You can go to the pictures at any time.
In a sense, this year was Lang’s trip. With the economy tanking, he lost his job in California. Luckily, his finances were adequate to last him for a few months. He had bought a used Harley Ultra Glide just over a year before. He could take a really big bike trip!
It had been twelve years since he last had a good trip, and much of that was spent in the rain. Several of his great destinations, like Yellowstone, were not very fun when he was wet, and riding alone. But now, he’s got friends to visit, spread around the country, and even if it rains, he plans on spending much of his time with friends.
He calls to tell me about his grand plan, and to see if I’d want to do some of the ride with him. He’d never been to Sturgis and the Black Hills. There’s only one thing to say, “Hell Yeah!”.
As Lang had one huge trip, lasting over three months, I had several small ones this year, where we met and rode. They can be split up into parts:
Part 1: Texas in May
You can follow along with a map of my trip to Texas.
Lang was planning on riding through Texas, and we have some mutual friends from Austin: Paul and Mike. They are part owners of a campground east of Dallas. Lang hadn’t seen Paul in 30 years, so we figured it was going to be a huge surprise for them to meet. I check the campground website, and check the calendar of events. Hmm… “Mike’s Cajun Birthday Feast” was scheduled for early May. I call Lang and let him know that he could show up for that party, it would be fun. That was about 4pm.
In the years since we’ve seen them, Mike had gone through cancer treatments. I knew that he had been very ill, and it was about time I got my butt down there for a visit. I find the campground on a map, and find that it’s just 1,000 miles from Columbus, with Memphis being the half-way point. That’s right near Jackson, where my friend Bubba lives! “Hey Bubba! Mike’s gonna have a birthday party. Let’s go!” It didn’t take Bubba very long to enthusiastically agree. That was about 5pm.
I call Lang. “So, if you get to their campground for Mike’s party, I will meet you there.” “What??” “Yep. It’s only two days of riding from Ohio, and I can just make it a long weekend.” Lang was thrilled! We’re going to surprise Mike and Paul in a really big way!
Later that night, I call Scott, in Oklahoma City, just 400 miles from the campground. He thinks it’s a great idea. Yay! There will be four of us, riding in from some far away places, converging on Dallas to surprise Mike and Paul!
We called the campground to let them know we were coming, and one of them told Paul. He was thrilled to hear that Bubba, Scott, and I were going to be there. He had no idea about Lang’s surprise visit.
I started on the road on a Wednesday morning. As I approached Cincinnati, I stop to put on my rain gear. As I get back on the highway, it starts to drizzle. Just after I pass through downtown, it begins raining. As I turn towards Louisville, Kentucky, visibility is low. When the goggles aren’t fogged up, the rain is so hard that I can barely see. Just as I exit Louisville, it turns back to drizzle. Rather than head down I-65 to Nashville, then turn towards Bubba’s house, I decide to take the Western Kentucky Parkway. It’s a freeway that winds through the hills, and has little traffic. They are working on improvements to make it a new Interstate, but it is a good road and scenic ride.
I arrive in Jackson, Tennessee, at Bubba’s house. I hadn’t seen him for two years, which was pretty much a record. We have an excellent meal and a quiet evening. I sleep well, after the big meal and 500-mile ride.
The next morning, we get through morning traffic in Memphis, then head through Arkansas. The weather is improved, but there are still times when it looks like it could rain. We make it to the campground around 4pm. Mike and Paul aren’t there, but Lang just arrived from California.
As they pull into the property, Mike comments on the group of bikes parked at the campground. When he realized that it was Bubba and I, he was thrilled. I introduced Lang, and it was several minutes before Paul realized that they had met, some 30 years earlier. It was a great surprise! The next morning, Scott arrives, with his friend Eric. It was great to have this group together, again!
It’s a great campground, with plenty of hills, trees, and shade. Not at all what I had imagined (what I had seen of Texas was flat and open, with a tree, maybe, every few miles). There was a gentle breeze that kept the humidity away and the temperature comfortable.
On Saturday night, Mike celebrated his birthday with a cajun crawfish boil. I convinced myself that they are just ‘baby lobsters’, but Lang didn’t care. They were cooked in brine, with potatoes, sausage, corn on the cob, and other good stuff. It was a tasty feast, and a big party for Mike. The past year had been a big one: Mike had completed chemotherapy, and was almost back to full speed. It was a great reason to celebrate!
We packed up to leave on Monday morning. Bubba and I headed home, while Lang went to visit family and friends in the southeastern states.
Part 2: Tennessee in June
A map of my part of this journey will make it easier to follow along.
Our group, from around the country, was taking another year away from Sturgis. And once again, they decided to meet for a week of camping and riding in the Smokey Mountains, just outside Knoxville. Several of the guys from Columbus were heading there, although each of us had a different schedule.
Lang had a great time since Texas, visiting with family and friends, and just wandering around the southern states. I met up with him in Lexington, Kentucky, so we could take a few days on a relaxing ride to Knoxville. We decide to find a biker-friendly bar, then find a good meal. We look through the listings on the Internet, trying to locate a bar. We found a few with good ‘biker’ sounding names, and programmed them into Yoda, Lang’s GPS unit (it knows all). The first choice bar had been shut down. The next bar on the list worked out well: The parking lot was full of bikes, and it was a bar. With a restaurant. Next to a motel. If we didn’t already have rooms for the night, this would have been the place to stay, but instead we settle for a few drinks, a good meal. We meet several of the bikers, and feel welcome.
Lang and I get a good start the next morning, and head south. We had a few hours of interstate before turning off onto local highways. A sign for the ‘Boone Historic Tavern’ gets our attention. We jump off the interstate at the town of Berea. There’s a tourist center and a local crafts display. We look around at the creative works before asking about the Tavern. Unfortunately, this is now a dry county, so even though there is a tavern, and it is historic, it doesn’t serve alcohol. Still, it is a scenic town with some unusual sights.
The local elementary school looks like a cross between a spaceship and a circus tent: It’s a structure made from curved pieces of steel, with a central pinacle like a circus tent. We find out that it was the last of several such structures, built in the 1970’s. We decided to check out the building and get some photos. It’s a Saturday, so there are no students around, just a few workers making repairs on the steel building.
An hour later, we stop at a store advertising biker leathers. There are bikes everywhere as we exit the highway. There is a fund raiser bike rally, starting at the leather shop, just as we pull in. After the crowd leaves, we go into the store. Lang buys a holder for his water bottle, which attaches to the saddlebag frame. Convenient.
We decide to take the Cumberland Gap towards Knoxville. We stop for a break just on the Kentucky side, and meet with some other bikers that live in the area. We ask where we can find some liquor. They tell us we can ride 80 miles into Knoxville to the nearest liquor store. We decide that there is no rush in getting to the campground, since we weren’t really expected until the following day. We get a room for the night. Still, on the hunt for a liquor store, or even a bar, we turn to ‘Yoda’, the GPS, which says that there is a bar just 20 miles away.
Well, we ride down a US highway, then onto local roads, then onto rural roads, curving alongside a river in the middle of nowhere. Lang stops and points at a dirt path through a field. He says that Yoda indicates the path is the road to the bar, but seeing that we’re on full-sized Harleys, and not four-wheelers, we’re going to find an alternate route. We backtrack a few miles, then turn onto another local road. We pass a few farm houses, and a few cabins as we head down this road. Then the pavement is gone, and we’re on gravel. There are a lot more cabins here, so we’re getting ‘somewhere’, I guess. The view opens up and we’re at a small lake. There are houseboats in all different conditions, from really nice, to the collapsed. The road dead-ends into the boat launch. Lang guesses that the bar might be a converted houseboat, so we walk out on the dock. We find some folks, repairing one of the structures, and ask about the bar. They laugh. We had passed the bar about five miles back. It’s the only bar in the county, apparently. I begin to tease Lang about the ‘wonders of technology’ that a GPS is (I think I made some comparison to shit). We find the bar, park the bikes at the bottom of the steep driveway, and walk in. The half-dozen people inside look at us like we’re from another planet. They don’t see many strangers here.
We get a few drinks (Yoda found us liquor, at least, although it wasn’t as good about getting us there), and start talking to folks. It turns out that a girl in the bar is from the Columbus area, and she had lived here for a few years now. Small world.
We head back to our motel, laughing about the crazy GPS gadgets.
