Ride Tales
It's not the destination, it's the journey
No Scrapes, No Scars, No Proof
a tale of two rides during the summer of 1996
Southwest and Northwest USA
Niagara
Falls and Beyond
a ten day group ride to Canada, Maine, and
Virginia
No Scrapes, No Scars, No Proof
This was written in 1996, following two solo trips from Chicago, one to the Southwest, the other to the Northwest. I was riding a 1983 Yamaha Venture, on which I put a total of 140,000 miles. I was, and still am, a member of the Jerseypine Cruisers Motorcycle Touring Club, of Des Plaines, IL. I camped the entire time, and spent 2 or 3 nights 'under the stars'. The evenings were so beautiful, bugs so minimal, I couldn't resist.
As I write this, I have more than one tale to tell: one about trips this summer to the west, and one about an electrical problem, and a little on how this all came about.
My one goal as a motorcycle tourer had been to ride in all 48 states, the lower 48, if you will. At the beginning of the season I was missing 8 states; most of the Southwest and the Northwest
The first trip took me to Kearney, NE, Grand Junction, CO, Las Vegas, NV, through Needles, CA and Arizona to Albuquerque, NM, Oklahoma City, OK, Springfield, IL and home. That took care of the 5 Southwest states.
I did this in 5 1/2 days, a total of 3788 miles. What did I do from sunup to sunset, you ask? I rode. You know, ride, gas, eat, sleep, repeat!
I met up with two sets of riders in Kearney and we chatted over dinner and a campfire - before the thunderstorm roiled in; it's in my log as the Kearney Car Wash. It stormed all night with lightning so bright I could see the seams in my tent with my eyelids closed!
One set of riders was hoping to make it to Denver that day (only about 4 hours for a Cruiser!), the other set (guy & gal) were from town and proceeded to "shadow dance" as soon as it got dark.
The next morning I put on a pot of water to heat while I put away my gear. I carry a sandwich bag for each morning, filled with a mixture of instant oatmeal and a cup of granola. I pour a cup for coffee, using the tea-like coffee bags, and pour another cup of heated water into the sandwich bag for breakfast. It's lasts, it's quick, and it's much better than the greasy eggs and bacon you get on the road!
A couple of interesting things took place as I went down the road; I was taking a break outside of Grand Junction; the day had started out cool, but got warmer and warmer as the day wore on.
The only shade at my last gas stop was the curb that ran in front of the rooms of a motel adjacent to the gas station. As I sat there slowly drinking a Gatorade, a Japanese couple walked toward me; inadvertently, I was sitting directly in front of their door. The man walked up to the bike, which was parked directly in front of me and looked at it as his wife went into the room. With no clue as to what to say, I offered the observation that the Japanese make very good motorcycles (I was riding a 1983 Yamaha Venture).
He responded in very broken English something I couldn't quite understand, but he smiled, so I smiled, and he went into his room. A moment later he called to me and asked me what I thought was something like "have a picture?" I said, "Sure", thinking he wanted me to take his picture and got to my feet.
There was no camera in his hand; he motioned me into the room, and there, at a little table, sat his wife and a pizza. He had said pizza, not picture! So I had a piece of pizza at his insistence, but the look on his wife's face told me this was entirely his idea. I excused myself as quickly as I could, and left for Grand Junction.
At the campground later that afternoon, my next door neighbor was a guy traveling with his girlfriend. The interesting part is that I had remembered passing them at least 3 times during the day and had chatted with him at a gas stop. And here we were, neighbors.
Neither of these has ever happened to me before.
In the morning I left Grand Junction early for Vegas through the high desert of Utah. It's beautiful. I was headed West as the sun rose, each few minutes brought subtle changes in the shading and the hues of color on the mountains. It felt a little like looking through a kaleidoscope.
The cool morning quickly gave way to the heat of the desert sun as I learned a new expression, "NO SERVICES", and a new experience of gas stations farther apart than my gas gauge made comfortable. It seems that out in the sticks the freeway system accommodates farmers and ranchers so there are marked exits for them, but each is accompanied by a NO SERVICES sign. That's not the least bit significant of course, unless you need gas - which I did, frequently.
I found that to maintain highway speeds against a headwind my mileage fell dramatically. So, I was gassing up every 95 - 110 miles - except when the next gas stop wasn't there! Several times I dropped my speed dramatically just to get mileage enough to get to a gas station.
That worked out, I never ran out, although once I added 4.7 gallons, kinda close for a 5 gallon tank! In the desert, I was told, no one will stop for you. And if you're dumb enough to try to walk to a gas station, you'll die before you get there. I didn't - nor did I want to - test those statements.
Leaving Utah you enter Arizona, where the highway follows the riverbed of the long defunct Virgin River. It's like riding through a miniature Grand Canyon.
The rock formations, color striations, and the ambiance of the gentle curving roadway are spectacular. But, it was hot - and getting hotter.
When I got to Vegas, the first temperature sign I saw was 105! That's never happened to me before, either.
I woke up at 5:00am by my watch, and it was still hot! So I packed up quietly and as I was leaving, reminded myself that I was 2 hours ahead of them - it was only 3:00am local time! "So what," say I, "I'm outta here" and into the desert cool on the road to Needles.
