Friday morning found me packed and ready to roll at 10 am (mountain). Google told me that I could be home at 9 pm (central). Ten hours of riding is a lot, but the motivator was sleeping in my own bed.
I flew across South Dakota covering quite a bit of the same ground that I had covered on Thursday when I rode to Sturgis, Wall, Badlands National Park, and Rapid City. But I didn't have Hoopy with me Thursday and I needed shots like "Hoopy Goes to Wall Drug", so I made a quick stop there and the Badlands entry to keep my photographic obligation.
The rest of the ride was quick, all interstate highway and there was a cool tailwind to keep things comfortable. The dull South Dakota stretch was punctuated by stops for gas and a brief stop at the Corn Palace in Mitchell SD.
Speed enforcement is higher on this busy stretch of road going into the Labor Day weekend. While I hadn't seen more than a handful of speed traps in the past two weeks, I saw a half dozen on this day alone. East of Worthington MN, I spotted a police cruiser coming up to tail me, check my speed (motorcycles are nearly invisible to radar), then breeze on by. My rear view video camera probably paid for itself in that moment!
Darkness fell after 8 pm in Minnesota with about 45 minutes to go. There are good reasons not to follow close behind another vehicle ... the best one avoiding kicked up road debris such as tire tread or a rock. But at dusk in late summer, this is offset by the fact that tailgaters are protected from deer by the leading vehicle. I followed a van up highway 169 from Mankato to Chaska with a tight "thousand one thousand two" count gap between us.
Julie kept in touch through the day to check on my progress. As I pulled into my neighborhood, I saw my downstairs neighbor and his young son waving a flashlight as I breezed by. A hundred feet on, another man was waving a sparkler. Another hundred feet and another sparkler waved.
Julie had arranged an audience to line the street for me! I tooted my horn as I continued past several more sparklers illuminating the dark street. As I pulled into my driveway, Julie smiled in front of the garage emblazoned with signs:
Every motorcyclist knows that - sooner or later - something is going to go seriously wrong. The safety margin is simply too slim and there are too many random factors beyond the rider's control. Those "random factors" include weather, debris, pavement conditions, other drivers, and critters. (Toss in controllable factors like speed, alcohol, and machismo and later becomes sooner.) Bad stuff happens, even to the most attentive and prepared rider.
After a dozen days and over 3400 miles on the road, I counted myself lucky for not having encountered any TRUE near misses. Sure there was that time I had been nose-to-nose with a herd of twenty bison. And yes, there had been hailstones and near-zero visibility on the continental divide in Yellowstone. And okay, my rear brake pedal turned to useless mush in the midst of descending from Guardsman Pass on a gravel switchback. But my gut reaction to those weren't the heart-pounding "Oh crap" sensation of a genuine near miss.
That feeling came Thursday morning.
I told the front desk at the hotel that I would like to keep the room a second night and headed for the Spearfish Canyon Road. I entered at the opposite end of the canyon going toward the town of Spearfish, SD. The ride was breathtaking: shear stone walls rising beside a beautiful mountain stream and a road that meanders, swoops, and dives its way through the gap.
This was as much fun as a person could have on a motorcycle ... with or without chaps. My bike and I had become one. You simply couldn't find the point of separation between us. After spending well over 7,000 miles in the saddle, I know my horse and she knows me. When I think left, we go left. When I think whoa, we slow down. There simply is no conscious activity involved any longer in starting, shifting, steering, braking ... they simply happen out of will. And so there was perfectly fluid motion, swaying deeply left then right then left again as a pendulum marking time. The feeling of free flight was there as I (we) breezed though the canyon.
But all good things must end and the canyon walls soon began to shrink from thousands of feet to mere hundreds. The canyon became a valley as the basin widened and the walls took on a less radical slope. Signs of civilization became more evident and I knew the town of Spearfish would appear around the next bend or two.
I slowed to under 40 mph thinking "Fun's over." But it was just about to begin. A doe appeared in the left lane about three seconds ahead. The bike and I gently gave up on power and coasted to the right side of my lane.
