Ride to Leavenworth and Back

Posted December 12, 2003
Updated December 18, 2003

All the pictures from this trip can be seen on this page.

In late September, 2003, my friend Jesse and I decided to ride out to Leavenworth and back. Jesse was itching for a longer ride than we'd been doing thus far (having done many 2-3 hour rides around the Snohomish Valley, east of Seattle). I said yes, but stressed that we had to be back by 5 pm, since I had to stage manage a play that evening, and couldn't afford to be late.

We Begin

We started out around 11:30 AM, gassing up our respective mounts, me on my Moto Guzzi Le Mans, and Jesse on his Honda CBR600 F3. The ride out to highway 2 was standard enough for both of us that I don't really recall any of it. When we got off 520 in Monroe, however, we looked at each other and said, "let's stop and get some lunch." We dropped into a supermarket and grabbed some portable food. We decided that rather than eat right then, we'd ride for some time longer on highway 2 and try to find a scenic rest area where eating lunch would be more enjoyable.

I was in the lead, and spotted just the thing about 10 minutes later: a little rest area next to a creek. It was right on the highway, but it had a few picnic tables sitting in dappled shade, and an excellent overview of the creek, which you can see in the background. (I'm the person on the right, Jesse is on the left.) We broke out our lunches and chatted about science and education. What can I say, we're geeks. As we were eating and talking, there was a pause as we both gazed back at the highway, to see what the rumbling noise was: a group of perhaps 20-30 Harley riders riding past, each one its own little thunderstorm of stacatto bass notes. It was a fairly impressive sight.

Lunch time finished, we mounted back up and got back on the road. Highway 2 in late summer was quite pleasant, with moderate temperatures and great scenery. We were headed into the mountains, set to ride through Stevens Pass at around 2 PM. The evergreen trees on all sides were healthy and green, and the road was in decent shape, without too much traffic.

What Did You Say Again?

As we were riding, both Jesse and I were thinking, "damn, I wish I had a radio on this bike!" We both had numerous occasions (comparing notes later) where we really wanted to tell the other something. For instance, when I completely missed a "35 MPH" sign and continuted riding 60-70 MPH through what should by all rights have been a speed trap. I saw Jesse fall far behind in my mirror, and slowed down, pondering whether I should turn back and see if he was alright. He caught up with me again when the speed limit returned to 60 MPH, but it concerned me enough that I asked him afterward what had happened. I was rather embarrassed that I had missed the speed sign.

(I should explain: we're both amateur radio operators, and I have a project underway to add an Autocom Pro M1 intercom and a Yaesu FT-90 transceiver to my Le Mans, and he has an Autocom Eurocom and Icom IC-W32A that he will be using, once he gets his VOX circuit built. Being able to communicate between bikes will be so nice, and having the potential of 50W into a decent antenna on my bike is quite exciting for me. Knowing that these systems were languishing back at our houses and not usefully installed on the bike was frustrating.)

Stevens Pass, Gone In A Flash

Soon, we found ourselves climbing a steeper and steeper slope, and then with almost no fanfare, we were travelling downhill. After about half a mile of going downhill, I pulled over to the side of the road, and asked Jesse if we had just passed through Stevens Pass. He said we had, so I turned us back around for a little photo op. I wanted to get a picture of us next to the "Stevens Pass, elevation XXXX ft" sign. When we got back up there, we couldn't find that sign, but we did find the big commercial-looking Stevens Pass sign, and settled for that (although it was into the sun, and not a very good picture).

Photos successfully snapped (having balanced the camera on Jesse's riding gloves on top of a helmet -- must remember to bring a little tripod next time), we continued down the far side, to Leavenworth. This part of the trip is rather fuzzy for me, as I was starting to get quite fatigued. The seat on the Le Mans is rather hard: comfortable enough for riding around town, but quite plank-like past about the 2-hour mark.

At some point on the dry side of the Cascades, we encountered a gas station with surprisingly good prices, so we pulled over to fill up. My bike was showing about 130 miles on the trip odometer, so I probably had 70 miles left until gas would become a pressing problem. However, I wasn't sure how far we had to go until we hit the next patch of civilization, and this station had good prices, so we stopped. The Le Mans did pretty well for gas mileage on this trip. The first tank was 35.1 MPG, and the second tank at the end of the trip was 40.5 MPG.

