North America: Riding a 21 year old Goldwing

North America 2007

2007-10-05T16:50:00.000-04:00

This is the summary page. A link to the first post is here: Episode 1: The Preparation

I'm Aaron Sylvester and this blog documents my five-month, cross-continent adventure on a 21 year-old motorcycle: A Honda Goldwing; affectionately referred to as The Old Wing.

Since this was a motorcycle trip, all the pictures on this page are a summary of the many motorcycle pictures from the trip. As you read about the adventure, not-to-worry, there are plenty of non-motorcycle pictures.

If you enjoy reading the stories or viewing the pictures, would you kindly take the time to sign the guestbook? The journey was amazing, but documenting it was quite laborious and I'd appreciate a quick comment.

Care to contact me? oldwingadventure ... at ... yahoo ... dot ... com

For the vast majority of the miles ridden, I stuck to two-lane roads. Often, roads without lines or predictable pavement. I avoided cities and interstates. Many of the pictures you're about to see were taken from the saddle while riding. Sometimes, I'd pull over to capture a picture of landscape. For five months, I rode and walked with my camera around my neck. I hope you enjoy the photographs.

A sincere thank-you to everyone who gave me a place to stay, a bite to eat, a place to escape the rain, or a memory-making conversation. If you bought me a beer, helped when I broke down, offered directions or wrote me speeding ticket, it was nice to meet you and I thank everyone but the officers.

Enjoy,

Aaron and The Old-Wing

The States I didn't ride through on this trip:

Hawaii, Nevada, Nebraska, Iowa, Louisiana, Florida, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Delaware and New Jersey.

Canadian Provinces Visited: New Brunswick, Quebec, Alberta, British Columbia and Yukon

Bryan McKenzie wrote a story about me and published it in the Daily Progress. Click here to check it out.

The Great One, Denali, Mt. McKinley. It's spectacular at over 20,000 feet. This photo was taken at Wonder Lake.

Here are a few bikes from my past (though I didn't get to ride the Ingersoll-Rand Chopper and the Screamin' Eagle Road Glide was only mine for a few hours, per the rental agreement.)

The V-Max is an '85. The first year of the now cult-classic hotrod. I put over 10,000 miles on it across a half-dozen states.

And now... let the adventure begin!

Donald Flock. Son of two-time NASCAR champion Tim Flock

Trikes are cool! That's right folks, you heard it here first.

What's better than a V-Twin in a custom motorcycle? How about TWO V-Twin's in a custom motorcycle?

Riding the Tail of the Dragon in Western Carolina & Eastern Tennessee.

Evel Knievel's bike from 1970. Evel passed away a few months after this picture was taken. He was 69 years old. Ride on Evel!

I like big bikes. The 1,000 pound Goldwing wasn't big enough, so I had to climb aboard this monster. It really runs. No kidding.

Check out Wheels Through Time Museum in Maggie Valley, NC.

It's Skip from Oregon at the Blessing of the Bikes at a French Parish near the Quebec border. Skip was also taking a Goldwing on a very long cross-country adventure. Skip is a lone-wolf. No club or affiliation. He's a heck of a guy.

Great to meet you Skip!

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From high atop Mt. Washington in New Hampshire.

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Oops. Guess Goldwings aren't meant for riding single-track hiking trails. Who knew?

The Badlands are spectacular!

Three couples from Ohio on Trikes. Trikes are cool.

Check out Panhead Billy's bike. What a legend!

How about Jerry Lee on the '84 Goldwing?

What's up buddy?

That's Brother Harry at the Sturgis Harley Dealership. He was at the Blessing of the Bikes weeks earlier. Small world. Howdy Harry.

The Motorcycle Trailer with Quebec tags was in Montana on Beartooth Pass. A long way from home. What nice people.

Check out the pictures from Evel Knievel Days in Butte, Montana.

A quick oil-change before getting on the Al-Can.

The story of the Alaskan leg of my trip: The month I spent in the Yukon and Alaska, I saw few bikes other than BMW dual-sport bikes. Bikes that are on-off road and designed to handle the rugged and frost-heaved roads. Everywhere I went, I was a riding spectacle. It seemed like everyone felt compelled to comment:"you know that old thing wasn't meant to be ridden up here." The comments never ceased to crack me up.

An extra two-gallons of fuel strapped to my floorboards while riding the Alaska Canada Highway. The Al-Can is 1,500 miles of nothing but beautiful scenery and an occasional fuel pump.

The couple shown below drove the Al-Can in an car from 1911 . And people thought I was nuts. I think that neither of us nuts. Just determined.

That's right. 1,000 pounds. You can see the 950 in the distance. It wavered back and forth between 950 and 1,000 but my tank wasn't full and my water supply was nearly gone. To all who insisted that I should be able to pick up the dropped bike from a dead stance... you try it! Unless you're 6'3 and a solid 200 pounds, my money is on the Old-Wing.

The trike belongs to the Park Ranger. He uses it as his workhorse. Trikes are cool. So are trailers. Perhaps I'm not? Oh Well.

Check out me on the chopper!

How about Kyle on his Aprilla. If you've ever raced in the Mid-West, chances are, Kyle's beaten you.

How about Sturdy's classic '78 KZ1000? It was the Aprilla of it's day.

The irony of the LEO eluding Aprilla next to the Taos Police Edition BMW.

A couple of 1940's Panheads in West Virginia with Massachusetts tags. Dell and Joe really ride.

Great to meet you guys!

I test-rode this 2008 Harley-Davidson Dyna Low Rider at Waugh Enterprises Harley-Davidson in Orange, Virginia

So I finally got to ride a sport bike. A super sport bike. A 2007 Honda CBR 1000. Scary. Thanks Scott. I put over 100 miles on it and can say little more than "wow!"

Click here to visit Episode 1

54 - Winston-Salem, North Carolina and a few more Stockcar Races

2007-10-04T00:52:00.000-04:00

At 10:30 on Thursday morning, five months after I began, I pulled into Winston-Salem and rode to my friend Allison's house to say hello to my dog Max. The furry frisbee dog had lived the good life while I was gone, but I'd missed him very much.

Howdy buddy!

He posed next to the Goldwing for a photo.

While on my trip, I'd arranged to rent a room in Winston so I'd have a place to call home-base while job searching. I arrived and pulled the Goldwing in the garage and then took my cruiser for a quick spin around the neighborhood. What a totally different machine!

Ahhhhhh....... relaxing in my man-chair. Shortly after this picture was taken, I stacked a pile of recent newspapers on the window sill and didn't move for 72 hours.

On Saturday, I hopped on the Goldwing once again for a 100 mile trip to Charlotte to watch a NASCAR race.

It just goes to show that good people are everywhere, not just in remote areas far from home.

I bought a ticket from a scalper and went to enter the track. Turns out, my good ticket was too good. It was in the clubhouse. The clubhouse has a dress-code. I didn't have a collared shirt, and the cheapest at the track cost $75. I'd blown my budget on my "good" ticket and got really bummed out. I walked back to my bike to try to find a biker to lend me a shirt.

Steve parked his bike in one of the last remaining bike spots. I walked over and asked if he had a collared shirt in his saddlebag. He did not. Without hearing my story, without knowing about the last five months, without anything but my simple request for help, he dialed his wife and asked her to bring a shirt for me.

She arrived fifteen minutes later as cheery as could be and offered the shirt to me with a smile. What nice people!

While Steve and I waited for his wife to arrive, I found out that days earlier, he'd just sold his motorcycle business and retired. Excel Motorsports had been his passion for years. He ran his shop with a big heart. Unlike those SOB's at the Anchorage Honda Dealer.

Check out my Excel Motorsports Polo below! Steve insisted that I keep it. Sweet!

Once inside, I found the bar in the clubhouse that overlooked the front stretch. Who walked in but Steve!

He bought a round and then took me to sit with him and one of his former employees, Brian. The three of us had a great time watching the race and Steve picked up the tab all night long. Thanks Steve!

Brian was about my age and had raced for over 20 years. Having just recently retired (from racing, not from working,) he had all sorts of cool stories about his racing career. He'd run for years in Massachusetts and even had a factory ride from Kawasaki riding three-wheelers on dirt tracks. He'd moved up to Modified's and run those in Carolina. Finally, after getting married and starting a family, he decided to put his extra money into a kid-fund instead of a blown-motor-fund. Good call Brian!

Keith from Oregon had really left me with a good vibe... and my own marble collection. Keith rides a gorgeous Heritage Softail and left me with sage words of riding advice. Before mailing this to Jocelyn, I had to photograph it and send the picture to Keith. Thanks Keith(and thanks to Joss for the great introductions to the fine folks at the Candlelight Tavern.)

After attending the Bush Race in Charlotte on Saturday, I took off for Asheboro, NC on Sunday afternoon to see Modified's run at the Caraway Speedway. Another weekend, another short track.

I couldn't arrive home and then just park the bike for good.

I spent the next three days relaxing. Reading, writing and making phone calls. Sitting down for more than ten minutes is far from enjoyable. I find myself getting up to stretch, move or tweak some painful part of my body. The entire time I was on the road, I did exercised every time I got off the bike. Sometimes, I even did exercise while riding. Though I doubt the term I coined will catch on: "Motorcycle Aerobics"

So after a few days of letting my spine acclimate to having lumbar support and a nightly mattress, I hopped back on the Wing and rode to Martinsville, Virginia for the NASCAR Truck and Cup races. The next two nights were great racing, great people meeting, and even great tent sleeping.

After arriving on Saturday morning, I quickly found a family that lived just off turn four and secured a spot in the backyard. They'd planned on filling the yard with parked cars, but a motorcycle and orange tent suited them too.

Check out the maylay on the front stretch during the Truck race. The guy to the right of me is from Alberta, Canada and took a five week vacation to join the NASCAR circuit. Surprisingly enough, his wife didn't join him. He left Alberta and had been to five consecutive racing weekends. What a great guy to sit next to. So Dennis was scheduled to go to Atlanta the following weekend, but was heading home instead. He offered me his tickets at pennies on the dollar, even though he could have sold them above face value. Thanks Dennis. I decided not to go. I'd been on the road long enough. The adventure is over.

The guy on the left is a true race fan. He's even sticking with Junior after his move to Hendrick Motorsports. I will not be sticking with Jr. as he joins the enemy.

After the race, I walked to the hill and partied until the wee hours. The folks I met at this tailgate were really nice. The Budweiser chair is HUGE, and a lot of people stopped by to check it out.

The next morning, I got up and began walking; walking and walking and walking some more. After two hours, I finally found my $20 ticket. Most tickets fetched far above face value, but I finally found one for a third of face value. Not bad. It was a hot day, great for racing.

Remember Donald Flock from Darlington? It was nearly five months after I'd met Donald and he'd given me the shirt off of his back. I wore it to the Cup race in memory of Tim Flock and as a thank-you to Donald who left quite an impression on me. Donald celebrated his 60th birthday with me. I'd not yet begun my blog and wasn't able to give him the address. I hope I'm able to get in touch with him to let him know that I not only made it to Alaska, but that I made it back. He'd be proud.

53 - Charlottesville, West Virginia, The 1940's Panheads, and State #40

2007-10-01T18:51:00.000-04:00

Timing was perfect as I rolled into Charlottesville. My buddies had just arrived, so I grabbed some clean clothes (did laundry in Asheville) and we hit the road.

Before long, we were at our old stomping grounds, visiting our alma mater and acting our age (did I mention the fourth-dimensional time warp?)

My buddies had followed the blog and were curious to hear the extended version of some of the stories. After all, five months can't be adequately condensed into 50 blog posts.

After a night in town seeing old friends, we woke up to re-live an old tradition. Seeing The University of Virginia Cavaliers play football at Scott Stadium.

What a glorious day!

The pictures of us from Camp Wahoo, the coolest Cavalier tailgate, aren't going to make it on the blog. Let's just say that I haven't lost my beer-bonging touch, and leave it at that. It's like riding a bike.

FYI: The picture to the left and the four below were taken with an I-phone.

After two fun-filled nights in Cavalier Land, the guys headed off to catch a plane to their respective towns, and I hopped on my motorcycle to visit a 40th state.

While at a coffee shop in Rome, GA, I'd recounted the number of states visited on this trip and realized I was only at 39. Florida, Ohio and Delaware were the only viable candidates. After my Christmas trip to the Keys a few months earlier, I had no interest in going to Florida. Plus, I just ridden GA, AL, MS etc. Delaware involved DC which entails traffic. Time to route to Ohio. Via WVA of course, one of my favorite states. I tooled through the Wild and Wonderful West Virginia mountains, and enjoyed spectacular scenery.

While riding one particularly remote road, I saw two old Panheads and had to stop. After visiting The Wheels Through Time Museum in Maggie Valley, NC during the first weeks of my trip, I'd been fascinated with '47 Pans. I'd met a guy at the Evel Knievel Days in Butte Montana who rode a '74 Shovel (another classic I really like,) but I'd not met anyone riding Panheads on my trip. I'd met Brother Harry who rode with Panhead Bill, but I didn't meet Bill or see his 1960 Pan.

When I pulled up, I got giddy when I saw Massachusetts tags on the bike. These guys really rode! They were in the middle of a conversation with another gawkier, so I didn't interpret. They must get bombarded by curious onlookers at every stop. Even after talking with someone else for over 15 minutes, they were still willing to talk to me and hear about my over-loaded Old-Wing that was parked next to their timeless machines.

Dell & Joe introduced themselves and told me about their bikes and their trip.

The red springer is a '48 and the white hydroglide is a '49. Both Panheads are in great shape. The guys knew the proprietors over at the Wheels Through Time Museum. They'd been riding for nearly a week and were taking the old machines on routes similar to mine, though at much slower speeds. They stuck to two-lane mountain roads.

Below, Dell is describing the timing adjusting mechanism on his Springer. These guys run 9 to 12 pounds of air in the tires. Front and rear tires have low pressure to improve comfort. The bikes are rigid, which means no rear suspension. The springs beneath the seat do a good job of making their long days comfortable.

Meeting Joe & Dell really made my day and allowed me to check something else off my list. I'd not met anyone riding old bikes during my entire 30,000 miles and 39 states. Wow!

Check out the Atlas strapped to the back of Dell's bike! You know someone is really out for a ride when they've got an entire United States Atlas as opposed to a county or state map.

Though the Appalachians aren't nearly as tall as the Rockies, they start at sea level, where many Western Mountain towns are a mile above sea level before the mountains begin their skyward landscape. 3,000 - 4,000 foot elevations in the Appalachians are very impressive. Mountains indeed.

After saying goodbye to the guys and their vintage machines, I headed toward Elkins WVA. I'd broken down there earlier in my trip, and wanted to swing back by and say hi.

After 300 miles of tiny mountain roads, I crossed the Ohio River and set up my tent just before dark.

In the morning, I went back through WVA via a different, but equally obscure route.

Somewhere around 2:00 or 3:00, I saw the sign and had to stop. I was staving! My first meal of the day was a fried hotdog and bottle of Bud.

Delicious. I also met some cool characters. If you're ever in West Virginia, be sure to see if the East Run Band is playing nearby.

I left the Up South Tavern and continued on.

I've paddled the Maury River and have met Rick Mast. The Maury is beautiful and is near the Appalachian Trail. Rick Mast was a NASCAR legend, before the staggering affects of Carbon Monoxide poisoning forced him into early retirement. He's a good man and a close friend of my former employer. Here's a good article on Rick if you're interested.

I hopped on the Blue Ridge Parkway as I'd decided to end my trip as it began. This was to be my last night in my tent, as the next night was spent with a buddy in Blacksburg. The photo below was the last taken with my camera. Afterwards, it stopped working. I'm still quite bummed about that.

In the morning, I broke camp before dawn (yea, I guerilla camped.)

After a few hours on the Parkway, I rode to Christiansburg and found a Wal-Mart and stopped in to get supplies. Then I found a garage where I could change my oil in the parking lot. It had been too long. It took fewer than twenty minutes to change the motor oil and gear oil. The only hard part was going to Wal-Mart. After so many months on the road and sticking to remote areas, the huge parking lots and long row of registers seemed oddly strange.

Afterwards, my sister Susanna and I met at her place and walked to a restaurant for lunch. She and her roommates live in a cool old house. Susanna & I said goodbye and I rode off with 18 hours to go before the trip officially ended.

Next: Winston-Salem, North Carolina & a few more Stock Car Races

52 - Little Rock, Tupelo, Atlanta Brewing, Fort Oglethorpe, and on to Asheville

2007-09-27T10:19:00.000-04:00

When I woke up on Monday morning after a weekend of World Cup racing, I emerged from my tent to see an empty field. Almost no one had stayed on Sunday and the scene was night & day different than the scene from the previous morning. I packed up camp in record time and loaded my bike for a long day of riding. I hoped to ride 600 miles before the sun set.

Before I left, Rick, Harold and Lisa stopped by to say goodbye. Rick had a bunch of I-70 stickers for me and Lisa had some baked goods. I've been very fortunate to end many days by reaching into my saddlebag and pulling out something delicious that someone had given me hours or days earlier.

After a quick trip around the field and gravel, I pulled out of the speedway, anxious to be back on the road. First destination, the Ozarks.

It was a rainy day, so I don't have pictures of the Ozarks, Branson, or the ride into Little Rock. The good thing is that I never really got wet. Rain was intermittent and light. Too wet for riding with my camera, but not too wet to prompt me to hunker down. If I had my riding gear, it would have been a prefect day. Instead, it was just a really good day of riding.

About an hour before dark, I called my friend Ling in Little Rock. Sure enough, even though it was last minute, she was glad to hear from me. I was so excited to see a good friend and teammate from B-School. After an hour of Interstate riding, I rolled into Little Rock at sunset. It was beautiful. The city's skyline, the red reflection from the setting sun on the river, the wonderful roads with little traffic led easily to downtown where I quickly found Ling's place.

We hopped in her car to head up the street for a delicious dinner. As an added gesture of hospitality, she gave me a reprieve from camping and had a hotel reservation for me. Thanks Ling! I swam, showered, checked e-mail and updated my atlas all before Leno started. What a night. Nearly 500 miles, though short of my goal, it was still a LONG day of riding. The backroads that snaked through the Ozarks proved challenging. My riding skills were up to the challenge. My spine and shoulders were not. I was super sore and a comfy hotel bed hit the spot.

Once again, like I'd done in Denver and in MO, I don't have pictures. Sad!

In the morning, I found a delicious loaf of breakfast bread from Lisa and brewed coffee and sat at a table with a big 'ole grin. Eating on the ground isn't nearly as satisfying as having a padded chair and proper table.

Now, I was in the Deep South and in for an entirely different topography and scenery set. I wanted to ride only county roads and still make Tupelo in time to go out for dinner and drinks.

Check out the Riceland plant.

I love riding through cotton fields. Usually, I only see cotton in Eastern Carolina. There sure were a lot of cotton fields in Mississippi and Alabama.

I wondered how long it had been since someone had purchased a new pair of denim jeans at the Sugarboy Store?

Ole Miss, it's a beautiful campus for sure.

I rolled into Tupelo and saw signs to Elvis' birthplace. Graceland is too "downtown" for me to see on this trip, so an excursion to where the King of Rock 'n Roll was born, really fit the bill.

Now if only I could meet the King on this trip, Richard Petty is the Man. And, if you live in NC, you can have his likeness adorn your licence plate. Sound too good to be true? Just check out the tailgate on my truck to see the King's profile.

The guy at the AmeriInn agreed to cut the rate from $45 to $37. I wanted to stay in Tupelo and didn't want to camp. But I didn't want to pay forty bucks either. (Taxes and fees)

From the time I began the trip, until I reached the Canadian border, I'd only stayed in two hotels. Once I headed up through Canada, through Alaska, and all the way back to Arkansas, I'd not stayed in a hotel. 58 consecutive nights without paid lodging. Tonight, I just whimped out and got a room.

The bartender at the Jefferson Inn (a place I picked because of the reference to a great president who commissioned the Lewis & Clark Expedition,) recommended that I not stay at the Economy Inn, but did describe it as the cheapest place in town that was safe.

Safe & Dilapidated.

When I asked the front desk clerk for a $25 room, she didn't balk for long. My $25 included taxes and fees.

I checked in and then went out for dinner.

Tupelo is lame on a Tuesday night. I did meet some cool people and did dance to a Garth Brooks song, but then drew the line at Achy Breaky Heart. Back to the Roach Motel for a good night's sleep... in my sleeping bag.

Alabama is beautiful, and by sticking to back roads, I saw a few cool things. A huge natural bridge, an old covered bridge and then an old jail that was being restored.

See the log above? It had hundreds of nails driven into it at tiny intervals to prevent inmates from sawing their way out.

An hour long hike to see the natural bridge was just what I needed for a boost of energy and I left there ready to ride.

My buddy Dave was expecting me, and I pulled into the Atlanta Brewing Company around four. Just in time for the Wednesday night beer tasting. Taste I did.

We left the brewery with some of his friends to go and sample some of the ABC Cask Conditioned beer. A local restaurant was highlighting their award-winning creation that evening, and the brewer had to be there. Dave's been brewing for several years now, and the new brewery is a really high-tech operation. I've stopped at over a dozen breweries on my trip, and The Atlanta Brewing Company really stands out as having the most sophisticated operation.

Check out the Kettle below. Dave commissioned craftsmen in British Colombia to hand-make it to precise specs.

It's not an accident when beer is delicious.

The Old-Wing out front

Dave and I in the tasting room. It's the nicest tasting room I've ever seen. Nicer by a factor of many.

In the morning, I left Atlanta and went to Rome, GA for a great cup of coffee. After riding past Berry College, I made it to Fort Oglethorpe and stopped in for sightseeing.

The cannon below was manufactured in Richmond VA by the Tredegar Ironworks Company. Several years ago, I spent a New Year's Eve at the Tredegar Ironworks building, now a cool venue on the James River. It's all brick with ceilings over 25 feet high. It's quite historic. Seeing the canon that was manufactured in a place where I'd been awed a few years ago, was yet another example of things on this adventure coming full circle.

Wow - It seems like so long ago when I rode in Manteo at the beginning of the trip. As soon as I saw a restaurant, I stopped in for Sweet Tea, Hushpuppies, and Salt & Pepper Catfish.

The next few hours were some of the most serious riding I've done on the trip. I'd compare it to the roads in Northern CA in Humboldt County where I lost my gear. For a few hours, I didn't see lines on the road or road wide enough for two cars to pass easily.

