Subject: Deep Forest Campout
Author: Greg Field
Date: Jul 19, 2005, 8:50 AM
Post ID: 1719173693
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Once again, Dick and Gayle Guthrie, WA MGNOC reps put on the best
motorcycle campout that I know of. It was this weekend, in the deep
woods outside Randle, WA.
Friday at 1300 hrs, myself and two other Guzzi riders (Enzo on his
highly hot-rodded 2000 V11 Sport and Moto Monster on his 2002 Stone)
left Moto International in the rain. The first stretch was all urban
highway to the town of Orting, where the rain gave way to spotty clouds.
After trolling through Orting, we turned onto a snakey little road that
by passes the strip-mally, straight highway 161 to Eatonville. It's
called Orville Rd. E, and after the 35-mile drone to get there, we were
all itching to uncork our Guzzis and let them fly.
I was in the lead, since I knew the way, and strafed that road about as
fast as could be safely done, given how many frost heaves and how much
wet moss there was. The funniest part was that a guy in a Jeep Wrangler
thought he could outpower and outcorner the old Eldo and keep three
Guzzis in his wake. We disavowed him of that vanity after one curve,
and I'd bet he was a half hour behind by the time we got to the end of
that road. The road itself is really fun, but you have to stay on your
toes to ride it fast. Huge dips and dropouts that can launch you into
the trees appear without warning. If you're not looking for them, your
experience can turn from big fun to big pain in an instant. I had
warned Monster and Enzo of this in advance, and they made it through
swiftly and safely like the ridin' mofos that they are.
After Orville ended, we caught 161 for a few miles into the town of
Eatonville, where we stopped for lunch and a beer. The food was decent
and gave us the fuel we needed for the great little stretch of highway
7 that's just out of Eatonville. Most people miss this bit of
twistiness because all the signs encourage you to take the straight,
boring cutoff road to the next town, called Elbe. Fortunately, most of
the RVs and yokels follow the signs, so the hwy. 7 curves tend to be
free enough of obstructions that you can blast through the long
succession of 25-mph curves at whatever pace you choose. We chose
"fast," and had to do a bit of passing on double yellows. Of course, we
did it "safely," and had a great time chasing each other through the
bends.
All too soon, though, the road straightened along the reservoir and
took us into Elbe. We kept going through the town and south on 7 again
toward Morton. This stretch of Hwy. 7 is all uphill straights bounded
by fast sweepers. Here's where Enzo's V11 Sport was really in its
element. Even though his V11 "Cobra" has yet to match the Eldo's
documented 141.7-mph speed, his Sport can damn sure out-accelerate the
Eldo out of the uphill curves. It's "programmed" a bit rich on the high
end, so everytime he canned the throttle it would blow a huge black
plume to the left, like he was firing a JATO rocket. The first time it
happened, I thought, "She's gonna blow trying to take the Eldo," but
after the third time, it just blended into another part of the ambiance
of this ride. I think we were only briefly under 90 mph on that whole
stretch.
From Morton, it was about 17 miles of scenic but not very twisty Hwy.
12 to Randle. We gassed up and beered up there before striking south on
Fire Road 23 toward camp. This is another great stretch of straights
and hairpin turns through the national forest that took us right to the
group camping area of the North Fork Campground, where the Deep Forest
Camp take place.
It was only about 5:00, yet there must've been 40 camps already set up
and hogging the flattest ground. We set up our own "ghetto" off to the
side, dunked the beer into the cold stream flowing past camp, popped a
few cans, and joined the party that was already in progress around the
campfire.
Before long, a big galoot pulled in on a red Quota. It was
Zerhackerman, who also owns an Ambassador that he's put plenty of miles
on, and his tall six pack of 16oz Rainiers. While he set up camp, we
broke out a bottle of really fine bourbon (Woodford Reserve, I think)
donated by a friend who had to cancel out of the trip at the last
minute and passed it round. Everybody who tried it came back for more.
That fine whiskey was gone before the sun even set. Thanks again,
Beefcake. You shoulda been there!
My traditional Saturday activity is to get up early and take a ride
over Babyshoe Pass and have huckleberry pancakes at the little cafe in
Trout Lake. Normally, I have to go alone because few people are up for
enduring the 14-mile stretch of gravel road near the top of the pass.