As the trip progressed, I got more tired and fuzzy-headed. I recall riding through increasingly dry conditions as we entered the rain shadow, following a loud Harley-style bike through a series of shallow S-curves, going far too slow behind some pokey cage traffic. I recall thinking to myself, only 20 more minutes to go, as I watched my hastily-entered route on the GPS count down much slower than it should have. I recall immense relief as we finally hit Leavenworth, and I started looking for somewhere, anywhere, that we could stop. I wanted to eat something and sit down on something that wouldn't kill me if I stopped paying attention.

Oh Thank God, It's Leavenworth

We located a Dairy Queen (done up in proper Bavarian gingerbread and curliques, of course), and pulled into an empty parking spot next to a pair of Harleys. I got gratefully off my bike, creaking and groaning as I straightened stiff joints and tried to massage some feeling back into my ass. I understood, at that moment, exactly what "monkey butt" is (a term occasionally bandied about in Motorcycle Consumer News).

We hobbled into the restaurant (I think I was hobbling more, Jesse and his bike being better suited to each other), and I ordered something small and cold. Probably a shake or something: really just an excuse to sit still for a few minutes and try not to think about the fact that it was already past 3 PM, and there was no way we were going to get back to Seattle anywhere near 5 PM.

"I'd Hate To Get Run Over"

We ended up sitting in the next booth to the Harley riders, who were a pair of older guys (perhaps 40s or 50s in age). We didn't really have any interactions with them until we were getting up to leave, and one of them commented to us, "I'm glad you guys are going before us, I'd hate to get run over!" We all chuckled, and I explained that we weren't really that kind of sportbike riders (since he was referring to the stereotype that sportbike riders tend to go as fast as they possibly can, commonly to the detriment of other people on the road). It is with some irony that I now realize he had us pegged better than we realized.

We put on all our riding gear, getting ready to head back to Seattle by the quickest route we could figure (probably heading down a highway whose number I don't recall, and then back on I-90). I remembered (once we were all kitted up, of course) that I wanted to get a few "in Leavenworth" pictures, as long as I was taking pictures of the proceedings.

We wheeled the bikes out of the Dairy Queen parking lot and into a slightly more picturesque location, looking down the main drag. I find it ironic that the pictures managed to capture almost no clue that we were actually in Leavenworth. We just didn't have the energy to scout out a good location. It was too hot, and I, at least, was too tired. I have to remember to get out of that suit for the pictures: it makes me look as though I'm 50 pounds overweight.

We got back on the road, with only our GPS maps for guidance, since neither of us had a paper map that covered east of the Cascade Foothills. Jesse thought he knew where he was going, though, so he lead us through town to the highway we needed.

Blasting Past Blewett

Jesse's memory of the area was correct, and we were soon on the correct highway, aiming for Blewett Pass and toward I-90. As we proceeded along this road, my awareness of the time caused increasing nervousness on my part: it looked like we wouldn't be back into Seattle until 6 or 6:30. I was supposed to be at the theatre, putting actors in their place (they're a rowdy lot) at 6. I started passing cars in order to maintain a 70ish MPH pace. Jesse followed close behind, his speedy bike easily capable of outpacing mine, on these higher-speed runs.

At some point, I passed a particularly aggravating car (probably keeping to just the speed limit, that bastard!), and realized as I was coming back down to our ever-increasing normal pace that I had quite possibly broken 100 MPH on the pass. This is not foreign territory to me, but I'm usually in the habit of sticking within 10 MPH of the posted speed limit, or within 2-3 MPH of traffic. Truly extra-legal speeds are quite unusual for me, and it was pretty exhilarating to be going so fast for a few moments.

Jesse explained to me afterwards that as he was passing one of the cars, he was enjoying the rush of rolling on the throttle of his CBR600, when he realized that I was getting bigger in his view far faster than he had expected. Did Ian start braking or something? he thought to himself. No, he realized, I was just going 120+ MPH!. We don't actually know how fast Jesse was going, but he was certainly enjoying it, and certainly wasn't paying too much attention to his speedometer. (And, we have every indication that his speedometer and mine are increasingly inaccurate as speed increases.)

On this latest leg of the trip, I had picked up a large number of bugs splattered across my faceshield (making me once again very happy with my choice to get a full-face helmet). As we finished travelling south and turned onto I-90, we got a healthy dose of afternoon sun, just 30 degrees or so above the horizon. Between the sun and the bug splatters, I was having a hard time seeing much of anything. Average speed on I-90 seemed to be between 80 and 90 MPH, and the road seemed to be composed of endless blocks of concrete set at a 5 degree incline to level, so that the bike was bucking like a very regular mechanical horse. The wind seemed to be increasing from a westerly direction, so that our apparent wind was getting stronger and stronger.