Got there at breakfast time and happened to pick a restaurant that caters to Route 66 aficionados. I bought a "Route 66" patch (now on my vest), and got directions (take a right out the parking lot, you're already on it). Figured even I could handle that, so I proceeded on old 66 to Kingman, AZ.
It's a beautiful stretch of 2-lane - windy, hilly, with a 55mph speed limit. I was cruising along at 70 when a squad car came up over the hill behind me. I looked at my speedo and resigned myself that I was about to contribute to Arizona's economy, but he passed me up! And never even glanced at me!
That night, Albuquerque.
The next nite, I camped next to a Harley rider from Iowa (I was outside Oklahoma City), and the next night (Springfield IL) a young local couple. The young guy came over and asked if I could help he and his girlfriend set up their tent. They had borrowed it, and had never seen it set sip. It was a simple dome and we had it up in moments. Later, when he asked me how to build a campfire, I told him. Still later, when I had my fire going strong, he came over to ask bow he could keep his fire going - I showed him.
I had ordered a pizza, went to pick it up, and then went back to take a shower, leaving the pizza on the picnic table. When I came back, he came over to tell me he had chased off two different raccoons that had come to have my pizza!
Later, as I watched them getting ready to head into the tent for the night, I almost asked if he was going to need any information for the rest of the evening I was sure he had planned!
What about the "No Scrapes" part? I'm coming to that.
The second trip took me back to Kearney, NE, through Guernsey, WY, then Rawlings, WY, Glens Ferry, ID, Lewiston, ID, Red Lodge, MT, Rapid City, SD, Wisconsin Delis, WI and then home again. This leg a total of 3977 miles in 6 1/2 days.
I did this leg in 6 1/2 days. That included 1/2 day of delay, and 1/2 day at Sturgis during the Rally. Again, my daily activity was to ride, gas, eat, sleep, repeat!
The lady at the campground in Kearney recognized me and gave me the same campsite. The next morning I headed out for Scottsbluff, and the Chimney Rock Monument. This was the first landmark that travelers, beginning in about 1847, saw along the Oregon Trail. A little further north, and west near Guernsey, WY, is a site where wagon ruts are visible in the rocks. I stopped at both places to take some pictures and actually walked through the ruts for about 20 feet or so, they're about knee deep. I though maybe I'd get a
flash of a previous life - or a pioneering spirit - or something... nothing. Just the pleasant thought that I was traveling further in an hour than these folks did in a week.
As I beaded West, and South toward Rawlins, thunderheads were building to the left and right. I checked my map and found a route that looked like it would keep me between them, and it did.
It also turned out to be a beautiful 2-lane through the low mountains and faster by about an hour than the route I had laid out following the interstate. I avoided the rain, but I experienced wind coming at me, first from one side, then the other.
Long day, a little weary, I pulled into a rest stop for a break and saw, as I left the building with an ice-cold Coke in my hand, the Wyoming Tourism sign... "Wyoming Winds". That caught my eye as I said to myself, "they know these winds are a bitch, too". The copy started out by saying... "The Wind is our friend.., it brings a rain which grows our crops and feeds our livestock.., so remember, the wind is our friend." They left out the part about how it pushes you all over the road, and you never know which way its coming from next. As darkness fell, I was only about 10 miles from my destination and it had started to rain. Quarter size drops bit my windshield.
As I got to the campground it had settled into a non-threatening, steady drizzle. But by time I came out of the campground office, not only had the rain stopped, the sun was out - and the sky was blue! "Wow", I thought, "the wind is my friend!" About the time I had my tent half set up and all my stuff exposed to the weather, it clouded up and started raining again. Rain, clear, rain and then clear again in a matter of minutes. When I asked a local how one copes with the changing weather, he said, "Oh, it's not like this all the time, just most of the time."
Glens Ferry, ID is the site of the 3 Island Crossing, what I understand is the last river crossing necessary for the Oregon Trail travelers. There's a State Park at the site with a view of the 3 islands (they've moved downstream in the last 150 years, but they're still intact.) The park itself is beautifully maintained with a new shower-house and washroom.
Western Idaho/Eastern Oregon is desolate. I asked myself what the difference was between desolate terrain and pristine beauty. The answer I came up with was that if I liked looking at it, it was pristine. If I couldn't wait to be out of the area, I decided, it was desolate.
I encountered a mild dust storm, heat, outrageous gas prices, and then finally, the green of Washington State. As I was grousing about the terrain, I noticed my stator was not giving me its usual 14 amps, it was down to about 12. By the time I got to Clarkston WA, it was giving me about 8 amps. Happily (luckily) there was a big bike shop right on the river (border to Idaho), with a nice guy named Dennis in the service area. He checked it over and declared my stator dead - but charged my battery as fully as he could (I was there all afternoon).
It turned out that; a) they service all makes BUT Yamaha. And, b) the Yamaha shops in the area don't open on Monday (and this was, of course, a Monday). So I checked my campground guide and found that I was only 3 miles from Hells Gate State Park, on the Idaho side of the Snake River. It was the Snake River that ran through Glens Ferry. (It was also near the Snake River Canyon that Evil Kneivel had jumped).
As I settled in for the night, I went to look for a phone.
As I was returning to my campsite, a guy named Tom pulled in on a Shadow, pulled out a beer and offered me one. I accepted, of course, learned we were both headed for Missoula, but, I told him, I had a small problem. I explained what bad happened, half expecting some kind of response. He didn't say anything. I finished my beer and headed back to my tent.
