Tuesday July 6 West of Mt Vernon Ill to Home Sweet Home
I may have mentioned that I don't usually have a large breakfast before riding. It makes me too sluggish.
Usually a couple of granola bars or maybe a small bowl of oatmeal is enough to soak up a little coffee and get me moving.
Oh..speaking of moving. There's another reason greasy breakfasts are not on my list.
This morning, however, the budget/free wi-fi/free breakfast roadside motel placed the free breakfast part really close
to the checkout counter and I was caught in a moment of weakness by the smell of sausage gravy. Hmmm. Waffles.
Sausage patties too! Black coffee and orange juice.
Another big difference in the US and Canada are the number of rest areas on our highways. I personally inspected
each one between Mt Vernon and Louisville Kentucky.
It heated up quickly this morning. I had all of the vents in my jacket opened and even unzipped to midpoint.
The Olympia AST was at it's limit for comfort at 90 degrees. Stopped in traffic at a construction zone I quickly started
planning an alternative route that would allow me to continue moving.
I had also lost my summer riding gloves last night. After looking for quite sometime I pulled out my waterproof
winter ones and cut my losses. They were removed after lunch resulting in brown hands to match my brown face.
Even with sunscreen.
Having home in the crosshairs is quite a motivator. I can be home tonight therefore I should be home tonight.
575 miles isn't the longest day I've done but certainly the longest in this heat. I've been consuming water at every
stop, which sometimes forces the next stop, but a must do.
Illinios, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, NC...
Louisville-Lexington-Berea-Morristown-Bean Station-Greenville-Home...Home
As soon as I left Greenville Tennessee and started down the mountains to the river the temperature dropped 10-15 degrees.
Ahh. The reason we live here.
Lush green-twisty roads-burbling creeks. Home.
I took advantage of the twisties. Even with the full load, the bike was packed evenly and handled them well.
Big smile.
A new calm came over me as I turned onto Jupiter road. 2.5 miles and three turns from home. Nearly five weeks
on the road and everything has changed. I noticed our hay field mowed. New mulch. New plants have emerged
and the late spring stuff has died back.
My yard was full of family. My sister Helen and her daughters Peyton and Patterson live a little farther down our
driveway and were there.
Mom, Dad, and of course my wife Cathy and son Eli were there.
Emily was camping with friends just a mile off of the road I had traversed just a half hour ago. She thought I
was coming in tomorrow.
Seeing my family there in the yard changed my perspective on this trip. The arctic circle suddenly became the half-way
point. Not the destination. This was the destination. Here is where the real gold is. Here is where
I want to be.
As I write this Wednesday morning. The mule still sits in the garage fully loaded. I'm very tired and very
sore and don't want the chore of pulling everything off her. She did good.
I'll follow up this last day entry with an epilogue and a couple of entries detailing what I would do differently, what
I would do the same and a promised gear review of both bike stuff and camping/traveling stuff.
Hi kids. Good to see you sweetie. Gimme a big hug and kiss.
There's my heart. This must be home.
Monday July 5 Kansas City Kansas to Mount Vernon Illinois
I lay in bed for a moment this morning remembering spreading out my wet duds around the industrial strength de-humidifier
running at full tilt to counter the effects of a water-in-the-basement issue Blake and Megan dealt with the previous week.
Megan came down the hall with the newest Hodges family member Charlotte. Megan was pregnant with Charlotte when
I last saw her in Chicago three years ago. Charlotte was bright eyed and slightly shy. When she sat down to her
bowl of cereal their beagle Isabel sat at attention sure to score a dropped or directed Cheerio. Blake returned from
a run to the store for fresh coffee and eggs- fodder for a eye opening ride this morning. We talked for some time before
Oliver shuffled out to see who the new voice belonged to. He is a micro version of his grandpa Tom.
Blakes sister Abby and her then fiance were quick to meet me in their neighborhood in Manhattan when I was there on business
a couple of years back. Clay and Lydia are amazing hosts and cooks and now I"m taking advantage of another Hodges residence
for the second time in a month. I'll have to hunt down their sister Lizzy and her husband-to- be soon for balance.
They get it honestly from their folks, Tom and Gail. I think I'll call it "Hodgepitality". Ha Ha..I just snorted
a little iced tea as I said that out loud.