Highlands, NC is a neat mountain town.

Fun.

My buddy Tom was gracious enough to host me yet again. I'd begun the trip with Tom in Western NC.

As I'd done with so many other hosts, I kicked off the visit by borrowing clean clothes. The Vermont shirt is similar to the one Greg wore in Vernal UT. Like that night at the Dinosaur Haus, Tom and I stayed up swapping stories of summer adventures. Thanks buddy.

The portraits of the three brothers made a good backdrop for a picture.

After a tumbler of scotch and water, I planted myself in a comfortable chair for the next couple of hours. Ahhhh... spine relief.

After a few hours of sleep, I had to get up and ride non-stop for seven hours to make it to Charlottesville, VA by early afternoon.

It was the only time on the trip that I used an Interstate for anything more than avoiding a city.

Interstates... gotta love them as they keep everyone else off the back roads.

Stories from Charlottesville to follow.

...stay tuned ... to the same Bat-Channel.

Next: Charlottesville, West Virginia, 1940's Panheads and State #40

51 - A Birthday in Wichita. Family in KC. The Epic World Cup Weekend of Racing at the I-70 Speedway in Odessa Missouri.

2007-09-23T17:18:00.000-04:00

The Midwest was good to me. The last few days were among the best of the trip. After waking up in the middle of nowhere Texas, I waited for the sun to rise and began a long day of riding. Around three, I rolled into Wichita. There wasn't anything for me so do or see (or so I thought,) so I just wanted to find downtown, find a glass gallery and find a marble for Jocelyn. I found a gallery quickly and went in to check it out. The selection was irrelevant. This trip wasn't about stores or shopping and that wasn't about to change. The clerk only had one that met my criteria. One of which was that she had to know the artisan that made it. Unlike the marbles that Keith collects, Jocelyn's are all new and have cool stories behind them. The story behind the marble I was holding would do the trick, so I paid quickly and left as my motorcycle was parked illegally... and running.

While cruising around downtown, I saw Big Dogs Motorcycles. I had no idea they had HQ in KS. Anyhow, I stopped in to check out choppers. I was impressed... unlike the "bikers" working retail for Big Dog. So the Old Wing isn't a custom chopper, but the guys at Big Dog were the first bikers I've met on the trip who didn't have respect for all who ride (especially those who ride far.) Oh well. Their bikes still looked nice, though rumor has it that one wouldn't want to ride one very far. At least, not without a rescue vehicle nearby.

After Big Dogs, I rode around to find the college. It seems that Wichita State is in Wichita, which makes sense. Only a few days/weeks earlier, I'd been riding around campus in Corvallis, OR.

After enough campus sightseeing, I took off to find food before leaving town.

I found food alright, but I didn't find the city limits until long after dawn the following day.

There was a place downtown with parking for motorcycles, but there weren't any bikes out front. It was just before 5:00, so I parked in a prime spot and sauntered inside looking for a cold beer, hot food, a TV and a bartender willing to surrender the remote. Three out of four isn't bad. I sat there watching CNN on mute and really not looking to strike up a conversation. I'd half-heartedly decided to get out of town and camp someplace cool and then celebrate my birthday the following day.

There was a table of five guys to my right and after a few minutes, one of them started heckling me. He was funny and it was all in good fun, so I played along, though still keeping to myself. I was tired, hot and hungry and not up for conversation. It turns out that Carlos rides too and when he heard about my trip, he insisted that I join their table. I joined their party and that was it. I'd met some great people and soon realized there was no point in leaving Wichita that evening.

Most of they guys rode, and all were friendly.

Carlos had an old British BSA Beezer in Vietnam, and another, years later in Hawaii. He'd ridden all sorts of bikes, as had the other guys. Turns out, it was bike night and the place filled up quickly. One of the guys at the table was Kyle. He was one of the younger guys at the table and he and I are the same age. Unfortunately, he had only stopped in for a beer and was headed out to take care of after-work chores.

The guy's been racing since he was a kid and had been involved in the motorsports community throughout his career. After retiring from motorsports a few years ago, he began working in telecommunications and does extensive work for my former employer; Verizon. To say the least, we hit it off.

Thanks Kyle for blowing off whatever you had to do that night.

After a few hours downtown, Kyle knew that it was soon to be my birthday and offered a place to sleep and to show me Wichita's finest. I followed him back to his place and put my bike in the garage and threw on a clean shirt before going out.

Check out Kyle on his aprilla. Yes, it is as fast as it looks. According to guys I met that know Kyle, he can ride it like it was meant to be ridden. Pretty cool!

It really is a small world. As we were waiting to go out, Kyle dialed a phone number, chatted with an old friend, then handed the phone to me. Turns out, his friend Phil, used to live in NC and managed the Honda Dealer in the Piedmont Triad. WOW! Now, he's the head corporate guy for Honda in CA. Pretty cool. Too bad I didn't know him while I was sitting at the Honda Dealer in Anchorage listening to the service manager try to explain why there was no way he'd work on my old bike.

Anyhow, Kyle's girlfriend came over and drove us all over town. We stopped in at many of the Wichita hotspots before finally everything closed and it was time to go home. What a night! What a way to spend a birthday. The celebratory birthday shots at midnight were just another cool event during a very cool night.

In the morning, the only thing that came to mind that would have been worse than getting on a motorcycle in 90 degree heat, would have been being Kyle, and getting up three hours earlier to go to work. Thanks man for going out on a Thursday, and staying out like it was a Friday.

Famished and dehydrated, I went back downtown to eat breakfast. The waiter at Egg Cetera, Tim, heard about my trip and then came back to my table to tell me that the manager would like to buy my breakfast. Wow. This doesn't seem out of the ordinary anymore.

I've now been to towns named Eureka in four states.

Arghhh!!! Tired, parched and 91 degrees. Ouch!

I'd heard that Lawrence Kansas is really cool, so I stopped to check it out. While leaving Lawrence, I rode next to this guy. His bike, yep... an '86. It was old and ratty, but it still got him around. We talked for about 10 minutes while riding in traffic side by side.

After my stop for petrol and Coke Classic at Route 66, I hadn't ridden at speed for more than a couple of minutes when I noticed that the bike was running rough. With my two fingers on my throttle-mate, the usual vibrations were suddenly unusual. It seemed that I got a bad batch of fuel... at least I hoped that's what it was.

As it was now my birthday proper, I called my Aunt and Uncle in KC and made plans to stop by and say hello. Aunt Linda made a cake for me and I got to hang out with my Uncle Steve and with my cousins. Very cool.

My cousin Daniel had been following my trip, so it was fun to catch up with him because I'd not seen him since his big trip to Europe.

Joshua has a new pocket rocket. I'd never had any desire to ride one, until I saw one sitting in the garage. My cousin certainly obliged and fired it up and took off to show me how it's done. The geometry is a bit different than on the Wing. The other subjects are radically different as well.

Riding it was fun, though I wish I had my riding gear.

I left KC in the early afternoon to go catch Saturday night racing at a short track. Nearly every Saturday night in the Lower 48, I've been able to find a racetrack. Today, I could choose between two tracks that are both nearby. I had no idea how lucky my choice was. I chose the I-70 Speedway and off I went. After getting near the track, I stopped in for fuel and for beer. I do love strapping beer and ice to my already overloaded bike. It's so over-the-top ridiculous, I can't help but laugh.

Neither can onlookers.

I rode up and immediately got off the gravel and rode like a banshee through the field and went over to a group of tailgaters to ask about the race. Turns out, one of the guys would later drive the number 2 red ford you see below. I rode up like an idiot. I've found that if I ride up without fanfare, people wonder what I'm doing. If I ride up to them on a 1,000 pound bike through a field at 50 mph with dust flying and the back end sliding, they want to know what I'm doing. A very different reaction. These folks were really friendly, but not looking for someone to join their party. They did give me the lowdown on the weekend. Where to camp, when to go inside, what to expect...

Though I still had no idea what to expect.

Check out the Pontiac GTO's. It must have been a club weekend.

The trailer for the #37 reads: "Allison Quick." With a name like that, the girl was born to race.

When I saw the Zaxby's trailer, I knew I was in for a treat. At this point, I've been to over a dozen short tracks and I'd never seen any big-name sponsors.

A Harley bagger doesn't usually strike me as picture worthy, not even if it's an Ultra Classic. However, the sticker on the helmet did catch my eye.

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"In Memory of the 58,215 who never returned home from Vietnam."

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The sign below seemed redundant. I know the world is going to hell in a handbasket, but can't we still assume that people know not to booze and swear in the family section?

Having a family section implies that anything goes in the other sections.

I bet that somewhere, there is a guy who did something and is responsible for that sign. I would also bet that the story behind it is hilarious!

Check out the banking! That is one steep half-mile asphalt oval. Actually, now that Bristol has been re-paved, this is the highest banked paved track in the country. If you're not a race fan, take my word for it, that's cool!

After watching the race cars run a few laps, I started walking around and looking for people to meet. I saw a guy with a cowboy hat standing with a little kid and walked up to say hello. He introduced himself as Smokin' Joe. The name seemed fitting as he is known around the track as having the best barbeque around. I thought it was ironic that I live in the Camel City, home of the famed character of the same name. Anyhow, he'd recently put up the lights that lit the dirt track and had done so in record time. I'd worked on a similar project while at GTE and fully understood how impressive such a feat was. Smokin' Joe has been involved in racing since he was a kid, he lives near the track and is the guy responsible for running things around the I-70 speedway. Not only that, he runs on both the dirt track and on the asphalt track on most weekends. Unfortunately, his race car was sitting on the sidelines with a blown motor, so this weekend he was a spectator.

He left to attend to official business and I left to get some dinner. Shortly after I sat down to enjoy a burger and beer, the kid (8 or 9 years old) walked up to me and said: "Smokin' Joe wants to see you." This kid is really cool. He wasn't phased one bit by walking up to me and asking me to follow him. I asked where Joe was and told him I'd find him after I finished my meal. The kid looked at me and said, "no, Smokin' Joe wants to talk to you so you'd better come now."

So off I went following the little man through the crowd. Joe said he wanted to introduce me to some people and we set off to go up to the suites. He introduced me to the track's owner, Brad McDonald, and to BT, the Operations Manager. Later, BT walked up to me and handed me a ticket to tomorrow's big event. WOW!

Smokin' Joe and I stepped out on the balcony overlooking the track because where we'd been standing in one of the suites was also the room the announcers used to call the race. A bit later, Joe told me that the announcers, Brad & Greg were probably going to interview me.

In between races, Greg walked over with the mic, and in front of a crowd of a couple thousand people, introduced me. He then handed the mic over and I gave a 90 second summary of the trip to date. Four months, 25,000 miles and over a dozen stock car races at short tracks around the country from New Hampshire to Wyoming. From Montana to Alaska, and from Virginia to Oregon. Greg then asked all the single girls to walk by the suites overlooking the front stretch and to wave and smile. What a guy! Unfortunately, there were no takers. Not a single girl smiled or waved. Oh well, a lot of the race car drivers are single and a whole lot more eligible than a cross-country rider on an old ugly Wing.

Ouch!

After the race, Smokin' Joe invited me to hang out with his friends at his legendary tailgate. I got to meet his wife, Jennifer, and a whole bunch of race car drivers. All around, I met really good people.

Check out Rick below. Rick is super cool and raced his first race at I-70 in 1974. Let's see, in '74 I was an infant. Rick's seen a lot over the years and is a staple at the speedway.

Lisa, a racing journalist was also there, as were Mark and Jacobee.

Mark Spillman had just won the title for the Superstock division.

Jacobee Deckman had just won the championship for the Enduro class.

Check out the I-70 points summary for details.

At age 20, Jacobee was well known on the circuit as a talented driver. Mark, only a couple of years older, had finished in the top 5 for 16 of the season's 17 races. I had a great time talking to Mark who was down-to-earth. Very humble for a guy who was about to get a huge trophy for his season's accomplishments.

Their friend, to the right of Mark & Jacobee below, had gashed his head open while helping with the tailgate. I've seen some bad wounds and have seen the subsequent shock that injured people usually succumb to. Not this time though. This guy clenched his teeth and focused on not passing out and sure enough, 15 minutes later he was up and about. I'd expected him to be white as a ghost and to need a couple of hours to get over the shock. I saw him the next morning and congratulated him on being one tough son-of-a-gun. I'd never seen anything quite like it. It was a bad injury.

The next morning, I scrambled out of my tent to escape the near hundred degree heat. It was already 84 outside and there was no shade in sight. After having stayed up partying with the I-70 crew until nearly dawn, I was not in the mood for sunshine and water from a bottle. Oh well... the perils of living on a motorcycle. I certainly couldn't spare water to rinse my face and coffee didn't sound like a good idea. So I got on my bike and went to find ice tea and eggs. Morgan's Family restaurant to the rescue. After breakfast, I found an O'Riley's autoparts store to get something that would hopefully fix my bad fuel problem. Then, I clicked off a couple of dozen miles to see if it worked. Like a charm. Time to turn around and head for the track to catch the green flag for the day's big event.

On the way into the track, I met Mitch. Mitch and I really hit it off and ended up drinking beer, watching racing and even tailgating afterwards.

I was glad to have my brimmed hat to shield my burnt face and neck from the scorching sun. So was Mitch. See the spotter perched high atop the dirt-track grandstand.

The lady to the right was married to one of the drivers and stood there for the entire race and alternated between cheering and fretting.

Here's me and Smokin' Joe.

I'm glad to have this picture, as the night time pictures I took at the tailgate didn't turn out.

Mitch and I walked back to his car and fired up the grill and we chowed down on a couple of burgers before he hit the road.

After the main event on the asphalt track, I headed over to the dirt track to watch modified cars run on dirt.

In the morning, I got up and headed for Little Rock... via Branson.

Next: Little Rock, Tupelo, Atlanta Brewing Company, and Asheville

50 - Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Tex-line, Texas. Oklahoma to Liberal, Kansas

2007-09-19T11:19:00.000-04:00

After riding through CO, AZ, UT and NM all day, it stunned me when I came upon the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. They are beautiful and unlike anything I've ever seen.

It was almost six, and I needed fuel. The was a "town" eight miles ahead and so I turned down this little county road to go to town. When I arrived, the only thing there was a gas pump that had closed ten minutes earlier. I was nearly empty.

For the next hour, I rode at 50, then 40, then 35 miles per hour to conserve fuel. Finally, after sputtering while going around a tight turn, I saw a gas pump and got fuel.

I was the only non-native in the place. A guy came up to me to tell me to watch for deer. No kidding, I thought. They are everywhere.

Back on the road, I went another 80 miles in New Mexico and over another mountain pass before calling it a night. After averting a critter-collision, I was glad to park the bike after another day of riding during the peak time for animals on the roadway.

Ride along with me and check out the photographs below.

Remember that these, as well as most of the photographs you've seen on my site have all been taken with one hand on the camera and one hand on the handlebars. As the most un-ambidextrous human alive, I have to take the pictures with my right hand, while riding with the left. That means no throttle access while in my photography-induced Zen.

The pictures don't show the severity of damage to my skin from the desert sun and sand. My face was scorched and raw. I'd gotten lax about wearing sunscreen as it was September, it was annoying to apply, and I was so tan that I didn't think it was possible for me to burn.

However, the desert was a different story.

My nose and cheeks were leathery. I had blisters on my nose. Skin, raw from hours and hours of being sandblasted by 60 mph winds, burns more easily. At least that's my uneducated theory.

I found an amazing campground in New Mexico while riding along a lake. It was about an hour before sunset, but I stopped anyhow.

I hadn't been off the bike two minutes when a guy walked down to talk to me. He'd been walking since I pulled into the park. My spot was a long way from anyone else, but that didn't stop him from walking down to chat. After hearing twenty minutes of his stories, I kindly reminded him that my camp wasn't setup and then emphasized that I'd just missed sunset!

He was an interesting guy, and it's cool that he and his wife had been on the road full-time for two years, but not so cool that I'd rather listen to him than see a sunset.

Oh well.

Check out the MRE contents. Beef Stew, Trail Mix, a Pound Cake, Coffee, Cider, Tabasco, and a place setting.

I saved the cider for later and opted for Chamomile Tea.

The silver stuff on my fingers is from my camp stove. Every night, just before dinner, my hands get filthy from stove grease. Not old cooking grease, but some sort of lithium lubricant that keeps the moving parts from seizing. Oh well. At least my hands weren't clean to begin with.

Last night had been hell. Yeah, it was cold. Cold doesn't bother me. I woke up in pain from my burnt face. I woke up trembling from pain and was nearly in tears. A zipper from my sleeping bag had touched my nose and I was instantly awake and shaking. It was not a pleasant way to wake up.

It was a spectacular morning! My leftover bagel from breakfast with Joy in Durango was perfect. Warmed and served with scrambled eggs... that beats Wheaties any day!

WOW - These folks are serious about collecting the $8 camping fee.

I've not seen spikes since leaving a city. In fact, I've not seen them on this trip.

To be hundreds of miles from anywhere big and see tire spikes, that's an interesting way to start the day.

It was cold when I left the park, so I kept my speed down by cruising around the lake for awhile.

So, people ask me about "near-misses." Or about "scary moments."

Here's the scariest thing that's happened. It was SO COLD this morning. With my gear gone, I feel vulnerable to cold, rain and to crashes. So this morning, I had my Alaska Marine Highway System hat on under my helmet. Aside from looking ridiculous, I was uncomfortable too. The New Mexico mountains are beautiful, and the tricky little roads that wind through them only add to the beauty. While rounding a curve (40 mph,) my hat suddenly flopped down over my eyes. I couldn't even see daylight. Utter blackness. I shoved my gloved finger under the hat and pushed it up. I flopped right down again and I was still unable to see. I didn't drastically reduce my speed. I'd thought about scenarios in which I was suddenly unable to see. It seemed more prudent to ride out the blindness at the same speed because I could use memory to navigate the line.

By the time I was able to see again, I'd ridden several hundred yards during ten seconds or so of blindness. I was totally freaked out. What a way to start the day.

Nothing better than getting back in the saddle and tackling tough roads. So down the road I went.

Just when I though I'd seen it all, I came around a corner to find a house in the middle of the road. Why not? I've seen just about everything else in the middle of the road.

Coming around a blind mountain curve to see the road washed out with sand is also an experience many bikers never have. Ride long enough and you'll see it all.

This town is intense! The roads are tiny and houses are built right up to the road. There isn't room for two cars. Blink and you'll miss it. A few houses in the middle of a beautiful, but largely uninhabitable desert are inspiring.

Suddenly, the pavement ended. I'd had enough adventure and the sun was getting high. Thankfully, I've perfected the art of hanging a U-turn on gnarly gravel while maneuvering a 1,000 pound bike with white knuckles and knocking knees.

Actually, it's not that hard anymore and it's not even scary. It's just that it's so remote out here that a mistake would totally change my day... and not for the better.

Back to land with people. I made it to Taos. While gassing up, I parked next to a cop's bike and then browbeat a cop into conversation. He tried pretty hard to make me go away, but I was in the mood to talk motorcycles. I didn't need protection, so I insisted that he serve. Finally, he warmed up and we talked for awhile (as if he had a choice.)

He didn't have anything else to do... but ride around and burn free gas.

He'd ridden just about everything, and after a bit, he seemed content in believing that I could ride too and so it wasn't beneath him to talk to me.

Although, he did keep referring to his Bimmer as "the finest machine ever made for serious riders." I guess he didn't think my Old Wing was fine, nor did he take me seriously.

Lighten up bro... you live in Taos and ride motorcycles for a living.

I asked for a recommendation and he sent me to the best Tex-Mex Fusion place I've ever been to. Correction: the best reasonably-priced Tex-Mex place. It was delicious!

He and his cage-driving cop buddy were really cool.

Cimarron - Where the Rockies meet the Plains.

And just like that, I was out of the mountains and riding the Great Plains.

It was so nice to relax. I pointed my bike straight and didn't worry about pavement conditions, about blind curves, or about out-of-control cars.

I don't know if I saw 1,000 deer today. I do know that I didn't just see several. I saw hundreds at the least. Over a thousand seems plausible. I'd see 50-80 mule deer, and then minutes later, I'd see 50-80 more. That happened for hours. It was incredible riding.

It has been a very long day. I rode for well over 12 hours.

My atlas showed a State Grassland Preserve with a campground in Texas. After 20 miles of gravel at sunset, I realized that there was no park. It was nearly dark and deer were everywhere. I had to get off the road.

There were scary things that happened during the last couple of weeks, but they were fleeting and then over. Now, I was scared. Visibility was gone. Deer were everywhere. I saw something in the road and slowed down and rolled within 20 yards of a deer.

I had to get the bike parked.

As I sat at a T in the road at dark, I knew there as a town in 25 miles whether I went right or left. I didn't want to go twenty miles period.

A kid in a big 'ole truck turned near me and I flagged him down. It reminded me of the guys I talked to while in ND, the day before I rode along the river and ended up in Pollock, SD.

Unlike those boys, this kid didn't hesitate to help me out. He was probably 16 or so, and knew the area well. There was a place along the road about 150 yards away and he suggested that I camp there. I wasn't excited about breaking the law in Texas. I've heard stories.

But, hitting a deer in Texas is certainly bad. Breaking a law in Texas is only bad if you get caught. One of those gray areas. The kid told me that the sheriff is pretty nice and would probably let me go, so I went over and prepared to set up camp in the dark.

Just to make a point that I wasn't trying to be sneaky, I set up my tent right next to the sign that read "No Camping. Overnight Stay Prohibited. Violators will be fined $1,000."

After setting up camp at 9:30, I crawled into my tent, sans dinner, and went to sleep.

Since I had no idea when sunrise was, I set my alarm for 5:30 so that I could be packed and gone at first light. Unfortunately, sunrise wasn't at six, or even at seven. At 7:15, daylight broke and I rode toward Kansas.

I was very glad that I hadn't gotten on my bike at 6:00, or continued to town the night before.

Deer used the road that morning more than vehicles.

I was back in the land of Whitetails too. Pretty cool after seeing only Mulies for awhile.

I'd made a point to visit Vietnam Memorials. So I stopped at this one somewhere in KS, OK, or TX. Pretty sure it was in OK.

On my way back from Maine, just before making NC, I ran into a thunderstorm and stopped at an Applebees in Lynchburg, VA. Sitting there drinking a beer, a biker walked in and we started talking. In the beginning of my trip, such encounters were new and memorable. By now, I was having such meetings several times each day.

