Rider, Lover, Consultant

What's Worse?

2010-08-09T16:57:00.000-05:00

Well I'm not sure what's worse... getting a flat on a brand-spankin new tire, finding the hole/slash and not being able to plug it sufficiently or seeing your bike on the back of flatbed. Doesn't really matter. They all suck.

Coming into Memphis I ran over something (road alligator?) and it buggered up the rear license plate and slashed the rear tire. The hole itself wasn't a huge slash, but long enough to prevent two plugs from sealing it properly. So I called AAA to come rescue me from the west-bound lane of I-40. Since it's Monday none of the MC shops are open and I'm shacked up at the Courtyard in Memphis waiting for the Honda shop to open tomorrow.

Thankfully, the puncture didn't cause an instantaneous loss of pressure. A few miles after hearing/feeling the incident, I felt the rear end getting a little jiggy with it. I had plenty of time to pull over and evaluate the situation. Not good and here I sit drinking beers and liking it. For now, life is good.

Big Bend Trip - Day Two

2010-02-19T20:10:00.004-06:00

Driving sucks. Have I said that before?

Starting off in Texarkana this morning my intention was to get to Big Bend by the end of the day.

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Obviously, it just didn't work out that way. I stopped in Odessa and liked it. Perhaps I'll get to Big Bend tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Absolutely nothing happened. Just a bunch of boring miles in a truck with a bike in the back and absolutely gorgeous weather. Kinda made me think I should park the truck, unload the bike and ride the rest of the way.

Note to dumbass: Put some luggage on the DR.

Big Bend Trip - Day One

2010-02-18T19:25:00.012-06:00

I couldn't wait to get the hell outta dodge, but I wound up taking my time anyway. I'm heading to the Big Bend area of Texas to meet up with some friends from the MTF for the Big Bend Rough Road Ride. This has been the worst winter I've spent in Bowling Green, KY and it's time to haul ass.

But first I have to load the DR. Yes. Let me say that again. I have to load the DR. God, that hurts.

I bought a truck a week or so ago. It was either a truck or a trailer and, well, a truck just seemed like the right and proper thing to do. I also bought a 7 foot loading ramp. The truck's a 4x4 and sits a little higher than most. The loading ramp, even at 7 feet, is still at a butt-clenching angle.

A few days prior to leaving I practiced loading the bike and made it up in one piece, but I was lucky. Towards the top I gassed it a bit and the right side strap came undone. The ramp was tweaked at an angle. It could have made for a really shitty experience and a brutal lesson learned. Would've been a cool YouTube viddy, though.

I've modified the strapping technique to eliminate this issue.

As it turned out I didn't use the ramp to load the bike. I found a nice hill and backed the truck up to it. Almost perfect angle too. Only had to ask one person to come over to help get the bike in the back. And once the bike was in the bed of the truck, I only dropped it once and layed it over once. No damage done to the bike or new truck.

I've modified the strapping technique to eliminate this issue. ;)

So it's 8:48 AM and I'm off. Wait a minute. Son-of-a-bitch! I forgot the ramp. Idiot. Thankfully, I was only at the second light from home.

Ya. This hauling bike gig will be a learning experience. I don't like it. Wish me luck. Wish the DR luck. Wish my truck luck.

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I kinda figured getting to Dallas the first day would be a good goal. Driving sucks. I stopped in Texarkana and liked it.

Stupid Is... And Stupid Does

2009-06-30T10:16:00.008-05:00

Ya. Ya. I know, but it's better when worded that way. Work with me...

So I decided that the DR is a keeper and need to register it in Texas. Insurance? Check. Texas state inspection? Hmmm... The closest Texas city to Bowling Green is Texarkana and the bike needs to be in Texarkana for this to work. No need to state the obvious, eh? Fuckin' eh. Anyway...

The DR is a different mode of transportation than what I'm accustomed. My other rides like hitting the highway and hauling ass or easing back for a few minutes and then hauling ass. I have to get over and get used to the fact that the DR just won't get on the interstate and do 80+ for hours on end. It's a more laid back adventure. And that's one of the reasons I bought the bike to begin with.

I mapped out a route that kept me off the interstate as much as possible. On the way to Texarkana I traveled about 40 miles of interstate through the Memphis area. US-79 goes all the way from Russellville (just west of Bowling Green) damn near all the way to Texarkana while only being about 20 miles longer than the interstate route. I figured that's the perfect back-road route.

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The ride to Texarkana was excellent. Longer than a typical ride, but enjoyable. I enjoyed the slower pace, the smaller towns, the kind folks along the way and not feeling like I was in a big damn hurry to get somewhere. Between the slower pace, the abundant small towns and the incredible heat, I arrived in Texarkana in about twelve and a half hours. Not too bad.

I checked into the Courtyard because it's right by the local Cracker Barrel - one of my many addictions. After getting all my gear into the room and chilling for a spell I went back outside to look over the bike and secure it for the evening.

Now stupid is locking the bars and twisting the key aaaaaaaaaalllllllll the way to the left, past LOCK and into PARK mode which essentially locks the bars and turns on the rear tail light. And stupid does exactly that. Oblivious to the eventual outcome stupid goes back to his room, orders dinner from Cracker Barrel (perhaps the sanest decision of the day), gets a little work done and falls asleep.

The next morning stupid gets up, has breakfast, takes a shower, checks out of the room, packs the bike and turns the key over. Nada. Nothing. Where's that little green light that's supposed to come on? Son-of-a-bitch! Perhaps it's a fuse or a loose battery cable? So stupid whips out the tools and removes the seat. Cables are secure and the fuses are good. Then stupid looks at and comprehends the instrument markings around the key hole. Son-of-a-bitch! Stupid put it in PARK mode yesterday and the battery is deader than a doornail.

I asked a few patrons if they had a set of jumper cables and "no" was the standard reply. I've had a AAA membership for a few years and have never had reason to use it. The wrecker-dude arrived and we attempted to jump it, but no dice. Next option... tow it to the dealer and that's exactly what we did. The folks at McKinnon Honda were great. They put the battery on a charger, inspected the bike and got me outta there by 12:30.

The original plan was to head up the interstate into Arkansas and catch some sequence of roads that would eventually put me on SR-9 which I'd take all the way to Mammoth Spring on the Missouri border. The forecast predicted a good turd-floater in the region so I decided to just haul ass back to Bowling Green instead. I stayed on the interstate until after Memphis. The DR did well on the interstate, but again, it's no speed demon. Irony defined - everyone's passing Jason because he's the turtle.

The interstate droning was damn near unbearable. A little north of Memphis I got off the interstate and back on US-79. I've found I'm able to tolerate the slower going when I'm on roads that call for, well, slower going. I figured I'd get home around midnight and the few hours of nighttime travel would give me an opportunity to evaluate the DR's stock lighting. Now stupid is purposefully not packing your night time glasses because you thought you wouldn't be riding at night. And stupid did exactly that.

When it got too dark and became unsafe to carry on, I decided to get a hotel room and finish the ride in the morning. I hated getting a hotel room so close to home, but in addition to one's body and one's pride from time to time, stupid can also hurt the wallet. What the hell. I'm home now, the DR's inspected and I'm breathing in and out. Life is good.

MTF Founder's Feast

2009-06-11T18:35:00.025-05:00

If you're just interested in the pics... Show me the Pics!

The Ride Up

Debbie decided that since Mitchell, Indiana was less than 200 miles from Bowling Green that she could ride her own to the Founder's Feast. That's a good thing because I'm not sure where she would have sat on the DR. I planned a route that was just over 160 miles along nothing but two-laners. Just one more game of Solitaire and we're off!

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Debbie's on her little Ninja 250. It's been a damn fine bike for her, but it needs some luggage. We haven't been able to find a bolt-on setup so it's still without luggage save for the ginormous tank bag with the kitchen sink in it. I've just started getting the DR setup. It has all the essentials to get it off-road, but I've yet to put any kind of luggage on the bike. I'm just not sure which direction to go. I ordered an SU rack from Happy Trails that should provide me some options and serve as a good base. For this trip it was easy enough to strap on a bag and giddyup. And that's exactly what we did.

The plan was to stop often and take our time. Rain was in the forecast, but we were prepared for it. We stopped just a little north of Roundhill. We weren't having any fun at the time. :)

In the last picture above the ol' boy has one of those support a cause ribbon stickers. You know, yellow for the war, pink for breast cancer and apparently black is for lap dancing.

The ride through Kentucky was fun and uneventful. We crossed the river at Hawesville and took the scenic route on SR-66 that runs along the river for a spell and then twists and turns it's way northward. It began raining just south of Sulphur and when we arrived at Ole Country Store we decided to stop and take a break.

While stopped we decided to get some chicken livers. Debbie would have preferred gizzards, but they didn't have any. She wasn't too keen on the livers, but your's truly was. I mean, what kind of ignoramus doesn't like chicken livers? Exactly. Debbie also learned that summer type gloves get drenched in the rain.

It wasn't long after leaving English that we arrived at the Spring Mill State Park just east of Mitchell, Indiana where we checked in and chilled for the rest of the day.

Rough Road Riding - Day One

I attended the Founder's Feast with the intention of rough road riding both days. Each day we met at the Mickey D's in Mitchell. We shot the shit, drank the coffee, geared up and giddy'd up.

There was a good mix of bikes. Some VStroms and beemers, but mostly KLRs and DRs. Dandy Don Kime led the group both days and did a fantastic job of scouting the route and escorting us all on some fine dirt/gravel, water crossings and mud for those who chose to get dirty - real dirty. Be sure and click the link at the top of this post to see all the pics. I've just selected a few to show here.

Like Father, like son. Dan and Art.

Dan almost losing it. Almost.

Dan (there was a lot of Dans and Dons on this ride) plowing through the muck.

Jon with a calm move across the mud.

John laying the bike down. It was tired.

Art loving every minute of it.

Lunch was at Trails End just outside Story, Indiana.

My DR got a little dirty. Not too bad for a noob.

Over all, a beautiful and fun day of riding.

Rough Road Riding - Day Two

Day two began much like day one - at the Mickey D's in Mitchell. Diggidy-Don (right) and Kevin decided to join us today since, to paraphrase Robert Cray with apologies, the forecast *didn't* call for rain.

We headed out in a southerly direction from Mitchell toward the French Lick area where we entered the gravel. Severe storms and hail ravaged the area the night before and it was evident with all the fresh, green leaves and limbs that covered some of the roads. We had to clear a few limbs from the road a number of times.

The first obstable was a nice, steep, muddy hill. Some chose to shimmy up the hill and some chose to go around - including your's truly.

We ate a good lunch at Marcy's Kitchen.

After lunch we traversed a few water crossings. The first one was hairy and I was close to saying f-it and going around, but then decided to hell with it - giddyup. No one tossed their bike into the water, but there were some close calls.

The reward for crossing all the water? Ice cream!

After ice cream... nappy time and the end of another great day of riding. Many thanks to everyone who scouted the roads and help organize the ride.

The Ride Home

I woke up early and looked at the radar. There was a good opening between the rain so I poked and prodded Debbie and told her that if we leave now, we may get lucky and make it home without getting wet. She was ready in no time and we were off!

We stopped again at the Ole Country Store in Sulphur, Indiana. It was time for a rest and something to chew on. Debbie smelled bacon and I went over to inspect.

mmmmmmmm... bacon... Jason likey. Jason needy.

While drooling over a bacon, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich we got to talking to the owner, Donnie. Something I didn't realize the first time through was that the Ole Country Store is the home Donnie's Famous Chili. I asked him if he could whip up a batch and he said, "No problem" to which I replied, "Giddyup on it." Minutes later there appeared a large cup of hot, steamy, spicy chili that I must admit was pretty damn good despite the presence of spaghetti. Something that would get you hanged in Texas. Even still, I'd recommend stopping in at this little joint and checking out the chili. Nice friendly folks and damn good eats.

We got home shortly afterward and capped off an excellent little vacation. Debbie rode her own and did very well. She's still learning to trust her tires, but she's doing just fine. The DR performed flawlessly and I'm very pleased with the bike. I'm glad I took the time to put a few things on the bike and get it "riding-ready." Feels like a keeper now.

It's good to be home. Life is good.

A Ride to Remember

2009-04-12T07:26:00.011-05:00

Almost a year ago to the day I last saw and rendered aid to my friend, Jim Cottingham. You see, a bunch of folks from the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum met at the Queen Wilhemena Lodge on the Arkansas side of the Talimena Scenic Byway for lunch and to pick up our SPOT units from Peter. Somewhere along the Talimena Jim found himself riding off-road and took a spill. His Valk faired well, but Jim... not so much apparently.

Jim didn't get to the lodge until after lunch. When I first saw him it was a typical meeting - smiles, howdys, me wondering how long it might have taken Jim to get there and an attenuated handshake. After seeing Jim's wrist it was obvious he had a mishap and needed some help. I retrieved the first aid kit from my bike and as Jim tried to explain what had happened I began cleaning and wrapping his wrist. He mentioned his ribs were hurting a bit and I urged him to head into Mena and have himself checked out. He said they didn't hurt *that* badly. He wanted to reattach the windscreen to the Valk and start heading toward home. I told him to take care of himself and if he started hurting more (and he would) to find the nearest hospital and get checked out. I bid him more smiles, a handshake and a till next time. I thought about Jim on the way back to Bowling Green and hoped my friend will make it home safely and have a fast and full recovery.

Reading about Jim's passing took me by surprise. I missed him immediately and shed tears not just for my friend, but for me and all of us who, to whatever degree, had the pleasure of knowing Jim. No longer would I rocket past Jim on the highway after leaving an RTE. He was the consummate tortoise. Slow, methodical and consistent. Whenever I passed him I always found myself wondering what he might be thinking while droning across west Texas a little shy of the speed limit. I reckon it was probably nothing in particular.

This weekend was Jim's memorial RTE in Rochester, Texas and I was unable to attend. I was, however, able to take a nice, slow, no-worries ride in his honor and that's exactly what I did.

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Mostly back roads with no particular destination in mind, but just a general direction. I thought of Jim, smiled and wondered if I'd eventually pass him somewhere along the way. Perhaps next time.

The folks on the MTF put up a Memorial Page for Jim.

i'm cured!

2009-02-01T16:40:00.004-06:00

...cured for a few days, anyway. today's ride was precisely what i needed to shake the road-jones that's been plaguing me since late november. the cure wasn't in the length of the ride, but the variety of roads traveled. i ran some good twisties and capped off the ride with a high-speed blast back home. the twisties started from glasgow south to tompkinsville and east all the way to cumberland falls. if you're in the area and looking for good roads, they're not hard to find, but i can recommend these:

sr-63 from glasgow to tompkinsville
sr-953 through judio, stalcup and littrell
sr-449 between sr-61 and sr-90
sr-92 between monticello and stearns
sr-700 between marshes siding and cumberland falls state park
sr-90 between youngs creek in the east and us-27 in the west

just east of tompkinsville along sr-100 i picked up sr-214. i wanted to cross the ferry at mcmillins landing - a 24-hour free ferry crossing of the cumberland river. the other side of the cumberland is sr-953. i spotted the road on the map last night and found it appealing so i had to ride it.

and i'm glad i did. beautiful road that winds through the on-the-map-only towns of judio, stalcup and littrell. eventually the road dumps you out at sr-61 near littrell. just a wee bit north on sr-61 is sr-449 that allows you to bypass burkesville. another excellent road in the region.

once i was on sr-90 the ride was mostly boring all the way to monticello where i picked up sr-92 all the way to stearns. sr-92 is a sneaky road in that some of the straightaways make abrupt, sharp turns and some of those turns are decreasing radius. excellent road. just don't be a dumbass.

i was going to run 92 to williamsburg and then head north to the eastern end of sr-90 to work my way west to cumberland falls, but while looking at the map last night i saw sr-700 - a road i have never ridden, but a road the map made look goooood. another sweet road in the region that dumped me out right at cumberland falls state park. and a trip to the park wouldn't be complete without a few pics of the falls...

because of the high water level, the viewing area right in front of the falls was closed so i couldn't get a good shot, but the sound of the falls rushing over sure made up for it.

the ride along sr-90 west is fabulous. after i got back to monticello i blasted back to bowling green along the cumberland parkway. in the near future, the parkway will be i-66.

so my road-jones is cured for a while. sure felt good to hit the road. life is good. the weather-guessers were wrong, though. instead of a high of 55 we enjoyed a high of 65. it's suppose to get cold again just in time for the work week. life is damn good. ;)

the cure - day two

2009-02-01T07:47:00.005-06:00

i'm resigned to rid myself of this road-jones and will leave soon. i've decided to head east to glasgow, south on 63 to tompkinsville, 100 east to 214 and the ferry across the cumberland river. not sure what will happen after that, but i intend to see cumberland falls and then snake my way back home.

here's a map of today's journey...

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shakedown run

2009-01-31T15:10:00.003-06:00

now that felt good! i make helmet head look pretty damn good...

i didn't go far this afternoon. i decided to take the "after work in the summer loop." it's about 80 or 90 miles and good for clearing the head and shaking off the day's annoyances.

i stopped at one of the more picturesque switchbacks to take some pics. this is a right popular spot with me. this shot was taken there in late fall of 2007...

and i took these two there today...

i'm glad the weather-guessers were right. while short, today's ride was what the doctor ordered. i still have a road-jones, mind you. perhaps tomorrow i'll be able to rub that one out. -er-a- i mean polish that one off. wait a minute. i mean go for a longer ride and cure what's ailing me. we shall see.

road-jones

2009-01-30T13:04:00.020-06:00

i faintly remember starting the bikes sometime in december and riding around the parking lot. i didn't go far because it was colder than a witch's tit and i still had a fresh hole in my head from brain surgery a week prior. for the most part i've been a good boy and have followed doctor's orders to take it easy, but i'm well past that "take it easy" shit. the only thing that's been holding me back from hitting the road is the horrible weather we've had this winter and the fact that i really don't feel like putting on the electrics and messing with all the wires. more shit to forget about and get in the way, i reckon. the weather-guessers are predicting a break this weekend, though. 40 is supposed to be the high on saturday and a whopping 55 on sunday. woohooooo!

not sure where i'll head, but i'm smokin' on heading east. toward cumberland falls perhaps. nice roads and a few bbq joints out that way. not sure what the weather will be like in that region yet. i should look that up, huh? no need to start the 2009 riding season off being a dumbass. may be too late for that.

i've decided i'll take the st13. it has plenty of good rubber and it wants to haul ass to anywhere. i may just ride it around a bit saturday, come back and change the oil. seems like the right thing to do.

yep. i reckon i've gone long enough without a good ride and all the pent up frustration has resulted in a ginormous road-jones.

what? you don't know what a road-jones is? hmmm... since i'm a guy, let me put it in guy terms. would you understand if i said "road-chubby" instead? that's what i thought. :) i have a serious road-jones and the only cure is to giddyup.

oh. and for the ladies out there that still don't get it... well... hmmm... ask your father.

if all goes well and i hit the road, here's a map of where i've been and where i'm at below. if you want to see a bigger version, go here:

see my road-jones here

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Florida Coast to Coast

2006-10-15T18:07:00.002-05:00

p class="text-normal"> After the Skyline Drive trip I had a week to blow before heading to Tampa and the start of the Florida Coast to Coast II ride. The FLC2C is a unique ride to Florida. The first FLC2C was back in 1983. It ran for a few years, but then dropped off the calendar for various reasons. Almost 20 years later, Al decided to honor his father by resurrecting the ride. The ride didn't make the 2005 calendar as Al was waging his own fight against Hodgkin-Lymphoma. But he's back in business now.

The 2006 FLC2C benefits the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society. Al spent a great deal of time devising the route between Tarpon Springs and Daytona Beach. Not an 4-laner in sight. Just a lot of back roads through rural Florida with plenty of tree-lined strips of tar, some cows and even some hills. Impressive all the way around.

I arrived a day early. After getting some skin on the wing I ambled on back to Tarpon Springs along some back roads.

Lunch was at the Hooters in Port Richey. As far Hooters go, real nice place along the water. The main attraction at Hooters wasn't the hooters at all, but rather Richard B's bike. Check out

The main attraction at Hooters wasn't the hooters at all, but rather Richard B's bike. It's a 1966 Honda CB 100 - or close to it. Gotta love Richard!

The morning of the ride...

The ride to Daytona...

