Leaving Thursday mid-morning, I wended my way on county and state roads, down to the Columbia River Gorge on a bright, sunny arvo, stopping in the deep, dark, pine forest above Carson Hot Springs to camp for the night. Next morning, I met up for brekky on Hood River with a pair of riders to obtain my free entry ticket to the rally. We three rode together for most of the day, spending hours following twisty two lane roads in central Oregon, arriving at the rally site before 5 o'clock in the evening.
I counted about seven or eight classic K bikes as I walked round the county fairgrounds rally site on Friday and Saturday. In days gone by, even a scant twenty years ago, apart from Airheads, they'd be the norm. The big GS has replaced them, and you will see them by the bland thousands, blinged for 'adventure' travel by Touratech or Altrider, knobbies and Klim wearing riders, with three days' growth and a bit of mud splattered.
I rolled in on cooling Friday arvo, the weather shifting dramatically from the high 80s (30c) of Thursday to a maximum of 57 (14c) throughout the day Friday, slightly cooler Saturday. Nights dropped close to freezing and below the next night. I camped between three admin buildings on soft, green grass beneath twenty foot tall shade maples, the better to keep the steady, cold wind blowing in from the west over the mountains, at bay.
The closest I could get to an official answer about overall attendance was a laptop screen turned towards me by a bloke at reception showing 3,483 registered. My guess was 3,500 to 4,000 riders. All the big name aftermarket shops were there, and many small vendors, too. Triumph had a 'ride ours please' booth, BMW was, of course, the largest presence. Multiple day rides, seminars and ride classes could be taken. I counted about a dozen food trucks, some much better than others. The beer garden was popular. The music stage well-attended as darkness fell. Early mornings, the coffee/tea room was awake at 5 AM.
On Saturday I got out with three new rider friends to show them around the region. I'd lived in Oregon from early 2001 until mid-2004, and this was my riding backyard, when there were well fewer people living there. It seems to have 'been discovered.' I saw modern condo blocks where cattle once grazed.
Sisters, a once cowboy town turned quilting show hub, was one destination, with towering Black Butte just beyond, the head of the Metolius River, and McKenzie Pass lava fields, whose road was closed due to lingering snow and needed maintenance, until 4 July. It rained a blast for half an hour, the sun returned, but it never climbed beyond mildly uncomfortable. As someone once said, no bad weather, only bad clothes. Camp Sherman's country store provided fat deli sandwiches for lunch under tall pines beside a flowing trout stream while tourists bicycled past.
Once back at the rally site, out came the flasks and the beer mugs. After the awards ceremony, where nightly, an M series S1000 (R, RR & XR) was given away, followed up by a solid band called Peach Street Revival, from western Colorado, rocking the crowd 'til about eleven o'clock. I drifted off to sleep as rugged up as I could. The frost on my bike's seat evidence of the chill of night. I departed with a small group of riders but peeled off to head another way home after a short while. Some groups can't get it together. Herding cats. Paraphrasing George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers as they sang, I ride alone, I prefer to ride by myself.
I headed home and after a straight through 4-3/4 hour - sub 300 mile ride, via the defacto mountain town of Government Camp at 3,888' (1,185m) up over Mt Hood at 11,249' (3,429m), on Sunday arvo, the temp only warming an hour from home around about Olympia, Washington. The bike purred, averaged 41.5 mpg (US gallon), didn't sip a drop of oil, and no local constabulary velocity awards were earnt. Man, did I sleep well that night.
I have plenty of piccies if anyone wants a squiz.
The next 'MOA National is in Lebanon, Tennessee next June.