PDXGS'ers and the mythic Salmonberry

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>
A few weeks ago, a handful of PDXGS (http://www.pdxgs.com/) (PDX= Portland, OR. GS = well, you know what that means) club members went on a little ride to a little river called "Salmonberry". The report is a little rough, but I thought I'd get it up.
---
Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 1

"Salmonberry"
The name alone conjures images of the Northwest - dark pines, gray clouds, misty rain, carpets of green moss, and cold rocky streams churning with fertile salmon. But the faintest whisper of the name around any PDXGS* member will have him telling a different tale - a story of battles won and the war that was ultimately lost. The stories vary wildly, but the theme is always the same; of turning back defeated - clutches burnt to cinder, transmissions chewed, overpriced parts shaken loose and lost, entire bikes left stranded. Salmonberry. A road of near mythic proportions. A dark road through a dark forest that lures in men and spits out fools. Covered with a bottomless pile of loose river rocks like flattened softballs, tires find no purchase, the rocks quick to dash out of the way, then swarm back to swallow a wheel. Worse than mud, the hapless pilot, struggling to stay afloat in the shifting drifting mass, is left with no choice but to abandon ship, or mission, or worse. With a far off look in their eye, and a voice full of lust and awe, PDXGS'ers tell the tales as ancient mariners talk of the mighty sea and the whale that drove men mad. One even talks of angels laughing in the snow.

And it wasn't even the road they were after. This was only one route chosen by a foolish few to step out onto the green mossy banks of the Salmonberry river. Along that river, for a brief stretch deep in a narrow valley, runs a forgotten road, the one they truly sought - a road that not even the lumbermen bother to visit. And we were going to find it.
-------
Clumps of riders gathered at a Starbucks west of Portland. Six boys with six toys were off to conquer that road. A happy surprise was Jorge (Rubber Cow) ignoring doctor's orders and joining us. With the stories of the route that shouldn't be taken still circling, we wondered how Jorge's freshly stitched belly could possibly stand the impending abuse.

A clean clean bike, perhaps the most spotless it has ever been since I bought it. We'll fix that.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3668.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3668.jpg)

The passing of the baton - life at a gas station in Oregon.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3669.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3669.jpg)

West out on 26, leaving the last scraps of the suburbs, we dodged the predatory police and were out into the countryside. I contemplated our fate. I had never been part of the previous attempts at the summit. I pictured the moment where I told everyone else to go on ahead. Ride your own ride, right? But Jeff (photogbiker) swore he knew a better way, that he had almost been there, almost touched the cold clear waters of the Salmonberry. We put our fate in his hands.

Too typical of riding amongst pesky humans, we bunched up behind slow moving traffic. I hung back, relaxed, and took in the changing landscape, watching the rumpled coast range grow larger. We are supposed to be a motley bunch, us GS riders. But as I followed the rest of the group, I couldn't help but laugh. How many times someone had said that BMW owners and GS owners in particular are "unique"?

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3671.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3671.jpg)

"Am I beautiful?" Fred waiting to get off the main road and into the trees. Quick to smile and seemingly always relaxed, Fred is the zen master of riding your own ride. When others are sucked into charging ahead, Fred is the one at the back, moving at his own pace, enjoying the moment. With this contemplative pace comes learning and skill.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3673.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3673.jpg)

Jorge adjusting his "stuff". Something about chaffing, but we didn't really want to know.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3675.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3675.jpg)

The first stop of many. Grinning and chatting, we had already come up through countless trees, and around countless curves. Dueling cameras, Gary and I were quick with the cameras.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3676.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3676.jpg)

A man and his bike contemplate the meaning of life.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3678.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3678.jpg)

About 20 miles west of Portland, 6 splits off from 26, framing with the pacific a slice of the coast range. Within this triangle are miles of unpaved roads used mostly by the timber industry. With the lumber crews working the area six days a week, we chose to ride on a Sunday. Stripped and stripped again, by those crews, the forest is dense and dark. Through these stands of young trees, gray with lichens and stained dark by rain, the wet road snaked up and down through the wilderness.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3679.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3679.jpg)

