Day 2 : 985 km : Fernie, BC to Lake Oswego, OR (Portland, OR)
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Day 2 started out without incident, however I am always surprised at how long it takes to saddle up the bike and put the luggage on, etc.
The fall colours in Fernie and surrounds were breathtaking. Literally. I’m not one to wax on about fall colours in the west, especially since I used to live in eastern Canada where as easterners all know; things are much better. Having said that – every twist and turn in the highway was a treat and a half with bright yellows and the odd red foliage in various stages of turning. It was beautiful in a way that just reminds you to stop and look sometimes. Sadly, it failed to make me stop and photograph, so I’ll have to repeat this experience next year to document it better.
I had coffee and breakfast in Cranbrook, BC at a small independent coffee shop. I suspect that the locals thought I was a Martian in my leathers. Especially since I’m sure there was a good forty years age difference between myself and the majority of the clientele. They had handy Expresso [sic] cheat sheet cards on the tables to help customers decipher the myriad of drink choices before them, especially since you had to know a word or two of a foreign language to order them. Unfortunately, the educational material had some serious errors, but I figured world peace and understanding would not be affected if a few octogenarians didn’t quite understand the difference between a Latté and a Cappuccino. World peace may be affected, however, by the alarming incidence of camouflage themed track suits, pants, jackets and shirts that were running wild in the same crowd. I felt like they were all likely The Backup customers and I wasn’t about to test my theory.
The ride to the Idaho border was one postcard moment after another, punctuated with shivers, violent swearing and oaths to never ride after labour day again, ever. It was stunning outside, in a both picturesque and caloric or thermodynamic way.
The border personnel were very kind and friendly – but I’ve become quite accustomed to this. With regular business travel, the engagement has become routine and occasionally humorous. I find that if you are in line with expectations and above board – as we all should be – the border crossing is easy and pleasant. Questions were more obviously focused on the bike than on my trip. Of course, as a security minded professional, I know that from his point of view, this is just as useful as asking me trip related questions. My degree of ease and response capabilities are just as easily measured through “idle chat” as through direct questioning. If I was incongruent, it will be just as easy to spot, regardless of the topic.
I was suffering from debilitating back pain at this point and was sure that I would have to turn around and head home. I decided in a rash moment that I likely needed more freedom of movement to deal with the aches and pains so I shed the Dainese technical safety jacket. From that point on, my comfort level rose hourly. I think this is mostly to do with the extra restrictions on my motion that the safety jacket created, but in the end I was much better off.
The northern part of Idaho looked a lot like the Bitteroot Valley region of Montana and I think that Jared Diamond would have been hard pressed to tell the difference. (photo)
I stopped for a late coffee / snack in Spokane, WA and had someone ask me if Alberta was just past (local town name here).
Yes ma’am, Alberta is just past Fubar, WA. Approximately 10 times further away, north of Montana.
I lost her on North of Montana. The glazed expression said enough – she had no idea what was north of the 49th parallel and didn’t really grasp that she was south of Canada and specifically, south of British Columbia. I can’t really lay this one at her feet though. I’ve seen the local news. They crop the globe at 49 degress and only peripherally refer to Canada as that place where the cold air comes from.
Passing south towards the Tri-Cities area (don’t ask me what the cities are) I had a funny experience in wine country: A pervasive smell of grape juice in the air. You’d miss it in a car with air conditioning, but for me, it was as though my head was thrust into a room where the juice is pressed.
I only hope that the wine / grapes do not pick up the reciprocal ‘eau d’exhaust’ essence. Puns all intended.
Once established on the main roads, I followed I-84 to I-5 into Portland. Found a room at the Hilton Garden Inn in Lake Oswego and crashed into bed. Hard.