How long; What we learned; What we endured and survived; What we found
So, we’re home. 6,099 miles. We drove from Syracuse to Scarborough on Thursday, 420 miles or so, and the bedlam of the traffice on I 495 through Lawrence, MA was offset by the discovery of the Mohawk Trail (Route 2 through northern Mass after exiting I 90 right before Springfield onto I 91). Once again, a Little League game and great hospitality at Bill and Donna’s were our welcome. Then, sadly leaving Bill behind, Griff, Bob and I departed Friday morning. We made our last gas stop in Augusta, with hugs to Bob who would peel off at Dysart’s to go to the Harley dealership in Hermon to have his bike fixed. Griff and I continued thereafter and made it safe and sound.
NO TICKETS. NO ACCIDENTS. That was our mantra all the way and we did it to the relief of spouses, girl friend and family members.
We learned most recently that the friendliness of a waitress is in inverse proportion to her breast size. Of the larger, the waitress in Rapid City in the Irish Restaurant (where they didn’t have Irish beer or Irish coffee) was most disagreeable and even Bill’s charm couldn’t melt that heart of lead, as opposed to Heather (at TGIF in Onalaska, WI) and Sara (at Bob Evans), both nursing students, who were very solicitous of our welfare and quick with a smile. And I learned that America can also be found in a gas station if one only looked. We learned of Bob’s great sense of humor (“We’re not on vacation - we’re on maneuvers.” And after breakfast,he’d have to go back to the room “to drop the kids off at the pool.”). And of Bill’s thoughtfulness for other people, always asking a couple if he could take their picture together, and making a point to call wait staff, whether desk clerks, waitresses, gas station clerks, etc. by their first names. And of Griff’s strength and courage with severe osteoarthritis, going great distances on the bike without stops and walking a mile or more in great pain at Niagara Falls to get lunch, and of his generosity sending 15 lobsters to the staff at Black Hills Harley-Davidson for all they did for all of us. We also learned that there is something that surpasses all political differences and religious differences - a shared experience of an odyssey like this. And we learned so much more.
And out West we endured long, straight traffic-free roads (and when you got bored of those, curvy, made-for-motorcycle roads), under powder blue skies, with puffy white clouds, and survived “amber waves of grain” and “purple mountains majesty,” both of which we saw, warm temperatures, frequent stops, plush accommodations with wonderful hospitality wherever we stayed, fair winds always at our backs, a vista full of changes and of sights we’ve never seen before, herds of cattle with a few buffalo thrown in, free breakfasts, people who always asked you if they could help you or if you needed anything and were willing to deliver if you did need help. It was really tough but we somehow made it through all those trials. And we laughed. We laughed our way through America. The longer we went, the more we laughed. We laughed so hard, we cried so the tears streamed down our cheeks.
And what did we find? We found our grandfather. And so much more.
Thank you for participating in this journey. Love, Nat, Dad, Matt, DB, Gunny, etc.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
July 8, 2009 Niagara Falls
“Maggie”; Route 3; Niagara Falls
Damn. It happened again. I set the alarm and forgot to set the button that turns the alarm on. So at 7:20 Bill called and work me up for the 7 AM breakfast I was supposed to attend. I hurried and showered and as I turned the corner to the lobby, “Maggie” (whose name has been changed to protect the innocent) said to me, “Gunny, breakfast has ended and your friends have left, just a while ago.” I looked and the rope gate was stretched across the entry with the sign saying “BREAKFAST AREA CLOSED.” Then I saw Bill and Bob in the corner giggling. I downed a quick bowl of cereal, packed my gear and loaded it on the bike. While waiting for the others, Maggie came out for a cigarette. I asked her, “Who the hell is Bob Evans?”
“You mean our neighbor there?”
“Yes.”
“That place sucks,” she exclaimed.
Right on, Maggie.
After clearing customs (we sent Griff first to clear the way and that he did), we hopped on Route 402 to just short of London, Ontario, and then took Route 4 to Route 3 East. It is a two-lane road with a speed limit of 80 kmh. It went through towns every 15 miles or so (Jarvis, Simcoe, Delhi, Haldimand) and after an hour and a half or so on Route 3 and then Route 20, we entered Niagara Falls, ON. It was very business and back and forth we drove in the heavy vehicular and pedestrian traffic, trying to find a parking space close the the river so that we would have a short walk to the Falls. I finally found a great spot - on the driveway leading to the police station. I couldn’t understand why the others hesitated. Then they pointed out the sign above my parked bike that mentioned something about a $300 fine for a vehicle parked in that spot if it wasn’t police business. Details, details. So we went to the US side of the Falls, going through U.S. Customs this time. We found a cheaper parking space near the river at $5 per bike, saving us $295 per bike. Not bad, eh? I’ll have that to spend on something for my bike - isn’t that how it works?
We set off on a long march to the island in the middle of the river where we had a cheeseburger at the Snack Bar. Griff did remarkably well for a man who said he could only walk 200 yards before he had to sit down. He attributes the improvement to a power drink Eric gave him yesterday - it’s a drink the Red Sox use. After lunch, Bob suggested that we go to the Cave. I was the Scrooge and suggested that if he wanted to get home on Friday, then we better leave now (about 4:00, fearing that if we delayed any further, we would be caught in rush-hour traffic and not be able to get very far, if anywhere). He reluctantly agreed. Griff observed that Bobby is like a kid in a candy store - he wants to do and see everything. I don’t blame him. That’s a good attribute to have. En route to our current location in Syracuse, Bob’s bike again malfunctioned, losing his speedometer again but keeping his signal lights. So I took the lead from him as he could not tell how fast he was going.
Here’s a sign that we saw for a town in Wyoming: “Town of [whatever the Town was named], Looking to the Future, Home of the 1977 State champion girls’ basketball team.” :-)
Good night. Love, Nat, Dad, Matt, DB, Gunny
PS And again the good ole USA nicked us for another “bridge fee” in Port Huron even before we used the bridge to Canada. It is very difficult to pay tolls on a bike. You have to stop the bike by the window, shut it off, stand up and fish the money out of the wallet crammed into your front pocket, hand it to the attendant, get your change back, put it in your wallet, jam your wallet into your front pocket, restart the bike and drive off. I’m sure I’m not a big hit to the guys behind me.