This isn't the suburbs.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3681.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3681.jpg)

My first attempts at action shots. Tom (Road Rash) shoots by. He tends to forget that he's on an overpriced, underpowered, clumsy and fragile BMW and not on his little enduro. Later that day he could be spotted taking his bike through part of an OHV park, testing his skills as a submarine captain.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3684.jpg
(http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3684.jpg)

<i>part 2 coming soon...</i></td></tr></table>

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>
Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 2

At another stop, we contemplated our final goal and the "quilt" pattern created by logging. A vast improvement over the complete razing of the landscape, the piecemeal approach still has many opponents. Soil eroded from the denuded hillsides clogs the streams and the loss of fertile loam that took millenia to collect makes it harder and harder for the the forest to recover with each harvest.


http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3685.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3685.jpg)

Gary contemplates his surroundings.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3688.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3688.jpg)

Jorge, showing his good form.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3690.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3690.jpg)

<i>part 3 coming soon...</i></td></tr></table>

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>

Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 3

It was rapidly turning into a great day. As with any group ride, the pack keeps moving and the best photos go untaken. Through clear cuts, around tight curves marked with deep pot-holes and looser gravel, we went deeper and deeper into the woods. The entire time, images of the mythic road danced through my mind.

Eventually, we turned off from the more traveled roads. No longer packed gravel, the surfaced, strewn with the debris of a living forest, was a mixture of pine needles, soft loam, and ridges of rock and gravel. Down below, past the next sloppy curve, Gary must have been smiling. If a rider falls in the woods and no one is ...ahh screw it. Despite being only one year back into riding, he danced like an old veteran.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3692.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3692.jpg)

Our destination lay down nearly at those railroad tracks (1/3rd from the right, 1/4 from the bottom of the pic). Those same tracks crossed the Nehalem river a few miles later where it was joined by the Salmonberry. It seems a long way down by muddy road.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3697.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3697.jpg)

Welcoming or scary?

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3701.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3701.jpg)

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3704.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3704.jpg)

Jorge (Rubber Cow), Gary (Rockstar), Jeff (Photogbiker), Fred (Snaildarter), Tom (Road Rash).

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3709.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3709.jpg)

As we chatted, the clouds started to roll in fast. Some rain was sure to come.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3714.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3714.jpg)

<i>part 4 coming soon...</i></td></tr></table>

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>

Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 4

The road descended rapidly, around switchback after switchback, steeper and steeper. A light mist came and went. The farther we went, the rougher it got. How much was ridden standing up? Mud. Logs. Rocks. Potholes. More rocks. More logs. Riders finding the right line, the safest path, or sometimes the messiest route for a giggle. Steam rose up around the speeding bikes.

At some point I realized I was the only one with the standard high gearing of the 1150GS. Oh ****. Why can't I slow down? I thought I'd disabled the ABS, but the whir and clatter of the brakes, and the front wheel edging closer and closer to the edge told me otherwise. There are times when you have to just let go and trust the bike to get you through. As I slid clumsily around a fallen red alder, bike pointed downhill and speeding up, with the ABS whirring away, suspension working hard, I knew this was one of those times. I started pricing Jimmy Lewis's class, a different final drive, and a brain transplant. It was a good day.

Suddenly, the Salmonberry, a rich corridor of vivid green was to our right and we were at the end of the road.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3721.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3721.jpg)

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3729.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3729.jpg)

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3738.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3738.jpg)

Why we couldn't go any further. After a lobotomy, someone might try to walk their bike through.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3742.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3742.jpg)


<i>part 5 coming soon...</i></td></tr></table>

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>

Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 5

All bravado melted in the penetrating beauty of the place. Like the splash of color in a Degas, balancing and setting off the gray of dancers' dresses, the rivers of the northwest give meaning to the ever rolling landscape. They are secret gems sought by local kayakers and anglers alike.

With every step, I wanted to take another picture. The hushed sound of rushing river, a soft whisper of wind through trees. Colors and shadows impossibly rich. Each step gave a new perspective, a new appreciation.

