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
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
July 1, 2009 Cavalrymen's Breakfast
Buffalo Bill Museum; Chief Joseph Trail; Bear Tooth Trail; Yellowstone; Grand Tetons
The alarm went off at 5;30 this morning and I quickly decided that I did not want to get up early and take the Bear Tooth Scenic Byway to Red Lodge and end the day as yesterday ended, racing to get in before sunset. I called Billy and he agreed, then Griff and he agreed. So back to bed I went for an hour or so. After breakfast, we all went to the Buffalo Bill Museum, which really is an art museum of Western art (including Remington, Russell and N.C. Wyeth), a gun museum of thousands of guns (including Palladin’s gun from the show Have Gun, Will Travel, Hoss’s gun from Bonanza, James Arness’s gun from Gunsmoke and many, many more), and a museum on Native Americans, and what a wonderful gift shop. I bought a framed print on canvas of Cavalrymen’s Breakfast by Frederic Remington in honor of my grandfather and our trip - check it out on the Internet. Maybe Charles Fenton is one of the cavalrymen in the picture.
Having been told again that we must ride the Bear Tooth Trail, we took Route 120 out of Cody to Route 296 known as Chief Joseph’s Trail because his tribe of Nez Perce Indians, who were pursued by the Army, escaped by climbing to the 8000 foot high pass and then down to the valley on the north side. An injured Indian was left at the top of the pass - according to the plaque at the pass, he was “killed” by the soldiers when he was found. I would have written “murdered.” Now this pass is called Dead Indian Pass. It’s a spectacular ride on the motorcycle up to the pass, and even more thrilling coming down with all the switchbacks requiring strict attention by the rider.
Route 296 intersected with Route 212, the Bear Tooth Scenic Byway, but we took a left toward Cookeville, and not a right to Red Lodge. We passed into Montana briefly, and watched as the storm clouds gathered once again. We received a short dose of rain but it soon passed and we soon arrived at Cookeville where we had a tardy lunch. It was almost 3 PM and we still hadn’t reached Yellowstone and we had Grand Teton National Park after that. Yellowstone is amazing with its huge mountains, its roaring whitewater streams everywhere, its lush valleys, its hot springs scaring me into thinking we were approaching a forest fire, its huge lake, and its people everywhere. At one time, we had a long delay because two bears had fallen asleep down in the ravine next to the road, so 3 rangers were there, and each motorist had to ask what was going on. Our goal was Old Faithful, and we finally arrived about 6, learning that it would not spout again until about 7:10, give or take ten minutes. Since we were still 100 miles from Jackson, we gassed up and left, having decided that we would come back this way tomorrow and see it then.
The trip to Jackson was arduous, with lots of construction slowing us down, including dirt roads, one lane roads where we had to wait for the oncoming traffic to clear, and slow traffic when we were in the clear. Of course, the maximum speed limit is 45 in the parks so we couldn’t just let her loose. But what sights we saw. Yellowstone Lake with snow-capped mountains in the east in the distance, highlighted by the setting sun in the west, followed by a beautiful lake (Lake Jackson) framed by even higher snow-capped mountains, the Tetons, on the western side, and then the elk out grazing at dusk and me hoping that one wouldn’t cut across the road in front of me. Once again, we arrived late at our destination, 9 PM at Alpine Village followed by a very late dinner and an even later blog.
Peter has asked whether I am still the Drill Sargeant and how the troop is doing. We have our ups and downs as one might expect in such a trip and with 3 brothers who are all highly competitive, but we seem to let things go, and the tension soon dissipates. We all realize that we are participating in something very special, and don’t want to mar the experience with petty complaints, especially when we realize that much of what tension there is is caused by our fatigue. Sugar and Sandy have also added a new dimension, and this trip to Jackson from Sturgis has certainly been an ordeal for them, but I believe they are glad to participate in this experience with us. We all laugh a lot, kid each other a lot, and are growing in our love for each other. So, Peter, in summary, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Bon soir. Gnat
PS I still have my insect dark glasses if you’re wondering.
The alarm went off at 5;30 this morning and I quickly decided that I did not want to get up early and take the Bear Tooth Scenic Byway to Red Lodge and end the day as yesterday ended, racing to get in before sunset. I called Billy and he agreed, then Griff and he agreed. So back to bed I went for an hour or so. After breakfast, we all went to the Buffalo Bill Museum, which really is an art museum of Western art (including Remington, Russell and N.C. Wyeth), a gun museum of thousands of guns (including Palladin’s gun from the show Have Gun, Will Travel, Hoss’s gun from Bonanza, James Arness’s gun from Gunsmoke and many, many more), and a museum on Native Americans, and what a wonderful gift shop. I bought a framed print on canvas of Cavalrymen’s Breakfast by Frederic Remington in honor of my grandfather and our trip - check it out on the Internet. Maybe Charles Fenton is one of the cavalrymen in the picture.
Having been told again that we must ride the Bear Tooth Trail, we took Route 120 out of Cody to Route 296 known as Chief Joseph’s Trail because his tribe of Nez Perce Indians, who were pursued by the Army, escaped by climbing to the 8000 foot high pass and then down to the valley on the north side. An injured Indian was left at the top of the pass - according to the plaque at the pass, he was “killed” by the soldiers when he was found. I would have written “murdered.” Now this pass is called Dead Indian Pass. It’s a spectacular ride on the motorcycle up to the pass, and even more thrilling coming down with all the switchbacks requiring strict attention by the rider.
Route 296 intersected with Route 212, the Bear Tooth Scenic Byway, but we took a left toward Cookeville, and not a right to Red Lodge. We passed into Montana briefly, and watched as the storm clouds gathered once again. We received a short dose of rain but it soon passed and we soon arrived at Cookeville where we had a tardy lunch. It was almost 3 PM and we still hadn’t reached Yellowstone and we had Grand Teton National Park after that. Yellowstone is amazing with its huge mountains, its roaring whitewater streams everywhere, its lush valleys, its hot springs scaring me into thinking we were approaching a forest fire, its huge lake, and its people everywhere. At one time, we had a long delay because two bears had fallen asleep down in the ravine next to the road, so 3 rangers were there, and each motorist had to ask what was going on. Our goal was Old Faithful, and we finally arrived about 6, learning that it would not spout again until about 7:10, give or take ten minutes. Since we were still 100 miles from Jackson, we gassed up and left, having decided that we would come back this way tomorrow and see it then.
The trip to Jackson was arduous, with lots of construction slowing us down, including dirt roads, one lane roads where we had to wait for the oncoming traffic to clear, and slow traffic when we were in the clear. Of course, the maximum speed limit is 45 in the parks so we couldn’t just let her loose. But what sights we saw. Yellowstone Lake with snow-capped mountains in the east in the distance, highlighted by the setting sun in the west, followed by a beautiful lake (Lake Jackson) framed by even higher snow-capped mountains, the Tetons, on the western side, and then the elk out grazing at dusk and me hoping that one wouldn’t cut across the road in front of me. Once again, we arrived late at our destination, 9 PM at Alpine Village followed by a very late dinner and an even later blog.
Peter has asked whether I am still the Drill Sargeant and how the troop is doing. We have our ups and downs as one might expect in such a trip and with 3 brothers who are all highly competitive, but we seem to let things go, and the tension soon dissipates. We all realize that we are participating in something very special, and don’t want to mar the experience with petty complaints, especially when we realize that much of what tension there is is caused by our fatigue. Sugar and Sandy have also added a new dimension, and this trip to Jackson from Sturgis has certainly been an ordeal for them, but I believe they are glad to participate in this experience with us. We all laugh a lot, kid each other a lot, and are growing in our love for each other. So, Peter, in summary, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Bon soir. Gnat
PS I still have my insect dark glasses if you’re wondering.
June 30, 2009 Race to Cody
Rapid City Journal; Heidi; Devil’s Tower; Nowood and Nopeace; Race to Cody
They had a nice article on the front page of the Rapid City Journal about our trip to see our grandfather’s commission, with pictures as well of us with Lori Potts, the lady who tracked us down. It’s the June 30, 2009 edition if you want to check it out.
When I went to check out, Heidi met me with a highlighted map of the route we should take to Cody, and a shortcut over the Nowood Road to meet back up with Route 16 in Wyoming. In addition, she had handwritten turn-by-turn instructions to get us to Cody. I couldn’t believe the work she put into this and gave her a big hug. She is very special. Then she made a copy for each of us. Again we met someone who treated us with incredible kindness, really going out of their way to help us. This is not the first time with her as she has been most helpful with whatever we’ve needed during our stay. She’s so efficient she should own Holiday Inns in 5-10 years.
