20 A DAY ON BALD MOUNTAIN

Sonoma Valley and the Pacific beyond

NAPA- A DAY ON BALD MOUNTAIN

(Or-One Of Mussorgsky’s lesser known compositions)

Job Creep

There’s a common term in architecture -job creep. It refers to a situation where you make a service offering to a client for designing, say… a small addition to a church facility. You contract for a scope of work; say 200 sq.ft.of new facility add on. Estimate the cost at $40,000. Sounds simple and easy enough. You quote a fixed fee of $2400. This sounds reasonable. Right? Such a fee would allow a typical architect to spend, say 100 man hours on the work.

You get started. There are Meetings with regulatory agencies. Meetings with church groups. Donors increase the budget and space, a size increase is necessary. Staff member quit in your firm and the substitute employee must be educated into the nuances of the project. Members of the congregation don’t like the looks. Redesign required. A gift of steel framing from a local sub changes your glu-lam framing to steel. Re design required. Fundraising is slow. Requires a cut back -. Funding is slow. The project waits a year. Start-up and recycle; changes to the design is required. Bids come in high but church wants to continue on faith; the money will come. Rains cause delays. Funds don’t come in as planned and quality cuts are required. Quality is questioned by the retired builder on the committee. Meetings. Meetings. Meetings. Project is complete but donated furnishings aren’t fitting the space. Building committee thinks you should share in costs for the fix. The man hours have soared to 500 hours and there is no end in sight. This is job creep.

Job creep is the consequence of bad communication. Sondra believes you can never over communicate. She works hard to prove it.

Sunday morning. We had been to an engagement party the previous night.  Life was good. Mellow. Alex was at work on his boat dashboard having acquired some new instrumentation the previous day. Heather doing laundry. Jerry just lazying around.

Heather and Alex live in a lovely neighborhood. Sondra and I, on previous visits, have taken walks through the neighborhood to the end of the street. The street ends at the Napa River. Houses along the way are beautifully detailed and landscaped. Among them the Fisher house lies along a canal/cull de sac that runs perpendicular to the river. I call it the cove.

 I thought it might be nice to walk the three or so blocks to the river, look at the landscaping, and, perhaps take my water colors and paint a bit. I had contemplated a vista on my last visit and knew just the place to set up. After all, tomorrow I would be on the road again. An easy day would be good.

I suggest to Alex and Heather, “Let’s go for a walk”.

Great idea! The household springs into action. Heather is outlining the options; Alex is on the computer looking for opportunities and routes. (I will say at this point, Alex has now sponsored several outings on our behalf, and they have always greatly exceeded our expectations. Alex would be a great tour guide should he choose to give up medicine.  He could also be a great boat builder.)

Alex focused on a hiking trail. Bald Mountain. A 10K hike. Low difficulty. Dogs are allowed on the trail. We’re off for the day in the jungle cruiser.

I will also say at this point, I expected my tour of the west to be physically demanding. I trained for months to be in respectable shape for the possibility it might become physically challenging. I did weights and cardio work. I should have trained harder.

Bald Mountain is a part of a range that separates the Sonoma Valley from the Napa Valley. The mountain is actually more like large rolling hills covered with grass and clusters of trees. There are places that may be too steep to walk up, but most areas are suited for hiking. We walked along a fire road, working our way to the summit. Mountain bikers passed occasionally. The maximum climbing angle was perhaps 25 degrees.

Back in my jogging days, I developed a breathing pattern that was unusual. I would double inhale and double exhale. I read about it in a Jim Fix book on long distance running. (Jim Fix is the one that smoked,  jogged, and wrote books on running until one day he died on the track. Heart attack. I knew my pace and breathing was a concern when Alex commented to Heather that he regretted not bringing along some Coumadin.( I was expecting him to say more water). He seemed relieved for us all to arrive at the top together.

From the top of Bald Mountain, looking to the west you can see Sonoma, clear to the Pacific. Looking east, the Napa Valley. North ; more mountains, to the south is a valley that divides Baldy and another summit. The valley alternates grassy meadows, and rugged terrain, tree filled drainage basin. The basin is around a wet weather creek.  Meadows and basin are laced with hiking trails. We chose to return downhill along one of the trails. No map for guidance. I’d brought Zumo along. One of its chief claims to fame is that you can’t get lost with a GPS.

The downhill paths were challenging at times. Varying in steepness, Rocks and slippery grass. At times we were lost in the irregular terrain, but confident that water, and waterways flowed reliably downhill, and would emerge into known territory. We also had Zumo.

As the day wore on, the water was the first thing to go. Late in the afternoon, I received a concerned call from Sondra. While I fully expected her to offer to call Chuck Foster to see if Napa was within the Washington/Skagit County rescue area,  she chose instead, to reprimand me for failing to answer the phone timely. She couldn’t understand my heavy breathing. I referenced the pant, pant, blow technique learned from Lamaze classes .

Heather says she never takes a map on a trip. She studies the routes on the computer then relies on memory or GPS reckoning. They crossed Europe that way. We had crossed several paths, and, path markers. She thought she remembered some.

  By this time I thought it was time to eliminate the guess work. I pulled Zumo out of my pack.

So, what does GPS really tell you? : Direction? We’re heading into the sun. Mid afternoon, that would be south-west. Altitude? We are somewhere half way down a mountain. Bearing? Yep, we know exactly where we are. Satellite accuracy to 3 meters. Yep, we are 16 miles from the Fisher house and 7.33 miles from the nearest Starbucks. So, where are we?  We follow Alex’s guidance and trust the drainage channel will come out in civilized territory.  It did.

We arrive back at the jungle cruiser. Tired.Thirsty. Convinced the route was twice the distance and 10k meant vertical rise. A park ranger is warning us dogs aren’t allowed on the trails.(I’m thinking, “Why didn’t she come up the trail in her jeep and escort us out four hours ago?”)  We assure her we will not take the dog on the trail. Alex had been encouraging me along by promising margaritas. It was time to take him up on the offer.

