Final Drive: The Long Ride Home

Pashnit - CA 36

Ross and I left Crescent City Thursday morning and headed back out on CA 199 towards Grant's Pass and on to Medford and beyond. On our return trip we decided to take the most direct route possible in order to save a few hours. After passing Medford on I 5, we pulled over for gas in Ashland Oregon. Ross thought it was a good idea to take OR 66 as a shortcut to Lakeview Oregon so we could pick up route 140 to NV 95 and head to Winnemucca Nevada, where we would pick up I 80. I wanted to go farther down I 5, get off at route 89 and head towards CA 395, which would take us to Reno, where they have the world famous Awful Awful burger at the Little Nugget Diner. Of course this would have put us about 170 miles west of Winnemucca, which is about two and half hours in travel time. Word to self: There's no such thing as a shortcut, not in this life, nor in the next one.

Between my frayed goofy hands and the layout of the road, I would welcome the end of that day. About 10 miles after Ashland, there are a series of curves that are almost switchbacks, climbing in altitude, with no guardrail and not a lot of bargaining room either. On one of the turns, a left-hander, a car came around and much to my surprise, two squids attempting to pass the car. At that point I had a few thoughts passed through my mind. One, I wasn't going to try hang-gliding a 570 lb motorcycle into the wild blue yonder, so the choices were predicated on what the squids did next. If they kept tight with the car, I could get around them, if not, I would impale their skinny worthless asses with fine German engineering. Luckily, the first situation presented itself. Outside of a 20 mile stretch of crushed stone where they were repaving the highway and a couple misses with mule deer, things would get better, but it wasn't an easy road to make time on.

El Aguila Real - Bobblehead Biker

Getting to Lakeview seemed interminable. What was only 282 miles probably took seven hours. My route would have added about 80 miles to Winnemucca, but I have to wonder, which one would have taken longer? At the end of that day it really didn't matter. I was happy to be done with it. Ross and I checked into the Freemont Inn in Lakeview, which was pricey for what it was, but at least I could lay down and relax before dinner. It was already past my dinnertime, but there was a Mexican restaurant a couple blocks away. While it doesn't look like much, it was pretty good and probably the best bet at that time. The best part was the Dos Equis, although I wasn't feeling up to being the "Most Interesting Man In The World". Sometime during dinner, a well weathered gal sauntered into El Aquila Real wearing technical gear that told me she must ride some sort of enduro or adventure bike. She looked as rugged as the landscape and my journalism instincts, if I had any, told me there must be a story there, but it was getting late and I wanted nothing more than to hit the hay. Unfortunately, that would not be the case. Upon getting back to the motel, I found that the internet access sucked. Being the inquisitive techie suffering from internet withdrawal, I decided to take a look see as I had seen a wiring closet on the way to our room. From what I could tell using Netstumbler, I came to the conclusion that one of the WiFi access points was down. Oh well. I would have to sit in the lobby to check my email and get my internet fix, although the hotel manager was appreciative that I troubleshot his wireless problems. I suppose getting tech help in that part of the country is hard to find.

Sin City Stan, Teri Conrad and Noel Burke - Stan Folz and Joel Schneekloth

There was some bad news that night. A couple riders crashed their bikes, bringing the total to three that had crashed their bikes on the way, during or after the trip to the Rally in the Redwoods. Sin City Stan was the first, crashing his Nomad on 299 I believe, totaling the bike with him and his wife getting banged up. I found out that night that Noel "Badger" Burke and Teri Conrad crashed as well. While Noel totaled his Nomad, he wasn't hurt bad, but Teri did not fair so well. I believe she dislocated her left hip, broke her right ankle and banged up her right knee while riding in Oregon. Not a good end to a trip and being far from home has to suck. It seems that every rally I've been to has had at least one spill and some a few, so may be it is to be expected, but it's something I really don't want to get used to hearing about.

