jeffconlin.com - "The Trip"

Early in the morning, Barney and I destroyed a six pack while watching TV (turns out the storm front I danced with produced a ton of funnel clouds, but no touchdowns)

That is to say, I had two beers, Barney had 1/4 of one that I had to finish for him, and the rest went into the saddlebag.

After a solid 8 hours of sleep (yay! another time zone change - free sleep!), I had a free sausage biscuit and orange juice and hit the road. I decided to scrap the idea of going near the Black Hills (YEAH! FREEDOM!) and make time for Colorado. I didn't think I'd see much, so Nebraska did a good job of surprising me.

Thanks to last night's cheap beer, it wasn't long before I needed a rest area. I was in the middle of nowhere on a little used county route, but Nebraska's reputation for incredible niceness proves itself yet again.

As I got further west, more interesting terrain began to reveal itself. On one county road, I noticed a gravel/sand road with a very interesting payoff. Why not?

Realizing that the road went the wrong direction entirely, I turned back around and resumed my way down CR-88, finding a cute, simple home with a great view that tempted me to end my journey right there.

A little further down, I was fascinated by the color of the sunlight on tanks at a roadside gas claim. I didn't notice the "KEEP OUT" sign until I left... honest.

Someone's trip ended right here at these crossroads.

An old friend of mine who is now in Denver offered couch space if I wouldn't mind taking part in pizza and movie night with his kids. Sweet!

The scramble over to Denver had some good moments caught on the crappy 3MP camera that I would have loved to show you, but the camera flew out of my hands at about 85mph and exploded into a few pieces on I-25... as it was supposed to do, I guess. But now here I am with one of the most incredible riding days possible in North America scheduled for tomorrow, so I think I'll have to replace it.

On the way in to Denver, I stopped at Ft. Collins and checked out the New Belgium Brewery, makers of one of my favorite beers (Fat Tire).

I got there about 5 minutes after they closed, but I met Jen and Alison.

They were on a trip similar to mine, and in the process were (no shit) making a book of photographs of people all over America jumping.

But with the brewery closed, there wasn't much more to do than jump, and... it would probably get old. For them.

Made it to Willie's place in Littleton right at sunset, and found a spot next to a pretty cool flat black old school bobber.

CC offered me some Hello Kitty pez, but I was more hungry, so we had pizza and watched Spider Man, then took a five minute drive to the family's favorite little spot for a Colorado initiation.

As soon as I woke up, I walked over to the Meta-Wal*Mart down the street from Will's place and got a replacement for the road camera. Found a surprisingly nice 6MP Samsung that can also do video for $90. Welcome to the future.

I got some advice from Will on his favorite places... as well as my cousin who grew up there. For the most part, though, I realized that... its Colorado. Just go ride.

So figured I could do Mt. Evans (highest paved road in North America), then swing north to Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain Nat'l Park, then back down to I-70 and out to my aunt and uncle's place in Collbran. And off I went.

The road to Mt. Evans starts out innocent enough, but soon you go above the treeline. Then your mind explodes from the view. Then your mind literally explodes due to the lack of oxygen. Sea-level Easterners should be warned of both.

After getting to the peak, a 12GS pulled in behind me. Met ADVer "Belg", who is also from the DC area and was spending his summer out riding as well. His main goal in Denver was seeing Rush at Red Rocks that night. We hiked to the peak swapping stories trying not to pass out, all to get the mandatory...

I think I had just beat the tourist push, and had the road largely to myself for the descent. At the base, I pulled into the lodge and saw two old shop customers there on rental GSs (who were also there for the Rush show). One was the national winner of the BMW giveaway last year, who promptly put his RT up on Craigslist like any smart person would do.

Having a social morning in the middle of paradise was cool... but it was already getting past lunch time. Also, spending that extra time, helmetless, on a sunny summer day, I could already feel my face glowing red.

I made my way north towards Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain Nat'l Park. In this part of Colorado, everything is tight and twisty, even I-70 and US-40.