Anyhow, I talked with this guy and we started sharing cross-country traveling stories. He told me of Liberal, Kansas. The worst place in the world. He described his time there as awful. As I realized that I was going to ride across Kansas, I knew that I had to check it out. So off I went.

This guy had worked in the slaughterhouse after his motorcycle broke down. For nearly a month, he worked until he saved enough to continue on.

I stopped first at the Harley dealer to replace the Throttle Lock that I'd lost in AK. The one I bought from Brother Harry in Sturgis had served me well, and I wasn't about to set off across Kansas without one.

The guy at the dealer told me that National Beef processes nearly 10,000 heads of cattle each day.

Billions and Billions served... the beef has to come from somewhere.

The train yard around the plant is really impressive.

Check out my new toy in action!

With my knee up, I can rest my hand on my knee and totally control my 1,000 pound beast with two fingers.

My fingers did get very strong from doing so.

It was nice riding Kansas roads that were so simple to ride that I could take pictures of my hands while flying down the pavement.

By the way, the sign above is far from true. The food was great, the beer was ice cold, I I didn't have to wait a minute for either.

The place was packed with a lunchtime crowd and the guy that sat next to me insisted that I try some "fry sauce."

Strange stuff. I like ketchup (as do most Americans that consume French Fries,) but in Liberal Kansas, people put fry sauce on their fries. Wanna try it a home? Take ketchup and mayonnaise and mix the two. Better yet, get over your urge to try the nasty stuff and stick with ketchup.

Next: Birthday in Wichita, Family in KC, and World Cup Weekend at I-70 Speedway

49 - Gunnison, Durango & The Four Corners

2007-09-17T14:05:00.000-04:00

Last summer in Rochester Minnesota, I lived on Kenosha Drive. Since leaving Denver, I'd managed to avoid the rain for the most part. I'd ridden exclusively on wet roads, but had missed most of the rain. There were a few bouts of ducking behind the windshield, but at least I was relatively dry.

If I could only make it to Gunnison, I'd have a place to stay. There aren't too many pictures from my roundabout ride from Denver to Gunnison because of the rain. It was a beautiful day of riding though.

It was very cold, very rainy, and nearly dark when I got into town. I called Toots, Mandi's aunt and she gave me directions to her place. They didn't make sense. "Where are you?" she asked. "Downtown Gunnison," I replied.

"I live in Durango," she said as my heart sank. Oops. She offered a place for me tomorrow and I thanked her and walked away dejected as the rain fell. I wasn't about to get back on my bike, so I walked into a brewpub to meet someone who'd let me sleep on their couch.

I sat at the bar and got to talking to James. He is a pilot and flies corporate jets. What a cool job! He was so excited to hear about my trip. "I'll buy your beer," he offered. He had flown into town and then had a mechanical issue and was waiting on parts, so he wasn't flying the next day and had come to town early to hang out. He's been to every state, most states multiple times. All via air and in the hotrod of airplanes. Sweet!

Later, he asked if I was hungry and insisted that he buy me dinner. Thanks James.

We talked for hours. But after I'd been there a few minutes, I knew that I needed to find a place soon, or else I should get on my bike and get out of town.

There were three girls behind the bar and I waited until they were all together. They'd overheard bits and pieces about my trip and knew I was a traveler.

"It's cold and raining and I don't want to camp tonight. Do you know anyone who'd let me sleep on their couch?"

Two of the girls looked at me like I was only half-sane. Rachel thought for a moment and said: "Sure, you can stay with us. We've got a couch."

Nice - I was so happy.

There were a few hours before closing, so I went back to sharing stories with John.

After the place closed, I mopped the floor while everyone else did the rest of the cleaning. Then, I followed Rachel the few blocks to her place. When we arrived, the place was packed and everyone super friendly.

Again, there were dogs. Rachel on the couch with the little dog.

Edan on the couch with the big dog.

Bowden on the other couch making us all laugh.

We all hung out until early in the morning. What a night!

In the morning, they made a great breakfast and invited me to stay. It was still raining and so I was so happy to be dry and well-fed.

Edan left to go to his house to get a pair of waterproof pants. They'd been out in the rain and were too wet for me to wear right then, but they came in handy later. It was so nice of him to drive across town to get something for me. Thanks Edan.

Then, he called a thrift shop to see if there was a motorcycle helmet I could buy. Before heading out of town, I went to the thrift store, but it was so old and scratched that visibility would have been even worse.

Around 1:00, I set off for Durango. It was raining, but even in the bad weather, I decided to take the long way and to adhere to the route that Matt suggested when I was in Denver at The Candlelight Tavern.

Today was hell. The worst riding of the trip by a factor of many. It was awful. It was dangerous, and at times, very scary.

Wolfcreek Pass was pretty extreme. It was raining hard and I had severely limited visibility. Ducked behind the windshield, my goggles frequently fogged up. I had to slide them down to the tip of my nose to see over them. That left my eyeballs vulnerable to raindrops. The windshield is plastic and heavily scratched from frequently washing bugs off while riding in Alaska. Visibility was near zero.

I tried to stay right behind a car so that I could follow their taillights and not have to worry about seeing far in front of me.

But then there were no cars. I saw a truck going very slow and caught up to him and yelled"

"Man - help me out. I can't see a damn thing. Will you turn on your taillights and let me duck in behind you until we get off this mountain?

"I'm pulling off on a fire-road up ahead. Sorry. Good Luck"

This was awful and crazy.
Unfortunately, there was no way off the mountain other than my Goldwing. Or an emergency airlift. I rode as carefully as possible to avoid the latter.

It was so cold. Tears had filled my eyes a couple of times after being viciously stung by a rogue raindrop.

Rain hurts. It was hovering around fifty degrees and raining. My skin was burning from the cold and the rain felt like I was being tortured by a mad acupuncturist.

A guy from Sweden stopped at the top of the mountain and took this picture for me. I could tell that he was worried about me riding in this weather. Not nearly as worried as I was. The trash bags given to me by a couple of guys at a restaurant I'd visited earlier were no longer working. They had comped my coffee though, and sent me on the road with a refill in my coffee mug. Thanks guys.

They'd said a few complementary things about me and my trip. They get bikers that come through, but none this time of year and few seeking out places like Wolfcreek Pass.

Thanks guys!

The hot coffee hit the spot and I got back on the road. At this point, I was stopping every 20 minutes as I went over the mountain. It took nearly two and a half hours for me to complete the mountain pass.

Even though I was miserable, wet, cold, crickety, and crotchety, I stopped to take a picture.

I'd made it to Treasure Falls.

Sweet!

The knit hat I bought on the ferry had really come in handy. I looked ridiculous, but was a lot warmer.

"Alaska Marine Highway" written across the hat had garnered me a few looks.

About an hour before dark, I made it to Durango. Toots was out of town, but gave me the phone number for Joy. I wasn't sure who Joy was, but I called and said hello and she gave me directions. As I got to the house, the sky appeared as if it would soon split open and soak Durango. It was nice to be inside.

Make no mistake about it. Today was hell. It wasn't fun. It's the only time on the trip that I hated being on the bike. If I had my gear, it would have been safe, warm and fun. Without it, it was dangerous and miserable. No more riding mountain passes in the rain.

Joy was about my age and smiled the entire time. It's so fun to hang out with fun people. It's also fun to eat a huge plate of food and drink hot tea. Thanks Joy!

After dinner, we watched a movie. A Knight's Tail - I'd never seen it and it was nice to relax in a seat that isn't attached to two wheels.

After eight hours of sleeping like a baby, I woke up and cleaned up and met Joy in the kitchen. She planned to take me on a tour of Durango. For a couple of hours, we hung out in town. I like Durango a lot!

We got back in time to meet Toots. After a couple of goodbye's, I got back on the road.

(Yep - more dogs.) Toot's has her boxers trained to be Therapy Dogs at a local nursing home. That's really cool.

When I told Joy that I was headed to the Four Corners, she jokingly suggested that I buy some big 'ole gaudy turquoise jewelry. Hence the picture below. No, I didn't buy it. Though the lady selling it thought there was a chance. Like the lady in Ketchikan who thought I might buy a Muskrat Vest. The difference is that I didn't want a turquoise ring, but I really did want that vest. Yes I know, that's one of those thoughts I should probably keep to myself. I'm going out on a limb and predicting the next fashion rage. (Want to see the picture? Here's the link: Scroll down to see the Muskrat Vest)

I did buy a chain with a pendant. It looks like a tooth, but is made from a shell. A shell found in the desert. Since I'd ridden both coasts, the great lakes, and many rivers, I thought the shell was fitting. Plus, after wearing the same two t-shirts for months, I was in the mood to accessorize.

Fresh oil on asphalt?

It was a scorcher - the desert heat felt nice after the burning cold from the day before. New Mexico was often depressing. Poverty everywhere and little scenery combine for a gloomy ride. Fortunately, I was back in the mountains soon, and even though there were run-down shacks everywhere, at least the view was nice.

This bug might not look like much, but it was set up as a real desert running hotrod. The suspension was trick, as was the motor. It really moved for an old beetle.

Check out the picture below. Isn't my life grand?

It's such a privilege to come over a hill and have this view... hundreds of times each day...day after day...week after week... month after month.

What a trip!

Next: Sangre de Cristo Mountains & Tex-Line Texas

48 - Leadville, Frisco and Denver Done Right

2007-09-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

I left Kim's place on cloud nine. I'd had such a good morning and knew there were a few hundred miles of mountain riding in front of me.

When I met Liz in Haines, Alaska, she'd told me about her college experience in Leadville Colorado and told me that I should check out Leadville. So, atlas in hand, I planned my route.

Aspen was nice. Frisco was really cool.

I found myself above 12,000 feet again and crossing the Continental Divide a few more times.

I rode several mountain passes that day. There were few motorcycles on these remote roads.

Because of the recommendation of some guys at the Dinosaur Haus in Vernal, I broke my usual rule of ruling out interstates and rode a really cool stretch of I-70.

Then, I pulled over to try and get in touch with someone in Denver. One of my B-School friends who had also been a co-chair for the Elevator Competition lives in Denver.

We had played phone tag, but it was late afternoon and I didn't have a place to stay. Last night was so cold. I didn't want to spend another night at elevation. I had the phone number of a friend's sister and called her to see if I could sleep on her couch. She gave me directions and off I went to downtown Denver. When I pulled into Washington Park, I had no idea how great my weekend was about to be.

As I pulled into Colorado Mounatain College in Leadville, I saw a red fox. The fist I'd seen on my trip.

Very cool.

While enjoying the shade in the Silver Dollar Saloon, I took advantage of the digital phone service and sent a text to Liz.

Thanks Liz - for great conversation in Haines and on the ferry and for the tip about Leadville. The roads leading into town and out of town were among the coolest I'd ridden.

See the Aspen's are starting to change color.

Jocelyn rolled out the red carpet for me. Not only did she have a couch, but the world's most comfortable guest bedroom. She was in the middle of a big project with a deadline looming large. Since she couldn't go out, she walked with me down to the Candlelight Tavern and introduced me to all of her friends.

Her introductions were epic. It reminded me of my night at The Down East Saloon in Homer, Alaska when I hung out with Red. Red had introduced me to everyone. "This guy's ridden a Goldwing over 20,000 miles" he'd say.

Jocelyn did the same. Before long, I'd met so many nice people.

Matt and his wife Stacy were among those I met. Matt had lived in Alaska and he rode motorcycle. His latest, a vintage KZ1000. Remember Charlie from Sunshine? The guy that's climbed Denali and won the shooting contest, he also had a KZ collection. He has a 72, 73, & 74. Matt's is a 79.

He e-mailed this to me a few days later. These were the first sport bikes. They are fast.

I don't have many pictures from Denver, but here is me relaxing comfortably with Olive and Morty.

Remember Keith from Oregon with the marble collection? When I saw that Jocelyn also had a collection, I got excited. Her collection is of modern day marbles, all hand crafted by gifted artisans. Very different than Keith's collection from the 1930's. Nonetheless, I knew that I had to get a marble as a gift for her. After Keith gave me my own marble collection, I'd committed to collect them. I wasn't buying anything for myself anytime soon, but Jocelyn had been so nice and hospitable that I decided to find one for her to add to her collection.

To date, everyone I've stayed with has been a dog owner. Except one, and they had cats. ...Cool cats.

After a very late Saturday night, Joss offered for me to stay another day. I spent the day on the couch.

In the last ten days, Id ridden over 2,600 miles. Since getting back to the Lower 48, over 3,700. I could have ridden home and back to Denver in the same number of miles. My chest, neck and arms were espeically sore and a day on the couch was perfect. Almost perfect. Watching Easy Rider while drinking cup after cup of delicious coffee really made for a fantastic day!

Given my lack of gear, I'd decided to change my route across the country to include warmer states. Given my remaining timeframe, riding the Gulf Coast was out. I'd wanted to go to Del Rio and New Orleans. There wasn't time.

I decided right then that I'd go to Wichita to buy a marble for Joss.

In the morning, I set off to ride the route Matt had mapped out for me.

Laundry was clean, as was I. I hadn't been this well-rested in days. So nice.

No pictures of Jocelyn, so sad.

Just as I pulled out of Denver, it started to pour.

Ahhhh, how nice it would be to have my gear. Oh well.

Next: 49 - Gunnison, Durango & The Four Corners

47 - Fort Collins, Shooter Jennings, Nighttime in the Rockies and the Budweiser "Cabin."

2007-09-12T12:22:00.000-04:00

Upon riding into town, I found the downtown area, parked my bike and set off walking. While talking to my Mom on the phone, I looked up and and saw on a marquis, "Shooter Jennings." I checked the date on my watch and then got off the phone, thankful of my good fortune. I'd always wanted to see Waylon Jennings' son perform. Now I just had to figure out how to spend the night in Fort Collins. It was too big of a town to camp behind a bar. Perhaps I could find someone that would let me camp in their backyard.

Then, up walked Gabrielle. She asked me a question, but since I'd only been in town five minutes, had no idea of the answer. Then I asked about a place to camp. She had only been in town a couple of weeks and didn't know. So I asked if she knew someone that lived close that may have room in their backyard. Perhaps she had a boyfriend that would let me crash on his couch. Maybe a big group of people had a big house with extra room? I was surprised when she asked for my phone number and promised to call if she found something. Pretty Cool.

We said goodbye and I walked off to find food. $1 Tacos, read a sign across the street. I walked into the Drunken Monkey and ordered a beer and some tacos. It was happy hour and beer was two-for-one. I didn't want two beers though. I still had to find a place to stay and set up camp and make it back to the Aggie Theatre before 9:30 or so.

So Molly and I started talking. It was slow in the bar that evening, but certainly not empty. There were 20 or so people in the bar. She agreed to keep my second beer for me until I returned. Normally, I don't take pictures of bartenders, not even the cute ones. But Molly was the first girl I'd met along the way that rode motorcycles. Her bike is pictured below. It's a lot cooler than mine for sure. Not my style, but pretty cool. And definitely cool for Molly.

Hey Molly - I thought you were going to sign the guestbook. What happened?

As I sat at the bar eating my tacos, Gabrielle called. She'd talked with her roommate and said that I could camp in their backyard. Or, she offered a couch and a shower. NICE!!!

Molly knew I wanted to go to the show and she introduced me to a couple of other patrons who had an extra ticket. The guy liked hearing about my trip and he offered to walk across the street with me to will-call and to give me a ticket. Yet another fun event for which someone else picked up the tab. Tonight was going to be unbelievable. I could tell. There was a great show at a great venue and I had a free ticket and knew two people going to the show. I had a great place to sleep that was only a couple of miles from the theatre.

I scarfed down my food before re-reading the directions to Gabrielle's. I said goodbye to Molly and hopped on my bike and went off to find Eastman Avenue.

Gabrielle introduced me to Mandi. They had been great friends in college and were now living together again after Gabrielle had spent the last three years working in Southern Poland. Mandi is quite the cook and I enjoyed talking cooking with her for a bit. Not nearly as much as I enjoyed eating a big plate of ratatouille.

At least once a year, while at the farmer's market on a Saturday morning, some farmer will have a bunch of un-sold eggplant. I'll buy a big grocery bag for a couple of bucks and then find a farmer with a bunch of ugly tomatoes. They taste good, but people usually pick around the strange looking ones. Then, I'll make a HUGE batch of ratatouille. I thought it was delicious until I tasted this. WOW!!!

Both girls had to work in the morning and I offered to skip the show and to stay and hang out and go to sleep early. They insisted that I go and told me not to worry about coming back late. As long as I got up at 8:00, I could stay out until closing time. In the morning, I got pictures before saying goodbye.

Mandi had baked some bread and had made some homemade pickles. I left with both. They sent me on my way in style. Also, Mandi told me about her Aunt in Gunnison and gave me her phone number in case I wanted to spend a night in Gunnison, sans tent.

The show was fantastic. I rode back downtown, parked the bike and went across the street so Molly could pour me a free pint. Then I went to see the show. During intermission, I was outside hanging out when this kid rode by on a cool bicycle. I talked him into letting me take it for a spin. At first, he balked. Then the bikers I was talking to told him that I was traveling and that this kid really should let me ride it. I handed him my camera to make him feel better about me taking off on his bike. I got to ride a chopper! (sort of)

Then, I met a big group of kids who offered to take me out in Ft. Collins after the show. Ben & Shane and the gang were a lot of fun. While at another bar, I met Chief. He's the bartender. He's from Charlottesville, Virginia.

"Yeah," I asked. "Me too." "I went to Jack Jouett," he replied. Wow. I was talking to someone days earlier about Fork Union Military Academy. Chief had ended up in Ft. Collins from Charlottesville and I'd ended up in Ft. Collins via Alaska and then we just happened to be in the same place at the same time and figure that out. Pretty Cool.

I thought about the guy that I met in Kalispell, MT who was from Waynesboro, VA. Now, back in the West after two months of riding, I was having a similar experience.

Yeah - It's a comfortable couch.

After getting in around 4:00 am, I was so happy to sleep on a couch. After a fantastic shower in the morning, I felt fantastic. But not nearly as fantastic as I would feel after eating at Waffle House. I'd not seen a Waffle House since I left the South. There was one in town and I was looking forward to it. "Scattered, Smothered, Covered, Chunked, Topped, and Diced. And coffee black." That's all you need to say to have a fabulous Waffle House Breakfast.

I walked to my motorcycle, and saw there was a parking ticket on the seat. Last night, there were a dozen bikes parked here and I didn't see anything that indicated it was illegal. I love Fort Collins. On the ticket, were great directions, including a map, detailing where to go to contest the ticket. I parked right by the City Office Building and walked in smiling. The lady that helped me was so nice. She rides a Softail. She made my ticket go away and I rode back to Mandi and Gabby's to load up my bike.

My dry-bags were piled on the porch. Before going by their place, I ran into the store to buy flowers. I still couldn't believe that they'd let me stay with them and had left the door open for me to come in late and had sent me on my way with great food and a phone number. Thanks to everyone who's let me stay with them and sorry that not everyone gets flowers. Gabby had really gone out of her way to find a place for me.

After leaving Fort Collins, I rode up to Cheyenne. What a day of riding. A half dozen Mountain Passes, the Wyoming desert, and the Rocky Mountain National Forest. The topography and geology seemed to change every hour.

I thought about stopping, but I still had the jar of Huckleberry Jam that Linda gave me in Oregon.

Now that I had Mandi's bread, I was really looking forward to Jam.

Delicious!

I've ridden over the Continental Divide now so many times.

It's cool to think that a raindrop in Colorado may end up in the Atlantic or Pacific, depending on which side of the Divide it falls.

Finally, I left the Rocky Mountain National Forest after an amazing few hours of riding. A few miles down a gravel road and I ended up at a great place to camp. See the view above.

When I left Linda in Oregon, she sent me on my way with two great things. A jar of tuna and one of huckleberry jam. Make that freshly caught and home-canned tuna. Before I met Juniper in Girdwood at the Chair 5, the bartender figured I was hungry and gave me a can of King Salmon. It was delicious. King Salmon from a Mason Jar is not something you can buy in a store.

I'd been advised that Mandi's bread is especially delicious toasted, so I loaded up my skillet with butter and toasted the homemade bread.

While it was toasting, the appetizer hit the spot. A jar of homemade pickles. Thanks Mandi!

In the morning, I woke up very early. It was so cold. I woke up shivering and quickly got up and got moving. After packing the bike, I set off to ride the few miles of gravel before getting back to the hard-stuff. As I rode down a hill, I saw two large trucks coming down the road. I realized that I'd pass them in a turn. I drifted wide to give them room. The rocks were loose near the edge of the road. As they went by, my tires broke free. Both of them.

The front started to plow. That's "tight" for you NASCAR fans or "under-steer" for any open-wheel aficionados. Then, the back started sliding. The bike was sliding toward the edge of the road at about 40 mph. I wasn't wearing gear after my incident in California. With full gear including a full helmet, if I dumped the bike it would be mildly unpleasant. I would have been sore at most, and the bike possibly could have been ridable. However, with jeans, no gloves, and only half a helmet, I did not want to crash.

The bike kept sliding and by this time, I'd cranked the handlebars until they were closed to being locked in an effort to counter-steer my way out of the slide. I'd shifted my weight and was using my body to try and right the bike. Then the front end caught. Whew! The back end was still sliding in an attempt to follow the front of the bike back to riding in a straight line. Sliding the back end was fun... now that I knew that I wasn't going to crash.

So I cracked the throttle and pulled out of the slide in style. Too bad there was no one around to take a picture.

It was a close call, but I wasn't upset by it. Certainly, I wasn't freaked out by riding gravel. The bike started to get away from me, and then right back in line. My palms were sweaty, but other than than, no damage done.

When I start riding early, I get hungry very early. Most days, I can ride from nine until two without getting too hungry. The first meal at two isn't unusual for me. But on days like today, when I started riding at 7:00, by mid-morning, I'm famished.

So when I came to a mountain town and saw a diner, I pulled in. The Ultra Classic I parked next to was the only other motorcycle there. I had no intention of talking with bikers this morning. Or anyone for that matter. I was cold and tired and hungry and not interested in talking. Until I saw a blue piece of paper wrapped around the other guy's handlebars. It was the same paper wrapped around mine. The entrance pass into Mt. Rushmore.

I walked in and saw the bike's owner and sat near him. After we both finished eating, I walked up to say hi.
We didn't talk much, but after I'd paid my bill and left, I saw him looking at my bike.

