SNOQUALMIE, WA. The Pacific Northwest is unlike anywhere else I’ve ridden (at least, so far). I’ve been here before, and was also riding a different bike at the time. But the more you understand this area of the country, and the more you think about IMZ-Ural, the more you start to understand why it’s the perfect place for THE sidecar company to exist.
The PNW is just built different. And so is Ural. These are both simple statements of fact.
When Ural asked if I wanted to come and check out the Neo 500 prototype for a couple of days, I was immediately intrigued. And when they turned me loose and basically said to just go have fun with it, I immediately realized I had to finally go and do something. An important bucket list item, if you will.
You see, having previously only been to this area for work (and with tight schedules to maintain), I hadn’t really had the chance to explore on my own. Now, I did; and more than that, I had a bike I needed to get to know so that I could tell you guys about it. Peanut butter, meet jelly.
As a general rule, I’m not terribly interested in or fascinated by famous people. There are artists I appreciate and respect and am a fan of, of course; but I’ve never been someone who needs to breathlessly follow every move of my faves. That said, I remember exactly where I was when the news broke that David Lynch had died earlier in 2025.
I was, in fact, in the lobby of a hotel (on a different work trip) that I had jokingly described as looking like the interior of the Great Northern just the night before. You can’t make that up.
And I won’t lie: My heart broke a little, hearing the news. He was one exception, because a lot of his art helped to shape me into the person I am. And he seemed like a genuinely good, complicated human. The world needs more of those in it; not fewer.
While I was technically alive when Twin Peaks was on TV, I definitely wasn’t old enough to have appreciated it. Even more than that, though; it was the one TV show I remember being told by my mom that I couldn’t watch. That, of course, only made me more curious about it; intoxicating lure of the forbidden, and all that. When I was finally old enough to rent videos on my own, you can probably guess what I did. And the show was, for me and so many others, our first gateway into the mind of David Lynch.
I wanted more. Needed more, even. I rented everything I could get my hands on, or else got it from a library. Eraserhead. Blue Velvet. The Elephant Man. Dune.
And with every frame, I felt like I understood myself a little better. Maybe in ways I couldn’t have put into words at the time. In any case, that knowledge was slowly being uncovered. Neurons were firing; connections were being made.
That it’s okay to be weird, and to do what makes your strange little heart happy, as long as it’s true. The truth of the thing is what’s important. The truth of YOU (and me) is what’s important.
You know how it feels when you finally feel like someone gets you? Like you’ve been understood? Sometimes that feeling comes from people, but sometimes it comes from art, too. And it’s an incredibly powerful thing. I’m not someone who’d ever claim to know any of my faves because I’ve developed some kind of parasocial bond with them. But that might be one of the first times I ever really felt seen.
And so, with those years and years of buildup, and on the one and only Ural Neo 500 prototype that’s currently in the US, I eagerly made my way to the Snoqualmie area to visit key shooting locations for the show that had started it all. (Incidentally, this piece that you’re reading now is about the travel portion; there will also be a separate piece that’s dedicated to impressions of the bike as I got to know it through riding.)
One thing that I don’t think really comes through via film, videos, or photos is how very hilly this area is. The sudden elevation changes and meandering, curvy roads (and roundabouts; so very many roundabouts) are kind of unmatched, in my estimation. Are there any straight roads? Just stay on the one you’re on; chances are excellent it’ll change direction in a minute.
Combine that with the astounding greenery and the mysterious fog that wreaths the mountains off in the distance a great deal of the time, and it’s an incredible atmosphere to experience. Especially on a bike. And especially on this bike, because right now, it’s one of a kind. It’s a lone weirdo too; looking for its tribe.
Over time, I’ve been lucky enough to find my people. Can the Ural Neo 500, once it’s in production, do the same?
I’ve ridden around the Seattle area before, so I knew what I was getting myself into. But riding a three-wheeler definitely takes a little bit of the anxiety out of the experience, because at least you know that you probably won’t fall over if you take a random dip in the road wrong.
I won’t go too deeply into the ride qualities of the Neo 500 here (like I said; that’s for a separate piece), but I will note that if you’ve ridden a legacy Ural Gear Up platform sidecar before, the riding experience is significantly different. One thing that people either love or don’t about the Gear Ups is how much of an upper body workout they are to steer.
The Neo 500 isn’t super easy, but it’s significantly easier. And if you push it through corners (whatever you do, don’t be hesitant), it’s very planted, stable, and solid. That’s what I got to know about this bike as we made the pilgrimage to Snoqualmie and North Bend together.
It’s hard to find a place here that isn’t scenic. Even back on residential streets, the quiet majesty of the trees and the mountains soaring all around is something to behold. It’s easier to sit back and take it all in on the Neo 500, because while you’re still of course adjusting your inputs and paying attention to where you’re going, you’re also able to look around a bit. The speed limits on tiny streets in tiny towns also admittedly help here. It’s a lot easier to let your eyes wander when the posted speed limit is 25 on a main street through town.
Rolling up to Twede’s Cafe (the Double R Diner), the exterior had a big, white plastic wrap indicating that some kind of façade work was being done. It was thankfully still open for business, though, and I later found out that it’s wrapped (in plastic) as part of having the stucco redone. The front lot by the iconic sign is constantly full of cars, and it’s a very tight space. So I ended up parking in an angled spot along a side street and then going in.