Out of curiosity, I checked the GPS's ETA on my arrival in Collbran. 11:30pm. The house in Collbran has been closed up since winter, so I'll have to turn the electricity back on, refill the water tank, take out all of the storm windows and insulation, let the place air out... maybe Mr. Chatty needs to re-think his plan.

And now here's the point where all you naysayers can have your moment of smug self-satisfaction.

At this point, I began to feel actual stress for the first time ever on this trip. I got a voicemail from a good friend in California who just started riding. He just wrecked his SV650. He had been taking it slow and had good safety gear, etc... but he says the bike's in bad shape and he's pretty banged up, too. Then I realized I have to be available at 9am tomorrow for a call from my attorney in VT about this unfounded, overblown speeding ticket, and Collbran is far from phone coverage. Then I started thinking about the trip budget (its not in crisis mode, but it is getting to be more expensive than I thought it would be), and how I still have to find an apartment in Seattle and nail down the job, and fly home to pick up my car and drive all the way back again. And.... blah blah blah blah.

I scrapped Rocky Mountain Nat'l Park and headed west on US40 towards Kremmling, then to CO134, then CO131 back down to I-70. It started out as long straights with the occasional sweeper, then turned into beautiful, perfectly twisty, perfectly paved roads... great views... no traffic at all. I found a rhythm in those curves and spent about two hours just dancing with the Strom. What stress? It's Colorado, just go ride.

I merged back onto I-70 with the GPS suggesting a more reasonable arrival time of 8:30pm. Feeling better and better. Then I hit Glenwood Canyon. Good Lord, Colorado does slab right.

Once the evergreen peaks started getting brown and flat, I knew I was close. The sun was going down and making exaggerated shadows everywhere. The GPS was suggesting I go all the way down to CO-65 and take CO-330 into Collbran, but my map showed a nice little thin squiggly line making a more direct route. Score! I got off of I-70 and headed south.

I this is my absolute favorite picture of the trip so far. The exposure, the reflections, the composition... I couldn't do that again if I tried.

The sun was down over the ridge now, and the sky a brilliant pink and purple. There was a nice 3 mile gravel scramble up to the "neighborhood", and they have a rocky 1 mile driveway. I've never been here before, so I'm glad I had a little bit of light left to see my way in and take care of the house chores. By the time I got the lights on and water pumping, the sky had almost gone out. After a microwave burrito and a shower, it wasn't long before I was out, too.

8-10-2007
DAY 25 & 26 - CO - 7450 mi total

Morning in western Colorado.

Around 8 I saddled up and began the search for cell phone reception for this 9am call from the attorney. At 9:30, I finally got a spot on I-70 with coverage. The attorney is understanding enough, but it turns out the referral service goofed and she's in the wrong county. I spent 3 hours on the phone by the side of the interstate talking to three attorneys, as well as getting advice from a friend retired from the Maryland State Police (my shop serviced their RT-Ps).

Luckily, I didn't have a plan for today because it would have been scrapped by now anyway. I rode over to downtown Grand Junction, and found lunch at the Rockslide Brewery. There I met the giant but soft spoken Harley ridin' postman Ogie (OH-gkee), who looks exactly how you think he would with a name like that. I ask what day it is, "The 9th."

"No, I mean what day of the week."

"Oh... its a Thursday. Must be a good ride, huh, man?"

He tells me I'd be really missing out if I came this far and didn't go down to Ouray. I was thinking about it anyway, but you just have to trust a guy named Ogie (and a place named Ouray - though I've been mispronouncing it like Thaddeus Venture's Ooo-Ray). The slog down US-50 was less than interesting, but what a payoff.

Rather than stopping in Ouray to take in the quaintness, I kept south on 550 to Silverton. It wasn't a quick route... lots of gravel from construction, and plenty of tourist traffic... but the views were incredible.

