In 1,090 Miles

Of course it's wet and rainy as I leave Salt Lake in the morning. The riding isn't too bad but my knees are a bit damp so I pull over to put my rain paints on over my jeans. I'm north of Ogden, out of the the shitty construction at this point, and the rain gets a bit harder so I pull over again and put my rain jacket on. It helps keep me warm too, which is nice because I am now learning that moving through air at 75 miles an hour is cold. About a hundred miles out of Salt Lake I decided to get off at the next exit for a gas station to fill up and take some shelter. The off ramp is in sight when my engine dies. I pull to the road, thinking the rain had something to do with this, and I see my oil pressure lamp is on. I check the oil. It's low. I put some in. The light stays on, the bike won't start. Shit. I go through the trouble shooting options in my owner's manual. Nothing helps. I only have gone 130 miles on this tank, and I usually get more until I need to switch to my reserve. That can't be it. I can't believe I'm standing on the side of the interstate in the rain, watching my sleeping bag and guitar and all my other shit get wet. I didn't even get out of Utah.
I've exhausted what options I feel I have so i start to dig around for my roadside assistance card. I can't believe this is happening. I'm giving some lady my information when she asks about fuel. Yes, of course I have fuel. To prove it to myself I even switch to my reserve and try the ignition, which works. Oh my god, I am fully retarded. I don't get the same mileage wth all my gear loaded on. I tell the woman I got it working and drive to the gas station wanting to kick myself. I'm in Idaho as I get back on the highway, and eventually the rain stops and the sky clears. I take off my rainsuit and enjoy the scenery. The land around me looks like moon rocks covered in a soft yellow grass. Pretty nice. After a couple hundred miles I get to state highway 95, which will bring me north, and off the interstate, which I'm looking forward to. The strip malls and towns clear out as I get farther away from the interstate, and I finally end up in Cambridge, Idaho, "Gateway to Hell's Canyon," where I plan to camp tonight. I jump on state highway 71 here, and it turns out to be the best road I could ask for: two lanes, empty, and curvy up and down gentle hills through a beautiful valley that suddenly opens up onto the southern end of the Hell's Canyon recreation area. Here the road sides drop away into cliffs and the turns become tighter and more fun. The Brownlee Dam creates a lake above, and a river below. I check out a very nice campground but decide to continue along the road, following the river to see what else is to be seen.
On the Oregon side of the dam I spot a 150ish foot rock face across the river, and think how rad it would be to swim the 150 yards to it, and try and climb it if the base is clear and deep. I put it out of my mind and continue cruising until I just decided to turn around and find a campground. As I pass the rock face again, I decide I've got to try it, so I park, grab my bathing suit and walk towards the slope leading down to the river. Unfortunately the slope is a bunch of rock slag, and is deathly close to vertical. I contemplate the situation for awhile and walk back to my bike. I take off but can't stop thinking about much of a pussy I am for not even trying. I turn around and grab my stuff one more time. I cautiously descend the rock slope, which also happens to be laced with spider webs. I hate spiders. A lot. But I strip down and jump into my suit and start swimming. About halfway there, making sure no boats are around to run me over, I realize I have got myself way in over my head. I can make it to the wall, and be sapped of most of my energy, or I can turn around and use what I have left to get back to my clothes and bike. I turn around, satisfied I at least tried. The swim back is against the current and my shoulders are rubber, but I finally make it. It was at least 100 yards round trip. I cut my foot getting out, and realize that it's not going to be easy climbing up the rocks. I stumble up, getting my pants and helmet and jacket filthy, nearly slipping to my death thanks to the loose rocks a couple times, but I finally make it. I start to change back at my bike and I find that I'm standing on spiky nettles the hard way. I decide I need to go to the first camp ground I saw, since they have showers and I certainly need one.
By the time I set up my tent, clean up, and organize everything, night has fallen, and I crawl onto my sleep pad, and take the rain fly off my tent to let the wind blow through. It blows through, hard, all night and feels great. I'm afraid it's going to rain and soak me, but I luck out and wake up to a sparkling lake just before seven AM.
By the time I check the tires and oil and chain on my bike, and load it up, it's 830 AM when I take off. Back on 71, just as good as the day before, to Cambridge, where I eat at a tiny diner where highschool boys are wearing cowboy hats and tank tops. Driving north on 95 through upper Idaho is fantastic. The roads are wide open and the weather is great. I go through pine forests and up and down small peaks, through a state forest. The only problem is there are a lot of RVs and trucks towing boats or campers or whatever. Still, a great ride. When I get to Lewiston, looking for 195, I climb a large hill, and, thinking I'm lost, get off on a frontage road to head down into Lewiston to try and find 195 again. Going down into Lewiston, the frontage road snakes and twists over a dozen hills, one of the most fun 20 minutes of the trip so far. Once in town I get turned around a bit and stop for lunch at a pub on Main Street. I eat a Mediterranean wrap and drink the cloudiest hefeweizen I have ever seen. I make it to 195, right where I thought I was lost earlier. It turns out that I got off onto the frontage road just before the 195 sign. Oh well.
195 is a great road, going through farm country where hills of grain are a dusty yellow and it looks like sand dunes as far as the eye can see. I'm not on it too long when I turn onto 26 West, a long straight road through similar country, except the wind is murderous and turns an otherwise nice ride into a struggle. I deal with this for 2 hours until it puts me on Interstate 90 towards Seattle. The wind continues. As I climb towards Snoqualmie Pass my joints stiffen and I'm moving while angled into the wind, looking like I'm in the position for a turn when I'm actually going straight. I stop at every rest area there is. 90 through Snoqualmie Pass is unquestionably gorgeous. Rock towers rise into the misty clouds above, with evergreens grabbing onto them wherever they can. But I'm still frozen and just want to get out of the pass so the sun can hit me once again. At a gas station I call Eric and get directions to his place. I finally am out of the pass and approaching Seattle. A long tunnel shoots me onto a floating bridge, toward a large bank of land littered with houses that another tunnel goes underneath. Very nice. 90 ends and I get on Interstate 5 going south, and in 10 miles I am finally off the main roads, and pull up to Eric's house extremely grateful to warm my air-chilled bones.