Passenger Princess Log, Day 1: Newport to Burns

3,365 Miles to Boston

Riding gear on, selfie stick in the saddle bag, we parked at Don Davis Memorial Park near the sand and stood there trying to get just the right angle. Spoiler alert, we did not. Our first picture had a photobomber, the next two were of my thumb, so we smiled like two people who weren’t quite sure what they were getting into, snapped a pic, and declared it good enough.

This trip wasn’t supposed to be about the pictures; it was supposed to be about the stories behind them, the stories we tell along the way, and the exhilaration of being able to say “We did it!” Boston was waiting, a mere 3,365 miles away. Well…plus a couple of blocks.

Before even reaching the Highway 20 sign officially beginning our journey, we realized that not everyone would be wishing us well. At a four way stop, another motorcycle rider missed his stop sign, and, instead of owning his mistake, yelled “Didn’t you see that stop sign, asshole?” People are funny. 

We weren’t deterred. We pulled up next to the Highway 20 sign; I took a quick picture, tried to capture a video, and we were on our way.

As we took off, I looked around, phone in my hand–simultaneously afraid of dropping it and afraid of missing something spectacular. The miles went quickly. I had no choice but to look around, as the view directly in front of me is the back of my husband’s helmet. We went from ocean breezes to the green mountains of the coast range, and dropped into the Willamette Valley. Once in Corvallis, we nearly lost the path–this is not a trip to be left to the GPS. Back on track, Albany showed its charm with a cast iron clock keeping watch on a corner and my favorite historic carousel. Sweet Home offered statues holding hamburgers–later research revealed these to be a set of original fiberglass figures that once stood outside A&W restaurants all over the country.

In Cascadia County Park we tried, and failed, to find the ruts left behind by the wagons of the Santiam Wagon Road. Instead a pullout farther down the road displayed a sign describing the historic route and the 1905 automobile race that resulted in the first documented east to west crossing of the Rockies from East to West by car, as well as the first automobile to come into Portland from out of state.

The weather was good, our spirits high, but our stomachs were empty. We had left the coastal forests and were well into the high desert with its stunning views of mountains behind open range and sagebrush. We considered stopping in Sisters for a bite, but with the rodeo in town, lines were long. I opened my trusty Yelp app and discovered that Bend had just opened a Killer Burger and it was right on our path! The peanut butter bacon pickle burger whispers my name and appears in my dreams, so we had to stop. The (almost) best part was a mural of a burger peeking over the iconic mountain skyline of Bend.

After leaving Bend, Oregon truly is the high desert of western lore. The miles slowed down even though the motorcycle sped up, and I found myself wishing that I had brought a book. I was losing at the license plate game (due to the aforementioned helmet blocking my vision) but winning at both slug bug and Skittles, and was getting a little antsy. Since one purpose of this trip is to find the unusual and quirky side of America, when we saw a rest area called Brother’s Oasis Rest Area, we pulled over. The vault toilets were nothing special, but a walk around found a statue of a monk with a few coins in his bowl and a birdfeeder in a sitting area next to a dead tree of indeterminate species interesting enough to qualify as roadside art.

Resting done, we hit the final stretch. Disaster was barely averted when we pulled into the gas station in Riley with the Harley declaring low range. The next gas would have been in Hines, 25 miles further down the road. A long walk in motorcycle gear. 

Our destination was the Silver Spur Motel in Burns. It was only 5:00, but small towns close early, so I left my husband in the room with his feet up, changed into my sandals and shorts, and set out exploring. Main street is only a few blocks long, but just as I was reaching the end I found a true oasis–in the form of a beer garden and sitting area. I spoke to the owner, a young lady who had lived in Klamath Falls for a while, and learned that she had recently opened. I was the only customer, but the area is set up for a good time with mini golf, a fire pit, and ample seating. I settled on a half half hard cider, half hard seltzer with a beautiful ombre hint for only $5 and enjoyed the sensation of sitting on a seat that was not moving.