Part 13. A perfect number to finish off on because it aligns with the number of stripes on the USA flag, which was the number of states that existed before the Declaration of Independence in 1776. Triumph Boise in Idaho was voted by you, the reader, as the perfect place to start this finishing off part, and Day 121 on the 25th September 2025 the perfect time. So we all have some accountability here.
So down to Triumph Boise at 9am, half an hour before opening time as usual, and hang around talking to the staff who had worked hard over four days to get us back on the road in August after Cindy’s gear changing pivot plate failed 60 miles west of Boise. This experience was a little more relaxed with the bikes booked in for service about a week or two previously. Josh the Service Manager says they should be ready by the end of the day even though we’ve just lost a service technician. Righto, it will be what it will be. Off we went to buy stuff at the local big shopping centre, in preparation for a certain impending event that we’ll get to in the fullness of time. Then a phone call, quite early on and before it could be possible the bikes were finished. This is like getting a phone call from your doctor the day after you’ve had a battery of tests. You don’t want to answer but know you have to answer. I answered, the buffed-up pessimist in me already having created numerous “this is the end” scenarios, and the weakling optimist not allowed to interrupt. Our machine says that your brake systems aren’t quite where they should be and we recommend a flush on each says Josh. That isn’t part of a normal service and will be a bit extra, which is why I’m calling. Oh. That isn’t even close to a “this is the end” scenario. Yeah go for it Josh.
Late in the afternoon, Josh rings again. No scenario workshopping for this one, they must be ready and they are. As a result, on Day 122 after hopefully the very final farewells to the Tru by Hilton staff and its steel-cut oatmeal, we were off. We’d changed the plan for the navigation on this section, originally we were going up via John Day and north into Washington from there, but a lack of accommodation options forced us to go to Milton-Freewater and then across our 48th border just before Walla Walla. The challenge this created was avoiding the interstate, so some googs maps came into play to find roads that weren’t the interstate but nearly were. The main feature of this region is the Snake River, so we stayed on the Trans America Trail which follows the Oregon Trail. First stop was at Farewell Bend, where the Oregon-bound had to leave the Snake because it trends north-east, and they wanted to head north-west to meet the Columbia River. No coffee was available but the historical description boards nearly distracted us from the caffeine cravings that peak an hour into the riding day.
Staying on the trail, we hit Huntington and then there was no choice but to interstate. But this isn’t bad interstate because the north-west is slim regarding population, so outside the big cities it isn’t terribly crowded. But as soon as we could, we got off it to roll through the nice little towns, especially when the clock’s hour hand ticked into the luncheon zone between 11:30 am and 2 pm. Baker City sounded perfect, except that the USA doesn’t have meat pies, so the Baker City Bakery wasn’t going to satisfy anyone. But this is the US, and there will always be something to eat. Luckily a classic diner experience was on offer.
The afternoon was much the same – avoiding interstate by taking the smaller parallel-ish roads. Then north-east up to Milton-Freewater and we were done. Except for the dining challenge. We’d assumed Milton-Freewater would be a bit trendy, and we’d be threatened by the sheer number of IPAs, lightly wooded Chardonnays, and roasted Brussel sprouts dishes.
But no, it all seemed a little bit dodgy for a small USA town, and the search for quality dining meant that we walked a long way past the only obvious establishment, then sucked it up and went back to the Let’s Go Inn. Let’s go in. Up on the wall were the danger signs, for example “I only drink on days that start with “T”: Tuesday, Thursday, Today, Tomorrow, Thaturday, Thunday”, and “Trust me. You can dance.” – Beer. The place appeared to be a tavern, i.e. devoid of dining, but the lady behind the bar quickly had the menus out and it turned out to be a lot better than expected, with even the bar signs changing from threatening to amusing.
Up on Day 123 and off to the unisex salons for a 3 coats spray tan and a polish before the biggest moment of the trip, a mere 4 miles north. Nerves were peaking as we approached Stateline Road and as always the sign scenarios and the responses were running through the mind – ranging from no sign at all to two reserved motorcycle parks underneath the sign and Annie Leibovitz there to take the photo. There was a crossroads at the border, and the sign was just after in a reasonable position. Not perfect, but better than many of the previous 47. A pannier off for the iPhone stand, and the photo was taken at 9:25am on Saturday 27th September 2025.