Following Heidi’s route, we took Route 34 to the Wyoming border, a secondary road with a 65 mph speed limit. The route changed to Route 24 in Wyoming but the speed limit stayed the same. After 70 miles of a 380 mile trip, we reached Devil’s Tower, which, I am told, is the landing site of the spacecraft in the movie, “Encounters of the Third Kind.” It is a large rock outcropping sticking straight out of the ground and looks very evil and forboding. After taking a few pictures and getting water (it was heating up fast), Bob found a photographer who takes oldtime photographs and convinced us to dress up in Western garb and have out picture taken by a wagon with Devil’s Tower in the background. We ate while the pictures were being developed. By the time we were on the road again, it was almost 2 and we still had over 300 miles to go. When we got to Gillette, we were met with ferocious windstorm and some rain - Billy said that he talked to a driver later when we gassed up in Buffalo and he said that the storm turned into a tornado and he had heard the siren go off.
We left Interstate 90 at Buffalo and followed Route 16 to Ten Sleep (that’s not a typo) - the route took us from 94 degree temps to 45 degrees and thousands of feet higher than Buffalo going through the Big Horn mountains. On the west side,we traversed a mini Grand Canyon and descended for 18 miles back to warmer climes still in the high 80’. Once we got to Ten Sleep we took a shortcut on a road named Nowood. It followed a valley and thunderstorms lurked on both sides of the valley, only about 1 mile away. I hoped that we might avoid them but the lightning so near was a little daunting. Up ahead I saw a white line from left to right and finally concluded that it was a line of heavy rain. Once the sprinkles started, I pulled over to put our rain gear on again. Too late. The storm hit with ferocity - heavy rain, hail and very strong winds. We hunkered down behind our windshields by the side of the road and waited it out. Once it lightened up, we proceeded cautiously in the lighter rain and finally got out of the storm, a little wet but clear at last. It was a short reprieve as the rest of the trip was taken up in outracing storms and just missing storms - unbelievably black clouds that descended all the way to the ground like a large black curtain had fallen. You couldn’t see through it at all. Paraphrasing:
Dark clouds to the right of them,
Lightning to the left of them,
Volleyed and thundered,
Into the valley of Basin rode the gallant three riders.
We are now in Cody at the Holiday Inn having arrived at 8:30, and are planning an early trip up the Bear Tooth Scenic Highway that climbs to 11000 feet, followed by a trip to Yellowstone and Jackson Hole for tomorrow.
Good night. A tired boy, Nat
They had a nice article on the front page of the Rapid City Journal about our trip to see our grandfather’s commission, with pictures as well of us with Lori Potts, the lady who tracked us down. It’s the June 30, 2009 edition if you want to check it out.
When I went to check out, Heidi met me with a highlighted map of the route we should take to Cody, and a shortcut over the Nowood Road to meet back up with Route 16 in Wyoming. In addition, she had handwritten turn-by-turn instructions to get us to Cody. I couldn’t believe the work she put into this and gave her a big hug. She is very special. Then she made a copy for each of us. Again we met someone who treated us with incredible kindness, really going out of their way to help us. This is not the first time with her as she has been most helpful with whatever we’ve needed during our stay. She’s so efficient she should own Holiday Inns in 5-10 years.
Following Heidi’s route, we took Route 34 to the Wyoming border, a secondary road with a 65 mph speed limit. The route changed to Route 24 in Wyoming but the speed limit stayed the same. After 70 miles of a 380 mile trip, we reached Devil’s Tower, which, I am told, is the landing site of the spacecraft in the movie, “Encounters of the Third Kind.” It is a large rock outcropping sticking straight out of the ground and looks very evil and forboding. After taking a few pictures and getting water (it was heating up fast), Bob found a photographer who takes oldtime photographs and convinced us to dress up in Western garb and have out picture taken by a wagon with Devil’s Tower in the background. We ate while the pictures were being developed. By the time we were on the road again, it was almost 2 and we still had over 300 miles to go. When we got to Gillette, we were met with ferocious windstorm and some rain - Billy said that he talked to a driver later when we gassed up in Buffalo and he said that the storm turned into a tornado and he had heard the siren go off.
We left Interstate 90 at Buffalo and followed Route 16 to Ten Sleep (that’s not a typo) - the route took us from 94 degree temps to 45 degrees and thousands of feet higher than Buffalo going through the Big Horn mountains. On the west side,we traversed a mini Grand Canyon and descended for 18 miles back to warmer climes still in the high 80’. Once we got to Ten Sleep we took a shortcut on a road named Nowood. It followed a valley and thunderstorms lurked on both sides of the valley, only about 1 mile away. I hoped that we might avoid them but the lightning so near was a little daunting. Up ahead I saw a white line from left to right and finally concluded that it was a line of heavy rain. Once the sprinkles started, I pulled over to put our rain gear on again. Too late. The storm hit with ferocity - heavy rain, hail and very strong winds. We hunkered down behind our windshields by the side of the road and waited it out. Once it lightened up, we proceeded cautiously in the lighter rain and finally got out of the storm, a little wet but clear at last. It was a short reprieve as the rest of the trip was taken up in outracing storms and just missing storms - unbelievably black clouds that descended all the way to the ground like a large black curtain had fallen. You couldn’t see through it at all. Paraphrasing:
Dark clouds to the right of them,
Lightning to the left of them,
Volleyed and thundered,
Into the valley of Basin rode the gallant three riders.
We are now in Cody at the Holiday Inn having arrived at 8:30, and are planning an early trip up the Bear Tooth Scenic Highway that climbs to 11000 feet, followed by a trip to Yellowstone and Jackson Hole for tomorrow.
Good night. A tired boy, Nat
Monday, June 29, 2009
June 29, 2009 Lori Potts
Paul; Lori; Needles Highway: Mount Rushmore and Losing Sunglasses
After driving to the H-D dealership to pick up Billy who had dropped off his Harley for a new windshield, rider’s back rest, handlebars, GPS, etc., we talked with Paul, the Harley salesman who sold Bob his bike, and he was fascinated about the story of Charles Fenton and wants to include it in his “book” he’s writing. He loves history and this is the best kind for him, when he actually gets to meet the people involved. So he wants to interview us, go to the Museum and see the Commission (he wants a copy too) and he urged us to do more digging about our grandfather. He is a lover of western history and explained that if you were a Captain in the cavalry back in those days, it would be like being a full Colonel today. That was a big deal according to him. He also is fascinated with the history of the area, and recited the story of the two trials of Jack McCall for murdering Wild Bill HIckok, and actually got to handle his guns even though they’re kept in a safe - he can talk anyone into anything. He really can.
We left the dealership and returned to Sturgis to pick up everyone else and go back to the Museum to meet the photographer from the Rapid City newspaper. We also got to meet Lori Potts, the lady who followed up on the initial story and tracked down Billy. She had debated whether or not to call but she decided that she would want to know if it was her grandfather, so she called. And that started this whole chain of events. Actually it goes back farther than that, back to the day I bought the raffle ticket in Thunder Bay. It’s really quite simple: Nat buys raffle ticket; Nat wins Harley in raffle; Lori calls Billy, and Billy calls us to tell us the story of the Commission; Griff buys Harley; Griff invites Nat to go with him to Sturgis to see the commission; Griff invites Bobby to go too; Griff invites Billy to go; Billy buys Harley; we ride to Sturgis.
Lori is middle-aged (meaning much younger than us), short, on crutches (the arm brace type), and has a kind and friendly face. She enjoyed telling the story and the attention she got, due to Billy calling her and asking her to join us for the photographs. Several pictures were taken and we expect an article in the newspaper tomorrow. Good for Lori for her persistence and following up where the newspaper had failed to follow up. We are very thankful, for her efforts have been a great boon to us (and especially Bobby who is ending up with a Harley).
We then hit the road toward the Needles Highway and Mount Rushmore, up to Deadwood, taking Route 385 through the middle of the Black Hills (which climb to more than 6000 feet), past Pactola Lake, a beautiful manmade lake, and into Hill City where we had lunch in a restaurant where each booth had a television set and its own remote. We continued on in the heat of the day and finally turned onto Needles Highway, The roads are curvy and hilly, a dream for a motorcyclist, but many of the turns were 15 mph hairpin turns. Our training was invaluable as we had been taught that in slow speed curves, you should look about 30 yards ahead to where you want to go for if you look right in front of you, bad things will happen. That training got Griff, Bob and I through these routes just fine (Bill was driving Sugar and Sandy in the car). En route you go through these one-way tunnels that are 8 feet high and twelve feet wide, I think. Some frame the Presidents on Mount Rushmore so we would dismount and take a photo before continuing on. Finally we reached Mount Rushmore. We could see men at the top preparing for the July 3 fireworks. We were told that people begin lining up at 6 in the morning for the fireworks and the parking lot is full by 10:30, after which they start parking along the highway. So we decided that is not something we want to get in the middle of, especially because we probably wouldn’t be returning until late-ish on Friday. The monument was made even more impressive by the thunderstorm in the vicinity and the dark clouds mingling with the white, puffy clouds and blue sky. A lot of pictures were taken, Billy especially liking those that added his head to the other four.
