I realize the following posts may be confusing. The two dozen posts added here as "Summer Vacay" detail a motorcycle ride I made in August and September of 2020. I'm recounting the journey here, however I've posted it in reverse order and can't be bothered to fix it. You can read it backwards or forwards and probably get the same amount of entertainment value. If that confuses you then blow it out your ass.
September 20, 2020
I’ve taken that series of roads from Ukiah to Hepner to Condon etc. many many times. It’s great country. Surreal. Spiritual even, and as with the rest of this trip it was desolate as well. I took a few liberties and saw some backroads in the area I hadn’t yet seen. It was scenic. Of course. I had a gas scare on my way to Fossil which forced me to go south to Mitchell in search of fuel. Mitchell seems like a small town forced into the crack of a rock but it’s not as bad as I describe. Although I’m always heartbroken when I think of the black bear which was captured and caged as a tourist gimmick for the Mitchell gas station back in the 50’s. So in that regard fuck Mitchell.
I hoped to move through Condon but being that I was made to drift south to get gas the remainder of this days ride was made less than ideal in terms of scenery.
The sun started to edge down on the horizon as I entered Madras. Madras is an odd duck. High desert Oregon town. It’s cute on the outside but probably not much to write home about. I had to decide to get a hotel here or try to make Portland tonight. I had a feeling the last hour or more would be brutal if I didn’t stop here, but I really wanted to be home and save myself from having to get a room in Madras. I was fucking starved. More than once on this trip the addition of food gave me strength to continue. This was again the case in Madras.
It was decided I would set out to make it to Portland. I stopped briefly for a mediocre burrito at a sit down restaurant watching the sunset just beginning to form.
This was a terrible idea.
I ate and began to haul ass knowing how hard the road ahead was going to be. I think I made a wrong turn as my GPS became less useful. I made my way through Mount Hood which led me to the Columbia River gorge. Not something I had planned as I expected to make my way through Government Camp and return to Portland via Gresham. Instead I found myself coming into the Dalles as night began to fall.
Riding full bore at 80 mph, at night, as car headlights blindingly pierce your eyes with semi trucks barreling past at 90mph is a terrible sensation, especially at the end of a long days journey. The headlights trailed off and swirled around in my vision as my perspective alternated from total darkness to complete illumination from one second to the next over and over for the next 45 minutes to an hour. It’s disorienting, terrifying, among the stupidest things I’ve ever fucking done. I cursed at my bad judgement. What’s worse, I’ve put myself through this meat grinder before on this same fucking road! It was torture before and now I subject myself to this again to save $50 on a hotel room? So fucking stupid. So fucking stupid. So fucking stupid. So fucking stupid. What the fuck. God fucking damned motherfucking. I deserve to die. I’m going to die. My god am I going to die? What the fuck. So fucking stupid.
I was repeatedly forcing down searing heartburn with every swallow. It was a nightmare of self preservation. I was inching along at a snails pace despite looking down at 80mph, 90mph. This was fucking suicide. What a fool I was to push myself. So fucking stupid. This turned into a 350 mile day. So fucking insane. What the fuck? I could feel every dip and crack on this shitty road like fucking mad shuddering through my whole body. I can’t fucking see. Jesus Christ! Still 20 miles to go?
My whole being became a mantra cursing myself.
I thanked fucking god as I saw signs denoting my return to the metropolitan area and an end to the Columbia Gorge. The heartburn worked it’s way to the base of my mouth. I came to the end of the highway and turned on to the exit for Marine Drive. I could feel the heartburn pushing down on me. I pulled just off to the shoulder and began projectile vomiting all over my jacket, my bike, my pants. I’ll never be able to understand how I got my body to hold out until I was free from the immediate danger of the highway before losing all capacity.
Drenched in vomit, delirious, shaken, once again on the verge of tears. I was home.
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- Chad Simmons
- portland, oregon, United States
- I grew up in Vegas. East side by El Dog. It will always be my hometown for better or worse. Currently living as a labor activist in Portland, Oregon. For better or worse.
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