I felt like shit when I woke up, but between the wine and the 3-hour time differential, I couldn't figure out if that was normal or not. Jim and I stole out without seeing any of his still-hibernating family, and hit the open road. I could hardly believe it was finally happening.

I was immediately struck by how strange the loaded ST's handling felt...it was darty and stiff at the same time. Weird. As we rode I ran through the possible causes, verifying each step of the wheel installation in my mind from the previous day. I could find no discrepancies, so I ignored it and continued on.

Despite Jim's strict adherence to the local speed limits and continuing warning that every cop in Oregon was waiting around the next corner, we didn't see a single one all morning. At one point Jim pulled over to a weigh station, just for grins. I topped the scales at 950lbs, bike + rider + tons of shit inclusive. I weigh 175 buck nekkid, and I'm sure my Stich and other gear weigh at least 30lbs, so let's say the bike and stuff weighed ~750lbs, which seems light to me since the ST weighs 720 by itself. I suspect that scales designed to weigh 18-wheelers aren't especially accurate in the triple digit range.

We stopped for breakfast (McDonalds.....Subway's don't serve breakfast, alas) and then began the ascent of the western side of the Cascades. The scenery was unlike anything I've ever seen, with tall straight trees and almost no underbrush. Conifers dominated the forests and the sense of GREEN was very strong. As SR20 became increasingly twisty, the scenery became correspondingly gorgeous. Jim, having seen it all before, soon left me behind as I slowed dramatically to watch the breathtaking panoramas. I was having trouble deciding when to stop and take pictures, as I didn't know whether the next view would be even better. Eventually Jim stopped and when I caught up I told him to just take off and leave me; I'd catch up when I was ready. No point slowing him down, too. We inchwormed our way over the Cascades in this way for more than an hour. I probably blew most of a roll of film.

On the way down the other side we stopped in the cute little town of Bend, Oregon, which showed all the signs of soon becoming a tourist trap. Jim explained how they didn't have adequate sewage facilities but were currently upgrading this, and it was expected to become a boom town upon completion. Great views of the Cascades, so it's not hard to see why. This was Jim's turnaround point and from here I'd be on my own. We stopped at a gas station, the last reasonably priced one I'd see for a long time, according to Jim. To prevent spills and leakage of gas into the environment, the untrained public is forbidden to pump their own gas in Oregon. As such, my highly trained attendant upended the pump and hose and dumped about a pint of gas on the ground prior to handing me the hose to fill the ST's tank. I filled up, said my goodbyes and thank you's to Mr. Hiler, and headed east.

At our departure, Jim had given me two possible routes east. One involved a nicely scenic, reasonably challenging, but much longer route, and one offered a fairly straight but much shorter version. Knowing I'd be sick to death of scenery by the time I hit Denver, I opted to make some time and do the straight route. This route taught me something I didn't know: most of Oregon is desert/tundra. When you think of Oregon, the average person calls to mind the topography of the Cascades, however, this is only a small part of the state. The rest apparently is where they grow those tumbleweeds you see in movies. It has a beauty all its own, however.

As I was approaching the eastern end of the state I stopped for gas. Now, at this point I was pretty damn impressed with myself....after all, how many people have the balls to ride a motorcycle across the country, right? I was about to have my sights recalibrated...as I walked in to pay for my gas I noticed a touring bicycle propped against the wall, with saddlebags over front and rear wheels. As I approached the counter I overheard this conversation:

"Where ya headed?" asked the attendant.

"East coast", replied the rapier-thin, spandex-clad bicycle owner.

Further discussion revealed the cyclist to be a student about to enter medical school, who wanted to do something interesting before immersing himself in that trial. He looked very much like a thin version of Russell Stephan, with short hair. He had the same half-crazed fanatic gleam to his eyes that Russell demonstrates at times.

His game plan was to ride 75 miles/day, and he'd budgeted two months for the trip. He expressed concern that a headwind was starting to kick up, however, and was making his life miserable. I offered to buy a clothesline at the gas station and tow him to the next town, but he declined, with thanks. He left and I made chitchat with the station owner myself for a while. This gas station was part general store, part bar, part gas station. In the bar area there was a stuffed bobcat. I asked the owner if they saw a lot of these and he said they did. Sweet. Big cats are cool.

I continued east, heading towards Idaho. About a mile down the road I passed the intrepid cross-country cyclist. I sped up so my slipstream would tow him along a little bit...every little bit helps, I figured. As I was out in the middle of nowhere, I tried for some higher speeds. The ST's handling remained strange, however, and I noted a wobble that began around 105mph, so I was forced to keep it in the sub-triple digit range for the remainder of the trip. As I progressed east, the wind went from a gentle headwind to a not-so-gentle buffeting crosswind. This sucked ass and was exactly what I didn't need at that moment. The remainder of the day was spent tensely gripping the bars, waiting for the next lateral smack across the highway.

That evening I pulled into Jerome, Idaho (just west of Twin Falls) and grabbed a Motel 6. I was too tired to screw around with a tent and the price was right. The weather report said the wind would die down by morning, and that was the best news I'd had all day.