The next day came quickly and I was looking forward to getting back on the road and out of there. There was a contingent of Goldwing riders that were staying at the motel, all with the latest generation of the Goldwing and all from Canada, the province of Alberta if I recall. They were heading to San Diego by way of Las Vegas. After riding through part of Nevada, I agree that what happens in Vegas should stay there. I think the state motto is Gambling, Drinking and more Gambling. You could find yourself in a ghost town and it would have functioning slot machines in the abandoned saloon. They even have superstores for liquor. I get the feeling that the temperance movement in the last century must have skipped Nevada. Not that I blame them. After riding NV 140, NV 95 and I 80 through the state, all I saw was tumble weed, jackrabbits, liquor stores and gambling. It was also hot as hell or nearly so. According to Cactus Jack, hell is a little farther south in Arizona. I'll take his word on it. Arizona is hot as well. We did run into some tumbleweed and Ross got a real nice gash on his shin that went through his jeans. I was glad I had tall riding boots on as the tumbleweed was and would be of no consequence for me. Before getting on I80, Ross and I stopped for gas at the Sinclair on the eastern end of town. We were quite surprised to see a man walking around the store in his underwear. At first I thought may be some indigent was perusing the isles looking for a freebee or may be it is some sort of Nevadan midday ritual that is required to remove the evil spirits acquired from a night out of gambling and drinking. Of course I was wrong on both counts. It was the owner of the store and husband of the woman working behind the counter. They must have different cultural norms in Pakistan or whatever south Asian country from where these people came.

NV 140 - Joel Schneekloth

Getting on I 80 was a relief as we could haul ass and make time. We had hoped to make Salt Lake City by that night. Riding across Nevada was uneventful except for an uneventful stop for gas in Elko, before hitting the salt flats in Utah. Temps had been in the low 100's in this section of the trip and I shed my leather jacket so as to keep cool. Even so, I was pretty warm and my arms were pretty red from the sun. The one thing I will advise to anyone riding in the desert heat is to keep well hydrated. I try to drink a two to one ration of water to Gatorade when out riding and it seems to serve me well. I probably drank close to a gallon a day without needed to go to the bathroom when in high temps, so that tells you how much fluid is lost just sitting on a bike.

Bonneville Salt Flats - Ross Chess

Coming down the hill in West Wendover, the highway lines up with the runway on the air force base and for an instant, I thought I'd be going down there for take off. Once past the border of Nevada and Utah, the road becomes flat and straight going across the Bonneville salt flats. To some, images of The World's Fast Indian might come to mind, but at this point all I could think about was motel, food and bed in that order. The one thing I didn't count on was the wind. Holy smokes does it get windy on I80 going across Utah. I felt like I had to put the bike at a 45 degree angle to stay in my lane. Of course it wasn't 45 degrees, but the wind was bad enough that I kept to the right lane as the wind was coming from the south and riding in the left lane was problematic when trucks would disturb the airflow to the extent that it really threw me off. I'd have to say the wind was more than a constant 50 mph and it was so strong that I remember riding through Stansbury and the water was getting blown off the lake  and it was spraying me to the point it was like rain. By the time we reached the Comfort Inn in Salt Lake City, near the airport, I was pretty much shot. Ross and I were so beat that we decided to skip dinner, but I ran out for beer and chips at Roy's Phillips 66 on Admiral Byrd Blvd. It was like an expedition too and I recall the guy working behind the counter giving me the more than once over as if he though I was already in the bag or wondered if I was going to rob the place. I must have been a sight to see for sure.

Buford Wyoming - Jenny Glenn

The next morning, after a visit to the lobby for a complementary breakfast (something Comfort Inn does well with) we were ready to take off on the next leg of the trip home. With over 550 miles the day before, I was looking forward to another 540 plus miles that day heading to Sidney Nebraska, while Ross would be splitting off at I 25, heading south to Lafayette Colorado to visit with a friend, which would make his day almost 530 miles. We took off at 8 AM and headed into somewhat busy traffic on I 80 and on our way up I 80 around Park City, Ross and I became separated as he likes to ride a little more vigorously than I do at times. We didn't connect again until I stopped in Rock Springs for fuel, which was 166 miles later. At this stop, we agreed to stop in Rawlins for lunch and continue on from there.

Traveling across Wyoming seemed almost interminable as Nebraska at times, mostly because I just wanted to get home and also because a lot of it isn't very attractive, at least not on the I 80 corridor. It's quite a bit different than Jackson Hole, that is for sure If you've ever traveled any great distance, it seems that the closer to home one gets the more impatient one becomes. It's sort of an inverse relationship and between my goofy hands, increasingly sore ass and impatience, I was starting to fray around the edges a little bit. Luckily, Ross and I stopped in Buford, the smallest town in America, so he could fuel up and we could say our goodbyes. While using the rest rooms I was treated to what I would describe as a combination of comic relief and the twilight zone. While using the rest room standing up, a gentleman entered and went to use the stall with the stool. I was treated to an autodidact in a rural accent of pretty good New York dialect. From what I could tell, the gentleman probably had tourette's syndrome and possibly worse, although I was glad he wasn't pissed at me and god help whoever he was pissed at.