I packed the bike as Oliver and Charlotte pushed all of the buttons and asked questions and compared the similiar
parts on my bike with their's. I poked the coordinates into my GPS and hefted on my now dry riding gear. I bid
my goodbyes with the always open invitation to join us in Western North Carolina for some country fun. Rolling out of
the drive into the beautiful neighborhood I couldn't help but recognize all of these homes as the cover page houses from
the 1960's "100 Beautiful House Plans" magazine. You remember. The really cool ones that might have a turret or
multiple angle foryer, or a slate courtyard. Usually in color on the front of the magazine in the line at the grocery.
Quickly rolling through mostly abandoned streets (everyone off for the holiday?) I hit I35 east toward Jefferson City
choosing to abandon the faster, busier east west interstate for this slower option with the possibility of some authentic
Kansas City BBQ.
Many miles with a windless, rainless, but hot day behind me and I'm rolling through St. Louis (gotta get that arch shot)
and on to Mount Vernon where I'm within a long day shot of home.
Thanks again Blake and Megan. Oliver and Charlotte, come see me anytime. Bring your beagle too!
Night Eli and Emily Rose. See you soon. Cathy, tomorrow is not soon enough.
PS. Those of you that saw the "Mexico 23 miles" sign on my facebook profile...just kidding. That's Mexico
Missouri. I'm crazy but...well we'll leave that alone.
Sunday July 4 Mitchell SD to Kansas City Kansas
The fourth of July. A time to conciously consider our freedoms. A time to be thankful for and exercise each
one with complete and confident composure.
It's 7am. I'm going to exercise my freedom to roll over in my $40 per night bed and go back to sleep.
The effects of the heavy rains and high winds were evident two hours later as plastic motel chairs were scattered around
the pool area and large puddles remained scattered about the parking lot.
Reed's bike was gone but given the girth of the GS I don't expect that it blew away. Reed is probably near Chamberlain
SD by now with his "Santa meets ZZ Top" whiskers wrapped around his collar.
Options here. Either head east and follow the storm front that extends from Texas to Michigan with a chance of
getting in the middle and having it around me all day...or...head south and punch through it.
If I get in rain then get out what gets wet usually dries in the breeze. Getting wet and stopping that way guarantees
the riding duds are wet in the morning.
South it is.
Sioux Falls- where I have several customers and co-workers probably getting ready for a cookout and horseshoes.
Do they do horseshoes in the midwest? I'll have to ask.
Sioux City...
The low cloud cover is interuppted occasionally by my helmet. The KLR's 36" seat height ensures I sit higher than
all cars and most SUV's. It also puts me in the path of side winds not unlike riding a billboard.
Omaha. Gotta head west for a while and circle the city to see it from all angles. A couple of signs with
Warren Buffett hawking a college, hotel, or hair gell litter the landscape. When you mention Omaha in casual conversation
either Wild Kingdom or Berkshire Hathaway is sure to be the topic followed.
South Dakota, Iowa, Nebraska, Missouri in just a few hours.
Rain. Spitting but expected I push on until it becomes too strong.
I stop at a gas station to fuel up and use the phone to call my friend Blake Hodges in KC. I wanted to stop in,
say hi, and see Megan his wife, Oliver his son (haven't seen him in three years), and his daughter Charlotte whom I have never
seen. The plan was to push on into the heart of Missouri to camp later. Phone call made but line for fuel and
I headed south.
Heavy rain and the Australian gal in the GPS sent me west of St Joseph where no fuel stops exist like on the interstate
east side. Just in town an accident meant I had to stop riding for 15 minutes.
When riding, I can find a speed that sends most of the rain up and over me but stopped, even with my rain gear on, I
quickly become saturated. Luckily the temp is warm so I just get very wet.
By the time I rejoined I29 it was getting dangerous. I stopped at a truck stop, fueled up under the cover
then moved the bike over to a diesel bay that was out of service.
Asking the attendent if it was OK to sit this out for a while was greeted and answered with a "take a load off" "truckers
lounge in the back". I wandered through the american flag stickers, racks of various novelty sweatshirts, CB radio paraphernalia,
mini doses of toothpaste, shaving cream, and anti-perspirant, and a rack of dusty sunglasses to find a large screen TV and
three similar sized truck drivers leaning into an episode of CSI Miami. No one spoke or glanced up but leaned around
me as I walked by to drop my soaking gloves, coat, and helmet on a bent wood cafe table.
