A Longer than Average Commute.

First it was optional. Then it became mandatory. Okay by me. I was looking for a place to go for Ride to Work Day. The Seattle area was as good a place as any. My commute to work would end up being a bit longer than average, though.

The optional part was a sort of going away gathering for Erick. He had been a Regional Director forever before moving up the ladder a bit. Corporate rewarded him for his years of hard work by giving him a cushy position from which to wait until retirement. That time had come. Also had come the time to say farewell. Since most of us were planning on attending the social event the Boss decided it would be a good time to get everybody together for a company meeting. Thus entered the mandatory part.

With the meeting scheduled to start around 1:30 PM Elivra and I rolled out about 8. I know, nothing like getting started promptly at the crack of noon. Who says adventures need to start before dawn? Most of mine do, but that's beside the point. There is nothing in the official Guide to Having a Motorcycle Adventure that specifies a start time. On the other hand, the official Guide to Being a Grandpa specfically states that you spend time with the little one(s) while you can.

I tend to ride in 150 mile or so stretches. Somewhere around 175 miles Elvira's looking for fuel, anyway. The plan is tempered by the ease and convenience of certain stops. Like fuel, Starbucks, and a Subway sandwich shop in the same place. Woodland, Washington is only about 110 miles for me but qualifies as a good place to stop on several counts. Including the Starbucks and Subway thing. The bonus is the Safeway fuel station with 24 hour availability as long as you have a credit card.



Since I only needed fuel and a pit stop we moved next door to the McDonald's. I can't understand why this chain is spending so much on rennovations. Seems like their name would draw people no matter what. My only goal here today was to go in the side door and relieve some pressure without having to take my helmet off. A bit easier here than walking all the way to the back of Safeway drawing attention.

North of Centralia is the Scatter Creek rest area. It's not all that much farther North from Woodland. It is, however, the last "easy" stop until I get to the office.



Since I'd be pressing through for the rest of the journey I decided to grab a table and enjoy my lunch feast.



A peanut butter and jelly sandwich takes center stage. I made the sandwich and wrapped it myself. Can't you tell by the way the plastic wrap is so tidy? Fig Newtons, pretzels, and ice water round out the offerings. The sumptious meal is set off by table decorations specially picked for a motorcyclist on the road. As you can see, there is even a table cloth color matched to the helmet. No need for a napkin. If your hands get messy merely insert them into the gloves and nobody will see the food stuck to your fingers.

Unfortunately, due to extensive road construction projects and heavy traffic I was running a bit short on time. I snarfed the sandwich, took a swig of water, threw everything else back on the bike and rolled.

I really love the 70 mph speed limit in Washington. Elvira's speedo is a bit optimistic. Her needle is buried at 80, the GPS indicates 75, and the speed limit is 70. I get to feel like I'm running at a brisk pace while still being mostly legal. Good stuff.

We arrived at the Mothership with 10 minutes to spare.



I do want to share a visual snapshot from the trip up before we go on. It's about a guy on a small scooter.

Here's the setting. North end of the Olympia / Lacy area. Interstate 5 around exit 109 where the big Cabela's store is located. I'm rolling along in the hammer lane but there's a bit of traffic keeping us somewhat slowed. Up ahead in the middle lane I spot a small blue scooter. Little by little Elvira and I gain on the rider. As luck would have it, we end up side by side for a while. Vagaries of traffic and all. The situation allows me plenty of time to look the scooter and rider over.

I'm no scooter expert but I can see it's an Aprilia Scarabeo. Mostly because "Scarabeo" is written in large silver letters across the side panel just under the seat. Plus I know that Aprilia makes the Scarabeo so it's pretty easy to deduce it's an Aprilia Scarabeo. Other than that, I'm guessing. I figure it's about 200cc or so. Maybe 250. I know there's a 500 but it looks big and plush. This thing was small.

Riding the scooter is a thin guy about my height. Short, in other words. The scooter has a temporary permit taped where the license plate would go. The rider has a shiny new full face helmet, a black Joe Rocket jacket with matching pants, and office type shoes below light brown socks. I guess after paying for the rest the boots will have to wait.