The next morning, we drive over the Cumberland Gap. When I was a kid, we took a road trip down this highway. Before interstates, it was the only pass across the mountains. I remember seeing overheated cars, and taking the road very slow. Now, forty years later, the road isn’t so scary. We stop for a break, and hear someone talking about their car brakes overheating coming down the mountain. I guess that a 900-pound bike doesn’t have the need to break as much as a two-ton car. Another advantage to bikes!
We arrive at the campground in the early afternoon. It’s Sunday, so most of the weekend campers have packed up and left. We register, then hunt for a site. I call Bubba, who was on his way, and ask him to get a bottle of JD for us. We were at our destination and thirsty. I had been here before, and knew of a nice area down near a stream. There’s one tent there, but hopefully he won’t mind us, since it is a big area. Just as we finish setting up our tents, we hear another bike. It stops just across the stream. Biker climbs off, and pulls something out of his saddlebags. He walks across the stream, towards us. “Hi, I’m Jake. You guys thirsty?” and shows us his new bottle of Jack Daniels. My hero! I had heard of Jake, from my friend, Karl. And Jake had heard of me, through Karl. And he and Lang had talked on the computer. And he has JD! I like this guy!
An hour or so later, many of the other guys in our group arrived at the campground. It was so good to see everyone. Mark and Tom had flown out and gotten rental bikes, and they rode in with Bubba, and a few others. Throughout the evening, more and more of the ‘usual’ group arrived. Between Jake’s bottle of JD, and the one Bubba brought me, and the other supplies people brought, we had a great party.
Yogi, and friend of Lang’s and myself, was going to fly into Knoxville on Monday morning, and we were going to take him to pick up a rental bike. He was going to join Lang, and the other Sturgis friends, for much of the camping trip! His plane lands at 10am, and we’re a few hours from the airport, so Lang and I need to wake up early, near 6am. Ugh. Everyone is partying and having fun, but the two of us need to rest. That didn’t happen for quite awhile. First, someone drives by on a golf cart. Then people are going for rides on the golf cart (while whooping and hollering, of course). Then Bubba is driving the golf cart. The noise goes on for hours. It’s great to see everyone.
We manage to wake up, after only four hours of sleep, and Jake asks if he join us for breakfast. Sure. We start the bikes (take that, Bubba!) and ride out of the campground to the truck stop a few miles away. Jake decides to ride to the airport with us. We didn’t know that it was 100 miles each way, but what the heck. We arrive at the airport and park the bikes at a nearby hotel, to wait for Yogi. He calls, and we ride over to the baggage claim area to meet him. When he boarded the plane, it was full, and they made him check his carry-on bag (with his riding gear and mandatory helmet). His baggage didn’t arrive. We found a Harley dealership just a few miles from the airport. We decided to chance it, and ride him there to buy a new helmet. It was an expensive option, but the only one we had. We took Yogi to the bike rental, halfway back to the campground, where he got his bike for the week. Then we all headed back to the campground. A small adventure.
The airline would deliver Yogi’s carry-on to the campground. He had shipped some boxes containing his camping gear. The campground gave him their post office address, not the main house, so he couldn’t get his camping gear for two more days (it was closed on Mondays). We all pitched in on supplies and doubled up on tents, and Yogi had everything he needed. The airline delivered his baggage at just about the same time we were able to get back to the post office.
While some of the larger groups went on rides, several of us just hang out and relax around the campground. We do go for a scenic ride to Asheville, North Carolina. It was a great week, enjoying time with old and new friends.
After the week in Tennessee, Lang rides up to Ohio with us, up I-77 through West Virginia. For an interstate highway, it is scenic and has some fun curves. A few days later, Lang decides to visit friends and family in Washington D.C., and make a few other stops in the eastern states. For the rest of the month of June, he takes several days to ride to the New River Gorge, and other areas of southern Ohio.
Nearing the end of June, he decides that it is time for him to start contemplating his ride back to California. I’ve reserved five weeks of time away from work, and I will ride wherever we get, until it is time for me to return to Ohio during the first week of August.
Part 3: Turning West
There is a map of this section of the trip available (note that it may be split into several pages).
We decide to head up to visit my family along Lake Erie. On the way north, I take him to visit some friends, Mike and Larry, who live on several acres of land near Richfield, Ohio and raise St. Bernards. They have a new puppy that weighs about 60 pounds, and she’s getting used to their three full-grown dogs. Mike takes us on a small hike to see a sinkhole that was found nearby. We relax.
Early the next afternoon, we head to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. I have enjoyed riding through the area before, but had never stopped to see the park. Mike tells us about the old canal, so we stop to take a look, in the town of Peninsula. Along the Cuyahoga River, there are remnants of the Ohio and Erie Canal. We spend quite a bit of time looking at one of the old locks, used to raise and lower boats as the terrain changes. The first one we find is just a concrete shell. We try to figure out what caused some of the indentations, and determine how some of the mechanisms worked. This was a unique spot, since the canal crossed over the river. A bridge that could hold the weight of the water and the boats needed to be quite substantial, but there are hardly any remains of the structure. A restored train station is across the way, and we stop to check the train schedule. It was too late to ride the train, but we found out where there was a restored, working, lock. It was fascinating to examine the working lock and learn why there were the indentations and peculiar shape to some of the concrete pieces we saw earlier in the day.
We arrive at my mom’s house to find the driveway full. We ride around the block and park as close as we can to her house. It’s Fourth of July weekend, and there is a big carnival in my home town, and there will be a huge fireworks display on Sunday night. Many of my relatives are visiting, since our house is close to the action. Lang arrives to over a dozen people he’s never met. I haven’t seen most of them in quite a long time, so it was mayhem. Their attention quickly turned to Lang, and he was heartily welcomed. Among the relatives was (long relationship best summarized as) my niece’s daughter, Emma May, who is about 10 years old. She loves motorcycles, and is far from intimidated by our beards. She helps Lang and I set up tents in the yard. We head down to the carnival, which is along the beach. It’s dusk, and the carnival lights are bright, there’s noise from the rides, and vendors, and people everywhere. Although the town is fairly small, this attracts people from several counties each year. I show Lang the beach-front, and we walk out to the end of the fishing pier at the entrance to the harbor. This is the Grand River, and this was only one of two harbors in Ohio east of Cleveland. Large freighters deliver gravel, and some haul salt away from the mines on the other side of the river. There’s a breakwater that stretches out into the lake, and a lighthouse at the end. This is the new lighthouse, put in place in 1925. I show Lang the old lighthouse, high on a hill along the lake, which operated from 1871 until 1925. There has been a lighthouse here since 1825. There’s an incredible sunset over the lake, and Lang gets several outstanding photos. We get back to the carnival and see my sister, and my niece’s boyfriend. And of course, Emma May, who wants to go on one of the rides that spins and turns you upside down. And, of course, she wants me to ride it with her. WEE!
We walk back to mom’s house along the lake. With the breakwall slowing down the waves, this is an excellent beach for swimming and boating. It’s part of the Cleveland Metroparks system, and is well maintained, with showers and a snack bar, and several life guards on duty during the day.
The next morning, we crawl out of our tents to a view of the lake. Lang is surprised that you can’t see the other side, but it’s over 60 miles away, and at best, you can only see 14 miles out. We look at a map, and he puts the distances in perspective. He realizes how big of a lake this is.
When Lang used to drive a truck, he had a friend who was still on the road, and was passing through Cleveland. Lang and I rode towards Ashtabula to meet his friend for breakfast. They had not seen each other in three years, and they had been close friends. We head back to my mom’s after a tour of the area. The old lighthouse is open for visitors: there’s the lighthouse tower, and a marine history museum in the old lightkeeper’s house. I had been a tour guide each summer during my high school years. I give Lang the delux, personalized tour, explaining much about the lakes and the ships. The Fresnel lens is on display, which was handmade in France in the late 1800’s. It’s an impressive sight. Then we climb the steps of the lighthouse. Fairport Harbor has one of the very few lighthouses that you can walk up. The view over the lake and town is breathtaking, especially with the carnival just down the hill from us.
More relatives are at the house. Lang is getting used to all the commotion by this time. It is never too dull along the lake, especially with the carnival. My family is very social, and no one can be a stranger around them. My uncle teases Lang, and they get along well. As evening arrives, so do the crowds arriving in town for the fireworks We break out some sparklers, and even the adults feel like children once again.
The fireworks show lasts more than 40 minutes. We cheer “OOO” and “AAH” at the appropriate times. Most of the relatives escape the moment the finale ends, hoping to beat the crowds. We set our chairs over the beach access, and watch the throngs of people and cars leave the beach. There are only two ways to leave town, and the traffic backs up quickly. We are glad that we are just a few feet from our tents. The traffic from the beach lasts almost two hours.
