Reflected Glory: Two Days With Record Setters
In July 2001 an oft-postponed motorcycle trip to the Oregon Coast finally came about and the motorcycle was readied for the 2000-mile-plus trip. Not that it needed much, the Kawasaki Voyager is made for long days, but air pressures in the tires and shocks, engine oil and electrolyte level, still needed to be glanced at.
Checking in the first night at a dot on the map called Santa Nella, about 270 miles from Los Angeles, a couple of motorcycles with South American
license plates pulled in. It turned out that one of them - Joao Goncalvez, a
Brazilian - had left the southern tip of South America in April ( on a BMW 650
Paris-Dakar type bike). He met up with Arturo Montero, a Costa Rican, somewhere
near the Panama border, and they decided to ride together, heading for the
northernmost tip of Alaska. They called it the Pole-to-Pole trip, and said it
had not been attempted before.
Joao (on left) and Arturo at Whiskeytown Lake on Highway 299. Arturo was riding a Harley, but wasn't too happy with it.
So I invited them to ride with me to the Oregon Coast - to which they agreed quickly. They had just entered the US and so far they had seen only the 5, which is no introduction to the beauties of California. We had a late dinner Friday as we talked later into the night than we would have normally, considering the long days ahead.
They were an interesting couple. Joao spoke no English, only Portuguese, but he understood Spanish. Arturo spoke Spanish, but understood Portuguese. So they spoke to each other in their own languages and Arturo translated for me and Joao. In temperament too they were quite different. Arturo was the typical passionate Latin male, while Joao was more aloof. They had different goals too. Arturo wanted to see the country - after I led them up Highway 299 he said he would not exchange 10 kilometers of that road for a thousand kilometers of the freeway. Joao was entirely focused on the target. He enjoyed the scenery, of course, but he wanted to get to Prudhoe Bay before Aug. 10, and that's all he cared about. The two had frequent arguments, and I just hope they stayed together for the long trip.
I led them west on Highway 299 from Redding to Arcata, a beautiful road. Joao and I spent the night at Eureka after having lost Arturo toward the end of the day. (I had said that if we separated we would meet at Motel 6 in Eureka - Arturo saw a Motel 8 and decided that was it. When no one in Brazil or Costa Rica had heard from him by Saturday morning I was making calls to the California Highway Patrol, thinking he had gone off the mountain road, when he showed up.)
Next
morning we rode through the Redwoods to Crescent City, a stunning ride. Pat,
afriend, joined us there, and Arturo and Joao headed back to the freeway, much
against Arturo's wishes.
The three of us on the Oregon Coast. We attracted attention wherever we stopped because of the license plates and stickers on Arturo's and Joao's bikes. Here a woman came running up and introduced us to her daughter, whom she had adopted in Costa Rica.
I had forgotten how beautiful the Oregon coast is, with trees coming right down to the shoreline. We spent Sunday and Monday on the coast (we spent the night at Florence), cutting from the coast to Portland Monday evening. We rode across from Tilamook (where the cheese is made) to Portland on Highway 6, another beautiful road. Tuesday and Wednesday I rode the 1000 miles back to Los Angeles, and that was it until the next trip.
Click on these images:
 A view of the bridge at Florence.
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 The coast north of Florence. This is the Yachats lighthouse, now shrouded in mist. |
 Amongst the Redwood trees. |