The storm outside was almost as loud as the TV and the muffled sound of the wind's effect on the roof was met with the
occasional glance up to the ceiling with a raised eyebrow. Still no one spoke...until the power flickered off- then
on- then off..off.
A choreographed string of swear words came in waves from all three truckers. I'm not sure if CSI Miami is still
in production but by the reaction of these burly men, it was the last episode. Ever.
The small smokey room was dimly lit by the emergency exit sign and the conversation turned to speculation about the ending.
Wyatt was a slight man with very thick glasses and a midwest accent. He brushed off the importance of the show
but kept offering potential scenarios for ending.
K.W.'s "body by Hardees" physique melted into the sole recliner with his cleanest pair of cut-off sweat pant shorts,
black socks, nameless white tennis shoes, and- with my hand on my heart- a Partridge Family tee shirt. K.W. is not his
real name but he mentioned more than a few times that his Kenilworth was THE truck for the Rocky Mountains. Or
flat lands. Or flatbeds, hogwagons, or boxes.
The other fellow, whom I will call "the mute" only said one word..."Horatio" Then only when Wyatt and K.W. were
trying to remember the red-headed guy's name on CSI to no avail. The Mute lit one cigarette with the one he was finishing
and slept between drags.
Suddenly Wyatt said "you either walked from the highway or rode on a motor cickle" The three men seemed to just
then notice that I was in the room. K.W. asked where I was from and where I was going which turned into a conversation
about the attributes of the roads I had traveled. They had hauled on them all and knew just where each deer, elk, and
moose were hiding. At least those that they hadn't already hit.
The attendant wandered back with her flashlight a couple of times. Maybe to check if we were still there...I don't
know.
About an hour after the lights went out, they flickered...on...off. Off.
We got up and lit our way back to the front of the truck stop with our cell phones. A few other travelers had taken
refuge in the store, now lit with a florescent camp lantern, and stood with their hands in their pockets lamenting about a
particular storm they had experienced with long periods of silence, and staring out at the sheets of rain only illuminated
by the headlights of the next truck to join the marooned.
K.W noticed the stash of leftover fireworks- South Carolina grade- shelved next to the door with a "sale" sign hanging
above. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think it's time for a show".
Without prompt, each of us started going through our wallets for enough money to purchase the entire lot and a couple
of bic lighters. The chain smoking late night attendant barked "keep 'em away from the pumps boys".
I watched from a distance as "The Mute" lit the first few from the protection of the awning until one went off under
it then an umbrella was empolyed to move the launch site a little farther away from Miami to the remote Cape Kennedy in the
middle of the dirt (now mud) parking lot. A fireworks stand across the interstate thought this was a challenge and began
going through their stock turn by turn.
Each barrage was met with appalause and hoots as our team didn't hesitate to light two or three of the big box multi
shot $45 retail ($20 sale) units at a time.
The explosives ran out just as the rain bled to a trickle. I called Blake to see if his offer to spend the night
was still good as I really didn't want to camp on the cafe bench in the truckers lounge. Blake said he would leave the
garage door open and to "bring it on"
Ten miles into a fourty mile trek from St. Joseph to Kansas City the rain came back with a vengance. I was already
wet and well committed to the ride so I pressed on into the most tense leg of my entire trip so far. I don't usually
ride at night. Certainly when it's raining. Certainly not on a night where drivers might be coming from a party.
I broke all of my rules at one time as I navigated the ramps, cloverleafs, and by-passes at highway speeds in a downpour trying
to avoid the super slick painted lines on the road. The Australian lady in my GPS seemed a little more serious now as
she guided me through the woven roads of Kansas City to the port of calm at Blake and Megans home.
At midnight I pulled into Blakes garage with the help of Blake and his flashlight on the curb out front. The human
body is inherently waterproof so I had that going for me.
Changing quickly into dry civies Blake and I sat in the living room and spent some time catching up. I soon retired
to the fresh sheets and pallet Blake and Megan had set up in their basement. Some log like sleeping will happen tonight.