The awards banquet...

Skyline Drive

2006-10-05T17:42:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine, Prakash K, helped me out while purchasing a new Goldwing. The seller was located in his neck of the woods and he offered to go by and look at the bike. Prakash confirmed the bike and the deal was legit. Not long after that I had a cashier's check and a plane ticket to Virginia.

The day I picked up the bike Prakash played hookie from work and took me on a little ride through the Virginny countryside, including a little part of Skyline Drive which runs from Front Royal to Waynesboro, VA. The total distance is only about 100 miles and is the precursor of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Skyline winds along the ridgeline overlooking the Shenandoah Valley and the Shenandoah river below.

I thought the fall colors would be more varied, but it was still a nice ride. The colors on the southern end seemed more brilliant than the northern section. Here's some of what I saw.

North East

2006-10-05T17:40:00.000-05:00

After the Poker Run From Hell I had a week to blow before heading to Philly to celebrate a friend's birthday. Wasn't sure where the hell I was headed. On my in-state PA SS1K I enjoyed riding along the Delaware Water Gap so I decided to mosey on over and ride the gap up to Port Jervis.

I ate lunch in Port Jervis and headed for Hawk's Nest - a short section of SR-97 just north Port Jervis along the Delaware Scenic Byway which runs along the Delaware River. The ride up the Delaware is a nice scenic ride.

While at the hotel in Binghamton I perused the map and decided to head for the Catskills the next morning. An ol' boy can easily get lost in the Catskills. I want to go back and ride a lot more of the area, but did find some roads that went to nowhere, some brilliant colors and a few covered bridges.

On my way to Philly I decided to check out the Statue of Liberty and Gettysburg. Sure are a lot of deer in Gettysburg.

The next few days involved attaching what's below to a keg of Fosters, several bottles of varied strains of liquor, a few bottles of wine and, surprisingly enough, no jail time. I reckon we're getting old.

MTF Poker Run From Hell

2006-09-10T17:28:00.000-05:00

The 2006 PRFH was a lot of fun. I ran the in-state SS1K while the weather was cooperating. Folks started showing up on Wednesday and I didn't hear anyone complain about a thing. Just a bunch of pics below.

These pics are from Wednesday's ride out to the Flight 93 memorial near Shanksville, PA. I remember being there during the 03 IBR. It was moving then and even moreso now. Over the years groups and individuals visit the memorial and bring monuments and trinquets to erect and leave at the memorial. I'm not sure what they're going to do for the final memorial, but I sure like what it is right now.

These pics are from the ride into New York City and ground zero. The first stop was at a local hotdog joint called Rutt's Hut. Damn good weiners. The next stop was an overlook in Weehauken with an excellent view of the city.

These pics are from the Saturday banquet. Good food. Good friends.

Crater Lake

2006-08-15T17:26:00.001-05:00

After going back to Hells Canyon to ride up the Snake river to Hells Canyon dam, I decided to spend the night in Baker City at a nice, cheap hotel called Bridge Street Inn. Nothing fancy, but has WIFI, full cable and a comfortable bed for $35/night. That evening I was perusing the map looking for somewhere to go the next day. Crater Lake stood out as a place I've never been and that was all it took.

The next morning I packed up and hauled ass. Some damn fine roads in the area. I took SR-7 to US-26 to US-35 in John Day to US-20 to Bend. On the way south on US-97 I notice a couple bikes some distance behind me. Naturally and instinctively, I push a bit harder to maintain some separation. Not sure who the second bike was, but the first looked a lot like Warchild's XX with him on it. I knew in La Pine that it was him when they took SR-31 headed towards Gerlach and the start of the Spank Rally. I had planned on riding the rally, but backed out because I wanted to visit my brother in southern California before heading to the IBA National Meet in Denver. Neither of which happened, but that's a story for another time.

I finally made it to Crater Lake and marveled at what I saw. Ideally, you'd spend an entire day there to get the best pics, do a little hiking and bit of chillin and relaxin. I got there just prior to lunch and enjoyed the ride around the entire lake. This is what I saw...

Glacier National Park

2006-08-10T17:25:00.000-05:00

Took a little ride through Glacier National Park. I didn't stay long, but I did enjoy the ride along Going to the Sun Road. Just some pics...

North Dakota's Enchanted Highway

2006-08-05T17:22:00.000-05:00

I've droned across North Dakota along I-94 a number of times over the years. There's not much out there save for a few dairy cows, vast fields of wheat that seem to stretch to the horizon, the periodic oasis with a few birds of various flavors swimming about and two interesting little nuggets that, had I not been in a big damn hurry, I would have checked out a long time ago.

The first little nugget along I-94 is located in New Salem - one of North Dakota's pre-eminent dairy centers. Actually, this little nugget isn't so little. At 38 feet high, 50 feet long and 12,000 pounds it's the world's largest Holstein Cow. Yep. Sweet Sue is New Salem's claim to fame and sits atop a hill on the south side of the interstate facing north. Has been since 1974. You'd have to be blind to miss it regardless of the warp factor you're traveling.

Sweet Sue's home is maintained by the local Lion's Club. While I was up there I met a local Lion's member and dairy farmer, Roger K, who was up there maintaining the grounds. He had a few interesting stories about what some of the local kids do up there from time to time. One evening Roger received a phone call from one of locals who happened up there. She noticed that someone had felt it necessary to relieve himself in one of Sue's hooves. Said it took a pressure washer and plenty of disinfectant to clean it up. Then there's been a broken picnic table, smashed out lights, various grafiti written on Sue and even a picture of someone who climbed onto Sue. Kids, eh? Roger also mentioned that repainting Sue every now and then costs upwards of $5,000. Although, this last paint job made Sue's arteries a little too pink. Needless to say, donations are welcome.

While Sue's had her moments over the years, she does have an excellent view of the neigborhood from up there. Even a view of Roger's dairy farm.

The next little nugget is actually a collection of nuggets and, well, these aren't little either. They're a series of the world's largest metal sculptures that, combined, make up the Enchanted Highway which stretches from Gladstone south to Regent. The purpose of the sculptures is to make this stretch of highway a tourist attraction and, as a result, bring people and dollars to the economies of Gladstone, Lefor and Regent. It's the brainchild of a Regent local, Gary Greff. Started in 1992 this is an ongoing project. As of 2006, six exhibits exist. At some point in the future there will be ten. All exhibits depict some aspect of western North Dakota rural art.

Starting from the north in Gladstone, the first sculpture is visible from the interstate. It's called Geese in Flight. In the last picture you'll notice the road to the sculpture is lined with geese on poles. Each one has a different wing position.

The next sculpture is called Deer Crossing. Damn glad they aren't that big!!

The next sculpture is called Grasshopper. One big grashopper dominates the sculpture, but there are smaller ones surrounding it as well as stalks of wheat and leaves laying on the ground.

The next sculpture is called Fish Out of Water. This is the current work in progress along the Enchanted Highway, but will be another amazing work of art when it's finished.

A family of Pheasants comes next. What struck me about this one as opposed to the others was the paint job on each of the pheasants making up the exhibit. There's even more wheat!

The next exhibit is Theodore Roosevelt Rides Again. I couldn't get the bike next to the sculpture, but it's as big as the rest.

The last exhibit was the first to be erected along the highway, Tin Family. I liked the mom's hair...

Taking my time riding across North Dakota was a treat. The scenery is amazing and the little nuggets along the way make it a worthwhile endeavor. Next time you're running across, stop in and say hello to Sweet Sue and the Tin Family. While you're at it, drop a few dollars in the local economies.

Utah 1088

2006-07-05T09:21:00.003-05:00

What follows is a mediocre report about mediocre effort and, not surprisingly, mediocre results, but I had a damn good time!

For the past several years I've wanted to run the Utah 1088. And who wouldn't? Steve Chalmers, the rallymaster, is a pioneer of our sport and has a reputation that precedes him. I'm not sure why, but I was expecting an unbending hard-ass of a rallymaster. Over the course of the next few days I found a rallymaster who's decisions were fair across the board, that was well-respected, cunning, insightful and, well, a real bastard. Something I think we all expect from anyone willing to come up with a plan to put riders through hell and back and return with smiles on their faces.

I've been on the road since leaving for Hyder Seek toward the end of May. Being on the road prior to a rally is never an issue. I packed the Polaroid as well as a backup and a few other implements of destruction. I figured I'd buy anything else I needed along the way. The biggest issue in my mind was, well, my state of mind. I haven't been in rally mode since the 2004 Waltz Across Texas and I didn't do an admirable job of defending the 2003 WATR title either. As competitive rally riders know, mindset plays an integral role in competition. From gas stops to bonus stops, every move must be choreographed, practiced, refined and perfected because time cannot be wasted. All your moves must be precise, efficient and deliberate. I didn't know how much I lost during my idle time, but the 1088 was sure to exaggerate and expose every weakness.

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Steve went over some of the fundamental do's and don'ts at the rider's meeting Friday evening. The rock got passed around a number of times. For those of you that don't know... if you're holding the rock, you asked a stupid question. At the end of the meeting, the alternate routes were passed out because he knew we needed something to whet our appetites. None of the alternate routes spoke to me, but I wanted to wait until the rally packets were passed out to see how everything, if anything, could be combined.

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I never have a difficult time sleeping the night before a rally. What's the point of staying up all night when I'm going to do just that the following evening? The next morning came quickly. We had a brief meeting, but only a few questions were asked. It was obvious everyone wanted the rally packets. When I got mine I opened it immediately. I'm not sure what the hell I expected, but I stood there with my thumb up my ass for a few minutes before deciding to go to the room to plot the locations on a map. The plotting didn't go too well. I was out of practice, under pressure and forgot how to do a lot of the things in Streets and Trips and Mapsource that were, at one time, second nature. It was frustrating to say the least.

A potential light was shining through frustration's fog. One location worth a good number of points and only a mere 425 miles to the south. Vegas Vic, a 40-foot tall neon cowboy located under the canopy on Fremont Street. All I needed to do was get on the bike and ride. If I could squeeze in some other locations on the way back, then that's just icing on the cake. Between the slow race, ol Vic and an unopened envelope with my driver's license, I should clear roughly 25,000 points the first leg. "Should" and "would" are two different things.

The problem with the slow race is that it's slow. This should have been an easy bonus. The first time through I finished in 38 seconds, but needed to cross the finish line in no less than 45. Damn! The next time through I wasn't even close to 38. As I was getting closer, Bill looked up and said, "You ain't gonna make it." Damn! Damn!

I was off for Vegas! The temperature in the basin was supposed to get into the high 80s. The temperature in Vegas was supposed to be hotter than shit - literally. From the reports I heard, in places it was approximately 20 degrees hotter than fresh, recently-plopped shit. Why the hell did I go to Vegas? Oh ya. Because I was not prepared to efficiently and deliberately go through the rally packet. I chose the easy way out. And while it was hot, it wasn't intolerable. I sweated my ass off and my shirt had the salt stains to prove it.

Finding Vic wasn't too difficult. I found a local who pointed me in the general direction. As I was turning around I saw Ken Morton at the stop light. We leap-frogged each other on the way down. He was heading in the same direction so I figured we were onto something. Ken and I found a place to park and mosied over under the coolness of the canopy and snapped a pic of Vegas Vic.

From Vegas to St. George, UT is a desert oven. I couldn't wait to start making the slow ascent from St. George because with the ascent comes a welcome decrease in temperature. And even one degree less is one degree in the right direction. By the time I got back in the basin, it was colder than shit - literally. About 10 degress colder than fresh, recently-plopped shit. I knew Steve would likely keep us in the cold the second leg. It would be welcome.

Having blown my wad on Vegas Vic, when I received the bonus list for the second leg I immediately searched it for that one, high point bonus. And I kept searching and searching and searching and damn!! Bastard! He's gonna make me work for this one. So I scurried up to the room and plotted all the points. A definitive route didn't stand out. Damn! About the only thing I could do to acquire a respectable amount of points was run a star pattern and get what I could before returning to base. It was obvious no rider would be able to "make up" points on the second leg. If, for whatever reason, you didn't go balls out on the first leg and get some serious points, remember the feeling. That's what it feels like to screw yourself.

I looked forward to riding through the night. I hadn't done that in a long time. My only concern was with critters crossing my path. The points in the Flaming Gorge region weren't enough to entice me out that way and that's where the majority of critters would be. There was a little stretch of US-6 that concerned me, but nothing more than usual. Not much else to do but fire up the HIDs, keep the head on a swivel, cover the brakes and twist the throttle.

The night went by quickly. Surprisingly, the route I took wasn't all that cold. Good thing since when I pit-stopped at my sister's in Austin I decided to leave the electrics. I wound up in downtown Salt Lake at the capital building waiting for the sun to rise. Steve Broadhead strolled up as I went over the paperwork. We chatted a bit before the sun shed enough light on the building. We took our pictures and hauled ass back to rally headquarters. The 1088 was over.

The banquet was excellent. Steve does a helluva job of handing out the awards. He tends to keep a steady gait pacing the floor telling stories, announcing 10th place, telling another story, announcing 9th, telling... you get the picture. As with anything else in life, you get out of it what you put into it. I put in average effort and finished in an average position. No regrets. I know what I need to work on and, in the end, I came back with a smile on my face.

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I'd like to thank Steve and all the volunteers who helped him put on a helluva rally. Y'all did good. I look forward to coming back again next year.

Mount Saint Helens

2006-06-30T17:19:00.001-05:00

After running through the Columbia River Gorge I decided to stop for the evening in the small town of Woodland, WA to position myself for a ride I've been waiting to complete for a long, long time - Mount Saint Helens. The past two times I've been in the area the park has been closed and the only time I've been able to enter the park was at night during the Butt-Lite III. Riding to Windy Ridge at night was interesting, to say the least. This time would be different.

As a 13 year old punk kid back in 1980 I was awestruck by the events that happened on May 18th. Volcanoes were something that I just didn't think about in North America. In my immature and naive mind, volcanoes only existed on little islands in the south Pacific or in ancient Greece and Italy. Mount Saint Helens changed all that. I learned about the ring of fire; the earth's tectonic plates; fault lines; how the tectonic plates constantly slide into and over one another; and perhaps most importantly, I gained a modicum of perspective and appreciation for the geologic timescale.

Firsthand reports weren't hard to come by either. My Dad's side of the family (most of them anyway) inhabit the Pacific Northwest and, obviously, all the major networks reported on the goings on in the region. One of my aunts sent a couple jars of ash to us in Texas. I think I still have one of them somewhere. I remember watching the news with my Father and seeing the debris flows and how the ash cloud was traveling around the globe. We could actually discern a bit of ash in the atmosphere in Texas. Nothing like the northwest, of course, but it was cool to see. All the years since I've been waiting to get back and see the area with my own eyes.

Leaving Woodland along WA-503 (aka Lewis River Road), the ride out past Cougar and into the park is twisty and fun along lakes Merwin, Yale and Swift. It is actually one of the best rides I've experienced in Washington. Granted, I haven't ridden all of Washington's roads, but the combination of WA-503, FR-90, FR-25 and FR-99 is one that will be difficult to beat on many levels. The road surfaces are nice, the road is twisty and hilly in all the right places, the smells are truly northwest and the views of the area are magnificent. The first glimpse of the south side of Mount Saint Helens comes quickly along WA-503. I had to make a U-turn for these.

And the views just kept getting better and better and as I wound my way from the south side of the mountain to the northeast side.

After turning on FR-99 toward Windy Ridge you're still outside of the blast zone. Surprisingly, the area between zones is abrupt and almost instantaneous. One moment you're riding through the pre-blast old growth forest and the next you're in the middle of a forest of bones where trees were either torn from the ground or sheared or snapped in half like toothpicks.

Over the years life has taken hold in what was once total devastation. A true testament to the resilience and perseverance of life. It starts slowly, but nature began rejuvenating immediately after the explosion.

Windy Ridge is perhaps the best place to witness the devastation in the immediate blast zone as it's situated on the northeast side of the mountain. A short hike up to the top of the hill overlooking Windy Ridge provides an excellent view into the lava dome and a view of the what's left of the north side of the slope that fell off the mountain as the earthquake opened up the mountain and allowed the blast to occur.

The first three pics above show the north side of the mountain - or what's left of it - and the next two pics show how the north side of the mountain fell and flowed into the Spirit lake area. What's left of Spirit lake is a bit of water and an enourmous amount of forest bones floating in the water. The vast pools of bones are an amazing site and testament to the power of the initial explosion as well as the length of time it will take for this region to fully recover to its old glory. We all will be long gone when this area is an old growth forest again.

I'm glad I finally got the opportunity to tour this portion of Mount Saint Helens. It's an amazing ride and journey into the awesome power of mother nature. And as smoke and steam periodically rise from the lava dome, we're all reminded that the geological evolution of this area continues right before eyes.

Hells Canyon

2006-06-28T17:15:00.000-05:00

After the Utah 1088 I wanted to head back to the northwest and ride through Hells Canyon, the Columbia River Gorge, Mount Saint Helens and Glacier National Park before heading to the Spokane/CDA area to visit family for the 4th. Just a hop, skip and a twist from Salt Lake City is Baker City, Oregon - a nice little town with a rich pioneer history from the Oregon Trail days. I found a nice, cheap hotel right on the edge of the historic district - The Bridge Street Inn. The rooms were clean, quiet, included high-speed internet and at $38/night, were some of the cheapest rates I've seen in a long time. If I ever stay in Baker City again, I won't hesitate to stay here again.

Hells Canyon is a region in the northeast corner of Oregon and includes parts of Idaho as well. It's up to one and a half miles deep and ten miles across and is the deepest gorge in North America. Today, the Snake River continues to carve its way through the canyon and expose a plethora of geoligcal formations along the way. The gorge as we know it today is relatively young at two million years, but the region began to form three-hundred to one-hundred million years ago when two oceanic plates collided in the south Pacific ocean and created the Blue Mountain Island Arc. Inch by inch the islands migrated northward over 2000 miles where it collided with the North American continent. From seventeen to six million years ago, lava flows filled in the low areas in what is now Oregon, Washington and western Idaho. The Snake River along with other elements of erosion have shaped the region since.

That evening I perused a map and decided on an easy route through the Hells Canyon region. From Baker City along OR-86 to the Wallowah Mountain Loop (FR-39) north to Joseph, OR. There are other roads that take you through the canyon itself and to other overlooks outside of Imnaha, but I had to leave something for another time.

When I left the next morning I stopped to take a few pictures from an overlook back into the valley where the Oregon Trail ran. Emmigrants flowed over the trail from the early to late 1800s. The trek must have been demanding from every perspective. Those who successfully made the trek were eventually rewarded with land and opportunity.

OR-86 is a nice, curvy road that winds along the Powder river through the drier region of the valley. As elevation increases, so does the vegetation.

In 1984 a section of OR-86 was covered by a landslide induced by an over abundance of rain and gravity. The slide also blocked the Powder river and created a reservoir. The old section of the road still exists to some degree. The photos below show the old section of road where the reservoir would have been, the slide area and the backend of the slide area respectively.

The Wallowa Mountain Loop (FR-39) is an excellent road with an overall good surface that winds its way up onto the Hells Canyon plateau.

The first section of the loop follows a creek and, not too far along, begins the ascent. Spring time is evident with wildflowers faintly blanketing sections of the hills.

The Hells Canyon overlook is strikingly familiar to some of the overlooks of the Grand Canyon. Even some of the features are familiar. The biggest difference between the two is the Grand Canyon is drier which exposes in greater detail the various rock formations, but the Hells Canyon formations are still evident. Just a bit more green. When I first arrived and took a look over the canyon I noticed the last picture below looks very familiar to this picture of the Grand Canyon. It may be difficult to tell in the last picture, but there's a path out to the edge of the plateau and that's the feature that reminded me of the other picture.

At then end of the day I found myself in Pendleton, Oregon. I was trying to hook up with a friend I've known from the Internet for a long damn time, but never had the opportunity to shake his hand. We eventually hooked up the next morning before I bolted off to the next destination. The road brings us a lot of things, but friends is surely one of the best. It was nice to finally shake Mikey's hand and meet him in person.