Looking back, its easy to see that communication was the issue. In my mind we were going out for a three block cruise on city sidewalks. In Alex’s mind, well look at my photos and see his vision. His was better, but my bones ached all week from job creep.

Along Bald Mountain trail

Breaking out of the trees into grassland

I harken back to civilization

The elete of the Tahoe-Truckee Ski team take a break

Moto must have taken this one as I was surely in the lead

Sonoma Valley coming into view

Trail feature

Reminds me of movie _Amber Waves of Grain

Trees and meadows

Down the path less traveled

Pathfinder says STAY THE COURSE then rescinds himself thinking he sounds too much like George Bush

Trying to assure myself this is a path

19 The Isaiah Compromise

Watercolor from Fisher's Deck toward the community cove

THE ISAIAH COMPROMISE

I cruise into Napa late in the day Thursday, June 6th.  I’m looking forward to seeing Heather and Alex, although they aren’t expecting me until Friday morning.

I’ve just been through some great grass and live oak covered hills separating the Sonoma wine country from the Pacific, and traveled along the Old Napa Highway into Napa itself. Those aromatic eucalyptus groves along the road. The maps are put away and I’m traveling on strategy my friend Bill Johnson , from Carrolton , Ga. (They live on Hog Liver Road) once exclaimed, (as our map blew out the window in the German Alps back in ’72); “I’m flying on “end stink”. The evening rush hour traffic in Santa Rosa in the heat was a bit stinky also. I was ready for the day’s end.

The exit and local streets are familiar; Moto and I motor our way right up to the door. No U turns required. No stopping for directions at the gas stations. Too, bad, because I had been looking for a nature break since Santa Rosa.(I will clarify here that there is a strategy I call the “Isaiah Compromise”. It goes like this: My self delared grandson, Isaiah, at 3yrs old, would play outside when visiting our farm, and procrastinate running indoors to the bathroom until he had an accident. I’m thinking, hey, we’re on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Why does he need to find a bathroom? The cows are letting loose fifty feet from us. “Isaiah, drop trow, buddy.” Isaiah now gets in occasional trouble on the preschool yard. Mama blames Jerry.

Actually, the Isaiah Compromise has worked well before. On lonely mountain Highways you can go minutes without seeing another car. I‘m doing the math, lets see, its been 2.5 minutes since the last car came by. ..I just hop off. Let Moto stand interference. If a car comes by, I just smile and wave. Pretend I ‘m adjusting the luggage.

Apparently, State Troopers assume most bikers have radar. They will send a hello blast as you meet or even if you are stopped, say to take photos. I stop to ponder the Isaiah Compromise. A car passes by, I wave. It’s a California State Trooper. He gives a hello blast on the radar. I waive a second time. It seems  to be a workable strategy.

No one home. Door locked. Darn, I didn’t plan for this to happen. No problem. The Isaiah Compromise is the order of the day. Heather has bushy palms in the back yard. Im over the fence. Slipped and fell. Look up to an unlatched gate nearby. Guess Im more anxious to find the palms then I first thought.

It seems every neighbor on the cove chooses Thursday evenings to work on their boats. I’m waving and smiling, they’re not so eager to extend the friendly greeting to a stranger dressed in biker’s gear that has just vaulted the Fishers fence and is laid out in the flower bed.

I’m now doing the math. Explain to the neighbors; 15 min. Get on the bike and find a station; 15 min.  Act like your Heather’s father wearing biking gear and just fell out of the sky. Walk up to the back door, slide it open and go in like you own the place. 2 min. What is the probability of the door being unlocked? Say, one in a thousand. I’ve done the math. Like the odds. Door slides open. I’m in. I wave to the neighbors again.

Gleason Beach-preparing to turn inland

A favorate place-Mendocino

Old California Capitol-Benitia, Cal.

Benitia Capitol Host

A different type of historic battle ground

Drydock, Alemeda

Tahoe Truckee Ski Team-Touring old San Fran headed toward a celebration

Golden Gate from Sy's Deck

Bay view from Sy's deck

Meeting one of San Fran's Painted Ladies

18 Tsunami

 

Tsunami

The Pacific coast takes the threat of tsunamis seriously. They should. Since 1812, seven years after  the return of the Corps of Discovery, there have been fourteen destructive waves hit the coast. On Dec. 26, 1964, as I matriculated at Drury College, now Drury U, (where I teach part time), Crescent City, Cal. was hit by devastating series of waves that destroyed their waterfront town and killed eleven people. To date, this has been the only city in the mainland USA to have taken casualties. The twenty one foot wave, caused much of the destruction as the backwash dragged people and property into the sea. An earthquake was the cause. In 1930 there was a 20 ft. wave that hit Redondo Beach.

 That same year, one hundred people died in Anchorage, Alaska from a killer tsunami. A tidal wave 100 ft. high crossed Lituga Bay, Alaska. It was generated by a landslide. 

There are serious efforts at public education on the subject. The beachfront hotels keep evacuation instructions next to the TV Guide as well as the Gideon Bible, thinking guests will surely be reading one or the other. Apparently it upsets some guests so much, the hotel that I stayed in offered to return your room fee if you are unhappy after reading the warnings. For distant earthquakes that generate waves that can allow for time to evacuate, there is a high ground route. Travel in orderly fashion. For local earthquakes and landslides, drop everything and run. There’s no time for warning.

This is significant, because it helps explain why you cannot travel Highway one continuously. Why the interior Highway 101 was built. And why the roads are always in repair. It also helps explains the many warning signs, evacuation routes, and elevation signs that are ever-present when you drop down into beach areas.

Warning signs makes Motochicleta uncomfortable.