Damn. It happened again. I set the alarm and forgot to set the button that turns the alarm on. So at 7:20 Bill called and work me up for the 7 AM breakfast I was supposed to attend. I hurried and showered and as I turned the corner to the lobby, “Maggie” (whose name has been changed to protect the innocent) said to me, “Gunny, breakfast has ended and your friends have left, just a while ago.” I looked and the rope gate was stretched across the entry with the sign saying “BREAKFAST AREA CLOSED.” Then I saw Bill and Bob in the corner giggling. I downed a quick bowl of cereal, packed my gear and loaded it on the bike. While waiting for the others, Maggie came out for a cigarette. I asked her, “Who the hell is Bob Evans?”
“You mean our neighbor there?”
“Yes.”
“That place sucks,” she exclaimed.
Right on, Maggie.
After clearing customs (we sent Griff first to clear the way and that he did), we hopped on Route 402 to just short of London, Ontario, and then took Route 4 to Route 3 East. It is a two-lane road with a speed limit of 80 kmh. It went through towns every 15 miles or so (Jarvis, Simcoe, Delhi, Haldimand) and after an hour and a half or so on Route 3 and then Route 20, we entered Niagara Falls, ON. It was very business and back and forth we drove in the heavy vehicular and pedestrian traffic, trying to find a parking space close the the river so that we would have a short walk to the Falls. I finally found a great spot - on the driveway leading to the police station. I couldn’t understand why the others hesitated. Then they pointed out the sign above my parked bike that mentioned something about a $300 fine for a vehicle parked in that spot if it wasn’t police business. Details, details. So we went to the US side of the Falls, going through U.S. Customs this time. We found a cheaper parking space near the river at $5 per bike, saving us $295 per bike. Not bad, eh? I’ll have that to spend on something for my bike - isn’t that how it works?
We set off on a long march to the island in the middle of the river where we had a cheeseburger at the Snack Bar. Griff did remarkably well for a man who said he could only walk 200 yards before he had to sit down. He attributes the improvement to a power drink Eric gave him yesterday - it’s a drink the Red Sox use. After lunch, Bob suggested that we go to the Cave. I was the Scrooge and suggested that if he wanted to get home on Friday, then we better leave now (about 4:00, fearing that if we delayed any further, we would be caught in rush-hour traffic and not be able to get very far, if anywhere). He reluctantly agreed. Griff observed that Bobby is like a kid in a candy store - he wants to do and see everything. I don’t blame him. That’s a good attribute to have. En route to our current location in Syracuse, Bob’s bike again malfunctioned, losing his speedometer again but keeping his signal lights. So I took the lead from him as he could not tell how fast he was going.
Here’s a sign that we saw for a town in Wyoming: “Town of [whatever the Town was named], Looking to the Future, Home of the 1977 State champion girls’ basketball team.” :-)
Good night. Love, Nat, Dad, Matt, DB, Gunny
PS And again the good ole USA nicked us for another “bridge fee” in Port Huron even before we used the bridge to Canada. It is very difficult to pay tolls on a bike. You have to stop the bike by the window, shut it off, stand up and fish the money out of the wallet crammed into your front pocket, hand it to the attendant, get your change back, put it in your wallet, jam your wallet into your front pocket, restart the bike and drive off. I’m sure I’m not a big hit to the guys behind me.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
July 7, 2009 Ferry across Lake Michigan
The Spa; Mike Fitzgerald; and Who the hell is Bob Evans?
I slept like a baby in Kylar’s bed, and the fan drowned out the sound of Griff snoring on a mattress on the floor. Bob slept on the couch and Bill took Ashley’s room. The kids had a sleep over in their parents’ room. When I got up, MP had made waffles, feeding Eric, the children and us, and then got the kids ready for their day camp and herself ready for work. I don’t know how she does it, but her kids are very well behaved and that certainly eases her burden. I would have been freaking out, with all she had to do, plus get to work on time and work a full day. She never raised her voice when she told the kids they would leave in 3 minutes, and TJ reached for a cereal bowl and filled it with cereal and poured milk on it. Not a word from MP. He ate his cereal and when he was done, MP asked him to get his snack and other stuff for camp. They gave us hugs good bye and departed. Amazing. Just amazing. My blood pressure would have been about 200 over 110. And if there was ever a spa in our future on this trip, this was it. I told Eric we loved it there because we could feel all the love around us. He went into gales of laughter.
We followed the directions to the ferry terminal, and almost got busted for speeding about 1 mile from the terminal on Interstate 794. I came over a rise on the bridge doing about 60 having just passed a truck and trying to get far enough ahead of it so that the other 3 could fit in behind me. Damn. There’s a police cruiser parked along the side of the road, I was sure we had it. It even started its engine when Billy got to it, and then pulled out, put on its lights and siren and tore by Billy headed for me. I slowed and he went whizzing by me to attend to some unknown catastrophe... or not. When we boarded the ferry, the guy next to us helped Griff and me tie our bikes down with the tiedowns. His name is Mike Fitzgerald and he had been in the military and had used similar tie-downs there. As it turned out, he and I sat beside each other on the back deck of the ferry, getting fried by the sun, and told me his military background. In 1982, he had gone to work at Nellis AFB in Nevada to work on the F-117, the Stealth fighter-bomber, in its infancy. He worked on engines, and he spent 4 months on the computer before a plane ever got to Nellis. Due to the Top Secret status of the project, no one who worked there could tell their family what they did or where they went each week. He would leave Vegas early Monday morning, drive north several hours to Nellis, and then work until Thursday night or Friday morning when he would return to his family in Vegas. The Air Force had estimated that those working on this project would have a 75% divorce rate, but it never was higher than 50%, the national average. He worked as an engine technician and mechanic, and in fact, was the “check” mechanic who would check out others who were working on the engines. He also got to fly the plane in the simulator when those performing the exam would give him all types of problems to solve. He gave an example: due to the secrecy of the project, all flights were done at night to keep the plane invisible to the Russian satellites orbiting above. So, in the simulator, it was very dark and the cockpit screen had TV screens that would show exactly what you would see if you were in the real plane. So on this particular test, he had already had quite a test when it became quiet and all the gauges looked fine. He kept staring at them to see what was wrong, but nothing appeared. Then, the voice of the test administrator said, “Look up.” There in the screen was the wall of the hangar across the taxiway and he was about to hit it. He jammed on the brakes and just stopped the plane in time. Then he was told to turn left and taxi out to the runway - he said he couldn’t because the wing would hit the hangar, and they said to go ahead anyway, they would override that. After taxiing to the runway, he took off and they then gave him a complete power failure. Luckily, he knew where everything was, even in complete darkness and found the switch for the auxiliary power and turned it on. By the time he was done, the sweat was pouring off him. Mike is now retired from the military and works as Manager, Productions Operations for Kelly Aviation Center, a Lockheed Martin affiliate in San Antonio - I know. I have his card. We sat together most of the 2 1/2 hour trip and he was headed to Traverse City on his Harley when we last saw him. He was also a big help untieing our tiedowns when it was time to disembark. His story about the Stealth program interests me because I had stayed in a private home in Oshkosh for the air show 10-15 years ago, and had met another individual who worked in the same program and he told a similar story about the personal side of that assignment. As Mike said, they had nothing else to do but work. They had a kitchen,dining room and recreation room all in the same building - KDR building, they called it, with its pool table, air hockey game, large screen TV with a satellite dish that you had to turn manually to get other stations. He worked there 6 years and is proud of the work they did, and the fact that they all kept it secret for so long.