My choices, it seemed to me, began with going to the closest Yamaha shop with the hope they had my part, or could find one close enough for me to get to. The second choice would be to wait until the part was shipped here. Third, leave the bike and fly home; fourth, carry the bike home in a rented truck. I liked choice 1 best, but had the gnawing fear that if my battery failed before I got there I could be stranded, at best.
The next morning I took my time getting ready to go because the bike shop didn't open until 9:00am, which was 11:00 am to me.
But as I pulled the last bungee tight, Tom walked over to my campsite and asked, "Well, what's the plan?" Choice 1 was looking better!
He came with me to the Yamaha shop, Ray's Cycle, who was kind enough to chase down all the dealers in a 150 mile radius (both of them!) Just kidding, there are 6, but 4 of them only deal in ATV's and Jetskis. No parts in the area.
In a flash of inspiration I asked if there was a dealer in Bozeman and there was. Did they have the part? No, they didn't - but they could next day air it. Ray offered to next day air it also - but as long as Tom rode shotgun for me through the mountains, I felt I could make it the rest of the way on the Interstate. Option 1 it was.
I bought a second battery because Tom's bike uses a much smaller battery. I had read a story about two riders who swapped batteries every hour or so after one rider's stator went out. Not having a rider to swap with, I thought 2 batteries would be very prudent. Turned out, it was.
As Ray brought it to the counter I saw the price tag on it. "That's a lot," I thought, "but I have no choice." Then he said, "Sorry, this battery won't accommodate the sensor for your computer monitor". "So what," I thought, but I said, "Oh no, I count on that monitor." "Well, it's the only one I have that will fit your bike," he said, "so I'll give it you at cost - $41." This day was turning out better already.
So off we went with the admonition that it was 140 miles to Missoula and to not miss the one gas station halfway there.
We left out on what was to be the prettiest ride I've ever taken - US 12 from Lewiston, ID to Lolo, MT. The ride to the gas station was uneventful; I pulled up to the pump and shut off the bike. "Shouldn't have done that," I thought. I filled the bike and went into a log cabin type building. It was kinda neat, a convenience store on one side, a restaurant on the other, and in front on the restaurant side - a barber chair and a post office. 'This is the whole town," I thought as I paid for the gas.
I stepped outside to return to the bike but my pace slowed to a stop as I gazed at the view in front of me. We had been running alongside the Clearwater River, but here it was flowing directly away from me, with rising mountains on both sides and the river covered with a thick blanket of pine trees. And in front of me, as it turned away to my left, the sun rising over the tops of the trees, shimmering on the water - I've never seen anything more beautiful.
My tranquility was shattered by the absence of sound when I tried to start the bike... Dead... Dead..Dead!
Tom suggested we jump-start it to get as far as we could on each battery. Turned out to be a very wise choice. I carry jumper cables, which worked after a moment or two of anxious wailing.
At this point I pulled my headlight fuse as Tom agreed to run in front, rather than behind me. I asked, "What are you going to do if I have a problem and you're in front of me?" "Keep going, "be joked.
So off we went knowing this battery wasn't going to last very long, and the road, while beautiful with winding ups and downs, offered few places to pull to the shoulder safely. I said a little prayer to ask that when the battery died, make it a safe place.
I rode along waiting for the inevitable and noting the turnouts provided were gravel and inconsistently spaced along the highway - nothing I could count on. And now I noticed a huge lumber truck, fully loaded, was the next vehicle behind me. "Great," I thought, "I'm going around a curve at 60, the bike dies, I'm doing 20 and here comes the truck." That didn't happen.
What did happen was that we encountered road construction such that one lane was closed. Our lane was stopped so the other side could come our way. Tom stopped, I stopped, the truck stopped, and the bike died. 'Thank you, thank you," I said as I rolled the bike off the road to change batteries. By the time our lane was ready to roll, I was too. Tom explained to the flagman that we needed to leave first together,
I think the flagmen, who see people all day long in cages, are dying for somebody to talk to. Everyone rides with their windows closed and here we come on bikes, accessible to a conversation. I talked to every flag person I encountered. Or, should I say, they talked to me.
On more than one occasion, I commented on how beautiful the area was. I got the same response every time, "Don't tell anyone!".
As we rolled into the south part of Missoula we had just crossed the Montana state line where the speed limit is posted "reasonable and prudent". Shortly after we made it to our "checkpoint", the Yamaha shop in Lolo. This is a mostly ATV shop, and mostly Honda, but some bikes and some Yamahas. They of course didn't have the parts I needed (I didn't expect them to), but they did accommodate my by agreeing to charge both batteries overnight. I was able to secure a ride from the owner's son to the KOA on the other side of town and back again in the morning.
Turned out to be KOA's flagship campground, Headquarters for the franchise, and complete with breakfast and dinner served daily. Couldn't have been more providential!
Tom and I parted company and I thanked him for taking the time to ride along with me. If it hadn't been for Tom, I'd have still been in Lewiston. I realized that without backup, my only real choice was to wait for the parts.