So, Moto and I dropped down out of the clouds nearing Pelican Beach, near Crescent City. We had been through some beasties, not twisties. It rained, it fogged.  Suddenly, a beautiful ocean opened before us. We pulled off onto a cinder paved shoulder to take some pictures and absorb the ambiance. The fog would close, then, open again. I could hear seals.

You may wonder what makes Moto so smart. It’s the Zumo 550 GPS that is direct wired to him. Together they function just like HAL in the movie, “2001”. Remember that one? HAL was the computer that thought for the space ship. Dave was his targeted victim. Good morning Dave. Dave. D  a  v  e.

Sometimes I can identify with Dave. This is what Zumo does: Serves as an onboard GPS giving direction, location, speed, time, altitude, map route. He yells at me when I get off track.”Turn around at exit XYZ!  He can find a gas station and tell how far or give the shortest route to get there. He can find retail, food services, shopping, or any Starbucks in the area. Whatever you need, Zumo knows. (I book my hotels, motels, B&B’s through Zumo. I had booked the motel at Brookings Beach near Crescent City, this way). Apparently Zumo shares all information with Moto.

 Zumo also controls communications. Call me, I take through my helmet. I get Sirius music and weather reports the same way. Zumo also warns me of speed traps, although, he needs practice in this area.

I kick down the kickstand and wonder off to find the barking seals. The terrain is steep but manageable. Can’t shoot from the saddle. The fog rolls in. I’m destined to get some washed beach wood in the lens in lieu of that be a seal barking in the fog. Its hard to tell for sure. Maby a sea lion. I’ll wait for the fog to clear. Mind wonders.

I’m thinking about some of the advice columns for touring, rules of cycling on the road. “You keep the motorcycle in gear on the side stand; neutral, on the center stand.” Or is it the other way around? What was that crash? It sounded terrible. I hope Moto hasn’t been hit by an errant truck in the fog. I’m high tailing it back to the proud steed.

Here is the scene. Moto, laid out, handlebars downhill, rear view mirror laying some fifteen feet away. Zumo, screaming in my helmet; where’s the damn radar, anyway? It’s like the soundtrack in the movie Jaws. Da-dum, da-dum. I get closer, Moto’s kick stand is pointed awkwardly, straight up, like he’s trying to call my attention to something. A sign… a tsunami zone. Da-dum, Da-dum.

Now, I’m not saying Moto took a dive. And Im not too proud to say I’ve taken a fall on Moto.(I was once on my way to Pittsburg, Kansas. We were having the grand opening of the Tau Sigma Delta Fraternity House our firm had designed. I pulled up to a gas station and flagged a farmer down to ask directions. Opening my face mask so he could hear me my foot, slipped and ka-boom, me and Moto are laid out horizontally on the ground, me still in the saddle like I was riding sideways. The farmer’s eyes were as big as saucers. Really, what do you say at a time like that? Which way to Pittsburg? )

So, here I am, needing to pick up a 600 lb. bike, loaded with 150 lbs of luggage and 50 lbs. of fuel. I knew I could get it up, I’ve done it before. (I saw a 120 lb. model lift a 800 Lb. Victory Cruiser back on its wheels one time); legs and leverage, Legs, and leverage.

Moto’s not cooperating. Almost like, he’s resisting. Zumo screaming, “Da-dum, da-dum”. The sign says were in a tsunami zone.

It’s times like these that build character. I would have a cigarette, but I don’t smoke. Never, have. But I still get those cravings. I could wait for help. Then, again, no one needs to know that a man of adventure spills his bike in the middle of the parking lot. I know the feeling of trying to explain.

One more try. Legs and leverage. Eventually, Moto stands proud.

I’m exhausted. I look for Zumo. Sometime during the struggle, I guess maybe I tossed him across the road to shut him up.

 Maybe its time to get off the bike and do a watercolor for a while.

Finally, California

Hyw 101 in the fog

Along Hwy 1

Along Avenue of the Giants

Changing Trees types

Eucalyptus grove-smells great!

Feeling good after muting GPS

Nearing tsunami zone

17 Oregon- Beauty and the Beasties

Check out the wheels-3000 miles across the US; peddling down Hwy 1

Above is friend Bo Zoeller  from the Netherlands. He travels by this unusual bicycle. He is also traveling the Coastal Highway.

BEAUTY AND THE BEASTIES
Astoria is the first town south of  Cape Dissappointment along Highway 101. It’s in Oregon. Astoria is a beautiful town laid out on a mountainside overlooking the Mouth of the Columbia and Pacific. You may remember Governor Arnold’s  movie; “Kindergarten Cop”? Many of the scenes were filmed in Astoria.

Astoria was also hometown of a friend and neighbor of ours, when we lived in Atlanta, Peggy Oaks. Peggy was a beauty. Peggy was a modern woman. (Remember the song Woman: W-O-M-A-N?)  That’s Peggy; attractive, capable, home remodeler and home maker, nurse, Vietnam vet.

The last time Sondra and I saw Peggy was at an AIA Convention in San Francisco; in the mid nineties. We were taking a taxi together, deep in conversation when the Driver, looking back in the mirror to Peggy, interrupts with “That’s Giorgio you have on isn’t it? All the high class hookers are wearing it”.

Wham!

Peggy once told me the Oregon coast is fog, rain, and trees. Believe it.

I traveled south on the Pacific Coast Highway; Hwy 1 when possible. At times I had to route slightly inland to Hwy 101. Highway 1 has the historic views. But it was originally a logging road. Tsunamis and erosion has interrupted the continuity of the road. To travel south requires accessing both routes at times.

The Pacific coast features alternating mountains plunging into the sea, beaches, parks, and small towns in the low areas between the mountains. When the fog breaks, it is truly beautiful and mysterious. The mountains hold evergreen rain forests. ((Oregon is still the heart of the logging industry.)(If you don’t think they’re still taking trees, look at the photos of deforested areas.))