However, for me, it was a tough day on sunglasses. After recovering my Maui Jim sunglasses twice before after driving off, this time I drove off with the pair sitting on my saddle bags. Bob saw them fly off onto the highway so that was the end of those. He had bought a new pair at lunch, so he gave me his old pair that he had bought for a dollar, and I promptly lost those in a similar manner, all in the space of two hours. When I refueled at Sturgis upon my return, I bought a new pair for $9.99. They are aviator glasses. The lenses are huge. I look like an insect.
After driving to the H-D dealership to pick up Billy who had dropped off his Harley for a new windshield, rider’s back rest, handlebars, GPS, etc., we talked with Paul, the Harley salesman who sold Bob his bike, and he was fascinated about the story of Charles Fenton and wants to include it in his “book” he’s writing. He loves history and this is the best kind for him, when he actually gets to meet the people involved. So he wants to interview us, go to the Museum and see the Commission (he wants a copy too) and he urged us to do more digging about our grandfather. He is a lover of western history and explained that if you were a Captain in the cavalry back in those days, it would be like being a full Colonel today. That was a big deal according to him. He also is fascinated with the history of the area, and recited the story of the two trials of Jack McCall for murdering Wild Bill HIckok, and actually got to handle his guns even though they’re kept in a safe - he can talk anyone into anything. He really can.
We left the dealership and returned to Sturgis to pick up everyone else and go back to the Museum to meet the photographer from the Rapid City newspaper. We also got to meet Lori Potts, the lady who followed up on the initial story and tracked down Billy. She had debated whether or not to call but she decided that she would want to know if it was her grandfather, so she called. And that started this whole chain of events. Actually it goes back farther than that, back to the day I bought the raffle ticket in Thunder Bay. It’s really quite simple: Nat buys raffle ticket; Nat wins Harley in raffle; Lori calls Billy, and Billy calls us to tell us the story of the Commission; Griff buys Harley; Griff invites Nat to go with him to Sturgis to see the commission; Griff invites Bobby to go too; Griff invites Billy to go; Billy buys Harley; we ride to Sturgis.
Lori is middle-aged (meaning much younger than us), short, on crutches (the arm brace type), and has a kind and friendly face. She enjoyed telling the story and the attention she got, due to Billy calling her and asking her to join us for the photographs. Several pictures were taken and we expect an article in the newspaper tomorrow. Good for Lori for her persistence and following up where the newspaper had failed to follow up. We are very thankful, for her efforts have been a great boon to us (and especially Bobby who is ending up with a Harley).
We then hit the road toward the Needles Highway and Mount Rushmore, up to Deadwood, taking Route 385 through the middle of the Black Hills (which climb to more than 6000 feet), past Pactola Lake, a beautiful manmade lake, and into Hill City where we had lunch in a restaurant where each booth had a television set and its own remote. We continued on in the heat of the day and finally turned onto Needles Highway, The roads are curvy and hilly, a dream for a motorcyclist, but many of the turns were 15 mph hairpin turns. Our training was invaluable as we had been taught that in slow speed curves, you should look about 30 yards ahead to where you want to go for if you look right in front of you, bad things will happen. That training got Griff, Bob and I through these routes just fine (Bill was driving Sugar and Sandy in the car). En route you go through these one-way tunnels that are 8 feet high and twelve feet wide, I think. Some frame the Presidents on Mount Rushmore so we would dismount and take a photo before continuing on. Finally we reached Mount Rushmore. We could see men at the top preparing for the July 3 fireworks. We were told that people begin lining up at 6 in the morning for the fireworks and the parking lot is full by 10:30, after which they start parking along the highway. So we decided that is not something we want to get in the middle of, especially because we probably wouldn’t be returning until late-ish on Friday. The monument was made even more impressive by the thunderstorm in the vicinity and the dark clouds mingling with the white, puffy clouds and blue sky. A lot of pictures were taken, Billy especially liking those that added his head to the other four.
However, for me, it was a tough day on sunglasses. After recovering my Maui Jim sunglasses twice before after driving off, this time I drove off with the pair sitting on my saddle bags. Bob saw them fly off onto the highway so that was the end of those. He had bought a new pair at lunch, so he gave me his old pair that he had bought for a dollar, and I promptly lost those in a similar manner, all in the space of two hours. When I refueled at Sturgis upon my return, I bought a new pair for $9.99. They are aviator glasses. The lenses are huge. I look like an insect.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
June 28, 2009 Jamie
Jamie; Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway; Drill Sargeant: Deadwood
Last night, we ate at The Loud American (appropriate name for this crew) in Sturgis. Our waitress was named Jamie, a 20ish, fine figured girl with dark, red tinged hair, wearing a Jack Daniels T-shirt, and very, very short cut-off shorts. She has a wonderful smile, but she looks a little saucy. After delivering our meals, she returned and asked if we needed anything else, Bill replied, “Only another of your wonderful smiles.” She grinned from ear to ear, saying, “I can do THAT all night long.” We were not sure she was talking about smiling “all night long” but I guess we’ll never know. When we left, she gave us all hugs. Old men are so easy to please.
We left the hotel at 8:30 today to get in a ride before meeting Sandy and Sugar at the airport at 1:15. We traveled west to Spearfish on Interstate 90, turning south on Route 14a to enter Spearfish Canyon, a 10-12 mile long canyon following a stream bed, surrounded by high, steep, coniferous treed hills on both sides. The temperature dropped quickly as we climbed up to an elevation of 6200 feet, and were passing through the shadows of the hills. We stopped at Bridal Veil Falls for a picture, but it was into the sun and didn’t come out well. Next stop was past the Lodge, a beautiful place to stay in this Canyon, to see another waterfall. When we had traveled 1 1/4 mile up a dirt road, we parked in the parking lot. We heard the brook and the “falls” of about 2 feet and were quite disappointed. But a couple came by and told us not to miss the falls down the path - they were “well worth it.” So Griff sat while we went to discover the falls, and they were scenic, maybe forty foot drop as seen by us at the top. After returning to the bikes, we continued up the dirt road to see where a scene from Dances with Wolves had been shot, but we couldn’t say for sure which area it was in. After cleaning the bikes yesterday, they were well on their way to getting dusty and dirty again, with Griff’s bike getting the brunt as he brought up the rear. When we arrived at Cheyenne Crossing, he took out his cleaning cloth and wiped the dust off his bike. The treat there was the plateful of fresh doughnut holes, and a bottle of water. We proceeded more rapidly down Route 14a-Route 85 toward Lead, Deadwood and Sturgis, with 55 mph speed limit and twisting, descending roads, a real treat for motorcycles.
On the way here, I led the way and tried, often in vain, to keep our gas stops short, and to keep up the pace. I would also “suggest” a time to leave each morning, and would choose our stops and would “suggest” when we would stop at the end of the day. So now Bobby and Bill are calling me “Drill Sargeant”, and stand at attention when we meet at the bikes in the morning. They are getting quite a giggle out of it. And the title of this blog, “To Look for America,” they don’t see how we can look for America when I won’t let them stop and take pictures and the scenery is just a blur as we go speeding by. And my response, “It’s not good to piss of the Drill Sargeant.”
Our augmented Gang of Six took the van (courtesy of Holiday Inn) to Deadwood for supper. It is a historically famous town, in part because Wild Bill Hickok was gunned down by an assassin, Jack McCall, while playing poker in Saloon No. 10. His hand? Two pairs, Aces and eights, which ever after up to even today was and is called the “Dead Man’s Hand.” It’s population is about 3,000 but swells considerably during the day and especially on the weekends due to it becoming a gambling center.
Well, the cat is out of the bag. Sugar learned that Bobby has bought a Harley - a 2001 Road King. She had thought that might be so, but her suspicions increased when she asked Billy if Bobby (who was not present at the airport) had purchased a motorcycle. Billy just shrugged his shoulders and walked away - that really helped keep the secret. Then the clincher was when Bobby joined us for lunch at Rosco’z, he took off his coat and underneath was a Harley T-shirt. Anyway, he is very happy and hopes that he can pick it up on Tuesday before we head out for Wyoming. It’s a beautiful bike and will make his ride home a lot more enjoyable.
As you can see from the Comments, Peter Schertenleib got the answer to the quiz. I’ll have to work on another one. Bon soir.
Last night, we ate at The Loud American (appropriate name for this crew) in Sturgis. Our waitress was named Jamie, a 20ish, fine figured girl with dark, red tinged hair, wearing a Jack Daniels T-shirt, and very, very short cut-off shorts. She has a wonderful smile, but she looks a little saucy. After delivering our meals, she returned and asked if we needed anything else, Bill replied, “Only another of your wonderful smiles.” She grinned from ear to ear, saying, “I can do THAT all night long.” We were not sure she was talking about smiling “all night long” but I guess we’ll never know. When we left, she gave us all hugs. Old men are so easy to please.