That night I carried my duffel bag over my shoulder to the campsite. It was only about 30 yards and it reminded me vividly of my first week in the Army, when I carried my Army duffel with my every worldly possession up a hill to be greeted by the guy who was about to become my cadre sergeant. What a memory! I met a guy from Kentucky travelling with his wife going to Bozeman, and told him of my stator problem. I was waiting (hoping) he'd say we could ride together. No response. It was so quiet you could hear the crickets - in Lewiston! "Well," I said to myself, "I've made it 6 hours on two batteries. I have about 3 hours to go - and I can do it on one."
When I got to the bike shop in the morning, there was a semi in the lot unloading some ATV's. The markings on the remaining cartons indicated he was going to Bozeman to drop off some more. I got exact directions from the driver, and asked him to watch for me along the road in case I had a problem. I felt better already about embarking on his leg by myself.
So with both batteries charged up I left after rush hour. Yes, bumper to bumper traffic in Missoula, MT - big sky country - not big ROAD country! It took us a half-hour to get 9 miles from the KOA to the shop. Off I went, knowing that the faster I went, the more gas I'd burn. Time was my enemy, distance was my friend. The battery was good for only so many hours; it didn't care how far I got. I opted to travel at 90 mph, knowing I'd have to stop twice.
I stretched the tank as far as I could, but by the time I needed gas I also needed a restroom. As I pulled up to the pump, I spotted a "Harley Woman" just coming out of the gas station. I motioned her over to ask her if she'd keep the idle up on the bike while I ran inside. (If the bike died, I'd need to switch batteries, but I knew the second battery was not nearly as charged as the first. And, I was only about 45 minutes from Bozeman.) But as she stepped toward me, her "Harley Man" came out of the gas station with a look on his face that said, "What are you doing talking to my woman?" I had started my request talking to her and finished it talking to him. He said gruffly, "I'll keep your idle up," but with a smile - so I smiled, and ran inside.
As I watched the mile markers go by, ever closer to Bozeman, I watched the stator needle dropping. I had passed the semi that had been unloading in Missoula and waved. Then I saw Bozeman, and the exit sign. Turn right, go 3 blocks; it's on the right the driver had said. There's 3 traffic lights in those 3 blocks and I didn't want to have to stop before I got to the bike shop so I "timed" the lights and was able to get to the shop. But I didn't see a driveway or parking lot! Now what? I turned right on the street alongside the shop and there, immediately, was the driveway! I missed it and had to go way down the block to find a space to do a U-turn (a Cruiser exclusive maneuver) and returned to the driveway, pulled in, then the bike died. Whew! I made it!
I walked into the store and the counterman asked if he could help me. I responded, "Help me? You can make my whole day!" "You must be Dave Wright," be said, "we've been expecting you - here's your parts", as he held up a bag to show me. Whew again! The owner came out to tell me their mechanic was standing by waiting for me to come in and then handed me an envelope with my name out. In it was a coupon for a free meal at the restaurant across the street. It wasn't going to be a "free lunch", but it certainly was a nice gesture -and it was lunchtime.
When I got back from lunch the bike wasn't quite finished so I was just standing around admiring the owner's Royal Star. He asked if I had ever ridden one, I hadn't, and he tossed me the key. "How long can I be gone?", I smiled. His smile turned straight as he said, "Be back in half an hour." A HALF-HOUR!
So off I went. Smooth, powerful torque, noisy with the after-market mufflers on it. I much prefer my Venture. When I got back to the shop the bike was almost ready. I went back into the store to settle up and noticed a rack of t-shirts. I looked through them and found one that said. "NO Scrapes, NO Scars, NO Proof, NO FEAR".
That's the testament I was looking for, I decided, and I bought it. Then as the bike was being rolled out, finished and ready to go, I asked everyone I had encountered to sign it. (For the Proof - get it?) This was the Team Bozeman Shop in Bozeman, MT. If you're ever in the area, stop in and say hi to Cliff, the owner.
So, up and running, I took off for my next destination, Red Lodge. I wasn't watching my gas very closely now, just keeping an eye on the stator needle.
About the time I needed gas, there was none in sight. In fact, there was nothing in sight. I was in the middle of nowhere - again. So I slowed a little and watched closely for advertising signs. There it was, finally, a KOA sign with a notation at the bottom, GAS next door". "That'll do it", I thought as I exited and followed the arrows to the KOA. There it is, but where's the gas? Okay, it's across the street -I see the pump and pull into a very large gravel parking lot - no cars, no trucks, just a pump. I pulled up to it and without getting off the bike proceeded to gas up. But it wasn't turned on - NOW WHAT?
Maybe I can siphon some gas from someone at the KOA? Just then a convertible with 4 college-age girls pulled up to the other side of the pump, wearing halter-tops and shorts, each one cuter than the other -and they're out of gas, too! All kinds of predictable thoughts were rushing through my head as I looked at them, and then, over the top of the car I saw a light in the window of a building several yards away. I told them I'd go over and check it out and discovered that it was a restaurant - with people inside (still no cars outside), and a waitress. She asked if I'd like the gas pump turned on. "Yes," I said with relief (and disappointment knowing the girls would be able to get gas too. Just kidding.)
So I said to myself, "this is the story of the trip... trauma, trepidation, but no trouble. I love it!"