The next morning, Monday, we pack our tents and say our goodbyes. We are going to head to Sandusky, home of Cedar Point amusement park. The goal for today is to simply get to Sandusky and find a motel, and hopefully, a good bar. The Internet helps us find a motel, which is supposed to be right next to a biker bar. However, the bar is not open, and there are no signs indicating that they are supposed to be closed on Mondays. We use Yoda (Lang’s GPS) to find a Mexican restaurant with a bar, and enjoy a great meal. We take back roads back towards the motel, and find another bar. We’re the only patrons, and it is the bartender’s first day. He pours our drinks, and offers to add more Jack Daniels. Yay. Sandusky just had Ohio Motorcycle Week (I had never heard of it), so the crowds are worn out from the Fourth of July and a week of drinking. It sounds like a fun event, so maybe I will get there next year.
The next morning, we head to Cedar Point. Motorcycles get VIP parking near the front gates. Lang is amazed by the size of the park and the vast number of rollercoasters. Most of the coasters are, or were, record holders when they were built. The lines aren’t nearly as long as I have seen them, although by mid-afternoon we had just a few lines lasting an hour. By evening, we’re worn out. We ride the old wooden coaster, the Blue Streak, once again, before we leave the park. The biker bar next to the motel is open, although there are only two other bikes in front. After eating, we both head to bed.
The next morning we start our ride to Milwaukee. We take I-80 towards Chicago. We hit rain just east of Chicago. It’s a light rain, and we don’t really mind. We get stopped in Chicago’s rush hour traffic, but with the drizzle, the temperatures are quite comfortable. We arrive in Milwaukee, and find a motel near the highway. There’s an Irish pub next door, and we enjoy a few drinks and a great meal.
The next morning, we find the Harley Engine Plant, and sign up for a tour. Since Harley is in the middle of cutting over to a new model year, the tour is cut short, and we only see a small part of the factory. It is especially frustrating because our tour guide keeps saying “If you look way down this corridor, you can sort of see the machine that does (something), and it is really fun to watch it, but we can’t today.” They tell us about the official Harley Museum, in downtown Milwaukee, and we head there, not knowing quite what to expect.
There are several tall buildings in the museum complex: One is the museum, one has restaurants and a bar, and the third building is for storage and motorcycle restorations. We are told to start our tour on the second floor of the museum, then work our way down. The second floor has a very interesting display showing the lineage of engines made by Harley. There is a line for their production street bikes, another for their racing bikes, and a third line for the experimental engines. Each has a sign describing the unique features of the engine, and why it was an improvement over the ones that came before. A separate display showed the major components of a motorcycle, all lined up horizontally. If you look at the display from the end, it looks like a complete motorcycle. When looking at it head on, the frame stands alone, with the engine next to it, and the transmission, and eventually the tires. It is a pretty cool display, meant for the visitors that aren’t mechanical, or even necessarily interested in motorcycles. In fact, the museum does a great job of giving the enthusiasts plenty to look at, while giving the rest of the visitors some very informative facts and displays. I was impressed.
There is one Harley of almost every model year, on display. A plaque describes the features that were introduced with that model year, and also notes some of the events around the world. It gives a great perspective on world history, and how many of the events affected the design of the motorcycles. There were several bikes from World War I and II on display, as motorcycles were a durable way to get messages to and from the front lines, especially where there were few roads.
We visit the renovation and storage building, which was pretty remarkable. A huge number of racks, close to 20 across and at least 6 high, held motorcycles, each strapped to a pallet and placed on the rack by machine. The racks moved, as well, and there seemed to be several dozen of them. A very efficient way to store a huge number of motorcycles, and also keep them accessible. Certainly they are all indexed with the coordinates of their precise locations. The workshop was also visible. The restoration mechanics had a huge number of tools available to them, and they could manufacture almost any part they could need. There was an old rusted out bike, exactly how it was found, in a barn. They said that many of the bikes, on display in the museum, arrived in that condition.
We headed to one of the restaurants for lunch. Luckily, one had a bar. We expected the prices to be through the roof, but were pleasantly surprised. The lunch portions were huge, and neither of us could finish our meals. We return to the museum. The first floor of the museum is focused on motorcycling: racing, touring, and customizing. All things that people do with their Harley. Included in the display were some of the odd things that Harley manufactured over the years, including snow-mobiles, scooters, and golf carts. The racing display showed how the various motorcycle manufacturers would compete for to get the top spot, and the riders who got them there. The touring display included a wall of photos that were sent in by riders, of the adventures around the country and around the world. The customization display showed some of the innovative creations and alterations that people have made to their bikes. The most notable is King Kong, a thirteen-foot motorcycle that is actually two bikes welded together. The bike has lights and chrome everywhere. A replica of the bikes from Easyrider are on display, and a series of movie posters from the grade-B biker films.
We leave the museum and decide to head down the highway. Our timing could have been better, as it was rush hour. We sat in traffic for over an hour, in the hot sun. This made us grateful for the clouds and drizzle we had in Chicago. We make it as far as Madison, Wisconsin, that night.
In the morning, we continue heading west on I-90. I exit the highway near the Mississippi River, so Lang can get some pictures. We find a park, high about the river, with a giant sunfish. We get a few pictures, then find a great restaurant for lunch. We get back on the highway, and stop in Austin, Minnesota, to see the SPAM Museum. I had been here before, and Lang insisted on stopping. It’s quite a fun stop, and free. Hormel Foods understand the reputation that Spam has, and the museum pokes fun at it, while also making it educational. We ride as far as Sioux Falls, South Dakota, that day.
The next morning, we continue heading west. We stop in the city of Mitchell to see the Corn Palace. In my dozen or so trips through this area, I have always avoided stopping at this tourist trap, but Lang insists. It’s something to see (about the only thing to see) along I-90. We check a map and head north to the town of Huron. Lang has his GPS, Yoda, set to take us to a bar. As we arrive in town, a bike catches up to me and asks, “Where are you going?” I answer “Hopefully, to a bar.” They laugh and tell me that there is one just ahead. As if he heard the conversation, Lang pulls into a parking space right in front of the bar. They pull in behind us. Her brother owns the bar, and they welcomed us in. We get a round of drinks and introduce ourselves.
Throughout the trip, we get a lot of questions about our bikes: Lang has California tags, mine are Ohio. How do you know each other? Where are you headed? Why are you stopping in our town? When Lang was on the east, his California tags attracted much attention. Now, we’re near the center of the country, so both of our bikes are getting some interest now.
We spend quite a bit of time at the bar in Huron, before asking for directions to The Pheasant. They laugh, then provide instructions. The town of Huron is home of the world’s largest pheasant, at 27-feet tall. We don’t know why it is there, but I had passed it once, several years ago, and got some jibes because I didn’t get a picture. So, Lang wants to see the pheasant, and I need to get a picture of it for old times’ sake.
We take back roads across South Dakota to Pierre, the state capitol. We find a bar, then a motel nearby. It’s a pretty run-down motel, next to railroad tracks, but there don’t seem to be many alternatives. The bar, however, is good. There’s a steady crowd, and most of the people are very friendly.
The next morning, we stay on back roads and head to Sturgis. There are very few towns on this road, but we’re able to find a gas station every 80 miles or so. As we arrive in Sturgis, it is very empty. I’ve always been here during the rally, and that is still a month away. Still, there are quite a number of motorcycles here, but it is in the dozens, not then hundreds of thousands. This looks like any other small town that we’ve seen throughout our trip.
We find a bar, and walk in to get a cold beverage. There are two long-bearded fellows sitting down the bar from us. They start conversation. One is named Wild Man, and the other introduces himself as Lord, swearing that it is his birth name. He tells us that he used to be the bus driver for Janis Joplin. One day, they were in the studio, playing with chords, with the tape recorders going, in case there is something interesting. Janis starts singing a song, “Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz…” And this is Lord, not ‘The Lord’ as everyone assumes. Cool. They are vendors that do leather repair, and, at motorcycle rallies, generally sew new patches onto people’s vests and jackets. We talk for awhile, and they tell us how it is too expensive for them to set up shop in Sturgis, but they go around the region and find some good spots to set up their shop.