And who the hell is Bob Evans, and who does he think he is? After leaving Muskegon about 4:30, we drove 220 miles to Port Huron where we stopped at a Comfort Inn for the night. There may be no “free lunch,” but at Comfort Inn there is a free all-you-can- eat breakfast - very important to this crew. We walked across the street to “Bob Evans Restaurant” billed as a “family restaurant.” Bob walked in and said he bet they didn’t serve beer. He asked. The manager said “No,” they did not serve alcoholic beverages. Since we had walked over, we couldn’t just hop on our bikes and go elsewhere, and besides, there was a liquor store about 100 yards away. So we asked Sara, a 19 year old nursing student who was our waitress, to run out and get us a 6-pack. She said she couldn’t do that - she was too young to buy it. So we told her that every family had a few drunks and that they shouldn’t be calling themselves a “family” restaurant if they excluded the drunks in the family from eating there. And we asked her who the hell Bob Evans was and where did he get off saying that they wouldn’t serve even beer. She gave us back the menu to read the last page which told his purported story of how he started this restaurant chain of “family-style” restaurants, and how we were welcome to visit him at the Homestead in Rio Grande, Ohio. This is just a complete farce. Everyone knows that the Rio Grande is in Texas. Just another scam - Mr. Evans, meet Mr. Madoff. And the guy is DEAD so some invitation that is. They ought to get some beer and their patronage would increase (there were only two other people eating in this restaurant when we were there) and the Saras of their staff (who make only $2.65 an hour as a salary) would get much bigger tips. Bob filled out the comment card telling the Manager in so many words that they should serve beer or else it was the last time he would be eating there. The manager said that she could give us root beer, and she could even spice it up and put ice cream in it. Say what?
We ate our homestyle cooking and went back to the Comfort Inn grumbling about the place. And these restaurants are in 38 of the 50 states (according to Sara)? What is wrong with this country? This is anti-American and is subverting Obama’s efforts to jump start the economy.
Maybe you can tell, we’re a little punch drunk. All the sun and the restful previous 24 hours made us that way. We’ll be back to our regular schedule tomorrow.
Good night. Love, Nat, Dad, DB, Matt Senton, “Gunny”
PS Bob’s nickname is “Skids” for the rubber he laid and the resultant blue smoke from his rear tire when he was watching a herd of bulfalo galloping through a field and failed to notice that I had slowed to almost a stop due to cars in front of me, and he turned his head back just in time to see that he was about to slam into me at 45 mph, and jammed on the brakes barely avoiding me and causing quite a racket. This happened in Wyoming, I think.
I slept like a baby in Kylar’s bed, and the fan drowned out the sound of Griff snoring on a mattress on the floor. Bob slept on the couch and Bill took Ashley’s room. The kids had a sleep over in their parents’ room. When I got up, MP had made waffles, feeding Eric, the children and us, and then got the kids ready for their day camp and herself ready for work. I don’t know how she does it, but her kids are very well behaved and that certainly eases her burden. I would have been freaking out, with all she had to do, plus get to work on time and work a full day. She never raised her voice when she told the kids they would leave in 3 minutes, and TJ reached for a cereal bowl and filled it with cereal and poured milk on it. Not a word from MP. He ate his cereal and when he was done, MP asked him to get his snack and other stuff for camp. They gave us hugs good bye and departed. Amazing. Just amazing. My blood pressure would have been about 200 over 110. And if there was ever a spa in our future on this trip, this was it. I told Eric we loved it there because we could feel all the love around us. He went into gales of laughter.
We followed the directions to the ferry terminal, and almost got busted for speeding about 1 mile from the terminal on Interstate 794. I came over a rise on the bridge doing about 60 having just passed a truck and trying to get far enough ahead of it so that the other 3 could fit in behind me. Damn. There’s a police cruiser parked along the side of the road, I was sure we had it. It even started its engine when Billy got to it, and then pulled out, put on its lights and siren and tore by Billy headed for me. I slowed and he went whizzing by me to attend to some unknown catastrophe... or not. When we boarded the ferry, the guy next to us helped Griff and me tie our bikes down with the tiedowns. His name is Mike Fitzgerald and he had been in the military and had used similar tie-downs there. As it turned out, he and I sat beside each other on the back deck of the ferry, getting fried by the sun, and told me his military background. In 1982, he had gone to work at Nellis AFB in Nevada to work on the F-117, the Stealth fighter-bomber, in its infancy. He worked on engines, and he spent 4 months on the computer before a plane ever got to Nellis. Due to the Top Secret status of the project, no one who worked there could tell their family what they did or where they went each week. He would leave Vegas early Monday morning, drive north several hours to Nellis, and then work until Thursday night or Friday morning when he would return to his family in Vegas. The Air Force had estimated that those working on this project would have a 75% divorce rate, but it never was higher than 50%, the national average. He worked as an engine technician and mechanic, and in fact, was the “check” mechanic who would check out others who were working on the engines. He also got to fly the plane in the simulator when those performing the exam would give him all types of problems to solve. He gave an example: due to the secrecy of the project, all flights were done at night to keep the plane invisible to the Russian satellites orbiting above. So, in the simulator, it was very dark and the cockpit screen had TV screens that would show exactly what you would see if you were in the real plane. So on this particular test, he had already had quite a test when it became quiet and all the gauges looked fine. He kept staring at them to see what was wrong, but nothing appeared. Then, the voice of the test administrator said, “Look up.” There in the screen was the wall of the hangar across the taxiway and he was about to hit it. He jammed on the brakes and just stopped the plane in time. Then he was told to turn left and taxi out to the runway - he said he couldn’t because the wing would hit the hangar, and they said to go ahead anyway, they would override that. After taxiing to the runway, he took off and they then gave him a complete power failure. Luckily, he knew where everything was, even in complete darkness and found the switch for the auxiliary power and turned it on. By the time he was done, the sweat was pouring off him. Mike is now retired from the military and works as Manager, Productions Operations for Kelly Aviation Center, a Lockheed Martin affiliate in San Antonio - I know. I have his card. We sat together most of the 2 1/2 hour trip and he was headed to Traverse City on his Harley when we last saw him. He was also a big help untieing our tiedowns when it was time to disembark. His story about the Stealth program interests me because I had stayed in a private home in Oshkosh for the air show 10-15 years ago, and had met another individual who worked in the same program and he told a similar story about the personal side of that assignment. As Mike said, they had nothing else to do but work. They had a kitchen,dining room and recreation room all in the same building - KDR building, they called it, with its pool table, air hockey game, large screen TV with a satellite dish that you had to turn manually to get other stations. He worked there 6 years and is proud of the work they did, and the fact that they all kept it secret for so long.