Red Mountain stuck out on the landscape like a literal sore thumb (as did the piece of dust on the sensor of the camera - I'll Photoshop all of these later)

There were plenty of GSs, Stroms, KLRs, and KTMs out there today... Ogie mentioned a dual sport trail connecting Ouray to Telluride, but it was already mid afternoon and I wanted to do the Grand Mesa Forest roads going into Collbran, so I headed back north, but picked up CO-65 from Delta, stopping for dinner in Cedaredge and a view from the ridge that really shows the variety of terrain in Colorado even in a small area.

climbing through Grand Mesa NF, looking south

About 19 miles of cow-strewn gravel twisties were the perfect end to the day, slowly climbing up into the beech and pine forests at sunset, then rapidly dropping into the brush and dust of Collbran once darkness hit.

I would like to buy a drink for the engineer who designed the V-Strom's headlight system. Two H4s with a sharp, clear projection and wide spread... there's really little need for aux lights on that bike.

Speaking of buying drinks, I was a little charged up from that run, so I stopped by the tavern in Collbran for a drink or two before calling it a day. The local ranchers here celebrating someone's birthday, and figured the little guy in weird Cordura should be part of the party. I wound up getting two beers, two shots of bourbon, and two Jagerbombs paid for. When I didn't flinch, they backed off and I was their buddy. But I politely excused myself and rode the extra two miles home before it all hit.

I fell right to sleep at midnight, then woke up at 3 thanks to the Red Bull in the Jagerbombs. Couldn't fall back asleep until 6am, then woke back up at 10.

So I took today off... sort of needed to anyway for mental clarity. Ran some errands in Grand Junction (including having a Suzuki tech listen to a knocking sound the Strom makes at idle... he thinks, despite it being rare, it could be the main bearing but is 'fairly certain' its nothing to worry about right away - here is one place where BMW trumps the Japanese... getting to the crank on the Strom requires dropping the engine and splitting the cases... no fun), made some phone calls, got the rest of my life in order, now I'm heading back to do some laundry, close up the house, and try to get some good sleep tonight, then take off early for Utah tomorrow morning.

Unfortunately, the road-camera's memory card got corrupted at some point this evening. I had some amazing shots on the stretch from Ouray to Silverton and back. Hopefully I can salvage some of them when I get to geek-friend-heavy San Francisco.

8-11-2007
DAY 27 - CO, UT, NV - 7994 mi total

Woke up bright and early, closed up the house, and was on the road headed west by 8am. I thought of taking CO-65 south over Grand Mesa (as opposed to the darkened gravel Forest Service trails I took the other day), but after three days of the grandeur of Colorado, and with so much to do in Seattle, and so many friends to catch up with along the way, I've more or less switched back from sightseeing mode to mile-eating mode. (That wasn't supposed to almost-rhyme). Also, I want to come back to Collbran now that I have a key... so I want to leave some things for next time.

Anyway, I went straight onto I-70 via CO-330 (which I can do with my eyes closed now), but decided to get gas in Moab and see at least a little bit of good stuff. UT-128 gave me a good primer in Utahdom... starting out simple, but getting better and better around every turn.

I love this little patch of twisty perfection :

UT-128 - hot damn! Look at those curves!

So I got a ridiculously overpriced breakfast in Moab, refilled with gas, and headed back towards I-70 on US-191. I wanted to check out Arches, but like Grand Mesa and the Colorado Nat'l Monument, I decided to leave that for next time. Back onto 70, but this time looping down UT-24 to ride through Capitol Reef. Not bad!

I wanted to stop for a drink of water and a quick stretch, and saw a pulloff for "Gooseneck Trail".

I love this one. (Where's Strommo?)

Then it was back onto UT-24 towards Torrey to pick up US-50.

I stopped for gas, and picked up a 2.5 gal aux can just in case... there was a constant 25mph headwind fighting me for the last few hours (and the urge to go 100mph while surrounded by nothingness), cutting my fuel economy from about 40 to 33 mpg.