I-90 Is A Cruel Mistress

Finally, I could take no more, and pulled off at the next offramp I saw. If anything, my ass was even more sore than it had been at Dairy Queen, plus I had been squinting into the sun for the last hour, trying to focus past the Earthly remains of many dead bugs, while trying to maintain my composure on a motorcycle that felt like it was trying to buck me off. I was beat.

The place we stopped was little more than the intersection of a few roads that led off to god knows where, but there was a convenient gravel lot next to a creek, so we stopped there, in the shade of a lone pine tree. The freeway roared a few hundred yards from where we stopped, but it was far enough away that we could ignore it. The creek was down a steep embankment, so any temptation to scramble down and wash off our faces or visors was cancelled by the likelihood that one of us would fall down and at least get a soaking.

While we were stopped, I spotted something moving against the backdrop of the mountains, and we discerned that it was a pair of hang gliders, or ultralights (possibly powered parasails) flying some distance off. The picture came out (as I had suspected) showing some scenery and almost no indication of the aircraft. If you look hard at the middle of the picture, you can just see a little white speck, which is one of the aircraft. Jesse and I agreed that it was a fine day to be flying around up there.

After a quick phone call to one of my theatrical co-conspirators to let them know that I was going to be irretrievably late, we were off again. The rest of the trek on I-90 can be experienced on nearly any day with moderate traffic on a major highway, and isn't really worthy of further elaboration.

Finally, Home Again

Jesse and I parted ways in Seattle, he heading back to his house, and I to mine (since I was so late). I think I arrived at home at right around 6:30, and after some Superman-quick rearranging, was back on my way to the theatre, and was there by 6:45. I was 45 minutes late, but not so late that it caused actual problems. The show went just fine that night, despite my arrival time.

And What Did We Learn, Class?

I think I got a few lessons from this trip. The biggest one was:

Don't take a motorcycle trip unless you have enough time to be leisurely about it.

I don't ever want to have to take that kind of trip again, where I feel hurried to get home at the end of the day. It meant that the return trip, and even the last 1/3 of the trip to Leavenworth was spent worrying about the fact that I was going to be late. That resulted in us going faster than I wanted to go, and having to take a return route that was efficient but annoying and soul-crushing. Motorcycling on this kind of a trip should be fun and enjoyable, not soul-crushing.

On my next trip like this, I'd like to be able to stop as often as I feel like it, and travel in such a way that slow-moving cars that can't be passed aren't anxiety-causing annoyances.

My next lesson was:

Make sure your motorcycle fits you before you take any really long trips.

I need to get a custom seat made that fits my behind better than the stock seat. The stock seat looks cool, but it's just not where it's at on a longer trip. I think the real problem is that it's very flat, while my butt is round, resulting in some very small pressure points at the bottom of my pelvis, which grow to ache pretty quickly. Just a little bit of a concave shape in the seat would help a great deal.

While not a particularly hard-hitting lesson on this trip, this one came up:

Have the correct equipment for the trip, or you will be unhappy.

I'm thinking specifically about the tripod for the camera. I even own a little, 5" long tripod with telescoping legs that would fit perfectly in a tankbag, I just didn't bring it. As a result, you can see the camera rest in half the pictures, which, while homey and kind of cute, is pretty annoying too.

However, I can see how this lesson could really bite you. Taking the wrong tent or sleeping bag on an overnight trip could be potentially disastrous. Failing to bring the stove (or its fuel supply) could mean that your food must be eaten cold, which could be a dismal prospect when you're already cold from the chill night air. And so on, really. There are so many scenarios where having just that one thing along would be really helpful. Another example that thankfully didn't come up is that I bought a compact strobe light for emergency lighting in case I broke down in inclement conditions or in the dark -- of course, I didn't bring it to Leavenworth with me. I should have.

Update December 18, 2003 My friend Dave Foglesong suggested to me after reading this report that I should have had a CamelBak with me. An excellent idea. Although I had water with me, and was drinking it when we stopped, I probably wasn't drinking enough. Having a CamelBak (or similar water reservoir) available to me while I was riding probably would have reduced my fatigue somewhat.

Ultimately, I think it was a fun trip. I wish the second half hadn't been so rushed, as I think even taking exactly the same trip without the anxiety of being late would have been more fun. But even with that, it was a fun trip, and I don't regret doing it.

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Created by Ian Johnston. Questions? Please mail me.