We left the hotel at 8:30 today to get in a ride before meeting Sandy and Sugar at the airport at 1:15. We traveled west to Spearfish on Interstate 90, turning south on Route 14a to enter Spearfish Canyon, a 10-12 mile long canyon following a stream bed, surrounded by high, steep, coniferous treed hills on both sides. The temperature dropped quickly as we climbed up to an elevation of 6200 feet, and were passing through the shadows of the hills. We stopped at Bridal Veil Falls for a picture, but it was into the sun and didn’t come out well. Next stop was past the Lodge, a beautiful place to stay in this Canyon, to see another waterfall. When we had traveled 1 1/4 mile up a dirt road, we parked in the parking lot. We heard the brook and the “falls” of about 2 feet and were quite disappointed. But a couple came by and told us not to miss the falls down the path - they were “well worth it.” So Griff sat while we went to discover the falls, and they were scenic, maybe forty foot drop as seen by us at the top. After returning to the bikes, we continued up the dirt road to see where a scene from Dances with Wolves had been shot, but we couldn’t say for sure which area it was in. After cleaning the bikes yesterday, they were well on their way to getting dusty and dirty again, with Griff’s bike getting the brunt as he brought up the rear. When we arrived at Cheyenne Crossing, he took out his cleaning cloth and wiped the dust off his bike. The treat there was the plateful of fresh doughnut holes, and a bottle of water. We proceeded more rapidly down Route 14a-Route 85 toward Lead, Deadwood and Sturgis, with 55 mph speed limit and twisting, descending roads, a real treat for motorcycles.
On the way here, I led the way and tried, often in vain, to keep our gas stops short, and to keep up the pace. I would also “suggest” a time to leave each morning, and would choose our stops and would “suggest” when we would stop at the end of the day. So now Bobby and Bill are calling me “Drill Sargeant”, and stand at attention when we meet at the bikes in the morning. They are getting quite a giggle out of it. And the title of this blog, “To Look for America,” they don’t see how we can look for America when I won’t let them stop and take pictures and the scenery is just a blur as we go speeding by. And my response, “It’s not good to piss of the Drill Sargeant.”
Our augmented Gang of Six took the van (courtesy of Holiday Inn) to Deadwood for supper. It is a historically famous town, in part because Wild Bill Hickok was gunned down by an assassin, Jack McCall, while playing poker in Saloon No. 10. His hand? Two pairs, Aces and eights, which ever after up to even today was and is called the “Dead Man’s Hand.” It’s population is about 3,000 but swells considerably during the day and especially on the weekends due to it becoming a gambling center.
Well, the cat is out of the bag. Sugar learned that Bobby has bought a Harley - a 2001 Road King. She had thought that might be so, but her suspicions increased when she asked Billy if Bobby (who was not present at the airport) had purchased a motorcycle. Billy just shrugged his shoulders and walked away - that really helped keep the secret. Then the clincher was when Bobby joined us for lunch at Rosco’z, he took off his coat and underneath was a Harley T-shirt. Anyway, he is very happy and hopes that he can pick it up on Tuesday before we head out for Wyoming. It’s a beautiful bike and will make his ride home a lot more enjoyable.
As you can see from the Comments, Peter Schertenleib got the answer to the quiz. I’ll have to work on another one. Bon soir.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
June 27, 2009 Cavalry Days
Fort Meade Cavalry Days; Bear Butte - Hold the Presses on the Rambow story
Morning was spent at the Harley dealership in Rapid City for an oil changes and while I waited, the floor rep suggested that I try out new 2009 models, no strings attached. All I needed was a MC license and a helmet. Having both, I tried out a Fat Boy on a suggested country road - it was very sporty, and I took the wrong turn and ended up on a road with horse farms, “North Fork” and beautiful scenery. I returned and they asked me to try a “geezer cruiser.” So I took a fully equipped Ultra Glide, and it rode beautifully. And it should for the price of $24,000, more than what I paid for my first house (now that’s a geezer comment).
After lunch at Rosco’z again, we went back to Fort Meade for cavalry days. Most of the festivities had already taken place by the time we got there, but we did see girls dancing a 1880’s type dance in costume, met some gunslingers and then went to see an Indian with his Appaloosa. He was entertaining your cub scouts. His cell phone rang and he answered it, saying that he was in the middle of entertaining some young and not so young children, and then he said he had us all “surrounded” and that they better send the Army. He was dressed in leggings and was bare chested, with long black hair, and a missing tooth or two. He was very good with the kids, and he mounted his Appaloosa bareback so we could take a picture. A lady asked him what type of saddle he used when he went riding. His reply: “A whattle?” She asked again. He replied again, “A whattle?” And then he explained that he didn’t use saddles on his horses; they didn’t like them and it was much better for his physical strength not to use a saddle. He babies his horses. Are you listening, Miss PETA? We walked back down the hill to the 1861 Delafield cannon which Bobby got to load and fire. In fact, he was thrilled with the whole thing.
Bob, Bill and I (Griff having gone there before we got here) then rode several miles to Bear Butte, the sacred mountain. We had quite a chat with Moanee, an Indian woman, about Sweet Medicine and the stories Chuck Rambow had told us. According to her, Mr. Rambow was full of it. When I asked what tribe he was from, she smiled: “German.” This teacher of Native American history who has a pony tail like an Indian, was a ranger at Bear Butte in the summers for years and has written about Bear Butte is a GERMAN? “Maybe Prussian, “ she added. She showed us a picture of the Medicine Circle north of Sheridan, Wyoming, a larger one than the one at Bear Butte. So the moral of the story is don’t assume that a person is something just because he can tell a good story.
We had seen a picture of an Indian named “Young Man Who is Scared of His Horse.” We thought that it would be awful to get a name like that, and to have to live with that for the rest of your life. We asked Moanee how he got that name, and she explained that it meant that their enemies didn’t want to see Young Man’s horse in battle because he was such a good warrior. Quite a different meaning to his name than what we had concluded. We thanked Moanee for her information and departed, feeling more respect for the Indians and their spirituality and courage exemplified by the Cheyenne and Sweet Medicine. Indians still come to Bear Butte seeking visions by fasting for 4 days and nights, the hunger and thirst causing hallucinations or “visions.”
New quiz: What do you call the wooden pieces of a cannon that are located on and hold each side of the barrel of the cannon?
This was Bobby’s day, as you will find out later. Good night.
Morning was spent at the Harley dealership in Rapid City for an oil changes and while I waited, the floor rep suggested that I try out new 2009 models, no strings attached. All I needed was a MC license and a helmet. Having both, I tried out a Fat Boy on a suggested country road - it was very sporty, and I took the wrong turn and ended up on a road with horse farms, “North Fork” and beautiful scenery. I returned and they asked me to try a “geezer cruiser.” So I took a fully equipped Ultra Glide, and it rode beautifully. And it should for the price of $24,000, more than what I paid for my first house (now that’s a geezer comment).
After lunch at Rosco’z again, we went back to Fort Meade for cavalry days. Most of the festivities had already taken place by the time we got there, but we did see girls dancing a 1880’s type dance in costume, met some gunslingers and then went to see an Indian with his Appaloosa. He was entertaining your cub scouts. His cell phone rang and he answered it, saying that he was in the middle of entertaining some young and not so young children, and then he said he had us all “surrounded” and that they better send the Army. He was dressed in leggings and was bare chested, with long black hair, and a missing tooth or two. He was very good with the kids, and he mounted his Appaloosa bareback so we could take a picture. A lady asked him what type of saddle he used when he went riding. His reply: “A whattle?” She asked again. He replied again, “A whattle?” And then he explained that he didn’t use saddles on his horses; they didn’t like them and it was much better for his physical strength not to use a saddle. He babies his horses. Are you listening, Miss PETA? We walked back down the hill to the 1861 Delafield cannon which Bobby got to load and fire. In fact, he was thrilled with the whole thing.
Bob, Bill and I (Griff having gone there before we got here) then rode several miles to Bear Butte, the sacred mountain. We had quite a chat with Moanee, an Indian woman, about Sweet Medicine and the stories Chuck Rambow had told us. According to her, Mr. Rambow was full of it. When I asked what tribe he was from, she smiled: “German.” This teacher of Native American history who has a pony tail like an Indian, was a ranger at Bear Butte in the summers for years and has written about Bear Butte is a GERMAN? “Maybe Prussian, “ she added. She showed us a picture of the Medicine Circle north of Sheridan, Wyoming, a larger one than the one at Bear Butte. So the moral of the story is don’t assume that a person is something just because he can tell a good story.
We had seen a picture of an Indian named “Young Man Who is Scared of His Horse.” We thought that it would be awful to get a name like that, and to have to live with that for the rest of your life. We asked Moanee how he got that name, and she explained that it meant that their enemies didn’t want to see Young Man’s horse in battle because he was such a good warrior. Quite a different meaning to his name than what we had concluded. We thanked Moanee for her information and departed, feeling more respect for the Indians and their spirituality and courage exemplified by the Cheyenne and Sweet Medicine. Indians still come to Bear Butte seeking visions by fasting for 4 days and nights, the hunger and thirst causing hallucinations or “visions.”
New quiz: What do you call the wooden pieces of a cannon that are located on and hold each side of the barrel of the cannon?
This was Bobby’s day, as you will find out later. Good night.
