boo-boo face, and even that doesn't work. This lady is tough. Finally, we resort to the old standby - a staredown. 

Finally Ms. Bates huffs loudly and turns away, saying, "I'll check with the chef."

What feels like an eternity passes as we stand there waiting. Finally our lovely hostess comes out and says, "OK, but you can't order off the full menu. I suppose you'll want water too?"

The meal is average, and we wolf it down before the angry woman returns and chops us to bits. Needless to say, dessert is out of the question once again. For the tip, I wrote on the check, "Next time, don't be such a douche." 

This version of the Best Day Ever ends in the logging town of Chester. Unloading all our junk from the bike into the hotel room, I notice Rain Cloud Follows' rear tire is close to the end of its life. With both the Ebbetts and Sonora Pass on the menu for tomorrow, I send out a silent plea to let the rubber last at least two more days, and one more report post! 

An immensely enjoyable read Frenchy  . Outstanding pics also. Watch out OM 

man nice ride report and pics!! 

Absolutely a great read. Send those pictures of twisty Orygun roads to Old Michael -- he missed them.

Speaking of missing, I'm sorry you didn't continue down 138 AKA Diamond Lake Blvd. It winds down the wild North Umpqua River. Next time you are so close to my home I'll escort you if you'd like.

Can't wait for the next installment.