Of course we’d already ridden Washington back in 2016, so it wasn’t needed to meet the ‘ridden all 50 states’ requirement. In fact, when planning the trip we weren’t even going to bother repeat riding Washington, Idaho or Montana. But we realised that we couldn’t call the trip the Lower48Mate unless we meant to ride all of the lower 48, and every trip needs a not-negotiable goal. Our first attempt at getting into Washington was de-railed by Cindy’s gear changing pivot plate failure, so it hadn’t been that easy. Therefore the feelings after crossing the line were very strongly positive and that will always apply. We only have one mate who has ridden all 50, so we know it isn’t common. The pannier back on, a bit of a cuddle even though Cindy refused to take her helmet off in case my spray tan 3rd coat rubbed of onto her hair, and we headed to the extremely Australian sounding town of Walla Walla. This is a college town and was very neat and tidy so finding a grotesquely expensive and tiny coffee was easy.
Due west from Walla Walla we hit the massive Columbia River, like most of the big rivers in this part of the world, formed at the end of the Ice Age when enormous ice dams failed and sent unthinkable amounts of water to the sea, scouring new valleys because the small older ones were overwhelmed. Into Richland for lunch, we managed to find a sushi place. These are a welcome relief from the USA carbo-transfats lunches that are sometimes the only thing available with seating. Sushi restaurants allow anything from a single wafer-thin slice of sashimi tuna to a full-blown ramen with a side of edamame, so the only challenge is not coming in hungry and totally overdoing it. Having totally overdone it, or at least one of us did, no names of course, we decided a nuclear tour was necessary. Lots of googs, was there a Hanford Reach museum, or not? Maybe there was just out of town, let’s take a look. But first fuel, discovering that Washington has the second highest price in the country behind California. North toward Hanford Reach, past something that clearly wasn’t nor ever had been a museum, and we were into nuclear country where the plutonium for the Fat Man bomb dropped on Nagasaki was produced. Googs says that the Hanford site is open for tours, so we were ready for the turn-off.
Hoping for a touring route with lookouts and sign boards pointing to historically relevant features, we saw nothing then were disappointed to come across one of those unsigned guardhouse facilities with nobody in sight. The fact that there are no signs and no people make these things extremely foreboding, it’s like they are just begging for you to approach the guardhouse so they can put you in prison forever without letting anyone know. We did a You-ie well back from the guardhouse and went west, finishing the day in Yakima. Loads of grape vines encouraged a stop-off at the Tourist Information Centre, with plans for a winery tour. There were heaps available, including bicycling around nearby wineries. The Information Centre staff were helpful in providing a list, but Cindy was told she was fully responsible for bookings. And it began. Full, full, not run on a Sunday, full, not run tomorrow for religious reasons, and full. OK. One winery has a shop in town, which is open on a Sunday. OK, that will have to do.
But the best of Sunday, Day 124, after cruising the market and the wine shop, was the chance to catch up with Dave and Tammy from our Horizons Unlimited event in Mariposa California. They live not far north of Yakima and kindly offered to come down for dinner. Into a bar and grill, one of the best and funniest nights of the trip was had and this highlights the joys of adventure motorcycling; great people with shared enjoyment of getting out there and having fun. We can only hope we sold Australia well enough to attract them down for an away match.
Still feeling good, we trundled off west again on Day 125. There is some serious scenery between Yakima and the coast, including Mt Rainier, and the infamous Mt St Helens. Tragically, it was very foggy the whole way to the coast, so all we saw were some trees next to the roads. The road up to Mt Rainier was closed, so that was out, and the road to Mt St Helens was so foggy we would have gotten up there and maybe seen some trees surrounding a carpark. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that we didn’t bother. But the Highway 12 was good regardless, with impressive waterfalls near Dog Lake. Into Morton, we grabbed a picnic lunch, which probably wasn’t our best idea as it started raining and there was nowhere to picnic.
Then we were on the main west coast interstate between Seattle WA and Portland OR. Not too bad because we were well out into the boonies, but as soon as possible we were off it at Longview and heading west along the south side of the Columbia River, which meant that we were in Oregon once again. The last push was into our destination for a few days – Astoria. For those who love the Arnie Schwarzenegger, they will recognise this place as the setting for Kindergarten Cop, and unusually for a film from way back in 1990, the scenery is very much recognisable as Astoria.
We were staying in a seaside room in the Bridgewater Inn, which was a pleasant walk to many of Astoria’s highlights, albeit past the inevitable homeless people tent camps which are common on the Pacific coast. This spot was about relaxing. Tomorrow would be a big day.
Day 126. Tuesday 30th September 2025. This day made the arithmetic simple, thinking 30 years before on the 30th September 1995 when we watched Carlton play Geelong in the AFL Grand Final. Then we got married. To celebrate in Astoria, we got up late, wandered around in the pyjamas, exchanged gifts, and went for a walk into town past the same homeless people tent camps, and had a coffee.