The mountain highway is characterized by switchbacks in the mountain coulees, sheer cliffs at the ocean edge. To see the grand vistas, you must pull off the road. There is little or no shoulder. It’s still a logging road. Trucks are as frequent as other cars.

The bikers challenge is to assemble moments of intense concentration with glimpses of astonishing beauty; stringing them together into enjoyable moments. I’ll set the stage:

Certainly there is the fog; especially in the highlands. There’s rain. Hey, it rain forests. There’s the twisties , at times, more single lane that double. There are the logging trucks. There are groves in the pavement worn by the trucks. There are the trenches filled with asphalt patch creating 30” wide paved strips on each worn trench. (The patches stand, at times, an inch above the pavement). The patch strips form a trench between the strips. The effect of trenches is to throw the front tire, and bike, from side to side.

The weight of the trucks put a tremendous load on the shoulder of the road along the cliffs. Engineers call this a surcharge load. Combine with the natural actions of erosion, the road and shoulders occasionally fall away. Maintenance crews are quick to patch the crevices. They are extremely hazardous. Patches are done quickly and often.  The consequent is a rough and slick oily road condition. There are not always guardrails at the edge of the cliffs. There are signs to caution motorcyclists to proceed with caution. Thanks. I call the twisties in the mountain areas “beasties”. The experience is beauty and the beasties.

The scene I’ve presented isn’t totally true. Out of the mountains are the towns, the people, the beaches with their own grand beauty (when you can see) and, at times, glimpses of the sea life; sea lions, seals, whales, turtles, and such. You can hear them a lot more often than you can see them. The public accessible parks are located in the lowlands. Most hotels are located in the lowlands. There is a downside to this Shangri-La’s. They are in tsunami zones.

Along hwy 1-Highway in the sky

Along the beach

could hear seals or sea lions

Dunes beyond

Shoreline beauty

Experiencing the moments

View from the cockpit

Shoreline color

Pacific near Seaside OR

on the edge

oregon coastline

 

Along hwy 1-fog in the highlands

16 Cape Dissappointment

South penninsula at mouth of Columbia

 CORPS OF DISCOVERY-CAPE DISSAPPOINTMENT

The south bank of Columbia River is essentially the state line between Washington and Oregon.. Near the mouth of the river on the Oregon side is a small peninsula with lighthouse; Cape Disappointment.

 My erroneous assumption has  been that Cape Disappointment was named by Lewis or Clark to express some frustration over having failed to establish a water route from east to west. It was in fact named in 1788 by a ship’s Captain John Meares who gave it the title after he failed to find shelter in the bay during a storm.

Further,I have always thought that once Lewis and Clark managed their way into the Columbia River Basin, life got easier. Put canoes into the Columbia and let its powerful currents do the work. Arriving at the mouth of the Columbia, Lewis hoped to link up with British fur trading ships, whose captains would welcome the great adventurers and carry some, and their collected bounty back to the east coast by ship.

Visiting the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center was my last stop on a series of visits to the Lewis and Clark Route that began (for me) several years ago in Hannibal, Mo. I’ve visited several historic points heading up river including St. Genevieve, Saint Louis Arch Museum, Kansas City, Cedar Rapids, Ia., and Sioux City, Ia., and, Sioux City, South Dakota. I regret missing the South Dakota experience as the Yellowstone, another great River, intersects the Missouri there. I picked up the Missouri River trek in Great Falls, Montana, on this tour, and have passed on and off the trail to the Pacific.

Once on the Columbia life improved for the boys. However, it was a rag tag corps of 32 souls that launched hollowed log canoes; first into the Clearwater, then the Snake, and finally the Columbia River, before rapid passage availed itself.

They left the Missouri Breaks in mid June, 1805. By August they found themselves slogging up the Jefferson, exhausting themselves  dragging the canoes over shoals. (A great disappointment was the iron frame boat they had carried from its foundry in Harpers Ferry, Va.; designed especially for this shallow stream portage; when finally wrapped in hides and stitches caulked with tallow it had been launched and had failed.) They did find the Shoshone, had acquired the horses, and set out to conquer the mountains.

They met heavy September snows.

The corps had again exhausted itself and its supplies crossing the Bitterroots, the Rockies, and the Cascades. (These mountain ranges  frame the Columbia basin). Although they had followed a well known Indian trace, early snow and storms obliterated the trails. They had worn, or traded the shirts off their backs to tribes as they progressed on foot. When they came out of the Cascades, they were starving and exhausted.

They found a Nez Perce village at Weippe Paririe, a summer camp ground. This very likely saved the expedition. They traded for and ate dogs, deer; salmon, dried roots, and berries.

On Nov. 11, 1805 the corps arrived at the five mile wide mouth of the Columbia. They arrived at the height of a storm that lasted for days. With winter approaching, they allowed themselves ten days to survey, explore, gather samples, and find signs of trade, or ships. They found no ships. Returning home required passage over the trek they had so painfully achieved. Until the return, they had to set up and survive winter quartering at the cape. The Interpretative Center outlines the time spent at Cape Disappointment.

  They had achieved much of their mission. They had failed on two goals: the overland route by water, and fence-mending with the Sioux.

This expedition was the great catalyst for Jefferson’s vision of expansion committed through the Louisiana Purchase.

1805-1905-2005; Our Nation is so young.

Cape shrouded in Mystery;As Lewisand Clark must have seen it.

Tidal area

View from the Highway

Old Fort behind Interpertive Center

15 Throught the Olympic Mountains

This is a view of the Olympic National Forest where Moto claims to have seen a PAtroll.