I watched the deer crouch to spring directly into my path.
That was the moment.
As my head was going down to brace for impact. I caught a glimpse of that doe catching herselp mid-leaf and turning to let me dash by unscathed. My heart pounded as I fully comprehended how close I had come to a serious collision.
In hindsight, I feel good about my instinctive reaction: No crazy avoidance maneuvers, just holding the line toward the right side shoulder while cutting the throttle and gently braking.
The three key ingredients of a great motorcycle ride are scenery, curves, and hills. Decelerate approaching the bend then shoot an arc (outside-inside-outside of the midline) while accelerating through it. Bike and rider pitch together against gravity and the centrifuge of the road. All this accompanied by Harley-Davidson's trademark sound of rolling thunder. The feeling can only be compared to flying. Not the 737-passenger-flight-to-Newark type of flying. More like F22-fighter-jet-in-the-Grand-Canyon.
And you never know what you will find around the next bend:
On this trip I have covered several of the great motorcycle rides in the U.S.: The Going to the Sun Road in Glacier Park, the eastern shore of Flathead Lake in Montana, the Beartooth Highway and the Chief Joseph Scenic Highway outside the northeast entrance of Yellowstone, the Big Cottonwood Canyon and Guardsman Pass in Utah.
Today's mission is to ride the Spearfish Canyon, the Needle Formation, and the Badlands of South Dakota. The forecast is crisp and brisk with gusty winds. I will stay overnight in Deadwood a second night, this gives me the opportunity to ride today without the T-bag of clothes, the duffel of camping gear, or the saddle bags. Not exactly light as a feather, but a lot less encumbered than usual.
Tomorrow I will push on across the South Dakota prairie toward home in Minnesota. I can hardly wait to get back to my peaceful town Chaska.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Arrived Deadwood SD, looking for blackjack. Nice ride, bighorn sheep crossed in front of me at Mt Rushmore.
Yesterday's ride took me across the high plains of southern Wyoming where "extraction" rules the economy - coal, soda ash, potash, gas and oil. Easy interstate the first 250 miles, good two-lane from Rawlins to Casper.
Supper at the Beacon "where cowboys sneak in." Cowboys and oil rig wranglers have the same lean and sun-baked look and even dress alike. The cowboys don't have as much money to toss around as the ten-on-four-off drillers.
Today's weather looks like it could get wet late in the day. My target is the Black Hills (Custer SD).
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Have arrived at campground in Casper WY. 40 mph tailwind from Utah gave me 50 mpg.
Sailboat races are generally on a triangular course with an upwind, a beat, and a downwind leg. My trip, too, has the three-legged layout with the initial long run in a WNW direction from Minneapolis to Glacier, then a turn southward and zigzagging my way to Utah where I make the final turn to the northeast and the finish line. Still I don't want to get ahead of myself. There is a lot of hard riding - over 1,200 miles- ahead of me, at least the prevailing westerlies should be at my back.
Monday's route from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake City was entirely on interstate freeways where speeds are higher and road conditions are excellent. The challenge was the weather - temperatures in the low 60s and a wall of rainclouds moving right-to-left ahead of me.
I stopped at a Harley-Davidson dealer in Idaho Falls and bought a new pair of insulated and waterproof riding gloves - I do not want a repeat of the rainy ride Saturday morning when my hands were soaked and the cold cut to the bone. There is a saying that H-D stands for "hundred dollars"; the new gloves weren't cheap but the quality shows.
I rode for an hour quite comfortably in my multilayered outfit. Twenty miles from the Utah border I could see the deep grey of a veil of rain filling the valley ahead. I pulled off and searched the town for a laundromat where I could productively wait it out - but there was none to be found. I ended up eating an early lunch at a Burger King.
The Wasatch Range towered to the left side as I rode through Utah. Snow was plainly visible above the treeline of the 12,000 foot peaks. I made another brief pause to let the weather run out of my path and into those mountains. The sun was breaking through as I made my way to Salt Lake City. I pulled into the downtown area and rode by the Mormon Temple area and the state capitol building.