After saying our good byes, Ross and I rode off and he split off at the I 25 interchange near Cheyenne, where I continued on to Sidney Nebraska for my last night on the road. At this point I increased velocity to about 85 mph and set the cruise control. The interesting thing is that I got the best mileage of the trip on the stretch from Rawlins to Sidney, which is a 250 mile stretch and I used three quarters of a tank for 51 mpg. Not bad for the speeds and 400lb load of rider and gear. At this point in the trip, I had a different kind of anticipation . Instead of worrying about being able to do it, I was impatient to get home. The closer I got to home, the more impatient I became. The weather would temper that as I ran into the edge of a storm going across Nebraska on my last day on the road. It was windy, overcast with threatening skies that remind one of tornado weather. The one thing I hate about riding in the rain is lightning. I finally ran into rain and stopped at a McDonald's in Aurora Nebraska to wait it out. I was still 250 miles from home, but I knew that I would be home that day. A quick text home revealed that it was raining there and it was raining in Aurora too, so I put on my rain gear and decided to head out. By the time I got to Lincoln, the weather had cleared and traffic picked up, but so did my pace. I had never felt so relieved as when I crossed the Missouri river into Iowa. It was a combination of joy, relief, anticipation and contentment on some level. Some might say even cathartic. I got off I 80 in Council Bluffs to fill up on gas and get my rain gear off. At that point, I was close enough to home I felt I could walk it if I had to, even if I was still another 120 miles from my home. Riding back on I 80, the bike and I hummed along at 80 mph, where the road was just flowed beneath me and I really wasn't aware of it. It reminded me of flying in a single engine airplane. I had a lot to think about on this trip and I will visit with it in an epilogue that will be forthcoming in a couple posts. My next post will be about another expedition I did almost 20 years ago, entitled, "When things go bad". Until then, keep the shiny side up.

Final Drive: Zen and the Art of the Motorcycle Trip

Apologies to readers, as I haven't posted in while. This is part one in a three part series.

Snake River

This article isn't about Zen Buddhism in particular, but it is about a motorcycle trip. A motorcycle trip I had hoped would help clear my mind and be a sort of private Chautauqua in order to give myself a little direction, a little relief and some hope. On Friday, August 19, Ross Chess and I took off on a trip to Crescent City California as I discussed in my last column entitled Anticipation. The day was a nice clear day without threat of storm or other foul weather and we took of from the Kum and Go off exit 117 on I 80 at 7:25 AM. Ross rides a 2010 Goldwing, which is a natural for long distance tours. Our destination for the day was Rawlins Wyoming. Rawlins is a small rural town of 8500 people nestled at 6800 feet above sea level in Carbon County Wyoming, which I call Tom Horn country after the tracker, scout and stock detective. The town of Rawlins itself was named after Union General John Amos Rawlins just because he camped there. If I knew it was that easy, I would have tried that long ago.

Anong's Thai Cuisine

Still, for the short time we were there, it was time well spent. We met with old friends Joel Schneekloth, AKA Waterman, Bob Wittman, AKA Landman and Noel Burke, AKA Badger, who were on their way to the Rally in the Redwoods as we were. We had dinner at a Thai restaurant, Anong's Thai Cuisine on 5th Street. I had the yellow curried chicken with an egg roll and satay for appetizers. It was good, but the curry dish was on the bland side. No pain at all, even though it was listed as a spicy dish. Almost all was well after a night at the local Econolodge, but the RT was a little slow cranking in the morning and required a slight twist of the throttle to get it started. This it turned out, was a remnant from a battery issue I had a couple weeks previous. One night after a terribly hot day, I tried to start my bike and it would not start. I expected some remediation from the dealer I bought the bike from, but did not receive it and that is another story for another column. Anyway, we set off that morning for Twin Falls, Idaho by way of Jackson Hole, Wyoming, while our friends departed on a different route, riding I 80 most of the way and getting off at Winnemucca Nevada. This part of the ride introduced me to a whole new level of what BFE means. Wyoming is not the place you want to screw up by yourself as depending on where you are, no one would find you again. The roads were in decent shape, so as long as we went according to plan, I didn't foresee any problems.