Without the rally, there is not much to see in Sturgis. We ride 14 miles into the Black Hills, to the town of Deadwood. We’re out of the Plains states and in terrain now! YAY! I am on familiar roads, curving over the mountains. It is really nice to be here without all the traffic, although there are plenty of tourists in minivans and RV’s. Deadwood is a quaint town with much of it’s historic character preserved. There are several casino’s, and plenty of hotels and camping in the region. We had planned to camp, but decide that it would be nice to have a real room while we are in the area. We find a motel just outside Deadwood for a reasonable price. We get some Jack Daniels out of the saddlebag and some cola from the vending machine, and sit out in front of our room, watching the traffic pass by, while we decide on our plans for the next few days.
Lang has never been to the Black Hills, so there is much to see. We spend the first evening in Deadwood, and find the Deadwood Supper Club for dinner. I am sad to see that they have dropped the bison t-bone from the menu. This is the main reason we selected this restaurant, but they have plenty of other goodies to choose from. I tell Lang about some of the history of Deadwood, as we walk down the main street.
The next morning, we ride to the Crazy Horse Memorial. This is a massive sculpture that puts Mount Rushmore to shame. It is still in progress, and will be for at least a hundred more years. The visitor center has many native American artists, and also gives a great education about reshaping a mountain. For lunch, we head to the town of Custer, where there are several bars and restaurants. From there, we head to Custer State Park, which has some of the most scenic riding roads in the region. While we don’t see much wildlife that day, the riding is good. We head up Needles Highway, and I am somehow surprised by all the cars parked near the Needle (a rock formation that resembles the eye of a needle). Usually this area is full of motorcycles, but cars?? There is a narrow tunnel through the rocks, and it is entertaining to watch the impatient auto drivers, since traffic flows in both directions, but only one can go through the tunnel at a time. We get to see a tour bus navigate the tunnel, with only a two-inches of clearance on either side. The driver gets an ovation from the crowd. He’s earned his pay.
We turn onto my favorite road in the Black Hills, Iron Mountain Road, which takes us to Mount Rushmore. This road meanders through the Black Hills, and there are several sections where the two-way lanes split off to curve through the trees. There are three more tunnels carved into the granite, and each one is precisely cut to give a perfectly framed view of Mount Rushmore. We travel over and under the three pigtail bridges, which are wooden structures that allow the road to pass from the top of the hills into a canyon below. We pull onto the main road to Mount Rushmore, and pull off to snap several pictures. While the National Monument is free, the only parking lots charge $8 per vehicle, and we can each buy a few cold drinks with the $16. In fact, we find a bar on the way back to Deadwood, with a parking lot full of bikes. We enjoy one drink before seeing a bad storm approaching. We both end up getting back to our hotel just moments before the lightning and the cloudburst. A local bus comes to our motel, and we take it into Deadwood for dinner. The rain lasts much of the night.
The next morning, we head into the town of Sturgis. There are few tourists in town, but a fair number of people working on the buildings, preparing for the impending crowds. We stop at a bar called One-Eyed Jacks, which takes up most of the block. The bartender welcomes us and mixes a few Bloody Mary’s for us. We’re sitting at a large rectangular bar. She tells Lang that there are 21 bars like this just in One-Eyed Jacks. We take a walk through the three-story bar, to confirm. Lang is thoroughly amazed by the size of this building. When we ask the bartender for directions to breakfast, she asks us to hold while she talks to their cook. Even though the kitchen isn’t open for the rally, they have breakfast fixings, so we stay awhile longer. From here, I give Lang a tour of the Sturgis area: Bear Butte, the lake, and the town of Newell, advertised as the Nations Sheep Capital. As we ride back towards Sturgis, we stop at the Full Throttle Saloon. The rectangular bar in this establishment is well over 100 feet long, making it the largest ‘bar’ in South Dakota. Like everywhere else, they are getting ready for the crowds. We walk around the other sections of the bar, and out to the stage where they hold concerts during the rally. We ride back into Sturgis, and walk around Main Street, eerily quiet compared to rally time.
We ride back to Deadwood, and I take Lang to Mount Moriah Cemetery, where Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane are buried. It is one of the only cemeteries I know that has a gift shop and bus tours. We walk instead. There is much history in Deadwood, as it was the center of the gold rush of 1876, and the first large settlement in the Dakota Territories. After seeing the grave site, I take Lang into downtown to Saloon No. 10, where Wild Bill was shot during a card game. While the actual bar used to be across the street, the new location holds live re-enactments daily. We meet one of the reenactors, and he tells us some of the additional history of the town.
The next day, we pack our bikes and ride to Devils Tower. This rock formation was made famous by the movie ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’, and it is a good ride into Wyoming. Along the way, we find a bar with several bikes parked in front. We stop in, only to find that all of the ‘bikers’ are in the restaurant. Still, we enjoy some cold drinks. The size of Devils Tower is only apparent when you are standing next to it. Lang coaxes me into walking the 1.5 mile trail around the base.
We stop in the nearby town of Hulett, for gas and for another cool drink. The folks at the local bar tell us about the bad hail they had the day before (the storm we narrowly missed), and they show us their badly beaten vehicles. We stop in the town of Aladdin, Wyoming, population 15 (actually 11, but the sign needs to be updated). During the Sturgis rally, the parking lot holds close to 500 bikes, but now, there are just five. The others belong to construction works, who are on their way home for the night. We stop for the night in Bellefourche, South Dakota.
A close friend from work, Judy, has a brother who digs fossils in Marmarth, North Dakota, just a few hundred miles north of Sturgis. He has invited us to see some of their fossils, since we are going to be nearby. We stop for a break about half way there, and another couple rides in from the north. They can’t remember where, but somewhere near where we are going, there is an excellent restaurant. They ride there frequently, and tell us that it has been featured on the Food Channel. We don’t think much more about it. We only know that we are to meet Doug at a bar called the Past Time (pretty catchy, with all the fossil hunters around, eh?) It is just a short wait for him to arrive, and he takes us to the area where they clean the fossils, after they’ve been excavated from the rocks. Here, out of the weather, they do the detailed work of clearing all of the rock away from the fossilized bone. They have several fossilized turtles, the most complete in the world, and the skull of an adolescent triceratops. Doug is very good at explaining the fossils in an easy-to-understand way, so it is very fascinating to see some of their finds. He takes us for a ride to the area where they do the digging, although we don’t enter the dig site. But as Doug explains the geography of the area, it is very easy to see how this area has been covered in many layers of dirt, compressed into rock over the years. I tell Lang that he’ll recognize some of these types of features later in the trip.
We head back into town, and Doug takes us to the restaurant in the back of the Past Time. Wow. Linen table cloths. Fancy. It turns out that we’re in the restaurant we were told about by those bikers, earlier in the day. Cool. The menu is incredible, for a town of only 140 permanent residents, and we enjoy an outstanding meal. In addition to the Food Channel, the restaurant has also been reviewed in the L.A. Times and other papers from around the country.
Marmarth was once a big stop on the railroad. Crews would change here, and mechanics were there to fix any problems. While between shifts, the rail workers lived in a bunkhouse. As technology changed, the railroad didn’t need to stop in Marmarth, so the town is mostly empty. Today, visitors to the dig-site get to stay here. Doug arranges for us to stay there, as well.
The restaurant is not open for breakfast, so we find a small diner at a gas station. The food isn’t great, but we get our fill, then walk around town. There used to be a theater and an opera house, but they are decaying now, much like the fossils. We try to find where the old railroad roundhouse used to be, and, despite people pointing us in three different locations, we manage to find where it must have been. Doug finds us, and we thank him for the wonderful hospitality. We really didn’t expect the accommodations, or the great meal, and certainly not the wonderful tour he provided. It was really a fun stop.
We get back on the road, on US12, heading towards Billings, Montana. The road merges with interstate for awhile, which doesn’t make the trip any faster, since we haven’t seen any towns or other traffic, all day. Out of Billings, we head south towards the town of Red Lodge. It is the last town before crossing Beartooth Pass into Wyoming.
We see an unusually large number of bikes, and finally stop at a bar where many bikes are parked. As we walk towards the bar, we see Wild Man, Lord’s buddy, that we met when we arrived in Sturgis. Wow! We talk for a bit, before heading into the bar. It is packed with bikers. My kind of place. There is a motorcycle rally in Red Lodge starting today, and we’re just in time. After a drink or two, we ride into town. Bikes are parked everywhere. We park and walk around. Lang really loves the character of the town, especially with all the bikes. I explain that this is how the towns around Sturgis look during the rally. He gets a better appreciation for Sturgis.
We get on the bikes and head towards the mountains. This is where Beartooth Pass crosses the mountains into Wyoming. It’s a great ride for motorcycles, that I have only been on once before. The last time, in 2001, the temperatures were close to 100F, and there were black clouds over the mountain, and the temperatures dropped to 30F within just 20 minutes.