Friday, June 26, 2009
June 26 Comanche
The Imposter Uncovered; Sweet Medicine and Comanche; Farms and Silos; Another hint for the quiz
We were up early with “jet” lag. Really, yesterday seems like when we left La Crosse, I could hear the announcer, “We have ignition. We have liftoff.” And the three rockets arced into the west over the Mississippi, through Minnesota and through most of South Dakota landing finally in Rapid City. So picture a dog race where they have an automated rabbit that leads the greyhounds around the track. That was us, with Griff being the rabbit and Bill, Bob and I being the greyhounds. Anyway, we rode the 26 miles to Sturgis and pulled into the Best Western parking lot, where Griff aka the Imposter, greeted us, looking fit and very tan from his trip. After hugs and fist butts all around, and a bunch of photos and remarks about our filthy bikes, we proceeded to Fort Meade Museum, the real goal of our trip. There we met Chuck Rambow, the curator, who warmly welcomed us and marveled at our trip. He took us to the room where the commission (signed by President McKinley and Secretary of War Elihu Root) of our grandfather, Charles Fenton, as a Captain in the US Army was prominently displayed in a glass frame, with the newspaper article about how it took 107 years to get to Fort Meade positioned below the commission, and three photos of Fort Meade taken around the time of Captain Fenton’s sojourn there. In a glassed-in case, there were additional materials pertaining to the 13th Cavalry with a large photo of Captain Fenton on his horse in front of one of the Fort buildings. And the Fort had no stockade! Really what type of Fort is that?
Now pay attention. I want to tell you two stories Rambow told to us (and a family reunion) upstairs in a common room. First, he told us about Sweet Medicine. Bear Butte is a tepee shaped mountain near Fort Meade, a mountain that has been a most sacred place to the Indians for thousands of years, the place where the canoe landed during the time of the Great Flood. There is a medical circle there, a sacred circle, and there are four others, one due north in Saskatchewan; another due east in Milwaukee; another due south and another due west, both hundreds of miles away. If you draw a line connecting the north and south circles, and if you draw a line connecting the east and west circles, the point of intersection is Bear Butte. How amazing is that! Sweet Medicine was a 14 year old Indian living in Wisconsin who killed a buffalo. After cuttiing the meat for his tribe, he kept the skin for himself. It was a special skin. It was white. An elder asked him for it four times and SM denied his request each time. So the elder finally took the skin. There was an angry encounter and SM took it back from the elder, a serious crime in the tribe. The elder told SM that he better leave before the male members of his tribe returned for they would beat him badly for this infraction of tribe rules. So Sweet Medicine embarked on a journey, a journey that ended at Bear Butte. He married a local Indian and then when he was 18, an elder Lakota (perhaps?) told him that he had had a vision that SM returned to his people to help them. He protested, “But they will beat me.” And the elder told him they would not because he would give them two gifts that would be valuable to his tribe - they were four arrows, two black and two white. Back in Wisconsin, at the Cheyenne tribe, they believed that they would be saved by a man bringing arrows, two black and two white. So SM returned to his tribe with the arrows and he was greeted like a Messiah once they saw the arrows. And they became the best warriors and the best hunters, due to learning about these new arrows. Sweet Medicine also returned with the teachings of his adopted tribe, the four commandments that they still live by: thou shall not kill; thou shall not steal; thou shall not commit adultery; and thou shall not marry within your family.
Comanche was a horse that survived the battle at Little Big Horn, the massacre of General Custer’s men in a mismatch where 600 soldiers fought a losing battle against 3 or 4,000 braves. Today is the 133d anniversary of the battle. Comanche, waiting patiently for his master to return, was found by Captain Reno’s men and recovered. He became the pampered pet of the Seventh Cavalry. On parade dates, he was dressed in mourning, and led the parades, riderless, each year. Even when the Seventh Cavalry moved to Fort Riley in 1887, they took Comanche with them. He died there in 1891 at the age of 29, a beloved symbol of loyalty in the face of withering gunfire and mayhem.
There are several distinctive characteristics of the farms we saw along the way in Minnesota and South Dakota. The farm house is usually white, and is shielded to the north and west by trees, probably to cut the harsh northwest winds of winter. Many outbuildings are red, and they would include a barn and several outbuildings. And there would be silos, silos of different lengths..., I mean, of different heights; and of varying circumferences, but all appear to be circumcised. And how do they get the corn or whatever in the silos?
For those who haven’t gotten the answer to the quiz, here’s another hint: I said, “Be careful. HIs bowtie is really a camera.”
It’s nice to be all together again. And we miss Kit who would have appreciated the care to Charles Fenton’s memorabilia taken by Mr. Rambow. So, Dad, you would be proud of our journey to learn more about your father who died when you were only 5. And I remember you telling us that your only memory of your father was his letting you sit on his horse. Now we have more memories and we want to share them.
Off to get oil changes, etc., in the morning tomorrow, then back to the Fort for Fort Meade Cavalry Days, and finishing up with a ride to Spearfish and back through a beautiful canyon. Good night.
We were up early with “jet” lag. Really, yesterday seems like when we left La Crosse, I could hear the announcer, “We have ignition. We have liftoff.” And the three rockets arced into the west over the Mississippi, through Minnesota and through most of South Dakota landing finally in Rapid City. So picture a dog race where they have an automated rabbit that leads the greyhounds around the track. That was us, with Griff being the rabbit and Bill, Bob and I being the greyhounds. Anyway, we rode the 26 miles to Sturgis and pulled into the Best Western parking lot, where Griff aka the Imposter, greeted us, looking fit and very tan from his trip. After hugs and fist butts all around, and a bunch of photos and remarks about our filthy bikes, we proceeded to Fort Meade Museum, the real goal of our trip. There we met Chuck Rambow, the curator, who warmly welcomed us and marveled at our trip. He took us to the room where the commission (signed by President McKinley and Secretary of War Elihu Root) of our grandfather, Charles Fenton, as a Captain in the US Army was prominently displayed in a glass frame, with the newspaper article about how it took 107 years to get to Fort Meade positioned below the commission, and three photos of Fort Meade taken around the time of Captain Fenton’s sojourn there. In a glassed-in case, there were additional materials pertaining to the 13th Cavalry with a large photo of Captain Fenton on his horse in front of one of the Fort buildings. And the Fort had no stockade! Really what type of Fort is that?
Now pay attention. I want to tell you two stories Rambow told to us (and a family reunion) upstairs in a common room. First, he told us about Sweet Medicine. Bear Butte is a tepee shaped mountain near Fort Meade, a mountain that has been a most sacred place to the Indians for thousands of years, the place where the canoe landed during the time of the Great Flood. There is a medical circle there, a sacred circle, and there are four others, one due north in Saskatchewan; another due east in Milwaukee; another due south and another due west, both hundreds of miles away. If you draw a line connecting the north and south circles, and if you draw a line connecting the east and west circles, the point of intersection is Bear Butte. How amazing is that! Sweet Medicine was a 14 year old Indian living in Wisconsin who killed a buffalo. After cuttiing the meat for his tribe, he kept the skin for himself. It was a special skin. It was white. An elder asked him for it four times and SM denied his request each time. So the elder finally took the skin. There was an angry encounter and SM took it back from the elder, a serious crime in the tribe. The elder told SM that he better leave before the male members of his tribe returned for they would beat him badly for this infraction of tribe rules. So Sweet Medicine embarked on a journey, a journey that ended at Bear Butte. He married a local Indian and then when he was 18, an elder Lakota (perhaps?) told him that he had had a vision that SM returned to his people to help them. He protested, “But they will beat me.” And the elder told him they would not because he would give them two gifts that would be valuable to his tribe - they were four arrows, two black and two white. Back in Wisconsin, at the Cheyenne tribe, they believed that they would be saved by a man bringing arrows, two black and two white. So SM returned to his tribe with the arrows and he was greeted like a Messiah once they saw the arrows. And they became the best warriors and the best hunters, due to learning about these new arrows. Sweet Medicine also returned with the teachings of his adopted tribe, the four commandments that they still live by: thou shall not kill; thou shall not steal; thou shall not commit adultery; and thou shall not marry within your family.
Comanche was a horse that survived the battle at Little Big Horn, the massacre of General Custer’s men in a mismatch where 600 soldiers fought a losing battle against 3 or 4,000 braves. Today is the 133d anniversary of the battle. Comanche, waiting patiently for his master to return, was found by Captain Reno’s men and recovered. He became the pampered pet of the Seventh Cavalry. On parade dates, he was dressed in mourning, and led the parades, riderless, each year. Even when the Seventh Cavalry moved to Fort Riley in 1887, they took Comanche with them. He died there in 1891 at the age of 29, a beloved symbol of loyalty in the face of withering gunfire and mayhem.
There are several distinctive characteristics of the farms we saw along the way in Minnesota and South Dakota. The farm house is usually white, and is shielded to the north and west by trees, probably to cut the harsh northwest winds of winter. Many outbuildings are red, and they would include a barn and several outbuildings. And there would be silos, silos of different lengths..., I mean, of different heights; and of varying circumferences, but all appear to be circumcised. And how do they get the corn or whatever in the silos?
