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FALL 2018 ISSUE 02 / VOL . 03
Mount Baker ’ s snowpack … still 30 feet deep in the middle of August .
I head west on U . S . Route 2 , toward Stevens Pass , in hopes of sighting the great Tahoma . I did this road in reverse 23 years ago following a sleepless night along the railroad tracks in Wenatchee where the Ducati threw its chain . In the morning , after replacing the chain I discovered I only had two gears , enough to power me on one of the sweetest in a lifetime of memorable rides .
Alas , U . S . 2 between Snohomish and Monroe now quivers from the noise and fumes of metropolitan motion . Yet past the mall and the expressway , there it is — still 40 miles off as the crow flies but looking as if it ’ s on just the other side of the field .
“ You must get a lot of people who stop to take photos here ,” I comment to the owner of the fruit stand .
“ No , not really ,” she replies , surprised that I find her busy highway spot of interest . There ’ ll be a motel room down the road , I ’ m sure . I call it a ride and wait there in her field for the sun to cast its rays lower … lower . Right … there .
What a wonderful day . The town of Enumclaw is on my mind , a highway café where we ’ d meet for mugs of coffee and buckwheat cakes before rending the forest serenity with the acrid smell and angry bark of oversized Husqvarna two-strokes — chainsaws , that is . I used to leave