Followup - August

After the June trip to Hells Canyon I began to feel like I left a few things on Hells plate. I don't like that feeling so upon my return to the west in August I decided to return to the canyon to finish up. I wanted to run up to Imnaha and ride out to Hat Point Overlook. I thought Hat Point Road was paved, but it's not. Once in Imnaha facing 50 miles of dirt/gravel I decided I just wasn't up for it. I reckon I'll have to come back. :)

I spent the night in Enterprise, OR. On the way through Joseph, OR (named after the Nez Pearce's Chief Joseph) I noticed a number of metal sculptures lining the main thoroughfare. Very nice sculptures. As it happens, I also noticed the Cheyenne Cafe and heeded the first rule of the road - eat a good breakfast. The cafe was filled with locals drinking coffee around a big table and shooting the early morning shit. This place had to be good and it was. Plenty of coffee and grub for about $8.

Hells Canyon Road runs north from Oxbow 22 miles to Hells Canyon Dam. It's an excellent road that follows the water's edge twisting, climbing and falling all the way back. Definitely worth the time. Here's a few shots of the area.

Columbia River Gorge

2006-06-27T17:17:00.000-05:00

When I left Pendleton I made b-line for Umatilla, Oregon and the Washington side of the Columbia river. The plan was to ride along WA-14 east to Vancouver and enjoy the gorge. The southern Oregon side of the gorge runs along I-84 and I wasn't interested in running the interstate route as I heard the north side was a little more scenic and, well, not the interstate.

The Columbia river is a series of damns and reservoirs. The gorge itself is there, but it's pretty much under water and the ride through the gorge is just a really nice ride along a river/lake.

The first glimpse of Mount Hood comes quickly and lasts until the very end.

Above the town of Maryhill is a war memorial that's a Stonehenge replica. It's a really nice memorial to the WWI soldiers from Klickitat county. The view from up on the hill isn't too bad either. I really like the message of the plaque in the last picture below.

The rest of the ride to Vancouver is nice, twisty road with a few more damns, reservoirs and scenic views. The entire gorge region is filled with commerce - namely, shipping of inland goods to Portland and on to the rest of the world. Forty percent of US wheat production is shipped through Portland. Amazing.

Overall, I think I went into this ride with high expectations which, in the end, could not be met. Don't get me wrong. It's a wonderful ride, but it didn't live up to being a ride through a gorge. I expected high rock walls for miles upon miles. There's a lot of history through the gorge and, from that standpoint, it's definitely worth the effort. Go ahead and check it out for yourself sometime.

Joshua Tree National Park

2006-06-26T17:14:00.000-05:00

Living in Los Angeles back in 1995 and 1996 it didn't take long for the chatter of the LA basin to gradually seep into my own life's pulse. I sought refuge from the chatter in various places. The beach, at the right times, was one of those places. Hearing the waves crash on shore and smelling the sea (yes, even the south bay) allowed me to quieten my surroundings and hear my internal beat of life.

Another place of refuge was and still is Joshua Tree National Park. Located outside the basin in the high desert north of Palm Springs, Joshua Tree is a place where one can hear the sand hit the rocks. It's a place to escape the chatter of the world. It's a place that looks desolate and lifeless, but when one takes the time to slow his own interpretations of the world and listen, life abounds - even his own.

The tree for which the park is named isn't even a tree! It's a type of yucca plant - Yucca Brevifolia. They only grow in elevations above 3000 feet and only in the Mojave desert region of North America. Outside the park, large Joshua Tree forests can be seen along I-15 between Primm, Nevada and Baker, California. Inside the park, the Joshua Tree forests are mainly in the northern region. The southern region, known as the Pinto Basin, is much lower in elevation, but still teaming with life in various other forms of plants and cacti - namely cholla cactus.

The park is also home to some amazing and spectacular rock formations - mostly granite formations - that are right popular with rock climbers and hikers alike. I like to roam and climb some of the more sedate formations, sit on top of the rocks and let the wind blow the funk from me.

Life surrounds you - even in the desert...

A nice side-trip in the park is out to Keys View which overlooks the entire Coachella Valley from the Salton Sea in the first picture below to the San Gorgonio pass in the second picture below. On a clear day even Signal Mountain, at 95 miles away, can be seen, but clear days are few and far between.

Standing at the top of Keys View and looking to the west, you can see the smog of the LA basin rush over the San Gorgonio pass into the Coachella Valley. Some days are better than others. After a good, hard and long rain in the basin is the best time to see and appreciate Keys View.

The Pinto Basin region of the park is an interesting mix of plant life, rock formations and, best of all, roads. Well, the one paved road. The road surface is generally good, but rough in a few spots. It does twist through the pinto at a pace that demands your attention.

One area I really like to roam is Cholla Garden - a rather large area where Cholla Cacti abound. Don't get too close! These cacti will jump toward you as you walk by in hopes of latching onto you. Well, not really, but that's the legend. And they do hurt.

Joshua Tree will always be a place of peace for me. Whenever the chatter boils over, I think of the places I've been in Joshua Tree. It helps, but it's nothing like being there. If you've never been to the park, do yourself a favor and check it out. Listen for the sand against the rocks.

MTF Lunch - Boccalis - Ojai, CA

2006-06-25T17:13:00.000-05:00

Burr Trail

2006-06-20T17:11:00.000-05:00

Stopping early yesterday in Torrey, UT and waiting out the storms over the Grand Staircase - Escalante was the right decision. There were reports of large hail at the top of Boulder Mountain and extreme flooding in many of the washes. It would not have been a pretty ride. The next morning offered blue skies along with crisp cool temperatures.

When I left Torrey the plan was to continue my meandering ways across southern Utah and position myself within striking distance of Ojai, CA for the lunch at Boccalli's on Saturday. It didn't take long to get the first picture of the day. Today is going to be a good day.

When I stopped at the top of Boulder Mountain for a spell, something made me think about the Burr Trail. Back in the late 1870s John Burr developed a cattle trail he used to move his herd between winter and summer ranges. The trail itself is roughly 75 miles long and runs between present day Boulder, UT and SR-276 through the Waterpocket Fold, Burr Canyon, Mule Twist Canyon and onward to Lake Powell. I didn't want to get into a lot of gravel and sand and such so I thought I'd run the Burr Trail until the heavy stuff started. (It always starts that way, doesn't it?)

About a quarter mile east of Boulder there are signs indicating the road isn't recommended for trailers or RVs and is 75 miles of dirt and rough road. These signs were old and rusty and apparent hold-overs from when a good portion of the trail was paved back in the 1980s. The road out of Boulder is a well-paved and downright exciting ride mostly through the red wall canyon.

The dirt part of trail doesn't start until reaching the entrance to Capital Reef National Park about 25 miles east of Boulder. Over all, I'd rate the dirt road surface very high. There isn't a lot of gravel or sand on the road even in the turns. However, there are sections that are worse than others with large rocks or pot holes and some sections of washboard, but it's nothing I wouldn't take any bike down. Just a word of caution... in some sections there's a good layer of clay. When it rains I would imagine the clay gets downright nasty and would make for an interesting trek even for a 4WD.

The sketchiest part of the trail is a series of switchbacks that last about a mile. They take you down a step or two in the Grand Staircase. The switchbacks themselves are wide and easily navigable in both directions. In the first picture below you're looking from the top of the switchbacks. Below and in the distance you can discern the road. That's where you're going. The remaining pictures are of how you're going to get there.

After taking the big step down, it's more dirt road through some amazing country. I cannot imagine living and working this land as John Burr and the other area pioneers did. I'm not sure today's man is as determined and hearty as yesterday's.

Coming around a bend and cresting a hill, this is the first site of Lake Powell in the distance. What a welcome site. Like a dumbass, I left Torrey without eating breakfast. I had plenty of water, but it's not a good idea to head out into the unknown without packing something to eat. Seeing the lake in the distance made me even hungrier. I couldn't wait to get some gas and a sandwich.

I was only 6 miles from SR-276 when I crested a small hill and noticed a rather large dip in the road ahead indicative of a wash. Considering the rains of the past few days, I slowed and expected at least a little sand covering the road. I'm glad I slowed too because it wasn't sand covering the road. It was mud! And a lot of it. I don't typically do mud, but especially out in b-f-e miles away from anyone and anything, but especially the anyone who may just be needed to help get me out of a predicament. I sat there for a while and weighed my options. First of all, I'm damn hungry, but can wait. Second, I have enough gas to get back to Boulder and I planned on going back to Boulder anyway. Third, while I could make it across, why risk it? So I turned around and happily road the Burr Trail back to Boulder.

The Burr Trail is an amazing road and I would heartily encourage you to check it out. But in the process, don't miss out on SR-95 and SR-24 that it circumvents. You'll want to run those roads as well. Both ways, of course.

Utah

2006-06-15T17:09:00.001-05:00

Leaving the southern end of Flaming Gorge yesterday, I punched in Moab in the GPS and it actually routed me the way I wanted to go - south to Vernal then down the western side of Colorado along SR-139 - a road I traveled a few years ago and fell in love with because of its beauty and history.

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Vernal, UT is the dinosaur capital of Utah. I didn't stop at the dinosaur museum, but it's on the list for next time I'm through the area. The entire region (all the way to Dinosaur, CO) is dinosaur territory. If you're into it, this is where you want to be.

South from Rangely, CO to just before the ascent to Douglas pass, SR-139 is chock full of Native American Indian petroglyphs and ruins. I explored this area a few years ago and took many photos at all the turn outs and exhibits. I was going to share these photos with you here, but I'm on the road and don't have them on this computer. I thought I already posted them on the website, but... Oh well. You'll just have to ride up and check it out firsthand. Just as with the dinosaurs, if you're into American Indian history, this is one of the areas in the west you'll want to explore. The vast majority of exhibits are right off the highway, but there are some more remote exhibits that, if you have the right bike or don't mind a little dirt/gravel, are certainly worth the effort to see.

The road surface on the ascent to Douglas pass is in need of some repair and there is some minor construction going on, but there's some room for improvement. I'm sure they'll get to it. At the top of the pass are some amazing views of either side.

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After reaching Loma I decided to head toward Grand Junction and change my oil. It's been 7k miles and I felt like treating the Strom to an internal mechanical bath. I stopped at

Grand Valley Powersports
2865 North Ave
Grand Junction, CO 81501
970-263-4600

They let me change the oil in the parking lot and supplied an oil pan and funnel, but only after charging me $16 for a filter. The shop next door sold Amsoil and I thought I'd give it a try for the first time. Expensive, but if it's as good as they claim, giddyup. I'll certainly put it to the test over the next several weeks.

With the fresh oil change, I was ready to make a b-line to Moab. I love approaching Moab from the east as it's a fine excuse to run SR-128 from Cisco to Moab along the Colorado river. I liken this road to SR-170 between Lajitas and Presidio, TX. They both run along the river. They both go up and down and around and around and they both offer some spectacular scenery. Running both of these roads should be on every motorcyclist's list of gotta-do's.

While approaching Cisco I could see the afternoon rain in the sky. The rain didn't materialize until about twenty miles from Moab and I was able to enjoy a good portion of 128 along the Colorado river.

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The ride into Moab was interesting with a sand/rain storm from hell. See the last picture above. Coming around some corners was a little shaky as I was met with head-on blasts of wind and dust and rocks in some cases. It was brutal. I thought about stopping a few times, but figured I had a better chance of keeping the bike upright if it was moving. So I carried on. The storm let up just before Moab and I found a nice bed at the newly remodeled Inca Inn in downtown. The mexican food at La Hacienda wasn't too bad either.

I was really looking forward to a nice, warm ride across southern Utah the next morning, but it turned out to be cold and wet. The cold rain started just south of Moab and got worse all the way to Blanding. The locals loved it, but I loathed it. I like feeling the heat of the desert and that's what I wanted. In retrospect, I know I was treated to an uncommon experience in this region. Sitting in a hotel room in Torrey, UT right now, I'm thankful. But make no mistake, tomorrow better be damn sunny and hot! I think I'll get my wish as I head toward Vegas.

It wasn't all bad coming across from Blanding. The rain stopped around Jacob's Chair and didn't start again until just before Capital Reef. Between the two, I was able to get some good pics of the Colorado river as it empties into Lake Powell.

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I sure didn't like going through Capital Reef in the rain. It just doesn't seem right as the area deserves a nice, slow ride through to enjoy the area. I reached Torrey at 3pm and decided to stop for the day in hopes that tomorrow will be better. Better as in drier and hotter. In the end, I have an excuse to come back again. And I'll use it soon.

More tomorrow.... Burr Trail

Flaming Gorge

2006-06-10T17:07:00.000-05:00

Heading east on I-80 from Salt Lake City is an enjoyable, curvy and scenic interstate ride. The ascent from the basin into the mountains begins immediately and with the increase in altitude comes a complimentary and welcome decrease in temperature. After reaching Parley's Summit, the next well-known ski resort is Park City. The ski slopes are visible in the distance, but the requisite amount of snow and cold temperatures are not part of the equation. No worries. I'm not going skiing. Today is 6-6-6 and I'm intent on spending a hot, scorching day wandering around the Flaming Gorge Reservoir.

Just before the I-80/I-84 junction the terrain changes dramatically to a red rock formation. After that, there are just long strips of interstate to cover as I head east to Fort Bridger.

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Evantson, WY is the first town inside the UT/WY border. I was reminded of my 2002 48-Plus run as I passed by the store where I obtained a receipt to document Wyoming. I decided to drop down from I-80 just east of Evanston at Fort Bridger on SR-410. This would take me to Manila and the southwestern edge of the gorge - a good place to start.

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Between Fort Bridger and Manila the terrain is dry and desert-like in appearance. To the south, snow can still be seen on the high mountain tops. Down in the Green River valley, though, it's apparent that water is indeed the stuff of life. Large ranches run through the entire valley. Mostly cattle ranches, but there's a fair bit of farming as well. Without water, this entire region would be lifeless.

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The first glimpse of Flaming Gorge comes west of Manila as you crest the hill and begin the descent into town.

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In addition to the stunning scenery, riding around the gorge is like a lesson in geology. As you cross each geologic formation there are signs indicating the current formation and what can be found there or how it was formed millions of years ago. For instance, some signs say "Dinosaurs Roamed Here" or "Fossilized Squids" or "Coal Was Formed Here" or "Volcanic Ash." When considering the geologic periods these formations were created, it really puts into perspective how insignificant we are and how miniscule and precious our time is here.

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While studying the gorge area, one of the loops I wanted to run was the Sheep Creek Canyon Geological Area. It's a twenty mile loop that begins a few miles south of Manila - numbers 2, 3 and 4 on the map above. On a scale of 1 to 10 the road surface is a 5 with periodic gravel on the northern end. Nothing that would prevent any bike from navigating the loop, but it's apparent the weather is harsh on the road and the state doesn't maintain it very well. I wasn't running the loop for the road, but for the scenery. From that perspective, it's a 10 all the way around.

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After running the loop I headed for the damn. Before crossing, I pulled into the parking lot and wandered out on a peninsula with a few trails and picnic tables. Apparently, the entire gorge area is home to many different birds of prey from osprey to bald eagles. As I stopped to pull the camera up and take a picture of the lake, I noticed a bird dart downward into the water and come back out with a fish in its claws. I wasn't sure what kind of bird it was until I read one the signs in front of me. It was an Osprey and I was lucky to witness a successful catch.

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Flaming Gorge Damn is yet another amazing feat of engineering in the west. The reservoir is 91 miles long with 375 miles of shoreline and contains 4.7 billion cubic meters of water all held in place and stabilized by a slab of concrete. The next time I'm feeling the pressure of life, I'll think about the Flaming Gorge Damn to put it all in perspective.

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Heading north on US-191 from the damn, the day was getting shorter. I planned to spend the night in Rock Springs and then run the west side of the gorge in the morning. On my way north, afternoon storms were moving in over the gorge.

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The next morning I awoke and hit the road. Just a few miles west of Rock Springs is Green River where SR-530 runs south along the western side of the gorge. Along the way there are plenty of open vistas and views of snow-capped mountains in the far distance.

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While running the Sheep Creek Canyon Geological Area yesterday, I missed what is arguably the most scenic stretch of road around the gorge. On the map above, this area runs along SR-44 south of Manila between points 2 and 4. If you decide to run Sheep Creek, you should double back and run this stretch of SR-44 both ways. In my opinion, this stretch of road is the gorge.

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Flaming Gorge is a spectacular region to tour. The geological history is exposed and in your face, the roads are excellent, the scenery is picturesque and breathtaking. If you can't run the entire gorge region, the best section runs south from Manila to Dutch John Gap. My advice? Run it all both ways. You will not be disappointed. Life is good.

Alpine Loop

2006-06-02T17:03:00.000-05:00

Waiting in Provo for a set of new skins, but enough to still have a bit of fun, I found myself looking at the map of the surrounding area last night. One area caught my eye - Provo Canyon. US-189 between Heber City and Provo is an excellent road in its own right, but there is a significant amount of construction along the southern end of the reservoir that makes up part of the Wasatch Mountain State Park. Significant enough, I reckon the construction project isn't any different than all the others - your tax money will be at work for years to come.

Just south of the reservoir is SR-92 also known as the Alpine Loop. On a map of the proper scale this road is riddled with switchback after switchback going both up and down the Uinta mountains between US-189 and Timpanogos Cave National Monument. Another side road along this route is the Cascade Scenic Drive which meanders back to Cascade Springs. On the map these two roads appeared to be a couple of spectacularly fun and scenic roads. After the trip to Bruneau's Overlook the other day and given the thinness of the Strom's skins, I was just hoping these roads were paved, but knew I'd run it anyway. What the hell!

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Turning onto Alpine Loop from US-189 you begin an immediate ascent along the north fork of the Provo River. There are a few houses tucked into the woods along the southern stretch, but the area is mainly a day-use area of the Uinta National Forest which means the houses stop and the trails and pull-outs begin. The road gets extremely narrow as it winds through the mountains and, expectedly, trucks and trailers greater than 30-feet long are prohibited. In places the road is extremely narrow and two opposing cars have a difficult time staying on the pavement.

The scenery is amazing. At this time of year, snow still exists on the mountain tops and all the creeks, streams, rivers and waterfalls throughout the region are flowing.

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The higher you ascend, the narrower the road becomes. There are groves upon groves of aspen trees. I'm not sure why, but aspens make me feel part of the mountain. As far as I can recollect, it stems from watching Grizzly Adams as a child. He lived in and built his cabin out of aspen trees. Or at least I think he did. What the hell, this is the internet. If I say he did and put it on the internet, it must be true.

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The descent down the other side of the mountains takes you right into the Timpanogos Cave National Monument. I didn't stop, but used it as a turn-around point to run the Alpine Loop again.

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On the way back I wanted to run the Cascade Scenic Drive to Cascade Springs. Wasn't too sure what I'd find at the end of the road, but then I reckon that's part of why we ride - to see and experience for ourselves just what is on the other side or over the hill or at the end or to see if the road even ends. The Cascade Scenic Drive is a nicely paved two lane with a double yellow stripe all the way to the springs. Feel free to wick it up a bit on this one and enjoy the ride back.

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If you're ever in the Salt Lake or Provo area, you'd be remiss to not run this road. There are several others in the immediate region that I'd like to run. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. Either way, life is good.

Hyder Seek

2006-05-29T17:02:00.000-05:00

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Meziadin Junction

Ron After Breakfast

James Leaving

James 2 Leaving

Ron Leaving

Jim and Patrick

Bear River

Clear Lake

One Bear of Many

Bear Glacier

Ride Around Texas

2006-05-29T09:18:00.001-05:00

Working the previous year and a half had its pros and cons. On the plus side I earned a bit of money, met a good woman and bought a new V-Strom. On the negative side I had to bail on the 2005 IBR and other long distance riding. Don't get me wrong or feel sorry for me. I rode plenty, but being relegated to a weekend rider just ain't right. Much less when you're sitting at work looking out the window at a clear blue sky thinking, "why the hell am I here again?" Yep. I was jonesing big time for a long ride. A ride that would rid my system of the accumulated funk that can only come from working too much and ignoring parts of your life that matter.

The Ride Around Texas (RAT) was the ride and all I needed to do was focus on ensuring my contract was up mid-May. Well, and get the bike ready, put all my shit in storage and hit the road for a while. I did my best to give life enough room to work through the details and was rewarded with the end of the contract and everything else falling into place. Even life needs a little room to breathe and navigate through the chaos.

