The PCH - Chapter 9

Smitty wasn't dead, but FLMNG2 looked like it had been mauled by a bear. We sat on the side of the road shaking while recapping over and over in our minds what had just happened. We voiced what we could but the conversation was interspersed with expletives.

The fairing was skinned up pretty badly. Smitty's leather bag had been sent skidding and was also in rough shape. The saddlebags had deep gouges on both sides as the result of the bike actually sliding at some point on both sides (I think). The factor that I feared the worst was that the metal engine guard on one side of FLMNG2 was actually broken. We weren't certain whether it was going to run. We waited and wondered.

I wanted to just stay put for a little while until the adrenaline rush was well behind us, but Smitty wanted to put this spot in the road behind us. I wasn't going to argue with a man that had nearly splattered all over the road 15 minutes earlier, so I started preparations to get moving again.

We put his belongings back together as best we could, he put the key in and I'll be damned if FLMNG2 didn't fire right up as if nothing happened. Mounted, helmeted and gloved we left that S-curve from hell and headed north...toward Oregon.

The rest of that day was a blur. We rode for what seemed an eternity, passing through Fort Bragg, Eureka and Crescent City before crossing into Oregon. I remember bits and pieces of that portion of the trip, but only glimpses. The accident had seriously shaken us both up and it wasn't yet behind us even though Point Arena was almost 300 miles away.

We stopped for petrol in Brookings (mostly to satisfy Jungle Jane's petrol obsession). This was our first foray into an Oregon gas station. When you cross the Oregon border, you immediately become to stupid to pump your own gas. An attendant would actually come out to the pump, take the nozzle off the pump and hand it to me. Then I would pump the gas while he stood there. When I finished pumping the gas, he would take it from me and put it back on the pump. Bizarre.

I understand they do this to keep those jobs available. Next thing you know, they will have a person standing out by the ATM machine punching the buttons for me.

Anyway, the day wore on and on and on. It was getting late and we needed to find a place to stop. We never thought we would make it as far as Bandon when we set out from Guernville this morning, but here we are in Brookings, only 83 miles away. We decide that Bandon must be nicer than Brookings, so we head on.

By 8:10, we roll into Bandon. This is one of the cutest damn towns I have ever seen. Smitty and I are on the alert looking for a motel when we spot a sign for the Gorman Hotel. It turns out that it is right on the beach and the price is right, so we take the room. As I am checking in, I mention to the innkeeper that we are starving. We haven't eaten since breakfast. She says that there is a really good restaurant nearby and offers to call and make a reservation. She dials them up and finds out that they close at 8:30 - but they will stay open just for us. We unpack the bikes and literally throw them into the room and run for the restaurant.

We wound our way around Bandon and took a road along the jetty until we found the place and when we pulled in, the owner met us at the door and said, "I hear you boys have been on the road all day; let's get you something to eat!" He was probably mid-fifities and had on a colorful Hawaiian style shirt. Genuine hospitality oozed from him. I hate arriving at a restaurant when they are trying to close, but he made us feel like we were long lost friends.

This is what we see when we look out the window of the Bandon Boatworks:



I don't know if it was because I hadn't eaten since breakfast or whether it was the warm greeting or whether this really was some of the best food that I have ever eaten, but this meal was incredible. They started us off with a basket of cranberry bread. Nearby, they grow these things in giant cranberry bogs - this bread was made with fresh cranberries and it was fantastic.

Bandon has a nice little harbor and I understand that they do some fishing out of there. I ordered salmon and it was delicious. It could very well have been swimming right nearby yesterday. Throw in a couple of locally brewed micro-brew beers and this was very nearly the perfect meal. We are the last diners in the restaurant and by the time we leave, heavy fog is rolling in off the Pacific. It's cold. It's damp. It's slightly spooky. I love it.

We ride the two or three miles back to our motel and actually have a chance to see it for the first time. This room is so nice and so clean, I almost feel guilty about bringing my dirty, hard ridden ass into the place. After a quick shower, I grab the remote and relax in front of the television.

Smitty is still upset from the accident earlier that day and decides to take a walk up the beach. Some time, shortly after he leaves the room, I talk to my wife on the phone and then drift off for the duration.

Tomorrow we are going to go visit this lighthouse - the Coquille River Lighthouse. This lighthouse went into operation in 1896 and they now offer tours for a small donation. I love this shit.