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Posts Tagged ‘Puget Sound Rides’

Leaving from Tacoma, our motorcycle takes us across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge northward to Bremerton along Washington State Route (SR) 16. We ride the V-Strom 650 through Bremerton to check out the Puget Sound and harbored Navy aircraft carriers. The large ships dwarf nearby buildings as they wait for orders.

The Dalby Water Wheel near Union, WA is a great place to stop and stretch the legs while getting the camera out.

From Bremerton, we head south of Hwy 106 along the southern finger of the Hood Canal. This scenic route winds through communities of vacation homes along their protected seaway. The area hangs in the rain shadow of the Olympic Mountains. Ominous clouds may look dubious in the near distance. Places like Sunset Beach, Shady Beach and the small town of Union, Washington are mostly sunny places to enjoy summer day. We find a small wooden waterwheel near Union. The Dalby Waterwheel is the most photographed spot in Mason County. At least according to the proprietor of the wine tasting room just up the street. The Dalby Waterwheel was originally built in 1922 and sat about 200 feet up the Dalby River. It was moved to its current location in 2006.

Firmly planted on the V-Strom, Monica and I travel a short distance further on Hwy 106  until it intersects with famous US Highway 101. Just a few miles after turning north we pass through the town of Hoodsport. This cozy, yet busy little sea town is home to Hoodsport Winery. This is a good place to pick up a bottle of local wine to enjoy at the end of the day. The line of wine tasters stretched into the small parking lot right off the road. We decide to leave the line in the mirrors and keep on keepin’ on.

Our original plan was to leave Hoodsport and head up Hwy 119 toward the Staircase area of the Olympic National Park. A split-second decision shifts our focus to Hamma Hamma — about 15 miles north on Hwy 101. Just past the town of Eldon, National Park (NP) 25 starts as a twisty paved road that climbs quickly away from the Hood Canal coastline. Shortly after the Hamm Hamma campground, the road comes to a “T” intersection. We turn south (left) and follow the dirt road along the Hamma Hamma River. Yes, I just like to say that name, Hamma Hamma.

Hamma Hamma Falls crashes just 75 feet through the narrow gorge carved through the mountainside.

The dirt road puts a smile across my face from left to right ear lobe. It rapidly climbs high up the mountain. Sharp tree-filled cliffs remind me to pick solid lines with delayed turns to maximize vision of on-coming vehicles. Of which, we never find. We do eventually find what we’re looking for, waterfalls. The Hamma Hamma Falls are somewhat hidden. The photogenic falls crash 75 feet in a gorge below a cement bridge. NP 25 continues on, but our goal is to reach Sequim early enough to pitch our new tent for the first time in the daylight.

Hwy 101 fits neatly between the green hillside and the greenish blue of the Hood Canal. The sediment of the many snow and glacier fed rivers drain into the canal and give it an interesting hue.

Hwy 101 leaves the salty water just north of Brinnon. The scenery changes to grazing farmland with hills to the west. The sun hangs low over the mountain and my mind is increasingly concerned about setting up camp.

Before long we enter Sequim. We ride west through town in search of Kitchen Dick Road. Though a horrible name for a road, it leads to a very unique place. A more than five-mile sand bar stretches out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca called the Dungeness Spit. This growing geomorphic formation is the largest spit in the United States.

Our goal was to set up camp at the Dungeness Recreation area campground. This being a busy holiday weekend means that the popular campground is full for the night. Plan B was to head to a nearby primitive campground with hope that the family and minivan crowd would rather the conveniences of nicer facilities.

The dual personality of the Suzuki V-Strom gets put to use. Heading south from the Dungeness Spit, we cross over Hwy 101 onto Deer Park Road. The paved road undulates up and down the gentle roll of the foothills overlooking farmland. The paved road gives way to the dirt of  Fire Road (FR) 2870. This is the second dirt road of the day. It gives me a smile in my growing worry about finding a place to pitch a tent. We turn onto FR 2880 and head toward the Dungeness Forks campground.