The RAT is exactly that - a ride around the perimeter of Texas. Originally conceived by Doug Woodall a couple years prior, the ride covers roughly ~3000 miles of varied terrain and temperatures and has seventeen mandatory stops to document the Texas perimeter. Including**:

Texarkana
Port Arthur
Port Bolivar
Galveston
Victoria
South Padre Island
Del Rio
Big Bend Panther Junction
Lajitas
Presidio
Anthony
Guadalupe Mountains N.P.
Kermit
Texline
Follett
Childress
Paris

The rules are simple. Choose a starting location. Choose a direction of travel. Ride inside the state of Texas to each subsequent mandatory stop to document your ride until you get back to where you started. Pretty simple. Finishing in less than 70 hours would get you a RAT Gold certification. Finishing in 85 hours or less would get you a RAT certification.**

The innaugural RAT was run in conjunction with the MTF Founder's Feast based out of Texarkana, Texas. That fixed the starting point. The direction of travel was set by the MTF as well - clockwise. My original plan had me completing the ride in roughly 62-64 hours while making pit stops in Del Rio and Dalhart for 4-5 hours of rest. The MTF presented the ride to the IBA and they were willing to certify the ride and add it to the official rides list.** Game on.

**Please note: When this ride becomes an official IBA ride, there will be some minor changes. First, we will add Laredo to the mandatory stop list. Second, RAT Gold will be 65 hours or less and RAT will be 80 hours or less. This will not change the achievements of the innaugural RAT riders.

When I arrived in Texarkana folks were already milling around and checking in.

Jim and Bob
I know what Bob is thinking, but I don't want to know what Jim's thinking.

Alan and Fred
Fred looks like he just got finished with the ride!

Gotta love Randy's general attitude towards everything.

Art and Dennis
I don't think I've ever seen a picture where either one isn't smiling.

In typical fashion, I wanted to get an early start the next morning. I woke up around 3a, took care of the morning rituals and left around 4:30a. It was a popular starting time and one I felt comfortable with as it would give me options when it came to catching the ferry from Port Bolivar to Galveston Island. Additionally, I'd be in a good position to either go through Houston or skirt my way around it on some two-lane FM roads. But I had time to smoke on that decision. I went to the nearest gas station located in Texas (this is Texarkana you know), filled up and the clock is now ticking. What comes with each tick is an adrenaline-packed shot in the arm of determination and intentioned focus. There's a fine line between intentioned focus and nervousness. In the former, the world and you do not contend with the inteneded route plan. You give the world and yourself room to flow freely and allow things to fall into place naturally. This is the feeling for which I've been yearning. The tick. The focus. The determination. Life is good.

The route is typical between Texarkana and Port Arthur. No real gotchas along the way. Between Port Arthur and Port Bolivar, however, it's important to note that SR-87 is closed for some length. Backtracking to Winnie from Port Arthur and heading south on SR-124 to SR-87 is required. I ran into a bit of construction on SR-87 toward Port Bolivar, but it didn't slow the pace a great deal. The ferry ride to Galveston was uneventful. I only waited about 15 minutes before the ferry arrived and everyone boarded.

I had a decision to make after Galveston. Do I go through the southern edge of Houston or ride the two-laner FM roads to Victoria? I chose the two-laners, but in retrospect after talking to several folks it appeared the decision is six one way and half-dozen the other - at least on that day. However, the pace to Victoria was generally good. Movement is key for me.

On the way to South Padre Island the temperature escalated dramatically. I stopped to refuel myself and the bike and also stopped at a beef jerkey joint. Wish I could remember the name of that place. Damn fine jerked beef. Anyway, by the time I arrived in SPI it was smokin hot at 100+. I saw a number of riders and everyone looked like they were having a good time.

On the way out of SPI I fell in behind Kevin L and his ST1100. It's not like me to fall in *behind* anyone or allow anyone to fall in behind me for long, but I liked the eager pace Kevin maintained and for whatever bloody reason, I stayed right there tail-grabbing Kevin's ass. There was a lot of construction between SPI and Rio Grande City, but traffic wasn't impacted much. If a wreck occurred, though, I can see where traffic would be backed for miles upon miles.

As night began to fall we approached Laredo. Getting through Laredo can be a real pain in the ass, but traffic flowed relatively well to the other side. We stopped just north of Laredo for a spell to refuel and grab a bite to eat. About the time we were ready to bolt, I felt a knock at the backdoor and told Kevin that it could not be ignored. I encouraged him to carry on as I don't like to hold up others and I won't tolerate being held up by anyone. He told me to go ahead and take care of business and he'd wait.

In retrospect, I'm damn glad he waited. You see, my strom wasn't totally rally-ready at the time of this ride. I had a fuel cell, but did not have any auxillary lighting. Kevin's ST had a set of Hella Micro DE Xenon HIDs. I didn't have time to install my set on the strom before the ride. There were so many deer going into Del Rio it freaked me out and I don't freak out easily. Damn things were everywhere and Kevin's lights illuminated all of the potentially suicidal deer in our path. All of them were well-behaved that night. We arrived in Del Rio a bit after midnight, stopped at a Motel 6 and decided we'd regroup 4 hours from now.

The morning came quickly, but I was eager for more of the road. We also picked up another rider, Mike S. Mike was quietly and consistently tailing us through parts of the Rio Grand Valley so it's just as well he continued to do so. I reckon he liked Kevin's eager pace. Can't fault him for that. Again, Kevin's HIDs lit up a shitload of deer. Only a couple of suicidal deer, but no hits. The ride through Big Bend was awesome. If you've never traveled the River Road (RR-170) between Lajitas and Presidio, get your ass down there and do it. I hadn't been to the area in a while and thoroughly enjoy that stretch of road. You can get yourself in trouble quickly so be careful.

The ride up to Anthony was effortless. Just sit and twist. After Anthony you'll need to get to the east side of El Paso and US-62. Rather than going back through El Paso, consider taking SR-375, the Mountain Loop, around the north side of town. Depending on the time of day, it could save you a bundle of time.

As we traveled north and the sun started to go down it became considerably colder. I reckon the temps were around 40 and the electrics made an appearance. From 100+ the previous day to 40- today. Gotta love Texas. We had an uneventful ride to Texline. I remembered Alan telling me the store in Texline had some pretty good burritos and I couldn't resist having one when we stopped. We made it back to Dalhart around 11:30p and decided to regroup around 5a the next morning for the final push back to Texarkana.

It's just a short hop, skip and twist over to Follett from Dalhart. At 36 degrees, it was a bit chilly that morning. We saw a few other riders while stopped in Follet, but didn't hang around too long. We hit the road and by the time we arrived in Childress I could smell Texarkana. When we arrived back in Texarkana there were a few riders already there. I think Kevin left a little after me at the start, but I finished the ride in roughly 60 hours. A little better than my original estimate.

All in all, this was a fine ride and one that I encourage everyone to run. You'll see a lot of varied terrain and temperatures. We experienced temperatures ranging from 105 to 36. We saw the piney woods of east Texas, the coastal swamps of the south, the hot and toasty Rio Grande Valley, the deserts of the west and the northern plains of the panhandle. An amazing array of sites, smells and sensations. And some smells you'll be thankful if you never smell them again.

Here are some pics from the Founder's Feast banquet.

Alan scoring Rick

See? Dennis is smiling again!

Kent, Tony and Roger.
Kent passed away the following week doing what he loved. Godspeed to our friend.

After the Founder's Feast Debbie and I spent a couple days roaming the Ozarks.

Debbie on the Talimena

Overlooking the Petit Jean Valley

Debbie at the Pig Trail

Your's Truly

Nonny's - Cairo, IL

2004-09-20T20:51:00.000-05:00

A cool barn along the way.

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Where we broke break and who we broke bread with.

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Jeremy's new, kick-ass, little Buell Ulysses. I was expecting something bigger, but it sure is a damn fine lookin' motorcycle. I hope they sell a boat-load of 'em.

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Founder's Feast

2004-09-11T20:49:00.000-05:00

Breakfast Bunch - Damn near broke the camera taking these shots!

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Riding Bunch

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The Banquet

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Couch's BBQ - Chattanooga, TN

2004-09-01T20:48:00.000-05:00

We sniffed...

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We ate...

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Gut Rider

2004-05-18T15:23:00.002-05:00

In the summer of 2004 I embarked on what was to be an amazing journey. That journey is yet to be completed. I sat in a run down public library in Alturas, California and wrote this to my friends on the MTF.

Sunrise near Santa Rosalia, Baja California Sur

We make a lot of choices in life. Be it in business or personal life, the vast majority of the choices I make are predicated on what my "gut" tells me. My gut has served me well since as far back as I'm able to remember. If something doesn't feel right, I don't do it. I may fight it for a spell, but my gut always wins out.

I try not to dwell on the reasons why. Sometimes they're revealed to me. Other times they aren't - or at least not yet. I wonder if this is what happens when your life flashes before your eyes? I reckon it won't matter much at that point. Either the cosmos will reveal to me the magic and wonders of the universe or it won't matter because there isn't anything after this. If right here, right now is all there is, then I reckon my gut feel is just a survival instinct passed down through the millenia.

I can't believe that! My soul is honored and thankful to have this opportunity to breathe, laugh, smile and cry. I have to believe my soul will live on after the final breath and beat of this mortal life. I have to. What a cruel waste life would be otherwise.

Wandering north along the California coast the past few days I found myself in a bit of a quandary. Something has been churning in my gut since crossing the Mexican border causing me to wonder if heading any farther north is the right path for me. I've been dwelling on and stubbornly denying what my gut was telling me. I found myself pissed off at the cosmos for trying to steer me in a direction that wasn't mine only a few days prior. I wanted to know why, but I've learned that dwelling on these issues and waiting out an answer is a futile move and a downright waste of time and energy. We have bound our lives in the concept of time and success while the cosmos is only bound by eternity. Sometimes we must relinquish the control we foolishly think we have over our lives and release our thoughts and questions of the cosmos into the void and let the realm of all possibilities reveal the answers to us in a timeframe that's convenient for eternity itself.

I woke up this morning intent on heading farther north into Oregon and Washington and stopping to ensure all my bills were paid and emails were answered before getting lost in the majesty that is the Great White North. Just north of Redding, California I got off the interstate to take a break and marvel at Mount Shasta coming to life in the morning sun. The sky was clear and provided a perfect blue canvas for the shiny snow-capped Shasta. It was a beautiful site to behold. I stayed there for a spell still in denial of what my gut was telling me. The sun lit up the mountain to an almost blinding point and at that moment I accepted the futility of my struggle. I succumbed and threw my questions into the void. I'm not sure if I'll get any answers, but it doesn't matter. For whatever reason, the cosmos has shown me the best decision and I'm now in a place of acceptance.

So I'm not heading to Hyder. I'm not heading to Alaska or the Maritimes. I'm going to spend some time in the desert southwest and head home in a couple of weeks. After all, that's what my gut is telling me. I don't know the reasons why - it's not up to me. I only know that my gut is the conduit to the cosmos and I have succumbed to the omnipotence of the universe. I'm a gut rider.

Ezell's Catfish Hotel

2004-03-20T20:41:00.000-06:00

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Bob, Don, Alan

Bill with an Attitude
Jimmy, Bob, Robert

Don, Jimmy, Bob, Mike, Dopp

Dopp, Bob, Jimmy, Mike

Mike, Ken, Chris

Alan, Don, Mike, Mike's Wife (?)
Robert, Dopp

Mike's Wife (?), Robert, Ken

Dopp, Kevin, Mike, Jimmy, Uncle John

Outcasts: Chris, Bob

Jules Sitting Across from Bill & Thinking...
"Will he ever shutup?"

MTF Lunch, Dick's Last Resort

2004-01-03T20:43:00.000-06:00

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Due Dilligence at
the Parking Meter

Oswald's Window

The View To Oswald
X Marks First Shot

Where the Fatal Shot
Really Came From

Don Trying to Get Run Over

A View from the Grassy Knoll

Assembling

Hungry

Hungrier

Hungriest

What Do I Do With This?

Our Resident Dunces

Shirt Presentation
Alan, Cat and Russell

Gregg - High Mileage Rider
More than 1500

Robert - Youngest Rider

Trek - Picture Collage

2003-11-19T20:29:00.000-06:00

This is a collage of pictures taken on my travels across North America between May and August of 2003. Other than captions, the verbiage is minimal here. My most cherished experiences are chronicled in the Iron Butt Rally and Ultimate Coast to Coast ride reports. The reports contain a lot of pics not found here too. Be sure and check them out. The links are below along with a few other pages with pics from various events I attended while traipsing all over North America. Enjoy.

Iron Butt Rally - August
Ultimate Coast to Coast - June
MTF Poker Run From Hell - May
Hyder Seek - May
MTF Bishop's Castle Ride - August

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a man-boy and his machine ready to giddyup

my good friend alan with a big ol' shit-eatin' grin on his face

alan coming down the talimena scenic byway

some pics in arkansas

another good friend, don, looking like a real gangsta

the 7 zagnuts that went all the way to arkansas to ride 5000 miles of interstate. congrats on the ss5k, but you're all chumps in my book. :) there's an eighth chump that went on to complete a 10/10ths. i'm sure his wheels were spinning when this picture was taken.

along a dirt road in b-f-e wyoming

along the icefields parkway in alberta, ca

dale, fred and rick in hyder, ak

salmon glacier - hyder, ak

yet another good friend of mine, tony (itsecurity) from edmonton

pics from the haul road

pics from a ride to valdez with frank and jack

dawson, yt looking down and upstream of the yukon river

one step closer and i don't think i would be here now

along a dirt road in b-f-e manitoba

a stream in the carolinas

don't pass up a booger burger in booger hollow, ar

a good friend of mine, jeff, caught with his pants down

bishop castle

from the highest paved road in america - mt evans in colorado

flaming gorge reservoir - southern wyoming

looking out onto mono lake - california

views of the sierra nevada mountains and the ancient bristlecone pine forest

Catfish Hotel

2003-11-15T20:40:00.000-06:00

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Kenn

Brandon, Andy, Becky,
Dennis, Bob, Don & Alan

Bill (Far Back), Kenn, Ron,
Mark, Chuck, Brandon & Andy

Don B, Dawn (Far Back),
Rick & Joe

Bill Flirting with Dawn

Taking Over the Parking Lot

Mark, Don K, Bob, Brandon,
Andy & Rick

Ron, Don B, Bill, Becky, Dennis,
Dawn, Joyce, Tony, Joe, Alan

Ron, Russell & Jimmy

Bill, Becky, Dennis, Dawn,
Joyce, Tony

John & JoAnn

Full Tummies

Regency Bridge

2003-11-12T20:38:00.000-06:00

When I returned from The Summer of Jason in June I found myself busy with a few things. First and foremost, I needed to find a place to live and get all my crap out of storage. Then there's a rather large list of secondary items I needed to take care of and that I'm still working on. For instance, opening four months of mail, paying corporate taxes, re-acquainting myself with friends I haven't seen in forever, finding another contract and catching up with the goings on at the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum. I checked in periodically while on the road, but I wasn't hip on everything like I usually am. What was everyone doing and where did they go while I was away scouring the North American continent?

One trip that caught my eye was out to the Regency Bridge near Regency, Texas. Doug Woodall organized this ride and his report can be found

here. The Regency Bridge itself is located in the middle of absolutely nowhere, spans the Colorado River, joins two dirt roads through cattle country and is one of the last remaining and longest suspension bridges in Texas. I thought that was intriguing enough, but this trip had further significance when a friend from the MTF, Jeff Miller (RearTire), passed away this September. The Regency Bridge trip was one of the last few trips he made and I wanted to pay my respects by riding somewhere he had been recently. I didn't know Jeff that well, but what I did know of him I liked. He was an easy-going individual who was passionate about life, riding and didn't have a difficult time keeping a smile on his face. People like him are difficult to find. Even more so now and to the detriment of us all.

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Some Pics of Jeff
Jeff, Jovita & Bo At Regency Bridge, Slow-riding at the PRFH, At the top of Bishop's Castle
Bridge Photo Courtesy of Doug Woodall

The night before I left I reviewed the map because, well, taking a straight line to Regency wasn't an option. Regency is due south of Brownwood and Brownwood is due south of Cisco and Cisco is about 100 miles due west of Fort Worth on I-20. Got it? I found a nice road around Weatherford to drop south of I-20 and then picked the squiggliest roads I could find that took me in a roundabout direction to Regency. Here's a map:

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Tin Top Road
Paluxy Hwy (FM-51)
US 67 N
FM 203 S
FM 927 W
FM 216 S
FM 219 W
US 281 S
FM 218 W
FM 2005 S
FM 1047 S
FM 581 S
FM 580 N
US 190 W
FM 16 N
FM 500 N

For the area, there are some damn fine roads in there. Like most Texas farm roads, they are all well-paved, typically carry 70 MPH speed limit, sparsely traveled and usually contain stretches of downright invigorating and fun pavement. For instance, FM 51 between Paluxy and US 67 is a fun stretch of road. Also, stretches of 203 and 1047 contained a few long sweepers and interesting corners that are worth repeating at some point. Perhaps the best road of the day was 580 between Bend and San Saba. That is an extremely nice farm road that winds through the Colorado River bend area and through several pecan farms.

Along the way I detoured through a few county roads that caught my eye on the GPS and found some interesting buildings, barns and roads.

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I approached the bridge from the south off FM 500. There's a sign that directs travelers down a red dirt road toward Regency and the Regency Bridge. Just a couple of miles up the road is the Colorado River and the Regency Bridge. Nothing special, but it's there and has a bit of history behind it. On the north side of the bridge is the Swinging Bridge Camp. Looks like a nice, little, quiet place to camp in the middle of nowhere with complete access to the river.

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I stayed at the bridge for a spell and thought about Jeff while looking up and down the Colorado. I thought his death is yet more proof of how short and precious life is for us all. How much proof is needed before we all realize life's fragility and break through the self-built confining walls that keep us invulnerable to the joy and bliss that is life? There isn't a moment to spare on petty bullshit before it's all over in the blink of an eye. And that's why I tell you all with the utmost of forthright sincerity and respect for this one life we live this very moment...

Live a good life, keep a good home, take care of your friends and family, work when you have to, but most importantly... if you ain't smilin', you're diein'.

Deep Shit Cattle Company

2003-11-09T20:36:00.000-06:00

After the trip to the Deming Veterans Gathering was fucked, I decided to take a little trip southwest of the Dallas metroplex to the Deep Shit Cattle Company. I had never been there, but a few folks from the MTF had been and I thought it was a good excuse to ride. One member, Gary from Pflugerville, takes an annual run to the Deep Shit every July 4th. I'm relatively certain this year was the 4th annual run. The forecast called for cool temperatures in the upper forties and off and on light drizzle. It was spectacular day to get the hell out of the house and an opportunity to explore a few unknown roads along the way.

When traveling from the DFW area you can get out of the metroplex however you wish. I choose to not dilly-dally and make a b-line to somewhere outside of the metromess. For instance, when I feel like going into east Texas I typically find myself on the other side of Terrell dropping south at I-20 exit 506 to hit FM-429. When I head to the Possum Kingdom area northwest of DFW I typically head out SR-114 to somewhere in that general direction. Sometimes up to Jacksboro for a burger at Herd's and then a nice little ride down FM-4 just east of Jacksboro.

Since I had never been to Deep Shit, I didn't know how to approach it. The DSCC itself is south of Comanche, TX along SR-36. It's actually closer to Gustine than Comanche, but who the hell cares. I figured I'd look at the map and find a good road to kick things off. From there, I'd just use the GPS to find good roads that lead me into deep shit - the cattle company, of course.

I decided to drop south at I-20 at exit 391 - Gilbert Pit Road. Gilbert Pit is a meandering tar road that winds through ranch lands toward Lipan, TX. Along the way there are open pasture lands, a few ponds, an old one-lane bridge worthy of a good inspection and a sparse number of country homes where folks have most of what they need and a few things of what they want.

I came upon this pond soon after getting on Gilbert Pit. With the cool temps, gray skies forecasting the oncoming winter and a minor drizzle, I felt everything was right with the cosmos to take a few pictures.

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Not too much farther down the road is an old, delapidated one-lane Santa Fe bridge. It's still used when the creek floods the normal route. I didn't notice when the bridge was built, but it's rusted like it was built in the 1950s plus or minus a modicum of ish.