Anyway, there we are riding side by side for a while. I look over at him trying to make eye contact. I wave. I wait. He gives me a quick sideways glance but immediately turns his head forward again. Both hands stay on the grips. Unlike me with my cool black Rayban sunglasses, this guy is seeing the world through just a clear visor. Which means I can see enough of his face to figure out what's going on.

He's hanging on for dear life. Freeway speeds. Heavy traffic. 15 or 16 inch wheels on a small scooter with sensitive handling. I wonder if he's a non-rider who's decided to try scootering as a fuel saving measure. I hope it all goes well for this guy. Above all I hope he gets to the point where he starts to have fun.

The vehicle on the left in the photo above is the Boss' fancy SUV. Here he is checking out Elvira and the famous Aerostich Roadcrafter.



I always enjoy celebrity status when I ride up. I'm the "bike" guy. Although the images tend to get a bit mixed up. The Boss calls me Easy Rider which I'm sure he means as a compliment. Although I'm not sure about the birthday card he gave me. A few old geezers on choppers inviting me to join the Older than Hell Angels. Oh, well. Small price to pay for being able to ride for work as much as I'm able.

By 3:30 our meeting was over and we headed to the Lucky 7 Sports Bar for libations and farewells.

You thought there'd be a picture of Elvira in front of the place, didn't you? It would be the one and only, I'll tell you that. Truth be told, I seriously thought about posting one. On the other hand, my last name isn't Weiner or Favre. Nor is my first name Arnold. That's a photo that I just wouldn't want out there no matter the explanation. My bike is kind of unique with the personalized plate and TEAM OREGON Motorcycle Safety program stickers on the back. With my standing in the motorcycle training community I know better than to post a photo that could damage my reputation. Unlike the first two guys I mentioned. Unlike the third guy, I know when to keep things in my pocket, so to speak.

Fortunately the Lucky 7 is in a strip mall so I parked far away. This is all you'll get to see.

I've seen bikes in front of bars and made a snide comment on what they're drinking.

"Sure, they're in there drinking iced tea, right?" Snide wink to follow.

In this case I really was drinking iced tea.

Here's the guest of honor.



The G11 does pretty good inside with a high ISO and slow shutter speed. As you know, the interior of these kinds of places are not brightly lit. The only things "lit" are usually the patrons and the restrooms. Restrooms, of course, need brighter lighting so the lit patrons don't miss.

Seven o'clock had come and gone by the time things broke up. I was amped from drinking iced tea on an empty stomach. Time to head home. For the record, I did have a Plan B which consisted of an overnight kit and a credit card. Just in case.

I have to say I was really disappointed with the HOV lanes this time. On the trip up you know which lane I chose. Unfortunately, it wasn't a rush hour. Still, though, I somehow had the idea that HOV is some sort of secret acronym for a mysterious term that loosely translates to "go fast". Not the case this time. People get into the commuter lane and drive at exactly the speed limt. Don't you hate being passed by someone in the regular freeway lane when you're in the go fast lane? What is it with these people? Self-righteousness? Entitlement?

HOV hours are something like three in the morning until seven at night. Since it was after 7 and the rush hour had pretty much subsided, this lane didn't do me much good. However, I used the lane anyway. After all, riding a motorcycle entitles me, right? I was cruising along enjoying the elbow room. Until I nearly got my ass run over by a guy in a tiny white Honda car. Holy crap! It was surely a go fast lane now but I just didn't have the guts to run 90 in a 60 zone.



What I did have a stomach for was food. It had been over nine hours since I'd shoved any groceries down my throat. By 9 PM it was time. The sun was going down and gave things a golden glow. This is South of Chahalis at exit 72. Just so you know, Mike, there's a Subway at this exit.

It was dark for the rest of the ride. Which adds its own interesting element to the ride. For instance, there's this stretch of freeway below the Kelso / Longview area where a train track runs between the two sides of the freeway. It was really weird to look ahead of me and see locomotive lights headed right at me!

Elvira and I rolled into Portland around 10:30. On the South side of the city we promptly encountered more road construction. Crews are repaving the southbound lanes through the Terwilliger Curves. Three lanes narrowed to two which, in turn, narrowed to one. Who would have thought so much traffic would be out at this time of night?

