Rewinding to the day (Thursday) that stared in Spokane. I was determined to ride around the Lake at Coeur d’ Arlene. It just looked so magnificent on every map. The name also sounds sexy.

So off it was, east bound this time. On the I 90 to get there fast because the roads around the Lake were certain to be slow and full of turns and cutbacks. Great for riding but time consuming. My end point was Walla Walla, a night stop that I had chosen for no other reason than I liked the sound of the name. It turned out to be the wine center of Washington State, but more about that later.

Onto the highway. A twist of the wrist and I immediately new that Bonnie was not on her game. A bit sluggish and tired. Normally when I wind the throttle she jumps forward, ready for action and in a hurry to go. Not this morning. Maybe I was imagining things.

The highway was also one of those roads that you know is going to be tough. Resurfaced sometime ago, it had a ridge in the middle that makes lane changing on a bike so difficult. Any of you who have ridden a pedal bike and tried to cross railway lines at an angle will know what I am talking about.

I have fallen off my pedal cycle twice in the last thirty years. Once, in Franschhoek on my way to climb the pass, during Argus training. Crossing the railway lines in Groendal I lost my front wheel in the tracks and off I came. There were a number of very small coloured children playing nearby. They all stopped and then ran to me, not to help but to gloat. “Kyk die Wittie, sien hoe hy val” they shouted. That day Connie Mulder jnr. nearly ended up with my vote.

Then for the second time, earlier this year when I was cycling with Blake in Cambridge. More like just trying to keep up with him, rather than with him, we turned off the road onto the cycle track parallel to the road. There was a small concrete lip and I never got the correct angles to cross it. Once again off I went. No-one to gloat this time. Only a son, who was worried that his father had broken something.

Anyhow freeways on a motorbike are never my best. Motorists become like assassins on a freeway. You are not seen by them and the traffic comes at you from both sides. Shortly after getting onto the freeway I noticed this Ford truck (bakkie) coming at me from the right. I immediately knew this was a determined assassin. Female judging by the hunched over the steering wheel look. Female assassins are the deadliest species. I was correct in my assessment.

The assassin veered across me as if I did not exist. A femme fatale! So apart from the ridge in the middle of the road, I also had this Taliban nightmare to contend with. Thinking of female assassins made me think of the epic movie Nikita. I like that name, perhaps my next bike will be called Nikita. Dark, brooding and mysterious. Latin, a Ducati maybe.

But then I have had my Latin lover. A Ferrari 305 GTS in the early 80’s. A wonderful mistress, but you never knew where you were with her. How the day was going to start, if it was going to start at all. On her good days she was exceptional, on her bad days not even the Ferrari doctor could coax a decent performance out of her. No good as a lover or mistress, who by definition, has to be ready at the drop of a throttle.

My Porsche Turbo 911 was probably the perfect mistress. Ultra reliable. Massive and insatiable performance. Ready to start immediately you hit the go button. But what made that generation of Turbo’s the perfect mistress was their edge. Unlike the newer 911 Turbos that have all the safety features such as four wheel drive, ABS etc. Mine was the last of the generations with out this technology. If you took her one step over the edge, she could and would bite you in the back. Instantly.

So Nikita will probably be a BMW 100 RR or the new 1600 GTL.

With these thoughts in my mind I turn South off the 90 onto the Idaho 97 to Harrison. This road runs on the edge of the Lake. Filed by the Kootenai River, the water almost luminescent. Houses dot the shoreline. Now I see why Coeur D’ Arlene is rated one of the top 10 cities to live in the USA.

I pass the prettiest filling station I have seen in years on the road. Have to fill up. Drop in to the shop. They have great looking pizza, so I order one. 30 minutes later I am back on the road.

The Prettiest Gas Station in the US

Bonnie and I are not meshing. It must be me I think. No tempo and timing. I am a poor lover today. So I go slower. This is not what I had in mind. This should be a great ride. An epic day and I am not enjoying it.

I suspect the tires, but then I am neurotic about rubbers and potential leaks. I am the hypochondriac of tires. I stop and get off. I look at the rear tire. It looks fine. My pressure gauge is buried under mounds of stuff. I kick the tire using this tried and trusted high tech method of tire pressure testing. Tried it once on a 747 walk around and nearly broke my foot. Still looks fine. Must just be me imagining it. Fuel consumption the same so it must just be me.

Shall I cut the ride short and head for Walla Walla via the shortest route? No I want to go via Moscow. Yes you read right, Moscow. Some Idaho billionaire bought Moscow at the height of the collapse of the Soviet Union and moved it to Idaho. Americans will do anything and if you have the money you can make your dreams come true in the USA.

It really Exists

Just joking about buying Moscow, but there really is a big town in Idaho called Moscow and it is also actually very nice. It has a University of Idaho campus with great facilities. I stop again and look at my rear wheel. It is not wearing well and will not make Anchorage where I have already pre-ordered a new set of tires for the return trip. My thoughts run around this. Although there are many more BMW’s in this part of the world, where will I get Michelin’s. Eugene, Portland. I do not know that there is a dealer in Clarkston, which is no more than 30 miles from Moscow. I only find that out later that evening when I am miles away.

Idaho is of course famous for potatoes. One of the largest fortunes in the US has been made by a potato farmer, one JR Simplot. Having left school at the age of 14 he made his first money growing potatoes and then supplying the US army with dehydrated potatoes. He then supplied McDonalds with potatoes for fries and revolutionized his and their business by offering to process the potatoes into frozen fries ready for the restaurants. The deal between Simplot and Ray Krok was done on a handshake and exists today. No contracts no supplier audits no nothings. Only a relationship. The rest is history. Idaho is also home to the nations largest lumber products company, Boise Cascade and signs and the smells of the lumber mills are everywhere.

After Moscow I leave for Walla Walla. At Dusty I stop and it s there, as per my previous blog. I find that I have a slow puncture.

Today is Saturday and I am now with Randy and Lynn Norris in their house at Redmond Oregon overlooking the Deschutes River and the snow bound mountains near Bend. I am her for the next four days when I leave for Vancouver Island via Eugene and Port Angeles from where I will take a ferry.

Deschutes River. The Norris’s view

So I am a day behind as I have to get you from Walla Walla and my new wine friends to Redmond. This update will follow over the weekend.

Stay Chilled.