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At some point there's a fork in the road. I believe the left fork is paved and I'm quite certain the right fork isn't. The dirt was calling and who am I to deny it? The road was hard-packed dirt with the requisite number of water-filled potholes. Even with the rain of the past several days, the road was in extremely good shape. When I arrived in Lipan I didn't know what direction I wanted to head. FM-1189 ran in a southerly direction, but soon after getting south of Lipan, Star Hollow Road beckoned me. I followed Star Hollow all the way into Tolar on US-377.

I found my way south of Tolar toward FM-205 west which took me straight into Stephenville - home of Hard Eight BBQ. It was 10:30 and I was getting hungry. I didn't know if they'd be open, but I was too close to pass through Stephenville without checking in. As luck would have it, they just opened and I was their first customer of the day. I had a huge pork chop dipped in butter/lemon sauce. Damn fine brunch and much better than the chicken I had in the tank bag.

I really enjoy roaming the countryside. Along the way there are always good folks that wave as you pass and the old barns and homes that age with neglect and at mother nature's whim fascinate me. I think of the history of each place - who built it, the people who may have lived and died within its confines and the good and bad times that only the walls know and will never reveal.

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I saw two deer while out roaming around. The first one crossed the road well ahead of me, but the second one made me clinch my seat tightly. I was on a typical texas farm road. Each side of the road has, maybe, twenty-five feet of grass between the edge of the road and the fence. Speed limits range anywhere between 55 and 70 MPH with little to no traffic. I was having a good time running through some good sweepers. Coming to the end of a right-hander I was pushing the bike upright when out of the corner of my right eye I see a deer hopping the fence line heading right toward my path of travel and an eventual collision if one of us didn't do something quickly. In that first second I thought about either braking or twisting the throttle, but after reaching the ground he hopped to the right and stayed well off the road. Absolutely amazing! I was ready for my first kill and the damn thing went and got smart on me. I wish they all acted like this one instead of their typical suicidal manner.

I finally made it to the Deep Shit Cattle Company. It's located about a mile west of the intersection of SR-36 and RR-1476 near Gustine, TX. I stayed long enough to get a picture.

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It's now time to start heading back toward the house. It's Sunday. This time of year that means one thing - football.

Iron Butt Rally

2003-09-19T09:14:00.001-05:00

Madness Sets In

Madness set in December of 2002 when I received an email from Mike Kneebone that began, "Congratulations!" At the time I was bed-ridden in a Houston hotel room with a herniated disc in my lower back. I was worse off than that though. Back in October during the odometer check of the Land of Enchantment Rally I broke my left wrist when the rear end of some lady's Saturn had the nerve to hit the front end of my Goldwing! The bitch came to a complete stop in front of me on an entrance ramp to I-40. I still feel like an idiot whenever I think about it because, when all's said and done, it was totally my fault and there was no way to get around that fact. Not being able to ride because of a broken wrist is bad enough, but having a herniated disc was the icing on a shit cake. I hadn't eaten for 3 days and I only got out of bed moments before pissing myself because of the excruciating pain involved with reaching the edge of the bed - not to mention getting up, walking to the bathroom, doing the deed, flushing the toilet with my knee and getting back in bed. When I received Mike's email I couldn't get up and jump for joy like I wanted. I just laid there and thought to myself, "You gotta a lot of fucking work to do before August, loser."

When I was well enough to travel back home to Dallas I saw my doctor and told him my plans for the upcomnig summer. I assured him I was willing to do whatever it took, regardless of the cost, to get my back healthy. You see, I was planning on putting all of my belongings in storage and living on my bike for the summer. I wanted to run the Waltz Across Texas Rally, go to Arkansas for the MTF Poker Run From Hell, attend Hyder Seek, tour the Alaskan interior, run an Ultimate Coast to Coast, scour the northeast coast, run the IBR and take my time getting home afterward. Sure, my doctor had a "Are you fucking nuts?" look in his eyes as I was telling him all of this, but I assured him I would pay all of my doctor bills before leaving in May.

We decided the best course of action would be a series of cortisone injections. Minor out-patient surgery, but I wasn't too hip on going under the knife as it was a totally foreign experience to me. However, getting my back better was more important than practically anything in my life at that point. Thankfully, after the first injection my back responded extremely well and we decided that another injection wasn't required. I continued my rehab and all is well even to this day.

My wrist was already on the mend and it was just a matter of time before it was completely healed. I broke one of the worst bones in the entire body - the Scaphoid bone. It's a small, seemingly useless bone until you break it. The blood flow characterics of the Scaphoid are unlike any other bone in the hand as blood flows from the fingertips, through the Scaphoid and toward the elbow. The blood flow through the bone itself is limited which makes for a long healing period. It all sounded right to me. The first bone I break in my entire life and it's the worst one. I couldn't help but think that God was getting me back for some bloody reason. But what could that reason be?!?!?! I'm a good boy - honest.

When the cast came off about mid-January my wrist was so atrophied that I thought it was still broken. My doctor told me to wait and see what the x-rays reveal. When he walked back in the room with a glint in his eyes I couldn't tell if it was because my wrist was healing or dollar signs at the prospect of continued treatment.. The optimist in me was over-joyed when he said there was significant growth and that I wouldn't need another cast. Had the news been any worse, both the optimist and pessimist would have joined forces in abruptly telling the world to go fuck itself.

The shit cake was tastier than a broken wrist with a herniated disc on top. I purchased a shiny, new R1150GS Adventure prior to the LOE and my unfortunate accident. The GS sat in the garage with 214 miles on the odometer and all I could do is sit on it and make vroom-vroom noises. And that's exactly what I did from October until mid-February. On the upside, I had plenty of time to get a custom seat. After emailing Rocky at Bill Mayer Saddles he assured me he could satisfy my butt. I told him I can put the hurt on any seat and that he may want to wait for the pictures of my large mass of ass before making such a claim. We had a cyber-chuckle and within 3 weeks he sent me back what appeared to be a well-made and satisfactory seat. It sure made my vroom-vroom sessions more enjoyable.

Toward the end of February my back was still a bit fragile, but gaining strength each day. My wrist continued to gain strength as well and life was getting better. My contract in Houston was over a month early because of budgetary concerns. That meant my summer was going to start a little earlier than planned. The MTF 50cc/100ccc event was being held the next week. My body felt good enough to test the waters with this ride. I won't bore you with all of the details here, because I documented all of them in my 100ccc trip report. Over all, the ride went extremely well. I broke in the GS on the ride and confirmed that my back and wrist, while still a tad tender, were on the downside of the mend and ready for the rest of the summer.

I tell ya. Life has a peculiar way of working out if we give it enough room.

Preparation

Since I was going to be on the road May through August, I had little time to properly equip the GS. In the end, I ran out of time and opted for the simple, easy way out. I already had PIAA 520 Fogs and Jesse Panniers installed and the only other essentials were the V-1 and Street Pilot 3. I rigged up a wiring harness and used the 12V power outlet on the GS. Simple, but effective even to this day. Hmmm... Maybe I'm lazy after all.

Mentally, I know the IBR is a long way away in both time and miles. I wasn't even thinking about strategies or anything like that when I threw all my shit in a storage unit and left home in May. Instead, I was concentrating on the rides ahead of me. Namely, spending the next week roaming the Ozarks with some good friends at the MTF Poker Run From Hell; attending Hyder Seek and seeing some friends successfully complete their 48+ run; and running the Ultimate Coast to Coast. Other than the IBR, the UCC was a big challenge for me. I wanted to experience the James Dalton Highway (aka Haul Road) before it's paved all the way to Prudhoe. It was an incredible journey. There were a lot of reasons to ride this summer. I racked up a little over 43K before arriving in Missoula and the start of the IBR. The GS was well-broken in and ready to rock on.

I got to Missoula a few days prior to the start so I could get some new skins on the GS. The folks at Big Sky BMW were professional and, considering I didn't have an appointment, most accommodating. They allowed me to change my own oils in the parking lot and provided a drain pan. Their kindness was appreciated. While there I had the pleasure of meeting a few other riders like Bill Shaw, Sean Gallagher and Marsha Hall who I remember from a special on the 2001 IBR and her unfortunate tardiness at the finish. We didn't talk about that for long. I needed to scrub the skins in so I decided to run Lolo pass. I had never made the run before and I don't think I could have scrubbed on a better road in the area.

The first leg's bonus list was handed out after the rider's banquet. As I perused the locations for the sucker and high-point bonuses I realized they followed a natural order from north to south. Combined with a familiarity of the western states this was an unexpected and appreciated advantage. In last year's Butt Lite III multiple bonus lists were handed out for each leg and the bonuses were listed in random order. Additionally, the rider could only choose a single bonus list to develop a route. This meant riders had to put forth more mental effort to determine an optimal route for each leg. I liked that mental aspect of the BL3 and expected the same or worse from the IBR. I can't comment on the red pill riders, but for those that chose a blue pill we were given one bonus listing per leg and the vast majority of bonuses followed a natural order. It was a huge and unexpected mental advantage.

So I went back to the room, plotted all the points in the GPS and easily spotted a good route. I didn't want to over do the first leg. I was shooting for modest points and a safe, successful arrival in Primm Valley to complete the first IBR leg of my life. Before going to bed I trimmed my gear to the bare essentials. The beginning of a dream come true was nigh.

Leg One - What the Fucka?

The entire morning was fraught with the painful anticipation of gearing up, mounting the bike, turning the key, pushing the starter, pulling in the clutch, dropping into first gear, trying to ease out the clutch and crossing the starting line without embarrasing myself. I felt like I was presenting a calm, relaxed facade, but internally I couldn't contain myself. I walked around, talked to friends and quietly told myself to chill out and take it easy. Ya. Right.

There were quite a few folks from the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum in Missoula cheering on all the riders. I can't express my appreciation and heartfelt thanks to everyone that came out to witness and be part of the madness. I've had friends meet me out on the road while riding big rides before, but having these folks at the starting line of the mother of all endurance rallies provided priceless inspiration and a much-needed soothing calmness.

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The MTF Family
Photo Courtesy of Tony Higgins

Alan Leduc and I talked about and agreed to ride the first part of this leg together. I first met Alan two and half years ago when I started posting on the MTF. Alan and I had an immediate connection. Most people let life live them while others take advantage of this short, precious period of breath and wakefullness and live life with few to no regrets. Alan is one of the latter and this was the spark between us. We started long distance riding about the same time and we always wanted to ride in the Iron Butt Rally together. The 2003 IBR started out as a pipe dream for both of us. But over the next two years that dream turned into reality. I felt extremely blessed to have an opportunity to share this moment with a friend like Alan. It's something I shall never forget and I'll cherish until the day I die the time we spent together on the first leg.

As the clock slowly wound toward 10a riders began to position their bikes at the front of the line. I, along with about half the riders, needed something to do so I pushed my bike off the centerstand and positioned it in line with the others. Of course, at the end of the rider's meeting 15 minutes before the start Lisa announced that the starting line was changed to the opposite end of the parking lot. That's about right. As the riders were released I made it over the starting line without embarrassing myself and found Alan waiting for me on the side of the road.

Alan and I decided to run Lolo pass, then head into Oregon for some points before heading to Gerlach. The ride over Lolo was amazing. The rain a couple of days prior to the start had cleared most of the smoke that inundated Missoula the week before. The sun was bright, warm and the sky was clear and blue. A perfect day for a ride. We were off and our deam was reality.

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Alan and Your's Truly
Photo Courtesy of Alan Leduc

At the Palouse Falls bonus we had a couple of hours before the location opened. Alan was reviewing the route on his laptop and mentioned we may have time to stop in Winnemucca for gas on our way to Gerlach. When I reviewed the route the night before I had thought Winnemucca would be doable. At the time though, I only thought Gerlach and Winnemucca were separated by 30-40 miles at most. As it turns out this was a gross underestimate on my part and it would prove to be a critical error.

After the falls we set course for Sunnyside, Washington - just a hop, skip and a twist west of Kennewick. When Alan pulled his motorcycle into the shop I thought we suffered our first mechanical casualty. Apparently, Alan was concerned about a tire with a few less pounds of air than it should have had. Phew! As we were pulling out of Sunnyside we saw Jack Tollet pulling in. Jack was at Palouse Falls and he looked like he was having a blast. I remember him commenting about the burger, fries and shake he had prior to Palouse. I know we were only a few hours into the rally, but goddamn that sounded good!!

The sun began to set as we cruised through southern Oregon. We were both headed for Winnemucca and two measly points. Along the way we saw the requisite number of Oregonian Kojaks with Kodaks, but we both noticed something different this time - Kojaks using X-band radar. Of course when you're out in the middle of B-F-Anywhere you react to any radar signal. But we were just happily cruising along and in no danger of becoming a recipeint of any kind. Somewhere in Oregon Alan decided to check-in with his wife, Brenda. I stopped with him and he told me to carry on and that we'd meet in Gerlach or somewhere in between. I know how these things go so I bid my friend farewell and carried on toward Idaho and US-95 south to Winnemucca. It was a splendid evening - cool, crisp and cloudless.

After about an hour of droning down the interstate I see headlights coming from behind. I thought it was just another rally rider and that we'd share a wave and carry on, but it was Alan instead! We shared a wave, a smile and pulled off at the next exit. Alan, for reasons that the man himself may reveal to the world at some point, said Brenda asked him to catch up and ride the rest of the first leg with me. I was happy to see my friend and over-joyed to share the road with him again.

Alan has made these reasons known to the world in his 2003 IBR Report.

The ride south on US-95 was uneventful. We stopped near Burns Junction for an hour of sleep at an abandoned weigh station. I wasn't really ready for rest as I was anxious to get to Winnemucca and then sleep in Gerlach before the bonus opened at 7a. But hey, at that point I took full advantage of the hours rest. And Alan's a machine so I know when he says he needs to stop for rest that he really needs to stop for rest.

We arrived in Winnemucca around 3a, gassed up and looked at the map. Here's where the casualty of my route planning technique occurred. When I plan a route I visualize the entire route among all the locations. I don't over-analyze it. Exact mileages and specific roads mean nothing to me at that time. I see it and I ride. At each location I take a detailed look at how to get to the next location. And here's the causalty. When I punched in Gerlach and saw that it was 110 miles from Winnemucca all I could think was, "What the fucka we doing here?!?!?!" Two freakin' points and well beyond the 30-40 miles from Gerlach I had mentally calculated the night before. Had I realized it was 110 miles I would never have gone to Winnemucca. I would have went straight to Gerlach from Sunnyside. To top it all off, that 110 miles is the shortest route and covers some 100 miles of dirt road - Jungo Road. A road that was explicitly mentioned in the bonus list as not recommended for riders on large touring rigs.

This would not be the last time I thought, "What the fucka!"

I told Alan about Jungo road and we decided to go to the start of it and get a taste. We traveled about the first mile and stopped. I wasn't too concerned about the road itself. There were some nice big rocks that looked a little jagged in the moonlight, but I had seen my share of dirt and rocks this summer with the ride up to Prudhoe Bay and various stretches of treachery in British Columbia, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Colorado, Utah and various other regions of North America. I was more concerned with Alan and him being on his wing. I wasn't too concerned about Alan's ability to handle the road, but didn't know if he was willing to put his wing through the torture of the next 100 miles. I knew what the answer would be when I asked him, "There's 100 miles of this shit. Do you want to continue?"

There were some wheel ruts to keep in, but even the ruts were covered in little jagged rocks. Getting out of these ruts typically meant you were either in more rocks or a dirt/gravel/sand mixture that was anywhere from one to four inches deep. We carried on for about five or six more miles and I stopped again. I thought Alan has gotten a good taste of what the next 90 miles would be like and I wanted to see if he changed his mind. "There's 90 more miles of this shit. Are you sure?" The expected answer came and we were off.

The ride was going extremely well. While we weren't in a huge hurry, we were keeping a pretty good clip. I reckon I was running steadily between 30 and 40 MPH. I'd occassionally lose Alan's headlights and stop and wait to see them coming over the next hill or around the last corner. We weren't riding close to each other, but I never lost sight of his headlights for too long. I figured he was just back there chillin' and taking the road at a comfortable pace for himself and his wing.

At one point I stopped to wait on Alan's headlight, but it never came. I decided to turn around and head back to check on him. I went about a mile or two back and found his headlights. The sun was just starting to come up. The eastern sky was turning a dark purple and the western sky was still bathed in bright, white moonlight as the full moon began to set over the desert mountains. Alan said he was taking some pictures and we sat there and talked about the glory we were witness to that evening. Another special moment shared with a special friend.

Not more than fifteen to twenty minutes later I lost Alan's headlights again. I stopped and waited a few minutes, but again his headlights never appeared. I thought to myself, "I better not catch him taking more pictures! And if I catch him taking pictures off his bike I'm going to kill him!" I left my camera in Missoula. I figured if I had time to snap a few pictures, I have time to ride. In retrospect, I wish I had brought it for those two or three moments I wish I had one. I'm digressing though because what happens next is one of the worst feelings I've had in a long, long time.

The sun is beginning to brighten the sky to a point where headlights are of no use. As I crest a hill I see Alan's wing on the side of the road and he's off the bike. As I get closer I realize that his bike is laying on its side. I hoped Alan stopped to take some pictures and his bike fell over, but as I got closer and closer it was obvious that this wasn't a typical tipover and that's when I thought, "What the fucka?!?!". As the horror set in I almost threw down my bike, but I managed to get the sidestand down. Alan was walking around. He already had his jacket and helmet off. We still don't know how that happened, but I assume he took them off himself. I got off the bike and asked Alan what happened and if he's alright. He looked OK until he spoke.

"Jason, where are we and what are we doing?"

"We're about 20 miles from Gerlach and we're running the IBR," I replied.

Alan layed down in the ditch near his bike while I inspected it. The bike was fucked. The windshield was shattered, the side mirrors were destroyed, the saddlebags and trunk were hanging there, the bars looked bent and I could smell gas from a leaky fuel cell. Despite the destruction, there was a brief moment in time where I thought if the bike will start, we can ride into Gerlach and put all of this behind us. No one the wiser.

You'd be laughing as hard as I am right now if you had seen the bike.

Then Alan spoke again. "Jason, where are we and what are we doing?"

"We're about 20 miles from Gerlach and we're running the IBR," I replied again while mentally repeating "what the fucka, what the fucka." And that's when reality set in. Alan's bike isn't going anywhere. He has obviously sustained a major blow to the mellon and has a concussion. He wanted to get up on his feet and I walked over to give him a hand. He reached up to grab my arm and was in major pain. More reality. Possible broken shoulder, bruised ribs, broken toes and a blistering desert sun on the immediate rise. I didn't know what to do at that moment.

Alan spoke again. "Jason, where are we and what are we doing?"

"We're about 20 miles from Gerlach and we're running the IBR," I replied again while internally racing through the different scenarios of getting help to my friend. Do I strap his ass to my bike and haul ass into Gerlach? Surely I can't leave him here in the desert with a concussion and absolutely no protection of any kind. After a few minutes of absolute mental toture I decided the bottom line is that I can't do anything for him here and the likelihood of someone driving by is practically nill. So I marked the coordinates in my GPS and hauled ass into Gerlach.

And I was hauling ass! I almost lost it once and decided the absolute worst scenario is getting myself hurt and stranding us both. I made it to Gerlach in about twenty minutes and saw my good friend, Patrick. My brain was still freaked out by everything and I needed someone else to calm me down and help make some temporary sense of all this. Thankfully, Patrick went to the phone and dialed 911 for me. I spoke to the operator and told her the situation. She asked me where Alan was located and I told her on Jungo Road about 20 miles east of Gerlach. She was trying to locate the road on her map and then I asked if GPS coordinates would help. She said yes and I ran to the bike to get the GPS and give her the coordinates. I was on the verge of tears at this point. Thoughts of friends and family past who have lost their lives or were in need of emergency help filled my thoughts. I didn't want to think this was happening again. Dreams that just came true not more than 24 hours ago were shattered before our eyes. I asked Patrick to let Joe Denton know what's going on and to call Lisa Landry to let her know what's happening. I hauled ass back out to Alan to take care of him until Care Flight arrived.

When I got back to the accident site Alan wasn't anywhere to be seen. All I could think was that he was out wandering the fuckin' desert with a major concussion, no water and with the sun on the rise. My heart sank. Did I do the right thing when I left him in the desert? Thankfully, I found Alan a few hundred feet from his bike. He was laying in the ditch in the shade and I thought to myself, "At least he's well enough to find some shade."

