To follow along with the trip story, you can view the pictures and view the map (it may be split onto multiple pages).

A trip to say goodbye

In the Spring, I learned that a dear friend had passed away in California. I used to stay with Beast during my recent trips to the west coast, and last saw him in 2009.  Throughout his life, and declining health, he always kept a positive outlook on life. In 1999, he had lost his lower left leg in a motorcycle accident, but he did not let that slow him down. A month before his accident, he was riding up the Pacific Coast Highway and met up with an unusual looking trike. They eventually stopped for gas, and as Beast was pumping gas, he noticed the other biker rolling a wheelchair off the trike. The man explained that he had an accident, but loved riding so much that he and his friends built this custom bike, with hand controls and a ramp, so he could continue to ride. When Beast lost his leg in an accident a month later, he told himself that if this guy could ride with no legs, then he could certainly be able to ride with one.  After getting used to his prosthetic, he found that he only needed a heel-toe shifter on his bike to make it ridable.  For those unfamiliar, most bikes shift by pressing down on a lever with the left foot, and pulling it up by putting your foot underneath it. A heel-toe shifter has two levers, one in front to push down, and one in back to push down (causing the ‘up’ action). An easy fix for a considerable problem.

I became friends with Beast in 2000, and a few years later, he commented that he was so used to the prosthetic that it was just like putting on his shoe, and that it really didn’t have the devastating impact on his life that he would have expected. I learned much from his attitude and friendship.

At the annual camp-out in the Sierras, there is a traditional memorial service for those lost the previous year, and Beast had wished that his ashes to be spread at this site. I was compelled to say my farewell to my friend, and be there in support of those that remained.

There was a stop I had to make along the way to California.  I needed to return to Corvallis, Oregon, to retrieve my camping gear that I left there to make room for a passenger, Mark (otherwise known as ‘Half’, due to his small stature), in 2009. He rode with me down to California, where he had a chance to get reacquainted with Beast. It was the last time they saw each other. I am very glad that I was able to make that happen, especially in retrospect.  Half passed away in 2012, and he told friends that his fondest memory was riding on the back of my bike to California to visit Beast.

Heading west

Just a week before leaving, a coworker sent me a note telling me that he now had a motorcycle, albeit a sport bike, and that he and his wife moved to our company’s Des Moines office. We made arrangements to meet.

So, the trip plan was falling into place.  To add some ‘spice’ to the trip, I searched the Internet for unusual places to see along my route. I loaded these into the GPS, and I was off!

The first stop was in Fortville, Indiana, to see the pink elephant. Appropriately placed in front of a liquor store, the elephant statue wears glasses and drinks from a martini glass. Nice to get that out of the way BEFORE drinking, eh?

The first night on the road was in Davenport, Iowa. Next to the Mississippi River, the town is just a few hours east of Des Moines. It would make for an easy morning to meet Shawn and Stacy for brunch.

We wanted to go for a ride after lunch, but Stacy was not very comfortable leaned over on the back of her husband’s sport bike, so I offered that she could ride with me. Since I have a backrest and the seating position is upright, she accepted the offer with her husband’s blessing.

I wanted to head about 40 miles north to Ames, as there was another site I really wanted to find. Iowa State University has a botanical garden on their campus, and one of the sculptures is of a giant garden gnome. In fact, it is the largest (concrete) garden gnome in the world, standing 15 feet tall and weighing over 3,500 pounds.

As we arrived on campus, Stacy noticed several giant ants alongside the highway. We find out that these are part of an exhibit of insect sculptures, also at Reiman Gardens.  Very large, mostly wooden insects, were on display throughout the large park.  They also had a butterfly exhibit in the atrium. We had lots of fun walking around the gardens, taking pictures.

The next thing I had read on the Internet was a nearby train bridge in Boone, Iowa, that was double-stacked, so tracks allowed trains in both directions to cross over the Des Moines River.  The GPS and roadsigns led us down some gravel roads. Shawn was not used to gravel, and since we weren’t expecting this, Stacy didn’t have good riding gear. We proceeded cautiously down the road for a few miles, but when the loose gravel road started down a steep hill, I called it quits. We did manage to see a single trestle bridge, however, so it may be that the double version had been replaced. It will be another trip before I get to check this out again.

