Miles of Smiles: The Art of Motorcycle Touring Cascadia Lakes for the Everyday Rider
There’s a lot in the world right now that demands outrage. And yes, those things are real, pressing, and worth fighting for. But even the fiercest among us need to step away sometimes—to breathe, to feel, to remember why the fight matters in the first place. For me, that reset came on a four-day, three-night motorcycle tour through Oregon’s Cascadia Lakes country with my chosen family; my husband Matt McPharlin and his dad, Mike McPharlin (aka: “Pops”), and tenured adventure buddies, Derrick Bell, Alexandria (Alex) Boyd, and Mike Hilbrandt.
We weren’t chasing speed records. We weren’t astride gleaming BMW GS1200s or any of the machines stereotypically associated with the affluent adventure set. Our stable was humble and eclectic: a Honda CR150, Kawasaki KLR650 and KLX250, a CF Moto Ibex 450, and a Husqvarna 701 Enduro. Other than our helmets (because who can put a price on your head) most of our gear was well-worn or second-hand multi-functional apparel. We weren’t trying to impress anyone. What we built together on this ride was something deeper: camaraderie, resilience, and joy—proof that you don’t need fancy bikes or an expensive kit to experience the healing power of the backcountry on a (mostly) trusty two-wheeled steed.
At 85 years old, our Pops ran SAG support in his vehicle, carrying our heavier gear (i.e. tents, camping chairs, sleeping bags, etc.), shuttling supplies, and lighting the way when my sputtering headlight failed. He even got out on dirt stretches to share in the riding himself from behind the wheel of his recently lifted 2W drive mini-motorhome and that, perhaps more than anything, made this trip what it was: a true team adventure where every person, no matter their role, was essential.
The crew. Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons.
Day One: Crescent Lake AND Manley’s Famous Broasted Chicken
We set off with weather reports promising a storm, but we took it lightheartedly, with high hopes for a light rain at best. The ride began with the rhythmic hum of pavement and the crunch of gravel, broken by stretches of forest duff. My front wheel carried a wobble and the carburetor ran sticky, but the rhythm of riding settled my nerves.
By the time we rolled into Crescent Lake, the skies suddenly closed under a blanket of darkness and the winds ravaged all attempts to put up our tents as lightning flickered in the distance. A wicked thunderstorm swept across the basin, pelting us with rain so hard it filled tents into shallow ponds. In less than 10 minutes, the chaos ended as quickly as it rolled in, and we dried our gear after deciding to head into town for dinner at Manley’s Tavern, a roadside classic famous for its “broasted” chicken. In a world where motorcycle touring can feel curated, there was something grounding about sitting in a no-frills tavern our jackets still damp from the passing storm, picking off plates of chicken, fries, and cold beer, with Pops as our designated driver!
Alex doles out cookies. Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons
Back at camp, Alex pulled out her homemade cookies at just the right moment—a sweetness that balanced the grit of the road. We dried gear by the fire, roasted marshmallows, and told stories until we ran out of wood. Derrick Bell’s vision was already shining—he was the one who first brought this brilliant idea to life, getting us all to put dates on the calendar and piecing together the base route for each day.
Day Two: Riding into a Crater—Hole-in-the-Ground And Fort Rock
Fort Rock. Photos courtesy of Michelle Emmons
The next morning, softened dirt replaced dust, creating “hero dirt”—tacky, grippy, perfect for tires. Our route took us east toward Hole-in-the-Ground, a mile-wide volcanic maar crater formed thousands of years ago. Riding into the basin, we felt the land’s violent history beneath our wheels. Tank-trap dips gave us whoops of laughter as bikes launched in and out of the crater along a side trail made for OHV travel.
We continued toward Fort Rock, a 100,000-year-old volcanic tuff ring that once stood as an island in an ancient lake, later used by Indigenous peoples as a seasonal gathering ground. Standing 325 feet high, it makes for a dramatic landmark on the desert horizon. After a short stop to stretch our legs and enjoy the view, we eventually reconnected with Pops in La Pine, grabbed some grub at Wetlands Taphouse food court, and cheered on karaoke singers. The climb to Paulina Lake that night was steep and dark, but Pops’ headlights lit my path. That was teamwork in its rawest form.
Day Three: Lava Cast Forest and Cultus Lake
Morning opened with cowboy coffee and Matt’s bacon and egg breakfast and laughter around camp as Derrick read excerpts from The Spell of the Yukon by Robert Service.
Guided by a Rever route Matt mapped from an Oregon Backcountry Discovery segment, we followed miles of dirt and gravel into the heart of the Lava Cast Forest where thousands of years ago, lava from the Newberry Volcano swallowed a living forest, leaving behind hollow molds of trees where molten rock met wood. On the short interpretive trail, we wandered among those casts, running our hands across the outlines of bark etched forever in stone—a cathedral where fire and life collided, and time stands still.
A field of lava. Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons
From there, it was pavement to Cultus Lake Lodge, a 1950s-era retreat where smoky BBQ, skillet-baked cookies, and quiet starry nights remind you why simpler is often better. Unlike busier Cascade lakes, Cultus offers a slower rhythm—the kind of place where a campfire and a shoreline stroll feel like luxury. We returned to camp and enjoyed a walk along the lake’s edge, stargazing and sharing life perspectives.
Riding through lodge pole pines. Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons
Cultus Lake. Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons
Day Four: Odell Lake and the Fuji–Bunchgrass Connection
The final morning dawned clear and bright. Our last leg carried us mostly on pavement with a short gravel detour to Odell Lake Lodge for brunch. The century-old lodge, famous for hosting anglers chasing record trout, was a perfect place to gather before turning toward the Fuji–Bunchgrass trail connection.
A big thumbs up! Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons
This project of the Oakridge Trails Alliance was personal for me. Years of advocacy went into it, and sharing its beauty with our crew was a legacy moment. This project is finally coming to life, thanks to on-the-ground efforts everyone in our crew had been involved in over the last decade, to connect two iconic Cascade trails, creating a continuous backcountry route that expands recreation access and supports the local mountain economy. To finally walk its new beginnings was both a humbling and proud moment, and it was amazing that Pops was able to share that triumph with all of us as well.
With that, we turned our wheels homeward, pavement humming, forests fading behind Highway 58 and eventually, our Oakridge mountain town. High-fives and hugs marked our return, each of us carrying more than just miles—we were wearing miles of smiles.
Reflections
Even though some of our machines rode with quirks and limits, together, we traveled hundreds of miles, conquered storms, dirt roads and trails, craters, and lava fields, and returned home with memories richer than anything money could buy.
It was Pops lighting my way up a mountain. It was Matt frying bacon at dawn. It was Derrick sharing poetry in the rain. It was Alexandria’s cookies, Mike’s jokes, and the collective will to laugh when things went wrong. We slept. We ate. We rode. And we solved problems in between it all.
In a world heavy with conflict and noise, what heals is connection—to place, to people, to the simple joy of movement through wild spaces. So stop waiting. Borrow some gear, dust off that old bike, invite a friend or your own Pops to roll alongside. The lakes and lava fields of Oregon are waiting for you.
View from Crescent Lake. Photo courtesy of Michelle Emmons