The morning started out looking good. It showed promise. The promise of low temperatures and rain, but promise none the less. I mounted my mighty steed and waved good bye to weeping family as I headed out. Once on the road my spirits started to soar. I was going Ephrata Washington for a rally. I hoped someone had a map; I had no idea where Ephrata actually was. It was 5:30 in the morning and nothing was going to ruin my ride. Empty highways as far as the eye could see. Nothing to stop me except for that traffic light, and then the next one, and yet another stinking red light. ARRRRGH, this can’t be happening, but it was. All of a sudden on the CB I could here the others starting to talk about where was I. “Have you seen Wayne”, a voice asked.

“No” another answered, “let’s call and see where he’s at”.

I radioed back, ”…that I was coming as soon as these red traffic lights will let me.”

So arriving a bit late at the Waddling Dog rendezvous, we all finally started out on our journey. Off to the ferry terminal we went.

We pulled up to the cashier booth and the first words out of my mouth were, “Hey, you look like a girl named Barb I once went out with in high school.” The reply, “You know Wayne I still hate you for that night”, definitely confirmed that it was indeed Barb. Ah, the memories. We all paid our fares and moved to the front of the line and parked the bikes. Sylvia and Pierino were comparing ticket prices with Guy and Tina. It seems that Guy and Tina managed to get on without paying for their trailer. I guess Barb had been so dazzled by my reappearance in her life that she was too distracted to notice one of the bikes was towing a trailer. I have that effect on women. Anger towards me blinds them.

The ferry ride across to Tsawwassen was peaceful and beautiful. At the buffet pig out all that could be heard was the gnashing of teeth and slurping of coffee. Little or no conversation was attempted for half an hour. After that no one ate again until supper, and a late supper at that.

After breakfast we all huddled around the map to see where in fact we were going and to make a plan. We selected our route and made a plan. It was a good plan. Nothing could go wrong.

As we disembarked I found myself leading this two wheeled convoy. How did I end up in front leading this ride I don’t really know where I’m going? Oh, well when you have the choice of watching the scenery or how much Guys’ trailer bounces, take the scenery every time.

Crossing the border at the Peace Arch was uneventful and only took about 10 minutes and then we were off down the I5. Soon it would be time to implement the plan…as soon as we found exit 275. Which it turns out doesn’t exist, apparently we should’ve taken exit 276. About ½ hour later we found highway 9 just south of Lynden. But not of course until we had an “opportunity” to tour most of the residential streets of that town looking for the highway. I think the confusion came when we found a sign that indicated highway 9 south was directly in front of us and highway 544 east was directly behind us. Now call me dumb if you want but those headings shouldn’t be 180 degrees off from each other.

Once on highway 9 the drive really started to get nice. This road is a truly beautiful drive. It had great pavement and lots of twisties, some tighter that you’d like unless you slow right down, but my word it was lovely. Add to that the gorgeous scenery of lakes and woods, the solitude of feeling that we were the only ones on the highway and you have driving nirvana. As a matter of fact I do believe that if I said “ this is so great!” one more time the others would have knocked me into a ditch. As we continued south the weather was starting to turn on us and we decided to pull over in Sedro Woolly for gas and a clothing change. After all the mountains were to the east and we were heading up tint ‘them thar hills’.

Now as most who know me will state, I don’t usually complain, but the gas station we stopped at couldn’t have gone more out of its way to be annoying if it tried. First, no pay at the pump, second, cash and debit only; no credit cars, and third, NO WASHROOMS! So after scraping together enough Yankee dollars to pay for the gas we moved over to the subway parking lot so we could use the washrooms and to get dressed into cold weather gear. I think that Tina looked the best when she was fully kitted out. Sort of like a bumblebee smurf.

I was still in the lead as we tried to leave Sedro Woolly. It did take a bit longer than I thought it would. You see I was naively under the impression that there would be signs indicating the way back to highway 9. After a while by trial and error and some more residential street touring we found it.

