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"IN MEMORY OF MARY LOGSDON" - IN NOTE SECTION OF CHECK

AUGUST 2, 2006 - EASTBOUND AND DOWN, LOADED UP AND TRUCKIN'

Leaving Forks to get to the most northwestern point in the continental United States was my goal for the day. It took some veeeeerrrrrryyyyyyy careful driving the last 20 miles in loose gravel, but I got out there and safely parked the bike. It is on Native American land, and the view is fantastic. Once the bike was parked I had to walk almost a mile out to the point. I took my time and was thankful that it was downhill to the viewpoint. It was a nice leisurely stroll in the quiet woods. I didn't see any Sasquatch prints but on the way out to the point, I stopped to watch two Baled Eagles waltz around the sky.

That was a striking dance that continued longer than I had time to be enthralled. I mentally wished them well, and applauded their expertise and grace. On the way out to the point, I noticed that the homes - if they were in any other part of the country - would have been bulldozed for fit housing. I was stunned at the condition and the makeshift repairs that were done to "fix" some major problems. I had to stop thinking about that.

Instead, my mind wandered to the mission at hand. I was going out to the last "corner" that needed visiting. It meant that my overall goals were almost completed. After visiting this corner, I would be able to "turn right" and head for home. I have been gone a long time.

While I have been gone, the world has become a far more dangerous place. The Midwest has temperatures that I only experienced in Texas, Arizona and New Mexico. My grand daughter has learned to walk and by now probably runs as well. The trip began with a friend of mine, Kevin Matts along for the first few days. When we parted ways, the loss of conversation was deafening. It has been a mostly lonely undertaking tempered by the vision of completing this task, because I said I would.

After standing and gazing at some of the most beautifully rugged terrain that I have ever seen, I offered some private thoughts to those who may benefit from this trip. I offered some prayers to those for whom it is too late. I asked for help on the return ride to Michigan.

And then I started back up the hill toward the bike, and home.

The damn hill wasn't this steep going down!!!! Hey, this is, wow, I better stop. Dr. Rojas, my Cardiologist isn't this tough on the stress test that he gives. A lady asked me - she was on her way down to the edge - how far she had come. I told her she was about ¼ of the way there. Hee hee. She was at about the ½ way point. I just wanted to mess with her mind. She will be impressed by how easy it was to cover all that way, until she starts coming back up.

I finally made it back to the bike and verrrrrrrryyyyy carefully backed it out of where I had parked.  It took some doing in the loose gravel that I had dealt with for the last 20 miles. I got it all sorted out, and began the trek back to pavement. It took forever. By the time I got back to paved road surfaces, it was well past my lunch time and with the exertion of the past hour or so, I was in need of fuel.  I rounded a corner and there were six Harleys that had just parked. The owners were preparing to go inside and they were kind enough to invite me to have lunch with them.

This group was from Missouri. We determined that the group seated at the table must be the ONLY bikers NOT going to Sturgis. Everyone else was happily on their way. These guys and their wives were heading south to San Diego on Route 1. I was headed to Port Townsend about 98 mile north and east. I was happy to give them some ideas I had about the route that I had just completed and that they were about to undertake. I hope that it helped them get there a bit safer. Soon it was time to take off, so they went their way, and I went mine. I traveled out to 101 and headed east. I headed east. East! The last time I did that was when Kevin and I hit the Ohio line, and we turned left to follow the northern edge of Ohio, way back on June 1st of this year. Now, it was time to do it again.

Port Angelis was my first stop, other than a quick gas stop earlier. I sort of putted around town a bit and looked at the ferries loading and unloading vehicles coming from or going to Vancouver. The price was right, and it was tempting to spend the night in Canada, but what with Brian's glowing reports about the place, I doubt that I would be back across in only one day.

I stayed Stateside. Soon I was off to Port Townsend. The whole town is a historic landmark. As I pulled into town, I moved down the main street as slow as traffic would allow so that I could drink in the flavor of the place. I think Romeo Michigan comes the closest to "feeling" like this place. I was sitting at the light, waiting for my turn to move, when something very weird occurred.  I was sitting there minding my own business, when I noticed a dollop of white hit the pavement, then another and another and (my God what did that thing eat?) and more and moremoremoremoremoredollopdollop, pretty soon it was a rectal machine gun going on. I hazarded a look up to see the butt ends of 20 or 30 sea gulls headed across the street to land on the building over there. This was remarkable. How on earth did they time THAT little escapade? Oh, by the way, not one dollop hit in my lane!!!!! NOT ONE!!!!  The interesting thing is that there was evidence of other team shitting going on around town. I presume that it was the same group of seagulls (probably teenagers) doing the bird equivalent of setting a bag of poop on fire on someone's front porch. I parked under a seagull proof bit of shrubbery.

The City has managed to revitalize the old buildings of the town. It would be a great place to shoot an 1880's era movie. It would take little to put it back in time. The place seems to have become a bit more Artsy since my last trip there with Mary when we visited Brian. He had been employed by Boeing Aircraft and lived out that way. I have a cousin Joanne Saul who has a great place called The Public House. It had been a saloon back in the heyday of big timber and gold, and it still was today. The wood floors and the tinplate ceiling spoke of times long gone. The banner stuck to the wall in back proclaiming free wireless internet did too. My cousin was not to be found, so I tried to find another inhabitant of the town. Mr. Gary and wife Karen Forbes are doctors in town. I tried calling Gary's folks, but their phone was all messed up and I was unable to get through, I guess. They didn't call back, so I don't know what happened. I called the Doctor's office and got the recording saying that "Normal Office hours end at 5:00 PM" which, had occurred just 8 minutes ago. So I called the answering service and explained why I needed to talk to the Forbes Physicians. I said it was a non emergency, but now that I think of it, perhaps I should have created an emergency. The answering service never called me back, nor did Gary or Karen. I had even initiated the help of the local police department.

Oh well, I guess I will glue my finger back on AGAIN…..

Just kidding.

It had started to get a bit late for finding a room, so I aborted my walk around town and began the quest for sleeping quarters. That quest almost took me all the way back to Sequim, pronounced SQUIM (LIKE SWIM WITH A "Q" IN IT) I agree with my son, who can't figure out how that pronunciation ever came out of how it is spelled. But I am in a nice place tonight and this is the last sentence of the journal entry.