Jeffrey City

Riding through such towns as Jeffrey City, Muddy Gap, Sweetwater Station, Lamont and Bairoil also brought a sense of the poverty and hopelessness I have seen in other areas of the southwest where Native Americans live. I can't believe anyone would want to live like that in the 21st century in America. Jeffrey City is a boom to bust uranium mining town whose population was 106 in 2000, but 40 to 50 years ago it had a population of several thousand. With the collapse of the Uranium market in the 1970's, the population has since dwindled down to the point that Jeffrey City is for the most part a ghost town.

Going towards Lander on WY 287

As we moved northwest though, the fortunes seemed to change with the landscape. Our route took us on Route 287 to Route 26, which goes through Lander, Dubois and eventually Jackson Hole, which is a very trendy place, reminding me of a western version of the Hamptons. Coming up route 287 to Lander through Kotey Place, the scenery improves with color and terrain and although not as colorful as Sedona Arizona, the light neutral pastels and rock formations offer a welcome change from the sagebush and open range.

The Grand Tetons

As you can see from the photo, there must be some money in that part of Wyoming. The Tetons were stunning, absolutely stunning, showing their granite prominences with patches of snow that give the effect that they thrust through the earth's surface in effort to say "I am".  After an arduous trip the day before, the landscape this day was a reward for the boring prairie of Nebraska and the high plains of southern Wyoming. We were approaching the part of Wyoming that would have been Absaroka, the state that never was with a sense of urgency and determination to get over the Tetons. We had a lot of miles to cover in a short amount of time.

The Purina Check a Mix elevator
in Lander WY.

Upon arriving in Lander, I took the picture at the left to send to my friend Rob Larsen, who grew up in Lander and I took the photo to see if he would recognize it after all these years. At this point we are nearly halfway through our trip out to Crescent City with almost 1000 miles under our belts.

This trip also follows to some degree the excursion my ancestors took over 140 years ago when they left Missouri and Iowa after the Civil War, looking for a new life in north-east Oregon. Their trip was much longer than mine, fraught with a lot more danger, more hardships and more interaction with native peoples than mine. I can't imagine doing this in a covered wagon, especially with children in tow.

Getting over the Tetons was interesting. The road over the Teton Pass was under construction and a lot of it was just dirt and gravel. Not a difficult thing with four wheels or a dual purpose motorcycle, but a little worrisome with a sport tourer. Non-the-less, we pushed on, which would be a central theme for my trip. Patience is not only a virtue, but more so is perseverance. After the Teton pass, we continued on Route 22 into Idaho where it becomes Route 33. At Victor, we changed direction, heading south-west on Route 31 or Pine Creek Road on to Swan Valley, the home of the Rainey Creek Country Store, home of the square ice cream cone. My ancestors never had it this good although a square cone seemed kind of odd at first. Hey, whatever works.

After Swan Valley, we headed west on Route 26 to Idaho Falls where we picked up I 15. We were still 164 miles from our destination for the evening, which was Twin Falls Idaho. Once down I 15 a ways, we picked up I 84 west to Twin Falls. I was hoping that Ross would want to stop in and see fellow KawaNOW member Bud that lives in Pocatello as my sore ass was getting to me and I could use a break. Such was not the case.  Ross has an ass of stainless steel, so instead we pushed on to our destination, still over a 100 miles distant, outrunning more than one storm in the journey. As lightning struck in the mountains to the south, I prayed that we would make our destination safely. You see, 12 years ago I was closing the windows to the Florida room in my house during a storm and lightning struck in the back yard giving me a shock as if I had touched a 240 volt circuit. My wife said that it looked as if an aura was around my body. Since then I have been scared senseless when lightning strikes within visual and audible distance. Call it irrational, but I'd rather be on the safe side.

Snake River Canyon west side

We arrived in Twin Falls with very little fanfare and very tired bodies. I have to say some parts of Idaho remind me of Iowa, but with mountains. It is a drier climate though and we are back in sagebrush country again. Tonight we would stay in an AmercINN, which was a huge improvement over the Econolodge of the night before. After registering and settling in, Ross and I decided to visit the Golden Corral for dinner. It was already past 8 PM, I was bushed and the Golden Corral was only 100 yards away. Note to self: Don't eat from the salad bar at the Golden Corral. Considering our proximity to the Snake River Canyon, lets say I got Evel Knievel's revenge. This was the start of some physical woes. At this point, my forearms and wrists started bothering me and it wouldn't get better.