Back to the hotel, we had to decide on lunch, as the celebration dinner was pre-planned just up the road at the Bridgewater Bistro. Maybe some chicken? OK. What goes well with chicken? Coke Zero? Soda water? Hang on, let’s use the googs. Champagne! Who would have known that?
To the dinner, which was fancy. Yes, we are here for our 30th wedding anniversary, you have our permission to treat us like minor deities. Excellent wines, excellent food, it was a great evening.
On we went on Day 127. It was now October, so the end was definitely in sight and therefore confronting. To deny the end, we firstly went north over the famous bridge to get the views and give our 48th state a final farewell, then stayed on the Highway 101 for the rest of the day. This hugs the coast, but because we were now out of summer the fogs had mainly dispersed with just patchy bits occasionally blocking view of anything. It was very pleasant riding now, cool enough to think about turning on the hand-warmers but not cold enough to actually do it. Sweating was a distance memory.
First stop was the small sea-side village of Manzanita for a quick coffee. Didn’t seem too alternative, there was an expectation that the settlements along the Oregon coast would be full-hipped with both hippies and hipsters swarming about in cafés and little artisan craft shops selling dreamcatchers. Wasn’t really a thing, so nothing to distract us from a very normal coffee experience. Second stop was lunch at Tillamook at an enormous cheese factory. The place was packed with Highway 101 travellers because it was both interesting and had a good lunch selection, assuming the traveller likes cheese. We had the fried cheese curd which we understood to have the same calorific value per mass unit as Romaine lettuce.
More foggy west-coast riding and we turned off to the Yaquina Head Lighthouse. Besides being a pleasant view of the foggy coast, this lighthouse was the one in The Ring movie, so is a smidge creepy.
The riding finished in Yachats, a bit further down the coast, and named for the planned yachts harbour by the same bloke who’d been sacked for the Milton-Freewater sign debacle. Weather was a bit sketchy but we managed to wander into town and back for dinner without getting wet. Day 128 was a repeat – slightly foggy and damp coast travel. Enough settlements and towns along this stretch to allow adherence to enshrined motorcycle routines. In this case, 1 hour and 4 minutes after starting, we stopped for coffee, comfortably within the 1 hour ± 5 minutes standard. Someone decided a pikelet would be nice with her coffee.
Highway 101 is a classic because it stays as close to the coast as possible and only deviates inland when the terrain is not road-builder friendly or a big swamp or rocky headland gets in the way. So there are heaps of places to pull over and get photos and heaps of beaches for those wanting to touch the cold Pacific. No-one swims here, but occasionally fully wet-suited surfers distract the traffic.
We finished the day in Brookings, the last town in Oregon, where we had a two-night stay because we weren’t under any time pressure so we might as well slow down and absorb some local colour.
First things first, find the shops to get the normal life-sustaining stuff like toothpaste, anti-inflammatories, deodorant, and chips. Brookings had many dining options, but weirdly for a Thursday many were shut. Thankfully the Japanese was open, and did a cracking meal with a few warm sakes, for God’s sake. Bit of word play there. Day 129 was that lovely plan to sleep-in then panicking about everything not done such as laundry, responding to that text, motorcycle maintenance, banking, responding to that email, dealing with business accounting, and responding to that WhatsApp question, resulting in getting up at 5am on the cusp of hysteria. Having resolved all the issues by 5:15am, back into bed, before irrationally remembering that Cindy’s front brake pads hadn’t been checked since we’d arrived in the US. OK I’m getting up.
In the pleasant weather, we could go for a walk. Chetco Point Park wasn’t too far away, even though we inadvertently made it further by getting a tad lost. Past the wastewater treatment plant, expectations weren’t very high, but it really was a spectacular bit of coastline and we were the only ones there.
Back into town, by a miracle we happened to be walking past the RH Bar and Grill when the lunchtime siren went off, so we had to go in. It wasn’t a riding day, thus no earthly restrictions on carbs and beverages. We relaxed for the rest of the day as a result of the no earthly restrictions.
Day 130 was of course the continuation south. A tiny 6 miles in, we did our very final border crossing for the trip back into California. Don’t make me calculate how many border crossings we did please. Really? That sounds a little cruel, I don’t believe you’d do that to a puppy. Alright, to save the puppy any discomfort I’ll check. OK, 97 state border crossings, so with the odd “we didn’t get a decent sign photo coming into the state” You-ies back across and then back again and the trips to the bottleshop over the Utah border into Arizona, we’ll call it 100.