THROUGH THE OLYMPIC MOUNTAINS

Remember trolls? You know, the Grimm Tales? Three Billy Goats Gruff type trolls? Like the ogres that hide under the bridge then jump out and demand ransom before allowing passage?  Well, Moto insists he saw one as we turned south on Hwy 101. In fact, he insists he took a photo of one as we cruised along. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I left the Fosters, returning down that beautiful Chuckanut Drive, merging with Hwy 11, passing oyster beds and marshlands on an inland route looking across the bay toward the Anacortes Islands. I then caught Hwy 20, crossing through Deception Pass headed for the Ferry to Port Townsend. The landing is near Fort Casey on Oak Harbor Island.

 I stopped by the National Park on Rosario Beach. I’ve included a couple of pictures, one is of the terrific wood sculpture there. This sculpture in memory of development of the bay. There is an old Indian story with every historic plaque. Another sign says the bay was “over loved” by the traffic of visitors wanting to experience its views. The consequence was the permanent loss of the starfish for which the area is known.

Crossing the Bay was an adventure in itself. It took nearly a day. Passage takes about thirty minutes. Getting on the Ferry that runs every ninety minutes was the hold up. It goes like this: Arriving at the landing I am confronted with an, oh, maybe two mile queue of cars waiting to load.( I’ve been seeing all these signs that say call ahead for a ticket.) Hello. No way. I look for a land route. The Olympics are on a peninsula; right? I follow Hwy 20 on. Twenty leads me on a fifteen mile loop. I end up back where I started.

I wise up. Stop at the local tourist information office. Maybe they can call ahead for me a ticket.(Nice elder lady. Volunteers on Sundays.) Yep, it could be tomorrow before you get on. The excessive traffic is people returning to Port Townsend from the mainland after church. Could go to Edmonds, 32 miles on south. That ferry is less busy.

 I go back to the landing.

Amazing. Coming from the opposite direction I’m through the ticketing queue and second motorcycle in line for the next ferry. I talk to a couple of other bikers who come up behind me. They are headed for Prot Townsend for a day’s outing. The man, from Great Britain, works at Boeing. In computer programming. The woman is an engineer at Boeing. We stay together on the crossing and have a good travel chat.

Moto is testy along the way. Wakes make him fear falling over. Im concerned about it too, as he rocks back and forth on the kick-stand. Even worse, he’s paranoid about piracy. Reminds me of the pirates boarding ships off Somalia. Senses piracy. He thinks crewmen may be a party to a raid. Said he saw a sign when boarding. The sign said “take everything. Including their combs” or something like that.

 I go back to my new found friends.

We make the crossing uneventful. (The captain did have to do a five blast warning, and then cuss a small boat pilot, over a loud speaker.) Moto’s senses turn out to be good. Just wrong place, wrong time.

I leave Port Townsend on Highway 101. (This is a milestone as I will either be on 101 or Highway one, for the next 1500 miles:  Highway One is the Pacific Coast Highway. A tsunami wiped part of it out in the 80’s. Hwy 101 was built more inland. I move in and out along the coast as the reconstruction permits.) (This represents the second leg of my Great Adventure: Traveling the Pacific coast from Canada to Mexico.)

 I spend the night in Port Angeles and enter the Olympic Mountain Range the following day. Near the settlement of Forks, I turn south. It is significant because this is where I am at my furthest point west. (Bellingham was my furthest point North).I have a king sized breakfast there and celebrate the milestone with the locals.

The Olympics are forested mountains. I cruise through tree covered mountains then break out into great vistas of the Sound, then the Pacific. While there are twistys to negotiate, they tend not to be so sharp and vertical. That’s good because it allows more time for enjoying the scenery. Except, the scenery is lost in the fog and rainforests of the northland. Did you ever see the movie “The Thirteenth Warrior”?  From the Michael Creighton book “Eaters of the Dead”. Or Stephen King’s “The fog”? Both movies are located in the fog. So was I.

 

 I was noting the condition of the deforested area after the trees are removed. I expected there would be some level of clearing and grubbing after the removal of the trees. It looked like a junkyard for celluloid parts.

Suddenly, out of the fog, he was there. I had no choice but to heed the finger that pointed me to pull over to the shoulder. Moto’s senses had been right. Highway piracy. A PA  (Public Appointed) troll.  “Highway Patrol” for short. Those trolls hide in remote, concealed locations, they seize the unsuspecting motorist. Demand ransom.  In my view,It’s a way of gathering additional revenue for the state. Arkansas wrote the book on it.

Here is the scene. Twisties for the last hour. 25 mph curve. 45 mph curve. 30 mph curve. 60 mph straight of way. Curves, straights, some straights 60 mph, some 55. There has been 15 minutes of continuous curves, I come to a straight, and the last speed limit I remember was 60, I’m accelerating up to 68. The only opportunity to speed up for miles. Most people would. That’s where the trolls come in. Human nature is the weakness. Profit for the state is the consequent. (There is literally no one else on the highway for miles. I go 30-40 minutes without seeing a car. This is not a safety risk).

He U turns and comes up from behind. I have to pull over on a steep incline. Too steep to get a kickstand down;  on a gravel shoulder. I have to hold motto up with leg strength. The PAtroll. Comes up and begins to say something about thirteen miles an hour over the speed limit; I have a serious infraction that my license plate is partially covered by the plate cover….I can barely make out what is being said. The radar is finally going off, I have ear plugs on to block out road noise. I signal “cant hear. Take off my helmet. The PAtroll steps back in shock. Grey hair was not what he expected.

He’s changed position and attitude. Safety is now the primary issue. A 40% increase in motorcycle accidents, many older men reintroducing themselves to cycling…. Bottom line: citation for infraction, 10 mph over speed limit; ( a gust of  wind at you back on the highway can push you  ten miles an hour over the speed limit before you can decelerate); judge will decide whether points accessed based on driving record.

Thank you officer. Have a nice day.

