I'm going in a different direction tonight. Tonight isn't  about  motorcycles. It's about me and the direction my life is going. Somehow, I let Jessica slip away from  me.

She says I slipped away. Maybe I did, but it doesn't feel that way.

Mom once said Jessica had "the caring gene" but she's left me and it appears she's moving away from her friends without even a goodbye. I can't square that with the person she has always been.

 I blame the stroke. It's my conviction that Jessica looked at her mortality and decided she needed more "fun" in whatever life is left for her. Maybe that's just my ego, not wanting to be abandoned by the first woman I've loved more than I love myself.

I don't  know where I'm going with this. I do know I dread life with a Jessica-sized hole in it.

Connections lost, connections re-affirmed.

 An old TV show -- I don't even recall in which decade it aired -- was titled 'That Was The Week That Was.' The less formal name was TW3... for obvious reasons. For me, this was the week that was.

This week I reconnected with Mark. For almost two decades he was a brother-in-law. For part of that time he was a co-worker. For all those years, he was a friend. A dozen years younger than I, he was at times almost like a son.

The most-distant point of this motorcycle trip was to be the Willamette Valley, my home for almost all of the '80s and still home to Mark, his wonderful wife Sue and his delightful mother-in-law Mary.

At their invitation, I spent Saturday night with that trio in their home, a great old farmhouse occupied by Sue and several generations of Heaters who preceded her.

Mark and Sue now operate an event center -- great job guys -- and I was privy to a wedding party in that charming facility.

I also re-connected -- at least, I felt so -- with Mark. A couple of hours with just us for the first time in probably 3 decades. I think it's safe to say that, helped along by generous portions of wine, we "emoted."

Yes, I love Mark.

Sunday, I went for lunch in Stayton with one of my dearest friends. In the '80s we skied,  hiked, scuba-ed, boated, rafted. He "taught" me to ski on snow and challenged me on water skis. I made fun of his personal style (I think that's a generous term) and his determination to never own anything new. Ed was a runner but only in his morning exercise did he move quickly. Fairly described, Ed was deliberate... and endearing

He and I and his caring wife Linda arrived at the restaurant; Ed deliberately exited the car from the passenger side. I offered a wisecrack, Ed laughed and I hugged him.

"You seem like a really nice guy, but I have no clue who you are."

In the years since I last saw him, Ed has developed dementia. With Linda's patient help, I walked Ed back through our adventures. Ed is emotional, common, I suppose, in folks with issues like Ed's, and teared up at any compliment.

I'm not convinced Ed ever really knew who I was. Leaving the restaurant, I hugged him for probably the last time. "We had some fun, didn't we?" I agreed and touched his hand. "See ya," I said, though that's highly unlikely.

My connection with Ed now only goes one direction. I miss Ed.

And, yes, I love Ed.

Tenting

 I love sleeping in a tent. But getting out of a mummy bag for the 3 a.m. nature call...

Montana to Oregon

 What a great couple of days.

Hwy 12 from Missoula to Lewiston is a marvel. Mile after mile beside, first, the Lochsa River, then the Selkirk and, finally, the Clearwater.

I spent Wednesday night at Powell Campground, just down the hill from Lochsa Lodge and by the river. Beautiful. But cold... Woke up to temps in the VERY low 40s.

On the road this morning, stopped in Kooskia, ID for breakfast. Back in the saddle, running through the sweepers beside the Clearwater to Lewiston.

Coffee and fuel at the Conoco next door to the world famous Waffles and More. Not today... I had 70 miles of technical riding ahead. Miles and miles of 25 mph tight turns up from Lewiston, down to the Grand Rode River and up again to Enterprise, OR, just down the road from tonight's camp.

I'm at Wallowa State Park. When I was here last year with Jeff and Terry, I promised myself I'd camp here one day. And here I am.

Also, yesterday I had lunch in Missoula with Nancy Eaton, a friend and former co-worker at The Station Mail. She and a friend were en route to Rapid City and stopped in Missoula for water pump repairs. We met up for fish tacos in (very attractive) downtown. Great visit though it seems we mostly discussed kids and the perils of getting old.

Good night. Tomorrow, yhe Willamette Valley.

Raton to Cody

 Damn mosquitoes!

I failed to post yesterday so today is a twofer.

I run out of superlatives on these trips so let me just say Hwy 60 from Walsenberg to Texas Creek is sublime. There to Salida ain't bad but much more heavily trafficked.

From Salida I wandered up through South Park... Fairplay, Alma... Still not a bad place for cremains IMO.

