07/22/09 Bend
Here's a photo recap of my Summer adventure -- three days on the motorcycles with my Dad and older brother. MOTR 2009.
** First stop, Prineville Arctic Circle. This is what I look like without makeup. I'm meeting my brother and father in Condon, for a fly-fishing mission seeking the John Day River's ugliest small-mouth bass. Here in Prineville I ask for a container of Fry Sauce, with the intention, should the ugliest fish fail to bite, I might tempt the beast with a wet fly dipped in Arctic Circle's secret sauce. Incidentally, if you show up at Arctic Circle at 10 a.m., asking only for Fry Sauce to go, they do not find it unusual.
** Second stop, Mitchell. Mitchell is a very small community, with a high school offering a residence hall to keep its enrollment over 150. In the middle of town, tucked behind a self-serve gas pump, is this very large cage. There is a black bear inside. His name is Henry. Outside his door he's written, engagingly, in the first-person: "Hello, my name is Henry. I am a black bear. My owner takes very good care of me. I especially like it when he rubs my tummy. He feeds me every day." Henry didn't write the other sign on the fence, which reads, "Stay away from the fense (sic). Bear hits cage."
** John Day River. This is the winner, pulled by my father from the warm, free-flowing waters of the John Day. Dad's natural ability impressed Marty, our friendly guide with Little Creek Outfitters. By the end of the day Dad was asking about pontoon boat prices, so I think it wasn't just the fish that may have been hooked. (The Fry Sauce, by the way, stayed in my bag. I suspected Marty to be a traditionalist.) At one point during the trip, my brother the firefighter encouraged me by saying, "Let's get some more on." He meant fish, but I spent a good while trying to figure out why he would call me a moron in front of Marty.
** Wilson Creek Ranches. A night on a working ranch, under the easy hospitality of Phil and Nancy Wilson. For breakfast, homemade blueberry muffins, then a little photography. At the Wilson ranch you can tag along on a cattle drive, if you're looking for saddle time. We'd had enough of that, and just took thirds on the muffins.
** Clarno Fossil Beds. Our shirts match because Dad had them made. They have a map of Oregon on the back, which makes them more than just fashionable. Our bikes do not match; I have the Japanese Kawasaki, Tim the German BMW, Dad the American Harley-Davidson. We're a rolling re-enactment of WWII.
** Kah-Nee-Ta. The final surprise, as Mom shows up for our reservation on the reservation. I asked her to come for the final night and share a mineral soak with her man. After dinner, I guided conversation towards the last line on the MOTR 2009 itinerary -- the casino. Here's how it played out, much to my dismay:
JAY: "Okay, I think the tables are ready."
MOM: "Oh, I have to get back to the room for 'The Bachelorette.'"
DAD: (avoiding eye contact) "I really don't need to see the casino."
This is how MOTR 2009 came to a close, and the one time it fell far short of its name: Men Of The Road. Dad had re-enlisted in his life with the wife and two dogs. I hope he and my big bro enjoyed the ride away as much as I did. Any suggestions for MOTR 2010 would be fully appreciated.
