Discussion in 'Wenatchee' started by Huskerwannabe, Jul 29, 2012.
Got my CR back today!
Was it on vacation?
It was out of commission for about 3.5 weeks
That must have been horrible with all the good riding weather we've had lately.
I rode the Tiger 800 down to the Rattlesnake Grade over the weekend. This is just north of the Oregon/Washington border between Asotin, WA and Enterprise, OR. There were 16 bikes that gathered in Asotin for the annual ride. Unfortunately most of the scenic grade had just been chip-sealed with lots of slightly loose gravel. The group was led down into the Grande Ronde River canyon by the illustrious Whitey "Hacksaw" Hartman who is 82 years old this year and still rides frequently on his Yamaha XT225. He's got over 50,000 miles on the little bugger. He was setting a pace most were agreeable with, given the poor traction and the reduced speed limit of 35mph because of the road work. Upon reaching the bottom of the canyon where the road straightens out to cross the bridge, I was shocked to see flashing blue lights ahead. What the hell was the State Patrol even doing down here on a road to nowhere except the nearby Oregon border? I was even more shocked to discover that it was our own octogenarian mascot and fearless leader, Mr. Hartman, that was caught in the spider's web. We all pulled over in support and awaited the outcome. The Trooper seemed to be issuing a tongue lashing with lots of stern facial expressions and arm gestures. Our dear Mr. Hartman is near deaf and can only hear when wearing headphones attached to a pocket amplifier and mic. I could only imagine the frustration of the officer as Whitey would have been unable to respond until removing his helmet and donning his hearing equipment. All the while, Whitey is observing the officer's vigorously moving jaw in blessed silence. As it turns out, the aged Mr. Hartman was indeed caught going slightly too fast and given an authoritative warning. Never mind that he had just successfully negotiated a gaggle of gravel-strewn hairpin curves in the steepest terrain with sufficient skill to avoid a precipitous plunge. Now, on the very safest section of the road where no harm is likely to mar the day, our man in blue comes to Whitey's rescue and saves him from his ignorant self and his hell-bent death wish in propelling the savage machine beyond, perhaps, 40 ungodly mph. I have to say it seemed a bit of relief to cross into safe territory at the Oregon border. So what was that Trooper doing out there in the middle of flipping nowhere? We soon see. Two hours hence we are returning from our sight-seeing trip and lunch at Bogan's Restaurant near where Mr. Hartman was so helpfully saved from disaster. On the same little stretch of straight road our officer has caught an unsuspecting family in their minivan exceeding 35mph and has ticket book in hand. Well, it is nearing the end of the month after all and the poor economy means public budgets are hungry for every scrap. I already had a sick feeling in my stomach when climbing out of the valley when I pass by yet another State Patrol car on his way down to join in the kill. Fortunately, we all made it out alive and able to tell the tale at the watermelon bust in Whitey's back yard.
Yet another reason the state patrol is a worthless division. The only agency I have ever come in contact with to ticket you for going less than 5mph over the limit. Had one pull me over for 42 in a 40 zone last year, it took every ounce of self control to not laugh in his face when he said it.
It's ok, I got pulled over in an ambulance once, by a state trooper. I'm not sure if that tops these stories, but it sher comes close.