Evel Kneivel, Snake River Canyon

After a restful night's sleep, we headed over to the free breakfast and planned the day. We would ride 180 miles to Ontario Oregon and peel off to US Route 20. In case you didn't know, US Route 20 is a coast to coast route that traverses 3,365 miles from Boston Massachusetts to Newport Oregon, a mile from the Pacific Ocean. It also is the longest road in America. We gassed up and hit the interstate, hoping to make time, but our hopes were short lived. A tractor trailer carry large diameter steel pipe had crashed through the guardrail and left its load all over the highway. We had to wait as traffic was rerouted through the off and on ramp on the westbound I 84 exit in Jerome. We had no idea if anyone was hurt, but it was a reminder that bad things happen on the road and to remain vigilant when riding. It is all too easy to fall into a false sense of security, thereby throwing situational awareness to the wind.

The Sagebrush Saloon

By the time we reached Ontario, I was starting to think about lunch. US Route 20 is not the interstate and a rider cannot make time on this road like he or she can in the interstate, as I found out. About 20 miles west of Ontario Oregon, we stopped in Vale Oregon for lunch. Vale Oregon was the first stop in Oregon on the Oregon Trail. I am sure my ancestors stopped here and if it was good enough for them, it should work for me. Being Sunday, there weren't many businesses open in this neck of the woods. We happened upon the Sagebrush Saloon, which is on East A Street, which runs parallel to Route 20. I ordered a western bacon burger, which is a bacon cheese burger with BBQ sauce, red onion and cole slaw with a side of fries. All I can say is that it was one tasty burger. In fact the best burger I had in a long time. If you are out that way, it's worth the stop.

From there, we proceeded on our way to Bend, which was our destination for the day. This would leave about 275 miles for the final leg to Crescent City. Route 20 is a two lane road and I found out a couple things about this part of Route 20 that I didn't know before. Unlike Route 20 in Iowa, which is straighter than the shortest distance between two points, Route 20 in Oregon has some twisty sections that run along the Malheur River, which was a taste of things to come. Another difference is that Route 20 is 2 lanes at best, a lot like Route 169 in Iowa. It was also a very hot day with temps between 100-103. In fact I learned something else from riding through this area, which is something called Virga. Virga is the evaporation of rainfall such that it never makes it to the ground. With the heat we were riding through, we could have used some precipitation.

As the day wore on, my wrists and forearms continued to fatigue and hurt. During the trip I made sure I drank both water and drinks containing electrolytes. The problem as I have been able to understand it is that the ergonomics of someone of my height, torso length and arm length create an ergonomic problem where I am leaning forward a bit. This gets exacerbated on downhill grades where I put more weight on the grips. It doesn't normally affect me in Iowa because we don't have any real grades that would magnify this issue and riding for days with grades doesn't help at all. By the time I got to Crescent City, my forearms were so over-trained in effect, that I had trouble cutting with a knife at dinner or holding a fork correctly. My thumb dexterity and strength was shot and I was getting persistent numbness in my forefingers. Understand that I have no problem with 100lb grippers and if I work out, using 140lb gripper is easy. But doing resistance training involves rest periods and limited duration of the exercise. The bottom line is that ergonomic considerations that won't show up if a rider is a commuter or short tripper will rear its ugly head on long distance rides. In my case, I was taking a trip where I would average over 450 miles a day for 9 days with a day off. I had no idea I would have this issue. The result was what I started calling "goofy hands", which would affect my ability and confidence in riding.

Kathy's Oasis

Continuing on Route 20, both Ross and I found the heat exhausting and decided to stop in Juntura, which is x miles from Vale and still x miles from Bend. We stopped at the Oasis Cafe, which was surrounded by trees and was a cool 95 in the shade. Believe or not, it felt refreshingly cool. We decided to try the lemonade, which was fantastic. It was worth the stop. May be I was just that thirsty, but it was welcome none-the-less. To see better pictures of Kathy's Oasis, go to this blog and scroll down. We met Scott too, although we didn't have the biscuits and gravy or any other solid victuals. It could have been our loss. From there we scooted across eastern Oregon, heading for Bend for our final night on the road for our trip out to Crescent City. So far, the RT has performed flawlessly on the road, even running on fuel below the recommended octane with no ill effects other than less power. BMW's motorcycles use a real closed loop management system that adjusts for octane level. BMW recommends 89 or higher and suggests 93-94 to get the best performance, but I had to put 87 octane in and it worked without consequence. As a rule, I run the highest octane available at the pump, which usually is 91 octane. This is amazing considering that the RT has a compression ratio of 12:1, but it does run better on the higher octane gas. I'd love to find some 94 octane Sonoco Ultra.

