Google mapping says it is 318 miles - about 5 hours 24 mins (what do they know about my Trusty Triumph and old bones on the bounce?). I figure a stop about every fifty miles to stretch legs, stop the motion, the bike will go a hundred and fifty miles on a tank without hitting the reserve - unless for some strange reason I am doing 85 mph or more (Dakotas do that to you). I normally travel at seventy to seventy-five. When I am tired I will stop and nap about forty minutes, 40 winks? No one wants to mess with a motorcyclist - no telling what he is carrying concealed - he rides a bike and wears leather (danger, danger!). Probably stinks, too.
So I ride out of the evening commuter traffic around Auburn, and then into the mountains and passes and some speed. Rolling, rolling, rolling... first stop North Bend where the little birds pick dead bugs from the grills of the automobiles. Coffee and a wrap. Ride out and the lowering Sun is behind me, reflecting brightly into my eyes from my mirrors, sigh. Then it gets dark enough to remove sunglasses - the mountains and the tall trees provide cover the elevations starts cooling everything. As the stars come out the chill comes calling, I put on the chaps and glove liners and begin to wish I have one scarf or handkerchief to close the opening to wind whipping into my jacket. Find exit 137 and Highway 26 to Pullman. Through the night, some rest stops have no one manning the coffee machines, sigh. I will complain on my way back. Get some sleep anyway I can.
Dusty has a really odd type of gasoline in the night system for credit cards and receipts, interesting, must be awake enough to read and follow the instructions - wouldn't work for drunks. On to and thru to Pullman, turn properly towards Moscow and ride into Idaho along the way. I could take off my helmet here - but it is still cold, and I have seen the scratches and scrapes on my helmet that I never wanted on my head. I, being a man and still in the dark - look at that beautiful rising crest moon over Moscow!- ride around looking for the church, the 1912 building and the streets they are upon... West 3rd street is the same as East Third Street - they are east or west depending on which way you are facing not which side of Main Street you are upon. Late night early morning reasoning malfunction - too tired to notice. I find a place to ask for directions, and three very kind helpful folks get me oriented right (I just hadn't gone far enough beyond Washington and Adams streets - and if I got to Polk it would be too far, yes, he was a President, too). Also while riding into the rising Sun I cannot see the signs with the names on them. Did I mention I am cold and tired? Go to the laundromat for warmth! Open 24 hours.
I found it! there are people prepping for photos. The bride is smiling, Patrick and Heather are happy to see me - although Patrick shakes with his left hand since he doesn't want me to re-break his right arm (I am not that strong, but one could wish). I will say no more about the wedding, the ladies and lasses were all beautiful, the families abounded, the smiles were all real, the laughter gentle and loving. Coffee and cinnamon roll reception calls! Why? because I don't get a real chance to sleep until I get back to homebase... I become tight buddies with five boys which live like cousins, nicely dressed, very active, happy and polite - I think they are perfect companions in my old age. In discussions about cinnamon rolls I am aware of a little sister, who will be a stunner when she gets older, that informs me her brother is only seven, not seventeen nor seventy. The brother tells me that he has met his mother's cinnamon roll limit. I can carry on since I am hungry.
I am properly introduced to Tim, brother of the groom, seventeen and worth noting - although my brain is on cruise and I make some silly remarks about shooting better. Another day perhaps? I am introduced to many people, polite but wishing I had more time to talk to each they all have stories. Still, this day is about the couple and everyone's well wishes. With friends and families that have come to celebrate and support the only wrinkles in the wonder will come from the couple - as I once had a young paratrooper tell me. He never really knew his wife until he married her. They had grown up on the same street, gone to the same schools and dated for years. I being married a good many years know that I KNOW NOTHING about my wife - just that I love her, and that works for me. I toast from afar, and watch the cutting and sharing of the wedding cake and it has become time to ride back into the West. While the Sun shines, I had enough cold for now. I wave good bye to my fine young friends from the back of my Trusty Triumph. Imagine, polite, active, and smart young people - and the young ladies were beautiful, the young families were wonderful and the older firmer folks were foundation material most solid - a piece of America that didn't make the news today - although they are what will last and grow.
I want to move faster than the Sun, but won't, it is after eleven hundred, and Washington is a few miles down the road, then another three hundred home. Wind will whip me, and try to whirl me into a dance with it. My battery is worn down, I stop in Dusty again get something to drink and eat and tell the counter lady I will go sleep beside my cycle, she promises to wake me if I am still there when she closes up. I won't be, in about forty-five minutes I wake and hit the road again.
In the night I had smelled fertilizer and in the daylight I watch the large irrigators watering the crops, many kinds of crops, lots of solid animals, this is rich country. And mostly flatter and the wind whacks me silly, have to push against it - and going about seventy something I create my own also. No matter what that boy said about me not being a fat man - I am not aerodynamic.
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