Before any of this happened, I had decided that when I got to Red Lodge, MT. a neat old west town nestled in the valley of the Bear Tooth Mountains, I would stop to spend the night. Even if I got there at 10:00am. Well, I arrived at about 6:00pm, pulled into the KOA, and was greeted by the owner who remembered me from last year. Cal and I were in Red Lodge almost exactly one year before, and this was my third stop there. It features a bank that was robbed by Butch Cassidy, a nice restaurant, several outfitters, and a Main Street that is unchanged from the original. Aside from favorite rallies - it's probably my favorite place to go.
As I set up my camp, I noticed a leg coming out of the tent next door - a very nice, shapely, female type leg. As the rest of her came out, I noticed two campstools and one camper - her. (More predictable thoughts.) She smiled, I smiled, and I asked, "Were you expecting me?" Quizzically, she asked why I said that. "Well," I offered, "it's simple, There's two campstools and only one of you, There's an extra place at the dinner table, right?'
Turned out she was travelling with her 2 sons to show them the sights she had seen on vacations with her parents. Her husband was back home in Traverse City, MI and had never been anywhere - with no desire to go. "Good for her," I thought.
At one point she left for the shower house, while I watched the kids. The older boy, about 10, picked up a hatchet and said he was going to cut some firewood. He proceeded to hold the piece he was about to strike right next to the striking point. I stopped him. My old Scoutmaster traits surfaced as I showed him and his little brother exactly how to hold the wood and the hatchet. I couldn't believe neither parent had showed them. Oh well, maybe that was why they were camped next to me!
We spend a pleasant evening together, roasted marshmallows with the kids, observed the stars and the Milky Way, and chatted until the fire burned down.
Next morning I left for Sturgis on an indirect route that took me through some of the prettiest mountain roads I'd been on. Among them, Alt US 14 from Lowell, WY to Sheridan, WY. It crosses the Bald Mountain range, almost as high and every bit as scenic as Bear Tooth Pass. The temperature and weather was about as perfect as any I've ridden in. A rabbit came out and ran across my path. As I waited for the bump, I observed the air to my right, and one lane to my left. No bump. I looked in my mirrors, but saw nothing. Maybe he stopped and turned around? I'll never know.
The closer I got to Sturgis, the more bikers I saw. As I got to town, I saw thousands! My first experience at Sturgis. Folks who looked like bankers, and folks who looked like bums - bikes that cost thousands, and bikes that were worthless, but running... clean cut college type kids on 350 street bikes, and the hardest looking women I've ever seen on Softails. A trike made to look like a '57 Chevy caught my eye, as did a trio of "Boss Hoss" Chevy engines on bike frames.
In rural Kane County IL, I've experienced bicycle riders riding 4 abreast, completely blocking the two lane roads out there. Well, in the environs of Sturgis, I came upon 4 Harley riders, loud, taking up both lanes of the highway, and they wouldn't break to allow me to pass. So I patiently waited, at some distance from the noise, until a 4-wheeler came up the the riders. They did break for him, so I downshifted and punched it, and was behind the car in an instant. I looked a the rider nearest me as I blew past him, and the look of amazement on his face was all the acknowledgement I needed.
I observed a gorgeous blond traveling topless down the street. Cops on every corner, and mid-block. As the blond turned at the end of the street to come back, It was a guy - with long beautiful hair.
I left town for Rapid City where the Cruisers were to be at the KOA. And there they were... Matt &
Kim, Carl, Bill & Kathy, Bill & Jean, and more! I left early the next morning and a day and a half later... I was home.
The weather was super on both trips. The people I met, the things I saw, I'll remember fondly for a long time.
This is 2003, these trips were 7 years ago. As I re-edit this tale, I find myself stopping to reflect and remember even more incidents, all pleasant, that took place as I re-live the ride. It truly was, for me, a trip of a lifetime. What's the best ride I've ever taken, you ask? I don't know, I haven't taken it yet. But this one is surely very near the top.
I had observed, over the years, that more often than not, when I
saw a rider on the open road, he was riding solo. I'd never felt comfortable
embarking on a 'big' trip by myself. But, my desire overcame my
trepidations.
Here I was, I had a wife, 2 kids, 2 dogs, a mortgage; responsibilities! I made my living in sales. During my career, my
industry and my company, had exposed me to many motivational and organizational talks. One of them was of the 'Clear
your Head' variety.
In 1996, the year started out ok (business-wise), I was making new sales, prospecting, and setting up sales for later in the year. About the time we got into March, some of my January sales were rescinded. In April, some of the sales I had set up were postponed. This continued through June.
Chicago, if you'll recall, had a very cold spring that year, and it was June before the daytime temperature reached the 70's.
About the middle of June, after a continuing series of postponements and disappointment, I told my wife, "If I get ONE more call postponing or cancelling a sale, I'm taking off on the bike!".
The phone rang. I talked to the calling party. I hung up the phone. "That's it", I said. I'm going upstairs to pack.
The next morning I left.
The trip to the Northwest, following the Oregon Trail as much as I could - to include Sturgis on my return, was the original plan, made during the winter. I figured I'd do the Southwest on this trip.
When I returned, I went back in the office to find the postponements were calling to reschedule appointments!
From the time I got back to the time I left for the Northwest, about 4 weeks, I had the most productive selling time I'd experienced!!
Same thing happened after I got back from Sturgis.
There IS DEFINITLY something to the idea of 'Clearing your head'. Doing so on a motorcycle while riding cross-country has an ambiance all its own. Only if you've done it do you understand. If you don't understand, I can't explain it.
