West 2009
 
 

Day 08

September 3

 
 
 
  As it has been and will continue to be, Dave, Andy and I are always up and getting ready to go before the appointed time. As I head out with my stuff to load up Frost, Dave is already out there packing. Today we will be headed to Crater Lake National Park where we will be meeting another local ST rider, Jim Medak.  
 
 
  The sun is just barely peeking it's head above the horizon, and it looks like it will be another beautiful day, even though it's a bit nippish out.  
 
 
 

Deb and Al are stirring about, so I give them both big bear hugs and say -

"Thanks again for keeping me out of trouble. And if you ever get back to Tennessee, the Holler Hotel is always open."

We all say good-bye to Mary, the owner of the place, as she comes to wish us all a fond adieu and allows us to show her proper adoration.

 
 
 
  Soon Dave, Andy and I are on the road to breakfast near Bend, Oregon. We purposely have waited until the sun is up because the wildlife is plentiful around here. I sure wouldn't want to run into one of these fellers in the dark. Fortunate for us, they stay where they are, placidly munching the vegetation. And unfortunately for me, my heated gear quits working again. Today is probably the last day I will need it for a while, so I just suck it up and keep rolling along. I figure when I get to the coast I'll do some investigation to see what's up with it.  
 
 
  We do hit some construction, but since we are out early, we can get on through them without delays. That's another reason I like to be on the road at first light - it's amazing how little traffic there is and you can really enjoy the road without dodging cagers.  
 
 
  But as the countryside wakes up and we draw nearer to Bend, our solitude is broken by the traffic that becomes our constant companion.  
 
 
  Breakfast should be a special treat this morning, as the restaurant I've chosen comes highly recommended by the locals. It's call the Pilot Butte Drive-In, just as you come into the outskirts of Bend.  
 
 
  A good sign whether a restaurant is any good is if there are many work trucks parked outside - and this has plenty. Our next door parking neighbor has some puppy dogs guarding his rig, waiting hopefully for some sausage and biscuits I would assume. The yellow labs remind me of my Emmitt back in the Holler, so I let them pass approval on me before I pet them. The little gray pooch is bit more particular, so he barks disapprovingly as I pet his companions.  
 
 
 

We wander inside, up to the counter and make up our feeble minds about what we'll get. When our orders come up, the portions are enormous. A feller in front of me, upon seeing his plate, says

"How in the world am I supposed to eat all of that?"

Dave has ordered some sort of chicken fried steak omelet smothered in gravy. As Andy and I eat our delicious and unhealthy meals, he shamelessly devours the feast before him with no thought whatsoever for his poor arteries. It's almost as if I can hear them clogging up with each mouthful he consumes.

 
 
 
  Since there are no wheel barrels provided for us to be pushed back to our bikes, we slowly waddle outside and make the major effort to climb onboard. According to my instructions, we are to head for the first roundabout and take the left spoke headed south. Since roundabouts are not too common, I figure this will be easy.  
 
 
 

But something does not seem right, and the road we're on does not match up with what I think it should be. When we come to a junction, I pull off and tell them -

"Something ain't right. I'd better do a map check."

Meanwhile I see a local hammering a yard sale sign into the ground, so I go over to him.

"Hey neighbor, I'm looking for the Cascades Lakes Highway. Any idea how to get there from here?"

Fortunately, he's tuned in and tells me -

"Go back the way you came and go off the left spoke. There are actually about 4 roundabouts you've got to go through. You'll go through a park and then up a hill and you'll see the sign."

"Thanks a bunch. My route only told me about 1 roundabout. No wonder I was confused."

 
 
 
  His instructions are impeccable and soon we are right on the Cascades Lakes Scenic Byway, CR46, which will take us close to Crater Lake.  
 
 
  It's a beautiful run, with the ever present snow capped mountains keeping vigil on us as we enjoy the wide sweepers.  
 
 
  It's a land of luscious evergreen forests and beautiful inviting lakes. Makes a feller want to just pull over and dangle his feet in the water - except he'd probably freeze his toes off this time of year!  
 
 
  Then we pass what looks like an ancient lava flow that runs right up to the side of the road. It is an ethereal landscape that reminds me a lot of the Craters of the Moon National Monument.  
 