Today, the weather was great, and we didn’t even wear our jackets up the mountain. There are spectacular views everywhere, and it is a challenge to keep an eye on the road. We stop frequently to take pictures. Before long, even in July, we are above the snow line. It’s surreal riding through this winter landscape in sleeveless shirts, and being comfortable. We have a brief snowball fight near the Wyoming state line, at 10,450 feet about sea level. As we ride down the mountains, we stop for a break at a gas station. The mosquitoes are viscous, so we put our jackets on.
Beartooth Pass meets up with the road between Cody, Wyoming, and Cooke City, Montana. We head to Cooke City for the night, and manage to get a cabin at the Antler Lodge. After unloading the bikes, we walk through town (it’s only about a half-mile long), and stop at The Miner’s Bar and Grille for dinner. The bartender asks if we’re going on the Iron Horse ride tomorrow. After our dumbfounded looks, he explains that the motorcycle rally in Red Lodge is coming over Beartooth Pass tomorrow, Saturday, and this bar is one of the scheduled stops. We decide then, to stay in Cooke City for another day. While we have already ridden the Pass, we’ll stay in town and watch the bikes come through. It should be interesting. On the way back to the cabin, Lang takes note of a coffee shop that advertises baked goods.
Lang gets out of bed, gets dressed, and walks down to the coffee shop. They’re closed for the day, due to family emergency. Darn the luck. We find a small restaurant down the street, just turning on their ‘open’ sign. We get a couple coffees and menus. It is only the one waiter and a cook. More tourists wander in, and the waiter is not able to keep up with the light crowd. We’ve ordered already, but most people don’t even get coffee or a menu before they give up and leave. We get our breakfast, without a coffee refill, and pay.
Our big plan for the day is to ride the seven miles to the Yellowstone entrance, get our park maps, and come back to Cooke City to the Miner’s Bar. We walk in and order a drink as the staff is setting up a table to sell t-shirts. The waitress tries to sell us shirts, and we ask if a drink is included in the high price. The bartender says ‘Sure’, so we buy some shirts. A good deal by any measure. We walk out to the sidewalk and find a few chairs. We enjoy our drinks while we watch the bikes pull in. The bikers are on a ‘poker run’, which, besides having an excuse to ride, gives some scheduled stops where each rider picks up a playing card. At the end of the ride, later that day, after getting five cards, the rider with the winning poker hand wins a prize (often, cash). It’s a no-skill game of chance, and just makes it more fun to do the ride. Since this route is quite long, riders take their time at the stops. It’s not a race, just a fun ride.
We talk to many of the bikers, and there are many from far away states, besides California and Ohio, we see a New Hampshire, and some North Carolina bikes. We meet on rider, Steve, who lives in Pinedale, Wyoming. I tell him that we’re headed that way, after Yellowstone, and he provides us with his phone number and an invitation to visit. This is a huge rally, and brings almost 10,000 bikers into this little tiny town throughout the day. We meet quite a few people, and have a great time. Even though the bar gets crowded, the bartender knows us by now, and always has our drinks ready before we even get through the crowd. He gets a great tip, when the crowd thins out, after 6pm. Fun day!
In the morning, we ride in to Yellowstone, and manage to get the last campsite near Norris Geyser Basin, near the middle of the park. We take off for a ride around the park. While I have been to Yellowstone many times, I have learned that visitors will stop and watch the wildlife. Stop in the middle of the road. Anywhere. And, there was an occasion, in 2001, to be stopped in the middle of a herd of bison (this also happened to us in South Dakota). So, when I see a bunch of cars stopped, I try to keep my distance until I can see what they are looking at. Good for me, but Lang was leading, and the traffic stopped to see a bear, grazing alongside the roadway. Lang didn’t notice the bear for a few seconds, and by the time he did, an oncoming pickup truck moved in closer, and blocked his exit. It’s nice for the people in their cars, look out from beyond their steel cages to watch the bear. When you are on a motorcycle, there is no such protective cage. Bikers make chewy toys for bears. Luckily, this bear wasn’t interested in us. I did manage to get a picture of it, however.
When we got to higher ground, we could see that a very bad thunderstorm was moving in. In these situations, I just want to get to shelter. After Lang got a few photos, we decided to ride on. We got to Tower Falls, then he cut north. As we looped around to Mammoth Hot Springs, we could see that the storm had already moved through this area. We managed to miss it. We are just in time for the lounge to open for the evening, and we order a few drinks to celebrate. After a nice dinner in the dining room, we get a few photos of the hot springs. From up close, it is difficult to see the enormity of this massive limestone-covered mountain. As we ride up and over it, Lang gets it, and is amazed. A light rain starts as we head back to our campground, and we arrive just as it starts raining at our campsite.
By morning, the rain has stopped, and it is very foggy, and cold. Lang makes coffee (YAY) with a small gasoline-powered stove, which packs up into about 6-inch square and about 2-inches tall. Pretty cool little stove. He uses a turkey baster to get gas from his bike tank into the small tank on the stove. How many people do you know that carry a turkey baster?
We ride over to Norris Geyser Basin, and walk around the hundred or so geysers in the field. It is surreal. Like you’d imagine another planet, with the ground shooting steam and water. The very first Caucasian to see Yellowstone was called crazy for his descriptions of this hellish place: no one believed that such a place could really exist.
We ride around much of the park, and make it down to the southeast corner of the park, where I get my first real view of Yellowstone Lake. This is a massive body of water, spotted with a few islands. I have only seen it from leaving the park out the south exit, where you cannot see the enormity of it. I am impressed. We consider moving our campsite to this corner of the park, but find that it is already overcrowded and the crowd here seems rather upscale from our rugged campsite near Norris. We decide not to move.
On the way back to our campsite, we stop at Old Faithful. Of course, Lang wants to see the geyser, but more importantly, he wants to see the Old Faithful Inn. It was only my last time to the park that I saw the Inn, and I was also eager to get a closer look at it. As it is our luck, we enter next to the lounge, so we have a drink. We start conversation with the elderly couple next to us, and they mention that there are free tours of the Inn. I find that the next tour is the following morning at 11am. We finish our drinks and find that Old Faithful is about to erupt. We watch it, then go into the cafeteria for dinner.
By this time, it is getting late. There have been signs all over the park that the road on the west side of the park is under construction, and is closed after 9pm nightly. By this time of evening, the sunlight is behind the mountains, and the park is very dark. Our motorcycle headlights do fine for the road, but we cannot see much off to the side, so the shadows make every rock and tree looks like a deer, elk, or moose. We can’t go very fast. We’re just a few minutes ahead of 9pm when we arrive, but still, the park ranger is a bit annoyed by us getting here so close to the time the road closes. The construction crews are gearing up for the all-night work, since they don’t have to keep traffic moving, as they do during the day. We get to our campsite, very tired.
We wake up in the morning, have our coffee, then pack up our campsite. For us, it seems early, but by the time we pack up, many of the other campers have left, and have been replaced by a new group. We’re not even done packing the bikes when someone comes by, and waits to claim our campsite. Most camping in Yellowstone is on a first-come-first-serve basis. We were apparently very fortunate to find the site when we arrived a few days ago.
We ride back to the Old Faithful Inn, in time for the morning tour. We have a great tour guide, and she’s able to answer almost every question put to her. She shows us the massive outer doors to the Inn, built to be very secure for the original guests, who were generally quite wealthy.
After the tour, we enjoy lunch in the dining room. On our way out, Lang parks his bike so that I could get a photo of him, and his ‘GUIZER’ license plate, in front of the Old Faithful geyser. Three ‘geezers’ in one shot!
The rear tire on my bike is bald. Although it looked fine back in Ohio, we’ve ridden well over 3,000 miles since then. I have a map listing all of the Harley dealerships, and we call ahead to Jackson, Wyoming. The person on the phone tells me that his store only sells clothing, but happens to have a tire that will fit my bike. He will call ahead to a local mechanic to mount the tire, since they don’t have a service area. Cool.
It’s about 100 miles from Old Faithful to Jackson, and it is almost all national park, so the speed limit is 45 MPH. We spend much of the time behind RV’s that won’t drive over 35 MPH, so it is a long and frustrating ride.
We arrive in Jackson, and find the Harley ’boutique’. I buy the tire, and get directions to the mechanic. Johnson Cycle is a new service shop, run by a young man of about 30 years of age. He tells us that it will take him about 2 hours to do the work, and we can use his Jeep in the meantime. Eh? I ask for directions to the closest bar (just to let him know…) and he tells us about several. We can’t find the first one, but end up downtown at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. They make us some adequate drinks, and we pass the time.