I’ve worked both front of house and in kitchens before thanks to my past culinary training, but I haven’t worked in a place that’s a mecca for tourists who are literally from all over the world. I don’t know what kind of patience the folks working at Twede’s must have, but I will say this. The other visitors when I arrived were enthusiastic, kind, and respectful; there were a lot of us, and I have absolutely no idea if the folks working here can really ever take a break.
It wasn’t busy to the point that there was a massive wait. But as some people left, even more people kept arriving in a steady stream. All of us with something like hushed reverence on our faces as we gazed around, happy to be here at last.
Folks were kind and patient as other folks (me) totally nerded out and had to take as many photos of different little details as our hearts desired. And then there was the David Lynch memorial book, which I didn’t know about or expect prior to visiting.
But perhaps I should have, because his art touched an awful lot of people.
The notes, letters, and artwork shared by others in the wake of his death will make you cry. Or, at least, it did for me. It’s very real, and it’s very moving, and it’s incredibly special. His was clearly a life meaningful to so many people, and in this world, that’s definitely no small thing.
The hallway going back toward the bathrooms (and one of the back rooms that attaches to the kitchen) is filled with photos, Wrapped In Plastic covers, and really fantastic visual art pieces based on Twin Peaks. While I was taking my turn to snap shots of some of my favorites, another fan started chatting and told me about some of the excellent Twin Peaks-related stuff they have in Portland, which is where she’s from.
Like Urals, Twin Peaks seems to attract a lot of good-hearted, genuine, enthusiastic people who are proud to be weird and happy in the best way. And honestly, we need more of that in the world; at all times, but especially now.
You’ll be happy to know that the Double R diner does, in fact, have damn fine coffee, as well as cherry pie to die for. I can also tell you that the non-pie food is pretty good, too!
I could’ve easily spent all afternoon at the Double R Diner, but I had more places I needed to ride. With an entire sidecar (and lockable trunk!) at my disposal, though, I knew I didn’t need to worry if there was some merch that was calling my name. Still, I did also have to think about getting on the plane to go back home, so I restrained myself and only bought a few (very small) souvenirs.
As I walked back out to the bike, an older gentleman with a bit of a limp walked by after parking his car a few spots away. “That’s one way to do it; you don’t even have to worry about balancing!” he said, delighted. And he’s not wrong! There are other things to worry about with a sidecar, but that’s at least one worry out of the way if it’s an issue for you.
Since I’d used Reverse to park in the spot where I’d parked, I only had to pull out and get into the flow of traffic to get to my next spot. While some trips are planned and curated practically down to the minute, this wasn’t one of them.
If I’d had a little more time, maybe I would’ve done it differently. But as it was, my quest to visit several other filming locations in the Snoqualmie/North Bend area resulted in my doubling back on myself a few times. I passed the Reinig Bridge (also known as Ronette’s Bridge) at least three times, and rode over the Meadowbrook Bridge (also known as the One-Lane Bridge) at least twice in both directions.
I also passed the Salish Lodge and Spa (also known as the Great Northern), which backs up to Snoqualmie Falls and sits right next to a certain picnic area important to the plot of the show in Snoqualmie Point Park more than once in either direction. And hey, I know it’s an old show, but I’m still trying to be a little respectful of people who may not have seen it yet, okay? Everything’s new to someone at some time.
While I didn’t have enough time to visit every single shooting location in the area, one place I absolutely couldn’t miss was the sheriff’s station, which is now DirtFish Rally School. The entrance still looks very recognizable to anyone who’s watched the show, even decades later, and Sheriff Truman’s incredibly recognizable Ford Bronco is still sitting outside for nerds like me to capture photos and video.
This location was also home to the Snoqualmie Falls Logging Company for decades, and some parts of it that are no longer standing in 2025 were present when Twin Peaks filmed on location.
As I pulled away from DirtFish, it was one of the many times that I wondered how folks just trying to live their lives feel about all of us visitors who make the pilgrimage to their part of the world every single day. Both on the Ural and while I was simply walking around on foot, I saw plenty of other folks out taking photos, clearly enthralled by this magical place that Twin Peaks had built up in all of our minds.
In the David Lynch memorial book at the Double R’s iconic counter, I saw notes written in a dozen languages. By now, most hardcore Twin Peaks fans will have seen (or at least heard in passing) about how popular the show was in Japan, and how nice the resulting laserdiscs and other home media generated by the show (physical media, remember that?) were.
I’m here to tell you that even on the day I visited in July, there were still plenty of awestruck visitors from other places, including Japan, who were just happy to spend a few hours (or days, even) in a place that’s lived in our minds in fictional form for decades.
There are plenty of ways to get there. I saw cars, campers, trucks, bicycles, people on foot, buses, you name it. A few other motorcycles, too; but no other sidecars. One thing anyone who’s ever ridden in a sidecar can probably tell you is that you will absolutely get a load of conversation, friendly waves, and even folks shouting happily across the street at you about how cool they think your bike is.
That’s true whether it’s foggy and mysterious, like it was in the morning as I arrived; or bright and sunny, like it was in the afternoon when I sadly had to leave.
While I could’ve happily explored for days, just enjoying the atmosphere, the reverie, the memories of a place I’d never been and yet somehow felt I knew, thanks to Lynch’s work, it had to end. After all, I had to get the bike back home on time.
But to say it was an experience I’ll never, ever forget is a vast understatement, both because of where I went and the bike I did it on. If I’d had more time, would I have visited even more Twin Peaks filming locations? Without a doubt. But I’ll just have to content myself with saving that for next time, after I get my silent drape runners sorted out.