There's nothing here.

Nothing.

While stopped, I met a vanload of people who were just wrapping up a month living off of nothing but the land in the Utah desert. They were all very tan, very thin, and loudly celebrating the fact that the gas station had Ho-Hos. I swear, there were tears. Still, an interesting idea for a vacation.

Anyway, nothing.

More nothing.

Something.

a lone bluff on US-50 near the NV border

... and its gone.

I pulled into Ely, and decided the headwind had beaten me down enough. There was a KOA in town... all the motels were booked, except one. The guy was willing to deal on price and I got a nice double room with wireless and free breakfast for not much more than the KOA.

After meeting the survivalists, I feel ultra-wussy... especially since I've been camping a lot less than I thought I would be on this trip. But when camp fees are $25, and a decent room with internet access and free breffest is $40... hey.

I went and took a walk around Ely with my pocket cam. Looks like a hot-rod show just wrapped up.

There were plenty of Harleys in front of the big casino with the phallic mascot (go figure)

... and I found a surprisingly decent italian restaurant. Chicken picatta, garlic bread, two glasses of pinot grigio, and interesting conversation with the transplanted Canadian waitress who is finishing her masters in fluvial geomorphology.

Tomorrow, I'm aiming for a beeline to San Francisco. This trip is almost over.

Bah.

update :

Woke up to the sound of inbred, throttle-blipping, straight-piped ass-jewelry enthusiasts getting gas across the street at 6am. Yay.

Took a shower, repacked the bike to get a little more organized, then raided the continental breffest. Shredded wheat, peanut butter on toast, hard boiled eggs, and bananas. Word.

Decided doing US50 to I-80 was getting a little carried away. I've only used the interstate for about 1/8th of this trip. US-6 south would put me right in the path of Yosemite. Much better idea.

Unfortunately, I was still in eastern Nevada... so the first 200 miles of the day were more of the same... though this was a fun surprise out in the middle of nowhere.

Shortly therafter I came across the most disturbing place on earth.

Then it was more of the same for another hundred miles or so.

I completely missed any sign notifying me that I was in California, but the turnoff for CA-120 popped up, and things finally got more interesting. First, some hills, some turns... then I came over a ridge and saw trees! TREES! Well, almost.

but it looked like the fire was small and well contained, and then I saw real trees!

and water! beautiful, precious water!

I pulled off at Lee Vining to laugh at $4.59/gal gas and grab a quick lunch. Glad I got that spare gas can... and luckily even though the winds were still strong, the Strom's FI system is flexible, and as you would expect, higher altitudes yeild much better gas mileage.

Back onto CA-120 and approaching Yosemite's border. Trees, water... and now snow? Its paradise.

I came to the fork in the road for CA-120 and CA-140... pulled off at the in-park gas station. Wound up next to a group (another '03 Strom 1k, FZ-1, new KLR... and I forget what else) of very cool guys from San Jose who were on a 3-day getaway. They said 140 is worth doing if for no other reason than that's the classic view of Yosemite most people walk away with. CA-41 would give a better view, but would have me going south out of the park, and would take longer to come around. Seems like 140 is a good compromise. I followed them down, then they split off for 41 and the southern Bay Area. Sure enough, from the floor of the valley looking up at these monstrous peaks is an unbelievable experience.

early 60s Vette out of the tunnel in Yosemite

I switched to my ultrawide lens on the Nikon to try to frame the two major peaks, but it only wound up making them loook smaller.

The surprisingly trusty pocket cam did a slightly better job.

this picture can't possibly give an idea of size

I've been posting small versions of the pics on this trip in the name of bandwidth, but it does a miserable job of giving a sense of just how breathtaking some of these views are. CA-120 isn't quite as unbelievable as Going-To-The-Sun in Glacier, but the accessibility of it (only about as far from SF as Shenandoah is from DC) is impressive... as are the views of the peaks from the valley. These are the closest I could get to even remotely giving an idea of proportion.

