which I select. “We’re kind of in the boonies out here,”
she clarifies, as if I had some doubt. “That’s why I’m here,” I tell her, feeling
the happiness of the experience, if not the satisfaction of choice. Two Polish sausages nourish me enough
to let my compulsion to ride take over. I ready myself by the bike when a pickup pulls up, and a large man says: “Nice bike. 2014?” I tell him that it’s brand-new, a 2015. He
tells me that he’s had a lot of motorcycles and that BMW was his best. He proceeds to tell me what the worst bike out there is and that he and his young buddy have been out hunting bear and cougars. No luck though. I knew I was in the right area. Remote. No cell service yet, so I continue on until
Reedsport to check back in at home. High- way 101 continues south to North Bend, and then I follow the curvy route selected by the GPS with a destination of Bandon. It routes me toward Charleston, where I find familiar grounds from my high school surfing days. A sedan passes me where I stop to rest by
a marina. It U-turns and pulls up; an older chap with his wife asks where I’m from, and I tell them Eugene. He chuckles and says that they figured I was from a long way away. It must have been the look of the bike, even without the panniers, or perhaps I looked worn out. His face is full of scars from skin cancer removals. Just back from six months in Yuma. I’m thinking this motor-biking and helmet stuff isn’t all that bad after all. I check the time and trip meter and fig-
ure I need a few more miles headed away from home. The GPS turns me south
toward Sunset Beach. I don’t remember ever going to Bandon that way, but think maybe the GPS’s Curvy Roads Routing has an idea. When the GPS tells me to turn off to the Bastendorf Beach parking area, I oblige but know something is awry. Sure enough I’m routed up the hill and it wants me to enter into a maze of parking spots
stop at the Gingerbread House. The staff is busy and friendly, and they tell me the gin- gerbread is homemade again under the new management. I order up three to go, knowing that my six-year-old daughter will be delighted after adding whipped cream at home. During the ride back, I reflect on the day.
The bike is nimble, winding through curves like a porpoise through kelp, rolling left, rolling right and back again. Going exactly where I tell her to go. Smooth in every respect, no vibration anywhere. Smooth throttle, positive and anti-lock braking,
absolute jet propulsion when
called upon for passing. Quiet, no sense of the speed, with lots of fuel, visual tire pres- sure indicators, plenty of electricity for heated liner and all the electronics. After this day, I’m feeling progress on learning to manage the hefty size of this bike with my limited leg length and weight. I stop at the service station, 290 miles after leaving home and 307 miles since I topped off the tank with clear (no ethanol) 92 octane. She takes 6.4 gallons, costing $23.34 at $3.69/ gal. It’s the best gas I can buy. Not sold everywhere, but I was able to make it all the way back to my home station, where it’s always available. At the door is my daughter, waiting for
through a park gate. Definitely curvy, but not how I want to add miles. I venture down along the beach drive, then back out and turn to Sunset Beach. I came here as a kid, and it’s still as beautiful as ever. It’s time to head home. US 101 to Flor- ence and Highway 126 back to Eugene. I
her dance. We dance, and the next day, Eas- ter Sunday, is all hers. My 600 miles are nearly complete. In a couple of weeks, I will ride
1,100 miles on beautiful highways
along the Oregon and California coasts to RawHyde’s BMW Academy for Off-Road Riding. Then back along the east side of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. This big bike will get smaller with good training and experience.
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BMW OWNERS NEWS February 2016
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