 
  As we near Crater Lake, we can see the devastation that past forest fire has done to the area. The dead trees stand a silent witnesses to the never ending hunger of the fire.  
 
 
  We stop at a Pilot in Chemult for a gas and hydraulic break and I pull off my Gerbing gloves. As I just happen to look at the left cord, I finally see it - the stress relief mechanism has failed and the two wires in the connector are touching. This finally explains why I could plug in the controller and it would work, then the fuse would blow. After I gas up, I go inside and pick up some more fuses. At least now I can use the heated jacket even if I can't use the gloves. After we finish our break, we get back on highway 97 and make the short run to highway 138 that will take us to the park entrance. It's as straight as an arrow and disappears off in the distance.  
 
 
  Jim Medak is coming from about 80 miles south of the park and we have traveled about 220 miles so far this morning. As we come to the highway 232 turnoff into the park, I see a red ST1100 approaching from the west. He just falls right in behind me as if this was all planned. We stop at the entrance and pay our park dues then pull off just inside the gate.  
 
 
 

As I suspected, it is Jim Medak who was going to meet us somewhere in the park. He's a big feller - bigger than me - but I still give him a big hug.

"Well, our timing was better than Olympic synchronized swimming!"

We all laugh at that as we introduce ourselves. Jim will be our 'tour guide' and once again we will benefit from local knowledge. And he is riding the 'correct' bike - an arrest-me red ST1100 just like me - but his is just a little cleaner!

 
 
 
  At one of the first stops, I snap a picture of Dave and Jim with Crater Lake in the background. At least the lake is pretty and the sun is shining ...  
 
 
  Although I have been here before, I can still hardly believe just how blue the lake is, but then it's only source of water is from the snow and rain. There are no inlets or outlets, but it is still the deepest lake in the United States at almost 2,000 feet and the seventh deepest lake in the world.  
 
 
  It is just a visual treat as we make our way around the Rim Drive in clockwise direction. Every vista gives you a different perspective of this unspoiled jewel of the National Park System. Wizard Island is off in the distance, rising up from the depths of the lake's bottom.  
 
 
 

We have plenty of time today, so we can stop at the many pullouts and enjoy the views. I tell the guys

"There's a big old tree that sometimes shows up floating around in the lake. It's called the 'Old Man' or something like that."

But the Old Man is not to be seen on our journey today.

 
 
 
  As I look over the edge, the presence of a boat near the shore gives me a real perspective of just how far down the water is from where I stand. And then to think that the lake's bottom is still almost 2,000 feet further down.  
 
 
  Yet another view looking toward the south of the Lake.  
 
 
  As you travel the Rim Drive you can look out toward the horizon and remember that your are near 8,000 feet of altitude.  
 
 
  From this view, we see the famed 'Phantom Ship' , another island in the lake.  
 
 
  It has spires that reach 170 feet above the water line and it is easy to see how it could be mistaken for 3 masted sailing ship when the dark begins to settle on the Lake.  
 
 
  Also tucked among the views, is Vidae Falls, a delicate cascade that makes its way down the mountainside.  
 
 
  What makes it so amazing is that it is not runoff from the lake and no discernible stream feeds it. Speculation is that there are underground springs, fed by the ample snow and rain fail, that keep it running.  
 
 
  This is another view of Wizard Island, where the blueness of the water is almost surreal.  
 
 
  As Dave stands near the cliff edge to take a picture, it takes a lot of self control not to help him get a lot closer to the water. Just a little push, a little splash, and perhaps a loud scream ...  
 
 
 

At the last stop, I tell Jim

"Well, I'm letting you be the tour guide since you know this area a whole lot better than me."

Being the nice feller that he is, he gladly obliges so we follow his taillights out of the park proper. It's nice for me to be able to just kick back and follow someone else for a while.

 
 
 
  He takes to a nearby place called Diamond Lake, one of the premier trout fishing lakes around. A placard tells the 'story' - at least the 'official' story - of how the lake was created.  
 
 
  It's a beautiful lake, nestled between Mount Bailey to the west and Mount Thielsen to the east. I could see a feller setting up camp and spending some real enjoyable time in the area. With Jim leading us, we would have just blown right by and missed this great view.  
 
 
  Then he takes a road that has a peculiar sign on it. I have to say that this sign appropriately describes the road we are on - it does rock so I figure that must be what it means. I just wonder why they left the word 'It' off the sign ...  
 
