This article is part of the series Recalculating, a 28-day motorcycle journey along the Pacific Northwest coast and through its volcanic landscapes.

I remember passing the Timberline Lodge on a ride north to Seattle back in the summer of 2009. Anel and I both looked at it, went to the lobby, but kept moving as the lodge was full and was well out of our price range even if there was room at the inn. As the years passed, I always remembered that beautiful lodge up on the hill near the town awkwardly named Government Camp. I’d been curious where the history on that one came from. It turns out an Army regiment moving supplies along the Barlow Road got caught by early snow near there in 1849 and had to abandon a stack of wagons — the name just stuck to the spot afterward.

Day two is always the hardest for me on these motorcycle tours. It takes a day for my body to conform to the ergonomics of the bike, and by the second day my body is screaming, having used muscles all day that don’t get regular exercise back at home. Usually by day three my body is in the zone again — but today caught me by surprise given how angry my body was down to the bones.

Thus, I got a late start out of Klamath Falls. I’m learning that recovery time isn’t optional. Last night’s 9 PM arrival, dinner at 10pm, conversations and route planning after that, begets today’s departure at 10 AM. Looking at the map, Oregon doesn’t have very many twisty north-south connectors that don’t either take me way out of the way, on dirt, or so twisty that I’m trading off my distance goal for turns.

US Highway 97 isn’t much to ride home about, unfortunately. The road is mostly gentle, straight, and in the south, lightly trafficked. Coming out of town I was afforded a lovely view of Upper Klamath Lake, giving subtle cues for adventures ahead. Mile after mile, town after town, the road began to blend together as a montage of the high desert of the west.

I’m still watching my battery voltage level and the tire pressure — mostly holdovers from my last trip and the trip before that. Honestly, I just don’t know where to put that anxiety — and it’s starting to wear on me. Sure, I’ve had 200,000 miles of incident-free travel, and with some perspective these two blips on the radar are consuming way too much free rent in my mind.

I made the decision to skip Crater Lake, as I’ve been through there two years before and wanted to cross Oregon within a day and spend some time seeing something else in the state. A bit further north, I saw the exit for Oregon Highway 58 back over the pass towards Interstate 5. I decided not to go that far, but rather to the Diamond Peak lookout point, Odell Lake.

The mountain and the water was beautiful, but what surprised me most was the amount of human waste and toilet paper there, dotting these beautiful landmarks. I saw the same kind of activity at one of the viewpoints at Mount Shasta. It’s not like there aren’t bathrooms around, it’s just a choice I don’t understand to defecate right in the middle of the recreation area. In these dry climates toilet paper takes its time breaking down at best, and nobody wants to see your poop at worst.

I looped back on Highway 58 and started my journey on the Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway. I had high hopes for this squiggle of pavement going by high alpine lakes and their corresponding volcanoes. As I swung around Davis Lake, I could see Maiden Peak dominating in the background and relearned a valuable lesson: I’ve got to take the picture when I see the moment. It’s not guaranteed around the next turn, and I don’t have the luxury to turn around and go back given the distances I’m covering each day.

In many ways the Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway was similar to Highway 97. It’s mostly a straight thoroughfare rather than a twisty mountain road — despite what this Chamber of Commerce photo might indicate. The mountains were beautiful. The lakes were beautiful. But the actual topography and curvature of the road felt more like British Columbia, where the scenery was beautiful but the roads were more thoroughfares than mountain squiggles.

I glanced down at my gas gauge and had a bit of a shit moment. I didn’t realize how far I had gone without filling up. The scenic byway doesn’t have the amenities that Highway 97 did, 58 miles to my east. Shit. Fortunately I had cell service, but even the closest gas station was putting me at 25 to 30 miles of range — not good. Not good at all. The good news is, Bend was in reach and I rolled into town with 30 miles to go.

I took more than my fair share of time cooling off in the gas station convenience store. Returning back to the high desert, the temperature was in the high 90s, dry, and sapping all of my energy. When I walked out a 20-something-year-old guy was ogling my bike. When I walked up, he instantly apologized for staring too long at my bike. I laughed. He laughed. We chatted for a bit and I said, “Thanks for saying my bike is cool and omitting the fact that your dad had one like the guy up in Lake Tahoe.” We both genuinely laughed and parted ways.

Traffic out of Bend was brutal. I hit the 97 freeway at this point and traffic was tight, angry, and aggressive. The speed limit was 45 and the prevailing flow was well above 60. The infrastructure here just can’t keep up with the growth — and it shows on so many levels. I’m on high alert through this town. I’ve only seen traffic this aggressive in one other place: Atlanta. I’ve got a Tesla behind me that’s right up my ass — but even if you let them through, the next four-wheeled suppository is right behind it.

As I got north of Redmond, I carried a little bit too much of Bend with me trying to pass a car in the passing zone. I had a bit too much blip in the throttle and I hit the wonder wheel rather than the turn signal. The Oregon State Patrol quickly caught sight of me and flipped his lights and sirens and called me over for a chat.

All in all, he was a good dude. I needed the chat and the cool down. Bend, the weather, and just the circumstances got to me. Frustration was not the right passenger to bring along on this ride. The officer left me with three nuggets of wisdom:

• “I pull a lot of people over and give a lot of warnings so that I keep people safe.” Thank you for the reminder.
• “This area has a lot of deer, moose, and other animals. The faster you go, the more they hurt.”
• “You’re going to enjoy the ride to the Timberline Lodge. You’re going to drop into a forest and not see the mountain until you get to the top.”

From here, the ride took a much more mellow approach. I was going to get there when I got there, and I was going to meet the moment rather than try to accelerate past it. I thought a lot about what that officer said. He was one of the good ones. He was right. This was my first official encounter with law enforcement on two wheels over 30 years, and I’m glad we spoke.

As I traveled through Native American land I especially kept the speed limit and not a mile over, as I didn’t want to have the same, less forgiving encounter on Native American land. The officer was right about the trees. The landscape instantly transformed from high desert into deep forest. The road dropped a few hundred feet down into one of the most lush Pacific forests I’d seen. US Highway 26 was nothing like its 97 counterpart. The road contoured the mountain with gentle sweepers and deep forests, making its way around Mount Hood. The mountain remained in relative secrecy, and that was part of the fun. It wasn’t until I saw the Timberline Lodge signs that Mount Hood revealed himself. As I got to the top, not only was the mountain beautiful, but the valley extending in every direction was equally as awesome.

Timberline Lodge — you were worth the 15 year wait for the moment.