There are several routes from Salt Lake to my destination for the night in Park City. Interstate 80 is the tamest of them, the southern route through Sundance is the longest, and the winding road up the Big Cottonwood Canyon is the wildest and most direct. I chose the canyon route and the ride up was exciting and absolutely beautiful between towering walls of stone. A gentle rain fell intermittently, but it didn't bother me at all.
There are two ski resorts near the top of the canyon, after them the road makes a hard left turn up to the Guardsman Pass. As I crested the summit, two cars were parked by the roadside and mountain bikers in spandex shorts .
Immediately past that point, the road turns to gravel. "Aw crap", I thought.
A Harley-Davidson motorcycle is not like those spidery motocross bikes. No, those dirt bikes are lightweight and designed for agility with knobby tires and a lot of ground clearance. My motorcycle, on the other hand weighs well over six hundred pounds even before loading it with gasoline, camping gear, clothes, tools, and me. And the tires are relatively smooth to give good traction of pavement.
I talked to the mountain bikers and they told me it wasn't that bad of a stretch of road and that they would go for it. And so I took the recommendation of crazy guys in spandex and headed down the gravel trail.
The most tense moment came when I realized that my rear brake had failed from overheating. From that point on I relied more on using first gear to slow my descent and the rear brake began responding again after it had a chance to cool down.
An hour later I rode into Park City and headed straight for the No Name Saloon on Main Street. I earned that beer.
Today's goal: Casper WY.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Arrived at Park City UT. Chilly ride, some rain, awesome ride up Big Cottonwood Canyon. Other side wasn't paved!
Sunday night finds me in a Best Western next to the falls in Idaho Falls, ID. Exhaustion hit me about 3:30 pm, the closest I have ever come to falling asleep on the motorcycle. Self-inflicted, for sure, because I stayed up until midnight chatting with Juergen and Irene from Augsburg, Germany. Then I woke before dawn and took the opportunity to photograph Old Faithful erupting in perfect synchronization with the sunrise. But all that caught up with me and I took myself off the road earlier than planned to be safe. I caught a two hour nap and have been re-mapping the rest of the trip.
The photo slideshow has been updated: now more than 40 photos with captions and you can see the spot they were taken on a map. These are my "Best of Trip" selections.
After a week of decent weather, I watched the sky darken as I broke camp Saturday morning. A cold rain pelted me as I rode toward Old Faithful. Then it turned to hail. My face stung, visibility was terrible, and my hands burned in the sodden leather gloves. Twenty six miles to Old Faithful past signs that marked the continental divide. The ice that pelted me on the east slope would eventually find the Gulf of Mexico and west of the divide it was destined for the Pacific. But today it was meant for me.
There is a look in the eye of guys who are driving minivans that says "I wish I was on a Harley." And there is a look in the eye of women at diners in tiny towns that says "Do you have room for me?" I know those looks well by now. But I didn't see those looks yesterday. No, this was a day for the blue haired ladies just off the tour buses to look at me with a glance that says "You don't look so smart now, do ya?"
At the Old Faithful Lodge I found cellular service and checked the weather. The road to Jackson Hole looked to be soggy with misery. I charted a coarse to lower elevation in Pocatello ID. Just before climbing back on the bike I made a last check at the front desk for cancellations. The sweetest words any woman has ever said to me are "We have one, sir, should I grab it for you?"
I ate trout, chatted with couples from Utah and Germany, and slept dry and warm. Don't ask the price, it was worth every cent.
Here is a video of Old Faithful erupting at sunrise:
They say you should never look a bison in the eye. But it is really hard to avoid doing just that when one is just a few feet in front of you. Been there, done that, and got the photos. But first let's catch up, I've been out of range a while.
There are quite a few like-minded guys out here. After setting up camp outside Missoula last Wednesday I rode back to town to do laundry, update the blog and photos, and have dinner. At a sushi bar I sat next to another solo biker - Dave is in his mid-forties and hails from Orange County CA where he founded a dotcom. He rides a lot more than me and makes big trips often. He wants to "do Sturgis" next year. He offered good tips about packing and riding. And he liked the iPhone videos and the Family Tracker app. It felt great to connect with a kindred spirit.