For those who haven’t gotten the answer to the quiz, here’s another hint: I said, “Be careful. HIs bowtie is really a camera.”
It’s nice to be all together again. And we miss Kit who would have appreciated the care to Charles Fenton’s memorabilia taken by Mr. Rambow. So, Dad, you would be proud of our journey to learn more about your father who died when you were only 5. And I remember you telling us that your only memory of your father was his letting you sit on his horse. Now we have more memories and we want to share them.
Off to get oil changes, etc., in the morning tomorrow, then back to the Fort for Fort Meade Cavalry Days, and finishing up with a ride to Spearfish and back through a beautiful canyon. Good night.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
June 25, 2009 Crying in Buenos Aires
5 AM Wake-up call; Hiking the Appalachian Trail; Highway littering; Storm chasing: Quiz
La Crosse Comfort Inn. A knock at the door. The room is dark and we are asleep. I wake up, see it’s 5:08 AM and go to the door to see who’s knocking on our door at this hour. And it’s......Bobby, fully clothed in his leather jacket and his helmet in his left hand. And why? It happens that we had spoken the night before about how Bill and I had to wait 40 minutes on the street in Sault Ste. Marie the prior morning waiting for Bob to get ready to go to breakfast with us. And to avoid that, we had said that we would go to breakfast at 6 AM sharp. Bob told me later that he had woken up, afraid that he had overslept and not having his contacts in, he grabbed his insulin pump that has the time on it and read “5:50.” So he scrambled to dress and rushed to our room. But he had forgotten that we had moved into a different time zone, and he forgot that his pump was still on Eastern time. Tonight we made sure that he understood that we had moved into another time zone, making two hours difference from Eastern time. So hopefully he won’t be knocking on our door at 4 or 5 tomorrow morning.
I know that Robyn is telling people that I have gone hiking on the Appalachian Trail to get away from all the stress of my job. But I’m here to tell you that is not the reason for my unexplained absence. In fact, I’ve spent the last five days crying in Buenos Aires. No, no, I have that wrong. That’s Governor Sanford (of the “family-value Republicans” ). As for me, I have been away on a motorcycle trip, and have made it safe and sound, although a little sunburned and beat up, to Rapid City, SD, our initial destination. But the news does give us great stories to mock the high and mighty. I think on our trip to South America, it was Gov. Spitzer (of the “I’m going to clean up New York” Democrats) who got caught with his pants down. Great stuff.
It was a long day for the last 645 miles from La Crosse, starting in very dense fog at 6:45 AM , breaking out as Billy said we would several miles after we crossed the Mississippi River. We had done about 300 miles by lunchtime, and I had only lost a neckerchief and my magnetized tank bag with my map in it by then. The kerchief came untied from around my neck and I tried to stuff it beneath my butt. It worked out from under me, flew onto my left arm, and then, while I was thinking how I could retrieve it while going 75 mph, it flew away never to be seen again. A half hour or so later, I lifted my right leg off the highway peg and accidentally hit the tank bag, the wind caught it, it struck me in the shoulder and flew off to God knows where. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what had hit me and tried to look my bike over to see if it was missing any important parts, like the front wheel, or the footboard. Only later when we gassed up did Billy tell me that it was the tank bag. Since it only had a map in it, he didn’t think it was worth stopping for. And later still, during a long construction area, I took an exit that I shouldn’t have taken just following a dump truck and a car that I had been following for miles and miles. Just another example of how we’re (or how I’m) getting fatigued.
To cap it off, the last 94 miles started with a race between us and a very black thunderstorm cloud. I was sure we wouldn’t escape being caught in it, but the Interstate turned to the right by 20 degrees and I floored it seeing a glimmer of hope that we could outrun it. We really had no choice. The nearest town was Wall, about 20 miles away, and we were in the wide open plains. We made it, a fact that became clear only after 10 miles of frantic riding at 75-80 mph (the speed limit is 75 mph). Then the winds kicked up and our ride for the last 20 miles into Rapid City was in strong, gusty winds. Passing big trucks became even more difficult and we were really buffeted around, not something we needed after almost 13 hours since we left La Crosse.
And here’s a quiz for you. The blog is called “To Look For America.” What is the origin of this title? Hint: She thought the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.
Sleeping in tomorrow and then to the Fort Meade museum to confront the Imposter who, I understand, is staying in Sturgis.
La Crosse Comfort Inn. A knock at the door. The room is dark and we are asleep. I wake up, see it’s 5:08 AM and go to the door to see who’s knocking on our door at this hour. And it’s......Bobby, fully clothed in his leather jacket and his helmet in his left hand. And why? It happens that we had spoken the night before about how Bill and I had to wait 40 minutes on the street in Sault Ste. Marie the prior morning waiting for Bob to get ready to go to breakfast with us. And to avoid that, we had said that we would go to breakfast at 6 AM sharp. Bob told me later that he had woken up, afraid that he had overslept and not having his contacts in, he grabbed his insulin pump that has the time on it and read “5:50.” So he scrambled to dress and rushed to our room. But he had forgotten that we had moved into a different time zone, and he forgot that his pump was still on Eastern time. Tonight we made sure that he understood that we had moved into another time zone, making two hours difference from Eastern time. So hopefully he won’t be knocking on our door at 4 or 5 tomorrow morning.
I know that Robyn is telling people that I have gone hiking on the Appalachian Trail to get away from all the stress of my job. But I’m here to tell you that is not the reason for my unexplained absence. In fact, I’ve spent the last five days crying in Buenos Aires. No, no, I have that wrong. That’s Governor Sanford (of the “family-value Republicans” ). As for me, I have been away on a motorcycle trip, and have made it safe and sound, although a little sunburned and beat up, to Rapid City, SD, our initial destination. But the news does give us great stories to mock the high and mighty. I think on our trip to South America, it was Gov. Spitzer (of the “I’m going to clean up New York” Democrats) who got caught with his pants down. Great stuff.
It was a long day for the last 645 miles from La Crosse, starting in very dense fog at 6:45 AM , breaking out as Billy said we would several miles after we crossed the Mississippi River. We had done about 300 miles by lunchtime, and I had only lost a neckerchief and my magnetized tank bag with my map in it by then. The kerchief came untied from around my neck and I tried to stuff it beneath my butt. It worked out from under me, flew onto my left arm, and then, while I was thinking how I could retrieve it while going 75 mph, it flew away never to be seen again. A half hour or so later, I lifted my right leg off the highway peg and accidentally hit the tank bag, the wind caught it, it struck me in the shoulder and flew off to God knows where. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what had hit me and tried to look my bike over to see if it was missing any important parts, like the front wheel, or the footboard. Only later when we gassed up did Billy tell me that it was the tank bag. Since it only had a map in it, he didn’t think it was worth stopping for. And later still, during a long construction area, I took an exit that I shouldn’t have taken just following a dump truck and a car that I had been following for miles and miles. Just another example of how we’re (or how I’m) getting fatigued.
To cap it off, the last 94 miles started with a race between us and a very black thunderstorm cloud. I was sure we wouldn’t escape being caught in it, but the Interstate turned to the right by 20 degrees and I floored it seeing a glimmer of hope that we could outrun it. We really had no choice. The nearest town was Wall, about 20 miles away, and we were in the wide open plains. We made it, a fact that became clear only after 10 miles of frantic riding at 75-80 mph (the speed limit is 75 mph). Then the winds kicked up and our ride for the last 20 miles into Rapid City was in strong, gusty winds. Passing big trucks became even more difficult and we were really buffeted around, not something we needed after almost 13 hours since we left La Crosse.
And here’s a quiz for you. The blog is called “To Look For America.” What is the origin of this title? Hint: She thought the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.
Sleeping in tomorrow and then to the Fort Meade museum to confront the Imposter who, I understand, is staying in Sturgis.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
June 24, 2009 Classic Auto Show
The Locks; Down the Upper Peninsula; Classic Auto Show; CR PP
Last night, we watched a ore carrier go through the St. Mary’s Lock in Sault Ste. Marie. It came from Lake Michigan, entered the lock, the gates closed behind it and the pumps pumped 22 feet of water into the lock to even it with the level of Lake Superior. Then the gates at the Lake Superior end opened and the ship exited - one of 11,000 in a year passing through the locks and for FREE. It’s fun to watch and behind the ship was a great sunset in the 80 degree temps.
After leaving SSM, we took Route 35 then down to Route 2 to follow the shoreline of Lake Michigan. When we left, it was sunny and promising to be hot, but we immediately ran into low clouds that, together with the lake, kept the temps cool. After an hour or so, the clouds burned off and it was beautiful looking out across the lake. The U.P. is pretty, forested, with lots of camps, a place to go to get away from the stress of city life. The towns that are there are very small, and there aren’t many gas stations, always a concern especially when the trip meter gets up around 100 miles. And then a pleasant surprise - along came a long line of old 1920’s-1930’s cars in vintage condition. It felt like being in Bonnie and Clyde.