Alan was coming around then too. I told him I went in to Gerlach and Care Flight was on its way. He wanted to get up and walk around. As I was helping him up my eyes began to tear as thoughts of past tragedies filled my mind again. All I could tell Alan is that, "This just ain't right." He got to his feet and he seemed much more lucid than before. About ten minutes later Care Flight flew straight over us and began a circular descent. The pilot told me the GPS coordinates were indispensable in finding us quickly. At least I got that one right. They put Alan on a stretcher and loaded him up. It wasn't too long after that when he was pumped up on some good drugs and in a lot less pain. He called me over before they departed and said, "I love ya, man." Seeing my friend there was such an emotionally crushing moment. I could only reply, "I love you too, Alan" before losing it all together.

I watched Care Flight whisk Alan away over the horizon. All that was left was mental, physical emptiness. I stood there in disbelief for about twenty minutes before walking over to Alan's bike and clearing some of the debris from the road. In looking at the road and trying to determine the sequence of events it appeared Alan crested a hill, ran into three to four inches of dirt/gravel/sand and lost the front end. Other than Alan's injuries and the bike damage, everything else is pure speculation.

I rolled back into Gerlach to update Joe Denton on Alan's status. Joe asked if I was ready to go ride around the playa, but my heart just wasn't into it. I thought about having breakfast, but told Joe I was going to head straight to Primm - the first checkpoint. I wanted this leg to be over so I could try and put most of this behind me.

On the way to Primm I stopped at a park on Walker Lake to get out of the sun and rest for an hour. I had plenty of time to get to Primm and there wasn't any reason to push it. It gave me an opportunity to reflect on the previous day's events and get some needed sleep. When I awoke I got on the bike and thought, "I should have had breakfast in Gerlach."

When I arrived in Primm one of the first people I saw was Fred Droegemueller. I told him I was planning on getting a room after checking in with Mike. He told me not to bother and offered me his room where I could shower and catch up on some needed sleep. After scoring I went to the room, showered away Jungo Road and fell into a deep sleep. So deep that I over slept the rider's meeting by an hour. I quickly put on some clothes and ran down to the meeting not knowing if anyone would still be around or what the ramifications would be of arriving late. As I entered the room Mike said, "Get up here Jason and decide what pill you want. People are ready to leave." That's nice. What pill do I want? I missed the first hour and, likely, the most important part of the meeting. And that's when I looked straight into Lisa's eyes and said, "I'll take the blue pill." With the blue pill I knew the rest of the rally would be like a typical rally - route sheets, route planning and riding. I had no idea what the red pill would entail other than Mike and Lisa sending folks through hell. I wasn't ready for hell. I had been through hell and back on Jungo Road.

Leg Two - Smooth Progress

After getting the bonus list I went back to the room to plot the points and visualize my route. As I familiarized myself with the bonus locations I realized that I've been to the vast majority of these places before. I didn't need to plot everything in the GPS. I was able to visualize my route from the route sheet itself. I decided to grab another couple hours of shuteye and begin a nice, honest run to Lake City, Florida around 3a.

I'm not sure if motorcycling gets any better than riding through a moonlit desert evening and witnessing the birth of a new day. As the sun begins to turn the eastern night sky to a deep purple there's a brief moment when we pass through the realm of all possibilities. For me, entering this realm feels like the earth is taking its first breath of the day. This is the single moment of the day where the cosmos can turn our intentions into reality. I take a deep breath and throw out my intentions when I exhale. My intention for this day is to ride through the familiar lands of southern Utah, nothern Arizona and Colorado while picking up honest points on my way to Florida.

Out of all locations I visited through the four corners and central Colorado regions there was only one location I hadn't been to before - Kolob Canyon in Zion National Park. I'm glad I went there as I found plenty of excuses to go back and explore the Kolob area. From Kolob I headed to Zion, Lee's Ferry, over to Monument Valley, up through Moab and over to Grand Junction, Colorado where I collected a rest bonus. I've a deep and special affinity for the desert southwest. I cannot nor do I feel a need to explain it fully. It's a spiritual connection for which I am blessed to have found in my life. On my way from the monuments to Moab I ran into a brief, but cleansing rain that helped wash away the debilitating thoughts of the first leg and reveal what's most important to me in my first IBR. Sure, I want to place well in the end, but I want to ride smart and most importantly, I want to finish. Knowing how fragile life is and seeing firsthand how quickly a ride can come to an end, I want to get a successful, complete IBR in the record books. I knew I wasn't immune to the tragedies of the road - no one is at anytime - but the competitive mindset I had at the beginning was somewhat dulled in comparison to what matters most.

The next morning I wanted to spend a good part of the day collecting Colorado bonuses. The road from Aspen up to Indpendence Pass is amazing. I love that ride! Nice, narrow roads through aspen-covered mountain sides that keep your eyes wide open and the hair on the back of your neck at attention. Then there's the ride up Mt. Evans along the highest paved road in the US. There are no guard rails on the road. If you're squeemish or afraid of heights, this isn't the road for you. When I got to the top the wind was blowing at a good clip and I found a fellow beemer rider to hold my rally towel. He and a friend made the ride up from the Denver area and we spoke about the rally for a couple of minutes. Toward the end of the conversation I told him there will likely be a good number of IBR riders up here. Sure enough as I was leaving several riders made their way into the parking lot. I left with a smile on my face knowing my rally towel was likely not the only one he posed with on that windy day atop Mt. Evans.

I rode through the night into Texas. On the way from Amarillo to Dallas I saw various riders. Some I recognized and others I didn't. I remember seeing Jim and Donna Phillips on their LT go by. Donna was likely catching some shuteye while Jim kept a good pace toward their next destination. I saw Jim Frens while heading through Wichita Falls. The last time I saw Jim was heading through Lolo Pass. Somewhere south of Wichita Falls Jim peeled off and I had the entire road all to myself again.

Most of the bonus hunting occurred the previous two days and I set my sights for southern Lousiana to meet some Wild Pelicans before heading to Lake City. On my way to Mamou, Lousiana I didn't know what the weather would hold. Well, except for hot and humid. I just didn't know to what extent the tropical depression in the gulf would affect the area weather. I ran into some good showers around Alexandria and I thought it would be like that for a while, but it cleared the other side of Alexandria and the ride into Mamou was a typical hot, humid southern Lousiana ride. I got to the bonus right at 6p when the location opened.

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Arriving in Mamou - Rick Sauter & Your's Truly
Photo Courtesy of Wild Pelicans

There were already a large number of riders there and I was a little concerned about this bonus taking a long time to get 'processed.' But the Wild Pelicans did a superb job of taking care of everyone. Someone asked me if I wanted to have a bite to eat and while I desparately wanted some of whatever was responsible for my olfacotry ecstasy, I reluctantly declined and told her I just didn't have the time. I reckon this is just a good excuse to head south again. It's 6:04p and I'm rolling again. Many thanks to the Wild Pelicans for running a proper bonus location.

That evening I stopped at a rest area for a while somewhere in Florida for a little shuteye. The checkpoint opened at 6a and when I arrived, put the kickstand down and lifted my leg over the seat I felt like I put together a good, honest leg the past couple of days. It was a good feeling and it was topped off by sharing that moment with good, familiar friends. Jim Bain boosted my spirits when he told me he had a 25 year old bottle of scotch and offered his room for sleep and a shower. I needed that. And Jim, that bottle of scotch was absolutely marvelous!! Many thanks to you and everyone else there supporting the riders.

Leg Three - East Coast Mental Gymnastics

I have a serious hangup about riding in congested areas of northeastern United States. It's something that I definitely get to work out of my system. Being in that kind of traffic under those conditions doesn't bother me, but rather being in those conditions for the length of time it takes to traverse from, say, Washington DC through the other side of Boston, Massachussetts is what bothers me. Actually, it just plain pisses me off because with more people comes more cars and with more cars comes more idiots. My brain tells me it's one humungous pain in the ass and it's best to get through it all in the most expeditious manner. My experience with the area tells me my brain is spot on.

Along with the mental gymnastics the mellon was playing on me came decisions, oversights and outright excuses that cost major points. Out of the gate in Lake City I filled up the tank and forgot the damn receipt. There goes the gas bonus for that leg. And of course, I didn't realize the mistake until the next checkpoint in Buxton, Maine. I also talked myself out of all the New York City bonuses. The excuse? Blow 'em off. You're doing fine without them and you know you don't want to put up with New York City after all the crap you dealt with behind you!

From Lake City I traveled north through Atlanta. The plan was to attack the southern Appalachian bonuses and then ride into the northeast for one or two modest bonuses. While riding through Atlanta I fell in behind Jim and Donna Phillips. I saw them on the last leg blowing through Texas in the wee hours of the night. They blazed a nice path through Atlanta so I kept close behind until they pealed off on the north side of Atlanta. I later saw Jim and Donna at the Marrysville bonus and finally decided that I need to meet them. I mean, if I'm going to keep seeing them, I may as well know who they are.

Joe Colquitt arrived at the Maggie's Valley location when I did. We walked into the museum together and took a picture of the wrong doggone airplane! I didn't think we had the right picture, but this airplane-car-looking thing was the closest thing we could find. We asked the curator where the Harley Davidson plane was located and he, of course, pointed us right to it. We both got a propper picture. As we were gearing up to leave the parking lot Joe asks me if I can give him a push off the centerstand. You see, Joe has one of the 11 gallon Touratech tanks on his GS. "I just filled up and this thing's a bear to get off the centerstand, " he told me. As I gave him a good push I couldn't help but think how the hell he got the bike UP on the centerstand with a full tank in the first place. Joe was headed to scour the Blue Ridge Parkway for a few points while I was headed to the northeast.

From Maggie's Valley I headed toward the northeast. I wanted to get a few of the more remote bonuses in the region and avoid the dense areas along the northeastern coast. I had been spending a minimum of six hours in a hotel the past couple of nights. This was inline with my new outlook on the rally and what mattered most.

When I finally managed to get close to the Boston region I had some bonus locations in site. First, Plymouth Rock. I knew it would take forever to get there, but I wanted to see the damn rock. Cool rock. From there it was on to Salem where witches were burned at the stake. It took me FOREVER to find that damn bonus. Was it my fault? Absolutely. I rode by that son of a bitch probably ten times. Finally, I said fuck it! I'm not wasting anymore time on this damn thing. I wanted to mosey up Mount Washington before heading to Buxton and Salem was the last location before going that direction. But when you invest the amount of time I did in finding the Salem bonus, it's difficult to just let it go. I stopped the bike and took a deep breath before trying one, last time. Wouldn't you know it. That damn bonus had been right in front me all that time.

I spent a lot of time in Salem. Too much, actually. I didn't feel I had enough time to make it up Mount Washington and get to Buxton before the checkpoint opened. Since I wasn't in the hunt I felt content with a liesurely run to Buxton. There were many friends there to greet all the riders and, once again, it was good to see them all. For some of us, we've carried on a cyber-relationship over the past years without meeting each other face to face. I'm grateful for having met these folks. It's nice to be able to put a face with the name and it sheds light on the unwritten humor and meaning between the lines of their posts.

I managed to get about an hour's sleep in Buxton. I was more tired than I thought. When the bonus listing for the final leg was passed out I was eager to get going.

Leg Four - Go West, Young Man

Again, I managed to convince myself to stay out of the New York City area. I left some awesome points behind between the last leg and this one. I have no regrets, but I know I have to battle through the mental gymnastics in the future. It won't happen again. I stopped in New Jersey on my way to the flight 93 memorial in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. The memorial was a somber reflection of what transpired that fateful day of September 11, 2001. People sacrificed their lives for what so many of us take for granted. These people are heroes in my book.

I saw Jim and Donna again at the memorial. I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to Colorado Springs and climb Pike's Peak or head up to northern Minnesota and stop at Donahue Harley. Jim and Donna seemed intent on making it to Colorado. For me, Colorado wasn't all that bad, but the thought of droning through Kansas didn't appeal to me at all. Minnesota, here I come. Along the way I stopped in Chicago for a couple of bonuses and eventually made it all the way to Monticello, MN to spend the night. On the way into the Milwaukee area I saw a billboard that read:

WE'D SAY CONGRATULATIONS
ON YOUR 100TH,
BUT YOU WOULDN'T HEAR US.

This was a friendly jab at Harley Davidson from BMW. At the bottom of the billboard it read, "Congratulations Harley Davidson on 100 years." I got a good laugh out of that one.

The next morning I stopped in at Donahue Harley-Davidson in Sauk Rapids, MN. This was another example of a well-run bonus location. Brett and the rest of the bunch really took care of the riders stopping in for a picture. Many thanks to Brett and the entire Donahue HD crew.

Donahue Harley-Davidson Stop
Photo Courtesy of Brett Donahue

During those long days in the saddle I keep a steady, comfortable clip and I'm always on the lookout for obstacles, hazards, idiot drivers, etc. One hazard I don't mess around with are 18-wheelers or any over-sized vehicle pulling a trailer. When approaching my senses are heightened and I begin to listen for tire condition, smell the air for rubbing breaks or tires and look for anything dangling that wants to make an escape. I don't take my time passing these vehicles either. I get in the left lane and look into their side mirror to ensure they see me, get into the left third of the lane to give a wide berth and get around them as quickly and safely as possible. Several miles before Medora, North Dakota I see a cattle-hauler. It's empty, but the typical smells are present which only serve to make the pass even more desirable. I make all of the normal moves before passing and begin my approach. About the time I reach the tail end of the trailer the interstate makes a right turn and as we begin to turn a flood of watered down piss and shit comes spraying out of the back left corner of the trailer. Son-of-a-bitch!! I just got shit-sprayed. I needed gas anyway so I pulled over and cleaned up a bit, but the smell stayed with me all the way to Missoula. If someone thought I smelled like shit in Missoula, they were right. As I was filling and cleaning up I thought about the likelihood of having to pass him again. And I did, but with the usual results this time.

I thought I'd be able to hit Bear Tooth Pass and make it to Cooke City before the location closed, but I would have had to push a little harder than I was willing to push. Again, finishing the IBR and getting a successful one under my belt was key at this point. I knew I would cut it close, but when I reached the other side of Billings I decided against riding to Cooke City because of time. It was too far away yet so I opted to stop in Butte for the evening, wake up early and ride into Missoula.

When I got to the outskirts of Missoula the next morning I knew I would finish even if I had to push the fuckin' bike across the finish line. I was only a few miles away. The final drive failed me during the Ultimate Coast to Coast run earlier in the summer. I'd be lieing if I said there wasn't a little bastard-voice whispering in my ear the entire ride. I'm not sure I could accept a mechanical failure at this point. I'm lucky though. I had my dealer, BMW Fort Worth, detail the bike during my summer pitstop in Dallas. They replaced several suspect parts - including the alternator belt. I think going home for a couple of weeks to have them detail the bike was one of the best moves I made the entire summer. Many thanks to everyone at BMW Fort Worth.

When I crossed the finish line in Missoula I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I knew I didn't do as well as I probably could have, but I knew I did as well as I chose. To think or believe any differently would be a disrespecting slap in the face of all the other riders who finished ahead of and behind me and I have too much respect for them as well as myself to make excuses that belittle their accomplishments. Just as in the beginning, there were plenty of friends there to support all of the riders. Jon brought me another bottle of scotch. Combined with Jim's bottle, it only meant one thing - time to catch a buzz and enjoy the company of good friends.

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Another Bottle of Scotch and Shootin' the Shinola with Friends
Photos Courtesy of Rick Martin

I'd be lieing if I said I didn't regret anything during the last eleven days. I don't question why some things happened or why some decsions were made. I'm content with them and I know I have a few things to work on. I was able to acheive the ultimate goal of riding in and finishing the IBR. When I truly think about it though, I can honestly say I have one regret - not having breakfast in Gerlach. I'll have that breakfast at some point.

Many thanks to Mike, Lisa and everyone involved with the 2003 IBR. For this rider, every last one of you were instrumental in making a dream come true. My friendship, respect and thanks to you all.

Homeward Bound

I stayed in Missoula for two days after the rally. My summer of being on the road was coming to a close and I was in no mood to go home and find another contract. I thought about where I wanted to go from here. I had looked forward to riding to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest on the first leg, but never made it. I set my sights for that area of California. On my way I traveled through Winnemucca again and thought about heading to Gerlach for breakfast. It's going to have to wait until another day. I took my time getting to Bishop, California where I stopped for a couple of days. I rode out to Bristlecone and had a wonderful time walking through the Ancients.

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CA-168 Looking West Toward Big Pine, The Patriarch Tree and a View of the Sierras

After a summer filled with many roads, 58K miles, many smiles, wonderful memories and cherished friends, I reached the outskirts of the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex with a peculiar feeling in my gut. I was home, yet so far away from having a home. I reckon it's time to get my belongings out of storage and find a place to hang my hat again. Work will soon follow... or will it?

MTF Bishop's Castle Ride

2003-08-02T20:26:00.000-05:00

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Capulin Country Store
Capulin, NM
A Future MTF Lunch Location

Jeff Relieving Himself

Jeff Zipping Up

Faith & Jeff Doing Something

A Colorado Vista

Riders Meeting Place

On the Road to
Bishop's Castle

John & JoAnn at
Bishop's Castle

BJ & Don

George

Jeff at the Top

JoAnn Calling to her Prince

A Good-Lookin' Chick
Too Bad She's a Husker

Jim

Gathering at the Gooseberry Patch

Gooseberry Patch Restaurant

Ultimate Coast to Coast

2003-06-19T09:06:00.001-05:00

After the Hyder Seek festivities I hooked up with Jim Reese for the ride into the Alaskan interior. I met Jim in Hyder. He appeared to be a happy rider that flows with the go and who has a desire to challenge himself yet prudent enough to make rational decisions. Basically, Jim passed the idiot test. We discussed our mutual desire to ride up the Haul road to Prudhoe Bay. For me, getting to Prudhoe would be the first step in completing the IBA's Ultimate Coast to Coast ride. For Jim and his short schedule, the accomplishment was about experiencing the Haul road firsthand and getting in and out of Prudhoe Bay safely and in good health. I don't have a picture of Jim, but here's his bike.

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We left Hyder early the morning of Sunday, June 1. The plan was to enjoy the ride up the Cassiar and, possibly, ride out to Telegraph Creek from Dease Lake. I wasn't able to ride to Telegraph last year because of bad weather and the fact I was on the Gold Wing. The clerk at the hotel told me the road was treachorous enough for a motorcycle when the road is dry, much less for an 800 pound Goldwing. I didn't know if Jim was keen on riding out to Telegraph, but at one point I thought I had him convinced. The weather was typical for the region at that time of year - generally cloudy, cool, damp with periodic rainfall. All in all, it was a perfect day.

For those people who choose the Cassiar over the Alcan, the reward is an abundance of wildlife, especially bear, and sparsely populated country. North of Meziadin Junction the Cassiar has a few long stretches of dirt/gravel road. We weren't too concerned about it and Jim lead a nice, eager pace over these areas and through the occassional pavement break. There's really no need to slow down unless you spot more gravel than road. Still, I found myself on the pegs when entering a dirt/gravel section. And just because the road is one way today doesn't mean it will be like that tomorrow. If you ever go up, my advice would be to slow down until you're able to safely and accurately judge the road conditions. Riders go down quite a bit throughout BC, Yukon and Alaska due to the gravel, dirt and mud encountered on many of the roads - especially at pavement breaks. There's absolutely no way to avoid these sections either.

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When we approached the bear pictured above, he darted back into the bush like every bear I've seen both this year and last. We stopped a little farther up the road and waited for him to make another appearance. We took a few shots while he raised his snout in our direction making an obvious attempt to smell us and our bikes. All my food was fermenting in my bowels, but I thought I saw Jim take a piece of jerked beef from his tank bag earlier in the day. Now Jim's probably more fleet of foot than yours truly so I made an executive decision to stay a little closer to the bikes just in case a pursuit broke out. Which is highly unlikely unless it's mama bear with her cubs.

We arrived in Dease Lake and it was decision time about the ride to Telegraph Creek. For a fleeting moment I thought about blowing Telegraph off, but I couldn't justify the sacrifice. Unfortunately, Jim wanted to continue heading north and get as far as he could before nightfall. We exchanged phone numbers in hopes of hooking up somewhere in Fairbanks for the ride up to Prudhoe. In the end, we played voice-tag for a couple of days, but were never able to find each other on the road. That was the last time I saw my new friend, Jim.