Thursday morning while breaking camp I was visited by Max, who lives in the rather spooky trailer in the next site. Remember that this campground is well shy of "resort" and exactly the place you might live at as a last resort. Max, his dog and a disabled woman live here. He likes the motorcyclists that come through often and he had a lot of questions about my bike and trip. Later he came back to offer me a glass of V8 juice. I have tears in my eyes as I think of the generosity of that offering: he has so little and I am so blessed. Max put me to shame.
The heat gradually built as I rode from Missoula to Yellowstone Park. My outfit got progressively lighter as the day wore on.
At breakfast, I sat at the counter of a diner named the Bull's Back End. At one point a pony-tailed twenty-something girl dashed in to ask "Do you only have drip coffee?" It took a few seconds to understand that she NEEDED espresso or latte. The three older ladies behind the counter howled with laughter after she dashed away.
Late afternoon I made it to the town of West Yellowstone. At a Subway, I ate with another solo biker named Shane. He is younger, about 30, and everything about him is polished and cocky. His best advice was to get a road atlas at Wal-Mart and "follow the green dots" that signify scenic byways. He showed a photo of a grizzly bear in a river in Yellowstone - the bear was less than 100 feet away. I feel jealous, the top predators like wolves and grizzlies are hard to spot.
I entered the park and almost immediately came on a herd of elk grazing the riverbanks next to the road. Small traffic jams are pretty common wherever bison, pronghorns or elk are grazing. I found my way to Yellowstone Lake and set up camp at the Bridge Bay campground.
On Friday, I took a bit of Shane's advice and used the campground as a base for a big circuit ride. It was liberating as I rode 440 miles unencumbered by my sissy bar bag and duffel of camping gear. My course took me into the Lamar Valley to the northeast entrance and on to Cooke City and Soda Butte (where a camper was recently pulled from his tent and eaten by a grizzly). among the greatest motorcycle rides, the Beartooth Highway and Chief Joseph Highway are at the top of the list. I rode both that day. On reaching Cody WY I wolfed down a Quarter Pounder and drank a quart of Coke. Temperature was in the 90s and i was parched. But the main reason for choosing McDonalds: WiFi.
From Cody WY I turned west 75 miles back to Yellowstone via the east entrance. From there to Yellowstone Lake is another 25 miles of feisty scenic majesty.
Riding 440 miles in a day is grueling, so you can imagine my state of mind as the road curved along the northern shore of Yellowstone Lake: ten miles to go! I could practically see "home base" at Bridge Bay across the water.
But as I rounded a bend I saw traffic stopped on both directions by a herd what seemed at the time like 50 bison (but I count fewer than 20 in the photos). Half were grazing off the right shoulder and half were in the left lane walking toward me. I left a 30 yard gap to the car in front of me so the bison on the left could rejoin those on the right. Park rangers in a patrol car were wrangling the group on the road into that gap.
Once the bison were off pavement (but inches from me), traffic flow resumed. Four miles onward I came to another herd just as it was making it to the road. Only this time my motorcycle was the lead vehicle face-to-face with the herd. At this close range a bison's black eye is huge and it is impossible not to gaze into the depths of it. Two larger bulls suddenly turned and started chasing three younger bulls. (August is mating season.) This left only cows and calves in the road. I revved my Harley a bit and tooted my horn, emboldened by the wrangling of the park ranger. The herd quickly cleared the road and I motored on to the campground. Just another day on the road.
New plan! They had a cancellation at Old Faithful Lodge. Room with a view of geysers.
At Old Faithful. Rainy ride with hail. Waiting out next storm in Old Faithful Lodge, majestic log building.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Camping by Yellowstone Lake. Bison & elk grazing in campground! Rode to northeast gate, Beartooth Hwy & Chief Joseph Hwy. Awesome rides.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I have reached West Yellowstone. Heading into the park to find lodging or campsite.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Ate sushi in Missoula, the guy next to me is on a solo bike trip from Southern CA! Both traveling by iPhone. Small world but I'd hate to paint it.