Yosemite was definitely the right choice today.

Leaving the park, CA-120 continued to be a lot of fun as it descended from 8,000 ft town to about 2,000 ft at Priest Grade. One thing that was amazing was the courtesy of the drivers towards motorcyclists. On the east coast, people are scared and/or resentful of riders, but it manifests itself the same way : when a bike is behind someone, the car driver starts going even slower, gets more skittish, and drives even worse, putting themselves and everyone else in danger... then they go tell their friends how some crazy motorcyclist almost terrorized them off the road.

Californians not only seem to actively understand accept that motorcycles have a simple physics-backed advantage on tight turns, they don't take it personally, and happily accomodate! While the road was marked as 45mph, some corners had cars going 10mph. Any time I would get behind one, they'd pull off and wave me by with a smile. Even on the downhills, every other outside apex had a wide dirt shoulder. Amazing!

Slowly, I reentered civilization. Made my way to a very congested, construction-delayed I-205, and headed west into the sun for I-580, passing the fascinating, controversial, (and old-tech) 5,000 turbine Altamont Pass Wind Farm.

I've spent my entire driving life on I-95 and the DC and Baltimore Beltways, but after 8,500 miles of mostly rural two-laners, it took me a few minutes to get back into that multi-lane high speed interstate mindset once on I-880 into Oakland.

I pulled into my friend's neighborhood in Alameda just as the sun hit the water. Upon arrival, I showed Bob, Krista, and the world my snazzy new ventilated boxiefs (thought I was wearing shorts today, whoops), and within 15 minutes I had a glass of wine and fantastic dinner, caught up with Bob and Krista, and spent time with their cat (who has a secret crush on me for years).

Then the good scotch came out... and the night ended quickly. By the time I woke up, Bob and Krista had both gone to work. Heh. Work.

two things I like : sleep and motorcycles

... but first, tying up some loose ends.

I forgot to mention when I was in western Colorado that a truckload of coyotes screaming outside your window at 3am is scary as hell when you're only half-asleep.

There may be others. Keep watching this space and I may edit.

The view from the Bay Farm Island Bridge crossing into Alameda proper.

The cool-guy unicyclist on his way to work. Who am I kidding, he doesn't work.

Sugar emerges from hiding to say goodbye

Friggin' beautiful R100RS in San Francisco. #69, "America's Naughtiest"

NO! NO! NO!

As much as I despise replacing chains and sprockets... I think I'm gonna start doing that myself. What's wrong with this caliper?

...which then leads you to 'What's wrong with this hydraulic line?'

... which then leads you to 'What's wrong with this hose bracket?'

once stretched, the bracket hit the header

California's all talk.

On the way back from a day in SF, I took the BART over to Oakland, then picked up the AC50 bus back into Alameda. No big deal, its just public transportation. Its not like I tried to buy heroin at midnight or anything.

Halfway into the trip, the bus driver, who was spending the whole time chatting with a friend on her bluetooth headset, started to pull away from a stop as an elderly woman was still slowly trying to exit the back door. Everyone yelled at her, and she snapped back. That caused a loud, very effeminate man sitting across from me to do a neck-jerking, finger-snapping, oh-no-you-di'in't give and take with the driver that dragged on for about five minutes.

At first it was just really funny. That ended quickly. The longer the bus sat still, the more I couldn't take it. So the bus driver was in the wrong and wouldn't admit it, but she had the damn key. Lamar Latrelle (anyone?) was just trying to get home like everyone else, but he loved his drama. Every time she'd approach the driver seat, he'd say something under his breath and it would all start up again.

Now I'm the only white guy on the bus, but that's not important. What is important is that I'm also the only east coaster on the bus as well. All 5'7" of me stood up and yelled at Lamar, "Shut the f*ck up and let her drive the damn bus."

Total silence on the rest of the bus while the two just looked at me as if I grew a second head.