Riding buddies, Cal, Paul, and me. I've ridden many, many
miles with these two. To fill in my map, twice, Cal and I took off for a 4
day weekend from Chicago. One trip to ND and back, and the other to Pensacola FL
and back. Not IB, the next best thing!
There is something about 'stopping to smell the roses', too, but I haven't discovered that yet.
After organizing and implementing a successful mini-rally to the hilly scenic areas of southern Illinois, I (along with fellow Cruiser Bob Wagner) set up a run to Niagara Falls, Canada and beyond.
There were basically two groups of riders, one would set out for Niagara Falls, the other would go on to Maine. We would ride together to the falls.
Our first night's stop was to be the KOA in London, Ontario. There's a motel nearby for the faint-of-heart. It was a beautiful evening. We found out the hard way that at KOA's, 2 individuals can set up 2 tents on 1 site for 1 fee. If we registered individually, we'd end up paying for 1 site each. No big deal, but the prices of KOA sites with no hookups are approaching roach motel prices.
As the first day progressed, I ended up with a relatively new 'group' rider that didn't like anything I was doing. We were all on CB radios, so we could communicate with each other. Each time I received an admonition from him, I turned down my volume. Later on, I was doing 75 on my clock, and he (on a Kawasaki Voyager) was showing 90mph at the same speed. He started screaming into the radio, and the local gendarme's, who were apparently monitoring our channel, began to appear. At that point I turned off my radio. If I wasn't so disgusted with this guy it would probably been funny.
Rule #1, ride only with riders you're comfortable with, especially on a long trip.
That night, a buddy and I went in to town to pick up some brew, and a couple of steaks and potatoes. I had brought with me a 12" grill, and a collapsible tent pole configured such that it would suspend the grill over charcoal.
After dinner, one of the other guys asked if he could use the grill and the coals. I said sure, as long as you clean it when you're finished. He said he would. When finished, he just left it where it was when he was finished. No cleaning, no return. I thought to myself, this is going to be an ugly trip. I was so mad I didn't talk to him for 3 days. I did tell him that if he asked to borrow it again, I was going to hit him with it so he could use the grill marks on his face to cook his food. He didn't ask again.
Rule #2, camp only with people whose company you enjoy, if any doubt, review rule #1.
The next morning we spent a couple of hours admiring the falls, taking pictures, and then parted company. The guy on the Kaw went back, the grill guy went on with the Maine group.
The group that left for Maine included 3 Gold Wings (each pulling a trailer), 2 750's, and me on an '83 Venture.
That night we planned our ride for the next day. We were now in NY, and were headed to a KOA north of Albany, not far from Lake Placid. One of the guys on a 750, in previous rides, found him - always - to lag behind the group.
We gave him the location and directions to our destination, 'in case we got separated'. We took off for the day. It didn't take long for him to be out of site behind us. We stopped for gas, and our unofficial 'navigator' (Bob Schuppan) suggested a route that would take us along Lake Ontario. We did so, and found nothing spectacular, or even worthy of mention, except a cute teenager in a bikini mowing the family lawn on a riding lawn mower. We were as surprised to see her as she was to see us. We were on a very rural, out-of-the-way road.
We wound our way back to the interstate near Rochester, and boogied for our destination. There was a glint of light reflecting in the trees way off to our right. I called to Zak, the riding buddy mentioned in the other story, and said, "Have you ever seen the Finger Lakes in New York?". He said "No". "Well, I said, see that light glinting in the trees off to the south? - There they are!". That's about as close to stopping to smell the roses as I get.
We didn't get to the campsite till dark that night. There was the guy on the 750, sitting there with a fire going and a big relieved smile on his face. We had planned this, and said to him, "How'd you pass us?, we never even saw you go by". We gave him the nickname, "Rocket", for his beating us to the campsite by 3 hours. We had taken what turned out to be a 5 hour detour, so we'd have beaten him by 2 hours. But he loved the attention, and we felt good about that.
He headed for home the next morning as we headed for the ferry that crosses Lake Champlain, stopping (yes, I actually stopped) in Lake Placid. The guys wanted to head up to the hills to see the ski jump, I thought it would be more fun to window shop at that point. I bought some T-shirts for my kids, and wandered around this sleepy little resort town.
We got to the ferry, found that had no prices posted for motorcycles, and since we only had two wheels, we got on for the bicycle rate, 50 cents (it was 4 bucks for cars). The ferry is a nice slow ride showing the shoreline almost the entire way across. It's quite pleasant. I found myself getting sleepy, so I 'entered' the 'bike motel', put my head down on the gas tank, and proceeded to snooze.
A loud series of noises woke me, and the cars in front of me were moving. My buddies had never said a word to me of warning. In an instant, I started the bike, launched it off the center stand, and followed the cars onto the shore.
We found ourselves in Burlington VT, found a local campground just south of town, and pulled in. Burlington is a delightful residential and resort city. I've been there since this trip, and was interested to see how it has grown and expanded. It's an
outdoorsman's paradise. About every third store has whatever you could need for camping, biking (bicycle), hiking, skiing, etc.
That night in town there was an event that drew a bunch of townsfolk and visitors. Here we were, 5 bikers coming in on our bikes. The lead bike was playing 'Puff the Magic Dragon' on his cassette player. It took him 4 days to live that down. We were supposed to present the image of hard-ass bikers, and the folks who heard him coming were laughing at us!