Since the mechanic has lent us his wheels, I pick up a 12-pack of Sierra Nevada beer for him (this is made near where Lang lives, so there is some significance). When we get back to Johnsons, he introduces us to his dad, and we hand them a beer. The kid tells us that there is good news and bad news. The good news is that the tire has been mounted. The bad news is that it is the wrong tire, and won’t work on my bike. His dad steps in and tells us that they have called the closest ‘real’ dealership, in Idaho Falls, and he will personally exchange the tire, at no cost to us, and have the bike ready by noon the next day. And we can use the Jeep until then. Wow. Bad that the bike isn’t ready, but very good that we have transportation. We move our supplies to the Jeep, and Lang leaves his bike there (it is safe there, and it would be far too complicated to have a Jeep following a bike all over the place). We find a motel for the night, and get some dinner. It’s been a full day.
The next morning, we wake early. The bike won’t be ready until noon, so we have time to kill. We passed by a very interesting building on our way into town (I’ve seen it every time I have been through, but have never stopped). It is the National Museum of Wildlife Art. Never heard of such a thing, but the building is worth seeing. Yogi told us that we need to see the museum, as well, so that is a good recommendation.
After an over-priced breakfast in downtown Jackson, we head to the museum. There are several statues in the parking lot, and we take a few photos. Unfortunately, we can’t take pictures in most of the museum. There are exhibits by many famous painters and sculptors. One of the special exhibits is on the work of Dr. Seuess, and shows the mock-ups, drafts, and story line from a book where the corporations endanger the environment. The museum is certainly worth the admission, and we actually enjoy the displays. We also get to walk around the unique building, and admire the architecture.
After a short walk around downtown Jackson, it is noon and the bike should be ready. We arrive at Johnsons, and he had just finished the bike. His dad ran into traffic on the way to Idaho Falls, as a wreck blocked the highway for several hours. Still, they got the tire mounted at the time he quoted, so we were very happy. We thank them, once again, and pack up the bikes.
We follow a scenic road that follows the Wind River to Pinedale, Wyoming, home of the Museum of the Mountain Man. I had been here once before, and it is a very interesting museum. They have a good presentation of the history: the mountain men were hunters and trappers, and beaver pelts was very popular for top-hats and overcoats in Europe. Rather than require the furs to be delivered into cities, the fur companies held a ‘rendezvous’, where the fur company would buy the hides, and there would be supplies, liquor, and women, for the hunters to spend their money on. Pinedale was the site for several of the rendezvous, and they have an annual re-enactment, which was just over a week earlier. Darn the luck. But the museum is interesting and has many informative displays.
When we are done at the museum, we call our friend Steve, who we met in Cooke City, Wyoming, during the bike rally there. He’s glad to hear from us, and is just leaving work. A few minutes later, he pulls up on his bike. We ride further up the road to the museum. This is a road up into the mountains of the Wind River Gorge. High up in the mountains is Fremont Lake, a large lake fed by snow runoff in the mountains. There is beautiful scenery all around. Steve did real good!
We descend the mountain and head to one of the bars in Pinedale. There are close to a dozen bikes there, so we’re right at home. They make great burgers, and we drink a few beverages. Steve invites us to stay at his place.
In the morning, we have coffee, then head out. We have to return to Jackson to catch the road going towards Montana. The ride back north, along the river, is excellent. As we pass through Jackson, I stop by Johnson Cycle to give our mechanic a calendar. He did a great job with the tire, and went far over and above what we could expect. Give him some business, or just relay the story, if you pass through Jackson.
Our route takes us west of the Grand Tetons, and it is a fun ride. We’re basically west of Yellowstone, and while there is traffic heading to the park, we’re not restricted to the 45 MPH as we were the other day, heading south. If I ever need to return to Jackson from Yellowstone, this might be the route I will take.
Like everywhere this summer, the government stimulus checks were funding road construction in Idaho. We had a thirty-mile section of roads with limited access. We came upon the World’s Largest Spud, but were not able to pull over (we didn’t even know it was here). When we stop for lunch and look at a map, we find that we’re still a day away from Glacier National Park, our next destination.
Lang’s GPS, Yoda, locates a motel in the town of Three Forks, Montana. We call ahead to reserve a room. The attendant asks for my phone number, and he says, “That’s just one digit off from my old phone number, when I lived outside Columbus, Ohio!” Wow. Small world, once again. When we check-in, we talk at length about Ohio and how he and his wife moved here about ten years earlier and bought the motel. I give him a calendar before we leave.
The next day, we arrive in Babb, Montana, just a few miles south of the Canadian border, and get a room at the Duck Lake Lodge. It is a nice facility, with a small restaurant, bar (YES!), and clean rooms. There’s space for camping outside, as well as RV hookups. It’s nice to relax here for the evening.
The next morning, we head to Many Glaciers Lodge, one of the notable sights of the Park. It is a beautiful building, designed to look like a Swiss chalet, complete with skylights. The building was constructed in 1918, and the skylights were part of the original structure. That’s surprising to learn, since we would expect those to have leaks and be inefficient in the extremely cold Montana winters. It is a very different style from the Old Faithful Inn. Where Yellowstone’s lodge says “Look at me!”, the Many Glacier’s Lodge is simple and comfortable. It’s July 25th, so they are celebrating “Christmas in July”. There’s a Charlie Brown tree decorated in the lobby. We walk throughout the building and read most of the informative signs.
The lodge is on the shore of a beautiful calm lake, with glaciers cutting through the mountains. Wow. While I have been to Glacier before, we did not have time to make it to the lodge, so this is a real treat. I am glad that Lang is as excited about it as I am.
The main route through the park, is Going to the Sun Road. As you’ve probably guessed, it heads west, and in the mountains. There are spectacular views, and the roads are fun for motorcycles. We take many photos.
We leave the park, and head to a motel about 80 miles away (surprisingly, the closest place we could find on a Saturday night). As we’re riding down the highway, we see a parking lot full of motorcycles, in front of a bar. Lang describes it as “a bar that has seen a lot of fights”. I agree. The crowd is fun and friendly. We talk to a cowboy and his family, who live in the area. They give us directions to our motel, and tell us about another bar along the way. We head there. Again, there are many bikes in the parking lot. We know we’re at the right place, at least. A very different atmosphere to this bar, more brightly lit. We sit down with our drinks and we offer a couple some seats at our table, as they are carrying plates of food. We’re told that it is the bar’s anniversary party, and the food is free, so get in line! WEE! Free food! Friendly people! I like this place. In fact, Lang has to insist that we leave for our motel before it gets too dark. The bar has offered to let us camp in their yard, but we decide that the motel is probably a better alternative, since we have a big day tomorrow.
In the morning, we head along a large lake. We meet up with US 12, which follows the river. The road follows the river, and we see many motorcycles. It’s well over 100 miles before there is a turn-off from this highway. It is late enough on a Sunday afternoon so that most campers have left already. The traffic is light enough that we have a swift ride. It’s beautiful. Eventually, we end up in a town, and an intersection. That was a really fun ride.
We’re heading to Riggins, Idaho. Lang has been there before, twelve years ago, and he wants to see it again. We follow US 95 as it descends at a 7% grade for almost 10 miles. It’s a good road, with wide, gentle curves, and hangs onto the edge of a mountain. We’re heading down into Hell’s Canyon, where the highway follows a river, which has several sections of rapids. Riggins is a small town, much like Cooke City, Montana, with one road through town. We get a room at the Big Iron Motel, which caters to truckers and bikers. A couple, in their late 30’s are the owners, and they check us in. He says, “Would you like iced tea or beer?” “Eh?” “When you check in, we offer a drink. Which would you like?” He and his dogs walk around outside with us, joining us for a beer. They bought the motel a few years earlier, and have been slowly fixing up the rooms and attracting more business. This was the nicest motel room we’ve had on the trip, and it was also one of the least expensive. He tells us to stop by the front desk in the morning, for coffee and pastries.
We find a bar and grill in town. There are a lot of ‘river rats’ here: folks, mostly college age, that spend their summer as river guides. It’s Sunday night, and you can tell that they had a busy weekend. They are glad that most of the tourists have left, at least the ones they have to entertain.
As promised, there is coffee at the front desk. The owner’s wife has baked cookies for us, and they are delicious. We say goodbye, then take a ride around town in the daylight. Lang recalls some of the people he met, and some of the stores that he visited. Fond memories.
