Three offerings to the Road Gods

It was sunny, calm, yet a bit chilly with 11C (52F), not what we had expected for an August morning. We bundled up, packed our steeds, and off we went. Traffic was surprisingly easy. Nobody seems to feel the need to rush to work contrary to the rush into and from recreational activities.

Our first stop was at Chateau St Michelle to capture the vineyard in the morning light.

Secondary roads were empty, and we could enjoy a mellow scooter speed (50 mph). After briefly encountering another drop in temperatures where the fog hadn’t lifted yet, my body demanded hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, stat.

In Monroe we had said beverage and a typical American style breakfast with pancakes, eggs and meat stuff at the Hitching Post Café, an eatery with Wild West themed murals. Fruit were not even an option on the menu. The food was nothing to write home about, other than it filled the tummy and was warm.

Traveling on byways makes it sometimes harder to find the right way. There is no ‘slowest route’ option in the GPS, so we had to use good old fashioned maps to find our way. We got lucky and found on some fantastic small roads, ideal for scootering.

On the few occasions we met people they were surprised that we traveled ‘all the way’ from Canada on these tiny motorcycles. Some weren't even familiar with the brand Vespa at all, but everyone was quite impressed that they could do 80 mpg and highway speed.

Then came our first offering to the Road Gods:

Halfway home Bella started ‘limping’. She had run over a staple, which punched two holes in the rubber, and now we were left stranded with a flat tire at Arlington.

After an odyssey throughout town, with multiple stops to refill air, we found out that tire shops and repair shops don’t fix motorcycle tires, and that every single motorcycle shop was closed on Mondays. Here's the nasty little bugger:

We (I) carried a tubeless tire plug kit, but will that do any good in case of a double puncture? That’s when we met Myron. His shop was next to the last closed-on-Monday dealerships we had visited. We watched his kids quad racing in the backyard, and so Roland took his chances and went to talk to him. It turned out that the guy builds and repairs motors of all kinds, and also is into quad and motorcycle racing. Besides he had a dear friend who was German, a pilot and actually just got off the phone with the pilot’s son, who lives in Germany and is also into motorsports.

Myron multitasking

In no time our Samaritan had fixed the tire, and proudly gave us a tour around his shop. Meanwhile Bella got a cat scan while the plugs dried up.

Thanks to Myron we were back on the road an hour later. He helped, not thinking liability (the answer we got at Les Schwab), and he refused to take our money. God bless those people, the world definitely needs more Myron's. We owe you big time (and a six-pack of German beer!).

We anticipated Highway 9 to be heavy with traffic but we had a serene and uninterrupted journey to the border, and the tire didn’t lose a whiff of air.

Then came our second offering to the Road Gods:

Starting with a panic attack: The husband couldn’t find his passport! Now what? He kept it in the iPad pouch, but while pulling this thing out many times throughout our journey the document must have slipped out at one point, unnoticed by its user.

At the Sumas border we meekly confessed to the mishap. The border official didn't even frown, was calm and nice, filled out a form and sent Roland to the customs building. Another friendly immigration officer said to us “Shit happens, eh?!”, checked hubby's drivers license, asked him a few personal questions, double-checked his answers with data in the computer, and five minutes later we were back on the road. No long wait, no major inquiry, no harassment, no incarceration. Canada, the beautiful, the free and kind country with their kind people surprised us yet again! We felt so relieved, we almost cried.

The last leg of the journey was supposed to be uneventful, or so we thought. We went over the bumpy bridge in Mission, that’s where our third offering to the Road Gods was presented:

I was riding behind Bella, when I suddenly saw sparks flying. The rubber still looked good, and it took me a few seconds to realize that the tail light was gone. We couldn’t stop on the bridge as there was no shoulder to park, so we slowly rode to the next exit. Thankfully the drivers realized that we had trouble and passed us very carefully.

Bella’s tail light was toast. The holding bracket must have had a fatigue break during the bumpy ride, and the light had hit the ground and the hot exhaust several times dangling from the wire. Naturally it didn’t survive the procedure (the light bulb was still on though). We unplugged the cables, tucked the damaged light fixtures under Bella's seat, continued our last leg of the journey, and finally arrived home, otherwise unscathed.

I haven’t talked much about Paolo, haven’t I? He didn't miss a beat, started on the first push of the button, was humming along all the time, didn’t lose any of his bits, and was as reliable as a Beemer. Poor Bella, first she was a brand-new Diva, now she has character, and stories from the road to tell.

Given the heavy weekend traffic we were exposed to, the offerings to the road gods were well worth it. We didn’t encounter any serious situations. We enjoyed the trip very much, and the scooters did not fail us. They kept on rolling, and rolling, almost 800 km in three days under different road and weather conditions. VESPA rules!