The Telegraph Creek area is known as British Columbia's Grand Canyon and the ride in from Dease Lake is peculiar. As you get closer and closer to Telegraph the terrain changes from a cool, lush, green, wet northwestern rainforest to a warmer, drier climate that cannot support the lush vegetation found only miles back. The road from Dease Lake to Telegraph is all dirt and covers roughly 75 miles. There are a couple of tricky switchbacks along the way that make the trip a little touch-n-go for a novice dirt rider such as myself. The wind was howling through the canyons which added an interesting dimension to the ride.

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After Telegraph I decided to spend the night in Dease Lake rather than trudge ahead to Watson Lake. I reckon it was the motel I stayed in last year that beckoned me. Or maybe it was the room I stayed in last year because the ol' boy at the front desk gave me the same, exact room this time around.

When I looked out my window sometime that evening I noticed a 650 GS had pulled in next to me. I went outside to look at the license plate to see from whence he/she hailed. Hmmm... Washington state. I didn't recognize the bike from Hyder and had no clue as to the owner. Oh well, if we're traveling in the same direction, we'll probably cross paths tomorrow. If not, I bid the rider and the bike a safe journey to wherever.

The next morning I awoke to what appeared to be another spectacular day of riding in the area. It was cold with cloudy skies that produced off and on drizzle like the day before, but no torrential downpours. Before I hopped in the shower, I looked outside and noticed that the 650 rider got a head start on me that morning. Damn it! I reckon it's the endurance-rider blood in me, but I felt like I was behind even though I didn't truly need to be anywhere at anytime other than in Wasilla, Alaska on the 8th. But it's how I felt and I went with it.

North of Dease Lake the Cassiar is more like a glorified tar road - actually, it's like that all the way from Kitwanga to Watson Lake. There are stretches of dirt/gravel, but not as much as the stretch from Meziadin Junction to Dease Lake. I felt extremely comfortable on the dirt/gravel at this point and as long as I didn't notice more gravel than dirt, I kept my speed up and just zoomed through. No worries. Life is good.

Coming over a hill I noticed the ol' boy on the 650 GS ahead of me and I twisted the throttle a bit more so I could catch up with him. As I approached from behind I was able to verify that it was the same bike that took up residence next to my GS in Dease Lake the night before, but I still didn't know who the rider was, so I just waved as I passed and knew that we'll likely cross paths again.

The Alcan wasn't too far ahead and I decided to gas up at the junction. About mid fillup I noticed the 650 rider pull in and I walked over to say hello. It turns out to be Marty Hamilton - a person with whom I've had a cyber-relationship on the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum, but have never met in person. I remembered Marty indicating he was coming north to ride the Haul road, but I didn't remember he had a 650. We decided to have a little breakfast at a place just up the road from the junction. We sat there for a while and enjoyed a good meal and each other's company. We talked about the ride up the Haul road, our strategies, our fuel ranges, the BBQ in Wasilla and various other things that would motivate us over the next few weeks. Marty wanted to experience the Haul road and make Prudhoe, but we decided that our ranges were different enough to make the trek alone. In retrospect we should have exchanged numbers and tried to hook up in Fairbanks. After all, we were there about the same time. After a few miles from breakfast Marty's headlight got further and further back and at some point, I lost track of him altogether. That would be the last time I saw Marty, but I was happy to have finally met the man in person and for the short time we spent talking and breaking bread together. We were going to meet in Wasilla for the party on June 8th, but as I would find out later Marty had to get home before reaching Prudhoe due to some pressing family issues.

I wanted to make Tok that evening and call Jim to see if we could hook up for the ride to Prudhoe. Just north of Kluane Lake in Destruction Bay I came upon a good stretch of construction. It was raining cats and dogs when I stopped to await the pilot vehicle. The lady at the stop indicated it would likely take 30 minutes before the pilot vehicle returned so I dismounted the bike and walked around in the rain. More cars began piling up behind me and they all had a familiar look to them. That's right. I passed practically every one of them on the way up from Haines Junction and, hey, there's one I passed just outside of Whitehorse and there's one I passed outside of Teslin and... Well, you get the picture.

A couple from Idaho saw me playing in the rain and offered me a dry, warm seat in their camper, but I walked over and declined with a reply of, "If my gear can't keep me dry, I haven't any business riding a motorcycle up here." They both smiled and seemed friendly enough so I knelt down in front of the driver's side window and asked where they were headed, for how long, etc. We laughed and talked about the Cassiar and all the bear we saw and the majesty and ruggedness of the land. The wife asked me about visibility in the rain and I flipped my visor down and demonstrated how the wiper blade on the glove worked. They both laughed and we all had smiles on our faces as the pilot car approached and it was time to say goodbye and bid each other a safe journey.

You know... It's road acquaintances like this that make being on the road so special. There's no need to exchange names because the connection between you is not the name and the face, but the place, time and circumstance where genuine laughter and a kind heart are shared.

The ride through the construction zone was spotty with huge ruts filled with water, mud everywhere and not much of a path to follow or wheel ruts to keep in. So I just got up on the pegs and kept behind the pilot car while the GS zigged this way and zagged another. As life would have it, the hard rain stopped soon after the construction zone and what lay before me was an Alcan full of frost heaves and/or quake damage - especially around Tok.

At the border crossing into Alaska I had a little trouble determining which lane to ride through. Each lane had a red light above it, but the commercial lane looked wide open. I didn't think this was right, but I started slowly down the commerical lane until I noticed the border guard waving me over to the far left lane. When I got there and removed my helmet I told her that all of the lights were red and I didn't know which one to go through. I was thinking the lanes worked like a bank, but apparently they don't. Just follow the cones and the signs and don't pay attention to the lights. Crossing wasn't an issue. They took my license and ran a check while another border guard kept me busy with the standard set of questions that typically require a "no" answer.

A few miles outside of Tok I saw a large plume of what looked like smoke to the south. The wind was shearing the top half off and blowing it to the north. I didn't think much of it until I got a little closer and smelled the unmistakeable smell of burning wood/forest. Firefighters had been battling a fire for the last week or so, but had it contained enough so it didn't pose a threat to town. No worries. I check into a hotel to chill for the evening. The bike was filthy, but it looked content with the day's ride.

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The next morning had nothing else to offer but warmer temperatures and a sky that couldn't be a deeper shade of blue with big cotton balls for clouds chasing each other across the sky and offering brief moments of shade to those who rode in their shadow.

I didn't see any moose when I toured British Columbia last year, but that all changed this year. I saw quite a few moose, but it wasn't until this morning that I was able to get photographic evidence.

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OK. OK. The pictures aren't that great, but the moose is there.

When I arrived in Fairbanks I decided to stop at a Kinko's, check email and try to catch up with Jim. I checked my messages and found out that I had actually passed Jim because he made a trek from Whitehorse up to Dawson and then down the Top of the World through Chicken, Alaska. He indicated he ran into a group of KLR riders that recently ran the Haul road and "barely got out of Prudhoe before the snow hit." That's comforting. I left Jim a message to let him know that I was planning on spending the night in Fairbanks and would attempt to get as far north on the Haul road as I could the next morning.

Weather reports from Fairbanks to Prudhoe are practically worthless. I remember telling Dick Fish in Hyder that I planned to make it to Coldfoot, wait for a weather window and haul ass. He said something to the effect, "Don't do that. Just get to Fairbanks, prepare for the worst and ride the damn thing!" Needless to say, Dick was right on. Prepare and ride the damn thing. You can't get a reliable forecast until you get to Coldfoot anyway and by then you're half way there.

The next morning in Fairbanks was spectacular - nice and cool, sunny skies and you could tell the temperature would rise well into the high 70's like it had been for the past week or so. If the weather was going to be like this for the ride up the Haul road, I'd have it made in the shade - so to speak. But the weather didn't hold out the entire way, nor did I expect good weather the entire way up. I left the hotel in Fairbanks at 9:30am.

From all accounts I heard, or at least remember, when I left Fairbanks I thought the dirt road would begin almost immediately. It didn't. I was geared and ready for the 1000 miles of dirt road, but found the highway paved the first 80 miles from Fairbanks to Livengood where the Haul road - or the James Dalton Highway - truly begins. Not too far from from Livengood I saw a motorcycle parked along side of the road. The rider appeared to be rifling through some gear. As usual, I stop to ensure everything is OK.

"Is everything OK, pardner?", I asked.

"Oh yea. Everything's fine. I'm just fishing for my rain gear because it's getting a little cold up here and I need another layer", he replied.

"Cool. Are you heading all the way to Prudhoe?", I asked.

"Nope. I'm just heading to Manley Hot Springs", he replied.

"Well, I need to get moving. Enjoy your trip and ride safely."

At the time I chalked up this meeting as another road acquaintance, but I would get to know this person over the next week. How it all happened is a testament to the kind hearts of riders and to how small the world can be at times - especially in Alaska.

When I reached the end of the pavement in Livengood, I performed a mental nut-check. My intentions were clear - ride north attaining one goal at a time and turn around when the weather and resulting road conditions eclipse my ability to ride safely.

First Goal - Yukon River

It's fifty-five miles to the Yukon River from Livengood. The road is all dirt, but the overall conditions were excellent and cruising at 60-65 MPH was comfortable. Slowing down for the turns and where a little extra gravel piled up was crucial, however. After the first turn and first time through some thick gravel, I got a little reminder from the road gods and I kept that in mind when approaching corners and kept an eye out for changes in the road conditions.

While in Hyder I spoke to Paul Baird about riding the Haul road. There are a few things that I remember from the conversation. When Paul talked about the water trucks and why I should watch out for them I didn't think much of it. Then I saw one in front of me and realized the enormity of what Paul was telling me. You see, these water trucks team up with a grader and really screw up large sections of the Haul road. First, a water truck filled to the rim begins to drench a stretch of road with gallons and gallons of water. The dry road then absorbs all of the water and becomes greasy, slimey, muddy and treachorous. After the water truck does its deed, in comes the grader to smooth the top layer and leave a nice pile of greasy, slimey muck to its left or right. I made the mistake of falling in directly behind the grader. Don't do this. Choose a side - typically the right, but watch the grader operator because sometimes they will direct you to the left. Sometimes they won't direct you at all. The first time I saw a grader I didn't know the protocol. Then a few cars and trucks passed the grader and I followed suit. However, since I was directly behind the grader I was forced to traverse the large pile of muck left in its wake. I just stood on the pegs, took an appropriate angle and got the bike over in good shape, but I had learned a very important lesson. Don't fall in directly behind the grader. Choose a side and get around it as soon as possible. Life is much easier that way.

When I reached the Yukon I wanted to gas up. I had plenty of gas to reach Coldfoot - another 200 miles to the north - but I wanted to take a small break too. Unfortunately, the gas station just across the river was closed. I didn't think much of it and carried on. About a mile up the road is Rosie's Hot Spot Cafe. I think it was Paul who told me about this place and the good-lookin' blonde that runs the show. I didn't see a good-lookin' blonde or even a bad-lookin' blonde, but I did see a charming brunette. I didn't get any grub this time, but I did get some gas. There was a bus-load of tourists there at the time and, of course, I got the requisite number of "Where you from?"'s and "Damn! You're a long way from home!"'s. Please, no need to state the obvious.

Second Goal - Arctic Circle

About 10-20 miles south of the Arctic Circle the Haul road is paved. I wasn't sure how long the pavement would last, but it sure felt good. And not only is it paved, but it's striped too!! On the way up from the Yukon, the tourist traffic was high. I passed several slow-moving truck-campers and RVs. When I stopped at the Arctic Circle I saw all of the folks I didn't get a chance to pass yet. I reckon this is the goal for most who trek up the Haul road. There are a few that continue on northward, but most everyone wants to get to the Circle. And that's OK by me.

I stopped in, took a picture and hauled ass.

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Third Goal - Coldfoot

Everything was going extremely well up to this point. The weather was excellent and the pavement continued all the way to Coldfoot. One bad thing about getting gas in Coldfoot is that you have to walk inside first and give them a credit card and your driver's license. I jokingly asked the attendent if they had a problem with drive aways and she replied, "Used to." One road, two directions and people still have the balls to drive off? Amazing.

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Walk-in here and gas up there

Fourth Goal - Atigun Pass

The pavement ended right after Coldfoot and there wouldn't be any, not even a teaser strip of pavement, for a long time to come. For now, the dirt was excellent and cruising along at 60-65 was safe and fun. About 20 miles north of Coldfoot trees no longer line the highway. Actually, they don't line anything any longer because they don't grow this far north. As I look back on it all, the trees got smaller and smaller as I rode north. At this point, the terrain is rocky and the only things growing are shrubs of some sort and a little grass. Not quite the tundra yet.

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Soon after the trees stop growing the ascent into Atigun Pass and the North Slope begins. I half expected the weather to change at this point and it did. Clouds covered the mountains ahead and a slow, steady drizzle began to fall. The rain increased the farther north I went and I continually performed on the road nut-checks to determine if I reached the turn-around point. The road conditions deteriorated quickly. The nice, smooth hard-packed dirt turned into a nice layer of slime and mud. During the climb up Atigun the drizzle turned into snow, but I was almost at the summit and I wasn't about to turn around. I told myself that once I got to Prudhoe I didn't care how long I had to wait out a storm. I was hell-bent on taking up residence, if need be.

After reaching the summit and beginning the descent onto the north slope, the snow returned to rain, but now the raindrops were bigger and there was more of them. I thought, "Fucking fantastic. It's going to get real nasty now!" And it did. The road north of Atigun was littered with little ripple bumps for about 30-40 miles. As far as I could tell it was because the dirt that would normally cover the larger dirt/boulder layer was gone. Along with the rain, this made for a slow ride. So slow it was like riding through a 20 MPH school zone for 40 miles. That was cool, though. My gear kept me dry and warm and since there wasn't enough dirt on the road, the mud was at a minimum.

Fifth Goal - Prudhoe Bay

When I left Coldfoot, I decided to set an intermediate goal of half a tank of gas - enough to get me back to Coldfoot if conditions worsened. Well, the conditions were relatively bad at this point, but after riding through the 40-mile school zone, I wasn't about to turn around. Not now. The rain kept getting harder and I kept praying to whoever would listen that I would break through the rain sometime soon.

About 100 miles from Prudhoe pavement begins again. Good pavement too. The rain was coming down hard at this point, but I twisted the throttle and hoped the pavement would last all the way to Prudhoe. I made good time along this stretch of road. Real good time, but I never broke through the rain until after I was back on the all too familiar dirt/gravel road. The gravel was a lot thicker now and maintaining a good clip just wasn't possible. Still, I was happy with the 30-40 mph speed and standing up on the pegs in a good rain while out in the middle of nowhere on my way to Prudhoe was invigorating. Rain, snow, sleet. Bring it on! Nothing would stop me from reaching Prudhoe now except a wall of water or mechanical failure or a horrific wreck requiring hospitalization or a heart attack or a stroke or... Jesus! How do I sleep at night?

About 50 miles south of Prudhoe I notice three or four extremely thin tire tracks in the mud. I kept thinking what the hell is this? Tundra Snails? After rounding a bend I notice three slow moving 'things' in the distance when it dawned on me. These are bicycle tire tracks and that's three zagnuts riding their bikes to Prudhoe in a cold, steady rain. I'm sorry, but I never want to be called a lunatic again for doing what I love to do. More power to the folks that challenge themselves like that, but these guys are the real lunatics. I wonder if I could get Rocky to make a saddle for my ten-speed? Ouch!

There was light at the end of the tunnel - literally. About 20 miles south of Prudhoe the rain tapered off, the sky began to clear and if you have a big nose like I do, the faint smell of salt water can be detected. I didn't know which way the crappy weather was moving, but it didn't matter. I was home free. I wicked up the speed, but hit some thick gravel and the bike got jiggy with it. Just a little reminder from the road gods that I'm not home yet and there's still plenty of time to screw things up. Reluctantly, I backed off the throttle and enjoyed the rest of the ride into Prudhoe.

Along the way, the tundra turns into a marshy tundra-like landscape. The tundra is still there, but there's a lot more water and ice that create this marshy, boggy tundra. The salt in the air gets stronger and before you know it, the Prudhoe skyline can be seen in the distance. Of course, you're only one, maybe two, miles away at this point, but the skyline is there and it's a welcome sight for sure.

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When I reached Prudhoe-proper, I followed the signs to the gas station. The area surrounding the gas pumps was covered in mud and water - not unlike what I just finished riding through. I pulled up to the pump and asked one of the locals if I was in the right spot for gas. You see, the gas station isn't manned at all and there's very little to no signage. There are just some pumps you hope dispense gas. You have to go inside, insert a credit card, select the pump and then pump your gas. If you want a receipt, you have to walk back inside, insert your credit card and press a button. The ol' boy I talked to showed me what was up. He didn't ask any questions, but he was laughing his ass off at me. I wouldn't know why until after I checked into the Arctic Caribou Inn. Everything on the bike and on me that wasn't covered had a nice layer of Haul road covering it. The only clean things were the bike seat and my ass. Everything else was covered.

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I found the Arctic Caribou Inn and checked in. I thought about turning around immediately, but two things made me reconsider. First, the weather seemed to be clearing and I wanted to give it a chance to do it's thing. Second, I didn't know if services would be available in Coldfoot after midnight and I didn't want to chance it. So I took the opportunity to check in and see if the cell phone worked. It did. I called Jim to let him know that I made it to Prudhoe and I didn't see him anywhere around.

It was 7pm, the room was warm and I made it to Prudhoe Bay in roughly 9.5 hours. Ahhh Nirvana. Of course, I still had to get back to Fairbanks.

Back to Civilization

I woke up the next morning to the bluest of blue skies and the sunniest of suns. It was 3:30am. I was going to chill for a while, but I didn't know how long this weather would last and wanted to get the hell out of dodge. This was my first time to Prudhoe and the intended goal was to get in and out as quickly and as safely as possible. In retrospect, the weather window was large enough for me to have taken the tour of Prudhoe Bay, but I know I'll be back - probably next year.

I took a shower, put my gear on and looked for witnesses. As luck would have it Clyde, the front desk attendent, was more than willing to be a witness and he gladly talked his co-worker, Monica, in the other building into doing the same. So I scratched together a witness form in my journal and had Clyde and Monica sign me out at 4:45am.

I didn't read the UCC rules before riding the ride. Actually, I still haven't read them even though I sent in the paperwork for certification. I reckon the IBA will let me know if I screwed up somewhere along the way. I thought I had 14 days to complete the trip and there was a party in Wasilla on the 8th - 3 days from now. Sure there was plenty of time to make Wasilla and still get to Key West, but when the clock's ticking my brain goes into LD-mode with a single purpose - ride now! Should I haul ass to Key West and miss seeing some friends in Wasilla or try my best to take it easy and take my time? My mind wrestled through this all the way back to Fairbanks.

Leaving Prudhoe I missed a turn to get back to the Haul road and wound up at the ARCO security station. Any further north and I would need a badge or be a tourist on a bus. I didn't have a badge and I despise busses. The guard was kind enough to direct me back to the Arctic Caribou Inn and the road back to civilization.

When I reached the outskirts of Prudhoe Bay and looked to the south all I saw were blue skies with nary a cloud and a bright, yellow sun. I didn't know how long the good weather would last. The ride back proved to be nothing short of amazing. Surprisingly, that 40-mile stretch of school zone was a little nicer after all the rain. The ripples were still there, but they seemed a little smaller. I really enjoyed the ride up the north slope to Atigun Pass. Blue skies on top of snow-capped mountains above a flat, barren landscape. And a few musk ox and caribou.

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I started the ascent up Atigun Pass knowing that when I reached the top I didn't know what to expect. For all I knew, it could be raining or snowing on the other side. But when I reached the summit all I saw was the same crystal blue skies and bright, yellow, warm sun that covered me all the way from Prudhoe. And while I knew it wasn't the end of the ride, there was such a release of emotion at that point. The feeling I had was one of triumph, victory, achievement, of conquering the unknown, of knowing that I make the rules that govern my life. I was so emotionally stimulated that I spontaneously broke into a Native-American victory chant that lasted all the way to Coldfoot. Life is power. Life is good.