We head back towards Des Moines and say our goodbyes. It was really fun getting to show the transplants from Ohio some sites in their own new backyard.

I headed into Nebraska. Just before reaching there, I considered finding a room in Council Bluffs, but decided that it would be better to get past Omaha to avoid traffic in the morning. I was very happy I did so, as a huge storm rolled into Council Bluffs overnight. The news was showing heavy flooding there. Phew!  The heavy rains this year washed out a large section of Interstate 29, south of Omaha (I took this road in 2009).

I had planned to see a few unusual sites in the Omaha area, but a bit of research showed that they would be closed on this day of the week. Oh well.

My next destination was Laramie, Wyoming. Another coworker from the past, Jim, lives there with his family. I have visited them several times on my journeys, and it is always fun to spend an evening catching up on events. They prepare an incredible meal, and we stay up late talking about old times.

A tale of two clutches

As I leave Laramie, the highway climbs some steep mountains. I begin to notice that the clutch on the bike is slipping. While not a big problem right now, I will need to fix this before trying to get to the Sierras.  I make it through Wyoming, and make it as far as Burley, Idaho, that night.

The next morning, I find that there is a Harley dealership in Twin Falls, along my route. The dealership there offers to take a look at the bike. The mechanic informs me that the clutch is near the end of adjustment, and while he tweaked it a bit, it was a sure sign that I needed to replace it. They were too busy to fit me into their schedule, but provided contact information for a few larger dealerships further down the road.

I call ahead to Portland, Oregon, and they add e to their schedule and order a new clutch to be sent overnight. Perfect. However, when I arrive the next morning, they inform me that my service technician had the day off, and they were not aware of the order. Still, they have arrangements with a local hotel (a very nice one, in fact) for a deeply discounted room rate. With no real alternative, I get a room and begin the waiting game. While I would have loved to spend some time roaming around Portland, it was more important that I be there when the part arrived.

The following morning, the technician is back to work, and tells me to bring the bike in for service. That way they can have it torn down and ready when the clutch arrives. I extend my hotel room for another night, preferring to wait in a comfortable room rather than the waiting area at the dealership. Around 5pm I finally get a call that the bike is ready.

I walk over to the dealership and they tell me that they did not replace the clutch afterall. He says that they put it on a dyno and took it for a ride, but were unable to get the clutch to slip, and that it was probably my imagination, so they would not replace the clutch.

I know that a clutch is rather small, and that I could pack it on my bike so I could find another dealership to install it, but they refuse to sell it to me. After much back-and-forth over it, I figure that they forgot to order it two days ago, so this was all an excuse on their part.  Oh well. Maybe the clutch will last until I return to Ohio. Maybe.

Since I had paid for the room, I spend another night in Portland. Now, I’m not in the mood for site-seeing. I just want to cool my temper.

My next destination is going to be Corvallis, but there were a few things I wanted to see along the way. One, was a restored Flying Ace gas station, no longer working as a gas station, but fully restored otherwise.

The next site was a WWII bomber, which used to be a gas station but is now a landmark for a restaurant. The story goes that after the war, the military had such a surplus of bombers that they were selling them off. A man from Oregon, having been a pilot, wanted one of these, so he went to Arizona to purchase one and fly it home.  He had to take it for a test flight, but they told him that he needed a copilot. Rather than find someone, he found a dummy and sat it in the extra seat. This fooled the tower, so he was cleared for takeoff.  Once in the air, he realized that he really NEEDED a copilot to lower the landing gear. After a no-so-perfect landing, they offer to let him select another plane. With a real copilot to help, he flew back to Oregon.

The next site was a glockenspiel. What’s that, you ask? A German clocktower that has an animated display to mark certain hours of the day. There are only a few of these in America.  I arrived in Mount Angel, Oregon, just moments before the hour. While I managed to take video of the display, I neglected to get any still photos. Duh.