"What's up with all the Alaska stuff on your bike,: he asked. My two stickers were souvenirs from my month in the Yukon and Alaska. He told me that he raised two boys in Alaska and then we started talking about the Last Frontier.

I mentioned Evel Knievel Days in Butte, Montana and he said he used to race flat-tracks and hill-climb against Robbie Knievel years ago. I'd met Robbie in the beginning of my trip while in SC. Pretty cool.

Then, he turned to me and said. "You want to come up to the house?"

"Ok," I replied. He got on his bike, fired it up and took off. I turned over the Goldwing and followed.

When he turned up a dirt road, I knew I was in for a treat. We headed up the mountain and I felt great about my riding. See, it's not strange or excessive riding a great big motorcycle down a dirt road at fifty miles per hour. I followed him up the mountain. Then, he turned off and we road further before coming to a gate. He activated his transponder and the gate began opening slowly.

In true flat track racer fashion, he angled the bike between the gates with only inches between the handlebars and posts. He then mashed the throttle and broke the back-end loose and kicked it around, allowing him to snake his bike through the narrow opening. After riding over 1,500 miles of gravel on my 1,000 pound Goldwing, I thought that there were few people in this world who could make a big bike do what I could do. The skills that come from riding for hours each day, day after day, are different than skills from riding occasionally. I thought I was good. Damn good.

Even after 25,000 miles and all the gravel, dirt, and other stuff, I'd NEVER attempt what I'd just seen him do on a Harley bagger. Wow! I instantly knew that the stories about racing with Robbie Knievel had probably been understated.

This guy was good. I instantly felt a lot better about what happened to me earlier that morning. What had happened was natural. Loose and scary, but natural. My reaction was instinct and really there was no point that I wasn't in control. I was scared, but in control. For this guy, what had happened to me earlier was standard operating procedure.

As you see from the pictures, I had quite the experience at the top of the mountain. Kim gave me the tour of his place. The place is amazing. It's a huge log cabin that is decorated with really cool stuff. For example, in the music studio in the basement, hang photographs of Buffet, Clapton, Plant, and more. All taken up close and personal by someone with access to the musicians and with a knack for photography.

The staircase is grand.

The bathroom is all red with stained glass. That's when Kim told me the story behind the house. By that point, I knew their must be a story. It's a Budweiser house. The lady who owns it is of the Busch Family and this place is one of many mountain homes she owns. She rarely stays there these days, and he lives there to take care of the place. Kim is an accomplished hotrod painter. He paints race cars, hotrods, and other things. His shop is set up in the garage. What an amazing place. The views are so unique and the place itself is built with such attention to detail.

I thought of Cabin John from Sunshine Alaska. He specializes in using trees with burls and incorporating the deformations into the architectural design. Clearly the builder here had done the same thing.

Kim got on the computer and went through a slides how of pictures and told me stories of things that had happened at the house over the years. The stories were really cool.

He lives there with his girlfriend and they ride together quite often. He told me of a trip to California where they had a low-speed crash and she was hurt pretty badly. He was banged up as well. It was a sobering story. A good reminder that bad things can happen to even the best riders.

After a couple of hours, he turned and said:

"You've seen a lot of things on your trip. It's been a pretty amazing trip for you and I just thought that this place is something you ought to see. Hope you enjoyed it."

I had. We said goodbye and he got on his bike to ride out and open the gate for me. I'd had such an amazing day and it was still well before noon.

What a surreal experience.

Thanks Kim.

Thanks a lot.

Next: 48 - Leadville, Frisco & Denver done Right

46 - Craters of the Moon, Vernal Utah, The Atomic City and my first ride in Colorado

2007-09-11T10:33:00.000-04:00

It took a few minutes to maneuver the bike up the small path to the campsite. I like to camp next to my bike. It makes things easier.

As soon as I got off, I grabbed the camera to take pictures. These are with the flash, so you can tell that it was very dark. Twilight would be gone in minutes.

What great timing!

I was excited to ride around the park in the morning. There were about 30 miles of park roads and, though I knew nothing about the Park, given it's name, I knew it would be cool.

When the sun was gone, I set up camp and fired up the stove. My freeze-dried dinner was fantastic (thanks Bill.) After having had a leisurely night the evening before, I just cooked, ate, cleaned and packed stuff up and went to sleep. I'd ridden over 1,600 miles in the last six days. Months earlier, at a camp in Conrad, MT, the elderly proprietor had given me a welcome bag put together by the Chamber of Commerce. It contained little samples of stuff. I'd carried it around all this time because I've got a disease. I'm afflicted with pack-rat-itis.

Anyhow, there was a dose of Tylenol PM. So I ate it and went to sleep. It was just before ten. It was after nine when I awoke. Wow.

I packed up quickly and hit the road. The ride through the park was really cool. Every morning of riding has been fantastic, as was this morning.

I spent quite awhile riding in the park. A few quick hikes and several stops to read about the national monument and learn about the strange geological formations made for a fun morning. Eventually, I left the park to go into the desert.

There isn't much left to Atomic, Idaho. The four buildings below have sod roofs to blend them into the surrounding landscape. The old oil-changing station stuck me a a great old building to photograph. As did the old bar. There isn't any building in town that appears to be occupied. The only thing that still draws people, is the raceway. Too bad it was Tuesday and not Saturday.

There many be a "Virginia" in every state. Last summer while riding in Minnesota, I needed to clarify when I said I was from Virginia, as VA, MN was nearby.

In late afternoon, I was enjoying the mindless riding. Since leaving Montana in July, I'd not ridden roads that were flat, straight and in adequate shape such that I could ride without paying much attention to doing so. Today, I was riding along and enjoying the scenery. As it had been nearly two months since I'd had a speedometer cable and functioning speedometer, I wasn't exactly what 70 mph was. I knew that 4,000 rpm's was a pretty good approximation. However, I really had no regard for the speed limit as I didn't worry about small fluctuations in my speed.

Until I came over a small crest with a handlebar in one hand and the camera in the other. Evidently, I'd just fluctuated up.

The Idaho State Trooper was going to let me go, but evidently the voice on the other end of the squawk-box told him that my registration had expired. Clearly, the registration and licence plates expired in December. Something was wrong. I had no idea what it was and I couldn't call Raleigh from the middle of the desert. He wrote a ticket for speeding.

I was really upset. I'd been burning through money faster than anticipated. Fuel costs were up and fuel economy down. Riding for days at elevation is rough on fuel mileage. The cost of the ticket would have covered fuel costs for over 1,500 miles. OUCH!

To say that I was annoyed or even a bit bummed out would be a gross understatement. I was upset. I spent more money today than I had in a few days. A pointless expenditure.

It was dark when I rode into Vernal. Vernal was the first thing I'd seen in awhile. I hadn't passed places to camp and figured someone in Vernal could give me the lowdown on the possibilities for places to pitch a tent. Finding a bar in Utah is an exercise in detective-work. There aren't any neon signs. The bars seem to be hidden.

Then I saw the Dinosaur Haus and quickly did a 180. I love flicking that big 'ole bike around when there's an audience. It's fun!

I walked in to ask for a place to camp. Then I did another 180. What the heck, I decided to pull an Alaska move and ask to camp out back. I hadn't been able to see much when I rode in, but knew that the only thing back there was a gravel lot, but I asked anyway. Perhaps it was because I looked upset, perhaps it was my scorched face or blistered nose, perhaps it was the disheveled look that only comes from wearing the same clothes for four days while riding over 1,200 miles in the hot sun.

Whatever the reason, Greg gave me the go-ahead to set up my tent. I came back inside around nine, after setting up and changing shirts. Nalgene bottle water and finger styling could only do so much for my wind-blown hair. Oh well. I sat down and ordered a beer and burger. Both were delicious.

Turns out, there is a river that runs through town and in the back of the bar was a rafting company. A couple of guys who were into all the outdoor activities that Utah has to offer, came over and looked at my map to offer riding routes. I got some great recommendations and took notes.

The picture below is from where I camped and of the front of the bar. Notice the absence of neon. Also, the sign is quite small vis-a-vi other signs for establishments that don't sell spirits.

The restaurant closed at 10. I was shocked. I'd hoped to sit there and hang out and have another couple of pints. Oh well. At least I had time to finish my food.

Most of the people had left, then Greg offered to move the party back to his place. He lives on premise. Nice!

We ended up staying up and swapping stories for the next six hours. But not before I got to ride his Kawasaki dirt bike down the road and around a few dirt piles and sandy lots.

I've met lots of great people on my trip, but tonight was especially unusual. Greg and I are the same age. I thought back to Whitehorse on August 1st when I met Aaron from Seattle. He and I are also the same age. On that night, I'd ridden 800 miles that day and was really upset by Canadian Petrol Prices. Tonight, I was really bummed about the ticket. It was the first time in months that I'd had anything to be upset about.

Greg is a skier. Period. He skis all over the world and always has a camera ready to capture the experience. To fund his world travels, he works in the oil fields. I'd met oil industry workers in Alaska and heard many stories of people working like fiends for six months, and then traveling for six. Most of the people I'd met were engineers, heavy equipment operators, welders, pipe fitters, etc. I'd never hung out with a roughneck. That night, I learned all about it. The work is unimaginably hard and relentless. Above, the pile of gloves on the floor is from three days of work.

Before roughnecking, Greg had worked on a Salmon boat. I'd met several Salmon fisherman. Matt from the ferry. Brandon from the Spring Tavern in Clallam Bay near the Makah Nation. Richard from Chicken. And several others which whom the conversations were less memorable. He said that fishing was harder, but the oil fields were more dangerous.

His commitment to skiing requires six months of committing to work hard. Harder than I've ever worked. I couldn't do it. All day, day after day, of working until you hurt, and then working another six hours. There is no tolerance for mistakes. People who make mistakes are often injured or killed, but usually, just driven away by co-workers who won't tolerate mistakes. It's a rough way to make a living.

I asked about women working in the oil fields. Sure they do and there's no difference in the difficulty of work. One can make so much money by working in the oil fields. I thought back to Jilaena in Wyoming. The town couldn't be more than a couple hundred miles from Vernal. She has such a cool job that working in the oil fields would seem especially awful. But her job didn't pay such that saving for traveling the world would happen anytime soon. She had talked as passionately about traveling as Greg was talking about skiing. I wondered if she would ever work in in the oil fields to fund her excursions abound the globe.

I thought about Juniper from Alaska. She's somewhere in South America right now after having lived in Alaska all summer. There are a lot of jobs in remote western places and especially in Alaska, that pay enough to only work for half the year and then winter elsewhere.

Finally, around four, I went back to my tent to get some sleep. Greg had an interview the next afternoon to be a mud-engineer. If all went well, his days as a roughneck may be over.

Good luck buddy!

On the road less than 20 miles the next morning, near the Elk Hunting capital of the country, I got to meet one of Utah's finest. Another ticket. This is awful!

Through Utah and into Colorado. As the sun was going down, I rode into Fort Collins.

Next: 47 - Fort Collins, Shooter Jennings, Nighttime in the Rockies & The Budweiser "Cabin"

45 - Early Morning Riding in Idaho, The Sawtooth Mountains & Idaho City

2007-09-10T21:46:00.000-04:00

Last night was rough. The view from my tent when I awoke was so dramatic that I momentarily forgot about my burnt and burning face. The picture taken last night before I went to sleep doesn't reflect the severity of sun & wind burn across my cheeks and nose. Last night, I woke up from the pain. Later, intense and lingering pain caused by contact between the sleeping bag zipper and my blistering nose made me sit up abruptly, stick my head outside and pour water on my nose. Thankfully, the water was ambient temperature and cool, at fewer than fifty degrees.

Applying zinc-oxide without fail would seem reasonable. However, without running water, my hands were always filthy and there was no way to de-oil my fingers after applying sunscreen.

As a result, my face was scorched below my glasses line.

It was a beautiful morning to ride, and the cold wind against my face felt especially comforting. It was nice at 40 mph and slower, but burning cold at regular speeds.

When I saw the gravel road, I figured I'd ride for awhile and wait for it to warm up before getting back on the state road.

The hour I spent riding about 30 miles, was positively exhilarating. The scenery stunning, the road conditions varied and technical and the view constantly changing.

The pictures above are among my most favorite.

Immediately below, there is a good depiction of what it's like to ride at elevation on dirt roads.

By the time I reached pavement, the temperature had climbed to the mid fifties. Perfect!

Awhile later, I rolled into Idaho City. A former mining boom town, it had a lot of Western lore to offer. By that time, it was in the 70's and I stuck my jacket under a bungee cord.

Hours later, in Stanley Idaho, I stopped for gas, a t-shirt and a hearty lunch and frothy pint.

I'd just come out of the mountains and had an entirely different kind of scenery from Stanley to Sun Valley.

The restaurant was great. Service was terrible. Thankfully, it didn't affect me at all. I was tired and someone had left a newspaper. I'd brought in my water bottles and one was still half full, so waiting for the waitress was fine with me.

The food was great, and after waiting for nearly 45 minutes, I devoured it. The first meal of the day was at 3:00 and after seven hours of riding.

Back on the Sawtooth Byway. I was going to ride another couple hundred miles.

The guy that helped me replace my tent pole at Beaver Sports in Fairbanks Alaska had told me about these inline skate-like things that hard-core skiers use to train in the off-season. He said that no one used them for fun, because they weren't.

Here in Sun Valley, so far from Alaska, I got to see them in action. This guy was cruising down the road outside near Sun Valley.

Later, I came across a Fire City. Over 1,700 fire fighters had come to fight the Castle Rock fire of 2007. The city was down to about 300 when I arrived and would soon be empty, as the fire was out. The fire had become the number one priority fire in the nation as the 50,000 acre blaze threatened Ketchum & Sun Valley Idaho. It took nearly three weeks to contain the fire at a cost of over $15 million.

A cool reminder of the terrible blaze was all of the "thank-you firefighters" signs scattered along the roadway, posted by grateful residents. The fire was contained when I arrived and little smoke lingered in the air.

Joel, from the Rogue Brewery, had spent his summer doing just that. And, come next spring, he'll spend the next twenty years in places like this. Pretty interesting. Months earlier, I'd rolled through a Montana town that was hosting firefighters working to extinguish the blaze around Glacier National Park. The fire fighter camp was off the road and all I saw were hand-made signs that indicated the way. Here, I rode all around the camp and checked out all the support equipment. Huge portable toilet facilities, several food vendors, t-shirts to commemorate the event, all could be found in the Fire City.

The pictures came from the web (www.inciweb.org)

A couple hours later, I stopped to use wi-fi and make phone calls. Then I rode another two hours before looking for a place to sleep.

Back on the road.

After a couple of hours, I was getting sore. My nose and face had endured about all they could. Zinc-oxide helps, but 11 hours of riding at over 60 mph is pretty rough even without the burning sun.

I just wanted to get off the road, but the scenery was so amazing that I didn't want to stop. I didn't even want to pull over and set up camp before the sun set. It was so pretty that I rode through dusk. Also, there hadn't been anything in site for quite sometime that I could have used to pitch my tent for the night. Then I saw signs for Crater of the Moon. I asked a young guy and his wife who were pushing a stroller down the street in a town of two hundred. He told me of a place to camp 30 miles away. I cracked the throttle to make it there as fast as possible. It was nearly dark when I rode into the Park's Campground.

Next: 46 - Craters of the Moon, Vernal Utah & Atomic City

44 - Leaving the Willamette Valley, Another Saturday Night at the Races and Boise Boise is the Best!

2007-09-08T19:38:00.000-04:00

It was cold all morning and I was too stubborn to stop. Riding if hypothermia is a possibility is stupid. While consulting, one of the best guys on my team who led a development team for one of my projects at Winstar Communications told me he was taking a long weekend to ride a motorcycle to WVA. He hadn't ridden in years. He told me of his plans because he knew of my two-wheeled passion. In the fall of 2000, he left DC early one morning with a friend. The last thing his friend heard was nonsensical gibberish coming from the speakers connected to their two-way radio. Then, my friend simply rode off the road at 70 mph and spent then next 10 months in the hospital and physical therapy. I've not seen him since. That experience really convinced me of the dangers of riding when cold. Hypothermia heads to disorientation.

Today wasn't hypothermic cold, just painful cold. I didn't want to stop for fear that I'd make coffee and kill time for way too long. When I stopped here, it was warm, sunny and beautiful.

As I sat on the cliff (above left,) a guy walked up (above right) and we started talking. At 49, he'd had a massive heart attack. He'd come to this spot for the last 25 years and loved it. But after having a near-death experience, he convinced himself to do something he'd always wanted to. Last year, he jumped off the cliff directly behind him.

I love jumping off cliffs. I always have. Tubing on the James River in Virginia, I was usually one of the instigators that initiated climbing up to the cliff and jumping 20-40 feet into the river. Three stories is a fun jump. Four stories is scary, but doable. I've never jumped off anything higher than 40 feet or so.

This was a six or seven story jump. Too high for my scared self. As I sat there and wondered how many people had jumped, and more importantly, how many had wanted to, but chickened out.

Then, up walked Milt.

He admitted that it was scary, but that he did it a second time. What a cool guy!

He offered a joint, and I graciously declined.

See ya Milt.

Yet another mountain pass. Not nearly as high as the 12,000 feet on Beartooth pass in Red Lodge, Montana, but very impressive and fantastic motorcycle-riding roads.

I found wi-fi and discovered that the nearest short-track was only a few hundred miles away. I rode hard all day and got to Madras, Oregon around 7:00. I set up camp during the first race and made my way to the Grandstands before the green flag fell for the follow-up race. It was one of the smallest venues I'd attended and reminded me of the track in Gillette Wyoming. The mountains in the background, the sunset, the smell of rubber and burning gasoline, it's hard to beat it for a race fan.

Today, it took me 350 miles and eleven hours of riding to make it here for the races.

The intoxicating roar of the race cars' engines as I walked toward the track entrance made me excited to see some dirt track action.

Check out the flagman displaying the checkers with the pink sky above, the blue horizon, and the Eastern Oregon landscape in the background.

Around twilight, the announcer began giving the good news to the raffle winners.

The guy sitting near me was so happy to hear that his little girl had won. I walked over and introduced myself told them about living in Winston-Salem, only a few miles from the Richard Childress Racing shop and the RCR museum. I've been there several times and have seen the great display of Dale Earnhardt cars and memorabilia.

He showed me his #3 tattoo on his forearm, so I got his address to send a picture to him that I'd taken at the RCR shop. He was really excited and very friendly.

His little girl was so happy to have won.

Racing is such a family sport.

I went over to see who else had won and a lady was carrying her Dale Jr. life-size cutout to her car. She obliged my request for a photo op.

Then I met Kenny.

Kenny Keefer drives the #6 Purple People Eater. I told him of my trip and all the short tracks I've visited. He told me of his season and compared it to earlier years when he'd been on top of the point standings. Then, he told me to stay where I was and he took off. He came back with an autographed picture of him with his car in Victory Lane. "Here ya go man. Hope your trip keeps going great!" And off he went. Below is a crash. Kenny raced later that night and had mechanical problems. You can see his car is pictured below as he exited the track.

Later that night, I ended up in Victory Lane. I'm really not sure how. To borrow a phrase from [insert the name of your favorite Southern race car driver here] "It's just one of them racin' deals."

So in victory lane, I met Thomas Hunziker from Switzerland. (Pronounced with the accent on the second syllable.)

He'd come in second that night, and was planning on clinching the championship in a couple of weeks. Thomas had been racing in Oregon for a few years. He and his wife were at the track every weekend and that night, he had two cars in victory lane. It was a good night for the Hunziker's

So then he turns to me and says: "How about you come back to the track on Tuesday and I'll let you hot lap my car"

I couldn't believe it. Did he just offer to let me drive his race car? "Seriously?" I replied.

"Sure. You rode a motorcycle to Alaska and back, you can drive a a race car"

Wow

Unfortunately, I couldn't justify hanging out in Oregon for three more days, but it was so cool to have an offer to drive a race car.

Devyn Kilby put her #38 car in the third finishing spot in the Sportsman Series race. She probably 15 or 16 and has been having a great season. Pictured above with her Dad, he was quite proud of her. Later that night, some people invited me to join their party at their RV and I spent a couple of hours hanging out with the guy with the silver hair on the right. It was a fun night at the Madras Speedway.

In the morning, the view from where I'd camped. After sleeping late and drinking coffee (thanks to my neighbors from the night before,) I got back on the bike to ride a few hundred miles. It was a gorgeous day.

A field of onions and a Boise Alehouse. I rode 15 minutes out of town and camped at one of the coolest places to camp.

After 11 hours and 300 miles, I was ready to relax.

Since I got there about an hour before dark, I went for a quick hike and then down to the lake to take photographs. Once it got dark, I made an MRE (thanks Bill) and had a beer and decaf for desert.

It has been a very good day.

Next: 45 - Early Morning Riding in Idaho, The Sawtooth Mountains & Idaho City

43 - Northeast to Oregon: Crater Lake & McKenzie Pass

2007-09-07T17:51:00.000-04:00

My buddy Michael from Seattle insisted that I check out Crater Lake & McKenzie Pass. It didn't suit me to do so on the way south, so I headed back into Oregon for a few days of riding the interior portion of the state.

I left Blue Lake CA at 8:00 am. It was cold. So cold. My first full day without my gear was pretty tough. The riding was beautiful and soon I was able to focus on the gorgeous surroundings. The thought of my lost gear loomed large though. It could rain. It could get colder. Oh well.

I made it to Crater Lake in late afternoon after riding a hundred miles or so of very obscure roads. It was a good day of riding; when it was warm that is. Before camping, I rode the entire loop around the Lake and took a lot of pictures.

Check out these cool geological formations!

Crater Lake is beautiful. The steep walls around the lake are drop off drastically.

Joel, the bartender from the Rogue Brewery in Newport had suggested that I do has he and his girlfriend had done weeks earlier. Take a boat tour of the lake.

Perhaps tomorrow.

The lake is so blue. No camera tricks.

I like the silhouette photo above. It's not shot in Black & White. I learned the technique from Jesse, the photographer intern from Black Hills State in Spearfish SD. I'd met Jesse two months earlier at 5:00 am in the Badlands. It's a cool effect, though not nearly as cool as it could have been with a DSLR camera and a fast lens (f1.8 or f2.0) My max shutter speed is 1/1000, not fast enough for direct-sunlight shots.