We ride out of Hell’s Canyon on the Old US 95. This road must have been notorious for truckers. While the new road is a constant 7% grade, the old road is nothing but switchbacks: 180 degree turns, climbing up the mountain. Near the top, we see some of the guardrail, and it is heavily dented. I wonder how many people soiled themselves making those dents. While it isn’t lined with cliffs, it is a steep grassy hill down to the bottom. You don’t want to make a mistake on this road. What do they do in winter? Gees But for motorcycles, it’s pure fun. The road surface is in good condition, and we don’t see another vehicle the entire way up.
Lang is taking me to see the beagle. The beagle. The largest in the world. It’s in Cottonwood, Idaho, and now has a bigger brother. It’s a 30-foot tall, two-bedroom beagle. It is a bed and breakfast, at Dog Bark Park, and you can stay in it! There are many over-sized structures at the location, all the creations of Dennis, and his wife, Frances. When Lang was here previously, a dozen years earlier, there was only the smaller dog. We talked to Dennis, and he got the idea of building a place where people could stay overnight, and hopes that the idea catches on.
We followed US 95 northward, heading to Lewistown before turning west. A railroad ran parallel to the road, with beautiful wooden bridges, keeping a steady grade through the hills. Small towns were moderately frequent.
At Lewiston, we begin to follow the Columbia River. For much of the ride, there were gentle curves around the hills, then these gave way to farmland near Walla Walla. Eventually, we head across the river into Oregon, and find a motel for the night. It’s Lang’s birthday, and he’s insisted that nothing is done to celebrate. We find a moderate crowd at the motel bar and restaurant. We order a drink, then our meal. We have another drink before returning to the room. Lang walks next door to a gas station and returns with a pack of Twinkies. I pull out a lighter and sing a much abbreviated version of “Happy Birthday” to the geezer. He should be proud of me: I resisted the urge of getting the bar patrons to sing to him.
The Oregon side of the Columbia River Gorge is interstate highway. We made a few stops along the way to see the river, a riverboat, and remnants of locks used by barges and boats to bypass the rapids. We had a fair idea of how locks worked, having studied them in Ohio, earlier in the trip.
We made it to Portland and had lunch at a truck stop. Having been a trucker, Lang knows where to find good food. We turn south to Corvallis, to visit with friends, Lars and Bill. They live in yurts, circular tents similar to what the Mongols use. These were on platforms, a few feet off the ground to avoid dampness. The circular frame has a canvas wrapping, with areas for screened windows and the doorway. From the circular base, the frame continues up and to the center, supporting a circular clear plastic dome at the top. The dome can be opened to allow airflow. In the 108F outside temperature, the hot air would rise and exit through the dome, the cooler air would be sucked in through the bottom edges of the floor, providing effective cooling.
Corvallis is a college town, home of Oregon State University, and we go to a restaurant near campus. The men’s room has a really fun plumbing job, with valves you can turn and gauges to read the water pressure. It was unique, to say the least. After dinner, they gave me a tour of downtown, with a stop at the Dark Side Theater, which shows art and independent films.
The following day is a ‘down’ day. It’s going to be 108F, again, and it is far too hot for any activity. We head into town to find some inner-tubes, then head to the small river behind the house. We stay cool all afternoon, floating down the river with our adult beverages. Since the river is slow, and has many curves, we’ve only moved a few 100 yards over the course of two hours. Very relaxing.
One of their friends, Mark, joins us for dinner at a Hungarian restaurant. The food was excellent (but not nearly as good as Mom makes). We head back to their property and enjoy an evening out under the stars. The heat of the daytime is gone, and we stay up late. Mark decides to spend the night. He’s got some health issues, and avoids adventures as a rule. But he is quite interested in our motorcycle trip. I invite him to join us, as we head down to San Francisco. He doesn’t ride, and has only been on the back of a bike once, for about an hour. By the end of the evening, Mark was indicating that he isn’t very adventurous, and seemed to be talking of the reasons he would not be able to travel.
However, in the morning, Mark announces that he can reschedule his appointments, and get friends to watch his house. He must have spent much of his night thinking about this opportunity. Our friend Lars takes Mark to the motorcycle shop, and in a few minutes they return with a new helmet, gloves, and had retrieved Mark’s jacket and extra clothes from his house. In order to make room for a passenger, I leave my tent and sleeping bag in Corvalis. In the future, I can fly to Portland and rent a bike, and now much of my camping gear is already there waiting for me!
With my new passenger, Mark, we follow Lang on our journey to northern California. The temperatures are still reaching 108F, and we make a few stops. When we turn off the interstate to take Grant’s Pass to the coast, there is much traffic. In the heat, it is really grueling. We stop at a gas station for a break. The sales girl sees us, and walks us back to the beer cooler, telling us “This is the coolest spot in the entire place, so stand here and cool off for awhile!” Wow.
The next rest stop has some picnic tables in the shade. We sit and relax for awhile, and notice a large fly sculpture on top of the restrooms. Ha! Another ‘big’ picture for our collection.
As Lang leads the way, he suddenly pulls of the side of the road. He turns off his bike and just stares at the sign ahead. It says “Welcome to California!”. Lang stares at the sign for awhile before saying that he doesn’t want to end his trip. If we cross the state line, he’s in his home state, so his adventure will be almost over. He’s been on the road for over three months, and has no job to return to. Looking for a new job, and possibly new career, is not nearly as fun as riding all summer. I tell him that we really can turn around. My objective was never to make him go home, although it would be nice to see my friends on the west coast. He resigns himself to the inevitable end of the journey, and we head down the road.
We have a destination in mind. A biker bar that he recently heard about, called the Hawg Wild Saloon, in Orick, California. It is located conveniently next door to a 1950’s style motel. We get a room and unload the bikes, then walk next door to the Saloon. Just from the outside, it shows all the signs of being a good bar: the name of the bar is airbrushed on the outside wall, and there is a pickup truck in the parking lot with a pigpen on the back. On the roof, there’s a motorcycle on a ramp, with a skeleton riding it off into the sky.
We walk inside the bar, and it is just as good as the outside. There are a few pool tables, and bike parts hanging from the walls and ceiling. The only fault I could find is that they only serve beer, but, they have over 400 varieties, so that makes up for it. After we enjoy our cold brewski’s for a bit, we ask if they serve food. The waitress points out the chalkboard, and we see the regular bar fare: burgers, pizza, and seared Ahi Tuna with passion fruit and sweet chili glaze. WHAT??? There are almost ten specials, and they are all seafood prepared with interesting ingredients. What kind of biker bar is this? WOW! One of the other specials is smoked turkey. The chef brings the roast turkey from the kitchen. It’s a beautiful golden brown. He tells us how he smoked several chickens and turkeys just a few days earlier, and he strongly recommends them. I order chicken, Lang orders turkey, and Mark orders the tuna. The food is incredible. This is the best restaurant we’ve found since Marmarth, North Dakota. As if the bar wasn’t already high on my list, the food put that well over the top. So, the Hawg Wild gets my vote for best biker bar!
In the morning, after breakfast in a local diner, we head south on US 101. Although sections of the highway are freeway, much of it is just a two-lane road through the mountains. We see signs of a folk concert, and everywhere, there are college-age kids hitchhiking or just hiking. We finally reach the town where they are converging. The organizers have been through this before, so they have a parking lot setup outside town, and buses taking people to the concert. There would not be room for them to park otherwise. We find a bar, and stop for a drink and to cool off. The temperatures are still hot, but not quite as bad as they were the past few days. It’s nice to cool off.
Eventually, we make it to Boonville, where Lang and I have some mutual friends, John and David. Yogi is coming up from San Francisco to meet us. We haven’t seen him since we were camping in Tennessee. Just moments after we arrive, Yogi pulls in. It’s quite a reunion! Mark gets introduced to everyone, and John and David introduce us to their friend, Matt. David is a fine cook, and we have a wonderful meal on their patio, under the redwood trees.
The next morning, Lang, Yogi, Mark, and I head to San Francisco. We pull into our favorite watering hole, and are instantly greeted by our friend Gypsy. He’s surprised to see Lang, then he sees me! It was fun to see his reaction. We head into the bar, and soon, several other friends show up to welcome us. Beast, Dale, Gary, and Clyde show up. We introduce Mark to those he hasn’t met before, and spend several hours telling them about the trip. This is a great welcoming party, and Lang is really happy to be around his ‘family’ of friends. We walk a few blocks away to get dinner at a great barbecue place. Excellent.