The temps really shot up (100 degrees according to Billy’s temp gauge on his bike) as we left the lake and turned inland, riding past Green Bay on Interstate 41 to Oshkosh, and then thankfully turning onto Route 21, a two-lane country road that became our path for 70 plus miles, passing through Wautoma, Coloma, Negedah to Route PP, an even more country road that led directly to Interstate 90. Pretty slick thanks to Griff’s tip (and also the GPS’s tip). Although there were many farms, there were fewer than I expected, with much of the land being forestland. And the towns would give their population on the sign, 1000 for example, and we would enter what appeared from its Main Street to be a town of much greater size, with lots of stores, restaurants, motels, etc. Apparently that was the entire population on that one street.
And how are we doing? Billy is gaining confidence every mile and has done a really good job getting through congested cities, being aware of stoplights and staying close so that he can get through the light with me, recovering his second position after getting separated by other cars or trucks, and just having a great time. He’s still learning about his bike - for example he just found out he has a trip meter. Bobby is also doing very well, and his bike is holding up. He traveled all day today without a coat and has been using suntan lotion to prevent burning up. He is always in good humor and a fun person to be around. Both are in good health and showing great stamina, but we take fairly frequent breaks (every 100 miles or so - 1 1/2 to 2 hours) to rehydrate and gas up, and we also include a sitdown lunch. Although it’s slower traveling, I think we feel a lot better. And me? I’m doing fine but I have burned knuckles and a dark halfmoon on the backs of each hand - the result of fingerless gloves with holes in the knuckles of the glove and a halfmoon-shaped hole on the back of the gloves. It makes me look like my hands are very dirty in those areas. I wear a coat all the time, although it’s light, it’s also lined. I do so to avoid being burned to a crisp.
So we have about 600 miles to go and hope to make it tomorrow, God willing and the creek don’t rise. Bon soir.
PS And the Imposter? We learned he was held up in Albert Lea, MN by vicious thunderstorms and a hailstorm, taking the break to change his oil to synthetics and having his bike washed. So we’re slowly catching him but I fear he will beat us there. Bill will call the museum tomorrow to warn them of the Imposter and his approach.
Last night, we watched a ore carrier go through the St. Mary’s Lock in Sault Ste. Marie. It came from Lake Michigan, entered the lock, the gates closed behind it and the pumps pumped 22 feet of water into the lock to even it with the level of Lake Superior. Then the gates at the Lake Superior end opened and the ship exited - one of 11,000 in a year passing through the locks and for FREE. It’s fun to watch and behind the ship was a great sunset in the 80 degree temps.
After leaving SSM, we took Route 35 then down to Route 2 to follow the shoreline of Lake Michigan. When we left, it was sunny and promising to be hot, but we immediately ran into low clouds that, together with the lake, kept the temps cool. After an hour or so, the clouds burned off and it was beautiful looking out across the lake. The U.P. is pretty, forested, with lots of camps, a place to go to get away from the stress of city life. The towns that are there are very small, and there aren’t many gas stations, always a concern especially when the trip meter gets up around 100 miles. And then a pleasant surprise - along came a long line of old 1920’s-1930’s cars in vintage condition. It felt like being in Bonnie and Clyde.
The temps really shot up (100 degrees according to Billy’s temp gauge on his bike) as we left the lake and turned inland, riding past Green Bay on Interstate 41 to Oshkosh, and then thankfully turning onto Route 21, a two-lane country road that became our path for 70 plus miles, passing through Wautoma, Coloma, Negedah to Route PP, an even more country road that led directly to Interstate 90. Pretty slick thanks to Griff’s tip (and also the GPS’s tip). Although there were many farms, there were fewer than I expected, with much of the land being forestland. And the towns would give their population on the sign, 1000 for example, and we would enter what appeared from its Main Street to be a town of much greater size, with lots of stores, restaurants, motels, etc. Apparently that was the entire population on that one street.
And how are we doing? Billy is gaining confidence every mile and has done a really good job getting through congested cities, being aware of stoplights and staying close so that he can get through the light with me, recovering his second position after getting separated by other cars or trucks, and just having a great time. He’s still learning about his bike - for example he just found out he has a trip meter. Bobby is also doing very well, and his bike is holding up. He traveled all day today without a coat and has been using suntan lotion to prevent burning up. He is always in good humor and a fun person to be around. Both are in good health and showing great stamina, but we take fairly frequent breaks (every 100 miles or so - 1 1/2 to 2 hours) to rehydrate and gas up, and we also include a sitdown lunch. Although it’s slower traveling, I think we feel a lot better. And me? I’m doing fine but I have burned knuckles and a dark halfmoon on the backs of each hand - the result of fingerless gloves with holes in the knuckles of the glove and a halfmoon-shaped hole on the back of the gloves. It makes me look like my hands are very dirty in those areas. I wear a coat all the time, although it’s light, it’s also lined. I do so to avoid being burned to a crisp.
So we have about 600 miles to go and hope to make it tomorrow, God willing and the creek don’t rise. Bon soir.
PS And the Imposter? We learned he was held up in Albert Lea, MN by vicious thunderstorms and a hailstorm, taking the break to change his oil to synthetics and having his bike washed. So we’re slowly catching him but I fear he will beat us there. Bill will call the museum tomorrow to warn them of the Imposter and his approach.
June 23, 2009 - Rivers
Rivers, Smells, and the Imposter Slowed Down by Mother Nature
We left Kanata at 8 AM, with a quick U-turn to retrieve my dark glasses that I had left on my saddlebag when I gave it to her. Luckily, they were lying on the pavement and not scratched. We followed the Ottawa River for a hundred miles to Chalk River where we stopped for gas and liquids, both intake and discharge if you get my drift. And speaking of Chalk River, I didn’t see anything resembling chalk in the river. And on the way, we passed over the Mississippi River (but not THAT Mississippi River). So what’s up with that? And then there was the Deep River that didn’t look very deep; the Serpent River that did wind around a bit; the Snake River (kind of a theme here); the Blind River (Billy didn’t see it); the Saint Mary’s River. And then in Chalk River, and whereever we stop, we end up talking with other bikers, also stopping for gas or just there looking for a chat.
And what is it like on the bike for 500 miles? First and foremost, your butt gets sore. It tingles, with dull pins and needles after awhile. Your hands cramp up from shifting gears, accelerating and decelerating. Large bugs smack into your knees, and plaster the windshield. You get dehydrated big time. The smells are the greatest - the sweet pungent smell of manure on the farm fields; the faint smell of dead skunk; newly mown grass; diesel fumes or any car fumes. All are welcome and let you know that you’re not in a bubble of a car, but living and breathing your surroundings. Even the manure smell is greeted with recognition and appreciation now. We stop every 100 miles or so and take a good 40 minutes or so for a gas up and lunch. It’s a treat to stop for a bit, but I’m always the one chomping at the bit to keep going.
And we’ve learned more about the Imposter. He is traveling under the assumed name of “Griff” and he is almost within reach. He’s is Lacrosse, Wisconsin, stopped by Mother Nature and her dark clouds and threat of large thunderstorms. So we’ll be looking for him tomorrow.
We’re staying in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, having crossed the International Bridge which is quite long and runs from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario over the locks between Lakes Superior and Huron. After passing through US Customs and not going 100 feet, we come to a toll booth, the first in the first 1000 miles. $2.50 per person as a bridge fee. Can you believe that? Not 100 feet! I wonder how much of that Canada gets as its share.
We left Kanata at 8 AM, with a quick U-turn to retrieve my dark glasses that I had left on my saddlebag when I gave it to her. Luckily, they were lying on the pavement and not scratched. We followed the Ottawa River for a hundred miles to Chalk River where we stopped for gas and liquids, both intake and discharge if you get my drift. And speaking of Chalk River, I didn’t see anything resembling chalk in the river. And on the way, we passed over the Mississippi River (but not THAT Mississippi River). So what’s up with that? And then there was the Deep River that didn’t look very deep; the Serpent River that did wind around a bit; the Snake River (kind of a theme here); the Blind River (Billy didn’t see it); the Saint Mary’s River. And then in Chalk River, and whereever we stop, we end up talking with other bikers, also stopping for gas or just there looking for a chat.
And what is it like on the bike for 500 miles? First and foremost, your butt gets sore. It tingles, with dull pins and needles after awhile. Your hands cramp up from shifting gears, accelerating and decelerating. Large bugs smack into your knees, and plaster the windshield. You get dehydrated big time. The smells are the greatest - the sweet pungent smell of manure on the farm fields; the faint smell of dead skunk; newly mown grass; diesel fumes or any car fumes. All are welcome and let you know that you’re not in a bubble of a car, but living and breathing your surroundings. Even the manure smell is greeted with recognition and appreciation now. We stop every 100 miles or so and take a good 40 minutes or so for a gas up and lunch. It’s a treat to stop for a bit, but I’m always the one chomping at the bit to keep going.