At work, my department recently moved -- temporarily due to construction work, tighter quarters. A young project manager didn't have enough space in his cubicle for his Nerf basketball hoop so he hung it across the aisle ... on the back wall of my workstation. This led to some good-natured grumping on my part: "Kids! Don't make me pull this cubicle over."
Each Friday before I left for the weekend, I hid "Hoopy" around the building ... we called the game Hoopy Flew the Coopy.
Last Friday before I left for vacation, I packed Hoopy up and took him for a little ride. Look for him in my slideshow.
Losing the Grid / Finding Amy Grace
Please don't worry about me when I lose contact from time to time. My trip is covering a lot of very sparsely populated territory where it isn't possible ... I simply cannot be in touch.
I packed up in Great Falls Monday morning and hit the road. I ate breakfast at a gas station (breakfast burrito and OJ) and set the phone up for a time lapse video. (Look out for the wild horses in the road at the 2:15 mark.) As recommended, I switched the iPhone to "airplane mode" to prevent issues with video capture interruptions ... the family tracker push notifications are a pain and downright dangerous to cancel when riding with gloves. So with my phone not transmitting, my Family Tracker dot stopped moving.
When I arrived in St Mary, Montana about 4 pm I turned the phone back on to find the dreaded "No Signal" ... the area is really remote and AT&T has no towers from Browning MT to the Canadian border. I checked for WiFi hotspots and found one but it required a password. I rode to Babb and ate at the Two Sisters restaurant ... a quirky / funky / artsy spot that proudly displays the can of pepper spray that Jack Hanna used to ward off a grizzly bear about two weeks ago. Art, pepper spray and a great burger, but no WiFi. I set up camp at the Chewing Blackbones campground ... WiFi? Fuggedaboutit. I rode into glacier along the Going to the Sun Road to the visitor center at the top of Logan Pass ... "No Signal" and no WiFi. I headed back to Babb for a beer at the Cattle Baron Supper Club, no WiFi. I knew that back home Julie would be worried.
The Chewing Blackbones campground is a bit different. There are literally hundreds of camping spots but only about six sites were occupied that night. Most of the spots have no picnic table, just a post and electrical hookup in a field. I ultimately guessed that this had been set up decades ago as a big KOA campground, but they relocated to a better spot nearer the park entrance. An ancient man sits in a pickup truck at the gate facing the highway. When he talks you can count the missing teeth, about six of them. He told me to take any spot except G6 ... the only one that was taken at that time. I chose spot G23 at the far corner of the campground beside the beautiful mountain lake.
So when I arrived back at the campground, I was a bit surprised to find that two tents were set up in spot G24 right next to mine. I strolled over and introduced myself to a group of five campers from "the other side" (of the continental divide) in Whitefish. They were surprised because they thought they had set up next door to a friend who was coming up earlier than them. They were coming for a memorial to their friend Amy Grace who died in a car accident two weeks ago. We talked a while and I headed for my tent while they headed for the bar in Babb. I heard them pull in four or five hours later after 2:00 am.
My feet were cold and I slept restlessly until 5:00 am. I could hear my neighbors' fire crackling and their low voices. I got up and strolled over to talk with them and they immediately offered me a glass of wine and a bowl of the pot they were smoking. I said, "You know, somehow I have managed not to smoke the stuff since 1982." One of the campers said, "Dude, what a coincidence! I was BORN in 1982." I suddenly felt very, very old. They told me the northern lights had been out (Amy Grace sent them) and that they tried to wake me. We talked a while and I went back to my tent and slept until nine.
Late morning, I broke camp and packed the bike. We all went to breakfast together in Babb. We talked and they were young people working jobs (computer repair, landscaping, hotel desk clerk) that kept them going and close to the ski resort in Whitefish MT. I picked up the tab telling them that Amy Grace had sent me.
I backtracked south along the eastern side of the mountains to the town of Browning where I found the AT&T network. There were a half dozen voicemails from my girlfriend Julie, increasingly frantic in tone. "WHERE ARE YOU???" I called her immediately and reassured her that I was okay and wasn't ignoring the outside world, I simply had no way to say "Hello world!"
