I felt like shit when I woke up.  Slept poorly, disoriented from moving great distances every day, but mostly I was disappointed that my route for the day was ruined by a forest fire.

My plan for the day was to ride north through Chelan, following the same route I took south exactly six days ago.  From there I’d head further north to Winthrop, and ride through the Cascade Mountains west from there and emerge just south of the Canadian border to reach the Lower Mainland of BC where I was going to see my friends Scott & Gill and their children.  The road west of Winthrop was supposed to be the best motorcycle ride in BC (according to my Destination Highways book).  This was part of the reason I wanted to stay in Leavenworth (the other reason was because of Leavenworth).

Unfortunately, since I had left Chelan, a forest fire had started and people in Leavenworth were telling me it probably wasn’t safe to ride through there…and it was pretty much the only way to get to that road I wanted to ride.  My alternative was to ride due west from Leavenworth and take the Interstate #5 north of Seattle to the border crossing into Surrey, BC.  This would involve entirely too much Interstate and not be nearly as interesting.

So, back to Leavenworth…I wanted to stay here because it is so widely known inside Destination Marketing circles.  The town is nestled in a moderately forested area on the eastern edge of the Cascade Mountains.  If you are familiar with Manning Park in BC, it is very similar geologically and geographically (being only a hundred kilometres or so north).

This green-mountain locale serves as a backdrop for a town with an entirely Bavarian theme.   Every business- even the gas stations and grocery stores- all have the theme.  The street signs are in English and German.  The restaurants all feature German cuisine. Down to every detail…that have a solid community brand and are working it hard.  Very enviable.

Imagine living in a town where everyone who lived there bought into a brand…a theme…a message to send out to the world.  Everyone agreed, everyone bought in, and everyone sells it.  It is remarkable, and worth a visit. It is the real deal, and my food experience the night before was solid. Homemade sauerkraut. I’d love to come back.

So heading west from Leavenworth I was bummed about the road I had to take, although the 120kms across the Cascade Mountains were pleasant.  Again, very similar to the Crowsnest portion in BC that cuts through the Cascade Mountains…the Manning Park area.  The road was huge though…four lanes for a lot of it…and I got the distinct impression that this is where the Seattle surburb kids go camping or hiking or whatever.

It took a few hours to get through the mountains and by the time I hit the Interstate I was in a pissy mood.  I mean, I was still on holiday and still just out riding, but there was an unmet expectation here.  Interstates are not fun.  The Trans-Canada is not fun.  They are too fast and far too crowded and too many people are completely ignorant of how a motorcycle works.  Don’t ever cut off a motorcycle in traffic.  If I am ever in danger on a tour, it’s not from falling off of a mountain or hitting a tree…it’s on big Interstates where the the traffic is the danger.

Anyway, the Interstate was not pleasant.  I was getting the Fades…heavy eyes…probably from too many days on the road combined with a deficiency in stimulation thanks to the Interstate’s droning landscape.  My ass was getting sore for the same reason.  The weather was hot and I was in my heavy jacket.  You name it- I was ready to bitch about it.  That’s the kind of mood I was in…even though I was on holidays and just riding my bike around mountains and around coasts.  Still bitchy.

Oddly enough I had nothing to declare at the Canadian border beyond “stay off of the Interstates and that road to the east of Mount St. Helens.”  I had actually planned to bring some wine back from the Yakima area, but I didn’t have time the day before because I spend too much time looking at lava and then the discovery of the Lost City of Gold at the Richardson’s Rock Ranch.  I stand by my decision.  I have blue opal eggs and some killer petrified wood now.  And only my rock saw will tell what’s inside those thunder eggs. Wine is wine.  Easy come, easy go (I know that’s not true).

Anyway, nothing to declare at the border.  Asked me a few questions about where I was from…usual stuff…I didn’t have to go through a search like I did going in.  The lineup was shitty but not nearly as shitty as I thought it would be.  It’s was a Monday afternoon kind of lineup.

Riding through Surrey and north to the TransCanada was also unpleasant.  Urban areas in general are unpleasant, especially ones that are unfamiliar.  I’m totally reliant on my GPS at this point.  It’s mounted on my handlebars along with my cup holder. It would be a disaster without it.  Without both of them, for that matter.

The TransCanada was fine but crossing the Port Mann bridge was different as they divided the lanes up before you reach the bridge.  My exit to reach Port Moody is immediately after the bridge, but because I didn’t know about the lane division I missed the exit.  Luckily my GPS found an alternate route, but it involved an extra half hour of urban riding.  Sitting in stinky and sweaty clothes covered in heavy black leather…baking under the sun with the heat of the asphalt and the bike’s engine radiating underneath you…waiting…waiting…waiting.  Then go. Waiting…waiting…sweating…waiting.  Then go.  Then more waiting…more sweating.  Lots of sweating.

My mood was lifted as I reached my friends’ neighbourhood and realized I had made it.  I always look forward to staying with them.  This time I was especially looking forward to it as I have been alone on the road for a week.  This would be way better than talking to myself and writing journals.   I was able to unpack quickly and after cleaning myself up we had a great dinner and a good visit before I crashed.  The days on the road were catching up to me.