 Welcome to Washington Temporary Road Operators Largess Licensing system. Troll system for short. Arkansas is much worse.

Waiting for the Port Townsend Ferry

Ready to get onboard

Moto misreads a sign

Moto watches the suspicious vessel beyond

Leaving the port for the mountains

Straits into twisties

Rossarrio Bay

Wood sculpture at Rossarrio Park

Olympic Range in sight

Breaking out of the forest

Limited visibility of Puget Sound

More fog and rain

Diet failing

Turning south at the most westerrn point on the tour

Celluloid junkyard

Washington beauty

End of Document

14 A visit with the Fosters

Meet the Fosters

 

And then, theres Chuck

I VISIT THE FOSTERS

About friendship:

I once told Sondra the trouble with having friends is that you have to talk to them.

That pattern of behavior drives Sondra crazy. My base nature, when it comes to love ones, appears to be “Out of sight, out of mind”. I didn’t choose this. Sondra thinks is part of an introverted personality. It’s who I am. It allows me to take adventures away from home and love ones.

I have lifelong friends, like my friend Vickers. I last saw him, what, five years ago? He called at Christmas a few years ago. After our conversation, Sondra asked why I didn’t communicate with him more often. I responded that he knew if I needed him, I would call, and if he needed me, he would call me. I guess I see one of my roles in relationships as being there for the other, when needed. That seems to be my role position with family and friends. We communicate to monitor whether everything is OK.

We also communicate to share experience. We learn or gain motivation or encouragement in sharing. Like, my son-in-law Alex works to enlighten me on the virtues of thinking like a democrat. If Alex had known my Grandma Hagerman, he would see the futility. Somewhere in the dialog, love gets exchanged.

It’s hard for introverts to communicate and express love. My dad’s method was to express love by doing things for others. That seems my inclination also. But, there are times when asking your friend to leave a message on the cell so you can hear their voice just isn’t enough.

I’ve had my friend Chuck Foster on my mind for some time. It had been several years since I had talked with him. We worked together at our old firm PPH. Chuck was a partner there as well as a friend. We had worked together as team members on many projects; our families had celebrated good times, and cried during the bad times together. And there were bad times. It’s nice to have friends you not only love but respect. It was past time for me to see an old friend.

The Fosters live in Bellingham, Washington. Looking across the bay from their home you can see Limmi Island, a part of the San Juan Island group. There is also whale, submarines, gulls, eagles, and other ocean creatures and features.

When I arrived, Ginger, Shane (The younger), and Shaun, were the welcoming committee. Chuck was biking, hiking, climbing, and skiing Mount Baker. Ginger showed me the house and grounds, helped me with my laundry, oriented me to Skagit County, and shared what had been happening the last few years. Interestingly, she remains well informed about and has strong ties into Springfield activities.

 Shaun took off for an overnight lock -in at church. Shawn is a high school sophomore. The following night Shane (fifth grade) left us to go fish with friend. These boys are delightful, intelligent, and well grounded.

I wanted to understand what would pull this special family away from the Ozarks to relocate to one of the most distant locations one could travel from there and still be in the U.S.  Certainly quality of life is one. Access to a mature, upscale, downtown community that has already done the “New Urbanism” identity is an asset. The home with a grand view of the ocean is another. Diversity of commerce is stimulating and creates a series of unique environments; Presence of dot.com industries, naval, submarine, and coast guard operation centers, the piers, the wharfs, the marinas. Plants and foliage grow and thrive at a much more massive and lush scale that the Midwest. As an importing site, the fresh fruit and vegetables from the Washington interior finds its way there and is readily accessible.(I politely deferred the fresh fruit binge the second time).  Climate is moderate. The mountain and their related outdoor activities: skiing, hiking, canoeing, kayaking; all are less than an hour away. The activity level of the community and the great place to raise the boys is great for an active outdoor oriented family. Friends like Troy Beck, relocated at about the same time the Fosters did, and are nearby.

But I think the fundamental attraction is that Chuck finds challenges appropriate to his capabilities in living there. Chuck is a man of many dimensions. An architect, accomplished mountain climber, an outdoors man that continues (As does Ginger) to compete as a tri-athlete. He manages an emergency mountain response rescue service for Skagit County. Chuck is certified as an EMT and practices in that role as an integral part of mountain rescue. He has access to County and Coast  Guard emergency helicopter facilities and is often dropped into a rescue site.

 He works as mountain rescue and ski patrol at a local ski resort during the winter. The work is hazardous and difficult, requiring expert ski, medical, communications, and transport capabilities.It requires endurance and skill.  I’ve seen his type in firemen.

Both Chuck and Ginger have in-depth knowledge of the bible. They study the bible and other sources of religious thought. They teach it. They live it. Chuck has participated in archaeological digs on several occasions in Israel. He is working on his masters in archeology by internet.

So, what did I do while there? Talked shop with Chuck. A lot. We visited the ski resort where he works, saw the mountains, and reviewed the environments he works, plays, and , when necessary, takes calculated risks to help others.

Certainly, the highlight of the visit was to hear Shaun play the piano. He has a terrific repertoire and plays beautifully. After playing several pieces by request, Shaun played a medley that concluded in some pieces he had composed. One piece he composed was very special. Ginger had written lyrics as accompaniment “Why did you leave?”  Ginger and I read it aloud while Shaun played. Yes, it’s in memory of little man, Connor.

I still cry without tears.