Stop and go traffic would have been a blessing. Instead, we were treated to crawling along at about three miles per hour. In preparation for paving the existing roadway had been heavily ground and grooved. After working out the throttle hand all day the clutch hand would get a chance to catch up. Tired muscles wanted to tense up. Eyes up. Relax. Let the bike move around on the rough pavement. Just what I needed at the end of a long day. The clutch was never at rest during my constant balancing act. A couple of times I actually stopped and kept the clutch in for a very brief time. Sorry to the person in back who had to wait a few seconds. This is a lot of work. This is where I expect to hear from the scooter riders about not having a clutch lever!

I found myself thinking that a rider without a lot of experience would have dropped the bike by now. Think about it. Riding at a pace that's too slow for the bike to balance itself while being fast enough you can't really stop and get stable. Add in being tired at the end of a long riding day. Fortunately, after a couple of miles, we started heading uphill. I was finally able to let the clutch out all the way and modulate the throttle for speed control. Easier said than done with fuel injection.

After a total of six and a half miles we cleared the construction. This weird thought crossed my mind. Who the heck has to set out all those cones? I will never complain about the cones we set out during a motorcycle class again!



We rolled home at a quarter to midnight after a round trip commute of a bit over 500 miles. The temperature was actually about ten degrees lower. By the time I got the G11 out of my jacket pocket engine heat had begun to seep upwards.

Katie was already in bed when I crawled in an hour later. She immediately rolled over and embraced me. I could feel her relax with relief knowing that I'm home safely. She worries about me but accepts my need to ride. God has indeed blessed me with her.

Thus ended Ride to Work Day. Coming up I'll share something I saw in Salem last night. It caused me some dismay and really shows why we need Andy's Ride to Work Day and other attention to motorcycle commuters. We also need more folks to use their bikes more and be visible. There's a lot of perceptions to correct out there.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Good story; bad photos.

2:05 AM. Exactly four minutes since I had last looked at the clock. People often see something in others that they perceive as a blessing. In actuality those who possess the so-called "blessings" often find them to be a curse. Everything has a price. What has been a long standing pleasure can suddenly turn into a source of pain. Resolve will be tested. A Warrior must either slay the dragon or become a casualty himself. This day would be one wherein all these things will be dealt with.

I have been summoned to the Mothership near Seattle. The man who signs the paychecks is the King of the Realm. When he calls his Knights to the Roundtable all must heed the command or risk being banished from the Kingdom. I am free to roam my assigned countryside representing the King's interest as I see fit. In exchange for such freedom is the agreement. When the decree is issued I must traverse the vast distance without faltering. All Knights are thus summoned. My journey is the longest of those traveling.

These days the Knight is fond of spending evenings amidst the warmth and comfort of the home fire in the company of his beautiful Lady. Thus I chose not to journey North the night before. An alarm was duly set for 2:45 AM with a departure time of 4 AM. It is difficult to contemplate retiring to bed immediately after the evening repast has been enjoyed. Heads hit pillows shortly before 10 PM. Katie falls asleep soon thereafter as is her custom. I, however, do not.

Katie tells me she is jealous of my quick mind and great memory. Most of the time it does prove to be a blessing. Until times such as this. Now I envy her ability to compartmentalize. Cares are shrugged off. It is time for sleep and so she does. The brain that performs so wonderfully during the day turns into a seething monster at undesirable times. When one should be sleeping, the brain conjures up worries and concerns. It floods the landscape with a myriad of other thoughts. A voice says that nothing can be resolved, accomplished, or concluded during these hours. The brain ignores this voice. Instead, the whirlpool of electrical activity intensifies. Eventually it will exhaust itself in its own time. That time usually doesn't coincide with my desired schedule. So the curse keeps me awake when I should be sleeping.

It is futile to stay in bed, so I get up. Soon, coffee in hand, I open the front blind and sit on the end of the couch. It is my cozy cave within the cave. Sitting in the darkness I look out the window and mentally prepare for the trip. Today the preparation has a different and unusual tone. Riding gear is all laid out. There is never any doubt that I will ride if at all possible. The bike and I charge out like a Warrior and his steed, blazing sword raised and ready. Today I feel like my sword is more of a kitchen butter knife.