And who the hell is Bob Evans, and who does he think he is? After leaving Muskegon about 4:30, we drove 220 miles to Port Huron where we stopped at a Comfort Inn for the night. There may be no “free lunch,” but at Comfort Inn there is a free all-you-can- eat breakfast - very important to this crew. We walked across the street to “Bob Evans Restaurant” billed as a “family restaurant.” Bob walked in and said he bet they didn’t serve beer. He asked. The manager said “No,” they did not serve alcoholic beverages. Since we had walked over, we couldn’t just hop on our bikes and go elsewhere, and besides, there was a liquor store about 100 yards away. So we asked Sara, a 19 year old nursing student who was our waitress, to run out and get us a 6-pack. She said she couldn’t do that - she was too young to buy it. So we told her that every family had a few drunks and that they shouldn’t be calling themselves a “family” restaurant if they excluded the drunks in the family from eating there. And we asked her who the hell Bob Evans was and where did he get off saying that they wouldn’t serve even beer. She gave us back the menu to read the last page which told his purported story of how he started this restaurant chain of “family-style” restaurants, and how we were welcome to visit him at the Homestead in Rio Grande, Ohio. This is just a complete farce. Everyone knows that the Rio Grande is in Texas. Just another scam - Mr. Evans, meet Mr. Madoff. And the guy is DEAD so some invitation that is. They ought to get some beer and their patronage would increase (there were only two other people eating in this restaurant when we were there) and the Saras of their staff (who make only $2.65 an hour as a salary) would get much bigger tips. Bob filled out the comment card telling the Manager in so many words that they should serve beer or else it was the last time he would be eating there. The manager said that she could give us root beer, and she could even spice it up and put ice cream in it. Say what?
We ate our homestyle cooking and went back to the Comfort Inn grumbling about the place. And these restaurants are in 38 of the 50 states (according to Sara)? What is wrong with this country? This is anti-American and is subverting Obama’s efforts to jump start the economy.
Maybe you can tell, we’re a little punch drunk. All the sun and the restful previous 24 hours made us that way. We’ll be back to our regular schedule tomorrow.
Good night. Love, Nat, Dad, DB, Matt Senton, “Gunny”
PS Bob’s nickname is “Skids” for the rubber he laid and the resultant blue smoke from his rear tire when he was watching a herd of bulfalo galloping through a field and failed to notice that I had slowed to almost a stop due to cars in front of me, and he turned his head back just in time to see that he was about to slam into me at 45 mph, and jammed on the brakes barely avoiding me and causing quite a racket. This happened in Wyoming, I think.
July 6, 2009 Eric and MP's home
“Eastern” Traffic; MP and Eric’s hospitality
This trip has taken its toll on us. Griff decided to just go to bed last night without going to dinner with us. All he had was an apple and a soda pop. Bill, Bob and I went out to look for dinner, first at Outback but it was closed. We found a TGIF which was open until midnight so we pulled in and had a nice dinner - at 10 PM. And we didn’t get back to the room until 11 or so. I then hooked up my computer and reserved tickets on the highspeed ferry for the 7th, leaving Milwaukee at 12:30 PM. I think we must have gotten shares of stock with the tickets since the cost was $640 for the four of us and our four bikes. No wonder we were able to get tickets at this late date - that seems very expensive. Then I wrote my blog and it was about 12:40 when I went to bed. Then up at 6:50 for the free breakfast at the Comfort Inn. We had about 170 miles to go to Eric’s so it was going to be an “easy” day.
It was Bill’s time to lead but he said he wanted to take us in to Eric’s, so Bob took the lead. The traffic increased the further we went and it was very crowded on the interstate, some going 65, others 70 and a few even faster. Bob did a good job keeping up with the heavy traffic and we managed to all stay together most of the time. Thankfully, the weather was good. We stopped to gas up just short of Madison (aka the “People’s Republic of Madison”), and then Bill took the lead. After making the turn onto Interstate 94 toward Milwaukee, the traffic thankfully decreased and the remainder of the ride was much easier. After Wyoming, South Dakota and Minnesota, the 6-lane traffic was a big shock.
The GPS led Bill and us right to Eric’s doorstep, and we were greeted by Ashley who was getting the mail out of the mail box. We pulled into the yard and were soon surrounded by the Fenton clan. And what a welcome it was. MP drove up soon with hamburg buns, cold cuts, pop, black bean salad and pico de gallo salad. We ate on the back porch and finally relaxed. Bill needed an oil change so we went to the HD dealer in Oconomowoc, and I had my headlights repositioned so that it didn’t just shine 5 feet ahead of my front wheel. That’s one good reason why I haven’t wanted to ride at night.
We returned to Eric’s where I finally washed my filthy dirty looks-like-it-had-gone-around-the world bike, treated the leather and now it looks like a million dollars - for a day or so. Then we went to little league games played by Kylar and on the adjoining field, TJ’s game. We just walked back and forth between the two games to see them when they batted or pitched. Dinner was back here, bratwurst, homemade potato salad, green salad and ice cream sandwiches, all very generous of MP and Eric, and much appreciated by us to sit in a home and eat a home cooked meal for the first time in 2 weeks. Thank you MP and Eric!
Off to Michigan tomorrow via Lake-Express and we’ll see how far we can get after disembarking at 4 PM EDT in Muskegon.