The next morning we rode to Montpelier before we stopped for breakfast. We found a place that specialized in pancakes and lobsters (only in VT?!!). The waitress, who seemed to enjoy our company, went around the table tying Lobster bibs on each of us so we wouldn't mess up our neat clothing. After 4 days on the road, we really weren't all that neat anymore! I think that's what she was trying to tell us.
As we finished breakfast, navigator Bob suggested the White Mountain area of New Hampshire, and particularly, Kangamangas (sp) Pass. This was Sunday, and as we approached White Mountain, the only radio station I could receive was playing classical music. The Pass is an absolutely beautiful motorcycle road, winding up and down and through the mountain passes. It seemed like each sweeper brought a new vista of beauty, and, coincidentally, accompanied by a crescendo in the classical music playing on my radio. I have to tell you, this particular ride changed my perception of classical music. I had NEVER listened to it for any length of time. On this day, I listened to it for hours! And each curve and each crescendo is still in my mind! I have to think that it's the kind of experience one wouldn't have, except on a bike!
If you've done it yourself you know what I'm saying, if you haven't, I couldn't explain it.
We stopped for gas, and the 'Puff the Magic Dragon' guy found his tape missing. We all thought he was embarrassed enough that he wouldn't ask for it, but he did. Turns out he was teaching his Grandfather how to record music off the radio, this was the tape they had done, and Grampa died right after that. How could we know it had personal family charm for him? The tape was returned on the condition he wouldn't play it again where we could hear it.
Then he asked me if he could lead for a while. After all, he said, I'm getting tired of looking at your back tire! I said sure, if you can stay ahead of me! (He was pulling a trailer, and would dog it in the curves out of necessity). I followed him for a half-hour or so, and coming out of a curve the road widened to a serpentine of about 5 evenly undulating curves. I couldn't resist, and blew past him. Schuppan was riding in the back. He passed all of them, came up along side me, and announced he would see me at the next intersection. I thought I was moving at a pretty good pace, but he blew past me, and it was over a half-hour before I caught up with him. The Wings were 10 minutes behind me.
Soon we were in Maine. Rocky, rolling hills, I observed a big difference between IL and Maine. In IL they had cleaned up the rocks from the glaciers so they could farm the land. In ME, they didn't farm it, apparently, they just let sheep graze around the rocks.
I've always pictured a coastline as either rock walls, or sandy beaches. In Maine, the coastline is a series of fingers that jut out into the ocean. We went down one of them to find our campsite for the evening. As we made camp, the trailer guys came up to me and asked if we could stay here for two nights. They wanted to go riding, they said. I looked at them and asked, "I've been riding for 5 days, what have you been doing"? "Driving", was their response.
We agreed to go to Cadillac Mountain, just outside Ba-Ha-Ba (So spelled on my new T-shirt), and back to the same campsite.
It took us the better part of 4 hours to get there. Dotted with little towns, the 'open stretches' of US 1 were few and far between. We passed Pinobscot Bay, reminding us of MASH, and that this is where the author grew up. We finally got to the top of the Mountain, the first sunlight to hit the US hits here, I was hold. I parked the bike just to look around for a moment of two. The other guys were someplace else. I saw a group of people standing by, and sitting on, a low stone fence, and walked over. Out about 20 yards was a guy in kilts playing a bagpipe to the wind. The melody of 'Amazing Grace' floated through the air. It was truly a memorable, beautiful moment. (You expected me to sit there til he finished?)
We went down into Bar Harbor and stopped for a cup of coffee. The daytime high temperature was slipping quickly as the sun went down. Most of us were wearing T-shirts, and as the night chill settled in, it was COLD. We made it back to the campground in about an hour. Zak was leading, and I don't think he did less than 70 all the way back. The towns were all folded up and quiet as we zipped through.
The next morning I awoke and proceeded to the bath house to wake up. I decided I'd go ahead and take a shower. By the time I got back and forth from the tent, and showered, the sun was full up. I looked at the clock on my bike. It was quarter to 4 - AM!! I thought to myself, "Wow, this is going to be a long day!"
While the guys slept, I quietly washed my bike, dried it, and waited for them to get up.
Our next destination was Boston, the Cheers Bar.
However, in one of our discussions, we discovered that each of us had a KOA campground directory, and that each of us had in mind side trips from Boston. One guy wanted to go out on the Cape, another into New York to visit his son, a third wanted to hang out in Boston, and I wanted to go the Bull Run Battle site, just outside DC.
We agreed to meet in Front Royal, VA at the KOA, 2 days hence. It was easy, as we all had the location and directions from the KOA directory.
So off we went to the Cheers Bar. We entered Boston on the Mystic River Bridge (I think) and got stuck in morning traffic. As we sat on the bridge, Zak came up along side me. "The USS Constitution", I pointed to it at the dock to our left. "Thanks", he smirked. Another scenic highlight of the trip!
From the outside, The Cheer Bar is just like as shown on the TV show. Inside, it's not. I told them I was looking for my party, to bypass the long line waiting for lunch, and slipped in to take a quick look around. There is no similarity to the set they used on the show. But it was fun to do, and interesting. Across the street is a park where, it seemed, the whole town was jogging.
