Or so I had thought. It would be another few months before
I actually recognized and acknowledged my miscalculation.
At this point, the more geographically astute readers may
be asking themselves, “How does someone with access to
the Internet and who has ridden 10,000 miles across the
country make such massive miscalculations?” Well, bear
with me and all will soon be revealed.
Ignorant to my “failure” I pitched a tent along the Pacific
Ocean at Cape Disappointment State Park. After sharing
my night with an incredibly curious family of raccoons I once
again headed home to Colorado. I attribute my mistake to
a healthy sense of denial. Deep down I believe I wanted
to keep getting it wrong. What better excuse to maintain a
yearly sojourn to the left coast?
Californians may argue that Mendocino Point is the
furthest location west. I have been there twice and while it
is beautiful it maxes out at W124° 24’ 34.2 longitude. Then
again, Oregonians have been know to claim Cape Blanco’s
W124° 33’ 50.3989 longitude as being the absolute most
western point. Sure, on a state level they can make these
claims but not across the entire country. I am looking for
nothing less than the furthest contiguous point west.
Fast forward to 2015. The f800 has been sold and replaced
by a BMW r1200GS. The goal? Ride up the remainder of the
Pacific Coast Highway before veering off even further west,
towards the Makah Indian Reservation. According to my
most recent calculations, I cannot get any further northwest
Dave
Weaver
in the contiguous U.S. so it seems
like
a reasonable
10 Thunder Roads Magazine® Colorado
destination. After hammering out to McCall, Idaho to visit
friends, I meander west along the Snake River through
Hell’s Canyon on on-route to Walla Walla, Washington. I
spent a day trekking portions of the Lewis and Clark Trail
before taking a multiday break in Portland, Oregon for a few
well-deserved beers and great food. When I continue on,
rather than heading northwest I go northeast. Knowing I had
missed my western goal on two previous attempts, I figure,
as long as I am out here again, I should indulge my curiosity
and do some sightseeing at Mount Saint Helens and Mount
Rainier. The road up Mount Rainier definitely qualifies in the
top 5 of all paved roads I have ever ridden. I end my day
in Enumclaw, Washington, named after a nearby mountain.
I eat at the flawlessly traditional Café Europa Restaurant.
Mom, the owner, cooks everything from scratch as the kids
help with the table service. Traditional Polish beers round
out an amazing meal of pirogues, schnitzel, spatzle and
red cabbage. When the waiter reveals to me that the town
name means “Thundering Noise” I can just imagine a legion
of Harley’s rolling through town, but I suspect it was named
more for the storms that come over the mountain.
In the morning I am finally ready to continue my way up
the coast. The folks at the “Kettle” due me no favors serving
a breakfast fit for 2 with left overs to spare. The chicken fried
steak is amazing but I can only eat a quarter of it. As for the
complementary homemade cookies they keep dropping off,
despite my protests, well they end up wrapped in a napkin
for later. I opt for the Tacoma route towards Aberdeen, and
hold my breath, as I get closer to the dreaded I5, south of
November 2015
www.thunderroadscolorado.com