From Browning, I proceeded to East Glacier - then around the southern boundary of Glacier Park to West Glacier into the park 11 miles to the Lake MacDonald Lodge. Beautiful. I stopped at the front desk to see if, by chance, there was a cancellation - no dice. I rode west 40 miles to Whitefish and stayed at a nice place called the Downtowner Hotel (two thumbs up). My bike felt at home in a corral with about ten other motorcycles. The hotel is owned by a man who used to farm in Alberta, he now rents out the farmland. He told me he bought the place and gave up farming and that the hotel had needed a lot of work. The effort he put into it really shows and the place has a great location a block off the main block of shops and restaurants.
Today's goal is Missoula. The ride along the eastern shore of Flathead Lake is said to be gorgeous, lots of cherry orchards and they are in season!
Waking a bit disoriented from the deepest sleep, I pondered a hotel room in which every chair, dresser, tv, and lamp was draped with some article of clothing. Bones and sinew protested my attempts to arise, the expected aches of forcing the soft 52 year old body of a computer programmer to ride 1,100 miles in two days. But the thought of entering Glacier today pushed me forward, beckoning like scotch at five o'clock. "Rainstorm", I remembered. Everything was now dry except the gloves, their leather and wool stubbornly holding on to their hard-earned dampness.
I think I know why the sky seems bigger here. As you top a crest you can see forever and there is enough terrain to let you know the horizon is really far. But it isn't THAT far off. On the prairie, the distance to the horizon is about 7 to 8 miles. Pick a tower or hill on the horizon. Note odometer and add 7.5. Ride onward. Check odometer. Forever isn't as big as you might've expected because there is another forever just past the last one. And another, and another. Repeat 15 or 20 times and refill the tank. Repeat THAT four times and you've covered about 2/3 of Montana. Under a really big sky.
(If the preceding paragraphs read like a Steinbeck novel, it worked. If not, it didn't.)
My goal today was to reach Havre (rhymes with 'cadaver') by going north to a highway that runs near the Canadian border. When I reached the town of Circle, I saw that my GPS routed me northwest on a "highway" that was paved for the first 10 miles and then the dreaded "Pavement Ends" followed by 24 miles of coarse gravel. That may be fine for an enduro bike, but gravel is not good for my type of motorcycle. So I elected to shift directions and head due west to Great Falls.
I put about 100 more miles on the bike today than on day 1 and the vast majority was two-lane roads.
"Beautiful" is not the first word I would use to describe eastern Montana. "Rugged" or "Unforgiving" or "Relentless" would probably be paired with "Beauty." Ditto for the Little Missouri National Grasslands in western North Dakota ... breathtaking.
The grasshoppers that I was concerned about were no big deal. Yes there we a bunch, and Yes they sting a bit when slamming into a knee at 85 mph, but No I don't regret driving right though ground zero for the infestation. It seemed to me that high value fields of wheat had been sprayed but that low value range land had a heck of a lot more of the green menace.
The day started out hot and the temperature went over 100 degrees. That changed abruptly beginning about 4 pm and the clear hot skies changed over to overcast and under 60 degrees by 7 pm.
I rode in my first honest-to-goodness downpour with thunder and lightning. The heavens opened just as I was approaching my destination Great Falls. I had put on my rain gear so I was reasonably dry. I hung out at a gas station / convenience store on the western edge of town and had a cup of coffee until a rainbow appeared as the storm moved east lit by the setting sun.
The outlook for tomorrow is cool (60s) with possible afternoon showers. The remaining distance to the east gate of Glacier is only 165 miles. My plan is to sleep in and see what happens.
You may track my whereabouts through the magic of the iPhone's Family Tracker application. Click here to see where I am now. Please don't panic if my dot doesn't move for several hours, it needs an internet connection and the AT&T network coverage is limited where I am headed.
Day 1 Highlights
Long day - almost 500 miles. Made it to Dickinson ND arrived about 6:00 pm.