At this point we parted company, and I headed for DC. As I entered the
interstate in Boston, I found it important to be doing about 80 to keep from
getting in the way of the traffic. As I proceeded south toward
Connecticut, cutting through a corner of Rhode Island, the traffic got
thinner. By the time I entered CT, I was the only vehicle for 1/2 mile in
front of or behind me. I entered a big down-hill sweeper, rounding a rocky
area that was cut out of the terrain to make the road. What a perfect
hiding spot for a radar trap, I thought to myself. I was getting a little
sleepy by now as this was the morning I was up at 4am.
Sure enough, there they were - a wolf pack of about 4 CT troopers. The speed limit had dropped to 55, but I didn't. I got my first ticket on the bike. I had been listening all day on the radio about how CT has yet to balance its budget, and that this was crunch time for the legislature. I'm happy to know my contribution helped sustain the state.
That night I camped at a State Park park on the Long Island Sound. I heard on the radio later in the year that the State closed it for lack of funds over the Labor Day Weekend. What a bummer, it's a beautiful location.
I proceeded down the coast into NYC. The roads I was on were so rough I could hardly take my eyes off the road to look around. The delivery vehicles were all around me, bouncing and jostling on the road surface. I determined that eggs, sunny side up, were a delicacy in NYC, 'cause only a few eggs made the trip unbroken! I'm talking ROUGH roads.
As I entered the environs of DC, I was following the route I had selected, and found myself going the wrong way, into downtown, rather than across the outskirts. I had summered in DC as a college kid, and working in the Old Senate Office Building, operating an elevator.
I was somewhat familiar with the streets and directions, so I took a right to get to Pennsylvania Avenue. I took a right at the intersection of Pennsylvania Avenue, and came to another stop light catty-corner from the White House. It was so hot the asphalt was soft under my feet. I looked in my rear-view
mirror as I sat at the light, and there, as if it were a postcard, was the Capitol Building! I looked in the other mirror, and there it was again! I can still see it!.
I proceeded to the circle that surrounds the Washington Monument, stopped at the light, and happily it was a very long one. There must have been 60 route signs posted all over the place. Finally I saw the route I was looking for, the light changed, and off I went.
Bull Run is only a very short distance from Washington. It's a small park, well maintained, and a guide was available to walk the group I joined through the area.
It was still early, so in a moment of inspiration, I decided I'd visit Monticello and
Appomattox Courthouse, too.
I found a KOA near Monticello. I did laundry while I ate, having brought in dinner from a local Kentucky Fried Chicken. The next morning I headed out, direction west. The morning sun was exactly behind me, as the windshield created an interesting scene on the road before me, as not only did I see the shadow of the windshield, but inside it was the shadow of a hawk soaring as he looked for breakfast! I can still see that, too.
Shortly after, the road broke right, and in front of me was another series of undulating serpentines, I picked up the speed a little to just 'wiggle' my way through about 12 turns as the road exactly followed the creek it ran alongside.
I should add that I'd been to Monticello twice before, once with my wife, and once with my son. In both instances we got there as they closed the gates for the day. This time I didn't want to miss it.
Monticello is an example of American ingenuity at its very best. Jefferson really had a creative mind. His adaptation of some of the things he saw in
Europe to the terrain and capabilities of his slaves in Virginia, was really worth taking the time to seet. I was really impressed. His bed indicated that he was really a little guy. The bed was quite short. Or, at least, so it appeared.
I had found, after a search, Appomattox, on my map. Off I went. The route indicated turned literally into a dirt road, and the highway sign was a cigar-box lid with the route lettered in pencil. I thought to myself that VA must really have a tight highway budget, or nobody ever uses this road! It was scenic, I have to say, and rural! Shortly I got back to a main highway and entered the town. It looks just like it does in all the Civil War movies and TV shows I've seen. Exactly. That's where they're filmed, I'm sure. The room where the signing took place is so tiny it's a wonder they got 4 guys in there to sign and witness the documents that ended the war.
So, I'd done it. My 'smell the roses thing'. I'd been to where the Civil War started and ended.
I then headed up the Blue Ridge to Front Royal. I find that road so boring I can only take it for an hour or so. It's beautiful, and the two times I've been on it I've been able to see quite some distance.
As I followed KOA's directions to the campground, I encountered what looked to me like a tractor ramp to something. I drove up it as that's where the sign to the campground pointed. I was going slowly, watching the terrain (it was gravel), didn't see the turn to get into the campground, and exited back to the highway. I decided to try it coming from the other direction. That worked. As I drove in, just behind the pool, I saw all my riding buddies. We had all made to our rendevouz!
It was mid-afternoon, and time for a dip and an ice-cold beer. The pool was great, but the manager came out and told us we couldn't have open cans of beer inside the pool area. I ducked back to the campsite and came back with can wrappers that I keep for just such an occassion. One says 'Dr. Pecker', another 'Seven Op', and the others say 'Caca Cola' From even a few feet they're imperceptible from the soft drink cans.
Two days later we were home. Another memorable trip, another great ride. About 10 days total, didn't clock the mileage. Have lot's of pictures and memories stored for review in front of a fire on a cold winter day.
Or a campfire on a warm summer evening.
The picture shows riding buddies Cal and Bob. That's me in the middle and my bike is featured in front (of course!)
posted 010104