I also learn that nearby is the world’s largest hairball. Eh? The directions take me to an abbey, a religious site. Although it is a weekend, the parking lot is full of cars. There is a sign asking visitors to be very quiet, as there is a weekend retreat in progress. I sure hope my bike didn’t disturb them, but decide to leave. As I am riding out of the parking lot, I see a sign describing that they have the largest hairball from a pig. Okay. I am really glad I did not stop for pictures (you should be, too). It turns out that some animals get balls of hair in their stomachs, and these are thought to have religious properties (who would have thought?)

I make my way to Corvallis and spend several days visiting with Half and other friends there. It is really good to see everyone again. They are friends with another old acquaintance, Mike, who I have lost touch with. They get me his contact information and I call. He lives just outside Chico, California, and invites me to stay at their house. I pick up the camping gear that was left there in 2009, and head south to California.

The clutch has not been a problem since Twin Falls adjusted it, but just a few miles from Mike’s house, on just a slight incline, it starts to slip again. Well, there is certainly no way that it will get me up the hills in San Francisco, and certainly not up the steep climb to our campsite in the Sierras.  Mike puts me in touch with his local dealership in Chico, that he trusts with his old bike.  They get free overnight shipping for a replacement clutch that is built much better than the Harley model, and does not have springs that can wear out or break. They will have the bike ready the following day. Wonderful!

I have a pleasant visit with Mike and his partner. Mike is leaving early for the Sierras, and my bike is not yet ready. When I get the call that my bike is finally ready, his partner gives me a ride into town. The mechanic informs me that one of the springs had broken in the old clutch, which could have caused a lot of additional damage, and that I won’t have that problem with the replacement. The parts and labor cost much less than they would have in Portland, too. Yay!

In California

San Francisco is one of my favorite places to visit, and I have many friends who live there. Yogi invites me to stay at his house, as he is leaving in the morning for the camping trip, too. This works out very well.

In the morning, we ride down to San Jose to meet Lang.  It is very cold along the coast, but as we head inland, the temperatures rise quickly. We make a few stops along the way. Lang says he heard of a place where we can get lunch before heading up into the Sierras, and has the GPS coordinates loaded and ready. As we head down the highway, he makes a turn onto a small local road. It is very scenic, following a river, but very remote and very narrow. We travel for a few miles and find the lunch stop. It was an old stagecoach stop along the original road up to the Sierras. As lunch is prepared, they show us a map showing the old and new roads. The old road looks quite challenging (they warn us of this).  Although we intend on taking the challenge, we miss the turn and end up on the newer highway. Probably a good thing, as we eventually see where it meets with the old road on a very steep hill (that would have been quite a challenge on fully loaded bikes with traffic).  My new clutch works wonderfully!

We arrive at the campsite and get settled in, greeting our friends from all over California. Several of Beast’s good friends camp nearby.  It is great to meet them and share stories and laughter. So much so, that we almost miss the ceremony (but Lang has Beast’s ashes)!  It was probably for the best, as it is apparent that many people have been sharing stories for awhile, and that we arrived just a short time before the final send-off.  Beast will be missed by many, and touched many more people.

After the weekend of camping, Lang and Yogi are reluctant to head back to the big city. For one, it means going back to work, and foremost, the Labor Day Monday traffic will be miserable. They know of a nice spot with cabins, just a short ride towards Yosemite. We enjoy a wonderful meal, the hot tub, and a great night’s sleep in a real bed. A very welcome change after camping in the cold altitude.

Tuesday morning, Lang and Yogi are moaning about returning to the city. I make the decision that, since I am so close to Yosemite, that I take the day to ride around the park. I have only visited it once before, and really wanted to see more of the park. This has the side benefit that they can get home and settle in without a house guest underfoot.  After they start their ride home, I reserve the cabin for another night.

It is an absolutely beautiful day. The road follows the Merced River into Yellowstone, passing several lesser waterfalls along the meandering path. Examining a map, I decide to ride up to Glacier Point, which provides an incredible view of the entire Yosemite Valley.