Ciao, Dad, Nat, DB, Matt, “Gunny”
This trip has taken its toll on us. Griff decided to just go to bed last night without going to dinner with us. All he had was an apple and a soda pop. Bill, Bob and I went out to look for dinner, first at Outback but it was closed. We found a TGIF which was open until midnight so we pulled in and had a nice dinner - at 10 PM. And we didn’t get back to the room until 11 or so. I then hooked up my computer and reserved tickets on the highspeed ferry for the 7th, leaving Milwaukee at 12:30 PM. I think we must have gotten shares of stock with the tickets since the cost was $640 for the four of us and our four bikes. No wonder we were able to get tickets at this late date - that seems very expensive. Then I wrote my blog and it was about 12:40 when I went to bed. Then up at 6:50 for the free breakfast at the Comfort Inn. We had about 170 miles to go to Eric’s so it was going to be an “easy” day.
It was Bill’s time to lead but he said he wanted to take us in to Eric’s, so Bob took the lead. The traffic increased the further we went and it was very crowded on the interstate, some going 65, others 70 and a few even faster. Bob did a good job keeping up with the heavy traffic and we managed to all stay together most of the time. Thankfully, the weather was good. We stopped to gas up just short of Madison (aka the “People’s Republic of Madison”), and then Bill took the lead. After making the turn onto Interstate 94 toward Milwaukee, the traffic thankfully decreased and the remainder of the ride was much easier. After Wyoming, South Dakota and Minnesota, the 6-lane traffic was a big shock.
The GPS led Bill and us right to Eric’s doorstep, and we were greeted by Ashley who was getting the mail out of the mail box. We pulled into the yard and were soon surrounded by the Fenton clan. And what a welcome it was. MP drove up soon with hamburg buns, cold cuts, pop, black bean salad and pico de gallo salad. We ate on the back porch and finally relaxed. Bill needed an oil change so we went to the HD dealer in Oconomowoc, and I had my headlights repositioned so that it didn’t just shine 5 feet ahead of my front wheel. That’s one good reason why I haven’t wanted to ride at night.
We returned to Eric’s where I finally washed my filthy dirty looks-like-it-had-gone-around-the world bike, treated the leather and now it looks like a million dollars - for a day or so. Then we went to little league games played by Kylar and on the adjoining field, TJ’s game. We just walked back and forth between the two games to see them when they batted or pitched. Dinner was back here, bratwurst, homemade potato salad, green salad and ice cream sandwiches, all very generous of MP and Eric, and much appreciated by us to sit in a home and eat a home cooked meal for the first time in 2 weeks. Thank you MP and Eric!
Off to Michigan tomorrow via Lake-Express and we’ll see how far we can get after disembarking at 4 PM EDT in Muskegon.
Ciao, Dad, Nat, DB, Matt, “Gunny”
Sunday, July 5, 2009
July 5, 2009 Capitol Lake
Capitol Lake; Passing the baton; Route 14; Crossing the Mississippi
This will be short as again we did not get in until after 9 PM. Our day started in Pierre, SD where we visited Capitol Lake next to the State Capitol building. There, they have nice memorials to WWII, Korean and Vietnam War vets, and also to firemen and policemen, next to a small pond. It is an impressive display and is a tangible reminder of what it takes and has taken to maintain our freedom and independence.
Well, I passed the baton today, and suggested that each rider take a turn in the lead for a segment (usually 100-125 miles) and we would just rotate the lead the rest of the way home. It was Bill’s turn first, followed by Bob and then Griff. We rode through South Dakota on Route 14, a two lane road that parallels the Interstate, but not quite so boring. Wrong. It was just as boring - just a lot of flat land, few trees, farms, grasslands mainly, and just a total bore. Even the road was straight so we had no exciting curves to negotiate. By the time it got to be Griff’s turn to lead, it was 3:30 or so. We had filled up and then driven 25 miles to Tracy, MN for a late lunch at Subway (Bill’s choice) before G took over. And he now has a new nickname - the Horse. He drove and drove and drove until we came to a stoplight and I told him he had to stop so we could fill up with gas after 160 miles. He continued on, passing 2 or 3 gas stations he did not see, and missing the exit for Route 14, and finally pulled into a gas station. Bob, Bill and I had very sore butts from this long ride, and felt mutinous at such a long trek. I suggested that we ride 40 miles further to Rochester to spend the night and all thought that would be fine. Actually Griff has found the solution for long gas station breaks - don’t stop at all. I wish I had thought of that!
Unfortunately that was not to be for I thought we would find a suitable motel along Route 14 as it wended its way through Rochester (home of the Mayo Clinic, and a city of 80,000 plus people), but I found none. By the time I had checked for a hotel on my GPS (while going 60 mph), they were all behind us. So I kept going and after 10-12 miles, I pulled over to the side of the road and told the others that we could be in La Crosse, WI in an hour if we took the Interstate. Not having much choice, all agreed and off we went, racing nightfall again as we had done last night. We won again, crossing the Mississippi just after the sun had set and the rosy aftermath was over our left shoulders, and the full moon was rising to our right. We made it the next 5 miles and ended up at the same Comfort Inn we had stayed in on Wednesday, June 24. Although it was a tough day with most of the riding taking place in the afternoon, we are pleased that tomorrow’s ride to Eric’s house will be a relatively short one of 2 1/2 hours or so. Alleluia. And I have made reservations to take the ferry across Lake Michigan on Wednesday at 12:30 PM, and am looking forward to that.
Good night. Nat, DB, Dad, Matt, etc.
PS Janet Stern asked when we expect to go to a spa. That's very funny. But our butts could sure use some treatment at a spa. I don't see that happening, especially not with our Harley duds on. It just wouldn't be proper.
This will be short as again we did not get in until after 9 PM. Our day started in Pierre, SD where we visited Capitol Lake next to the State Capitol building. There, they have nice memorials to WWII, Korean and Vietnam War vets, and also to firemen and policemen, next to a small pond. It is an impressive display and is a tangible reminder of what it takes and has taken to maintain our freedom and independence.
Well, I passed the baton today, and suggested that each rider take a turn in the lead for a segment (usually 100-125 miles) and we would just rotate the lead the rest of the way home. It was Bill’s turn first, followed by Bob and then Griff. We rode through South Dakota on Route 14, a two lane road that parallels the Interstate, but not quite so boring. Wrong. It was just as boring - just a lot of flat land, few trees, farms, grasslands mainly, and just a total bore. Even the road was straight so we had no exciting curves to negotiate. By the time it got to be Griff’s turn to lead, it was 3:30 or so. We had filled up and then driven 25 miles to Tracy, MN for a late lunch at Subway (Bill’s choice) before G took over. And he now has a new nickname - the Horse. He drove and drove and drove until we came to a stoplight and I told him he had to stop so we could fill up with gas after 160 miles. He continued on, passing 2 or 3 gas stations he did not see, and missing the exit for Route 14, and finally pulled into a gas station. Bob, Bill and I had very sore butts from this long ride, and felt mutinous at such a long trek. I suggested that we ride 40 miles further to Rochester to spend the night and all thought that would be fine. Actually Griff has found the solution for long gas station breaks - don’t stop at all. I wish I had thought of that!
