An early spring ride to Castlegar, BC

April 8-9th 2006
Total Miles: 884 miles

The winter hadn’t been that bad. Heck, I had been on a couple of a big day rides on Christmas and New Year’s Day, plus riding to work every day. But that doesn’t quench the desire for a multi-day trip, a trip that lets you get further from home and revisit old stomping grounds and find new ones. It was time to make one of those trips.

Arrangements had been made to stay with a friend who lives in Castlegar, BC. I kept a careful eye on road conditions and weather reports. While there are many ways of getting to Castlegar, they all require crossing at least two mountain passes. And the second week of April is by no means springtime in the mountains. With a final check of road and weather condition, I tossed some stuff onto the GS, geared up and said good-bye to the kitties. I was on my way.

I still didn’t know which way I was going to go even as I left the driveway. I had an inkling of which route would offer me the best conditions with the best roads and still leave me “fresh roads” to come home on. The skies over Seattle were gray and held no illusions of a dry day. I chose to go over Stevens Pass (Hwy 2).

The last time I was on Stevens Pass there was snow and ice on the road, but I knew that it would be clear by now. Thankfully, there wasn’t even much in the way of traction sand on the road surface. The ride over Stevens was quick – it was early on a Saturday and not many others were out and about yet. I thought about stopping for pictures, but whenever I saw a good “photo op” I had usually just passed a couple of cars and I didn’t want to have to pass them again. Besides, it was raining, and we all know that those sorts of pictures rarely turn out nice.

As I dropped down toward Wenatchee I again had to choose which way to go. I usually head for the Grand Coulee Dam and then north, but I wanted something different, so I stayed north on 97, following the Okanogan River. The orchards were full of activity with workers pruning branches, tractors spraying chemicals and/or fertilizers and new trees being planted. At this point the ride became a ride of smells. There were so many different olfactory sensations throughout my ride! The smell of the orchards, the frequent smell of new rain, heavy sap percolating from a timber harvest, the fresh washed pine needles along the Kettle River, more new rain… it was amazing. But I digress, because at this point something else amazing happened: the sun came out. Yes, for a short time I was able to ride without the rain spattering on my visor or washing across my windscreen.

At this time I needed to fuel both my bike and myself and I stopped in the little town of Pateros. There aren’t a lot of choices and I ate at the restaurant attached the to local gas station. After a meal of standard roadside fare, I continued north until I reached Tonasket and Hwy 20. The road climbed rapidly once I turned from the Okanogan Valley and the organization of the orchards gave way to sparse, low vegetation indicative of the arid climate. Eventually the “hard climb” was replaced by a “gentle climb” and I found myself passing through pine-covered hills, red needles littering the ground beneath their boughs. Then I noticed that the ground was covered by snow and I crested Wauconda Pass without fanfare. I pulled into Republic and checked in with my favorite gas station to find out what the conditions were on Sherman Pass. The cashier there said that the roads were clear; excellent! I could continue east for a while longer before heading north and across the border. The temperatures thus far had stayed within the 40s; mostly low 40s, but at least not too much colder than that. Sherman Pass would give me the low of the day, approximately 38. And it was as I neared the pass that I realized that I hadn’t plugged my heated jacket in from my last stop in Republic. It was cold.

As stated on the Washington State Tourism site: “Sherman Pass Scenic Byway – SR 20 is a road less traveled. Plenty of open road, and few traffic jams, or stop signs along this path. The byway stretches 35 miles across Northeast Washington, much of it on the Colville National Forest, connecting the communities of Republic on the west and Kettle Falls on the east. The road climbs steeply to cross Sherman Pass, Washington’s highest maintained pass at 5,575 feet. Rushing creeks, waterfalls and forests of ponderosa pine, western larch, and Douglas fir dominate the eastern side of the Pass, starkly contrasted on the westside by the gray snag remnants of the massive White Mountain fire of 1988. This byway follows a historic route used by Native Americans as they made their way to fishing grounds of the Columbia River. The trail later became a pioneer wagon route and was named after Civil War General William T. Sherman, who passed through the area in the 1883.”

So there you have it, in “official state tourism language”. It is much more interesting to actually ride across it than read about it.

From Sherman Pass the road dropped quickly and curvaceously to the Columbia River/Roosevelt Lake area. From here I turned north on 395 in order to make the best time possible getting to Castlegar. This would be my first time visiting Jim and I didn’t relish trying to find his house in the dark. And did I mention that it was raining? It’s a quick trip up to the Canadian border and the rain actually paused slightly while I stopped at the crossing. The guard was less-than-pleased with my answers that I was going to meet someone I had never actually met other than online. I think he was actually a little concerned. Or suspicious; it’s hard to tell with those guys. Apparently my explanation of “knowing” him for two years on a motorcycle forum put his mind at ease and he wished me a pleasant trip. And he stamped my passport (per my special request, of course).

I reached Castlegar after once again crossing over a wet and cold Pass, this one being Bonanza Pass. It continued to rain, a little fog crept in, the sand in the road became hazardous and I was happy to reach the pleasant valley where Castlegar has taken root. I made a quick stop at the store for some “thank you” gifts and then promptly got lost. Jim had warned me that the directions he gave me may not be helpful, but fortunately the folks at a nearby gas station were, and I was once again on my way to my destination.

Jim, his wife Karina and their daughter Arija greeted me with an open garage as well as open arms and after introductions were made we settled down to lovely conversation, an excellent dinner and then more conversation. It was fun to finally meet someone in person whom you’ve only known online. The guest bed was ready and I was very appreciative of it when it came time to close my eyes for the night. It was an excellent day of socializing and riding, and I still had the ride home to look forward to the next day.