One year, John "JB Weld" Boettcher was at the campout, and he went
with, but I think I 've gone alone every other year. This year looked
to be a refreshing break from that, as Zerhack, Enzo, and Monster had
all agreed they would go. With visions of over 200 miles of curves
dancing in my head, I retired to my sleeping bag soon after the whiskey
bottle gave up its last vaporous drops.
We all rose pretty early and made some good coffee to perpare us for
the road ahead. Zerhack finally gave us the kick we needed to actually
get going by starting his bike. The rest of us quickly geared up and
prepared to take off, joined by another Quota rider, whose name I
cannot now recall. Just as we were pulling out, Reen from Tacoma pulled
in on his EV. Instead of unloading his gear and setting up camp, Reen
just pulled back onto Fire Road 23 with the group and had soon passed
everyone but me and Super Eldo on the rain- and moss-slick twistiness
that took us toward Babyshoe Pass. I'm fairly comfortable with sliding
tires, and he must be, too, cause he hung right with me. When the road
turned to gravel, we pulled over to re-form the group.
I was pretty sure Zerhack would be the fastest gravel rider on his
Quota, so I sent him off first with instructions to stop at Babyshoe
Pass because there's a great photo op there, if the clouds would just
part for us. Reen took right off after Zer, and showed his excellent
riding skills by essentially keeping up with a guy on a dirt-oriented
bike. I went third, stopping at every intersection to make sure no one
took a wrong turn.
That road has a reputation of being brutal (that's why no one else ever
wants to go). The best parts are gravel; the worst parts are
golf-ball- and bigger-sized river rock, and it's usually pretty choppy.
This year, it had apparently been graded recently because it was the
best I'd ever seen it. Nevertheless, it's still quite challenging for
those with sport bikes (like Enzo) and those without a lot of dirt
time. Super Eldo just shudders and lurches and rattles and slides, but
she always makes it through without high-pucker drama.
Everyone made it to the top in fine shape, but Mt. Adams was socked in,
so we skipped the photo op and took off down the slippery slope. This
section is always the most challenging because some of it is very
steep. It's all too easy to lock your tires under braking and slide
over the edge of the mountain. Everyone made it through with nothing
worse than pucker marks on their seats.
At the end of that gravel was what I consider my favorite stretch of
road in WA. It's got great pavement and is a continuous sine wave that
swoops you down almost into Trout Lake. It's one of those roads that
you can just pin at 70 mph and hold that speed through the curves, or
go 100-plus-mph on the straights and slow a bit for the curves. Either
way, it's just as much fun. Reen led that stretch, dragging his
saddlebags in the corners. He can really ride that EV!
Breakfast was great, made even better because the mountains we had just
crossed scraped away the clouds, leaving nothing but bright blue. We
ate our fill on a picnic table in that warm sunshine. While eating, I
layed out the options for the upcoming ride. The best (curviest) option
required that we ride about another 10 miles of dirt. Some of the group
had had their fill of dirt riding, so we took a longer, more liesurely
route down to the Columbia Gorge and then downriver to Carson.
It was a pretty boring ride down to the Gorge because of the
slow-moving yokels. We found a liquor store, though, and decided to all
pitch in on a bottle of Woodford to pass around that night.
Unfortunately, they didn't have any premium bourbons, so on a lark I
bought bottle of Rebel Yell, the drink of choice of an infamous
Guzzi-riding clown who calls himself Guzzifazool on the internet and
has been banned from all the Guzzi sites and lists and lists except the
Rolling Crow MC list. More on this later.
You should aways expect gusty winds in the Gorge, so I was really
apprehensive about this route. Most days, it's just unnerving, but on
others it's really dangerous. In fact, I've been blown clear off the
road and into the ditch by the Columbia's breath before, so I was
puckered up big-time. Those winds draw windsurfers from all over the
world, though, so we stopped for a few minutes to watch them play among
the white caps that were blowing upstream against the flow of the
mighty Columbia.
Soon enough, we turned north out of the wind through Carson and onto
the long straights and sweepers of the Wind River Rd. The first part of
this road is is another high-speed test, where Enzo and his Cobra, Reen
and his EV, and me and the Eldo pushed perhaps a bit too fast,
especially given that cops do patrol this stretch.
Later sections of that road are very, very, tight, with corners that
start out gentle and finish vicious, like a shot of Everclear. As they
say, it ain't bragging if you can actually do it. We did it. "It" being
riding that road in at speeds that woulda done us proud even on full-on
sport bikes. Enzo, Reen, and I swooped through those curves like a
three-man element of Spitfires. Looking back in my mirrors, I got the
feeling I was about to be shot down, and that the only way to avoid
that fate was to push harder. This was BIG FUN.
