The Tribe MC of Seattle

“I don’t get it”, she says. “You’re up at 6:30, on a Sunday morning no less, on the computer checking the weather. You ride, in the rain, and not just a fizzle drizzle, but a real rain, get served by a surly waitress, have your helmet almost blown off in the wind, disappointed by the rally, come home with a sore throat, all this on a motorcycle. And you say, ‘it was a really great day.  I just don’t get it.”
 
So, at 8:45 AM I’m on the floating bridge watching the rain stream off my face shield. Do I really want to do this? Pressing on, I pull up to Starbucks and park next to three other motorcycles. After a toasted bagel with lox schmeer, and admiring three appropriately clad in rain gear fellow riders, the discussion begins in earnest. According to my information, scattered rain west of the Cascades, fog on the pass, sunshine and temperatures in the low 70s for the Yakima area. Consensus is, let’s go for it. 
 
By 9:30 we four set out for the slab, I-90 eastbound in the rain. Twenty minutes or so later, the rain lessens to a spotty mist then clears as the road appears dry. Twenty more minutes, as we near the west summit of the pass, the sun bursts forth. Welcome to eastern Washington.
 
First stop is Roslyn also known as Cicely, AK. I’ve been to lots of small places in the west, but this is the quintessential small western town. We pass by the library which shares the other half of its peeling gray paint wood structure with City Hall. We pull up across the wide street and go into the ‘famous’ Roslyn Café to get some hot liquid to take the chill off the bones.
 
My hot chocolate and Clive’s tea is tepid. The waitress doesn’t appear pleased to see us or anyone for that matter. She brings back hot liquids. “For two dollars we ought to have hot water for tea,” Doug Davis grins and suggests to Clive, that he should be glad he’s not married to her.
 
We head out east on a gently winding road parallel to I-90, Koshr Hog in the lead. For the next hour or more we glide along the edges of a magnificent canyon following the Yakima River.  Fly fishers, river rafts, brilliant sunshine and warming air. You were right, Jeff. Cannot get better than this.
 
It’s around 1:30 as we drive under the welcome arch of the Yakima KOA. There is, perhaps an acre of small camping tents under trees, and about twenty motorcycles with exotic side-cars. There’s a pair of Gold Wings with double width side-cars AND  pop up camping trailers attached. I don’t get the point. Somehow, I’m disappointed in this rally.
 
We leave the campgrounds deciding not to return through Mount Rainier National Park. We ride back through the Yakima River Canyon Road and feel the wind quickening. We are met by swirling dust devils, rolling tumbleweed and gusts that almost blow off your helmet.  We pass by an overturned small pickup at some rural intersection. A sheriff’s deputy guides us around. On its side, probably in part, a result of the sustained high winds. A couple more rest and fuel stops and the overcast skies of western WA loom ahead.
 
I pull into the garage and am greeted with a smile and hug. After telling her how great the day’s ride was, she says, “I don’t get it.”
 
Some people just don’t get it.
 
Ned Porges