The bikes, to the middle right, hidden by the trees.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3744.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3744.jpg)

Green.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3747.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3747.jpg)

The group broke apart. I followed Jeff down to the water while some of the others munched on cheese and bread. Here is Jeff, ?*the man with the good equipment, trying to capture the rapids.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3750.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3750.jpg)

Did I mention "green"?

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3753.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3753.jpg)

Would you try to walk the bikes around? I didn't think so.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3760.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3760.jpg)


<i>part 6 coming soon...</i></td></tr></table>

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>

Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 6

Aren't those some fine crashbars on that lead bike? It's an R1150GS Adventure - essentially identical to my bike, but better equipped for long distance rough road touring with, among other things, longer travel suspension, knobbie tires, crashbars, and a conspicuously larger tank. Some people buy bikes to compensate for some -ahem- deficiency, others as the tool of choice for their needs. The massively butch GS Adventure is one that especially appeals to both kinds men, those with the giant fuzzy coconuts and those with mere raisins. I knew I was neither man or fool enough the first time I tried to get one off the sidestand.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3762.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3762.jpg)

Having shared some food and conversation, and taken enough time to remember the river, the group turned back up the steep and rough road, with myself and Fred in the back. As we came around the first tight corner, there was the great silver tanker on its side, Jorge, Gary, and Jeff struggling to right the enormous machine. Jorge, one of the more skilled riders I know, had dropped it while navigating around a large fallen log that narrowed the path through deeper mud. In a flash, Tom had his camera out capturing the moment. I fumbled for mine, but I was too busy thinking of a conversation from just moments before. Jorge, the owner of the big Adventure and not a raisin man, had asked if I was going to get some crashbars for my comparatively naked steed, to help protect it in case of a fall. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

I really do need to do something about the chipmunk cheeks.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3766.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3766.jpg)

<i>part 7 coming soon...</i></td></tr></table>

[knary]

<table width=450><tr><td>

Click on images for larger view.
---
Part 7 / Conclusion

At a tangled fork in the road, Gary fiddled with his GPS, Jorge pointed down different roads, and Jeff peered at his map. We had already done this a few times and would do it some more. I certainly didn't know where we were. While we waited patiently to be told where to go, Tom, a vibrating bundle of energy, took his bike up through the trees. I commented about Tom's forgetfulness, that he wasn't on his enduro.

Fred quipped back, "C'mon. Your bike can do that."

I rapped the side of tank, "Maybe. But I can't not think about how much it would cost to replace this."

"You're not gonna put a hole in it!"

"Yeah...but...umm...uhhh...". I didn't want to spill too much about the skill-sapping fear I'd battled moments ago.


What is the right metaphor for confidence? Is it the rudder of your ship as you ply the waters of life. or is it the torch, lighting your way. or your armor, made of sand...I don't know. The words are failing me.

I do know that confidence is a valuable, though sometimes fragile commodity, with amazing powers. If you have it, you ride with skill and brazen grace.The slide of a rear tire is fun. The suspension working hard is a hoot. You are the master of the machine and your destiny. The secret ingredient is confidence. Skill and knowledge and all that comes to play. But without confidence, you stumble. Each curve becomes an unwanted challenge. You want it to end.

I had been having a great day. The bike had, even when sliding, never gotten away from me. I had kept it all just within my grasp. But on the way back up the hill, my grasp had slipped. I hadn't quite missed a muddy hole that someone had cunningly put in my way. The front end dropped in, twisting the bike under me to the right. Some throttle kept me moving, but the incline was severe enough. As the back tire fell into the hole, and the front came up and out, it was light. The bike careened off center now twisting left. The road curved to the right. Instinct took over. I planted a foot. I stared exactly at what I wanted to avoid. I hit a rock. The bike was trying to pitch me off. The cold shower of fear washed over me. My confidence was gone. (later, I asked Fred how bad it looked. He shrugged and said that the bike didn't look like it had gone more than 10 degrees out of line.)