Too soon, we were re-forming at the turnoff to Curley Creek Rd., which
is another high-speed road along a plateau going west toward Mt. St.
Helens. Reen blasted off in the lead and overshot the lookout point at
which we had planned to stop for pictures. By the time the tail-end of
the group pulled in, Reen had turned around and rejoined the group. We
took some quick shots and busted out before the caravan of asian
tourists could leave and get in our way.
Reen led that stretch. It was work to stay with him, as the road gets
really tight and "frost-heave-y" along the river valley. The Eldo's
supension is as good as I can make it, but even so, hitting big dips in
the middle of corners makes it start to wobble, if conditions are
wrong. Reen also led a similar stretch on Fire Road 90 to where we
turned north on Fire Road 25, up the east flank of Mt. St. Helens.
Just as we re-formed the group and turned onto 25, I noted a big-ass
pickup with lights over the cab pull in behind us. We had just passed a
big forest service maintenance camp, so I figured that truck was a
maintenance truck, rather than a cop. I wicked it up as soon as I got
over the first rise and was gone. Those guys saw it for what it was-a
county sheriff-and hung back until he turned onto another road.
Eventually Enzo and Reen caught me up, and it was Guzzi squadron, pt.
II, as we chased tails though the awesome curves on Fire Rd. 25.
Wrestling that Eldo to keep in front of sportier bikes is really hard
work, so I was glad when we came to the turnoff for the Windy Ridge
approach to the mountain, so I could pull over to rest while the group
straggled in. We all relaxed for a few minutes and decided to push
north to Randle, to get gas and beer before heading back to camp.
Enzo took the lead as we began Guzzi squadron pt. III. Suddenly he
pulled off, realizing that he had forgotten his fanny pack at one of
our stops. He headed back to look for it, and began an adventure that
I'm sure he will tell you about.
I played "catch Reen" through the next section, with only limited
success. That road has awesome curves, but it's beat to hell on the
northbound lanes. You have to use full concentration to ride it quickly
or one of the many middle-of-the-curve dropouts will pitch you off the
side of the mountain. I was tired. Reen rode as fast as ever.
After beering up in Randle, we all headed off separately to camp. By
the time I got there and had one beer, I was ready for a nap. Enzo
wasn't back yet, and I had promised to come looking for him if he
wasn't back within an hour of the time I got to camp (I was worried
that he'd run out of gas), so I spent the time crucifying huge slamon
filets that Dick would roast in front of the alder fire. Just as I was
about to head out, Enzo trolled in, after an encounter with a cougar on
a mossy little road.
So, yes, I then took a nap. I felt like a wuss for having to do so, but
200-plus miles of leading the group over those roads had worn me out. I
awoke just as the salmon was done and joined everyone for a great
dinner.
Afterwards, we broke open that bottle of Rebel Yell I spoke about
earlier. Guzzifazool fancies himself a and may in fact be. Because of
other exchanges, I'm already on Fazool's "TO KILL" list, but my
assessment of his favorite drink's gonna get me on his "TO TORTURE
BEFORE KILLING" list. Here it is: That shit is FOUL. I've had worse
whiskey, but not too many. This stuff is fit only for ignominious
service as the booze in jello shots or well drinks in a cheap bar. We
left that bottle prominently out and available all night, yet half of
it was still left the following morning. I've never seen a bottle
survive the night before.
Perhaps I was feeling ill from the Rebel Yell, or I just wasn't in the
mood to stay up all night partying, so I stayed up till maybe midnight
and went back to sleep. Enzo, Reen, Monster, and Zerhack made up for my
lack of gusto, or so I'm told.
Given how late they stayed up, the whole group was up very early,
making coffee and enjoying the warmth of the last logs in the wood
supply. We packed up and were gone by about 9:00, headed north by the
same route we took down on Friday. We were joined by John from
Vancouver BC, on a beatiful LeMans II. The riding was great, as Moto
monster was feeling especially frisky that day, leaving long arcs of
sparks as he dragged his pegs around every tight corner. We had
breakfast in Eatonville and were at the Buckaroo for the first
"decompression" beer by 12:40.
It was a hell of a ride.