Upppp and over Hoosier Pass -- 11,500 feet -- to catch high-altitude aspens in their glory.

Northward through Breckenridge/Dillon traffic to Kremmling, catching the edge of Middle Park, and head for Walden, county seat of Jackson and the North Park. Lots of moose in North Park. I saw none.

Across the border through a brief deluge (afternoon showers are routine in the Rockies) to Lazy Acres RV park and campground. Congenial host, pleasant setting in Riverside, WY -- population 52.

Awakened at 3 by a barely perceptible change in weather. The breeze freshened. I knew what was coming. At 4, lightning, thunder and lots of rain. The tent is not as waterproof as I thought.

By 6:30 it was apparent the rain was here for a while. I carried sleeping bag and pad to the restroom... A dry place to roll them and jam them in their stuff sacks. The tent and rain fly I packed wet.

Breakfast beside the North Platte in Saratoga. Good french toast, superb bacon.

Between Saratoga and Riverton, there's nothing. Almost. I stopped at a historic marker beside the old Emigrant Trail. I learned that Mormon emigrants generally stayed south of the Sweetwater to avoid conflict with other west-bound wagon trains.

Wind River Canyon is spectacular, long and crooked. Worth the time to travel it. Especially on 2 wheels.

Cody tonight. Bought a Walmart tent. It looks and feels like it's worth every penny. We'll find out, I'm sure.

Tomorrow Bear Tooth Pass and Chief Joseph Hwy en route to Great Falls.

Raton Tonight

 Headed for Pacific Northwest. First day: 700 miles to Raton. Hot, dusty. Wind in Dalhart was so strong it almost blew me over while sitting at a stop light.

Overnighted at Raton Pass Inn. A clean, vintage tourist court kind of place.  I'm in El Sombrero room... Guess the decor.

The plan for today is to transit Colorado to Riverside, Wyoming via Breckenridge and Walden. 

Gotta find a Tractor Supply... I've nearly exhausted my supply of anti-monkey butt powder.

 Back... more than a year after the trip to Yellowknife, I've resolved to resuscitate the blog, beginning with  my decision to swap the Stelvio for a V85TT.

My two-wheeled pals know I love the look of Moto Guzzi bikes and I love the motor. On the highway, I loved the Stelvio but I loved it most above 80 miles per hour. Below that, the vibration -- while not uncomfortable -- was distracting. In addition the Stelvio is heavy; with the 8.5-gallon tank even close to full, I couldn't get the bike on the centerstand without resorting to gravity tricks. (I'd run the front wheel up on a 2x4, putting the rear wheel lower than the front and facilitating the roll backwards onto what the Italians call the central stand.)

So I traded. I'd lusted after a V85TT since it was introduced in 2019. When Guzzi introduced the Travel version, I knew the eight-and-a-half was in my future.

Eventually I found the deal. GP Motorcycle in San Diego had a TT Travel with 63 miles on it. They wanted $11,900 for the bike -- $1500 less than new. Plus no freight and dealer prep. AND they offered $2000 more for the Stelvio than the dealer in Austin. I was hooked. I just had to go 1,500 miles to get it.

I left about 3 p.m. on Wednesday a week before Thanksgiving and rode to Abilene for the first night. Rising early the next day, I was away by 5 p.m.... 1007 miles and almost 16 hours later, I was in Yuma, AZ. By 11 a.m. Friday, I was at GP Motorcycles in lovely San Diego.

The road from Yuma to the Jacumba Mountains was as straight as I've ever ridden... and it dips below sea level. the Jacumba and Laguna mountains east of San Diego are geologically fascinating, particularly the east slope.

I was away by 1 p.m., headed back over the mountains. By 10 p.m. I was in Tucson and down for the night. Piaggio (parent company of Moto Guzzi) governs the bike for the first 900 miles, so I wasn't going to achieve blazing speed. Saturday, I trucked along on I-10 at 0 to 75 miles per hour, finally rolling into a Big Spring motel about 9 p.m.

Sunday, I awoke to 52 degrees and mist. I'd not brought electrics, so I layered up and headed home. By 2 p.m. Sunday, I was home.., covering 3,000 miles in -- essentially -- four days of saddle time.

The V85, pictured at a roadside park in the Imperial Valley, is all I hoped for. Responsive, lightweight, comfortable and (I've discovered since I left the Interstate) happy in the curves.

I'm gonna bond with the 850.

(The other picture is from a Denny's about 60 or 70 miles east of Tucson... highway home of the most important meal of the day.)