Upon arriving in Bend, we decided to try the first motel we saw, the Sleep Inn, which is on the east side of town off Route 20 and NE 27th Street. At this point I was looking forward to getting off the bike and laying down for awhile. Upon hearing the price of the room, which, if I recall was well over $100, Ross thought better of it (it was a little rich) and we headed to the other side of town to the Days Inn on the Dalles-California Highway and NE Irving. I don't think we went out to dinner that night and hit the hay early. Unfortunately someone had a small child that was screaming all night. Having five children, I fully understand, but at this point I was ready to launch someone. Luckily, I was able to fall asleep, but I was awakened by a screaming child the next morning. All I can say is that it was worse for the parents than it was for me. After a quick breakfast it was down Route 97 for a 101 mile ride to Crater Lake.

Crater Lake

The ride to Crater Lake, for the most part, was one of the most pleasant rides of the trip. With morning temps starting out in the 50's, with crisp dry air and the smell of pine, it reminded me of Jackman Maine, where I had spent many summers as a youth. Central Oregon is beautiful that is for sure. We stopped in the La Pine mini mart for fuel and drink and headed down Route 97 and made a right to head west on Route 138 to Crater Lake's north entrance. Going west on Route 138 and into the park, we continued to climb in altitude and while the bike handled it fine, I could feel the temperatures drop, which was confirmed by the thermometer on the RT's computer. Upon reaching the overlook where the Rim Drive begins, you can see above what is called Llao Bay. Crater Lake was formed from a volcano, not a meteor as some believe. Some 7700 years ago, what was Mount Mazama erupted in a cataclysmic event that would have made Mt St. Helens look like a kids science project. Several cubic miles of ejecta were blown into the atmosphere and deposits can be found as far as Canada. All I can say is that must have been some sight. 

Behind Crater Lake

Along Rim Drive are patches of snow off the road, hard pack leftover from the winter, even though it was August, and while the temperature in Medford would be 100, it was in the low 50's up there.  While riding along Rim Drive the brake failure light came on and while the brakes seemed to work, it brought some concern. This motorcycle is a lot different from the Nomad I had in that it relies on computers for its functioning and a brake failure light could mean a few things at the least. This, coupled with goofy hands, made for an interesting ride. On top of this, I experienced something I never experienced before. Normally when I ride very twisty roads or roads I consider twisty for Iowa, I usually concentrate on the coming corner ahead of me as far as I can see into the corner. I found myself looking past the corner, out into the distance over the edge as it were and I have to admit it unnerved me, which didn't get better on this trip. I still don't completely understand why I had these issues with my hands/arms, tight curves  and overlooks at altitude, but may be someone reading this can give me some clue. I never experienced anything quite like this before. When I was younger, none of this would or did bother me, so it's a little bit of a mystery. I should mention that the brake failure light went off when we left Crater Lake and I didn't give it much more thought as the brakes were working.

Cascade Mountain

Anyway, heading out of the park, we headed down Route 62 towards Medford. As the altitude dropped, the temps went up and we were on our way to our destination. I was amazed at the speed of the motorcycles that passed Ross and me on Route 62. One squid on a liter sportbike had to be going well over 100 mph in a 45 mph zone. We were doing 50-55 mph, which is a comfortable pace that while above the speed limit, isn't crazy. Right after the squid came a K1300GT doing what I would estimate between 90-100 mph. Not as fast as the squid, but definitely getting someplace rather quickly.

We decided to stop in Medford for a much needed break at the Burger King to have it our way. At this point, I was looking forward to arriving in Crescent City and taking the next day off to give my hands/forearms a rest. Crescent City is only 112 miles from Medford, so we were really on the last leg of our trip to the rally. So we proceeded on I 5 to Route over Grant's Pass to Route 199 and as we descended towards Crescent City through towns like Cave Junction, Illinois Valley and O'Brien, so did the temps. I was glad to be where we going to be where we were supposed to be. 

To be continued...