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fontfamily><param>Verdana</param><color><param>0000,0000,0000</param>Once
again, Dick and Gayle Guthrie, WA MGNOC reps put on the best
motorcycle campout that I know of. It was this weekend, in the deep
woods outside Randle, WA.
Friday at 1300 hrs, myself and two other Guzzi riders (Enzo on his
highly hot-rodded 2000 V11 Sport and Moto Monster on his 2002 Stone)
left Moto International in the rain. The first stretch was all urban
highway to the town of Orting, where the rain gave way to spotty
clouds.=20
After trolling through Orting, we turned onto a snakey little road
that by passes the strip-mally, straight highway 161 to Eatonville.
It's called Orville Rd. E, and after the 35-mile drone to get there,
we were all itching to uncork our Guzzis and let them fly.=20
I was in the lead, since I knew the way, and strafed that road about
as fast as could be safely done, given how many frost heaves and how
much wet moss there was. The funniest part was that a guy in a Jeep
Wrangler thought he could outpower and outcorner the old Eldo and keep
three Guzzis in his wake. We disavowed him of that vanity after one
curve, and I'd bet he was a half hour behind by the time we got to the
end of that road. The road itself is really fun, but you have to stay
on your toes to ride it fast. Huge dips and dropouts that can launch
you into the trees appear without warning. If you're not looking for
them, your experience can turn from big fun to big pain in an instant.
I had warned Monster and Enzo of this in advance, and they made it
through swiftly and safely like the ridin' mofos that they are.=20
After Orville ended, we caught 161 for a few miles into the town of
Eatonville, where we stopped for lunch and a beer. The food was decent
and gave us the fuel we needed for the great little stretch of highway
7 that's just out of Eatonville. Most people miss this bit of
twistiness because all the signs encourage you to take the straight,
boring cutoff road to the next town, called Elbe. Fortunately, most of
the RVs and yokels follow the signs, so the hwy. 7 curves tend to be
free enough of obstructions that you can blast through the long
succession of 25-mph curves at whatever pace you choose. We chose=20
"fast," and had to do a bit of passing on double yellows. Of course,
we did it "safely," and had a great time chasing each other through
the bends.=20
All too soon, though, the road straightened along the reservoir and
took us into Elbe. We kept going through the town and south on 7 again
toward Morton. This stretch of Hwy. 7 is all uphill straights bounded
by fast sweepers. Here's where Enzo's V11 Sport was really in its
element. Even though his V11 "Cobra" has yet to match the Eldo's
documented 141.7-mph speed, his Sport can damn sure out-accelerate the
Eldo out of the uphill curves. It's "programmed" a bit rich on the
high end, so everytime he canned the throttle it would blow a huge
black plume to the left, like he was firing a JATO rocket. The first
time it happened, I thought, "She's gonna blow trying to take the
Eldo," but after the third time, it just blended into another part of
the ambiance of this ride. I think we were only briefly under 90 mph
on that whole stretch.=20
=46rom Morton, it was about 17 miles of scenic but not very twisty Hwy.
12 to Randle. We gassed up and beered up there before striking south
on Fire Road 23 toward camp. This is another great stretch of
straights and hairpin turns through the national forest that took us
right to the group camping area of the North Fork Campground, where
the Deep Forest Camp take place.=20
It was only about 5:00, yet there must've been 40 camps already set up
and hogging the flattest ground. We set up our own "ghetto" off to the
side, dunked the beer into the cold stream flowing past camp, popped a
few cans, and joined the party that was already in progress around the
campfire.=20
Before long, a big galoot pulled in on a red Quota. It was
Zerhackerman, who also owns an Ambassador that he's put plenty of
miles on, and his tall six pack of 16oz Rainiers. While he set up
camp, we broke out a bottle of really fine bourbon (Woodford Reserve,
I think) donated by a friend who had to cancel out of the trip at the
last minute and passed it round. Everybody who tried it came back for
more. That fine whiskey was gone before the sun even set. Thanks
again, Beefcake. You shoulda been there!=20
My traditional Saturday activity is to get up early and take a ride
over Babyshoe Pass and have huckleberry pancakes at the little cafe in
Trout Lake. Normally, I have to go alone because few people are up for
enduring the 14-mile stretch of gravel road near the top of the pass.
One year, John "JB Weld" Boettcher was at the campout, and he went
with, but I think I 've gone alone every other year. This year looked
to be a refreshing break from that, as Zerhack, Enzo, and Monster had
all agreed they would go. With visions of over 200 miles of curves
dancing in my head, I retired to my sleeping bag soon after the
whiskey bottle gave up its last vaporous drops.