Creeping clock hands move surely towards the time to leave. I start towards my riding gear then hesitate. My eyes sweep to the small box where the car keys live. Shaking myself, I pick up the riding pants. Once again, I hesitate. I move to pick up the gear and put it away. I am frozen in place. Indecision has robbed me of the ability to move. This feeling is decidedly foreign to me. I try to reason it out.

Sickness is certainly in the equation. It is amazing how a microscopic creature can fell an adult body and leave it weakened for days. Weak in both body and resolve. I've ridden while sick before, though. A lack of sleep also resides on the minus side of the scale. I try to tell myself that I am hesitating out of concern for safety. After all, it is cold and rainy. The distance is 575 miles with half of it coming after a long day of meetings. My arrival home will be 18 hours after my departure. Nobody could fault me for erring on the side of safety. Safety trumps all. Yet, that is not my reputation. Riding safely is important, of course. "Playing it safe" though, isn't always the first card I deal off the deck. It is just an excuse. No, there must be something more.

Eventually the problem comes down to two simple facts. The pull to drive is because I want nothing more than to be warm and dry. The pull to ride is nothing more than stubborn pride. A hardcore reputation is a badge of honor. It can also be like a harsh whip goading one reluctantly along. A pleasure and a pain. Stubborn pride wins out. However, the real test of resolve is yet to come.

We are on the road. The meeting starts at 9. We should arrive at 8:45. Four hours and forty five minutes of riding loom ahead of us. I find myself wishing I had taken the time to wire Elvira for electrics. Previously I haven't cared. This day I do.

I don't really want to know but I look it up anyway. Like something so horrible that you can't pull your eyes away. Before I leave I check the windchill factor on this website. According to the results, the windchill is 19.4 degrees (f) at 70 mph. Chances are good that we will be traveling a bit faster than that here and there but I don't want to know the rest.

Now the brain is playing an interesting game. It checks the elapsed time and distance. Calculations are made. At this point there is still time to go home and get the car without being late. We're not turning back. The calculations continue. My resolve wavers. I'm feeling the cold and it is getting wetter. By the time Mike sees us on the freeway in Portland, we've passed the point of no return. I'm now resigned to the ride but the biggest test of resolve is still to come.

This inner struggle to keep riding baffles me. If I have felt like this before it is long enough ago that I can't remember. It must be the sickness. By the time I roll into the rest area North of Vancouver, Washington I am literally shaking with the cold. Rain has been falling heavily and steadily for the last sixty miles. My Aerostich and boots are fending off the water so far. My helmet, however, has betrayed me. For some reason the heavy rain has found a way to seep inside the top of the faceshield. Cold drops fall across the bridge of my nose and onto the left side of my face. Raising Elvira's windshield helps keep the rain out, but then I can no longer see the road in the dark.

One blessing is that when we are at a low point our appreciation for the small things in life greatly increases. Things we take for granted and pay no attention to suddenly take on such significance. Such was my encounter with the God of Warmth.

Even early in the morning a rest area gets traffic. A few guys entered and left the restroom while I was there. If they thought it strange that a guy in riding gear was hugging a hands dryer to his chest, screw them. I didn't have the strength to worry about it.

Back onto the freeway in the darkness. Incredibly, the rain has worsened. Now I find I can't keep my visor clear without pain. With the shield down the rain covers the outside. Fog from my breathing clouds the inside. I'm amazed my breath is actually warm enough to fog the shield. Warmth has once again quickly drained from my body. Like the enthusiasm of the crowd when a performer is falling flat. I'm forced to open the face shield. This lets in the rain drops that sting my face. Once more I try to hunker down behind the windshield. In the dark and rain I can no longer see the roadway. I need to be able to watch for things like ruts full of water and broken truck tires. Better to feel the sting of the rain than to hit unseen stuff in my lane..

I pass the next 63 miles in a miserable state. I try to tune out the misery while staying tuned into the ride. For a brief moment I find myself hating this ride. What has happened to the Road Warrior who literally laughs and scoffs at terrible weather?