I was up earlier than I expected, got dressed and packed up my bags. I didn’t want to get too early of a start as I figured that the passes would still be cold or even frozen from the previous night. Jim and I discussed different route options and checked the weather. The entire Pacific Northwest was under a cloud; it would make no difference which way I went home. I eventually said my good-byes, packed up the bike and rolled out into the rain. Always looking for new roads, I chose to head directly south, following the valley of the Columbia River as it crosses the border. This way I might also avoid any passes that were experiencing “inclement weather” this early in the day. I rode down 22 through Trail and then took the Alternate 22A to take me to the border. I had just passed a car and was coming around a wide open corner with two ancient trestle bridges in sight. I was startled to see that one was a railroad bridge while the other was a one-lane bridge. With wooden decking. In the rain. Ick. I braked hard, took the bike down to 1st gear and gingerly made my way over its long expanse. In hindsight I should have taken a picture. The US border crossing was surprisingly close to the bridges and the crossing went much quicker than the last time. I was again on my way south. This section of road is very primitive and narrow and while I’m sure that it’s great fun in the summer, at this particular time it was very wet and covered extensively with sand in all of the corners. I kept my speeds down and instead enjoyed the passing scenery. The road hit a junction and I was now on 25 and coming upon Lake Roosevelt, a man-made lake that had apparently lost a lot of its water over recent years. As with most roads that follow the contours of a lake, 25 is full of fun little sweepers, a few elevation changes and of course, plenty of things to look at. Personally, I was fascinated by the exposed beaches left by the low water.

I was content to follow 25 south until it ended at Hwy 2 and then head west for home. But then I saw the ferry. I didn’t realize that there was a ferry on this lake and immediately decided to take it. It was good timing, too, as they had just loaded the last car (there were three in all) and were about to depart. I pulled my bike onto the ferry and while waiting for us to shove off I noticed the extensive work that that state had to do in order for the road to reach the ferry. So I took some more pictures.

The ferry was quick (7.5mph according to my GPS) and it dumped me off in the small town of Inchelium. Inchelium is a reservation town that apparently put its monies into something other than road signs. I found myself heading north instead of south (even west would have been fine), which is the direction I had just come from. I considered stopping and turning around, but the sun was actually poking its head out and the road was just as fine on this side of the lake. I kept going north until I found Hwy 20 – and Sherman Pass – again. I was looking forward to hitting Sherman Pass again because this time I knew that the road had no sand and was in good condition. It would make for a much more confidant ride through the curves. Was I ever wrong!

I had just passed a couple of cars and was noting the rotting snow still piled in the forests and along the rushing stream when I noticed something else: the snow was also on the tree boughs. I didn’t recall this from yesterday’s ride, and this snow looked fresh. I figured that it must have fallen overnight. And that’s when I noticed that it was no longer rain on my visor, but big fat wet flakes of snow. And little bits of slush on the road, too. I slowed down, cranked up the heated jacket and kept on going. After stopping for a couple more pictures, of course.

Coming down the pass was easy and I found myself in Republic again. I fueled up, thought about eating and then decided to keep on going. I chose to head south again, this time on 21, a fabulous road that follows the Kettle River all the way to the Columbia River. After seeing the low water in Lake Roosevelt, I was surprised to see all of the flooded fields in this valley. Water was everywhere, including coming down from the sky. To be fair, there were about 10 miles of dry roads along here, as well as a couple of wild turkeys and two Harley riders out for a joy ride (I had spoken with them briefly at the gas station). At the end of 21 is another ferry, the Keller Ferry. I had taken this one a couple of years ago and it was just as I remembered. Again, I arrived just in time to squeeze my bike onboard. The Columbia is fairly wide at this point and the current is almost unnoticeable.

The ferry crossing isn’t long, maybe 20 minutes, and soon I was back on land. And then the roads straightened out. Sure, there is a dramatic rise from the Columbia River up to the plateau, but once you’re up there, its nothing but flat pastures and fields for miles and miles. And today that was mirrored by endless low clouds hanging threateningly overhead.

Eventually I reached water again, this time in the form of various lakes formed by damming the Columbia River. I finally stopped for lunch just passed the Dry Falls Dam near Coulee City at 2pm. I was making excellent time and knew that I could dawdle all I wanted. Lunch was simple and tasty, not to mention quick. I found myself back on the bike heading south towards Soap Lake. But first I came across a sign for the “Dry Falls”. I had time; why not stop? So I did. I found an amazing overlook that gave the viewer a wide vista of ancient waterfalls from when the Columbia originally broke its banks during the last Ice Age. The sense of scale is unreal and only the addition of some cars on a beach far below me allowed me to fully comprehend just how vast the area is.

Well enough, I was now in the mood to “sight see”. As I rode south the traffic got quite heavy and I was only too pleased to pull over and take some more pictures while re-adjusting an earplug.

I eagerly anticipated Soap Lake, as I heard that it used to be a place for people to go for medicinal baths in the lake’s “magical” waters. I was quite disappointed with the town, however, and managed to ride slowly through it without being enticed to stop. At this point the roads left the water behind and became once again arrow-straight. I was now on 283, which then spit me unceremoniously onto I-90 where I joined the herd of people moving west.
The bike is now in the garage, a completely filthy spectacle of weekend fun while I have since taken a shower, had some dinner and have sorted through the photos. It was a great trip, and speaks well of more to come this year.