We spend a few days in San Francisco. Mark calls ahead to get the train schedule for his trip back to Oregon. It doesn’t leave until nighttime. After dinner, we watch Beast and his roommate Mark play video games. It’s fun seeing how the technology changes, as I am not a game player. It gets late, and I take Mark downtown to catch a bus to take him to the train.
Of course, this turns into an adventure. I drop him off, and I leave. It turns out that he just missed the bus, and leaves a message on my cell phone (which I can’t tell, since I am on the bike). I get back to Beast’s house before getting the message. Beast offers to drive us back downtown, and we eventually find Mark. It’s too late for us to get him to the train, so he’s going to have to stay another day. Beast agrees to get Mark to the bus, since I am leaving in the morning to start the trip east. Thanks, Beast!
Lang and I get a fairly early start. The temperatures in the central valley are always high, and we’ve had our fill of the heat. We stop by a bar that serves great burgers. He brought be here once before, but it is really nice having MY bike here. We head towards Oroville, and the traffic is light.
Just about an hour from his house, Lang gets a flat tire. I ride into the town of Marysville, just a mile ahead of us, to an auto parts store. I return to Lang with some fix-a-flat and a small air compressor. We then realize that these bikes have inner-tubes, and we won’t be able to make the repairs easily on the side of the road (unlike a car, bike tires are a bit more involved to replace). It’s Monday, and all of the area’s motorcycle shops are closed. With the prospect of having to wait until morning, I ride back into town, and find a motel just inside the city limits. Lang is able to ride the bike to the motel. From there, he calls a friend with a pickup truck (we’re not too far from home), then arranges to get a U-haul trailer for the bike. His friends pick him up in their car, and take him to their house to get the truck. I enjoy dinner at a Thai restaurant in town, then head to one of the local bars, the Silver Dollar. The town of Marysville was big during the Gold Rush days, and this bar was built in those days. The bar gets its name from the silver dollars are embedded into the bar top. Surprisingly, they are still there. Behind the bar is a massive, ornate, wood carving. Impressive.
In the morning, we load Lang’s bike onto the U-haul trailer, and I follow him into Chico, where his mechanic has a shop. We return the trailer, just as another customer comes in to get it (good timing). I follow Lang to his cabin. He’s home. It’s been a fun trip, and he was very good to travel with.
The next day is Wednesday, and I need to be back in Ohio at work on Monday. I experience the same kind of reluctance that Lang must have felt, when he hesitated before re-entering California. I had a great time, and want it to continue. The road goes on forever…
Lang gives me directions for a short-cut to I-80, and it’s a scenic ride through the Sierra mountains. I stop for lunch in Reno, then ride across Nevada. I’ve been on this road before, and it’s not very exciting. There are significant towns spread about 100 miles apart, and just desert between them. It’s an easy ride, with only trucks on the road, and the speed limit is 75MPH. The government stimulus package is working well here, as there are many sections of road construction.
I stop for the night at the Utah border, in Wendover. I head down the street to West Wendover, on the Nevada side of the state line, and head to a casino buffet that Lang recommended from his trucking days. As I find the buffet, there’s another guy behind me. We start joking about how difficult it was to find the food, and he invites me to join him for dinner. He’s a trucker, and also a biker, from Idaho. I mention the big beagles and Riggins. He immediately told me about the Big Iron Motel, and how they gave him a beer when he checked in. I confirmed that we had the same experience, and laughed about it. We share lots of road stories, and eventually moved to the casino bar. It was late by the time we parted.
The next morning started with the ride across the salt flats. It’s 120 miles from Wendover to Salt Lake City. There is not much in between, except for the white salt and mountains. There are signs every few miles reminding tired drivers to pull off and rest. There are many accidents here as people get bored.
What keeps me alert is the thunderstorm looming ahead. It is also moving east, and every time I get close to it, it’s time to get gas. This game of ‘follow the leader’ lasts all day. Finally, around 3pm, in eastern Wyoming, I decide to take the lead. The lightning has quieted down, so it’s mostly just heavy rain. I put on my rain goggles, and let my helmet sit on top of my ballcap (keeping the hat from blowing off). This gives me a brim over my goggles, which keeps much of the rain off of my face. The road curves gently through the mountains, so there are few chances for standing water. After a few minutes, my rain goggles fog up. That ends up being my biggest challenge, since my windshield keeps much of the rain off me. I end up pulling my goggle down on my nose, just so I see over the top of the goggle and just under the brim of the ballcap. Of course, some raindrops hit me in the face and eye, but that isn’t nearly as bad as expected. I vow next time to do this without the rain goggles and just use my regular sunglasses.
I arrive in Laramie, Wyoming, near 5pm. And old work friend, Jim, had moved to Salt Lake City (I visited him last year on the way home), and has been transferred to Laramie. Getting the tour, it is a much larger city than I had imagined (you only see a few truck stops from the highway), with a college and active downtown area. Jim takes me to the Harley dealership to show me the bike he is interested in. It is a 1996 Heritage Softail, the same as my bike. This one is in mint condition and only has 10K miles on it. We check out the blue-book value, and find that they are asking a fair price for it. I recommend that he buy it, but he is saving money for a house. For a short time, I consider buying it, and selling them my well-used bike in the process. We enjoy dinner at a local restaurant, and Jim shows me around Laramie.
I leave early in the morning. I need to make a lot of miles to get home on Saturday (my goal, so I can have a day to rest before returning to work). Just east of Cheyenne, I pass another bike, with a couple returning east from Sturgis. They keep up with me for awhile, then I pull off to get gas and they continue on. About fifty miles later, there is a bike following me that looks somewhat like them (hard to tell from in front). The keep up with me for awhile, then I stop again for gas and breakfast, and again, they continue on.
I find a small diner in town, and order some food. Another biker pulls in, and we start talking. He’s from Canada, near Toronto, and is on his way to Sturgis. After eating, he shows me the diamond-plate trailer he built for his bike. It’s pretty cool, although very heavy. I tell him about Iron Mountain Road (the first recommendation to anyone going to the Black Hills), and some of the other places to see on his visit.
I ride a few hundred miles across Nebraska on my own, and eventually stop for lunch. After I eat, I pull into a gas station, and a bike pulls in. He says to his passenger, “Look, hon! The guy with the folding chair!” (referring to my lawn chair). This is the same bike I passed outside Cheyenne. When I get off for gas, they don’t need gas. When they stop for gas, I pass them and get just ahead of them. We laugh, and make introductions, then we ride the next hundred miles or so, together. This is where they turn off to head to Wichita, Kansas, their home. I suggest finding a bar, but instead they buy a couple beers from the gas station. They are just on their way home from their first Sturgis trip, and the first vacation since they had kids. They had a great time, and were planning on returning to Sturgis again. I head back on the interstate. My goal is to hit Des Moines, Iowa, tonight, since that is just one more long day’s ride to Columbus.
I had called some work friends in Des Moines to find some ideas on fun bars to see. However, it is getting late by the time I arrive, and every motel I find is booked full of bikers returning from Sturgis. I’m well over 25 miles out of the city before I find a room in Colfax, Iowa. I grab some fast food and fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed.
The following day, I got a fairly early start, and continued east. These are very familiar roads, and from here east, it is just flat farmland. I stop in Peoria, Illinois, for gas. There’s another biker at the pump next to me. He gives directions to the closest biker bar, and I offer to buy a round, but he’s got other plans. I stop in the bar, and there are a half-dozen patrons. It was a nice stop, but I need to get back to the road. The rest of the ride is uneventful and uninteresting.
I’m always amazed when I pull onto my street. When I leave for a trip, it’s certainly a goal to return home, but there’s always a voice reminding me that I may not make it, that there are so many things that can happen along the way. It’s not a bad feeling, as I always hope to have lots of fun on a trip, at least up until the ‘whatever’ happens. It’s just a sigh of relief when I have a great trip and actually pull into my driveway. After 8,300 miles, it just surprises me.
Lang finds a job
A few weeks after returning to California, Lang is heading to San Francisco on a Thursday night, beating the weekend traffic. He gets a message about a potential job, and calls to schedule an interview. They tell him to stop by Friday morning. He wasn’t expecting this, so he only has his t-shirt and jeans, but, the job interview is with a major computer company in Silicon Valley. They tell him that if he dressed up, he wouldn’t get the job. The job, as it turns out, is almost identical to the job he lost in the Spring. He had lots of experience. It takes a few weeks for them to interview the other candidates, but they offer him to position. So, his year can be summarized as: 1) lose job, 2) ride all around the country all summer, 3) get a job. Very cool!!!