Lamar slowly says, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm angry, I'm tired, and I'm f*cking hungry."

And that was that. We got back into traffic with lots of mumbling from the rest of the bus, including the requisite, "Daaaamn! That white dude crazy!"

Lamar retreated into a quiet conversation on his cell phone where he called me a "Johnny Quest lookin' motherf*cker" to one of his friends. I was proud of that.

Things don't really seem to ever just GET DONE in California. No one's in a hurry, no one wants to move on. That's the essence of east coast life.

I was up early today anyway, trying to get out of here right at the end of the morning rush. As soon as I get out of the shower at 7am, my phone is ringing. Its my insurance company telling me my bike has been recovered.

Huh?

I go outside, and its there, as is a total central-casting Alameda cop who has already opened up my topcase and is going through my documents.

"Someone reported this bike was stolen and was left here for a week."

"No sir. Its mine, and its been here for only two days."

"Two days? I doubt that. Son, I don't know where the hell you're from but its a very bad idea leaving something like this just sitting here, especially with all of this valuable stuff on it." (then tries to open one of the Jesses - which is totally illegal)

without trying to sound like too much of a dick, I say, "I'm from a place a little worse than 'Bay Farm Island', sir. I appreciate your concern, but there's nothing wrong here. Have a good day."

"Listen to me! I don't know what you're doing here or when you'll be going, but you should really re-think the way you do things!"

What the does that even mean?

I thought I had de-stressed myself on this trip. Hours and hours of just thinking about nothing, letting more of my angst fall away witih every dotted yellow line...

No, I'm still a cynical bastard when I need to be. I guess its just who I am. I imagine it will come in handy in another liberal-guilt-wracked city like Seattle.

so I am sitting in a restaurant on North Petaluma, my bike at a Suzuki shop on the other side of 101.

this morning, just before leaving Alameda, i gave the chain a quick adjustment. i realized it was the first since its installation by Ellicott City Motorsports last month.

well, i should have left well enough alone. turns out the caliper was never returned to its secure mounting bracket on the swingarm, and the only thing keeping it in place was the over-tightening (total whanging) of the axle bolt by their air gun.

I took 580 out to Marin and was on my way over to CA-1... something didn't feel right, but I couldn't say what. On Lucas Ranch Blvd, I came to a construction flagman on an incline. I put my foot on the rear brake to hold the bike steady, the pedal didn't budge, bike moved back about a foot, i felt a metal on metal smack, and sudenly I smelled burning brake fluid. The caliper had spun backwards, all the way around the swingarm, and took the hose with it.

I managed to loosen everything enough to get it here and the shop is re-setting the caliper, replacing crush-washers, and hopefully the hose will hold... its barely 1000 miles left.

grrrrr.

So I've already covered the fun with Wednesday morning's visit from the Alameda PD, as well as the rotating caliper issue. Once the rear brakes were given the OK by a certified tech, I finally got rolling north. I headed over to the legendary PCH/CA-1 by about 3:30pm and hoped to at least get a little bit of time.

Luckily, three years ago I was able to take the PCH from Oakland down to Santa Maria and back, so its not like I was missing out on its inherent greatness if this time fell through. This picture summed up the whole trip.

But, no... despite being a little stressed out by the delays, I found a little piece of CA-1 heaven this time around as well, and the angst began to disappear... this time north of SF, in Jenner.

While pulled over to take this picture, I met up with a great guy from the UK who had rented a brand new CBR600RR in San Diego and spent the week going up through the Sierras, then down along the coast. Possibly the perfect US riding trip when all is said and done, at least for the cost/benefit value.

Unfortunately, I realized that it was pushing 5pm, and I was still at the very bottom of my Northern California map. My hope was to be close to, if not past, the Oregon border by sleepytime. I found the next closest connection back to US-101 and hoped it wouldn't be completely boring.

It was not... in fact, it was amazing.