Exit 72. Rush Road just South of Chehalis. 153 miles into the ride. Elvira needs fuel. This is a convenient place to stop. There is a Shell station just past the Burger King. It is nearing 6:30 AM. This photo was taken on the way home. The lighting is the same but the rain had stopped by evening. Burger King offers a warm restroom and hot coffee. A bite of warm breakfast sounds appealing. Much more so than the bagel I had fixed the evening before and taken out of the refrigerator in the middle of the night. The bagel is probably frozen by now. Do you see the theme, here? Warm, warm, and warm.

In the parking lot I spy a familiar car. It is a company car issued to an associate. He lives closer than I. He's only an hour into his drive. He's in the restroom when I enter the restaurant. I order my coffee and breakfast sandwich then sink gratefully into one side of a booth, my wet gear draped on chairs around me. The woman at the counter is the Goddess of Human Kindness. She's told me not to worry about dripping on the floors. The restaurant is quiet.

Tom exits the restroom and spies me. He waves and goes to order his own coffee. Then he slides into the booth across from me.

"You look miserable", he states.

"I'm fine", I lie in a return statement. "It's been a great ride so far."

We look at each other in silence for a bit. Then we engage in conversation. Catching up on kids and life with a little gossip tossed in for spice. It's time to move on and we gather up our garbage.

"Hey," Tom says. "Why don't you leave your bike here? You can put your gear in my trunk. Ask the lady at the counter if they would mind your bike being in a corner of the lot for the day."

I stiffened and froze. There it was before me. The Offer. Like a woman who's knuckle-bitingly beautiful. She's just clearly told you that she is more than willing. The wonderful possibilities crash through your brain like fireworks. God, she is so damn tempting! You badly want her, except....

......you think of your loving wife of 32 years. That promise you made. That thing called commitment. Good times and bad times. Sickness and health. Protecting your reputation. How would you explain it to everyone who saw you stray? Giving in would mean a new reputation. One as a quitter, somebody who gave up when the going got tough. How would I explain to Elvira why she was abandoned in a strange parking lot all day with me being hours away?

The Offer was gracefully declined. Tom shrugged and gave me a "it's your funeral" look. Off he went as I slowly pulled wet gear back on and shuffled back to the bike. Resolve. Stay with what you know is right. It will all work out for the best.

Which is what happened. The rain stopped. A tiny bit of sunshine peeked through the clouds. The temperature went up a bit. As did my mood. By the time we got to Tacoma the freeway was clogged with morning rush hour commuters. Mercifully, the car pool lane was still moving swiftly and I could use it. I saw Tom stuck in traffic by Fife. I waved as I went by. I'm pretty sure his real reason for The Offer was so that he could use the car pool lane, too!

That's The King in the brown long sleeved shirt in the photo above. I really enjoy working for him, actually.

The day of meetings went well. I had a most excellent Chicken Club sandwich for lunch. I hit the road home in the worst of rush hour but I've never been one to be able to just sit and wait for it to clear. I need to keep moving. Or sitting in traffic pretending I'm making progress. The car pool lanes worked just as well in the evening as they did in the morning. Burger King got a second visit for a late bite and some more fuel for Elvira.

Nearing Oregon in the dark, the rain returned. More like scattered sprinkles this time. A signboard proclaiming a wreck on Interstate 5 made me decide to detour around via Interstate 205. Slightly longer but I was ok by now. The Dragon that had weighed me down so mightily in the middle of the night and early morning had been slain. The Knight was once more ready for battle.

All the traffic that detoured clogged up the alternate freeway as badly as I suspect the original one was. Nearing the point where we merged back onto Interstate 5, we were sitting a bit. I took advantage of the opportunity to pull out the G11 and snap a few shots.

I made one last stop at a rest area just North of Albany. I was only twenty minutes or so from home but planned to get fuel once more. I didn't want to be dancing around while trying to fill Elvira. Here's another photo of the bike.

It looks a lot like the one from seventeen and a half hours earlier, just not as wet! Start in the dark and end in the dark.

We arrived home safely. Things have a way of working out despite the chance encounter with dragons and demons. I slept well.

Miles and smiles,

Dan