School child giggling as we cruised down past Fort Dick, and suddenly we were back into familiar territory at Crescent City. As we were practically locals, it only took us 20 minutes and 5 stops to check the googs maps to find a very nice coffee establishment. The caffeine-fuelled planning was all about the trees we had missed the last time we were here. No.1 was the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway, which a ranger had insisted had some of the biggest and best redwoods on the planet. Off the Highway 101, the anticipation was peaking, surely not far in we’d be amongst the giants. Then a Road Closed sign. What the Fire Truck? And why were those people on bicycles happily ignoring the sign, surely people on bicycles with motors can go through? Maybe a tree is down or something. We’ll ask our less evolved relatives, thankfully they are a transition species that has moved on from Lycra, so they probably understand English and have started to learn good taste. Hello. Why is the road closed? Because this is the first Saturday of the month, and the Parkway is closed to everything other than pedestrians and bicyclists. Oh Fire Truck!
Never mind, move on. Back into another familiar place for lunch; Eureka. Last time when we’d stayed here it had seemed a bit grim and unpopulated except by those people who you make an effort to avoid eye-contact with. Then we discovered the Old Town, which is a very thriving hub with craft and book shops.
After lunch it was the Avenue of the Giants which we’d missed the first time due to the Mattole Road that follows the coast after Eureka, which some (and now us) describe as the best road in the USA. No regrets getting another opportunity, the Avenue is just incredible. As described the last time we’d been here, the amazing thing is that all the trees are monsters.
We did most of the Avenue. Given it was a Saturday and the weather was fabulous, the lack of people was quite amazing, perhaps they were all marching in an anti-motorcyclist rally up on the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway. Out onto the highway, we didn’t have far to go to the destination of Garberville, last time’s lunch spot. Down to the supermarket, and yet another memorable USA day was done.
Day 131 was a commute, but even a commute in this part of the world is pretty good. The Highway 101 is not very big, and is quite winding, and there are regular ginormous redwood parks to keep the OMG look at that bloody tree dialog rolling. Past Leggett and the drive-thru tree which we didn’t need to do again, and the highway heads inland and the redwoods thin out.
Off the 101 and east at Calpella, we headed to the rather large Clear Lake, finding a nice place for lunch at Lakeport. Which is a port on the lake just to be helpful. Then south again, we did an amazing road through Loch Lomond which joined an even more amazing road through the Robert Louis Stevenson Park, hitting wine country at Calistoga. The heat had increased back to unpleasant by this stage, so we just sucked it up and ploughed on to the destination of Napa. We had an Airbnb lined up for three nights, so could make a play for becoming locals in yet another US town. The plan was also to begin the cleaning process, the house had a washing machine and dryer, and there were bike wash places nearby to try to get them clean enough to pass inspection back home, random as that process is.
But most importantly, we were in Napa, one of the most famous wine producing places on earth. Time to get on a wine tour.
We had an absolute ball with a great group on that tour, inevitably purchasing way more wine than can be carried on a motorcycle. Never mind, jam it in somewhere amongst the super-clean clothes for Day 134’s departure and continue. From Napa, the choices are limited getting through the Bay Area, we were using that term now we were locals. Let’s do the bridge, and this takes us onto Highway 1 next to the coast. Roadworks was a trial, but we made it through to the bridge at the awkward brunch hour.
After the most expensive toast and coffee ever at a high-end resort near the bridge, we continued on to Monterey. Not great riding, but it was along the coast so could have been worse. After some room changing and parking alterations at the Monterey Bay Lodge, we hit the local dining options. First the Dust Bowl Brewing pub, presumably named in honour of the large percentage of the California population who can trace their heritage back to people who walked off the land in Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas during the 1930’s dust bowl. Sensational range of IPA’s, do you have wine? No. Move onto the London Bridge Pub with wines and Old Speckled Hen’s and a decent dinner. Day 135 arrived, the Highway 1 was blocked at Big Sur. Never mind, we’ll head inland and take the Carmel Valley Road. Expectations that this would be packed with people who couldn’t travel Highway 1 weren’t met, there were very few punters in the old Mexican district with small ranches, and we were the only non-locals at the morning tea stop.