Best surprise was the huge sunflower fields. Hundreds of acres in full bloom all facing the sun.
Most of I-94 in ND is in pristine condition. Click here for a time lapse video "Across ND in two minutes".
Although the afternoon temps were in the 90s, I felt cool in my vented jacket. Skin feels the dew point at high speed.
Every inch of my skin is covered when riding except just under my chin and jaw. A wasp blew around the windshield and stung me! I was talking to my brother in Atlanta (Bluetooth headset in helmet) at the time. Thanks for the concern, Greg.
Despite a very strong tailwind, I only averaged about 42 MPG gas mileage ... I usually get 46. I guess that's the penalty for hauling 200 pounds of gear and the higher speed limit in ND (75 MPH).
At one fill-up I put 4.66 gallons into a tank that Harley-Davidson says only holds 4.5. Riding on fumes, should have filled up in Bismarck ND, there is a lot of vacant prairie from there to Glen Ullin.
Evening - long soak in the tub, pasta dinner, a few beers. The hotel lounge has a "casino" with two blackjack tables and pulltabs. I won $55, enough to buy today's gasoline.
Day 2 Outlook
The Sunday goal is Havre (does that rhyme with Favre?) Montana. The forecast looks great: sunny with a lot of grasshoppers.
Yesterday's ride was all interstate. I will leave I-94 at Glendive MT and take the road less traveled. (Note to self: fill the reserve tank!!)
My motorcycle is a used bike found on Craigslist, the seller had purchased it for his wife. She rode the bike only 160 miles - less than one tank of gas - and decided it was too much for her. "The beast" scared her so it sat two years unridden.
Several of my friends have motorcycles and they let me know pretty succinctly that Harley-Davidson was the right choice. Governor Schwarzenegger's term "girlie man" was used to describe people who ride the alternative brands. And so I took the class, got licensed, and went shopping on Craigslist. Since May I have put more than 4,000 miles on the odometer. Not just weekend and evening jaunts, I also spin it up to the office when the weather is clear. At first I called them "ride your mid-life crisis to work days."
My experience with motorcycles is in the distant past. When I was 12 years old, my brother and I ran a driving range at a local golf course. We were paid $1 per hour (for both of us, not each) and worked six eleven-hour days a week. The golf pro's wife paid us in cash each day and by the end of the summer we had a large wad of one, five, and ten dollar bills. We gave it to our dad with instructions to pick up a Honda Trail 50 minibike. We were pretty pleased when he instead brought home the larger Trail 70 - more like a real bike, it even had a clutch and manual four speed transmission and would top out at 50 mph. The next two summers we practically lived on the Trail 70. We rode it hard in the field and forests near our rural home. That experience taught me to love riding and quite a bit about repair and maintenance.
This evening I packed for the long ride. Over time I made a list of about fifty items, these fall in five categories: bike gear, clothing, camping, emergency, and electronics. And now all but a few stubborn items have been rounded up, the rest are on the final shopping list.
I made a dry run a few weeks ago. For that excursion, I loaded the bike with saddlebags, camping gear, and the large "sissy bar pack" that will perch on the back seat. The test circuit was from Chaska to the north around Lake Mille Lacs - up the western and down the eastern side - about 7 hours with a long stop. I was pretty pleased with the feel of the bike laden with gear and that the load did not shift at all during the seven hour trip.
Because of the dry run, the bulkiest of the gear was already pulled from storage and staged for the big trip. Of course I didn't particularly care at that time if I had the exact items of clothing and small gear ... just anything to fill the pack and saddlebags. This time, the selection was a lot more precise.
There is something about a scarce resource that forces compromise. In my case, the limited resource is space - there is only so much stuff that I can (or am willing to) carry. Less is more; I don't want to haul anything 3,500 miles without good reason. In general, my rule is that if I hear myself saying "I might need this" then I will leave it behind knowing that it may mean buying a duplicate when I need it.