View near the Foster home

Chuck's Office

Canada beyond

Lunch with the crowd

Why I get vertigo-no shoulder

Falls along the way down the mountain

Sean plays

Proud mom

Proud dad

13 The Cascades

The road was closed with snow two weeks prior

THE CASCADES

I left the Methow region after an indulgent breakfast of the valleys finest: peaches, grapes, almonds, and if course an apple. I took Hwy 153 to Twisp, where I picked up my primary track through the Cascades National Park.  Highway 20 runs roughly parallel to and 20-30 miles south of the Canadian Boarder. The route is closed in winter and, as you see by the photos, only recently opened. It’s still cold on the passes at 6,000 ft.+-

As I read the MOTORCYCLE TOURING advice articles on the web, preparing for the tour, some things stuck, others didn’t. One thing the writers observe is that some riders tend to be there for the views and vistas, others for the ride. While my goal was on the Lewis and Clark experience, the switchbacks and precipice based curves demanded the focus stay on the yellow line ahead.

Another advice topic is appropriate apparel. I carry two sets:  a textile BMW name brand, (I’ll wear when I cruise down Chuckanut Drive and pull up to the Foster Residence), and my real jacket; a mesh Joe Rocket jacket and First Gear pants. With a middle weight insulated shirt for the cold, this seems to suit me best. For really cold or the rain, I add a reinforced rain jacket.

It’s strange, I don’t get vertigo while flying or skiing. Standing at the edge is the challenge. Riding along the edge, less so.  I manage the fear by redirecting my concentration into technical areas. In the curves, (bikers refer to curves as “twisties”). I concentrate on things like road angle where I lose sight of the curve, road condition and texture; animals along the highway. Basically, my focus is on the yellow line ahead. I listen to Moto working; I try to keep a uniform pattern of gentle acceleration, deceleration, gearing, and limited breaking. It’s a rhythm issue like dancing; one, two, three clutch, one, decelerate, two hold, three hold (or break slightly). Into the curve;  gently accelerate, one, two, three, shift weight to opposite grip, start the pattern again. In this case it’s a waltz.( A unique condition of the Hwy 20 corridor is that the turns are so uniform and predictable you can find a pattern).

If this is well done, the engine just sounds right. The feeling is like skiing, you regulate adrenalin according to your risk tolerance. (Don’t worry, those that ski with me can assure you I have a very low risk tolerance; blues over blacks).  (Biking is also like boating,  I have safety standards I don’t exceed.). (I’m telling this story to try to explain how you can negotiate a mountain range and not remember much about what you just went through.) This qualifies as touring for the ride.

None of the articles I read cautioned me about eating fresh fruit before starting on a day’s outing on the remote Highway. Thank heaven and the state for small favors’ like the Rest Area. Ross Lake has one. As an architect, I can’t help inspecting a man made facility, given the opportunity.

Facility approved. ‘Elvis just left the building” .( Smith-Fourth of July), A young man, about Bo’s age, comes up to me. “ Man, I’ve been following you for an hour through those curves, that’s gotta be fun”. We chat.

 I’m thinking, If he’s been through what I’ve been through, at the same pace, his head has been on the yellow line too. I offer him my spare pack of handy wipes and I’m on my way.

Falls near rest area

Typical waters of the Cascades

Time to add the Northface Midweight

From the valley adjacent the river

A land enriched by the Columbia Basin Project-growing fruit bigtime(Its hard to turn away from a fruitstand

Following the river

Wine is big in Washington too

Headed toward Bellingham

This is how I avoid getting lost

Night at the Lodge -Methow Valley

End of the Cascades-on to the Fosters

11 Corps of Discovery-Missouri Breaks

Mr. Clark tells his story

CORPS OF DISCOVERY-MISSOURI BREAKS

Meet one Mr. Clark. A fisherman. He claims to be a direct descendant of William Clark…May be.

Clark tells the story of how disappointed Lewis was to find his Pacific Route  ended at the headwaters of the Missouri, the confluence of the Missouri, Jefferson, Madison, and Gillette rivers. “This occurrence was near the very spot where we stand.  See the plaque beyond?”

He tells a better story of the horse drive we just missed:

There are approximately 1500 ponies driven from the low ground, through the breaks near the town of Three Forks, to higher ground for summer pasture. People come from all over to participate in the round-up. Pay One hundred fifty dollars each to participate. Brings a mix of thorobreds, Fox trotters, Arabians, T-walkers, a real mix of wealth, and occasional crazy.

The town soon realized that to keep the cash flowing longer,   they needed another activity, say a fox hunt. This would provide a second opportunity to see and be seen by those who prefer their mounts and mutts to shine. The thing is, sometimes those mutts  are prized possessions.

When two or three hundred city slickers on horseback and their two or three hundred prize hounds hit the Missouri Breaks chasing a couple of little fox, it’s a sight to behold. Day after day, as the visitors search for their dogs lost or run off in the swampy and rugged land. What the breaks don’t take, the wolves will. Those visitors have stayed up to an extra week searching for their beloved investments.

I keep thinking of how ordinary people, trying to survive their everyday lives, when its over, some have become extraordinary.

So, here’s a twelve year old Shoshone girl. Her village is raided by a marauding Blackfoot tribe. She is carried off. (These warriors didn’t treat their own people well, I cant imaging what the girl endured for the next four years. She survived.  By sixteen she was sold to a French fur trapper. He made her his squaw. By eighteen she has a baby and her husband has volunteered her services as aid to Meriwether Lewis. She can help treating with the tribes. If they need horses, she’s from the Shoshone nation. (When I caught up with her in Great Falls, she was almost dead for sickness.) She braves the cold along with the Corps . She has to put one foot in front of the other, just as the brave men did.

They realize the Missouri has ended in the breaks around April, 05. They search for Shoshone and finally find the tribe on Aug. 11, 05. The story goes; Sacajawea is brought into Chief Cameahwait’s tent for negotiating for horses. As negotiations proceed she becomes aware the chief is her brother.  Negotiations go well. The Corps of Discovery is equipped with thirty nine of the tribes’ most physically challenged horses. (Still, their better than no horses). August through October is spent finding a path through the Bitterroot mountain range. Then the Rockies. The Cascades were the last mountain range to negotiate. The Columbia River Basin will provide the trail to the Pacific. That’s my trail through the Northwest. After the Cascades, I’ll deviate to visit the Fosters.