After riding for a few hours in the National Park, I made way to the campground and set up camp. With my leftover loaf of bread from the Arcata, CA grocery called Wildberries, my dinner plans were bread and cheese and soup. In the morning, I'd use the leftover bread for breakfast. I'd picked up 1/2 & 1/2 and cream cheese and butter in the camp store and was excited for breakfast!

When I left Linda in Oregon, she sent me on my way with two great things. A can of tuna. Make that freshly caught and home-canned tuna. Before I met Juniper in Girdwood at the Chair 5, the bartender figured I was hungry and gave ma a can of King Salmon. Someone had caught the fish and put it directly in a Mason Jar. It was delicious. With good bread, what would surely be great tuna, good coffee (from Fairbanks) with real cow-juice and butter, breakfast would be GREAT!

Until this stupid blue jay out-smarted me and came in and stole my bread!!!

Having grown accustom to being filthy, one may question my reasoning in regards to drawing the line at bread that's been previously picked over by birds. Question it all you like. I'm not eating something that a bird has pecked at. People germs are fine with me, I've built up quite the immunity. Bird germs are for the birds.

So much for breakfast.

The bird had swooped in after dinner and before coffee. My lighter had quit working and I needed it to light the stove to make coffee. The camper nearby had a nice fire set up near their tent and I walked over to ask for a light.

I said hello and she did the same. It was a girl! In all my nights in a tent, I'd never camped next to a girl camping alone. Two girls set up next to me in Seward and also in Humboldt County, CA. But never just one girl. I felt bad that I'd gone over there and tried to let her know that I wasn't an axe-murder, but just a guy with decaf coffee grounds and no lighter.

She was really nice. Turns out Sarah was on her way to visit friends in Portland and spent the day in Crater Lake on her way up from Northern CA. We talked for about twenty minutes or so and then I left to make coffee (with a pack of matches.)

In the morning, I took another coin-operated shower. It was way too cold to ride, so I had to hang out for a bit. Around 8:30, Sarah walked over as I was packed to leave.

We'd exchanged contact information the night before, so maybe she came so that we could see each other in the daylight. (I could barely see shadows by firelight.)

Turns out, she is really cute. Unfortunately, I'd just covered the front of my face with zinc-oxide and looked like I was preparing for a Kiss Concert and had been caught in the middle of applying costume makeup. Given our conversation the night before about musical tastes, I'm pretty sure she didn't dig the Gene Simmons look.

Oh well. Thanks for the matches Sarah.

These folks had climbed down quite a ways to get to their picnic spot.

Isn't the Lake beautiful?

I left the park and was cruising down this gravel road at 4,000 rpms in 4th (55 mph) when I saw a sign for a mushroom buyer.

After the great conversation with Robert & his wife Lisa in Chicken Alaska, I had to pull over and take a picture. Robert, Lisa and their kids had hunted morel mushrooms all over the West Coast and explained how the fungi make it from forest, to hunter, to buyer, to wholesaler, to chef, to the table. What a fascinating way to make a living. Robert had given up mushrooms and had been commercial fishing and mining for gold for the last few years. He changes profession based on commodity prices. The supply of morels went up, so he moved on when compensation fell. Interesting guy for sure. He rolled his cigarettes with tobacco he carried around in a one gallon Ziploc bag. The tax rate on loose tobacco is nowhere near as high as on rolled tobacco. Coming from the Camel City, I wished he smoked Camels, but given the $7 per-pack price tag, even a Winston-Salem kid couldn't hold it against him.

Another Goldwing loaded down. It was a new 1800 Wing with West Coast licence plates.

A big truck full of hay... right before I passed him.

I had to take a jaunt down the gravel road.

Thanks Michael for the tips on routes to ride while in Oregon. Crater Lake is one of the most spectacular things I've seen so far.

Now that I've left Lighthouse country for the rest of this journey, here's one from the Carolina Coast taken earlier in the trip.

Lighthouses are the best.

Next: 44 - Leaving the Willamette Valley, Another Saturday Night at the Races & Boise

42 - The Southern Oregon Coast, The Giant Redwoods & Humboldt County, and my Thousand Dollar Day

2007-09-06T13:06:00.000-04:00

After leaving Wayne, Linda and John and getting back on the road, I rode along the coast on a beautiful sunny day with nice weather and lots of scenery. Shortly after riding South on the 101, I came across another lighthouse in Oregon. I've now seen lighthouses on both coasts, the Great Lakes, and in Alaska.

Once back on the road, I jumped off the 101 to go even further West on some county roads and came across a neat way to get to Bandon, Oregon; a town that many people had told me was a "must visit" kind of place.

The Oregon coast is so beautiful.

Not the Charleston that I know...

Another amazing lighthouse!

Right along the coast, I saw a couple of cops sitting at a make-shirt weigh station and there weren't any truckers stopped, so I pulled over to ask if they'd weigh my bike. Turns out, they were just there checking log books, but told me of a place with a digital scale just before the CA border. I found it and pulled my bike on the scales to check the weight.

Many bikers had understandably scowled when I told them I was riding a 1,000 pound bike. Most bikes weigh between 500 & 600 pounds, so even loaded down, 1,000 sounds like a bit of a stretch. My bike weighs nearly 800 empty. In this picture, my fuel tank is 1/2 empty. Two of my three water bottles are empty. My food bag (the orange one) is full of freeze dried food, unlike the bulk of the trip during which I had a dozen or so cans of food. Along the Al-Can, I had two cans of fuel strapped to my floorboards.

Clearly, the bike weighed in at over a half-ton for the bulk of the trip. Now, at a few pounds shy of 1,000, it was still close enough for me to be comfortable in referring to the Old Wing as "my 1,000 pound motorcycle."

Here, the scale switched between 950 & 1,000. With me on it, it read 1,100 or 1,150. So, for those who wondered if a motorcycle can really weigh 1,000 - here's your proof.

It's a beast of a bike. Not bad for a guy that barely weighs a buck-sixty-five, and then, only after riding in the rain and eating a trucker's breakfast.

During the entire trip, I'd always planned to avoid CA. Visiting NAPA and riding the mountain road through vineyards had been appealing, but I'd firmly decided against it. So why visit Cali-for-ni-yea now?

Remember Walt from Seiku? At one point, Walt asked me if I was going to CA. I said "no." My reason for skipping the big state was that I didn't want to sit in traffic. My answer didn't suit him, so he replied: "Do you know what you'll see if you end up in California traffic?" "No" "Then you need to go there and see for yourself."

"Why" I asked? He replied: "Hey man, it's California. You've got to go to California."

I liked his answer better than mine, so I decided to ride into Northern California. Sure glad I did.

I spent the night in Humboldt County, on the beach and overlooking the Pacific. Sunset was spectacular and I enjoyed it while enjoying a local brew. After dark, I went back to my camp for dinner. There were about ten tents nearby, but I finished eating before setting off to meet people.

The first people I met were a couple from Arcata. He'd moved about two days ago, and her two weeks ago. Him from Oregon and her from further South in Northern CA. They were so friendly and we compared our recent travels though Oregon. I offered them each a beer and they gave me some food and shared their campfire.

Then I hung out with a group of guys who took a long weekend to camp along the coast. They were psyched to hear about my trip and were complementary about the Old Wing. Not bad for a group of young guys that were into raisin' hell on sportbikes.

While breaking camp, I talked to a guy named Ali who was there with his girlfriend and infant. They were in a bad place. He was a glass-blower who'd been robbed and lost his glass blowing equipment. She had a nice Volvo, but with the windows broken out from the recent robbery, it needed repair. I said goodbye and left $10 on their windshield, the requisite fee for another night of camping on the beach. I'd realized that they were living out of their car and could only camp if they came up with $10. Ali told me to go to Garberville and gave me the name of someone who'd let me camp at their farm. The tip would save me money and so I felt comfortable in giving the guy some money. Just because I'm nearly broke, doesn't mean that I can't share. Too many good things have happened to me on this trip to be stingy.

The folks from the night before had told me to go to Arcata and hang out. It's a cool town and certainly was good to me. All of my clothes were filthy and I didn't want to show up smelly to Garberville, so I set off in Arcata to find a cool place that sold t-shirts. Perhaps a bar, coffeeshop, a restaurant, etc.

The first person I talked to said to go to a grocery store. They had cool t-shirts with a slogan for a dog park. Nice! There were no Large's left. I bought some bread and cheese for breakfast and the girl at the register recommended a coffee shop. No shirts at the coffee shop, but the girl there sent me to a novelty shop around the corner. They had great shirts. However, I was in the market for a cool ten dollar T. Not a $20 shirt. The girl there sent me to Wildwood Music. But not before she told me about Ferndale. Ferndale is a Victorian town. All the buildings are old and very Victorian. Before I left she said: "Go to the cemetery. You've got to go. You've made it this far and you must see it."

The way the trip's been going as of late, when someone tells me somewhere to go, I don't question it. Everything keeps getting better and better and I've not had any bad experiences. Now, it seems that every experience is somehow related to a previous one. There is a big circle-of-life that seems to connect my various experiences regardless of which state I'm in.

Off to the music store. That's where I met Greg. He didn't have any left, but did have a few topics of conversation that he thought we should discuss. After about 45 minutes of interesting conversation, he told me about Blue Lake CA and the Logger Bar. If I needed a place to stay, I should ask for Brenda. She'd get in touch with Dan and Dan knew a place where I could crash on the couch. I thanked Greg, but insisted that I needed to stay about 400 miles away from Arcata, not 40 miles. Oh well. Back on the road, still smelling like, well - like someone who's been riding in California without stopping to change clothes.

Ferndale is really pretty and the cemetery was unique and very interesting. Glad I went.

The trip to Ferndale took me way off the beaten path and I managed to ride for over 100 miles with no direction along tiny roads that certainly weren't on my map. Following the sun, I popped back out on the 101 a couple of hours later.

The atlas and road signs both pointed to the Redwood Park and off I went. The "Avenue of the Giants" is spectacular.

I love snow skiing and live to ski in the trees. Riding through the forest was as close to tree-skiing as anything I can imagine. I was one with the bike and one with the road. Trees came right up to the edge of the road and there was but one line to ride to navigate the giant deciduous trees.

The ride was memorizing. Positively enchanting.

The pictures below give an idea of what it's like to float down the road while riding such an unusual stretch of blacktop.

The view from the top...

Another deer in the road. I'd rather watch for Moose, Elk, Caribou, or Bear than for deer.

Check out this bridge! Keeping the bike steady on a 20 inch wide path isn't that hard, but it's mentally challenging. Like walking a plank that's been raised to many feet above ground level. It's easy to do, except when the stakes are raised. Hitting the side of the planks would have been unpleasant for sure.

I got off the Avenue of the Giants to follow a little road that I'd first thought to be a driveway. What a great ride! I rode for a couple of hours and it was the most demanding, challenging, and exciting riding of the trip. Every corner was blind. Two cars had to stop to pass each other. The road was never more than a lane-and-a-half wide. The road surface was like sandpaper and irregularities were the norm. It was intense. After an hour and a half, I was physically tired and mentally drained. I was ready to be back on regular roads.

Finally, I arrived in Garberville and stopped for fuel before going to find Ali's friend.

My bag was gone! The yellow bag that Bill from Fairbanks had given me contained all of my riding gear. It was gone!

I fueled up and went to re-ride the road that I'd been so eager to leave only a few minutes earlier. As I retraced my route, I realized that where ever the bag came off, there were few places on the road where it would be retrievable. The entire road ran along a cliff. Steep cliffs that would be hard to traverse, but even harder to spot something lost. Even if the lost item were in a bright yellow bag. After four hours of searching, I had to admit that my stuff was gone.

My Arai flat-black helmet. New and expensive.

My Leather Vest with Patches from the Evel Knievel days in Butte Montana. The only thing I'd bought for myself on this trip.

My armored pants. They are waterproof.

My postcards. Dozens of postcards from places along the way.

The gift for my good friends Allison. She was keeping my dog while I traveled and I'd spent hours and hours finding the right gift. Now it was gone.

Patagonia Layers - ten year's worth of fleeces. My fleece vest. My fleece pants. My fleece pullover. All gone.

This SUCKS!

I was two thousand miles from home and was no longer prepared to ride in the rain or in the cold.

I thought I might be sick.

I was sick on the inside.

I did the math on the value of my stuff. Over $1,200. Most of it was stuff that I'd only had a few months. Stuff that should have lasted a lifetime.

There was a bar in town and I went there to talk to people. The girl there told me about a bike rally 100 miles away. Live music, lots of camping and fun. I was too pissed off to hang out with bikers. Bikers with gear. Bikers who weren't cold because their stuff was gone.

It was getting dark. Dusk had almost left the California Coast. I really needed to have a good night. Alone and in a tent on a night like this sounded like hell.

I broke my rule about riding in the dark and got on the 101 and rode North. It was cold. My head was cold; now was the time for the full face helmet. My legs were cold. Wranglers are only good down to about sixty degrees.

I rode for nearly two hours and was shivering uncontrollably. Ahead was Blue Lake - I finally stopped to ask how about the Logger Bar. It was too cold to find it without asking for directions.

When I got off my bike, I looked up and saw a huge guy standing there and looking at me like he was looking at something he didn't see everyday. My old Wing was loaded down, I was moving like a rickety old man. When I got off my bike I was shaking from the cold. Damn that guy is huge! I spent my day among the Giant Trees. I wondered if everyone in Blue Lake is seven feet tall like this guy.

"Can I help you?"

For the first time on my trip, I was at a loss for words. I'd reached into my back pocket for my little notebook and was fumbling through it, looking for my notes from the conversation with Greg. I stammered "I.... I met Greg... I'm looking for..." ...

...man, I've had a bad day. I'm back from Alaska after riding from North Carolina. It's been a bad day. Greg said...."

He interjected: "hey man... clam down. Everything's cool. Just calm down."

I tried my best. I cocked my neck back to look up and look him in the eye. "I met Greg at the music store and he told me I could crash here, but I needed to come to this bar and find a lady who'd call this guy who'd show me some house.

I looked down and resumed fumbling through my notebook.

He said: "Greg told you to find Brenda. Brenda would call Dan, Dan would take you to the Farmhouse."

I looked up...stunned.

He continued: "This is Dan" As he pointed to a guy who'd just walked out.

Wow -

We introduced ourselves. Peter dropped everything to hang out with me. To introduce me to people. To calm me down and help me forget about having lost my gear.

Peter is about my age, maybe a few years older. Turns out, he's not seven feet, but "only" 6'10.

He had a lot of friends out that night and certainly didn't need to help out a traveler in distress, but he instantly saw that I was in a bad place and needed help. After fifteen minutes talking with him, I felt great. Almost like my pre-loss self.

After making the rounds inside, a group of guys came out to check out the Goldwing. One guy asked to sit on it.

"Sure"

He got on, but I kept my hands on the bike. "I've got it he said" The biked was precariously balanced on a downward-sloping porting of the road. "I don't got it - I don't got it" he said shakily. I grabbed the bike and he got off. He was amazed at how heavy it was. "How do you do it" he asked?

"At over 20 mph, it's nothing. At slow speeds and while parked, well... sometimes it's scary."

(Really scary without the proper protection and riding gear, I thought)

Peter got on. I held the bike. "I've got it" He quietly said.

Oh yeah, he's tall, I thought. Holding up a motorcycle with long legs is easy. I thought back to the guy I met with Aaron & Kevin in Whitehorse. The guy from CA who was riding a Wing with his wife. He'd ridden all the tough roads in Alaska and was on his way back. I'd asked him about his riding style, because, with his height, riding a motorcycle was easy. He understood my question and described his style. It was just like mine. If the bike is moving, feet go on the pegs. He had really made me feel comfortable about my then upcoming ride over The Top of the World Highway.

After a beer with the guys, Peter got his car so I could follow him the few hundred yards to the place where I was going to spend the night.

The guys at the house were all nice and fine with me staying there. Turns out, Dan has a cat that is quite the showman.

My buddy Paul from Flyball in NC has a Jack Russell Terrier that would play-fight. The dog sounds like half-starved Junkyard Dog who is facing someone trying to take away a plate full of food. He snarls and growls and snaps his teeth. All on command and all for fun.

Dan's cat does the same thing. Dan and his cat put on quite a show for me. It was hilarious! After he went to bed, I went to my bike and got my camera so I could take a picture of the cat. I like cool cats.

The Farmhouse in the morning.

It was cold at 8:00 am when I left Blue Lake. The ride was beautiful, though I was preoccupied with the thought of riding 10,000 more miles without a full helmet or riding pants.

As you can see, the roads are challenging and technical. A helmet and armored pants would have been nice.

Nice and warm.

My night-time pictures never turn out great, so I snagged this picture of Peter from MySpace.

Peace bro, and thanks for the super kind hospitality.

Next: 43 - Northeast to Oregon & Crater Lake

41 - Rainy morning turned epic

2007-09-04T11:21:00.000-04:00

For a traveling biker, one may assume that rain makes for a rather unpleasant day. Not necessarily. This morning was fabulous. The rain stopped for just long enough for me to break camp and don my riding gear. My camping spot looked far less glamorous in daylight, than it did in darkness. Perhaps it was the construction crew that had showed up to resume excavating. Perhaps it was the run-down trailer rotting across the road. Perhaps it was the soggy surroundings that no longer offered a comfortable night's sleep. Whatever the cause, I was ready to be on the road. Waterproof and warm from head to toe, I hopped on the bike and rolled southbound on down the 101.

I could tell that the scenery was spectacular. I could feel it and smell it, but couldn't see it. That was disappointing.

A couple of bush-league bikers were riding as if rain were made of oil, not water. It's not as if the rain had just begun. After the overnight soaker, any slick stuff on the roadway had long since been washed away. The roads were great! I passed them with an attitude. Not smart riding. Lesson learned.

Round the bend and there was an especially gorgeous lighthouse. I've seen so many and love them all, but this one was particularly nice. Around the point, there was a break in the fog. Visibility elsewhere was nil, but the point around the lighthouse was pretty clear. Probably the reason for the site selection for the lighthouse. I stopped to take this picture, but didn't stay long as I didn't want to have to re-pass those "poor excuse for a biker" bikers.

Not to rant, but the road isn't the place to practice riding. While in college, on rainy weekends, I'd go to the University of Virginia Cavaliers Basketball Arena and practice riding my Honda Hawk in the parking lot. Rain is a part of life and riding in it shouldn't be a white-knuckled experience. Even on this trip, when the roads get wet, I constantly brake hard to see how much the bike can take before breaking loose. It's better to find out in a controlled environment, than when trying to avoid a Mack Truck. Have confidence in your ability to ride your machine, or stay home and practice until you do. These guys were statistics in the making.

Because of the rain, I don't have pictures of the road. It was amazing. The riding conditions were top notch, less the rain of course.

Starting the riding day and just after dawn has some sort of weird psychological affect on me. On normal days, I can ride from 8:30 or 9:00 to noon or even two without getting hungry. When I start riding before 7:00, by 9:00, I can't think of anything but eating. Since thinking about food, or anything other than riding, is really dumb, I looked for a place to eat.

A road sign alerted me to a couple of towns ahead. While looking for a diner, I saw something even better. Something I'd not seen since Alaska. A laundromat with showers!

Perfect! I could shower and do laundry (both were long overdue) and, if I was really lucky, get on the Internet and unpack my gear and cook breakfast. I think I said "Jackpot" aloud as I pulled into the parking lot. Jackpot indeed, though I had no idea what I was in for.

The place was very nice. I thought that I might get lucky and outwait the rain while relaxing in this place. It was one of the nicest places I'd been to, and certainly the cheapest. The only shower / laundry place I've ever seen that was nicer, was in Girdwood. Girdwood is a central place for travelers. Also, a lot of people there live in remote areas without running water so there is a huge demand for showers. Most places I'd been to were relatively clean, but not nice. Customers wouldn't pay more for "nice," so bright lights, nicely painted and decorated walls, and a generally cheery atmosphere were atypical of the shower places I'd been to.

In Girdwood, there were several showers, but two were extra nice and extra expensive. They came with a seating area, complementary sundries, and a twelve minute shower. All for $8 I believe. Regular showers, which were also very nice, were $6. Six bucks was the most expensive showers I'd seen. $2 in Seward, AK, though I decided I'd rather be dirty than to shower there. Nasty!

$3 in Ft. Nelson in Canada - Three loonies is more convenient than a dozen quarters. I wish our Sacajawea dollars had caught on here in the states.

The owner, Linda, introduced herself and we talked for a bit. She seemed about as laid back as one can be. Sure I could set up my stove out back and cook breakfast under the awning. Sure I could get on the Internet and hang out. Sure...

She knew that the rain wasn't ending anytime soon and when she heard that I was going to ride the coast on a rainy day, she said: "It's a beautiful ride, you don't want to do it in the rain. It's going to be beautiful tomorrow so why don't you stay here and hang out with us and then ride the coast in the morning?"

It sounded like a better idea than any that I'd come up with. "Ok - Sounds like fun - thanks"

It reminded me of the girl in Girdwood who overheard that my intention was to finish my meal and leave. So she turned to me and said, "You can't leave today, tonight is the biggest party we've had in awhile. You need to stay in town and party with us!" I never saw here again after that, but I had so much fun in Girdwood. I met Juniper, the coolest girl in town. I met Andy, the traveler who worked the worst jobs imaginable, yet always had a smile. Lots of neat people in Girdwood. Girdwood & Talkeetna are awesome. If in Alaska, check them out.

About that time, in walk Wayne. Wayne looked like a super cool guy, and that was before I'd seen his car.

"Might that be a Studebaker," you ask?

Indeed. A 1952. All original. Nicely done. It's beautiful and drives like a dream. Also, it's Wayne's only wheels.

Having a '52 Studebaker is cool, having one for your daily-driver is just fantastic. Once again, it seems as if I wasn't meeting regular people, but rather extraordinary people.

After a wonderful eight-minute hot shower and a change of clothes, Linda brought me some black coffee and delicious baked goods. Life is good. Unfortunately, some folks probably thought I was a bit strange as I was probably walking around with an unexplainable silly grin. Coffee, food, shower, clean clothes, cool people... and all this before noon.

Wayne and I hit it off right away. He's a retired telecommunications guy who was a Nortel guru before retiring. I spent my time with the telephone company as a specialist who used Nortel products to help customers better run their businesses. Guys like Wayne would step in and save the day when something went wrong. He'd been all over the place working on some of the coolest projects. When I consulted, I was fortunate enough to meet a couple of people who'd been all over the globe as technical experts. I hadn't had "telecom conversations" in awhile and so we had a lot to talk about. But then, the shop talk got old, and we realized we had a ton of other stuff in common. Next thing I know, Wayne and I are cruising around town in the Studebaker and he took me to the local bar to introduce me to folks and to buy me lunch. Thanks Wayne!

