Corner Four: Neah Bay

Motorcycle nirvana.

Hugging the shores along the Strait of Juan de Fuca for nearly twenty miles from Clallam Bay to Neah Bay, the sea's briny smell could be a bit overwhelming but the views - they were spectacular. Not to take anything from Eastport, Maine, which is also quite stunning, but Neah Bay garnered my imaginary trophy - the highlight of the four corners. What really differentiates the corner is Washington State Route 112 - curvaceous as Monroe, although not hugely technical, various elevation changes, good pavement, and the last five miles to the Cape Flattery Trail, the end of the road, as lush as any flora anywhere due to the greater than 100 inches of rain it receives yearly.

I had taken the Bainbridge Ferry from Seattle and met two guys on their way to an auto show at the Clearwater Casino. Northwestern Washington had been generous doling out the sun the past few days and motorcycles were being ridden in droves, whole herds of them, running wild in the streets. I asked my new acquaintances on the ferry whether they liked Seattle.

"When it's like this," the younger one said, smiled. He was in his late twenties, had lived in Seattle all of his life. I could tell he wasn't able to get his Yamaha cruiser out of the garage often. Although an older model bike, it looked brand new.

The older guy owned a Road King, nice bike, fully loaded, and looking pristine. He had moved from southern California for work and though he didn't want to return to SoCal, he knew he wouldn't stay in the Northwest, either. When he retired in a few years he wanted the ability to ride year round. Maybe northern California.

I sauntered along the State Route 3 North, through Bainbridge Island, in no particular hurry, especially as the traffic was horrible. Clearly they were confused and randomly wandered in the streets; Northwest people don't really know what the sun is; they just stared blankly into the burning orb in the sky, slack-jawed, milky-white, unable to comprehend the warmth and the light.

I crossed into the mainland, again greeted by numerous motorcycle riders, all giving the universal hand wave as we passed, happy to be riding. When I hit 101, the traffic cleared and I hammered the throttle. I passed through Sequim, a larger town along the trek, and noticed the moose crossing signs posted along the road.

All of the signs had yellow lights on the top and the bottom and one in particular flashed its warning lights repeatedly. I stopped at a gas station, filled the bike, asked the clerk why only one of the signs flashed. Apparently, the moose are so plentiful in Sequim, they've collared them and when the herd moves into the area, the collars trigger the sign; it's not uncommon for the moose to stop highway traffic in order to cross into the higher elevations.

Will the terror never stop? I thought.

I returned to my bike, happy to leave mooseland, not having any practical way to defend against one or several of the large buggers on the road. If my ticket were up and I went by moose crash, there wasn't much I could do. I just hoped the one I hit actually noticed.

Washington State Route 113 branches off the 101 and that's where the motorcycle fun began. The rainforest created a stunning backdrop for the undulating road. All of the vegetation was familiar, only larger, giant versions of what we have down south. I hoped the bees hadn't grown outsized too to accommodate the pollination, as I winded around the twisties, amazed when the lush green would suddenly explode into yellows, pinks, blues and brilliant reds of blooming flowers.

The final twenty-five miles that lead to the Cape Flattery Trail, the end of the road, were quite simply stunning. Turn upon turn, I wanted to pull over, take pictures. The GoPro, helmet-mounted, worked overtime and ran out of battery, forcing me to reshoot large sections the next day after another full charge. I'll post all of the videos on my Youtube channel when I get home to a reliable network (the edges of the country, especially north, proved quite challenging in terms of consistent and reliable wireless access, mostly due to Canada, my phone either not being covered by AT&T or picking up a host Canadian service with subsequent roaming fees).

When I came to the end of the road, having ridden through Clallam, Sekiu, and finally Neah Bay, it really hit me that I had finished the fourth corner. I felt exhilarated, even after the day-long ride from Spokane, and frankly a bit sad, wanting another corner.

I parked the bike and walked the final half-mile trail, well maintained by the Makah Tribe, and captured video and pics at the very end of the Northwest corner.

Nearly finished with the journey, I would need to head south on 112 to 113 and 101, through Olympic National Park, to Portland and then, finally, a mad rush down I-5. I missed my friends, family and most especially my wife and yet I didn't want the adventure to end. How often do we get to do big things in our lives? Not many, at least for me. And while I desperately missed them all, the allure of the next day, the next people I'd meet, the last minute planning, the adjustments, the fatigue, the next-day push...

Well, I'll let that last sentence dangle, inappropriately. There's not a career in long-distance riding.