To Paso Robles, which translates to pass of the oaks, hopefully not poison oaks. Then closing the near-circle with a turn to the coast and north up Highway 1 to San Simeon. San Simeon is a very small community, not what one would think likely on the California coast between San Fran and LA. It was good though, very pleasant pub for a drink then an excellent meal at the restaurant. Thus Day 136 was well set for a tour of the Hearst Castle just north of town. The ranch that Hearst Castle is built on was already owned by the family, but William Randolph expanded the property holdings and then in 1919 started building. The castle is one of the great examples of project scope creep, with the architect constantly needing to alter plans and designs, sometimes in mid-build. It just got bigger and bigger and was never finished. The styles are all over the place, some Greco-Roman, some ecclesiastical, some God knows what. There are still some out-of-place animals roaming the grounds, we saw some zebra way off in the distance. Tours are mandatory; access to the castle is by bus only. The tour took a couple of hours, with a fair bit of time taken up going over the rules – don’t touch anything and don’t smoke and don’t wander off.
Having finished without touching anything or lighting up, we went back down to the warm lowlands and continued south. Time was nigh, we continued along staying as close to the coast as possible to finish the day in Carpinteria. The Casa del Sol hotel was a good one and very close to everything for our two nights. On Day 137 we took advantage of the location and wandered through the ‘burbs to Tar Pits Park, which just sounds super cool. And it is, tar is literally dripping out of the sand along the beach. This was one of those times when someone’s mother needed to be there – “If you even think about touching that tar your backside will be so red you will be a traffic light!” Or more in keeping with those present – “If you touch your husband’s face with tar on your fingers all your hair will fall out!” Anyway, after the tar had been touched and the husband’s hair had fallen out, we headed back.
Now understanding how everyone and everything ended up in the tar pits, we utilised the little kitchen to cook up a storm and do some administrative activity on the computer. I’ve lost count of how many people have asked how we manage our lives when being away from home for so long. I think it was one, but maybe it was two. Anyway, we are both teched up, with laptops doing everything we’d do at home, in fact many people don’t even know we are away. The invention of the e-Sim has lifted us up from someone who would get stuck and die in a tar pit to someone who can be pulled out by an Uber X driver. Life is very easy these days. Anyway, onto the final travel day; Day 138.
Down through the burned-out houses in Malibu, weirdly sitting out over the ocean, arrival into LA gave very mixed feelings. How do we get out of the Santa Monica beach? Oh that way! Hang on not that way! is an example of those feelings, but it was also the realisation that it was the end. Further south, we finished in Long Beach at the Beachrunners Inn, booked for three nights where all re-packing and deconstruction and re-birth would take place. Note the name of the property included the word Inn. We assumed motel. The photos suggested large rooms. Then we went in. It was a B&B. Getting the luggage up the stairs was like a python swallowing a pig – we got it all up there, but it took a while. There was a tiny ensuite and about 2ft around the bed. That they’d made it look big was an impressive achievement. The thought of the next three days trying to do anything in there brought on a crisis of confidence. But we’d paid, and this area is not renowned for its low prices. After about ten minutes and still trying to find somewhere to put the helmets down, the white flag went up, and Cindy went down to talk to Pat. Explained the sitch. Pat was sympathetic, she’d seen the luggage going up the stairs and threatening every Nik-nak and painting. A discount on the cancellation fee later, we were loading the bikes up and heading back to where it all began – San Pedro, and a big room at the Portside Inn. Get the definition of Inn nailed people.
Then the frenzied activities to get out. The bikes are always priority No.1 and we had them going back to the depot the day after we’d arrived. So out to do shopping stuff, then back to do a final clean to get them to inspection standard in Australia – good luck with that – then stuff them full of un-needed gear, then out to Compton.
We’d ridden all 48 states over 140 days, done 33,000 km, had 86 different accommodations, seen 20 National Parks, heaps of National Monuments, 4 major Civil War sites, loads of state parks, and consumed a ridiculous number of calories while not quite burning them all off. The feelings were a strange mix of pride and sadness, very like when we’d finished Africa in 2017. We’d done it, but we didn’t want it to end.
As always closing the series with a dedication to those who made the Lower48Mate enjoyable, mainly my wife of 30 years Cindy who organised it, made it all happen, and made it such a great experience. Thanks to Kim and Gino for coming over to give us a break from ourselves for a couple of weeks. And thanks to our friends back home like Paul who looked after our house, and our riding friends in the US including Craig, Kathy, and Alden, cousins Jon and Ange, our new friends we made over there, and all the funny and kind people of the USA, without whom we would never have been able to access so many tasty calories.
A final huge thanks to the nice young Mound City South Dakota sheriffs who helped Cindy find her phone by the side of the highway and gave her a funny story to tell.
The End.
travellingbennetts 