The girl’s contribution is to foster the growth of a nation.

Monument to a courageous girl

Sondra see’s me off to continue my adventure this day.

Drawing showing drainage basin-four rivers

 

 

10 Corps of Discovery-Great Falls

Bitterroot Range beyond

The Corps of Discovery- Great Falls

Lewis and Clark are so fundamental to the growth and development of the northwest that I wanted to bring thoughts and experience related to the places touched by Lewis and Clark into some continuity. If you’re from Missouri, you probably have some if not more perspective on their adventures than I.

. Most of us have visited the museum in the base of the Saint Louis Arch. It sets t the character of river life in the early 1800’s. You can see the tools, the men, and the river environment along the Missouri, in Missouri, at the time. Certainly, we can better understand Jefferson and his vision for westward expansion. (I find the sculpture of Jefferson there inspirational) The Louisiana Purchase formalized boundaries for one of those social forces that builds such momentum nothing can stop the movement. The west was going to be settled.( I sense the same forces at work as Mexico migrates into the States).

 

Great Falls is the second leg of a four step journey I followed along the trail of the Corps of Discovery. In each case, there has been a State Interpretive Center that helped me understand the mission and men a bit better.

 

You may have read the very excellent book-“Undaunted Courage”. It’s a historic novel about Meriwether Louis’s and William Clark’s great adventure into the northwest. If you haven’t read it, do it now. You will be with me on the adventure. That book was the foundation of my understanding of their journey, before I traveled their route. (I bypassed South Dakota). Do Cliff notes exist on the document? I understand there are more primitive cliff notes painted by Native American on canyon walls along the way.

The Corps of Discovery was the name coined by Jefferson to identify the group of men who were assembled for the expedition. The historic challenge was to find a water passage to the west coast; the Missouri River was its focus.  The Corps were not only pathfinders, clarifying  limited and uncharted terrain, but they were to gather undocumented botanical specimens, contact  Indian tribes in anticipation of trade opportunities, but most importantly, find the northwest passage to the Pacific. The fur industry and competition for its resources appears to dominate decisions regarding this and other ventures of the era. The personalities that were involved directly and indirectly in fur trade become primary players:  Astor, and the Astorian’s, Stuart (Who is credited with finding the first land route to the west), Bridger, Coulter, Sacagawea are examples. Their lives integrate into the Corp expedition and add continuity to events and accomplishments.

Jefferson has great ambitions for the expedition: Find a water route to the Pacific, befriend Indian tribes along the way, especially the hostile Sioux, discover the many volcanoes anticipated, Wooley Mammoths, and other unknown species. When it was over, fifty tribes had been contacted, and befriended, 300 new species were discovered, (animal and plant life). The northwest was charted. There was no water trail to the Pacific. The treaties with the Sioux, especially  the Teton Sioux in South Dakota failed.

While the Corps of Discovery launched its mission with high expectation, the true heroic action was in ordinary people working doing their best every day for two and a half years;, hard work, courage, and commitment; Ordinary people, doing what needed to be done, achieved the extraordinary. Throughout it all, apparently spirits remained high, only one died, apparently appendicitis, Charles Floyd, Sioux City, Iowa.

Imagine how cold forty below zero would be.  That was the temperature Lewis measured while encamped in Fort Benton. It was the winter of 1805. (Meriwether declared it was too cold for the men to hunt this day.) Their number had been reduced to thirty two, as twelve were sent to retrace the paths taken to date, reporting on progress and delivering acquired bootie. French trapper Charbonneau was hired on in the Dakota Territory, accompanied by is sixteen year old Shoshone squaw, Sacajawea and newborn baby. She was sick. Lewis was administering sulfur water.(Apparently Sulfa based drugs were the  bacterial treatment until antibiotics developed during WWII.) Charbonneau they could do without. They couldn’t afford to lose Sacajawea. She was the linkage for acquiring horses from the Shoshone should they reach river headwater. The Shoshone were sophisticated horsemen with an accccumulated herd of over 1500 mounts.

The Corps had taken a big gamble. At the confluence of the Missouri and __ it was unclear which channel to take. The Indian tribes have assured them that there would be “great falls” on the route that represented the primary channel. If the route they were on proved to be wrong, an entire season would be lost. By April, the ice on the Missouri begins to break up and the Corps was on their way.

On June 13, 1805 Lewis left camp on what is now Belt Creek. About four miles upriver, Lewis heard the great roar of falls, then it was in sight; what is now called Rainbow Falls; “The grandest sight I have ever beheld”.  To his surprise there were five falls to negotiate. Relieved, the falls were as reported, discouraged as each of the falls required portage.

Each of the falls is now topped by a dam. The first, 1891, Black Eagle Dam. The last, 1958, Cochran Dam. The total output is 220,000 KW productions. Residents at Great Falls say they are “Dam poor”.

The portage of the five falls took over a month, and represents a herculean effort by the men. They fought underbrush, cactus thorns in the feet, swamp mud, mosquitoes, and yes, grizzlies. More than once they were chased up trees. Once they tried to stop a grizzly by shooting him. Ten rounds were fired before the resorted to the trees. Lewis himself was confronted by a grizzly. After missing with the rifle he was chased into the river where he fended the bear off with his rifle. Fortunately, the bear lost interest and abandon the chase. (I love a good bear story).

Next stop, the Missouri Breaks. Remember the Jack Nicholson movie by the same name?

Crazy Woman Mountain Range

Entering Lewis and Clark National Forrest

This falls is in the City. Not the one Lewis saw first.

The twelve mile ride across the agricultural belt with bad paving was a challenge

"..The grandest sight I ever beheld"

"Were dam poor in Great Falls"