My plan to avoid the minivan crowd works. It also works for everyone in Jeeps, Land Cruisers and Westfalia vans as well. The camp sites are all occupied. Lucky for us, a kind couple looked up from their camp fire and saw us scouting unofficial spots that would make due for the night. They see the compactness of our motorcycle and suggest that we take a corner of their site.

Kind folks let us take a corner of their campsite at Dungeness Forks Campground.

We pitch our tent in minutes and turn our attention to cooking hot dogs over the already burning fire. All is good. I wish I could remember the kind people’s names. They saved us from a headache. Don’t wait as long as we did to occupy the no reservation camp sites of the Olympic National Park.

After dinner we cozy up in our sleeping bags and get some much needed sleep. Tomorrow we’ll see the small towns along the Strait of Juan de Fuca and more of the Olympic National Park.

As peninsulas go, there are three options for day trips (west side, north side and east side.).  This trip is being split up into separate articles by day. This allows you to pick and choose which parts best fit with your schedule and what you’d like to see. Time didn’t allow us to make the western Pacific Ocean portion of the Olympic Peninsula. Stay tuned for the next article on the northern section of our trip.

The question of why I ride a motorcycle is asked quite often. It seems that the answer would be simple, “because I like it.” My weekend rides don’t elicit that question from onlookers near as often as my daily commute. People understand the weekend joy rides in nice weather. The aspect that they don’t get is the daily motorcycle commuting through whatever weather Mother Nature throws down upon us.

People are curious when they see someone taking a different approach to an everyday task. The other day a work colleague watched me putting on all of my winter riding gear and asked, “is it really worth it?” I actually responded from inside my HJC helmet with scratches on the face shield from constant use. I answered, “heck yeah it is totally worth it.” The steam rose from my helmet in the evening darkness under the dim lights of the parking lot. I then threw a leg over my warming motorcycle and headed for home along I-5.

That question sat in my head as I entered the freeway. Why do I like to ride so much? Why am I so passionate about motorcycling? Thoughts raced through my head as I scrambled across the backed up lanes of I-5 before settling in the carpool lanes at cruising speed. I definitely like the fact that I’m now passing thousands of cars and trucks simply because I have a motorcycle and can use the carpool lanes. The ease of maneuvering the single-track of my bike through congested Seattle traffic is definitely on my list of reasons that I ride.

That reason is good and all, but that alone wouldn’t make the added risks of riding pay off. Actually, I’ve always enjoyed adding a bit of risk to life. Climbing trees, jumping bicycles from ledges down steep hills, skydiving and training horses have all been things that I’ve enjoyed. Many poeple would hear that short list and say that I must enjoy motorcyling because I’m an adrenalin seeker. As much as that rush feels good, that doesn’t account for my passion for motorcycling.

The passion comes from deep within. So deep that those around me can’t help but get drowned in it. Motorcycling is a big part of my life. In fact, that might be the very reason for this passion of mine. I just simply enjoy living life.

A life well lived should have stories. The stories are comprised of the good, the bad and the “oh my God I can’t believe that just happened” moments.

Life on a motorcycle is a life of adventure. Like any good adventure, there are stories to be told. The good comes from a well planned ride through scenic areas and discoveries of unique places. There are stories of the bad from the near miss in traffic, or the time I learned the true value in late cornering for motorcycling. The holy crap moments can stand on their own or be a combination of the good and the bad. Sometimes these moments come when watching other riders learn a new and valuable riding technique.

The joy of life and adventure is the reason I ride. Sitting around a camp fire with fellow adventurers through life is always filled with great stories. That’s because they find their own path through life. A single track path blazed on two wheels that always leads to a good story.

A life of adventure is a life well lived. On two wheels there is always adventure. I just hope that I can take the good, the bad and live to tell the story. That is why I ride. Motorcycling is an endless pursuit of the next great story.