</color><color><param>0842,0842,0842</param>We all rose pretty early
and made some good coffee to perpare us for the road ahead. Zerhack
finally gave us the kick we needed to actually get going by starting
his bike. The rest of us quickly geared up and prepared to take off,
joined by another Quota rider, whose name I cannot now recall. Just as
we were pulling out, Reen from Tacoma pulled in on his EV. Instead of
unloading his gear and setting up camp, Reen just pulled back onto
Fire Road 23 with the group and had soon passed everyone but me and
Super Eldo on the rain- and moss-slick twistiness that took us toward
Babyshoe Pass. I'm fairly comfortable with sliding tires, and he must
be, too, cause he hung right with me. When the road turned to gravel,
we pulled over to re-form the group.=20
I was pretty sure Zerhack would be the fastest gravel rider on his
Quota, so I sent him off first with instructions to stop at Babyshoe
Pass because there's a great photo op there, if the clouds would just
part for us. Reen took right off after Zer, and showed his excellent
riding skills by essentially keeping up with a guy on a dirt-oriented
bike. I went third, stopping at every intersection to make sure no one
took a wrong turn.=20
That road has a reputation of being brutal (that's why no one else
ever wants to go). The best parts are gravel; the worst parts are=20
golf-ball- and bigger-sized river rock, and it's usually pretty
choppy. This year, it had apparently been graded recently because it
was the best I'd ever seen it. Nevertheless, it's still quite
challenging for those with sport bikes (like Enzo) and those without a
lot of dirt time. Super Eldo just shudders and lurches and rattles and
slides, but she always makes it through without high-pucker drama.=20
Everyone made it to the top in fine shape, but Mt. Adams was socked
in, so we skipped the photo op and took off down the slippery slope.
This section is always the most challenging because some of it is very
steep. It's all too easy to lock your tires under braking and slide
over the edge of the mountain. Everyone made it through with nothing
worse than pucker marks on their seats.=20
At the end of that gravel was what I consider my favorite stretch of
road in WA. It's got great pavement and is a continuous sine wave that
swoops you down almost into Trout Lake. It's one of those roads that
you can just pin at 70 mph and hold that speed through the curves, or
go 100-plus-mph on the straights and slow a bit for the curves. Either
way, it's just as much fun. Reen led that stretch, dragging his
saddlebags in the corners. He can really ride that EV!=20
</color><color><param>0000,0000,0000</param>
Breakfast was great, made even better because the mountains we had
just crossed scraped away the clouds, leaving nothing but bright blue.
We ate our fill on a picnic table in that warm sunshine. While eating,
I layed out the options for the upcoming ride. The best (curviest)
option required that we ride about another 10 miles of dirt. Some of
the group had had their fill of dirt riding, so we took a longer, more
liesurely route down to the Columbia Gorge and then downriver to
Carson.=20
It was a pretty boring ride down to the Gorge because of the
slow-moving yokels. We found a liquor store, though, and decided to
all pitch in on a bottle of Woodford to pass around that night.
Unfortunately, they didn't have any premium bourbons, so on a lark I
bought bottle of Rebel Yell, the drink of choice of an infamous
Guzzi-riding clown who calls himself Guzzifazool on the internet and
has been banned from all the Guzzi sites and lists and lists except
the Rolling Crow MC list. More on this later.=20
You should aways expect gusty winds in the Gorge, so I was really
apprehensive about this route. Most days, it's just unnerving, but on
others it's really dangerous. In fact, I've been blown clear off the
road and into the ditch by the Columbia's breath before, so I was
puckered up big-time. Those winds draw windsurfers from all over the
world, though, so we stopped for a few minutes to watch them play
among the white caps that were blowing upstream against the flow of
the mighty Columbia.=20
Soon enough, we turned north out of the wind through Carson and onto
the long straights and sweepers of the Wind River Rd. The first part
of this road is is another high-speed test, where Enzo and his Cobra,
Reen and his EV, and me and the Eldo pushed perhaps a bit too fast,
especially given that cops do patrol this stretch.=20
Later sections of that road are very, very, tight, with corners that
start out gentle and finish vicious, like a shot of Everclear. As they
say, it ain't bragging if you can actually do it. We did it. "It"
being riding that road in at speeds that woulda done us proud even on
full-on sport bikes. Enzo, Reen, and I swooped through those curves
like a three-man element of Spitfires. Looking back in my mirrors, I
got the feeling I was about to be shot down, and that the only way to
avoid that fate was to push harder. This was BIG FUN.=20
Too soon, we were re-forming at the turnoff to Curley Creek Rd., which
is another high-speed road along a plateau going west toward Mt. St.