And we’ve learned more about the Imposter. He is traveling under the assumed name of “Griff” and he is almost within reach. He’s is Lacrosse, Wisconsin, stopped by Mother Nature and her dark clouds and threat of large thunderstorms. So we’ll be looking for him tomorrow.
We’re staying in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, having crossed the International Bridge which is quite long and runs from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario over the locks between Lakes Superior and Huron. After passing through US Customs and not going 100 feet, we come to a toll booth, the first in the first 1000 miles. $2.50 per person as a bridge fee. Can you believe that? Not 100 feet! I wonder how much of that Canada gets as its share.
Monday, June 22, 2009
No Passport; Trouble at the border; Sunny Montreal in raingear; 490 miles and three ecosystems later
No Passport
We had chosen the northern route through Canada due to the weather forecasts for Sherbrooke, Montreal, Ottawa, North Bay and Sudbury, all predicting no rainfall. So Bob and I met at Associated Builders at 6:45, gassed up at the Mobil, gave each other a high five at the light and rode off to look for America - on a Harley and a Suzuki; in the wet and dampness of an awful period of weather, slick roads, temps in the 50's, both of us encumbered by our rain suits and thick coats underneath, with a sweatshirt underneath those, gaiters, heavy rainproof gloves, running up Route 1A to Bangor, detour to Hermon and then onto 95 South. Although the pavement was wet, we were able to go at 65-70 mph to Newport where we exited onto Route 2. This is the old route to Sugarloaf so it was familiar, but not really because everything was green, there was no snow, but you still had to worry about the slippery roads. When we got to Skowhegan, we pulled into the first gas station on Route 201, the meeting place for Billy to join us. After we had gassed up, used the facilities and were just waiting for Bill, Bob said that he had forgotten his passport. And of course, you can't enter the US without a passport now so it looked like we would have to make arrangements to go another route or perhaps Sugar could bring the passport with her (she was dropping off Toby and Brie who were flying back to NYC). After getting the neighbor's new girlfriend to go into his house, she reported that the passport was not there, so we started in on Bob's bike, tearing everything out. And we found it in a separate pocket of one of his cases. Then Bill aririved at about 9:30 and thought he would like to take a 30 minute break or so (we were supposed to meet at 9 AM!) so I said, "I'm the one who should have ridden alone." Thinking they were both just trying to piss me off, I took a picture of Billy texting Donna (a phone call would be shorter) and Bobby showing me his passport. And finally we were off for the border.
Trouble at the border
After sliding by Sugarloaf, Eustis and Stratton in very wet, but not really rainy, conditions, we pulled into Coburn Gore and hit the Canadian customs. We gave them our passports, and they took forever getting clearance for us. Billy thinks they were checking all my stamps. I think that it was our appearance as they asked us to take off our helmets and our hair was pretty bad. There goes another 30 minutes. At least they had a men's room - Billy was about to go pee on the building or something, and that wouldn't have been good. We finally got our passports back with no explanation and jumped back on our bikes to continue toward what we hoped would be better weather.
Montreal
After lunch at Subway (apparently I'm treating in Canada because I'm the only one with Canadian money and Billy's debit card won't work in the gas pumps), we hopped on Autoroute 10 Ouest for the last 88 miles into Montreal, still clad as before with our sweatshirt, heavy leather jacket and rain coat and rain pants. By the time we got to Montreal (about 4 PM), it was beautiful out, about 75 degrees with few puffy white clouds in the sky as we rode across the bridge toward city centre. Then wham! What a traffic jam - stop and go traffic for the next 10 miles or so to get to A-15 Nord, then to A-40 Ouest. It was very hot with the heat of the engine rising right through our seats making for very uncomfortable conditions, and no exit to reach to change our clothes. After 10 or 15 miles on A-40 and leaving Montreal and its suburbs, we were able to stop for gas, a drink and a change of clothes, at least our outer layers.
490 miles
We proceeded another 90 miles into the sun to Ottawa, and just punched right through rather than stopping. We had had enough of big cities for one day. We are now in Kanata, in a Holiday Inn, having eaten a ribeye steak dinner, watched the end of the US Open (a replay?) and are ready for bed. So we had a long day, and went from the dampness and fog at the coast, to the 48 degrees and windy conditions at Coburn Gore, and then to the farmlands and temperate conditons fo southern Quebec and Ontario. And we've just started.
The Imposter
Billy thought we should alert the press that we were on our way to view the commission issued to our grandfather Charles Fenton that took 107 years to get to Fort Meade near Rapid City, SD, the supposed purpose of the trip. I agreed and said that we should also warn the press and the curator at the museum of an imposter who might show up before us, riding a red Harley Electra Glide, about 64 years old, balding, a bit of a paunch with a very distinctive gait. So if you pass this on to the press and the curator, tell them that they should not under any circumstances show the commission to this imposter even though he might appear to know a lot about the Fenton family.
We had chosen the northern route through Canada due to the weather forecasts for Sherbrooke, Montreal, Ottawa, North Bay and Sudbury, all predicting no rainfall. So Bob and I met at Associated Builders at 6:45, gassed up at the Mobil, gave each other a high five at the light and rode off to look for America - on a Harley and a Suzuki; in the wet and dampness of an awful period of weather, slick roads, temps in the 50's, both of us encumbered by our rain suits and thick coats underneath, with a sweatshirt underneath those, gaiters, heavy rainproof gloves, running up Route 1A to Bangor, detour to Hermon and then onto 95 South. Although the pavement was wet, we were able to go at 65-70 mph to Newport where we exited onto Route 2. This is the old route to Sugarloaf so it was familiar, but not really because everything was green, there was no snow, but you still had to worry about the slippery roads. When we got to Skowhegan, we pulled into the first gas station on Route 201, the meeting place for Billy to join us. After we had gassed up, used the facilities and were just waiting for Bill, Bob said that he had forgotten his passport. And of course, you can't enter the US without a passport now so it looked like we would have to make arrangements to go another route or perhaps Sugar could bring the passport with her (she was dropping off Toby and Brie who were flying back to NYC). After getting the neighbor's new girlfriend to go into his house, she reported that the passport was not there, so we started in on Bob's bike, tearing everything out. And we found it in a separate pocket of one of his cases. Then Bill aririved at about 9:30 and thought he would like to take a 30 minute break or so (we were supposed to meet at 9 AM!) so I said, "I'm the one who should have ridden alone." Thinking they were both just trying to piss me off, I took a picture of Billy texting Donna (a phone call would be shorter) and Bobby showing me his passport. And finally we were off for the border.
Trouble at the border
After sliding by Sugarloaf, Eustis and Stratton in very wet, but not really rainy, conditions, we pulled into Coburn Gore and hit the Canadian customs. We gave them our passports, and they took forever getting clearance for us. Billy thinks they were checking all my stamps. I think that it was our appearance as they asked us to take off our helmets and our hair was pretty bad. There goes another 30 minutes. At least they had a men's room - Billy was about to go pee on the building or something, and that wouldn't have been good. We finally got our passports back with no explanation and jumped back on our bikes to continue toward what we hoped would be better weather.
Montreal
After lunch at Subway (apparently I'm treating in Canada because I'm the only one with Canadian money and Billy's debit card won't work in the gas pumps), we hopped on Autoroute 10 Ouest for the last 88 miles into Montreal, still clad as before with our sweatshirt, heavy leather jacket and rain coat and rain pants. By the time we got to Montreal (about 4 PM), it was beautiful out, about 75 degrees with few puffy white clouds in the sky as we rode across the bridge toward city centre. Then wham! What a traffic jam - stop and go traffic for the next 10 miles or so to get to A-15 Nord, then to A-40 Ouest. It was very hot with the heat of the engine rising right through our seats making for very uncomfortable conditions, and no exit to reach to change our clothes. After 10 or 15 miles on A-40 and leaving Montreal and its suburbs, we were able to stop for gas, a drink and a change of clothes, at least our outer layers.
490 miles
We proceeded another 90 miles into the sun to Ottawa, and just punched right through rather than stopping. We had had enough of big cities for one day. We are now in Kanata, in a Holiday Inn, having eaten a ribeye steak dinner, watched the end of the US Open (a replay?) and are ready for bed. So we had a long day, and went from the dampness and fog at the coast, to the 48 degrees and windy conditions at Coburn Gore, and then to the farmlands and temperate conditons fo southern Quebec and Ontario. And we've just started.
The Imposter
Billy thought we should alert the press that we were on our way to view the commission issued to our grandfather Charles Fenton that took 107 years to get to Fort Meade near Rapid City, SD, the supposed purpose of the trip. I agreed and said that we should also warn the press and the curator at the museum of an imposter who might show up before us, riding a red Harley Electra Glide, about 64 years old, balding, a bit of a paunch with a very distinctive gait. So if you pass this on to the press and the curator, tell them that they should not under any circumstances show the commission to this imposter even though he might appear to know a lot about the Fenton family.
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