Dreamers take a lot of flak in this world. “Real life” is meant to be one big bowl of broccoli, steamed into properly ascetic green mush. Don’t tell the hall monitors that somewhere, out on the high plains, a couple of dedicated riders are doing what motorcyclists do best: cheating life.
“My idea was always that we’d buy expensive motorcycles and people would come and ride them,” Doug Watt explains. “I just made the assumption that it wouldn’t pencil unless I could do it 12 months a year. Then I saw all those riders go by on the 97.”
String straight and deadly dull, the four lanes of Highway 97 are nonetheless a golden ticket to the glories of central Oregon, a rider’s paradise every day that it isn’t a snowboarder’s paradise.