Helens. Reen blasted off in the lead and overshot the lookout point at
which we had planned to stop for pictures. By the time the tail-end of
the group pulled in, Reen had turned around and rejoined the group. We
took some quick shots and busted out before the caravan of asian
tourists could leave and get in our way.=20
Reen led that stretch. It was work to stay with him, as the road gets
really tight and "frost-heave-y" along the river valley. The Eldo's
supension is as good as I can make it, but even so, hitting big dips
in the middle of corners makes it start to wobble, if conditions are
wrong. Reen also led a similar stretch on Fire Road 90 to where we
turned north on Fire Road 25, up the east flank of Mt. St. Helens.=20
Just as we re-formed the group and turned onto 25, I noted a big-ass
pickup with lights over the cab pull in behind us. We had just passed
a big forest service maintenance camp, so I figured that truck was a
maintenance truck, rather than a cop. I wicked it up as soon as I got
over the first rise and was gone. Those guys saw it for what it was=97a
county sheriff=97and hung back until he turned onto another road. =20
Eventually Enzo and Reen caught me up, and it was Guzzi squadron, pt.
II, as we chased tails though the awesome curves on Fire Rd. 25.
Wrestling that Eldo to keep in front of sportier bikes is really hard
work, so I was glad when we came to the turnoff for the Windy Ridge
approach to the mountain, so I could pull over to rest while the group
straggled in. We all relaxed for a few minutes and decided to push
north to Randle, to get gas and beer before heading back to camp.=20
Enzo took the lead as we began Guzzi squadron pt. III. Suddenly he
pulled off, realizing that he had forgotten his fanny pack at one of
our stops. He headed back to look for it, and began an adventure that
I'm sure he will tell you about.=20
I played "catch Reen" through the next section, with only limited
success. That road has awesome curves, but it's beat to hell on the
northbound lanes. You have to use full concentration to ride it
quickly or one of the many middle-of-the-curve dropouts will pitch you
off the side of the mountain. I was tired. Reen rode as fast as ever.=20
After beering up in Randle, we all headed off separately to camp. By
the time I got there and had one beer, I was ready for a nap. Enzo
wasn't back yet, and I had promised to come looking for him if he
wasn't back within an hour of the time I got to camp (I was worried
that he'd run out of gas), so I spent the time crucifying huge slamon
filets that Dick would roast in front of the alder fire. Just as I was
about to head out, Enzo trolled in, after an encounter with a cougar
on a mossy little road.=20
So, yes, I then took a nap. I felt like a wuss for having to do so,
but 200-plus miles of leading the group over those roads had worn me
out. I awoke just as the salmon was done and joined everyone for a
great dinner.=20
Afterwards, we broke open that bottle of Rebel Yell I spoke about
earlier. Guzzifazool fancies himself a and may in fact be. Because of
other exchanges, I'm already on Fazool's "TO KILL" list, but my
assessment of his favorite drink's gonna get me on his "TO TORTURE
BEFORE KILLING" list. Here it is: That shit is FOUL. I've had worse
whiskey, but not too many. This stuff is fit only for ignominious
service as the booze in jello shots or well drinks in a cheap bar. We
left that bottle prominently out and available all night, yet half of
it was still left the following morning. I've never seen a bottle
survive the night before.=20
Perhaps I was feeling ill from the Rebel Yell, or I just wasn't in the
mood to stay up all night partying, so I stayed up till maybe midnight
and went back to sleep. Enzo, Reen, Monster, and Zerhack made up for
my lack of gusto, or so I'm told.=20
Given how late they stayed up, the whole group was up very early,
making coffee and enjoying the warmth of the last logs in the wood
supply. We packed up and were gone by about 9:00, headed north by the
same route we took down on Friday. We were joined by John from
Vancouver BC, on a beatiful LeMans II. The riding was great, as Moto
monster was feeling especially frisky that day, leaving long arcs of
sparks as he dragged his pegs around every tight corner. We had
breakfast in Eatonville and were at the Buckaroo for the first
"decompression" beer by 12:40.=20
It was a hell of a ride.=20
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