I stopped in Coldfoot, walked in, surrendered my license and a credit card and walked back outside to gas up. After paying for the gas the waitress asked me if I made it Prudhoe and I promptly replied, "Hell yes!" She smiled and went back to work. I smiled and walked out the door thinking, "What's a pretty girl like that doing in a place like this?"

Just before the Yukon River crossing I saw the sign for Rosie's Hot Spot Cafe and realized that I was hungry enough to eat. I stopped in and had an awesome burger while talking to a few folks who were passing through. Most were headed up to the Arctic Circle. When they asked if I had been there yet I replied, "Yep. Been there. Done that." Mentally, I added a smart-assed "Twice."

I was on the last little bit of Haul road before Livengood when I see a rider approaching and slowing down to chat. I obliged him and realized it was the ol' boy on the Goldwing I saw the day before. You remember, the one that was "just going to Manley Hot Springs." We got off the bikes smiling at each other and he asked if I made it all the way to Prudhoe. I told him the weather was excellent when I left this morning and if he was going to make a go of it, he should stop talking and start riding. He was looking for a 2-gallon tank to carry a little spare gas. Gas he would need to make the 260-mile journey from Coldfoot to Prudhoe. I wish I could have helped him. We chatted for a few minutes and he eventually said with a big smile, "Hey! I'm from Ohio and I'm too damn close to Prudhoe to not ride up and have a look around." We parted ways. I still didn't know his name, but again, chalked it up to a freak road acquaintance.

I reckon I was on a roll down the Haul road because when I reached the pavement at Livengood I felt a little ripped off. Dejected even. Was that it? Then I realized just how fortunate I was to have the weather I had over the entire trip. Sure, the weather through Atigun Pass and beyond was crappy, but it could have been so much worse. I know the Haul road has the potential of being real nasty in the rainy season and was glad that I ran it when I did. I felt extremely fortunate. Hell, I didn't even drop the bike once!

I stopped at the Kinko's in Fairbanks to log on and let everyone on the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum know I made it back to civilization in good shape. I still had thoughts about blowing off Alaska and high-tailing it to Key West, but then I got an email from Mike Kneebone about the IBR. In my reply I asked Mike how much time I have to complete the ride. I was thinking it was 14 days for some reason. Then I started freaking out and thinking it may only be 12 or 10 or AHHHHH!!!! I'm going insane!! Mike replied quickly and told me I have 30 days to complete the ride. Phew! What a load off my shoulders. I now have time to chill in Alaska, make the BBQ in Wasilla and roam around for a while before heading back to the states. The clock's still ticking and I'm a little antsy, but I have the ammunition to make a rational, logical decision to chill out and take it easy.

I spent the night in Fairbanks that evening. On the way to spray wash the bike I saw a cop behind me. I remembered a sign before entering Fairbanks that read something like, "Tail lights and license plates must be visible at all times." Great. I'm going to get a ticket, but when I turned into the car-wash the cop didn't pull in behind me. I'm almost positive he would have pulled me over had I passed it up. Who could blame him? I looked like I needed to get pulled over. So much dirt came off the bike. It was incredible. I even spray-washed my CorTech pants, but it didn't help all that much. Even after a good washing in NikWax (four weeks after the fact), Haul road dirt is still in the crevices in the legs. I reckon it gives the pants a little character.

The next morning I headed south toward Wasilla to find some friends. The ride down was wet most of the way and cold near Cantwell where I decided to stop and have a cup of hot chocolate. As it turned out, the ol' girl running the shop was from Lewisville, TX. She and her husband moved up a couple of years ago. We chatted for a spell while I waited for the rain to at least calm down to a drizzle, but it didn't and it was time to leave.

When I got to Trapper Creek, I decided that enough was enough and got a room at the Trapper Creek Inn. While I was at the counter taking care of business who walks in, but Jack Gustafson - Alaska Jack himself. I thought I'd see someone I knew, but Jack lives on the other end of the state. We talked for a while and went out and looked at his new Silver Goldwing. Man, the memories that brought back. Jack had already added a few goodies to the bike and it sure looked good. Jack was headed toward Fairbanks to see some friends and take a ride on a Hyabusa. I was headed to the room to change and then to the bar to get hammered.

If you're in the area, stop in at the Cache Creek Lodge. Plenty of locals and the bartender, Mary, is arguably the prettiest woman in Trapper Creek. Long, flowing red hair, full lips, nice figure, legs to die for and a warm, inviting smile. After the first couple of beers I told Mary to just keep 'em coming until I either fall off the stool or stand up to pay the bill. I met a couple of other locals while soaking the noggin' in alcohol. Paul was an older gentleman who retired to the area back in 1988. He likes it in Alaska and especially Trapper Creek. "These are my kind of people," I remember him saying. Another local, Clay, came over and chatted for a short minute. I had been eye-balling his lady friend since I got there and I reckon he decided it was time to chat. He stumbled over, put out his hand and asked who I was. I grabbed his hand, shook it and said, "My name is Jason. What's yours?" Now Clay was as drunk as I was getting and he started rambling on about something and I squeezed his hand until I got his attention. "What's your name?" I figured he'd either tell me his name or yell out in pain. "Clay," he said finally with a grimace. We talked about whatnot for about a minute when one of his friends asked a question and he got up and left. No 'nice to meet ya' or anything. Just got up and left mid-sentance. I don't know if he was trying to intimidate me, but I'm not intimidated easily - especially by some drunk, punk-ass who can't appreciate another guy admiring his woman.

I sucked down quite a few more beers until I was toasted. Mission accomplished. Surprisingly, I was able to stand up and Mary, the prettiest woman in Trapper Creek, settled my tab. I stumbled back to the room and watched the boob-tube until I quietly passed out on the couch. Life is good.

I arrived in Wasilla the next day and after roaming around for a while, I was able to find Roger and Mary Ellen's place. They were playing host to a few of us who would be roaming the Alaskan interior after Hyder and opened up there home and put on a spread to die for. I was glad to finally be there and knowing that I had a full 30 days to reach Key West meant that I could relax, let my hair down and enjoy the time with good friends. Had I been in LD-mode I would have been antsy and ready to haul ass - had I been there at all. Don, his wife Barbara and their dog Mattie arrived a day or two earlier from the states and set up shop in the front yard. I took up residence in the truck camper where Roger set me up with a heater. I reckon he didn't want this ol' boy from Texas freezing at night. The heater was needed and it worked perfectly.

The next day found us all sitting and chatting on the front porch waiting for folks to arrive. All the sudden this Goldwing starts coming down the driveway. I'm thinking, "Hey! Wait just a damn second. That guy looks familiar!!" And he did look familiar. This was the ol' boy who was "just heading to Manley Hot Springs" and who was from Ohio and "too damn close to Prudhoe to not ride up and have a look around." Seeing him was awesome and I realized this goes beyond road acquaintance and into the realm of road friend. It was time to shake a hand, learn each other's name and share a story and a laugh.

Apparently, Frank had met another rider from Trapper Creek, Joe May, a couple of weeks before at the local Wally World. Joe invited Frank to stay at his home and told him about the get-together in Wasilla. When I saw Frank on the Haul road he had already met Joe and planned to attend the BBQ. It's a small world. Riders rule. Life is good.

Over the course of the day Frank and I talked about his trek north to Prudhoe and what inspired him to ride to this area. Frank was on a mission to ride as many roads in Alaska and Canada as he could before heading back home to Ohio. I don't think he missed a single road and over the next few days, Frank and I would share a few of them together.

The BBQ was an excellent time. Quite a few folks showed up, there was plenty of food, plenty of drink and loads of good stories about motorcycling, life in Alaska and whatnot. Many thanks go to our hosts - Roger and Mary Ellen - for opening their home to us all and for putting up with everyone for as long as they did.

Before Jack left the party, he asked if anyone was up for a tour to Valdez. I was ready to hit the road and Frank was heading that way too. We decided to meet Jack in Glennallen the next morning and follow him to Valdez. The day was amazing. Only a few drops fell from the sky and I remember Jack saying that days like this are highly uncommon in Valdez. After Valdez, we rode to Glennallen and I bid farewell to both Jack and Frank. I rode back to Anchorage because I needed to get some new skins on the bike and change the oil and other fluids. The Motorcycle Shop was more than willing to accomodate me by offering a drain pan and tools to get the job done. Life is good.

A few shots from the road to Valdez...

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Jack Leading the Way

Worthington Glacier

Jack and Frank

Your's Truly, Frank and Jack trying to look smarter than he really is

Worthington Glacier Wash

Our bikes at the top of Thompson Pass

Bridal Veil and Horse Tail Falls

Valdez Harbor

Liberty Falls

Some Dall Ewes

The Copper River

A Rainbow and Mountains on the Lake

I wanted to ride the Top of the World and stop in Chicken, Alaska on the way back to the lower 48. I left Tok early one morning and made my way east to the TOW. The sun was shining with partly cloudy skies. It was a perfect day to ride the TOW which, from what I understand, is not unlike the Haul road when it gets a little wet. The TOW is an amazing road. I found myself thinking that if the road was paved, it would be the Talimena of Alaska. The road winds up and down the mountains, following the crest at times and the scenery is awesome.

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Chicken Facts and Downtown Chicken

Somewhere on the TOW

At the border crossing into the Yukon I had to wait for a spell for a border guard to show up. I got off the bike, de-robed, walked around a bit and took a pic or two. Then I hear this sultry, soft voice say, "hello." I turn around and there she was... the prettiest woman in Canada. What makes a person 'pretty' isn't looks alone. Actually, looks play only a minor, almost insignificant role. It was the way she walked, the smile on her face, the pinkish hue of her cheeks, the way her head was tilted as she approached, the tone of her voice, the smell of her body and a million other things that my mind processed in milliseconds to provide me with a first impression.

When I first scanned her body I noticed she was wearing rubber gloves. I couldn't tell if she was putting them on or off, but the thought that raced through my mind was, "Here we go. My first cavity search." But after realizing who's hands would be probing the depths of my, -er-a-, cavity I thought, "Cool. I'm down with that. Probe on."

She asked me all the expected questions and I had a difficult time not interjecting a few flirtatious responses, but I just smiled and said no or yes ma'm as appropriate until she asked, "Have you ever been arrested?" and I replied, "Uuuuhhhh, no." Now I was a kid at one time and a teenager at another. I'd be lieing my ass off if I said I was never arrested, but only once and it was when I was 16. She said, "Uh, no, eh? Have you been arrested since turning 18?" To that question I could answer without hesitation, "No ma'm." She took my license inside and ran a check. In two minutes she came out and told me to have a good trip. I so wanted to stay and bathe myself in her glow, but left with a smile on my face knowing I had crossed paths with an angel.

The ferry at Dawson was pretty cool for one reason - practically no one travelling south. There were loads of RV's and other folks traveling north and I was happy I was going the other way. I went up to the top of Dome Mountain in Dawson and got some really good pics of the city and the Yukon river. I saw another tour bus at the dome and the usual suspects sauntered over for a chat. One older woman in particular came over. She had a strong German accent, but lived in Ohio. We chatted for a while about her trip, my trip and various other things. Before she left, she said, "You're doing it the right way. The only way to see this country is on a motorcycle." I couldn't agree more. I put my hand out and asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. She smiled, the bus engine fired up and we knew it was time to say goodbye.

If You Have to Wait In Line...

Dawson City and a look downstream from atop Dome Mountain

My favorite part of the Alcan is from Watson Lake to Fort Nelson. There's a stretch that gets narrow and the road winds through some remote areas around Liard Hot Springs. I spent the night in Watson Lake to wait for a good weather window through the area, but didn't get it. The cold rain began in Muncho Lake and continued to the summit before Fort Nelson. The temps were a nice and cool 38 and combined with the rain it made the day a real bummer. The best part of the Alcan was spent being cold and wet. Next time.

I spotted a heard of Buffalo around Liard Hot Springs and decided to turn around and take a few pictures as the rain let up enough to make it worth my while. When I got off the bike and walked toward them they were all laying down, chillin' out and not paying much attention to me.

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Chillin' and Relaxin'

As I got closer and closer to get a better picture, three big bulls rose to all fours and stared me down. At the time I thought, "OK. I get it. I'm leaving."

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Gettin' Pissed Off

It wasn't until after getting back to Texas that I realized why they got up and stared me down. If you look at the pictures closely, you'll notice at least three calves sitting in and around the center of the herd. I'm glad I didn't try to get any closer after that because I'm sure they would have had something to say about it.

A little after Liard I spotted some mountain sheep on a steep, rocky mountain side.

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The rain was intense after Liard Hot Springs and falling behind a couple of 18-wheelers didn't help matters. The spray was outrageous, but I didn't feel like backing off. Instead, I waited for a passing opportunity and took advantage of it when it was safe. The rain relented on the descent from the summit just north of Fort Nelson. I stopped in Fort Nelson for the evening and was a little bummed out about riding the best part of the Alcan in the cold rain.

I stopped in Chetwynd a day later. The ride in along highway 29 from Fort St. John is a wonderfully winding road that cuts through farm country nestled in the Peace River valley. Chetwynd is the chainsaw sculpture capital of the world and the restaurant at the Stagecoach Inn serves the best Chinese food in British Columbia. How could I pass that up?

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Long before this, I decided to just take my time in getting to Key West. I had plenty of time. The original plan was to ride up the east coast and into Nova Scotia, PEI and Newfoundland after Key West, but I decided to head back home for a week or two after Key West so I could have the bike serviced by my own dealership and to prepare for the IBR. Because of this, I took my time crossing the plains of Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba. I found a few good, long dirt roads that went straight through farm country and a couple of odd-looking orthodox church buildings to go along with it.

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The terrain changes right at the Ontario/Manitoba border. There is lake after lake and hill after hill and trees! The ride through Ontario was amazing and I look forward to riding through that region again sometime in the future.

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Thunder Bay and the North Shore of Lake Superior

At the border in Sault St. Marie the border guard, another woman but definitely not an angel, told me to head over to a building where some officers "wanted to ask me a few more questions." They weren't questions at all. It was more like, "Park here. Get off the bike. Take everything off the bike and put it on the table. Open up the saddlebags and step away from the bike." All in all it went well. The ol' boy spearheading the search saw my Ted Nugent book, "God, Guns and Rock n Roll", and asked me if I read it yet. I hadn't had time to read it yet, but we still talked about Ted and his politics. How one of the guards missed my 'camping/hiking knife' I'll never know, but soon after our discussion was over I was told to pack up the bike and enjoy my trip.

The Mackinac Bridge crossing was interesting. While the weather was incredibly gorgeous there was construction on the bridge that closed the right lane in both directions. The Mackinac is a 4-lane bridge. The middle two lanes is a metal grate and the outside lanes are paved or concrete or something. I've been on a lot of metal grate bridges so it wasn't that bad, but I can see where the crossing would be a little touch and go with higher winds and rain. Life is good.

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Mackinac Lighthouse and The Mackinac Bridge

From Michigan I rode over to Pittsburg to have a hot dog at "The Original Hot Dog Shop" in downtown. This was my first time in Pittsburg and I liked it a lot. The city has attitude and exudes confidence. I felt right at home there. The O-Dog is a fantastic dog. I had mustard, onions and cheese on mine. I should have had two more and packed several more for dinner, but I didn't. The plan was to head down to Anderson, SC for a couple of dogs at Skin Thrashers and then head to Key West.

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Skin Thrashers is a real pain in the ass to find, but I found some good scenery and roads along the way.

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When you get there, you'll find good dogs and cheap beer. Two beer limit. I had a couple of dogs and a beer and paid $4.25. Not too shabby. The dogs were good, but the O-dogs were better. After Skin Thrashers I started making my way south and decided to stop in Lavonia, GA for the evening. There was still plenty of time to make Key West and the only other committment I had was the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum lunch in Jacksonville on the 28th - a week away. It didn't take me long to talk myself into sticking around the southern Appalachian area and riding around for a few days.

It doesn't take long to find good roads in the southern Appalachians. This area is becoming one of my favorite areas to enjoy the twisty roads. I believe it to be a little better than the Ozarks from a pure twisties standpoint, but give the edge to the Ozarks overall because the road surfaces are a little better overall and there's less traffic in the Ozarks. Of course, I haven't spent a lot of time scouring the southern Appalachians like I've done in the Ozarks so this is not a well-formed opinion. Just my current opinion. Being from Texas, I'm compelled to give the edge to the Ozarks anyway - it's closer.

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Carolina Welcome Sign

Sea of Lilly Pads

Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

Bridal Veil Falls

Fontana Dam

Riding the gap or dragon's tail was on the itinerary because it's a road that you have to do at least once. I rode it twice (almost - more in a second) and probably won't ride it again unless I'm just passing through to any of the other magnificent and just as enjoyable roads in the region. Essentially, the ol' boy that runs the Deal's Gap Motorcycle Resort has done a good job of marketing that particular stretch of road and he's taking it all the way to the bank. More power to him as well. While I was waiting in line to buy a 59 cent popsicle the people ahead of me were scarfing up shirts, shot glasses, patches, stickers and other trinkets left and right. It was incredible and I had a big smile on my face just thinking about how how much the owners must be banking. You gotta love capitalism and the feeble minds of most consumers.

Deal's Gap Motorcycle Resort

The GS let me down on my return trip through the gap. About two miles from the motorcycle resort I began feeling a thumpity, thump from the rear end. I just went through a debris field from a rider who went down earlier and thought I picked up something in the rear tire. I didn't think much of it because tire issues are relatively easy to resolve. So I pull over and inspect the rear tire and final drive and couldn't find a thing wrong. So I got back on the bike and carried on down the road. The thumpity-thump was still there and it got worse another mile down the road and even worse the last quarter mile into the resort parking lot. I put the bike on the center stand so I could inspect the rear end more thoroughly. I spun the tire and saw nothing but perfect rubber and didn't hear any thumps. Then I looked at the final drive area and noticed oil leaking from the final drive and pooling under the rear tire. Son-of-a... The final drive was toast and well beyond any roadside fix I was capable of performing. The only option at that point was a call to BMW Roadside Assistance. The odomoter read 34,204 miles while it stood there on the center stand - stranded.

Waiting for the tow truck was excruciatingly painful. I was powerless and it sucked. I didn't think it would get any worse until we loaded the GS onto the wrecker and drove back to Greenville. Looking back from the cabin at the GS strapped down to the flatbed was one of the most dreadful feelings I've had. It was unnatural, totally out of line and not anywhere close to acceptable. There wasn't much for me to do, but get over it. And I did.

Touring Sport BMW in Greenville, North Carolina took care of me. Under warranty they replaced the entire final drive and rear ABS sensor and overnighted the parts so I could get on the road quickly. When the service manager, Frank, talked to the BMW area rep, the decision to replace the entire setup and overnight the parts was immediate. Overall, the experience wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. BMW Roadside only covers the first $100 of towing expense and allows $500 for expenses when a break down occurs away from home. I was $260 out of pocket for the tow job.

When I left Greenville a couple of days later, I made a b-line for Key West. It was time to end this journey, get home for a week or two, drop the bike off at my dealer and prepare for the IBR. To make your trip to Key West more enjoyable, keep these two things in mind. First, if you're heading through Miami, take the turnpike and get on it as soon as possible - in Fort Pierce. I didn't do this and wound up going through the gut. Not good at all. There were numerous construction zones, a lot of traffic and, worst of all, the interstate ends south of downtown and turns into a 6-lane street with lights. I rolled through the area in the afternoon and it was extremely hot, humid and almost unbearable in the heavy stop and go traffic. I really screwed up not getting on the turnpike. Second, don't be in a big hurry to get to Key West. From Key Largo to Key West highway 1 is mostly a two-lane road with slow-moving traffic and very few opportunities to pass.

I arrived in Key West on Thursday June 26th - roughly 23 days and 9000 miles after leaving Prudhoe Bay. There were scads of people in Key West and I knew I was only going to hang around long enough to find some witnesses and get a picture of my bike near the bouy. There was construction all around the bouy, but I got a picture.

As Close I Could Get, But it's Back There!

I stopped at an Internet Cafe near the beach to log in and update the good folks on the Motorcycle Tourer's Forum and check email. I also talked to a couple of locals who were willing to witness the end of my ride. I got gas on my way out of Key West. I didn't know where I would spend the night, but I knew it wasn't going to be anywhere behind me. The Ultimate Coast to Coast was done. Life is good.

Hyder Seek

2003-05-28T20:24:00.000-05:00

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