I spend most of the day riding and walking around the park and the lodge. When the National Parks were formed, it was the railroad companies that constructed the ornate lodges, as a way to attract wealthy travelers to use the trains.  The Ahwahnee Hotel was certainly no exception. The huge, open areas, and tall windows, allow an incredible view of the magnificent scenery of Yosemite. Even if the weather was not fit for hiking outdoors, visitors had plenty of open space to enjoy inside.

I start my ride back to the cabin, enjoying the scenery as the sun moves low in the sky, stopping for a few pictures along the river.  I enjoy a great meal and a quiet evening before riding back to San Francisco in the morning.

Several days are spent visiting with friends in the city.  Lang invites me down to Silicone Valley for lunch where he works, then he takes me to the Museum of Computer History. As we are both geeks, this is a really fun experience. The museum is well organized with plenty of descriptions that help teach the purpose and development of each part of a modern computer. From mechanical calculators to supercomputers to cellphones, everything is presented. There are separate rooms explaining technologies such as memory, disk storage, tape storage, input devices (keyboards, punch cards, the mouse, optical devices), and many well known companies have donated their landmark advancements to the museum.

Before Lang has to go to work, he says he wants to take me shopping. Shopping? I hate to shop. Ah, but his scheme becomes clear as we turn into the parking lot of my favorite kind of store, named Just Leathers. These days, most biker leathers are cheap $99 things about as thick (and protective) as a piece of paper. But Just Leathers has real quality leather: thick enough to save your hide from the road. As I try on a jacket off the rack, the owner (and maker) comes over to show me his selection. I have all but given up looking for quality like this, so this is great! He has me describe the style of jacket I would like, the types of pockets, liner, and other features I am interested in. He has me try on his ‘measuring’ jacket, marked with lines and measurements, and has me sit on a small motorcycle. “Ah, we’ll add a little extra down the back, some length to the arms, …” Within 10 minutes, he has my order and my money for my new, custom, tailor-made jacket. Cool.  It will be mailed directly to Ohio in just a few weeks. I can hardy wait! I thank Lang for helping me spend money. He grins, knowing that I will love the jacket (he’s right)!

In the morning, we ride to his cabin near Oroville, and visit with his neighbors, whom I have met several times before. It is always good to see familiar faces when I am away from home. Lang calls one of his friends, who I met while we were camping, and lives along the route back to the highway. I am invited to spend an evening at his home in Grass Valley.

The very long ride home

In the past, I have been able to make it back to Ohio in four days, but that was really not very fun. I built some extra time into my schedule, and it came in handy.

The morning mountain ride to Reno is very cold, but I take only one extended break for gas. Crossing Nevada is mostly uneventful, but by the time I reach Battle Mountain there is a thunderstorm ahead, so I stop for the day.

Back on the road the next day, I decide to get off the interstate and follow some roads that are new to me. The Great Basin Highway stretches for over a hundred miles between towns and gas. There are mountains on both sides of this highway, but the road is flat and straight as an arrow. It would be very easy to fall asleep from the monotony, but I keep myself awake by taking pictures as I ride down the highway. I don’t see more than a dozen cars in the 120-mile stretch of highway, and there is no brush for dear or elk to hide in, so it’s about as safe as possible. Rain falls in the mountains to the sides of the highway, but I stay completely dry in the flat valley.

Finally a turn! Then a small town with several cops keeping the speed limit enforced. I turn onto US-50 and head east. This is a very different set of scenery from the Great Salt Lake on I-80, and I am grateful for that. It is still vast, empty land, but it is somehow more interesting than the interstate, with the occasional home, and one small gas station and motel far from everything.

Interstate 70 begins in Utah, and I meet it just a few miles from where it starts. There is a town with a few motels, so I pick one near a Mexican restaurant. Just as I park, an off-road motorcycle pulls into the parking lot. We talk for awhile as we wait for his friends to arrive, also on off-road bikes. We enjoy a great meal together, as we exchange trip stories. They are old military buddies, from different states, and they are taking a few weeks to travel off-road through Utah. While my path takes me on paved roads and bridges, they follow paths over rocks, around trees, and through rivers. They are covered in mud, and laugh about the spills and unexpected drops that they encountered.  It sounds like fun, but I decide that I am happy following the pavement.