Painting as I practice it, above all, requires confidence. Without it, I am lost to fumble. The realization that it isn't there is enough to make me stop and step back. I know confidence will return. It just takes time. I'll set aside my ego driven expectations, pick up little forgettable pieces and make little messes. If that isn't enough. I'll walk for a while, putting some distance between me and the fixation of my fear.

It's hard to step away when you're riding a bike on a forgotten ribbon in the woods. I slowed down and did my best to muddle through. Did you know that it is difficult to get around a corner if you stare at the ground a few feet in front of the bike? Fred, relaxed Fred, caught up with me as I lurched around a particularly messy corner. I tried in vain to relax. But there was always another obstacle grabbing my attention.

At the next stop, while our guides decided if we were lost or not, I took a few breaths and closed my eyes. Jorge looked back and gave me a questioning thumbs up. I put my fist sideways, thumb extended, and calmly said, "It's interesting when you realize that there is absolutely no traction." To which he replied, "Yes. In a way it's liberating." I cocked my head and pondered the crazy idea.


Jorge took the lead, and I slipped in behind him. The surface had softened with the rain. Mud glazed everything. Traction was elusive. Back and forth from one side of the road to the next, sometimes on the gravel pushed to the side, we sought the firmest path. I relaxed, standing on the pegs, and letting the bike do the work. This was what I needed. A little painting with no expectations and within my grasp. At some point, I noticed that I couldn't see anyone else behind us. I like to think that he wasn't keeping his speed down for my benefit but we did manage to put some distance between us and everyone else. At the next junction, Jorge gave me the questioning thumbs up. I returned it in kind and with a child's smile.

Despite only being some 30 or so miles from Portland, as the crow flies, we saw few others in the woods that day. We did stop and chat with some folks having a family day of playing in the dirt. The younger kid looked at us on our massive bikes with a bit of awe. Was he impressed by the men in the fancy gear on the fancy bikes or does he just stare at stupid people?

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3767.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3767.jpg)

Back to pavement. We stopped in the aptly named town of Timber, made some phone calls and our initial good byes. We had been to the Salmonberry, at least as far as we would ever go. It hadn't quite been an epic ride, but we were satisfied. What? you wanted a mythic ride, one for the ages? sorry, it didn't happen. But it was still a very very good day.

Jorge and Gary give us the love in front of the old general store.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3776.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3776.jpg)


True art. She isn't clean anymore.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3787.jpg (http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3787.jpg)


I wish I'd taken more and better photos of the actual ride. Trust that it was a very good day. Thanks for the PDXGS guys for the silly grin that I chased my wife with for the rest of the day.

<i>the end</i></td></tr></table>

[kbasa]

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_big/IMG_3721.jpg

Nice pic.

And yeah, confidence is frighteningly in charge of much of what we do in life. I've seen people that are expert level riders crash and just about lose their ability to approach riding with purpose anymore.

But, if you just go with it and stop trying so hard, it'll come back sometimes.

[ian408]

That moss is sure green. Did you punch the color up any?

This one's my fav.

http://www.conary.org/bike/assets/trip/salmon_small/IMG_3671.jpg

Ian

[knary]

Originally posted by ian408
That moss is sure green. Did you punch the color up any?

Ian

It doesnt' seem real, does it?
I didn't punch it up at all. I think it's the cool gray light that makes the greens pop.

[knary]

Originally posted by KBasa

And yeah, confidence is frighteningly in charge of much of what we do in life. I've seen people that are expert level riders crash and just about lose their ability to approach riding with purpose anymore.

It always comes back, and faster and faster these days as I better understand my limits. But I hate the wait. We're just so very human, you know? The fear washes over and you have to learn to cope with it, and to know what is outside of your reach so that you don't end up in a situation that brings it on.

http://www.conary.org/bike/post/rash/IMG_4770.jpg

[ian408]

Originally posted by knary
It doesnt' seem real, does it?
I didn't punch it up at all. I think it's the cool gray light that makes the greens pop.

That's just an incredible color contrast.

Ian

[dbrick]

Really nice, Scott. I like your art, but you could consider teaching at the Iowa Writers Workshop, too.