Not a good start!
We (George and I) left at 11:30 a.m., kissing family good -bye (with the now normal warnings, "Don't be stupid!", which were the last words my Dad, who died in February, said to me before leaving on our cross-Canada trip last year, and "Be safe", like we were teenagers going out on our first date in the family car). Traveling with our 'send off' motorcycle escorts, Paul Weme and Wayne Nygren, we passed easily through the Aldergrove border crossing and back-tracked to Blaine to undertake the obligatory photo op at the Post Office. We mailed in our proof of conquering the first corner (25 miles from home), and that was when we suffered our first "Oh no!" moment.
The look on George's face said it all as he patted every pocket and checked every part of the fully packed bike. His wallet was missing! Where could it be? Maybe back at the Chevron station we had gassed up at 15 minutes before. Doing more than the very slow speed limit through town, we held our breath while backtracking, scanning the roadway and shoulders for a small but 'oh so important' package.
Miracles must foreshadow good things to come. There, laying on the ground beside the gas pump, was the heart stopping billfold. Wow!
The adrenalin rush turned out to be the most exciting moment of the day.
We hit Seattle at the same time as millions of residents felt the sudden irrepressible urge to drive immediately to the I-5 freeway, as if under hypnosis, so that they could participate in the worst mind-numbing rush hour ever. A veritable 'park in". Now rush hour is frustrating enough in a car, but on a motorcycle in full armour, with the sun beating down at a crisp 82 degrees Fahrenheit (30 Celsius), nothing is more frustrating. Bikes are not meant to be driven at 5 kph (or mph, take your pick). Stop, go, stop, go...2 hours worth. We soon tired of the "how slow can I go" without tipping over game. Arghhh!
So after 8 hours on the road, we accomplished the 5 and 1/2 hour trip of roughly 300 miles and arrived at the Paull's to be greeted by an empty garage to store the bikes, and a soon to be empty wine glass to calm the tired road rage survivors. Lovely time overlooking Vancouver Lake and the Columbia River, then off to sleep so that we can start early (Saturday - no rush hour!).
The day was safe, if a little sad for the missing knights.
We (George and I) left at 11:30 a.m., kissing family good -bye (with the now normal warnings, "Don't be stupid!", which were the last words my Dad, who died in February, said to me before leaving on our cross-Canada trip last year, and "Be safe", like we were teenagers going out on our first date in the family car). Traveling with our 'send off' motorcycle escorts, Paul Weme and Wayne Nygren, we passed easily through the Aldergrove border crossing and back-tracked to Blaine to undertake the obligatory photo op at the Post Office. We mailed in our proof of conquering the first corner (25 miles from home), and that was when we suffered our first "Oh no!" moment.
The look on George's face said it all as he patted every pocket and checked every part of the fully packed bike. His wallet was missing! Where could it be? Maybe back at the Chevron station we had gassed up at 15 minutes before. Doing more than the very slow speed limit through town, we held our breath while backtracking, scanning the roadway and shoulders for a small but 'oh so important' package.
Miracles must foreshadow good things to come. There, laying on the ground beside the gas pump, was the heart stopping billfold. Wow!
The adrenalin rush turned out to be the most exciting moment of the day.
We hit Seattle at the same time as millions of residents felt the sudden irrepressible urge to drive immediately to the I-5 freeway, as if under hypnosis, so that they could participate in the worst mind-numbing rush hour ever. A veritable 'park in". Now rush hour is frustrating enough in a car, but on a motorcycle in full armour, with the sun beating down at a crisp 82 degrees Fahrenheit (30 Celsius), nothing is more frustrating. Bikes are not meant to be driven at 5 kph (or mph, take your pick). Stop, go, stop, go...2 hours worth. We soon tired of the "how slow can I go" without tipping over game. Arghhh!
So after 8 hours on the road, we accomplished the 5 and 1/2 hour trip of roughly 300 miles and arrived at the Paull's to be greeted by an empty garage to store the bikes, and a soon to be empty wine glass to calm the tired road rage survivors. Lovely time overlooking Vancouver Lake and the Columbia River, then off to sleep so that we can start early (Saturday - no rush hour!).
The day was safe, if a little sad for the missing knights.