About an hour later were made the turn east onto Highway 2 and headed for the Cascade Mountains. As nice a drive as it was it could’ve been so much nicer if the weather had been sunny. The cold and rain we ran into made our decision to “gear up” earlier seem very wise. The peak at Stevens Pass still had some snow on the ground and this made Tina feel good. Apparently she won’t go to a rally in the summer unless there’s snow involved. Strange but there you have it. After reaching the top we barrelled down the other side of the mountain. The slope heading down was steep and required absolutely no throttle to maintain a 110 km/h speed. As we neared the bottom it became apparent that things were changing, the scenery as drying out, the air was getting warm and our bladders were screaming for relief from the coffee we had drank 2 hours ago. As luck would have it there was a rest stop at the bottom of the pass just outside of Coles corner. The stop was manned by volunteers who gave out free coffee, juice, muffins and cookies. This was most welcomed by everyone. We also took this opportunity to change out of the weather gear since it was now about 25 and sunny. While we were there we ran into a chapter of Wingers from Vancouver also heading to the rally. There was much chatting and bike looking at until they dispersed for free coffee and we headed out on our ride again.

Next stop was hat heaven in a town called Leavenworth. For those that yet to visit this town it is a truly amazing tourist trap. It is decked out in Bavarian Alps theme with artist goods from tacky to fabulous. After some ice cream, and hat modelling we headed out. The next planned stop was for gas in Wenatchee. Wenatchee was busy, it was Friday afternoon rush hour and it seemed that all the gas stations were on the wrong side of the road. Finally we noticed a gas station on the right hand side of the road. We pulled in and dismounted. Pierino was the only one who noticed that the business was actually “Out of Business”. A few more blocks of driving we found a station that was on the right hand side and was open. We gassed up and ate some more ice cream. Hey, you need ice cream to properly operate a motorcycle in those temperatures. It say’s so right in the Gold book.

The rest of the ride to Ephrata was uneventful. We arrived at 6:30 PM. I turned off into my Best Western where there were dozens of other Goldwings parked. Guy, Tina, Sylvia and Pierino headed off to their hotel about 6 more miles down the road. We had plans to meet tomorrow.

The next morning at breakfast I ran into Bruce and Irene. They had made the trip to Ephrata following just the main highways late last night. They covered the entire distance in just 3 hours of interstate madness. Together we headed for the campground just up the road to register for the rally. Once registered we went off to the flea market which was in full swing. Unfortunately there was little left to purchase. Like a garage sale, you have to arrive early.

There were no activities planned until the evening so the rest of the day was ride as you wish. This evening was the dinner and entertainment at the local community centre, and then back to the campground for campfire pies. Bruce, Irene and I had no idea when the others were going to show up so we headed off to buy some discounted bike stuff at the local (15 min ride) Honda Shop. I managed to pickup a mud flap and some summer riding gloves. Then we decided to head off to Grand Coulee dam for lunch. This is a spectacular ride through a mini” Grand Canyon” past rivers, lakes, dried up waterfalls that are (were?) bigger than Niagara Falls. Halfway up to the dam we met Guy, Tina , Sylvia and Pierino halfway back from visiting the dam. Closing at 240 km an hour we zipped by each other and then before you could say see you at supper, were out of CB range. We finally arrived at the dam itself. A massive structure that just cried out to me…HAVE LUNCH YOU’RE HUNGRY! So we ate at a lovely little place with a lovely view of the dam that had, as it turns out, very bad chilli.

Not much else happened that day unless you count the time my bike fell over when I stopped at a traffic light. It was a very strong and nasty gust of wind that started it and I just couldn’t hold the bike. After about 5 seconds on struggling to hold the 800 plus pounds of bike it fell on its side. The guy in the truck behind me was very helpful in getting me up and going again. He even apologized for take so long getting out of this vehicle and not helping faster. Folks, that’s small town friendliness.

