Not too far up the road, a dove darted into my lane and fluttered in my face. Our notion was to blast to the Oregon border before nightfall, but we weren't going to make it. Instead we pulled into Alturo, California, which boasts eight motels. We hit the local cowboy bar, called the BrassRail, for a drink and discovered that the world Cow Dog Championships were due to rock the county in a week. We had rolled 790 miles so far, and with the recommendations of the barmaid, we pulled up at the Essex Motel for the evening. She also pointed out that the restaurant built out of the A&W like drive-in malt shop was worth a stop. Seems her uncle built the drive-in for her mom some 20 years ago. A smile crossed her pudgy features, "I had unlimited ice cream as a kid."

The restaurant was called Nipa's and boasted California cuisine. Remember the A&W peninsula where the cars were parked with the trays perched in the windows? Well the overhang was still in place, but the Thai people who now own it installed a Jacuzzi tub, surrounded it with volcanic rock and cement and filled it with koi.

After our drink, Veronica wanted to roll north to Lakeview for the night. Unfortunately it was late and clouds were looming ahead and deer would be in the road at dusk. I was surprised to note her smile and she backed down, but then she said, "If we're not going to Lakeview tonight I want to go to a movie." We walked to Nipa's, where the California cuisine consisted of Thai dishes. By the time we finished dinner the town was closed and there was no chance of a movie. We'd had another serious relationship discussion and I was feeling trapped.

Before we crashed I pointed out that we better get a move on in the morning. I was up and packed by 8 a.m. I watched Chris deliver coffee to Veronica at 9, the clouds roll in by 9:30 and rain kick in by 10. That's when we started to roll. That morning we discovered Veronica's daughter's clothes in her bags, so we made a stop at the Post Office to send the undies back home.

It was 180 miles to Burns, Oregon, and our turnoff toward Utah. The roads were open and beautiful although we had to dodge rain until we arrived in Burns. It was cold as we circumnavigated Goose Lake, which was beautiful. The lake was beyond cool, yet there wasn't a soul near it, no homes built around it or resorts.

In Lakeview, just over the Oregon border, we ate breakfast at Jerry's, 56 miles from Alturo, and hit the local hardware store that was packed to the hilt with equipment for every sport and chore. I was wearing a Harley-Davidson rain suit top, but didn't have the bottoms, and although I was running on a tight budget, I bought a flannel shirt that was lined and warm as a pot bellied stove. My gloves were also soaked, so I inspected their vast array of leather work and riding gloves. Their selection was complete yet I bought the most ridiculous gloves on the rack. I wanted something that would not get soaked, so I bought a set of long black chemical washing gloves. For the rest of the trip we called them my custom snakeskin gauntlets. As the weather cooled to a brisk, uncomfortable ride, there was a positive aspect to the freezing. The doctor's bike would start. We shook our heads and kept rolling.

While on the road, I noticed that Chris's bike was smoking again out of the overflow breather. I wanted to stop, but thought as long as I saw blue sky I'd keep the throttle pegged. We traversed another lake or two on the way to Burns and discovered that each was virtually abandoned. We blew past one abandoned resort where the log cabins were crumbling in the wind.

Burns was equally dismal. The town was formed in 1883 by a postmaster named McGowan. Its population was 200 in 1892, but in 1914, 1915 and 1918 the town was ravaged by fire. Burns was overcast and sleepy, but we stopped at Ye Old Steak House diner for lunch. Although the clapboard building with a European flair was in need of repair, the inside was a treasure chest of steel toys from the 1920s to bicycles from the '50s.

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