The next morning, as I follow I-70 towards home, the desert changes to huge, red, mountainous terrain.  I had not anticipated this (a GPS gets you to your destination, but is lousy at telling you about the area). I stop to take several photos of the scenery, and send a few to friends back home, sharing the incredible scenery that is so different from I-70 in Ohio.

Before long I reach the exit for Moab and Arches National Park. I am on familiar roads again, and for the remainder of the trip home. Since Nevada, the mountains have been experiencing rain. Now that I am in Colorado, the road rises to meet the clouds. Near Avon, not far from Vale, the rain hits hard and the temperatures drop quickly. The sky ahead is very dark, and from what I remember of the road, I will be in mountains for several hours. I stop for the night, not getting quite as far as I had hoped for the day, but at least I can stay mostly dry.

The temperatures in the morning is not just brisk, It is cold. Very cold. I hold out for awhile to see if it gets warmer, but finally give up hope. The news shows that Denver, just a few hours ahead, received several inches of rain the prior evening. I am very glad that I did not press on.

Finally, when I give up on the hope for warmer weather, I get on the road. It climbs higher into the mountains before dropping back to a valley. After just twenty minutes I stop to warm up and buy some glove liners. They help quite a bit.

The interstate climbs even higher and I can see snow just a few hundred feet above. Great. That is just what I needed. Luckily, the road ducks into a tunnel. Emerging from the other end, the highway dips back into a valley where the temperatures are relatively warmer. There is much relief that I wasn’t going to ride in the snow.

I stop outside Golden, Colorado. There is a left-hand exit for US 6, and I know that there is a nice little biker bar at the exit. Kermit’s has been there for years. I first stopped there many years earlier. I order some food and the chance to warm up.  The highway follows Clear Creek Canyon into the town of Golden. It’s a beautiful stretch of road that curves through the mountains following a river. There is no room to build anything else in the canyon. A few small tunnels are carved through the mountains. Most of them are unlined, so you can see the natural rock.

I pass through Denver just after noon. Traffic isn’t too bad until I get near the airport, where everyone seems to want to change lanes without notice. That passes quickly.

Just an hour or so later I ride into a thick fog. It takes all of my concentration to keep the tail lights of the car that was in front of me in view. I am traveling blind, with only the GPS to tell me when the road is about to turn. Suddenly, a semi flies by me without his headlights. Holy shit. Really? The GPS leads me to an exit. Although it is just 1pm, I get a room.  Within an hour the hotel is full of travelers stuck for the night.

When I wake the next morning the fog is still thick. Some sunlight is getting through, so I have hopes that it will clear soon, but the local weather forecast expects it to last all day. It has already taken several extra days just to get one-third of the way across the country. While I still have a spare day in my schedule, I really need to buckle down and make some significant progress towards home.

I leave Limon, Colorado, in the fog, and it does not let up until 150 miles later, s I drop out of the high elevation. It is a relief to be out of the rain and fog, but there are storms following me, so I can’t slow down too much.

I have friends in Kansas City that I would enjoy seeing, but I still have several hours of daylight when I reach the city, so I continue riding. I make it to the center of Missouri before it starts getting dark. I stop at a motel next to a truck stop. There’s food available and a bar with a live band playing, so I relax and watch them for awhile. After having enough country music for one night, I head back to my room to sleep.

The home stretch

It’s raining when I wake up, but if I get started, I might get ahead of it. That doesn’t happen until I get to St. Louis. I am halfway through Illinois before I finally see the sun for the first time in days. It makes me happy. By the time I arrive home, the temperatures allow me to remove my leathers for the first time since Grass Valley, California.  It’s good to be home after a fun and eventful trip. I certainly miss Beast, but remembering the fun times makes me smile.