Stewarts Point-Skaggs Springs Rd starts out as more or less a paved singletrack trail... a ribbon of asphalt that jumps up, down, left, and right between old trees and over small creeks, snaking its way from sea level up into the hills for over 50 miles.

About 10 miles into the rollercoaster, I got a surreal jolt and a quick laugh.

The road occasionally widened out to a well-marked two laner, but then abruptly narrowed with no markings and snaked around more hills.

Did I mention that before all of this, I was really disappointed by how badly the day had been delayed? As is usually the case in that kind of mindset on a trip like this, here I was on a road I wasn't even aware existed, a road that I didn't even want to be on, and I was having the absolute time of my life, with no one else out there to slow me down like they were on CA-1.

Eventually, the road matured into a very wide, well-marked, perfectly-paved series of twists and turns up over a few large hills, then down towards Lake Sonoma. For the first time on this trip, I was experiencing sustained footpeg drags through turns (why on earth is the left peg feeler so long on the Strom anyway? Well... its not now)

US-101 was only a few miles away. After a quick refueling, a stop for new earplugs and a quick bite to eat, I took a long hard look at my position in relation to where I wanted to be. It was possible to follow 101 up to Eureka for a little more coastal exposure when I got north... but in the interest of time, cutting over to I-5 and making my way to Yreka would guarantee me in Seattle by Thursday afternoon. As much as I wish this trip could continue indefinitely, I've really been feeling the need to get the rest of my shit in order. I-5 it is. Hopefully this connector will be just as good.

CA-20 wound up being a beautiful little travel road that hugged Clear Lake - a region of California I'd never heard of but reminded me of all the small resort towns along the Great Lakes and even some of the larger rivers in the south. Between towns it was twisty and scenic, then it could cut through a small resort community. Either way, it was interesting.

The sun went down fast over the coastal range, and darkness came by 8:00 or so. CA-20 eventually flattened out into farm country and joined up with I-5. The temperature was fairly low on the coast, but warmed up towards the central valley, but only briefly. By the time the sun was completely set, I had all the layers I packed on at once, and it was still a little chilly.

However, I was determined to make it to Seattle by the end of the next day, which meant I at least needed to make it to the border tonight. XM in the ears and a fresh tank full of gas... I had my feet on the rear pegs, and my elbows bent aggressively as though I were in a full tuck on a cafe racer. I held an almost-ludicrous pace through the central plains, then was surprised by just how hilly and jagged I-5 can get through Mt. Shasta.

At just five minutes after midnight, I pulled into the parking lot for the Yreka Motel-6. They had one room left, and I had just started to shiver. Perfect.

Zzz.

I got a solid, uninterrupted 7 hours of sleep, and returned to the road with a light breakfast in my stomach by 9am.

The day was misty and cool... I didn't take many pictures of I-5, but it is significantly more of an interesting ride than its coastal counterpart to the east thanks to major elevation changes, and significantly less traffic.

9 hours of determined interstate later, I was entering Seattle's fabled rush hour. Not nearly as bad as I thought, really. The major backup was accident-related and not simple congestion.

About 15 miles south of Seattle, there was a very clear, vivid rainbow guiding me in (didn't come out quite as visible in the picture, but it was there)

Soon after, I got my first glimpse of the downtown skyline.

I cut through downtown to skip some congestion on I-5, and was able to make it to Ride West to catch the entire administrative staff. Not sure what they made of a complete stranger pulling in on a filthy Suzuki talking about his 9500 mile journey, but luckily I had my great friends Omar and Colin there to help with the context.

Here I am at the finish line, with Colin (no stranger to the cross country Baltimore to Seattle moto-move) behind me ready to guide me to a burger, a series of crappy local beers (Oly & Rainier), a ridiculous cast of characters, and a fantastic evening to aid in the transition from being alone, homeless, and roadborne to being in my new hometown.

But before we hit the town, I parked the Strom with Colin's stable, and we cracked open a surprisingly good bottle of Maryland wine.