 
  It's time for the old man break, fuel and rehydration so we wheel into the Chevron station at Glide. It's getting pretty warm, so we adjust our layers accordingly and munch down a few snacks for good measure.  
 
 
  Almost right across the street is another place that Jim takes us to called the 'Colliding Rivers', where the North Umpqua and Little River meet head on.  
 
 
  According to the 'experts' (who ever they may be), this is the only place in the world where this happens.  
 
 
  Today the rivers seem to be getting along pretty well, but Jim tells us that with the winter flows it gets pretty exciting.  
 
 
  Soon Jim is leading us through some more excellent back roads, full of twisties and sweepers. As we head back toward the main road that will take us to the coast, we pass a large manufacturing facility that seems to be keeping the railroad pretty busy.  
 
 
 

But time is slipping away and we've got to get to the coast and Jim has to get back to his schedule. We are at highway 42 which will pretty much take us on to the coast except for a turnoff at highway 42s. I give Jim a another big hug and tell him -

"Well, if you ever make it to Nashville, the Holler Hotel will be open for you."

He lives nearby up on a steep hill, but tells me -

"You know, it's the same here. You might have to park in town like I do cause of the gravel road up to the house, but you're always welcome."

Once again I have had the blessing of meeting another ST rider that I have communicated with electronically but not face to face. But we're trying to get to Bandon before the Bandon Fish Market closes at 6, so we wave good-bye and we're on the road again.

 
 
 
 

It's a quick 80 mile run to the coast, and Jim's directions where 42S turns off in Coquille come in handy in our little race against the clock. We pull into a Shell station for a quick refueling. Trying to save a little time, I ask the young man tending the pumps -

"Any idea where the Harbor View Motel is located?"

"No, but I'll look in the phone book" he tells me.

But his search is futile, but I appreciate him trying. I know it should be on this road, so we head on up the hill.

 
 
 
 

As I whiz by this sign, I say to myself -

"I bet that's it"

but I don't stop. Thinking better of it, I radio Dave (Andy's radio has long since stop functioning -

"Dave, I think that is probably it. I'm doing a U-turn and we'll check it out."

 
 
 
  As it turns out, once again a place where I made reservations had changed hands and changed names. But this time they have our reservations so we are in good stead. It's a really nice place, with freshly baked cookies that we force ourselves to partake of (we wouldn't want to be offensive to the host), and a gorgeous view overlooking the harbor. The clerk gives us a map of the old town and a few recommendations as to what restaurants are good.  
 
 
  So after we wash off the road dust of the day, we make a quick dash into the old town, hoping to catch the Bandon Seafood Market open. But it's around 6:30 PM and they have already closed up. So we resort to the map that we have in our hands, and decide we'll try the one right down the street.  
 
 
 

Bandon has a pretty little harbor, and it's got some real fishing boats, not just yuppie play toys. The smell of the salt air and all things marine makes for a real appetite. I usually don't care much for seafood unless it is fresh and I am in an area where it is fresh. There's a standard joke back in Nashville where I'm from -

"If the sign says Fresh Seafood that means it was fresh at one time."

 
 
 
  As we wander down the street, we come to one of the 'recommended' places. It appears that it will not be cheap, but my hunch is it will be good.  
 
 
 

Once we get seated, I spread out the maps as we wait for our food. I tell Andy and Dave -

"I'm trying to shorten our route from V.J.'s so we can spend some extra time with Don and Joyce."

My problem is that I don't have a California detailed map and my map shows no shortcuts from highway 1 over toward Yosemite.

"Maybe the hotel will have a map or an Internet connection. I'll check when we get back."

Soon our food arrives, and I clear up the eating space - and the food fully lives up to our expectations. I don't mind paying a little extra for some that's worth it, and this place is worth it. I get a seaman's platter - a good mix of all sorts of fresh seafood - and it is excellent. It's a great meal to end up a great day of riding with great friends - both old and new. With dinner polished off, we make our way back, huffing and puffing up the hillside. Alas and alack, the hotel or the clerk does not have a California map or an Internet connection we can use. So we'll just have to figure it out somewhere on down the road. We all turn in, and it doesn't take long before the somnambulistic music is playing.