But for some items I hear myself saying "I might need this, and if I do it would be a lifesaver." For example, should I carry a spare 1/2 gallon can of gasoline? That's a lot of bulk and potentially hazardous too. But I had an experience in 1995 that taught me not to count on every dot on the map being a town, let alone having a gas station. The range of the motorcycle is only 190 miles between fill-ups, and I don't plan to stick to well-traveled interstate highways. A half-gallon reserve could be a life saver. For now, the container is packed but empty and I will fill it when I reach Montana.
Once I had made up my mind to make the trip, I started paying attention to news stories about Montana and motorcycling.
Bear Eats Camper:
Yup. A grizzly mama and her three undernourished cubs strolled into a Forest Service campground just north of Yellowstone Park and ATE A GUY. Tore open his nylon tent, pulled him out, and consumed much of his abdomen. (Yum, liver.) I wonder if his snoring attracted the bears ... I am told that I snore like one in heat. My plan is to split my nights about 50:50 between sleeping in a tent and sleeping in a bed. Bad news, bears: my friend Steve loaned me a 700,000 volt stun wand. My plan is to use it on myself if the occasion arises.
Intelligent Executive Rides Bike Off Mountain:
The CEO of the Freedom Valu Center chain of gas stations and convenience stores has (had) a cabin in Montana. He and his wife went out for a ride on the Harley. He overshot a curve, rode down an embankment, struck a boulder and died. He cushioned the blow for his wife, she only broke a leg. I bet she doesn't feel lucky though. According to the news story, neither alcohol nor excessive speed were factors and he was wearing a helmet. Y'all drive careful now, hear?
Escaped Murderer Hiding Near Glacier Park:
This fine citizen was serving a gazillion year sentence in Arizona when he (allegedly) convinced his fiance -- who is also his cousin -- to bust him out of the pen. Adios Sheriff Joe. They apparently killed an elderly couple (campers, to boot) in New Mexico and then made a run for the border ... Canada, that is. They were last spotted near the eastern entrance to Glacier National Park. I sure hope 1) they don't take a liking to my bike and 2) none of the gun-toting locals think that I look like him.
Plague of Grasshoppers:
WTF. Just when it can't get any cheerier, I learn that 2010 is the biggest year for grasshoppers since 1985. The hopper clan is massed in the western plains from Nebraska to Montana. Hitting a big juicy grasshopper at 70+ MPH is supposed to leave a welt. Hitting a cloud of the buggers in biblical proportions cannot be a whole lot of fun either.
Despite these ominous omens, I will make the trip. I figure that the bear has been captured, accidents can be prevented by smart and defensive riding, the murderer is probably long gone or deep in hiding, and I could scarcely find a mention of grasshoppers in all of the stories and posts that followed the huge Sturgis (SD) Bike Rally.
I plan to do time lapse videos of various parts of my ride ... especially along the famous Going to the Sun Road in Glacier park. So ...
Windshield mount for the iPhone: $28 at Target.
iTimeLapse app: $3 at the iPhone app store.
My first trial run: Priceless. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaTJhwmS1Hg
Caution: It has music - you might wish to mute if at work.
I am about to embark on a 3,500 mile, two week solo motorcycle trip. Departure from my home in Chaska MN is set for next Saturday, August 21. My primary destination is Glacier National Park in northern Montana and I am especially looking forward to driving the Going to the Sun Road. From there, my route takes me down the continental divide to Yellowstone and Grand Tetons National Parks, then further southwest to Salt Lake City. I plan to return through Colorado, Nebraska and Iowa ... but frankly after Glacier I could wind up almost anywhere. I have two weeks to explore and see the west.
My trusty steed for this adventure is a 2007 Harley-Davidson Super Glide motorcycle. My bike is not one of the deluxe touring models -- it didn't come with comforts like a faring, heated handgrips, or even saddlebags -- but it does have the big 96 cubic inch V-twin engine and a sturdy frame worthy of the road. I have added various bits and pieces such as a windshield, engine guard with highway pegs, saddle bags and a luggage rack. My deep hope is that I will like the bike as much after the trip as I do beforehand. Time and miles will tell.
You may track my whereabouts through the magic of the iPhone's Family Tracker application. Click here to see where I am now.