That night the meal was apparently good. This author didn’t get to go because they were all sold out of tickets by time I got to the rally. I did sick around for the entertainment however. I decided to walk the 8 blocks from my hotel instead of riding because the skies were a frightening colour and the wind was a howling. The entertainment consisted of the local tap dancing troupe tippity tapping their way across the stage. The dancers were of all ages ranging from kids as young as 4 up to and including adults. After the entertainment the crowd broke up and went back to the campground for campfire pies. The secret I’m told to a campfire pie can only be revealed to those who attend the rally so don’t expect me to elaborate. But if you rally want to know how good they are just ask Irene. I think she ate three.

Sunday morning was the day of the poker run. It was a lovely trip through the agricultural areas around Ephrata. The highlight (?) for me was the lovely smell of a dead skunk in the middle of the road and the industrial strength sprinkler that covered most of the road we were riding on. I saw quite a few bikes get nailed with a jet of water. Also of note was Bruce’s milkshake. It was a full hour before it thawed out enough for him to drink it. By that time we had made it to the end of the run and were eating sundaes at Dairy Queen.

After the 50/50 and door prizes were drawn (I didn’t win a thing…how unusual) the only thing left was to head out for the buffet supper. I don’t remember the restaurant name but it was all you could eat steak, ribs, chicken, tacos, pasta, salad, etc. We shoved as much as was humanly possible down our throats. The someone said we should try out the dessert bar. We did…’burp!’ After adjusting the shocks on our bikes we rode back to the hotel for a good nights rest before a long ride home the next day.

The planned 0800 departure left sharply 15 minutes late. Heading north into a grey day we experience a bit of rain but nothing uncomfortable. We stopped for gas a bit early in the town of Okanagan so we could replace a burnt out headlight on Pierino’s trailer. Then up into the mountains again. When we pulled over for a photo op Tina asked, “Where’s the rest of the road?”
Bruce replied, “Look up, look way UP.”
I’m not sure of the next words out of Tina’s mouth but they certainly had Oh my… at the beginning and …God at the end.

Onward and onwards we climbed into the cold forested hills and then…down, down, we drove. Into a rain that shaved you as you drove. We came around a sharp bend in the highway and VOILA! it’s sunny and hot again. It happened just as we arrived at the Diablo Lake lookout. Coincidence…maybe. A few miles later a few suicide jockey on a herd of crotch rockets went screaming by. Comments of morons, idiots and the like peppered the CB. A few miles later on we saw one of the herd that hadn’t made around on of the corners. The police and ambulance were hauling him and his bike out of a ditch. The rider on a stretcher. Not much left of the bike either. The rocks on the side of the road were all quite large. Once past that cheerful event we carried onto the I 5. Here we merged seamlessly into traffic and showed all those automobiles that we were a force to reckoned with. At least that’ what we told each other as we white knuckled it down the multi lane madness that is the I 5. We made a quick last stop for ice cream (I told you its mandatory) and cheap American gas and headed off to the border.

Crossing the border was an no-event unless you include that fact that I laid my bike down on its side. Once again it wasn’t my fault. The customs agent asks for my license plate number, since I didn’t know it he told me to pull ahead a bit and he would get it himself. Coming to a stop I put my foot into a nice puddle of oil and WHAM I’m on my side…again. My knee hurt for a few days after that. All the customs fellow said was “Have a nice day.”

Once in Canada we headed off to the Tswassen ferry. Bruce and Irene left us at this point for a dinner date in Vancouver. The rest carried on to the ferry terminal. After a leisurely ferry ride (no buffet this time, but we did have ice cream) we disembarked at lovely Swartz Bay. As we drove up the Pat Bay highway bikes started to peel off to their homes until it was just me again. After a few stinking traffic lights I pulled up into my driveway and there was my family to greet me with tears in their eyes.

Tears of Joy…I hope.