When we got back to the laundromat, I got to meet Linda's boyfriend John. What a character! After meeting Linda and then Wayne, I wasn't surprised. Everyone was so generous. John & Linda have an RV and since they weren't traveling, it was empty and they insisted that I stay in it. Also, Linda promised to make a fantastic dinner that night. So Wayne and I had the day to do whatever. Turns out, John also had an interesting story. He grew up on the reservation. Had been a bounty hunter. Had owned property all over town. Drove a really cool Lincoln. Could build or fix just about anything. Business was booming and so he had work to do.

Fascinating.

After cruising around, Wayne and I went to his place so he could show me some cool stuff. How about a butt-set from a long time ago? I got a butt-set while working for GTE and I usually hang it somewhere in my house as some sort of weird art. I've never seen one with a rotary dial before. I got mine as a gift, as I didn't need it to to my job. It's one of my favorite things.

Something else Wayne and I have in common, he also decorates his place with unconventional furnishings.

Currencies from many countries he's traveled to adorn the walls. Martha Stewart would not think that's nice. That's why I like it!

We got back to Linda & John's and I pulled my bike around and unpacked. Nice accommodations!

So when I got back to Linda & John's, they gave me the tour of the place and then John invited me to see some of his firearms. What generous people!

Here I was, a total stranger, and he invites me in to see antiques that are quite rare and, accordingly so, quite expensive. It seemed so amazing that someone would just invite me an and show me their collection. Sure, Bill in Fairbanks had done so, but I came with a recommendation from a close friend of his.

Deadwood South Dakota was really good to me. That's where I met Jerry Lee. It's a cool town with a lot of history and I was fascinated. It's a town that's all about Wild Bill Hickock. Here I am holding a Wild Bill Hickock gun. It's sterling silver and inlayed with 24 karat gold. The engraving can only be described as detail beyond description. It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and a beautiful piece of history.

Here is the Wild Bill Hickock gun, alongside an original Colt Peacemaker.

A friend and neighbor of John & Linda's stopped by. Keith also has a collection. A rare, unusual, and old collection of marbles. I didn't even know people collected marbles. But this was no ordinary collection. Keith is known far and wide as having an extensive collection of marbles from the 30's & 40's. After a few jokes about collecting marbles, he invited me over to his place to check them out. But first, his collection of toys. He's got the shineyest and sparkliest Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic that I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot a bikes. His fifth-wheel RV is a Toy-Hauler with a 14 foot garage in the back. The boat is similar to Bill's in Fairbanks. A small-block Chevy powered Jet-Boat. I was pretty impressed. And that was before seeing the marbles. One piece in his collection is worth over $14,000. A fourteen thousand dollar marble! Who knew?

And yet again, he's invited a complete stranger into his home to see them. People heard about my trip and some of the cool things I've been fortunate enough to see and do, and then offered to share with me a slice of their lives. A slice of something unusual.

Keith had a Sylvester the Cat glass, and humored me when I asked for him to photograph me holding it.

He has several Mason Jars full of marbles, and here are the contents of one of them.

Many of them are so intricate and detailed that one could stare at it for awhile and continue to see previously unobserved details. Wow. Eventually, I went back to hang out with Wayne and John and Linda. Linda said dinner was ready and I sat down to eat the best fried Chicken I've ever had. I'm from the South and love fried Chicken. Love it. Linda's is the best. Ever. Wow! After dinner, beer, conversation, stories, and laughter, I went to the RV to sit on a couch, play on the Internet, and get a good night's sleep.

In the morning, John & I left early to cruise into town for coffee at the "place." John knew everyone and it was a regular crowd. What a time! After seeing the town in the hotrod Lincoln, John and I went back and Linda had breakfast for us. I'm living the good life for sure! After breakfast, Wayne took me sightseeing in the Studebaker. We stopped by to visit a friend of his and I got to see the wood fort. This guy splits wood for fun. Growing up, my Dad always enjoyed cutting firewood and split wood for exercise and for fun. However, he didn't enjoy stacking it. That was my job. I've certainly stacked a heck of a lot more wood in my life than is seen here, but it never occurred to me to turn it into a retreat. The maze leads back to a lounge area. A man cave if you will. An outdoor living room of sorts.

Wayne took me to the Oregon Sand Dunes and we cruised around the State Park. The similarities between the terrain on that portion of Oregon coast and on the Outer Banks of North Carolina are striking.

A few guys were crabbing from the dock so we stopped to chat for a bit. One guy had no luck. Another had been pulling them in all morning. The two men were twenty feet apart.

We went back and said goodbyes. About 24 hours after I'd arrived, I was back on the road and enjoying the sunny ride along the Pacific Coast.

Thanks to much to Linda, John & Wayne for everything.

Thanks.

Next: 42 - Southern Oregon Coast, The Giant Redwoods & my Thousand Dollar Day

40 - The Makah Indian Nation, Manzanita & The Rogue Brewery

2007-09-02T17:49:00.000-04:00

Before we walked into the bar, Walt introduced himself. The place was pretty empty, but he introduced me and we started swapping stories. He rode the Al-Can many years ago, "back when it was all gravel." Sure, it must have been a bit tougher then, but the several hundred miles of gravel I rode while in The Yukon and Alaska, they were rarely more technical than riding the frost-heaved pavement. Fine - it would have been cooler had I made this trip in the 70's. Partly because the road wasn't paved, and partly because I would have been riding the Al-Can at age five.

Walt wanted to talk bikes. He couldn't get over the 20,000 miles and the many gravel-miles on the Goldwing.

We stood there talking for awhile. He and friends were fishing on his buddy's 50 foot mega-boat. His buddy had a ziplock bad full of salmon and so he gave it to me to snack on. Delicious.

Walt left and I sat down to finish my beer and chat with whoever walked up. Before long, a guy walked up and ordered three beers. He had been sitting in the corner with his buddy. He gave one to me and said "I heard about your trip man. I can't ride like that, but I can buy a beer for the guy who did." And then he walked away. It seemed really weird. Nice, but not ordinary.

Later that night, there were about 30 people in the bar and I knew more than half of them. Someone asked the bartender if she had her card. She did. The bartender looked at me and said I was the only person in the place that wasn't a card-carrying member of the Indian nation. Interesting. That means Larry, the blue-eyed Californian, and the fair-skinned bartender were both of Native American heritage. Interesting.

So that night I met:

Brandon, the cocky 23 year old who was as friendly as he was cocky. He fished on a Salmon boat and was they guy in town that all the cool kids wanted to hang out with. I introduced myself, just because. I didn't have high hopes about the meeting. Boy was I wrong. He was so friendly and fascinated about my trip. He introduced me to everyone else and bought a beer for me.

Larry: About my size, but a lot stronger. He's been fishing since before he was a teenager. He was mid-thirties and was known up and down the coast as a world-class fisherman. He had captained a boat a few years earlier in CA that was built in 1944. It was solid wood, was 90x35, and had a cargo capacity of 1,000 tons. That's two million pounds. He once had over 600,000 pounds of fish from one catch.

Joe: Mid 50's maybe? Definitely respected among the Makah people and one of the best boat-builders in the region. Joes' son is a fisherman and has been clearing $10,000 a week for the last couple of months. These guys weren't everyday fisherman. I thought back to Matt, who I met on the ferry. He told me how incomes were quite varied for fishermen. Some are good, some are not. Some are lucky and good. They make a lot of money. Matt had worked for one of the best. Joe's son was quickly making a name for himself. He was good.

I was there listening as Joe and Larry finally closed a deal that had been in the works for awhile. Joe would build a boat for Larry and Larry would go to sea while Joe enjoyed retirement. Larry would make each of them a million dollars. There wasn't anyone there who doubted either man's ability. It was a matter of terms. Clearly, I was witnessing two masters of their respective crafts.

Would I ever meet and hang out with ordinary people? Not so far.

In the morning, I left around 6:30 and began riding the coast. First to Seiku (pronounced "C-Q") and then the Makah reservation. I rode a few miles of gravel to the most Northwest point in the Lower 48. It was cold, cloudy and foggy. Fantastic!

I hadn't been on many reservations. I'd ridden around several, but only through a couple. The land is nice and beautiful, but the atmosphere is dilapidated and dirty. There is junk lying around everywhere and few houses are in any condition but decrepit. It's not like poor areas in Appalachia where people don't seem to happy about the conditions. Here, I'd met people who clearly could afford different living conditions, but chose not to. I recognized a brand new truck from the bar the night before. I knew they guy made a great living, but the truck was parked in front of a shack with several old cars and appliances in the yard. Certainly I've been exposed to many different cultures on this trip. So much in only two countries.

While stopping to take this picture, I dumped my bike in the middle of the road. I had locked the handle bars to make a tight u-turn, and then turned my head to plan my next move, rather than focusing on completing the current maneuver. Mistake. A guy came around the corner and stopped. A HUGE Indian with a pony tail down past his belt. He was in his 50's and his truck was full of people. An old man with few teeth rolled down the passanger window to get a better look.

The big guy walked toward me and never said a word. He grabbed the bike and picked it up before I could even throw my weight into it. I steadied the bike and put the kickstand down and turned to thank him. He was climbing back into his truck. Wow! Surreal for a Sunday morning before breakfast.

This little kid is really cool. He was scaling the fish. I'd already talked to the grown-ups standing around him. I asked if he knew how to clean one. "I know how." He replied. "Looks to me like all you're doing is scaling the fish" I replied. He paused, grabbed the knife his uncle had just laid down and tore into a Silver Salmon. "Showoff" his uncle replied. "Good Work" I chimed in. Some women nearby started laughing. "Troublemaker" they giggled as I said goodbye and walked up the plank toward my bike. Ten minute conversations have really kept me inspired to keep riding.

I didn't so much enjoy Tok, Alaska and neither did I enjoy Tokeland, OR. It was run down and the speed limits are 15 mph. That's too slow for a 1,000 pound Goldwing.

I did have to ride 20 miles out of my way to check it out though.

There was a casino. Five minutes and $20. Just enough time to drink a glass of water and to turn twenty into thirty.

Nice. Looks like I paid for camping tonight.

During the entire trip, I avoided casinos, though there were many just tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I'm not sure why I stopped, but I was glad I did. There was a guy on a Harley who stopped to check out my bike. He didn't want to talk, but he did start taking pictures with his camera phone.

The bad thing about the dozens of State Parks along the Oregon Coast is how expensive they are. Their pricing scheme isn't suited to travellers, but rather people who vacation in the parks once or twice a year.

$25 to put up a tent? No thanks.

The good thing is that they rent cool little huts which must be really nice for people who aren't up for tent camping.

Oregon is so cool.

I'd now ridden the Lewis & Clark trail in about a dozen states. Where I grew up in Charlottesville, VA is only a couple of miles from the George Rogers Clark Birthplace. Thomas Jefferson (who commissioned the expedition while the second president of the United States) has a museum dedicated to the explorers and their findings in his home. Monticello, in Charlottesville, VA is a must-see for any history buff traveling through Virginia.

I reached Ft. Clatsop just after six and the visitors center was closed, so I just walked around and checked out the plaques. After leaving, I continued on down the Oregon coast. I rode from before 7:00 am, to after 7:00 pm before stopping in Manzanita to grab a bite and to watch the last few laps of the NASCAR race, held in California. Before finding a resteraunt, I rode through the very cool little beach town, and headed toward the water.

Bam - No warning. My bike was on the ground. Fortunately, I had a huge audience. A guy walked over and we picked it right up. What an idiot! (Me, not the Good Samaritan.)

I was at the beach and didn't even think to look for sand. I'd put my front wheel in a pile about six inches deep while making the turn. Oh well. At least I'm not shy or easily embarrassed.

Then it hit me. That's twice in one day! Now I'm embarrassed.

I strolled into the San Dune and asked the bartender to turn on the race. Turns out, he is super cool and we ended up talking for awhile.

It's Labor Day weekend and there is nowhere to camp. No where in all of Oregon. I know that because an off-duty Park Ranger was in the bar and told me so.

It seems that everyone comes to the beach for the holiday weekend. Everyone except the family that lives behind the restaurant. Next thing I know, I'm following a bartender outside and around back. There is nice vacation home with a nice backyard. "Be gone before the sun comes up" he said.

Nice - I set up camp, tried my best to look presentable, and went back inside. The bike was parked for the night and I was ready to hang out in Manzanita.

Suddenly my buddy Lee was gone! I'd just turned around for a half hour to talk to people and he took off!

There is a plaque on the wall of the San Dune commemorating Lee's dog Zeba. RIP

Before the end of the night, I'd met some guys who were having a party and invited me to come along, but alas, my camp was already in place. Once I've set up camp and parked my bike, I don't leave. Ever. Bad karma. Plus, it was dark. I don't ride in the dark.

The good thing about breaking camp before dawn is that the scenery at dawn is spectacular.

I love Tillamook Cheddar. Now I know where it comes from.

I hopped off the 101 to follow signs along county roads to a Spit. I still don't know what a Spit is, but I do know that the Homer Spit is really cool. So I figured I'd check out a Spit in Oregon. Nothing like gravel before breakfast. The ride across the spit was great with the water on both sides and the sun at my back.

I rode the 101 for awhile, before heading inland to go to Salem and Corvallis. I stopped in the morning along the coast to cook salmon and drink coffee, but by late afternoon, I was hungry again and stopped in Corvallis at I bar I'd visited a decade earlier with my friend Don. I haven't seen Don in years, but the place was the same. Great food and interesting people. Check out the surfer. Oddly enough, his bike was also manufactured in 1986. The uncanny coincidences are never few, nor far between.

I left and headed toward the Coast and made Newport about 6:30. Two hours before dark. I stopped into the brewery for a few beers. A few three ounce beers. They were all delicious!

When I walked upstairs and found a spot at the bar, I looked around the place. It was packed. Behind me was a table of three. All three had tattoos from their ears to their ankles. There were two guys and a girl. The girl walked up to the bar and stood next to me and I noticed that the only portion visible on her body that wasn't covered with tattoos, was her left forearm. There, she had but one tattoo. A hummingbird.

She returned to her table and sat down. I grabbed my camera and found a picture I'd taken on Bainbridge Island and then walked over to the table.

"Hello. That's a hummingbird on you arm isn't it.? She nodded. "I've been riding a 21 year-old motorcycle around the continent for the last four months. I ride around and take pictures. For a month, I rode around The Yukon and Alaska and saw many wonderful and beautiful things. When I got back to the Lower 48, I took a picture of the the first beautiful thing that I saw."

I then handed her my camera.

She stared for awhile and then passed the camera around. She never said anything and looked as if she might cry. The guys said, "wow.....wow......thanks."

I walked back and sat down. Later as they got up to leave, one of the guys came over. "Thanks so much. Thanks. That's.... Thanks." ...and they left.

I don't know what the picture meant to her, but I do know that it meant a lot. Never before had I felt compelled to share a picture with someone and certainly never without introducing myself and having conversation.

It reminded me so much of Elsa and when she approached me in Chicken. This time, I got to do something nice.

The view from the tasting room at the Rogue Brewery.

The bartender had just arrived in town for the annual surfing contest. He'd spent his summer fighting forest fires.

"I wanted to know if I'd like it" he said. "I love it. It's hard work, but it's good work. I'll do my twenty and then retire at 43 and then spend my weekdays catching waves on a long-board."

He told me of a dozen breweries he'd visited while spending his summer backpacking around Northern California and Oregon. I took good notes.

He then told me of a place where I could guerilla camp. I left. No luck.

Back on the road and looking for a place to camp, I decided to resort to an Alaska-style approach. It was dusk and nearly dark. I rolled into a Glass Blowing business. The artist was there making art, though they'd been closed for two hours. I told him my story and asked him if I could put up my tent and he pointed about 25 yards away to a construction site.

Just as I finished setting up my tent, it started to pour. No time to make dinner. I was famished and far from sleepy. While in the Yukon six weeks earlier, I'd bought a pint of Canadian whiskey. I called it my "broken down and spending the night on the side of the road" stash. Fortunately, it was untouched. Since breaking down in the Yukon was no longer a worry, I poured a whiskey and water and then went to sleep.

It was raining when I woke up so I laid there and thought about how miserable it was going to be to break camp in the rain.

Suddenly the rain stopped. I jumped up, packed up, geared up, started the bike up, and waited for it to warm up.

... and it started raining. What perfect timing! On the bike and off I went, down the 101 along the Oregon Coast.

Next: 41 - Rainy Morning Turned Epic

39 - Leaving Tacoma, Bainbridge Island & The Olympic Peninsula

2007-09-01T14:01:00.000-04:00

Tacoma was great; much needed rest and repairs made me feel really good about the upcoming journey across the country. The good news, the new tires and rear suspension worked like a charm. The bike handled like a Corvette (a very old Corvette that had been flogged like a rented mule... but nonetheless... a 'vette.) Please ignore the awful analogy, the bike handled like a 21 year-old Goldwing with new tires and 200 pounds of gear strapped above new shocks.

The bad news, the rear-end gear was about shot. The final-drive mates to a driven-flange. Both have splines that complete the drivetrain. Those splines were about 50% gone. That doesn't mean it has 50% of life left. Hardly. it needed to be replaced and so I got on the internet to see about lining up a replacement. It certainly was something that I could do in a parking lot with about eight hours and a six pack.

Paul told me to go easy on it and that it might get me home. I didn't tell him that I didn't have it in me to take it easy on the bike. Oh well. Either I make it of I don't. At least I made it back from Alaska.

A bit about Paul. Sure he is a retired guy that rides Goldwing. Three of them. Two of which are older than mine. He also lived in Alaska for many years. That's all pretty cool. But, get this, he has owned 14 planes!!! He showed me pictures of planes with wheels, with floats and with skis. Very very cool. I haven't met too many people on this trip that weren't over-the-top interesting.

I said goodbye to Paul and hit the road. Life was great! It was sunny and I had a great view of Mt. Rainer. All was good for about eight minutes. I hadn't even made the main road before my bike went berserk!

The usually-quiet Honda suddenly sounded like a drag bike (a really lame drag bike.) I pulled the super loud Old-Wing off the road to a gas station and saw that a spark plug had blown out of the top of the motor. Sweet! Engine Problems!

Turns out, the threads were intact so no damage to the heads. Perhaps something broke off and rattled around the motor and damaged the valve-train. Perhaps everything was ok. Who knows? Paul would. I called him and he rode down and give me lift to the autoparts store. A new plug and I was back in action.

Here's me holding the damaged plug. Having the riding gear with knee pads really makes it easy to work on the bike in a parking lot. I wore my pants all day in Chicken while working on my bike.

Before Paul arrived, Dave, a guy my age on an Ultra Classic Harley pulled in to see if he could help. His bike is his only set of wheels and he rides a lot. A Marine from WA, he had just been to Ft. Jackson in NC and ridden there and back. He was meeting friends to ride the Olympic Peninsula. What a nice guy! He couldn't resist but making a smart-ass comment about me riding on the back of Paul's bike. Last time I'd done that, I was 15 years old.

Back on the road and off to visit my buddies in Bainbridge. Michael & met while in GTE's Management Development Program in Dallas. I met his wife Tricia soon thereafter. Hopefully I've known them long enough that they'll not hold it against me for all the trouble I'd caused. (Sorry guys!) While riding around the island, I saw a pretty heron.

The last time I came to visit was a few years ago when their first child was an infant. This time, their third child was an infant... as was I. I 'd left my manners in Alaska, or was that Wyoming, Maine perhaps?

It was great to see them and play with the kids.

Two grown men trying to out-best each other on the Slip-n-Slide is pretty funny. Funny enough to make the kids laugh at least. Baby Tobin is adorable and Michael was having fun playing with all the kids.

Tricia is a professional photographer and I had a great time playing with her camera gear. The lenses are so amazing! Unfortunately I didn't take many with my camera.

After a great night of hanging out and another fun day, that's when things went awry.

Thanks Mom for raising me such that I know better than to keep the father of a newborn up until sunrise.

Stupid me for ignoring the lessons of childhood.

The two of us were still up when it was time to get up. Oops.

(At least the scotch wasn't gone, then we would have really been in trouble.)

Leaving the Island in early afternoon meant for good riding. It was sunny and beautiful and so I took off to ride the Peninsula. At one point, I started riding with this guy. We talked a bit at lights and even road two-abreast for a bit. Only on the West Coast, an old bearded-biker riding a chopper with full-on ape hanger handlebars riding in black Birkenstock Clogs.

I tried to ride with others when possible. If you've been following this, you know that I haven't had a speedometer since mid-July (it's now September first.)

Back in the Lower 48, a speedometer would be nice.

I rolled into Port Angeles and stopped at a surf shop to chat. (I surf about as well as I wrench on motorcycles, but that doesn't stop me from talking about it.) Thanks to the guys at North by Northwest for a great route-recommendation.

I doubled back to go to Deer Park. The road climbs to 6,000 feet in less than 20 miles. Not quite like Mt. Washington at 6,200 feet in eight miles, but pretty intense nonetheless.

The road up is gravel and full of ruts, big rocks, no guardrails, steep precipices, and the occasional automobile.

When I got to the top, a family from Alabama was there. Their little boy loved my bike and came right up to talk to me (he was about two or three.) They thought it was cool that I was up there on a motorcycle, and an old Goldwing at that. He said I should get a picture with the Jeep to show how rough the drive up was. Sure!

And so begins the decent. It's easier to take pictures on the way down, because while climbing a steep hill, taking my hand off the throttle causes the bike to decelerate very quickly, thus becoming unstable.

The view over my right shoulder.

Don't miss this curve or end up riding in the clouds!

Suddenly, a very strange thing happened. I lost my nerve. What I had been doing for the last hour, for the last four months, suddenly seemed crazy. I was scared of my motorcycle.

There was no way off this mountain other than me riding my bike to the bottom and I snapped out of it and went back to riding and taking pictures. The decent took about 30 minutes (to go 16 miles.)

As I rode down, I tried to figure out why I had freaked out?

Was it the road? No way, I'd ridden stuff far more technical and at higher elevations.

Was it that I'd spent three days on the ferry, two days working on my bike, and two days on Bainbridge Island? A week with little riding had worried me so I'd begun the day doing drills in parking lots and had begun the gravel ride with a few drills. My skills seemed sharp.