Unfortunately that was not to be for I thought we would find a suitable motel along Route 14 as it wended its way through Rochester (home of the Mayo Clinic, and a city of 80,000 plus people), but I found none. By the time I had checked for a hotel on my GPS (while going 60 mph), they were all behind us. So I kept going and after 10-12 miles, I pulled over to the side of the road and told the others that we could be in La Crosse, WI in an hour if we took the Interstate. Not having much choice, all agreed and off we went, racing nightfall again as we had done last night. We won again, crossing the Mississippi just after the sun had set and the rosy aftermath was over our left shoulders, and the full moon was rising to our right. We made it the next 5 miles and ended up at the same Comfort Inn we had stayed in on Wednesday, June 24. Although it was a tough day with most of the riding taking place in the afternoon, we are pleased that tomorrow’s ride to Eric’s house will be a relatively short one of 2 1/2 hours or so. Alleluia. And I have made reservations to take the ferry across Lake Michigan on Wednesday at 12:30 PM, and am looking forward to that.
Good night. Nat, DB, Dad, Matt, etc.
PS Janet Stern asked when we expect to go to a spa. That's very funny. But our butts could sure use some treatment at a spa. I don't see that happening, especially not with our Harley duds on. It just wouldn't be proper.
Friday, July 3, 2009
July 3, 2009 "A New Man"
New Drill Sargeant; Powder River Pass; Rocket Men; “A New Man”
Bob is the new Drill Sargeant since he wants to get to Rapid City as soon as possible so he can pick up his new bike and make any corrections that need to be made. Up at 6, free breakfast at the Comfort Inn of cereal, a banana, and orange juice, bags all loaded on the bike by 6:45 and I’m ready to go by 7. Sugar, Sandy and Griff head for the Toyota Corolla, a “midsize” car, and we’re off by 7:05 PM with 320 miles or so to go. The skies are leaden gray, a good sign, as it means that it is unlikely in those conditions to get the heating you need from the sun to fire up thunderstorms. And cool it was, in the high 50’s or low 60’s. I wore a short sleeve cotton shirt, dungarees, a Harley light lined jacket and my rain pants and coat over them, with fingerless gloves. The 24 miles to Ten Sleep passed quickly with nary a car on the road. Slowing to 30 mph, we passed Dirty Sally’s Shop, a couple log cabin motels, the gas station and almost immediately entered into a large canyon where signs told of the age of the rocks. Some were pre Cambrian, about 3 billion years old. I had seen the same signs coming the other way 3 days ago but had been unable to read them due to my quicker speed then going downhill. Now we climbed and climbed, from about 4500 feet, through the canyon and into the Big Horn Mountains.
It got colder and colder and I wished that I had a sweatshirt on and full gloves, but I did not want to stop. Knowing that Buffalo was about 70 miles after Ten Sleep, I kept looking at my trip meter to gauge how much longer we would have to endure this cold. Up and up we went into the snow fields where the temp was about 40 degrees, and at 50 mph, that’s a pretty cold wind chill. Finally we reached Powder River Pass at 9666 feet and started down the other side. We ran into a few rain showers going up and the same coming down, but as we descended, the temperature increased so that feeling returned to my red fingers and cold hands. Faster and faster I went down the mountain sides when the pavement was dry, but slowed when the pavement was wet. After what seemed to be a relatively short time, we were in Buffalo. The temp was 60 degrees. It had been 94 degrees on Tuesday when we came through. We gassed up, and I had a cup of coffee to warm my core. I also changed my gloves to full leather gloves. Sort of like shutting the barn door after the horses had run away. And what’s the story with the name of the Big Horn Mountains Campground? It isn’t located in the mountains at all, but in the plains outside Buffalo leading to the mountains. FTLOG.
It was only 9:30 and we had passed our biggest test of the day - getting through the 99 miles from Worland through a large canyon and over a mountain range in less than 2 1/2 hours in less than optimum conditions. Then we lit the candles and rocketed onto the interstate to Gillette, Wyodak, Rozet to Moorcroft where we gassed again. Another quick turnaround and we passed through the high plains into the small hills of Sundance and quickly into South Dakota to Spearfish, and before you know, we were exiting into Sturgis at about 12:30 for Bob’s last gas up in his Suzuki. 300 miles before lunch is a good start and now we only had 26 miles to go to Rapid City. We returned to Interstate 90 and soon found ourselves in a rainstorm for the last 15 miles or so into Rapid City. This was a heavy rain and unpleasant though my rain gear held up and I stayed try. The wet road made us more cautious and we slowed down to 65 mph for the last few miles. We exited at exit 57 and found our way to the Radisson. Bob unloaded his bike and Bill, Griff and I took the car to the H-D dealership while Bob road his bike out, still in the rain. Everyone was glad to see us - we’ve become quite a fixture there and many employees know us on a first name basis.
After several hours there getting Bob’s bike straightened out, we returned to the Radisson and went out to dinner at an Irish restaurant and pub across the street. We sat in a booth, as another hard rain storm hit town, and Sugar leaned in and asked Bob what it felt like to own a Harley, and he said, “Like a new man.” He had a grin on his face all afternoon and evening. Good for him. He bought a beautiful bike - red with white-walled tires. I’m sure he will make good use of it. The other memorable parts of our dinner were that they had no Irish beer other than Guinness and they had no Irish coffee (the “coffee machine was broken”), and all the waitresses were Amazons, very tall, big breasted women wearing low cut blouses. Our waitress was Mandy and she wasn’t very friendly, but as Billy said, “Who cares as long as she keeps coming over here?” Even he with all his charm couldn’t win her over. C’est la vie.