Was it a sign to park the bike? No way. I've had those before, but this was different. I just got scared. Not for a reason. Just scared.

How did I get over it? I thought back to a conversation with Just Randy from Ten Sleep. When we hung out at Evel Knevel Days in Butte a couple of months earlier, we sat around the camp and talked about reactions during difficult times. I heard Just Randy tell me to quit being a baby and to get the job done. Gotta love meeting inspiring people along the way. Thanks Randy.

I did figure out what caused me to worry. Unlike nearly every other time I got on my bike, I hadn't put in ear plugs. The sound of the Old-Wing going over ruts and rocks is as painful to me as is the riding painful to my old bike. It sounds AWFUL! Rattling, scraping, clanking, popping, sliding and wincing down the mountain is a pretty intense sound. I think it just got to me. Oh well... enough about be being a Chicken... except that I'll add one more thing... I'd made it to Chicken via the Top of The World Highway without getting scared so cut me some slack! (please?)

After reaching sea-level, I rode another 75 miles to Clallam Bay and stopped for fuel. As I walked in to pay, daylight was nearly gone. A guy walked in who wasn't a native and so went up to talk to him. I knew I was very near the reservation and didn't know much about the area or the people, or if tourists were common. Would they be friendly to a biker? To an outsider? I didn't know and I was inclined to find out the easy way, by asking rather than initiating conversation. Turns out, I met some of the best people on the trip that night. But not before I asked the non-native for direction.

"There is a great little bar up the road a few miles, it's right on the water, the people are great, and they are sure to let you camp." He answered. I left. Daylight was all gone.

When I pulled up in front of the bar, I was exhausted. Riding 30 miles of gravel for nearly two hours up and down a mountain had been tough. Riding the coastline was tiring. Plus, I'd been off the bike for awhile. I turned off the key and slowly undid my gear and dragged my tired leg over the seat and found myself standing in front of the bar and in front of a guy who was checking out my bike.

"Did you ride to Alaska?" - "yes"

"Did you ride the Al-Can?" - "sure did, rode the Top of the World Highway too"

"Man, I'm going to buy you a beer. Hell, I might even buy you two, come with me, there's some people that are going to want to meet you!"

That was my introduction back into the Lower 48. It seemed odd. That night got stranger and stranger and, unbeknownst to me at the time, was a great indication of how the rest of the trip would go.

Taken the next morning.

Next: 40 - The Makah Indian Nation, Manzanita & Rogue

38 - Update: Back in Carolina with the Goldwing in the Garage

2007-08-31T14:18:00.000-04:00

Five months after it all began, the adventure of a lifetime has come to a close. I'm sitting at the dining room table, with my dog at my feet, reflecting on the life-changing amble across forty states. The month from Washington to Missouri will go down as the most action-packed period of my trip. There are so many pictures to go through, but more importantly, my half-dozen little notebooks that contain the details to many stories that can't be adequately told through photographs alone.

If you've subscribed to this blog, my intention is that you'll receive many updates during the next week or so, as I write and post about every event-filled day from The Olympic Peninsula to the Blue Ridge Mountains. That ride included over 10,000 miles during five weeks.

In summary, I did hit the 30,000 mile mark on the trip and managed to visit 40 States.

The last time I had a functioning speedometer was in Mid-July in South Dakota. Since then, I've ridden almost exclusively in places so out-of-the-way that speed-traps haven't been a concern. Once East of the Mississippi, I started seeing cops again and had to focus on being a law-abiding rider. In the pictures below, posted speed limits were irrelevant, as recklessness would result in punishment from Mother Nature. A punishment far more painful than anything from Johnny Lawman.

See below.

Mother Nature was kind to me. Johnny Lawman was not. Not at all. Not even a little bit. OUCH!

From atop Deer Park Mountain in Port Angeles, Oregon:

The road climbed to over 6,000 feet in 16 miles. The ride down was quite intense.

From the Makah Indian Nation; the most Northwest point in the Lower 48.

I'd been in Seward, AK for the Salmon Derby a month earlier. In Valdez while the Silver Salmon were running, and now in Siku, WA during salmon season. Seems I've been following the salmon for the last month.

I took some Salmon when I left Siku and then stopped a few hours later to cook it. Why the hat? It's the best defense against the Oregon rain. Actually, being indoors is a better defense, but one must only consider available options. Thinking about reclining chairs, remote controls, and really comfortable blankets does nothing but make 30,000 mile motorcycle trips end early. How to ride 30,000 miles? Don't stop. Don't stop riding, don't stop concentrating on the ride, and don't stop pursuing the next experience.

How is it possible to have a bad day when I round a corner and see this?

From the Oregon Coast and from a park road in Southern Oregon.

Riding across a Spit in Oregon. Gravel roads before breakfast... what a way to start the day!

The house I lived in in Oregon during the summer of '94. It was worth the three hour detour to see the place that had been so good to me during a summer out West.

The 1952 Studebaker I got to cruise around in during a day-off in Oregon. What a day!

The view from my tent in Idaho... Gravel before breakfast is getting to be the norm.

The Idaho fire of 2007. Over 1,700 firefighters were camped here to fight the blaze. I stopped and talked to a couple of them. Days earlier, while at the Rogue Brewery in Newport Oregon, the bartender had just returned from fighting blazes.

Me riding my cousin's new toy while in MO. I'd never ridden a pocket rocket.

The World Championship at the I-70 Speedway in Missouri turned out to be way more that I could have ever imagined. When I showed up, I had no idea that only hours later, I'd be riding around the 1/2 mile asphalt speedway in this bus.

It was 90+ and super sunny. Thank goodness for the hat. It was a great day for drinking beer and watching racing. Turns out, it was also a great day for meeting great people.

Me & Smokin' Joe.

Back down South in the Land of Cotton.

The King is Richard Petty. The King of Rock 'n Roll is Elvis Aaron Presley.

Old Wooden Covered Bridges are the coolest. I rode 20 miles out of my way to see this one.

Me & my buddy Dave at the Atlanta Brewing Company. Dave is the brewer, so if you're in Georgia be sure to drink a Red Brick Ale.

Riding through the Appalachian's

One more from the Rockies...the view from my campsite.

And now, I promise to resume writing about the journey.

Thanks to those following this blog and a special thanks to those who helped me, housed me, fed me, and shared a moment during this trip.

-Aaron-

Next: 39 - Leaving Tacoma & Bainbridge Island

37 - Update: My Camera is Toast : It's a Sad Day on The Oldwing

2007-08-30T21:09:00.000-04:00

Today is a sad day. Losing my riding gear in California was a real bummer, but nothing like having my camera bite the dust. For the last five months, I've been riding around on my old motorcycle and taking pictures. The people are great, the scenery amazing, and the camera is the unifying instrument that has made my journey so special. At times, I've ridden 50 miles to photograph a waterfall because someone described it as spectacular. The trip has been all about the people and the pictures.

Today it quit working. Totally flat-lined.

Though horribly disappointed, I can't say that I'm upset. The camera has been around my neck for over 30,000 miles. Miles and miles of gravel, frost heaves, potholes, mountains, valleys, rain, sand, and even hail. It would have been nice if it made it back from the trip while still functioning, but it's held up though an awful lot.

In spite of today's unpleasant beginning, I still whole-heartedly recommend the Panasonic FZ-series.

The trip is about over, but then my job search begins. Hopefully it will take me to many interesting places; places that I'd have loved to photograph.

Here are a few of the last pictures taken with my trusty camera.

After leaving Kansas and Missouri, I headed South and rode through Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. After a long ride in North GA and TN, I showed up virtually unannounced and my buddy Tom greeted me with a place to stay, the world's most comfortable chair, and a bottle of scotch. Now that's hospitality!

We hung out and had a great time. Thanks Tom!

Once again, I showed up to stay with someone and immediately asked to borrow clothes. I'm not sure if my t-shirts were flea infested, but they certainly hadn't been clean for a long time.

Clean cotton clothes and single-barrel scotch are like peas and carrots... though admittedly with fewer vitamins. (So not so much like vegetables at all.)

Here's Tom with an ode to Johnny Walker.

I left Asheville early and rode like a banshee straight to Charlottesville to meet up with my buddies. Flights started arriving around noon, and I didn't want to miss out on the fun.

After a weekend with UVA football and Wahoo-style tailgates, I set off for Ohio.

Before the weekend, while sitting in a cafe in Rome Georgia, I double counted to make sure I'd been to 40 states. Alas, I'd been mistaken. GA didn't make 40, but only 39. So I rode to Ohio on Monday, as I'd missed it on the way West.

Two days of riding in WVA was a blast, and then I spent a night on the Blue Ridge Parkway... where my camera bit the dust.

So no fall pictures of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

There are so many beautiful mountain ranges that I've been so lucky to see on this trip. And the Blue Ridge Mountains are still the most wonderful sight.

Here is a picture from the Appalachian's near Highlands, NC. Atlanta to Asheville is about 2-3 hours. I managed to make it take 13. Keeping to roads without painted lines is a great way to travel. Well, roads with no lines and a camera around one's neck is the way to travel.

Here's one from the mountains in Tennessee. I was so happy to cross the NC line that I pulled over and sat down in a Mom & Pop's restaurant and when the waitress handed me the menu I simply said: "Salt & Pepper Catfish, Hush Puppies, and Sweet Tea."

Being out West was amazing and I am committed to going back, but life without Sweet Tea and Hush Puppies isn't an easy life to get used to.

Months without regular access to running water wasn't as hard to get used to as months without Sweet Tea and Hush Puppies.

Before getting to Asheville, and while my camera still worked, I stopped by The Atlanta Brewing Company to see my buddy Dave.

Check out that fine new Kettle, hand made by craftsmen in British Colombia.

Taken with this camera, I have 10,181 pictures. That's over 10,000 pictures that I haven't deleted!

My guess is that I've taken nearly 20,000 pictures in the last year. Not bad for the old Panasonic.

Just before B-School, my old SLR died and my little sister gave me one of her SLR cameras. And it died. I'd hoped to give her my camera when I replaced it. Sorry Hannah.

As soon as possible, I'll get a Canon Rebel Body or Nikon Body and three lenses. The photographic skills I learned on this trip will allow me to get even better pictures with a real Digital SLR. The Panasonic was the next best thing to an SLR and I really do wish that it hadn't died.

Just as leaf-looking season begins nonetheless.

Next: 38 - Back in Carolina with the Goldwing in the Garage

36 - Update

2007-08-29T14:06:00.000-04:00

Wow. Where to begin.

After getting back to the Lower 48, I spent two days working on my bike at Paul and Sheryl's place in Tacoma before heading to the Seattle area to visit Michael and Tricia for two days. Since then, I've been riding. Really really riding; riding far and riding obscure roads.

This morning I'm sitting at a great breakfast place in Wichita. From Washington to Denver, I rode over four thousand miles. I could have ridden home and back, but instead, I rode all over the Northwest and the Rockies.

While in Northwest Washington, near the Makah Nation, the most Northwest point in the Lower 48, it really hit me.

Until then, I'd just been an adventurer, riding all over the place. It hadn't dawned on me how unusual this trip really is. Since returning to the Lower 48, I've rarely bought myself a beer. Everywhere I go, people offer to by my drinks. In Alaska, Pierre and Julia bough lunch for me and I thought it was really nice, but unusual. Since returning to the Lower 48, I've had people pick up several tabs for me. Right now, I'm eating breakfast in Wichita, on the house. The waiter heard my story and then the owner comped my meal. Wow.

Camping is the exception now and not the rule. Not only have I had several offers of places to stay, but I've also become comfortable riding into a town and meeting people and asking for a place to stay. Last night in Wichita, I met a great group of people and ended up going out and celebrating my birthday, Kansas style. (Thanks Kyle & Heather)

In CA, I had a very unfortunate event that changed my trip for sure. I lost one of my dry bags. It flew off my bike and is lost forever (over a cliff.) In it, were all my riding gear. Over $1,200 worth of stuff is gone. It was stuff that I really needed too. My rain gear, my riding pants, leather vest, full-faced helmet, gloves, insulating layers, postcards, gifts and souvenirs. Oh well, it is what it is and I'm without all that stuff. I changed my route home to include warm weather. That's another reason I'm so happy to be in the Southwest and now Midwest, it's warm here!

Riding the Pacific coast was a blast and ID, UT, CO and NM are amazing. After riding over a dozen mountain passes, the plains were a welcome sight. I loved riding the Rockies, but I'm tired. It's hard work tossing around a 1,000 pound motorcycle for 12 hours a day at elevations of up to 12,000 feet. Today, I'm going to kick back with my feet on the highway pegs and just relax.

In Oregon, I spent a day hanging out with some fine folks and cruising though town in a '52 Studebaker.

In Humboldt County California, I met some great people who showed me around and told me about some great back roads through the California mountains.

In Idaho, I rode mountains and saw scenery that made me awe-struck.

In Utah, I met some great people at the Dinosaur Haus pub and got to ride a dirt bike!

In Colorado, I rode mountain passes that would make some people ill. It was so wonderful. I also met some fantastic people at The Candlelight and had an unbelievable time in Denver (Thanks Joss!)

I also got to go and see and hang out in a house in the Colorado mountains that is owned by someone in the Busch family. The place is a tribute to Budweiser. It is an amazing place with stunning views. A welcome rest from the road to be sure.

In New Mexico, it was often hard to believe that I was still in the United States. The scenery and terrain are so distinct and different from the surrounding states. It is so cool there, if you want a place to ride that is both challenging and surreal, head to New Mexico.

The plains are beautiful. Riding across North Dakota, (it seems like forever ago) was so much fun. It's cool to see the southern portion of the Great Plains.

One of the best things about this trip is not just seeing the country, but seeing it at once as opposed to a week a year over many years. Comparing and contrasting the many wonderful places in this great country is truly a wonderful experience.

I've met so many beautiful people in so many wonderful places.

To be sure, I'll sit down and write about the stories. But for now, this quick update is all I have.

Thanks to everyone who's hosted me or taken care of me during the last month.

Warmest regards,

Aaron

PS - posting pictures takes a lot of time, so for now, this is all I can do.

The road where I lost my gear.

One of the many gravel roads I've ridden since returning to the Lower 48. I've ridden gravel in WA, OR, CA, ID, UT, CO, NM, and KS.

From The Craters of The Moon

Next: 37 - My Camera is Toast. It's a Sad Day on the OldWing

35 - Wildlife

2007-08-28T15:18:00.000-04:00

From the Badlands in South Dakota

A Prairie Dog and Wild Donkeys

Wildlife in Wyoming

Next: 36 - Update

34 - The Ferry: From BC to the Lower 48

2007-08-27T23:41:00.000-04:00

While walking back to the ferry, I watched the cars drive by with their windshield wipers quickly swishing back and forth. I had 25 minutes before boarding ended and wasn't sure how far to the ferry terminal. Another pedestrian indicated:

"a mile and a half, you'll make it in a half hour."

I picked up my pace. Then, with five minutes left, the terminal came into view and I slowed my pace. I walked down the boarding plank with 45 seconds to spare. What a fun five hours!

I really like this picture.

Once back on the boat, the evening cruise down the Inner Passage was really fun. I sat down with a block of Tillamook Cheddar and a loaf of bread; that early morning pre-shower run to the grocery store in Haines paid off. My second course came from a can. Thanks to Bill, I left Fairbanks with a can of Silver Salmon. Delicious.

My tripod was fairly secure and vibration free for this long-exposure shot. The two lights come from the camera shift because of the boat's movement. The light is from a lighthouse that rotates. The distance of several hundred yards shows the boat's movement during a four second exposure.

The night on a ferry is different than the night on the shore. The sound of the boat, the water, and the night all magically combine to make something not inimitable by shoreline nature.

I enjoyed it with a camera and tripod.

In the morning, we saw humpback whales. Twice. I couldn't photograph the whales, but I could snapshot the curious humans.

Dinner was wine and cheese. Dinner part doux was a meal in a can and desert in a bottle.

Smokey Porter and Chunky Chicken and Dumplings.

Delicious.

The perfect precursor to the eclipse.

The moon got smaller and smaller. After it disappeared, the clouds moved in. Above, you can see the blood orange moon as it reappeared. Eventually, just before dawn, orange gave way to bright white. After a month of being in the North Country (the Yukon and Alaska) I was back in the industrialized world, as is evident by the huge plants that lined the shore.

It was a no-brainer to stay up all night. The night was clear, warm and without extreme winds. And of course, I was in the middle of the water on a ferry coming back from Alaska on the night of an amazing lunar eclipse. Having not seen the news in awhile, I didn't know much about the details of the eclipse and didn't know that it's affects would last for hours. When the moon finally became brilliant and white again, dawn was nearly upon us. Dawn was spectacular.

Then, at 8:00 am, we arrived in Tacoma. I had to ride for less than a couple of hours to meet a guy who had volunteered his shop for me to use to make repairs to my Gold Wing. What a trip! I was back in the Lower 48.

Next: 35 - Wildlife

33 - The Ferry: The Last Leg of The Last Frontier

2007-08-25T19:25:00.000-04:00

I left to ride to the front of the line. The lady behind the counter indicated it was ok for me to do so. Gotta love having only two wheels. Once on the boat, it took nearly 30 minutes for me to secure my bike. Then, I began hauling all of my stuff to the top deck where I set up my tent. Liz had finally made it aboard and walked up to say hi. Having a full day ahead of her, she set off to sleep for a couple of hours before meeting her parents in Juneau. Meanwhile, I sat down to celebrate a huge milestone. Sure, I’d wanted to make it to Alaska. That’s why arriving in Chicken was such a big deal. But after breaking down in Chicken, my next big milestone was to make it back to the lower 48. Making it to Alaska is one thing, making it back with one’s machine intact is another. I’d made it!

I popped the cork on a bottle of bubbly and sat down on the deck to drink it. Delicious!

The ferry was a lot cooler than I’d imagined; and a lot smaller.

I was in the middle of a conversation with the Captain of a Yacht, when Liz walked up. We hung out for a couple of hours before her port of call. She was excited to spend her winter Snowboarding and Ice Climbing in Juneau rather than guiding tourists. Every Alaskan I’ve met does some really neat and extreme winter activity.

Bill from Fairbanks spends part of his winter trapping. That entails drilling though a couple of feet of ice in temperatures ranging from minus 20 to minus 50. Needless to say, one doesn’t just drill in the back yard. Going to the “spot” is a journey in and of itself. Trapping is a big deal in Alaska. There is a lot of work that goes into getting a single pelt. I’ve seen pelts from different species of fox, from beaver, and from animals that I can’t recall. They are all beautiful and, with proper care, will last a lifetime.

Back to the Yacht Captain. A Brit, who hadn’t lived in England in many years, spends his time as the Captain of big boats in the British Virgin Islands. For many years, he was the Captain for the Rockefellers’. His stories about the family and their generosity were really inspiring. A sport fisherman from Sitka was also part of the conversation. Typically, Alaskan fisherman are the experts when it comes to boating and navigation. However, in this conversation, it was clear that the British fellow was the best seaman of the bunch. He’d seen tides and weather that are unique the world over.

Later, I met Matt. Matt just finished his second summer as a fisherman. He was the sole crew member on a Salmon boat. Out for two months, the work had been long, but rewarding. As we passed by, he pointed out Fox Point and told me of the fishery nearby. Above, Matt and I are photographed with Fox Point in the background.

My tent held up well in the fierce winds. The bungee cords kept the tarp in place, and my 100+ pounds of gear kept the tent in place. Judy, who was emigrating from England to Canada, used Duct tape to keep her tent in place. She'd just spent the last month riding her bicycle around Alaska. Amazing.

The ferry moved much more quickly that I'd anticipated. At 25 knots, we were traveling at about 20 mph. The diesel engines chugged along, creating a constant and predictable wake.

Being on the ferry is really quite peaceful. Having adequate cold-weather gear made it possible for me to spend the entire time aboard outside.

The stunning views were well worthwhile even in the rain. When it was clear and tranquil, the views were equally as majestic.

The float planes zoomed right past our boat. As we pulled into Ketchican, plane after plane flew by, below eye level, to beat the ferry into the harbor. It was really cool.

Hey look - It's the Ferry that I'd originally been booked on before it broke down. Thanks to it, I'd spent three weeks in Alaska.

The Purser had just announced that the stop in port had been extended to five hours. More than enough time for me to walk the 2.5 miles into town to explore the area. My watch band had broken the night before, so I set off to find a jewelry store.

Oh to have flown in Talkeetna! Oh well, I still had an amazing time there.

After leaving the jewelry store with a newly-repaired watch, I walked by a furrier and had to stop in. At Bill's in Fairbanks, at various restaurants and bars, and at National Parks, I'd seen quite a collection of pelts, but never a fur. (Not in Alaska)

This place had a collection of Men's Vests. I love vests. This one is made from Muskrat. The blacks, browns, and tans are really cool, though I'm not entirely convinced that anyone reading this will actually agree with me. Oh well. I've been wearing vests long before they came back in fashion. My prediction, in ten years, men in Muskrat vests will be all the rage.

The sales lady really thought I might buy it. Hmmmm a replacement Goldwing or a Muskrat vest? Think I'll hold on to my pennies for trip home.

On the walk back toward the ferry terminal, I saw this. The picture doesn't capture the state of dilapidation to which this building had succumb. Interesting placement for this particular billboard.

I continued down the street when I began passing the docks where the float planes sat tethered.

What the heck - I started inquiring about flights and the next thing I knew, Scott pointed me to the co-pilots seat as we set off for Annette Island. This wasn't a sightseeing trip.

The cruise ship had just boarded and the tourist-related business had all closed. This was an airline that catered to locals and flew natives to the reservation; a ten minute flight.

I shot many of the pictures with no zoom. In order to add perspective to the picture, I made sure to capture a bit of the plane too. So if you can see the plane in a picture, then the view on your computer screen is as close of a representation as possible to the view I had from the plane.

After the four passengers debarked, Scott taxied away from the dock and then killed the motor so it was quiet enough to talk. He asked about my trip and enquired about the Wing and how it held up in Alaska. He told me all about the plane and his history as an Alaskan float pilot. The he fired it up and we took off in a direction much different than the one we took to the island.

"Was I getting a scenic ride home?" I eagerly thought.