Happy 4th to everyone. I'll be getting up at 4:30 tomorrow to take Sandy and Sugar to the airport. It's been great having them share in this incredible adventure and see the beautiful sights we have seen this past 5 days. Good night. Dad, Nat, Gnat, DB, Matt Senton
Bob is the new Drill Sargeant since he wants to get to Rapid City as soon as possible so he can pick up his new bike and make any corrections that need to be made. Up at 6, free breakfast at the Comfort Inn of cereal, a banana, and orange juice, bags all loaded on the bike by 6:45 and I’m ready to go by 7. Sugar, Sandy and Griff head for the Toyota Corolla, a “midsize” car, and we’re off by 7:05 PM with 320 miles or so to go. The skies are leaden gray, a good sign, as it means that it is unlikely in those conditions to get the heating you need from the sun to fire up thunderstorms. And cool it was, in the high 50’s or low 60’s. I wore a short sleeve cotton shirt, dungarees, a Harley light lined jacket and my rain pants and coat over them, with fingerless gloves. The 24 miles to Ten Sleep passed quickly with nary a car on the road. Slowing to 30 mph, we passed Dirty Sally’s Shop, a couple log cabin motels, the gas station and almost immediately entered into a large canyon where signs told of the age of the rocks. Some were pre Cambrian, about 3 billion years old. I had seen the same signs coming the other way 3 days ago but had been unable to read them due to my quicker speed then going downhill. Now we climbed and climbed, from about 4500 feet, through the canyon and into the Big Horn Mountains.
It got colder and colder and I wished that I had a sweatshirt on and full gloves, but I did not want to stop. Knowing that Buffalo was about 70 miles after Ten Sleep, I kept looking at my trip meter to gauge how much longer we would have to endure this cold. Up and up we went into the snow fields where the temp was about 40 degrees, and at 50 mph, that’s a pretty cold wind chill. Finally we reached Powder River Pass at 9666 feet and started down the other side. We ran into a few rain showers going up and the same coming down, but as we descended, the temperature increased so that feeling returned to my red fingers and cold hands. Faster and faster I went down the mountain sides when the pavement was dry, but slowed when the pavement was wet. After what seemed to be a relatively short time, we were in Buffalo. The temp was 60 degrees. It had been 94 degrees on Tuesday when we came through. We gassed up, and I had a cup of coffee to warm my core. I also changed my gloves to full leather gloves. Sort of like shutting the barn door after the horses had run away. And what’s the story with the name of the Big Horn Mountains Campground? It isn’t located in the mountains at all, but in the plains outside Buffalo leading to the mountains. FTLOG.
It was only 9:30 and we had passed our biggest test of the day - getting through the 99 miles from Worland through a large canyon and over a mountain range in less than 2 1/2 hours in less than optimum conditions. Then we lit the candles and rocketed onto the interstate to Gillette, Wyodak, Rozet to Moorcroft where we gassed again. Another quick turnaround and we passed through the high plains into the small hills of Sundance and quickly into South Dakota to Spearfish, and before you know, we were exiting into Sturgis at about 12:30 for Bob’s last gas up in his Suzuki. 300 miles before lunch is a good start and now we only had 26 miles to go to Rapid City. We returned to Interstate 90 and soon found ourselves in a rainstorm for the last 15 miles or so into Rapid City. This was a heavy rain and unpleasant though my rain gear held up and I stayed try. The wet road made us more cautious and we slowed down to 65 mph for the last few miles. We exited at exit 57 and found our way to the Radisson. Bob unloaded his bike and Bill, Griff and I took the car to the H-D dealership while Bob road his bike out, still in the rain. Everyone was glad to see us - we’ve become quite a fixture there and many employees know us on a first name basis.
After several hours there getting Bob’s bike straightened out, we returned to the Radisson and went out to dinner at an Irish restaurant and pub across the street. We sat in a booth, as another hard rain storm hit town, and Sugar leaned in and asked Bob what it felt like to own a Harley, and he said, “Like a new man.” He had a grin on his face all afternoon and evening. Good for him. He bought a beautiful bike - red with white-walled tires. I’m sure he will make good use of it. The other memorable parts of our dinner were that they had no Irish beer other than Guinness and they had no Irish coffee (the “coffee machine was broken”), and all the waitresses were Amazons, very tall, big breasted women wearing low cut blouses. Our waitress was Mandy and she wasn’t very friendly, but as Billy said, “Who cares as long as she keeps coming over here?” Even he with all his charm couldn’t win her over. C’est la vie.
Happy 4th to everyone. I'll be getting up at 4:30 tomorrow to take Sandy and Sugar to the airport. It's been great having them share in this incredible adventure and see the beautiful sights we have seen this past 5 days. Good night. Dad, Nat, Gnat, DB, Matt Senton
Thursday, July 2, 2009
July 2, 2009 Recantation
Recantation; Grand Teton photos; Continental Divide; Wind River Canyon; Happy Birthday
“We all laugh a lot, kid each other a lot, and are growing in our love for each other.” Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. I’m sure you didn’t believe a word of it. Truthfully, we are at each other all the time, fighting over such things as why one pays the bill for us all at Pizza Hut, whereas another pays the bill for dinner at a hotel at a ski lodge; where one who claims to be a vegetarian when he’s buying, orders and eats a ribeye steak when someone else is buying; when to leave in the morning; how long gas stop breaks should be, from Griff’s six minutes to Bob and Bill’s 30 minutes plus; how long the lunch stop would be; what time to get up in the morning and on and on. So Cain, Abel and my other brother Cain, and Bobby plug on, and we’ll see how it all ends. It’s no picnic out here in the heartland.
Bobby is in a big hurry to get back to the dealer tomorrow as soon as possible, so he wants us to leave here by 7 AM. Billy said he might like to buy an Apple computer tomorrow and he probably won’t be ready to go until 10 or later. I suggested that if we couldn’t get a good deal here, we might go back to Riverton to see if there’s a better deal there. We all laughed now that the shoe is on the other foot and Bob is the one anxious to get somewhere by a specific time.
After some shopping in the morning (primarily for Bob to get some cowboy boots and a cowboy hat), we left about 10:30 and headed north to get Route 26 toward Riverton. We took the same route as we had come in last night, through the park, to get scenic photos of the Grand Tetons with the sun behind us as we took the photos. The mountains are very photogenic and the white clouds swirling around their peaks and the spots of blue sky certainly added to the photos. Then we went another 20 miles or so and each motorcycle rider went by another who took their picture with the Grand Tetons in the background - just fabulous. And the weather continues to be excellent, although a little cool at the start due to our elevation of 6-7,000 feet.
We turned onto Route 26 toward Dubois and Riverton and climbed several thousand feet to the Continental Divide at about 9,600 feet, with patches of snow all about us, and the temp dropping noticeably. Even with a shirt, coat, another rain coat over that, I was cold at times. I even put my rain pants on to keep warmer and to prepare for the daily afternoon thunderstorms. We only encountered one en route, and only sprinkles from that, although the sky is quite black now and we’re headed out for supper. It’s amazing that in 30 minutes or so, we’re very hot in 85 degree weather as we dropped down to a broad plain and the bright unrelenting sun. While proceeding up to the Continental Divide, we were halted again by a flagger in a construction zone and told that it would be a 10-15 minute wait. We shut down and walked around until the pilot truck arrived with a trail of vehicle behind it coming the other direction. Then it was our turn to go the six miles through meadows and high country pine forest on dirt road and torn up paved road for 6 miles, passing large construction vehicles and smelling the newly cut trees and the woodchips by the side of the road.
We ate at a gas station and had either a small pizza or sandwich, and the store was entitled “Grab and Dash.” At last, a store close to my heart. We turned into the Wind River Reservation and soon entered the Wind River Canyon, another great example of why God made motorcycles (before Harley did). The speed limit on all these two-lane roads is 65 and when you approach a curve there will be a sign saying, for example, “50 mph” or in some cases “15 mph.” The road in this Canyon is an excellent road and all curves, usually of the 50 or 55 mph speed limit type. What a blast. First to the left, decelerating from 65 as you approach the curve, leaning the bike and then accelerating into the curve so that you came out of the curve going 5-10 mph faster than when you went in. Then you would be upon the next curve, this one to the right, and you would do it all over again. And again and again for miles as the walls in the Canyon grew taller and taller, and you followed the Wind River to the end of the Canyon. I think it ‘s called “Wyoming’s Grand Canyon” but I’m not sure. After a while you just get in a rhythm and the bike steers itself and you’re just along for this most glorious ride in a beautiful surrounding passing by in a blur. I was sorry when it ended. But we have another great ride first thing tomorrow from Ten Sleep to Buffalo as we tackle the Big Horn Mountains again. I also think that we may have driven fairly near the burial site of Sacajawea, and am sorry that we didn’t make the effort to get there.
And to my good friend, Peter, Sugar and I want to wish you a very happy birthday. We will miss you on your special day and are thinking of you. Give our love to Ursula, and tell her I found a blonde to ride on my bike (although she is just on a Harley T-shirt I bought). Maybe you’ll be riding with us soon.
Good night, and thank you for your interest and comments.
Dad, Nat, Gnat, Matt, DB and Cain
“We all laugh a lot, kid each other a lot, and are growing in our love for each other.” Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. I’m sure you didn’t believe a word of it. Truthfully, we are at each other all the time, fighting over such things as why one pays the bill for us all at Pizza Hut, whereas another pays the bill for dinner at a hotel at a ski lodge; where one who claims to be a vegetarian when he’s buying, orders and eats a ribeye steak when someone else is buying; when to leave in the morning; how long gas stop breaks should be, from Griff’s six minutes to Bob and Bill’s 30 minutes plus; how long the lunch stop would be; what time to get up in the morning and on and on. So Cain, Abel and my other brother Cain, and Bobby plug on, and we’ll see how it all ends. It’s no picnic out here in the heartland.
Bobby is in a big hurry to get back to the dealer tomorrow as soon as possible, so he wants us to leave here by 7 AM. Billy said he might like to buy an Apple computer tomorrow and he probably won’t be ready to go until 10 or later. I suggested that if we couldn’t get a good deal here, we might go back to Riverton to see if there’s a better deal there. We all laughed now that the shoe is on the other foot and Bob is the one anxious to get somewhere by a specific time.
After some shopping in the morning (primarily for Bob to get some cowboy boots and a cowboy hat), we left about 10:30 and headed north to get Route 26 toward Riverton. We took the same route as we had come in last night, through the park, to get scenic photos of the Grand Tetons with the sun behind us as we took the photos. The mountains are very photogenic and the white clouds swirling around their peaks and the spots of blue sky certainly added to the photos. Then we went another 20 miles or so and each motorcycle rider went by another who took their picture with the Grand Tetons in the background - just fabulous. And the weather continues to be excellent, although a little cool at the start due to our elevation of 6-7,000 feet.
We turned onto Route 26 toward Dubois and Riverton and climbed several thousand feet to the Continental Divide at about 9,600 feet, with patches of snow all about us, and the temp dropping noticeably. Even with a shirt, coat, another rain coat over that, I was cold at times. I even put my rain pants on to keep warmer and to prepare for the daily afternoon thunderstorms. We only encountered one en route, and only sprinkles from that, although the sky is quite black now and we’re headed out for supper. It’s amazing that in 30 minutes or so, we’re very hot in 85 degree weather as we dropped down to a broad plain and the bright unrelenting sun. While proceeding up to the Continental Divide, we were halted again by a flagger in a construction zone and told that it would be a 10-15 minute wait. We shut down and walked around until the pilot truck arrived with a trail of vehicle behind it coming the other direction. Then it was our turn to go the six miles through meadows and high country pine forest on dirt road and torn up paved road for 6 miles, passing large construction vehicles and smelling the newly cut trees and the woodchips by the side of the road.
We ate at a gas station and had either a small pizza or sandwich, and the store was entitled “Grab and Dash.” At last, a store close to my heart. We turned into the Wind River Reservation and soon entered the Wind River Canyon, another great example of why God made motorcycles (before Harley did). The speed limit on all these two-lane roads is 65 and when you approach a curve there will be a sign saying, for example, “50 mph” or in some cases “15 mph.” The road in this Canyon is an excellent road and all curves, usually of the 50 or 55 mph speed limit type. What a blast. First to the left, decelerating from 65 as you approach the curve, leaning the bike and then accelerating into the curve so that you came out of the curve going 5-10 mph faster than when you went in. Then you would be upon the next curve, this one to the right, and you would do it all over again. And again and again for miles as the walls in the Canyon grew taller and taller, and you followed the Wind River to the end of the Canyon. I think it ‘s called “Wyoming’s Grand Canyon” but I’m not sure. After a while you just get in a rhythm and the bike steers itself and you’re just along for this most glorious ride in a beautiful surrounding passing by in a blur. I was sorry when it ended. But we have another great ride first thing tomorrow from Ten Sleep to Buffalo as we tackle the Big Horn Mountains again. I also think that we may have driven fairly near the burial site of Sacajawea, and am sorry that we didn’t make the effort to get there.
And to my good friend, Peter, Sugar and I want to wish you a very happy birthday. We will miss you on your special day and are thinking of you. Give our love to Ursula, and tell her I found a blonde to ride on my bike (although she is just on a Harley T-shirt I bought). Maybe you’ll be riding with us soon.
Good night, and thank you for your interest and comments.
Dad, Nat, Gnat, Matt, DB and Cain
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