Wow - the plane, when empty, was a real hotrod. The years I spent at GTE were really cool for a number of reasons, one of which was the frequent use of the company's Cessna Citations. The pilots who flew the seven-passenger jet, told me off-the-record, that one of their perks was that no one questioned their fuel costs. That meant that after the corporate brass reached their destination, the pilots were free to "fly it like a Lamborghini."

Scott had a similar flying style and we flew right over trees, through mountain passes, banked hard around natural obstacles and then landed on a tiny mountain pond for a photo op. This trip wasn't free, but he made sure that I left grinnin' without a care as to the cost.

It was really an added bonus to get to take off and land an extra time. Landing on the pond in the middle of the mountains with nothing visible but water, mountains and the plane was really cool.

Check out my orange tent. It's clearly visible there on the top deck. My bike is parked on the bottom deck, just behind those giant open doors.

So long Scott. It was a great flight. I've wanted to fly in a float plane in Alaska since I was a kid. Taking the ferry and flying were two things I really wanted to do while in Alaska and I got to fly at my last stop in Alaska before crossing into B.C.

It was as cool as I'd imagined. I paid for 25 minutes and flew for over 50. Nice!

Walking back to the ferry with only seconds to spare, I saw the Bar Harbor restaurant. In mid-May, I had stopped at the Bar Harbor restaurant in Bar Harbor Maine. From Maine to Alaska, what a ride!

Next: 34 - The Ferry from BC to the Lower 48

32 - Sunshine, J.Wail, Valdez & Haines

2007-08-20T18:06:00.000-04:00

After the kennels and another scenic ride around the park, I headed South toward Talkeeta. The weather was beautiful… until I got about 30 miles from the airport. I set up camp in downtown Talkeetna in the rain. No flights today for sure.

It was a perfect evening for lounging at the Mountain High Pizza Pie and eating and drinking while writing. After five hours of writing, I noticed a couple in the corner and decided to stop being a hermit.

He asked where I was from. “Winston-Salem, North Carolina.”

“I used to live there,” he replied. Before I could express my disbelief, “off Peters Creek Parkway,” he continued. Turns out, Jonah, a musician from Asheville, NC, was playing the following night in a venue at the end of the Talkeetna Spur road. I’d be there for sure, I told him. For now, I followed his recommendation to head down to the community center for a zydeco band. As an avid fan of the New Orleans music scene, I couldn’t have been more excited. For a few years, I went to the Big Easy a couple of times each year and saw great live shows. Michael Doucet & Beausoleil were finishing the third and final set when I arrived. They were amazing! After the encore, I left having only seen four songs. Later that night, I talked to Michael for a bit at the Historic Fairview Inn. He was excited to talk to a Zydeco aficionado. I asked if he knew Waylon Thibodeaux. “Waylon,” he excitedly replied. “and I are great friends. He’s doing well.” I also asked about Kermit Ruffins and was surprised to hear the Michael had played with him as well. What a great evening!

The next day I went to the airport in the rain and wasn’t surprised to find that chances were slim for a flight. So, off I went to the H&H Roadhouse in Sunshine to see Jonah.

Farewell Talkeetna & Bye-Bye Gina. It's one heckuva town. One I'm sure to visit again.

The rain stopped at the end of the spur road, and the weather was nice for setting up camp. The lodge sits on a lakeshore, so the view is great. There were five hours before the show began, so I had a beer and made introductions before strolling down to the shower.

Before I made it back to my tent, Charlie introduced himself. He was so excited to hear about my trip and really liked my Goldwing. He told me of his ’72, ’73, & ’74 Kawasaki Collection. Later, I learned a lot about Charlie. What a guy!

He’s climbed Mt. McKinley. A few weeks ago, he won the shooting contest at the bar after he put the final two shots in the center ring, a center ring the size of a dime, using a .22 at 50 yards! The other guys put one, or both, shots in the two-ring which was certainly respectable as it was the size of a quarter.

It's nice camping at a super scenic site that is extra ideal as it sits next to a place where I can eat, drink and hang out with people all evening.

Here's Houston playing the piano beneath a really neat picture of a really beautiful tri-color merle dachshund . The more I learned about the H&H, the more I liked the place. Houston runs the place. He’s been working there for 30 years, though he’s only 40. His parents own the place, but are now looking to sell it. The whole family will soon retire. Wow! Houston is a heck of a cook and brought out Salmon with a Chipotle glaze for me to try. After gobbling down an entire Blue Cheese Burger, I still had room for several pieces of Salmon and Broccoli; both were delicious.

The H&H is known from Anchorage to Fairbanks as the best place to shoot pool in Alaska. Michael Jordan, the longtime bartender and the best one-pocket player in hundreds of miles, told me about some of the pool legends that travel to Sunshine Alaska to play the region's best. Here's Michael and his girlfriend Crazy Carol.

Bill & Faith were living there in their RV for the summer while Bill worked as a plumber, and Faith worked for the H&H. Bill and I had a lot in common and talked about things for quite awhile. He’s from Salem, Oregon. I lived in Salem during the summer of 1994 while I was selling books in my second summer for Southwestern.

J.Wail is amazing. His music is unlike anything I'd ever seen, which made it all the more intriguing.

Houston is chatting it up in the background as Jonah and I posed for a picture. At the last second, Crazy Carol crashed the picture. Nice Carol!

In the morning, the weather didn’t look like it would accommodate an air-tour of Denali, so I left the area to go to Valdez. It rained off and on all the way to Tok, where I spent the night. Hence, I have few pictures of this stretch of the trip. It was a hard day of riding, though. I didn't break camp before this little guy sauntered over to say hello. Houston's Dad has always had dachshunds around and I got to meet the proprietor of the H&H before leaving town.

After a few hours of riding, I stopped at a diner for breakfast. The only other guy in there proved to be fascinating. He’s worked for many years at the local dirt track, so I was immediately interested. Turns out, track talk took only a few minutes of our conversation before he started talking about his dogs. He has nineteen. He started mushing in Michigan several years ago. Now, he’s stopped running his dogs competitively, because he can’t take the abuse anymore. Being a Musher isn’t easy, and at nearly 70, doing so competitively is a bad idea. He buys dog food by the pallet. 50 40 pound bags per pallet. Last year, he went through two tons of dog food. His main concern, providing adequate food stores for a caretaker to feed his dogs, should something happen to him. Between that conversation and the conversation in Denali, I learned a lot about being a Musher.

I broke camp in Sunshine and rode 450 miles to Valdez. They were, by far, the most challenging and physically demanding miles of the trip. The frost heaves were brutal. The road construction was especially dicey. The rain came and went all day.

In the morning, I found Bob (from the bus ride in Denali) and his friends fishing near the ferry terminal. I saw him catch a couple. He offered me a chance to do the same. I can’t say I really did anything, but here’s me with a Silver Salmon. I officially went fishing in Alaska, though it wasn’t what my buddies intended when the encouraged me to try Salmon Fishing.

I’d had enough of Valdez. The bears, the stench of fish, and the rain, rain, rain. I decided to ride toward Haines and to stop somewhere dry. I set up camp in Tok around nine and got a good night’s sleep.

The ride to Haines was tough. It was cold, rainy and the roads made for tough traveling.

Uneventful border crossings made the day a bit better. By the time I reached Haines, I was exhausted and in pain. There were some stretches of road where the frost heaves were so bad, that I had to stand up to let the bike take the abuse, without transferring the jolt to my back. At one point, the bike went airborne. On the way up the Al-Can, I’d had the front wheel come up. Today, the whole bike aired. Most frost heaves are dips. The front end drops and then violently compresses before the rear end gets flipped up. One frost heave was a peak that sent the bike airborne.

My forearms and legs were sore, as usual. But my chest was so sore from constantly holding myself off the saddle. The frequent and violent braking, essential to keep from going airborne, was super tiring. My chest ached.

Whenever I arrive in a new town, I always ride around until I’ve seen it all. Then I look for a place to camp. After checking out Haines, I rode along the water until I saw the State camping spot. Hey look! A familiar tent… and then the occupant walked into view. It was Robert from Seward. His huge graying beard was unmistakable. I certainly hung a U-turn and said hello. After catching up as to what each of us had been up to during the last couple of weeks, I set up camp and went to town to shower and do laundry.

I saw a BMW rider that looked like a guy camped nearby while in Tok. I pulled into the parking lot and struck up a conversation. Turns out, he’s retired and lives in SoCal and in Cabo and rides all over the world. Tom really liked my old Wing and thought it was cool that I’d gone to Chicken. He’d been to Prudhoe and all the other hard-core riding spots.

A shower felt great, as did donning clean clothes. After a plate of real food while watching the local karaoke crowd, I rode back to get some sleep.

It rained all morning and I’d been battling a cold since Valdez. Never go to a grocery store while hungry, sick, and cold. I left and went to the RV park on the water where I had showered the night before. The people were friendly and there was shelter with a great view where I could cook and get online.

There, I spent all morning cooking, eating and talking with Lohn. Lohn is from Southern Minnesota, not too far from where I lived last summer in Dodge Center, MN. He spends his summers in Alaska, backpacking throughout the area.

So, I ate the following:

A pound of bacon

A bag of Ore-Ida Shredded Potatoes, cooked for over an hour in bacon fat

Two Quarts of Tropicana OJ

Yogurt

A Pint of ½ & ½ - I didn’t finish it, but with three mugs of coffee and two batches of tea, I’d certainly done my best.

Someone once told me to feed a cold and I never asked for a second opinion.

The sun came out in the afternoon, so I went off exploring. With every intention of going to see Bald Eagles and riding in search of grizzlies, I soon succumbed to the temptation to not ride far at all. My cold had worsened and the aches from it, coupled with the aches from riding an old bike for four months, combined to make me feel like walking slowly and riding nowhere.

Off to the laundry-mat to wash my sleeping bag. While it was washing, I took a bit of a cruise out toward Allison Point.

Seems like the stories I'd heard about bears in Valdez during Salmon season were true.

After a pretty, but rainy ride along the water, I returned to the laundromat to sit while my bag dried.

Not in the mood to do anything but sit and sulk about my sickness, I ignored the other patrons. Finally, curiosity got the best of me and I spoke to the interesting looking girl sitting next to me. She looked like she had probably spent her summer in Alaska and probably had some pretty cool stories to tell. Liz introduced herself and quickly engaged me in captivating stories about her summer as a Glacier Guide for Ice Climbing Expeditions. Wow!

Shortly after we began talking, in walked Tom. He’d seen my bike out front and stopped into chat. He entertained Liz & I with travel stories and after awhile, the three of us were all pretty well aquatinted. We all had ferries to catch in the morning, so Liz suggested that we go somewhere close for a beer. Tom said no (bad call Tom, we had a blast!) and headed off to sleep. Liz and I talked for a couple of hours about our summers. How different they’ve been. She spent each day with tourists, while I got to carefully choose each conversation. She spent the summer with the same coworkers. I met a dozen fascinating people each day. She put in long hours. I put in long hours. This night was her night to celebrate after working for three months straight with only one weekend in 12 to leave the camp. It was my last night in Alaska so I couldn’t justify sticking to my original plan of going to sleep early.

We figured out that we had both showered at the same place upon arriving in Haines, and that we both had plans to do so again before getting on the boat. So I wasn’t surprised to see her in the morning. She even made coffee for me. Thanks Liz! Since she was in line before me and the shower was occupied, I rode off to get supplies for the ferry ride and to mail postcards. When I returned, Liz was ready to go so we said goodbye. But not before she admired my Goldwing. She is one of the first to do so without adding "yeah, my Grandpa used to have one of these."

After showering and packing the bike, I headed off to the ferry terminal with no idea what to expect. Though in separate lines, Liz and I learned that we were on the same boat!

The ferry ride turned out to be three of the best days of the trip.

Below is a glacier, though the one that Liz spent her summer climbing is much more impressive.

Next: 33 - Ferry; From the Last Frontier to the Lower 48

31 - Denali

2007-08-18T16:48:00.000-04:00

After leaving Fairbanks, I went 100 miles out of the way by riding down a spur road to Cheana Hot Springs. It was a nice ride and a beautiful day.

After washing and shining my bike at Bill's, I applied my very new, and very cool sticker to the windshield.

Alaska Raceway Park

I hadn't see a "dog team crossing" sign before. I'd seen hundreds of "Fresh Oil" signs, but never one on blacktop. That seems odd. What an unfortunate combination: Oil and asphalt.

Denali is such a unique park. I arrived that evening and set up camp after talking with the people in the park store. Rachael, a grad student from NYC, was leaving in Alaska in 10 days and told me about her summer working in Denali. She also gave me the lowdown on where to camp, which bus to catch, and what to do. After setting up, I took off to ride the short section of road open to passenger vehicles. I rode 21 miles to the end of the open road and hiked up the trail Rachael had recommended. The trail led up the steep side of a large rock. I couldn’t see Denali, but could see for a long way.

I returned to camp to find a perfectly thawed piece of Halibut that Bill had sent with me. Along with a bit of butter and heat, the 20 minute transformation made the freshly cooked fish quite tasty. Along with a can of spinach and bottle of beer, the combination proved delicious.

Before leaving Fairbanks, Bill gave me a lot of food. Not only freshly caught and frozen Halibut, but also a collection of backpacking meals and MRE’s. Military issued Meals-Ready-to-Eat, are big bags of food that require nothing but an appetite and a pot of boiling water. Equally as simple to prepare are the backpacking meals. Meals ready to eat directly from the pouch in which they are packaged. The combination of taste and simplicity is brilliant.

For breakfast, I scarfed down a blackberry cobbler and a very strong cup of coffee. I learned a lesson on the first night of the second leg of my trip. Don’t bring an “unbreakable” coffee press on a motorcycle trip. Bring a metal one. After being on the road for three months, I’d not made a single cup of good coffee. The good folks at Beaver Sports had set me up with a new press, and directions to the best coffee roaster in Northern Alaska. With a pound of fresh roasted grounds, I was ready for cup after glorious cup of Java Fuerte.

Thanks to Joe & Brent from Talkeeta, there was no question as to how far I should go into Denali. I should go as far as possible. Period. Rachael echoed their sentiment and so I’d purchased a ticket to go to Wonder Lake.

The driver, Gloria, told us that there were two ways to see the park. Either see the mountain or see wildlife. One cannot do both. Since I’d seen everything on this trip but Grizzlies, I really wanted to see the mountain. I’d seen it too, but riding around in the rain seeing wildlife didn’t appeal to me as much as having a clear day and a great view of the landscape. We saw little wildlife other than Caribou, but we had a great day of Denali viewing. I sat directly behind Gloria and we chatted sporadically throughout the trip. The other passengers also enjoyed the scenery and I had the chance to speak with many of them.

Bob, a recreational fisherman from Florida, had spent weeks in Alaska in his RV and had visited all the fishing hotspots. Upon the urging of several people I’d met along the way, I knew that I’d ride to Valdez before going to Haines. Since it was a great fishing spot, why not grab a pole and give a cast at salmon catching. Bob was headed there to meet friends and gave me his card and an invitation to fish. Nice!

Like the earlier picture of potholes, the picture of this rock is to convey why I'm not riding the 1,000 mile round-trip to the Arctic Circle. This rock was in the middle of a gravel road and wasn't uncommon in either size or shape. Any of the many sharp edges could easily cut down a motorcycle tire.

The picture of me with the giant antlers is to convey an element of coolness that I couldn't possibly convey without some sort of prop. Some stunts work and others don't. The picture of crossing the stream on the 4-Wheeler was pretty cool, while the one below is simply corny. Feel free to laugh at my expense; everyone is doing it.

Mt. McKinley is really majestic.

While in Fairbanks, I used Bill's shop for all sorts of stuff. Not only did he have a bench grinder, which I promptly used to sharpen my axe, but he also had a polishing wheel. I'd never used one, but with a bit of compound and 20 minutes of patience, my axe was sharp enough to shave with and shiny enough to use as a mirror.

One can take a bus for six hours to Wonder Lake and then camp. However, I'd talked to Brent in Talkeeta who said it was positively miserable. The mosquitos were unbearable. As we arrived at the Lake, Gloria, the bus driver, told us that the mosquito season had just ended. My only regret to date is not camping at Wonder Lake. WOW!

In the morning, after breaking camp, I rode to the Denali Kennels to take up Gloria on her offer to put me in touch with one of the Musher’s for a private tour. What an experience! As someone who’s been involved in the Dog-Sports community for a few years, seeing these working dogs in an old and established kennel, really made an impact. In winter, the park is accessible only by dogsled. Motors are prohibited, and skis aren’t practical. The rangers have patrolled the park and protected it from poachers from the park’s inception.

Yes the Dall Sheep is stuffed. My pictures are of the sheep high atop the mountain and aren't good for much. They are amazing animals.

"Hello little Arctic Squirrel!"

These little animals look more like Prairie Dogs than squirrels and are able to survive the Arctic Winters. Their hear-rate slows to about one beat per hour and they are impossible to wake from their uber-slumber.

Much cooler than regular squirrels for sure.

Next: 32 - Sunshine, J. Wail, Valdez & Haines

30 - Fairbanks - Hospitality & the ATV Adventure

2007-08-16T15:58:00.000-04:00

While walking back to my tent in Talkeetna, the rain fell and I decided that I wasn't quite ready for bed. The Teepee bar sat 150 yards off the main road, so I strolled down to see who was there. Shortly after the bartender handed me a drink, someone rang the bell. Virtually every bar in Alaska has a bell. To ring it, signals one's commitment to purchase a round for the house. There were about a dozen of us in the bar, and the bartender busily began pulling beer and pouring drinks. Wow! While in Chicken, I hadn't been fortunate enough to have anyone ring the bell. It was pretty neat.

While walking back to my tent twenty minutes later, I noticed the puddles. In the faint moonlight, it occurred to me that this scene could finally capture the image of potholes that I'd been trying to convey since riding the Top of the World Highway. Some scenes are difficult to represent in a photograph. Here is my best attempt at recreating the feeling of seeing a pothole-riddled road while riding on two wheels. ...two very old wheels.

In the morning, after I'd taken the picture of the potholes, I called a good friend of Bill and Ruth, the people who hosted me while I was in Jackson, Wyoming. Bill's friend, also named Bill, lives in Fairbanks. As soon as he answered the phone and offered for me to stay with him, I knew I was in for a real treat. His wife and son were out of town, so he agreed to take me out to see Fairbanks. I hopped on my bike and rode North.

Eager to do whatever awaited up North, I hopped on my bike and began the trek from Talkeetna, through Denali, and ultimately to Fairbanks. My destination: Beaver Sports. They had a replacement tent stake that I desperately needed before boarding the ferry. My makeshift stake wouldn’t withstand 70 mph winds.

Unfortunately, finding Beaver Sports required riding in the rain and trying to recall the mental snapshot of my Fairbanks map.

About a week earlier, while riding across a bridge somewhere around Wasilla, my GPS flew off my bike at 80 mph. That worthless piece of electronic gear had proved grossly inferior vis-a-vi similar Garmin units. The Magellan RoadMate 2200T is a terrible gadget. The engineers totally botched that one. The product manager that took responsibility for launching the product is equally incompetent. Buy what you will, as for me, I’ll never buy another Magellan. Before it left my handlebars and bounced wildly along the roadway, the device displayed copious data. However, it rarely displaced any actionable information. Enough. I’ll leave the ranting to professionals, like Dennis Miller.

Bill met me at the Outfitters and I followed him to his home where he insisted I park my bike in the garage. Nice. After dinner and countless stories, he recommended routes for tomorrow’s ride. Also, he offered to take me the toys out after work. My choices:

1: The Jet Boat. A small-block Chevy powered boat

2: The ATV’s. A pair of winch-equipped 4-Wheelers

Clearly a 350 c.i. powered boat on the Chena River is much cooler. However, I’ve been on several boats (though never in Alaska) but haven’t ridden 4-Wheelers in any sort of real off-road setting.

Before bed, I outlined the next day. Upload pictures, play with the dog, ride a couple hundred miles to North Pole, Fox, & The Pipeline, wash my bike, do laundry, and send postcards. Finally, ride 4-Wheelers. What a day! Off to sleep in a comfortable bed in a dark room! (Dark in hard to come by in Alaska in a tent.)

Bill gave me the scoop on where to ride and what to see. In the morning, I rode about 200 miles or so and went to North Pole and Fox Alaska. I saw the pipeline and a gold mine.

The bear on the left is one that Bill & Bill got on a trip in the 60's. It's still on record as one of the largest Grizzlies ever recorded. Both men are avid outdoorsmen and have seemingly endless stories of trips into very rugged parts of the continent. Evidently, the bear on the right, the one in the room where I stayed, is actually "small." Hmmmm?

Both guys had told me not to worry about bears, easy to say when you have them hanging on your wall. However, I really don't want to end up on the news as the guy from the East Coast that got snacked on by a Grizzly. Ever noticed that the rare instances of Shark Attacks on East Coast beaches usually happen to people from the Mid-West? I don't know anything about Bear attacks in the West, but I'd bet that most happen to unsuspecting East Coasters. No Thanks!

The pipeline is huge! Check out the tourbus in the background.

Why a picture of a squirrel? Check him out, he's winking at the camera.

That's me standing next to a tree with a large Moose-Rub. The 44 Magnum on my hip is there just in case I meet an aggressive bear while Bill isn't around. Having two steady hands and the proper equipment makes bear country quite enjoyable. Having two trembling hands and a motorcycle loaded with food and no windows to roll up or doors to lock makes bear country a bit intimidating.

Riding 4-Wheelers was even cooler than I imagined. Bill had no problem taking me on really tough trails, even though I’d not ridden ATV’s much. We turned up a creek bed, it is actually more of a ditch. That’s him riding over a huge rock. I got over it too, and then we went a couple hundred yards before turning to heavily wooded mountains. After a couple of hours of riding, I asked for a shameless photo op and he obliged. We backtracked to the water-crossing for a few splash-filled photos. Afterwards, I was a soaked mess, but excited about having had such a great time.

The next morning, I slept late and then sharpened my axe and shined my boots. With clean clothes and clean gear, I happily hit the road around noon and rode south toward the Great Mountain. Sometime between Fox, AK and the Fireweed Roadhouse, my friend from Talkeetna returned my call and offered to put me on a plane if I returned to Talkeeta. Nice!

I stopped it at the Fireweed Roadhouse and talked with Robin for awhile. She had been there five years, but had bought out the previous owner only a year ago. I got the inside view of what it's like to own a roadhouse in Alaska. It's an around-the-clock job with no time off. Ever.

Next: 31 - Denali