Goodnight kids. Couple of more days baby. Love you.
Saturday July 3rd Rapid City SD to Mitchell SD
As promised I broke camp early and back-tracked to the Powersports dealership to have the new Shinko 705 rear tire installed.
As promised Keith and Jeff took me right in and began work on the tire as well as checking out the chain that I had problems
getting tight (or too tight) in the past few days. The BMW at home doesn't have those problems as it is shaft drive.
One of the many reasons the GS guys have me stuttering to justify a chain. It's tough to get it just right by yourself
on the road.
The guys at Powersports in Rapid City knocked out the service in no time flat. We talked about my trip so far as
they remembered me stopping by to get a recharge kit for my air filter on the way up. Thanks again guys!
Because of the carb problems I had in Western SD on the up trip, I had only had a glancing blow in the Badlands.
I intended today to scrub in the new tire with the full tour.
I hit 44 on the way in and saw a small dirt road to the left. On the topo map this road wound for 20 miles or so
into the heart of the Badlands. Not a problem. Problem. The road was covered with 3-4 inches of fresh pea
gravel. It was more like skiing than riding. 20 mph for the entire ride. The heavy top load on the pacmule
was very evident for this part of the trip. Soon the road dropped into the park and while this section was still unpaved,
it was more heavily traveled and navigable tracks were an option. The Badlands are much like the surface of a foreign
planet. Pictures won't do it justice but you can see some in the pic link to the left. Erosion has exposed layers
of sediment and the effects of deposition have opened up the most concentrated fossil bed in the US. Of course taking
any fossils or rocks from the park is a big no-no. My plan to ride through and see the park in a couple of hours were
sidelined by my inability to pass a photo op or ignore a trail head. I walked several 1-2 miles trails in riding boots
and pants causing my feet to demand notice this evening.
I didn't exit the park until nearly 2pm. Praire dogs were everywhere and would do a little dance and squeal to
communicate. Another would pop up and do the same little dance. Like whack-a-mole it was near impossible to catch
them in action with a camera.
A bighorn sheep and her offspring (kid?) lounged on a rock almost out of sight. A family took some time to point
them out to me. "see the small green bush...three o'clock and just up there" No sorry..." See the V in the
mountain? Go down just a little then over that far" Sorry, I really am but I don't see them. " Ok...look
at the three bushes and the white place on the hill...then go down and to the right" Bless their patience. I finally
saw them blended into the infinite color of the rock strata. They were moving from Illinois to southern California and
this trip took them through some nice places.
Three ladies on three bikes (Harley, Suzuki, and BMW) were parked at an overlook and we took turns snapping shots with
each others cameras. (forgive me for not remembering names, did I know?) They were members of "Motor Maids" a female
riding club founded in 1948. The were on their way from Nashville to Wyoming for a rally. Looked like they were
having a ball.
More miles slabbed on I90 east with little wind and no rain. I caught up with a Concours rider, Randy, at
the exit to the park and we hop-scotched all the way to Mitchell where he was staying the night on his way to points north
to visit a friend. I stopped in Mitchell to find the nearest state campsite near Sioux Falls but none were close.
All of the private sites are filled due to the July 4 weekend. I really wanted to push on at least that far but even
the motels were full or wanted premium prices for the privilage.
A chance call to the Siesta Motel back up the road a mile scored a room for $40 with wi/fi and a microwave. My
last can of Chef-boyardee noodles and meat balls were the fare of the evening.
Concidently, a BMW GS1150 was parked next to my room and it was bestickered with Team Pterodactyl logos. Team Pterodactyl
was a club started by Griz from Spearfish, where I spend time yesterday. Griz mentioned a friend from east was on his
way in and it was here I bumped into Reed. Reed is from the Detroit area, a large soft spoken fellow with a straight
white beard that is a lighting expert for live theater in the area. Summers are the off season so he
gets time out for good behavior. He is meeting Griz and another "dactyl" coming in a few days behind me from Dawson
at Griz's pad before continuing on to the BMW MOA rally in Redmon Washington. I could have sat in the plastic chairs
in front of the motel for hours talking to Reed but hunger pangs and the need for a shower moved me to demarcate the conversation
with wishes for a safe ride tomorrow.
Reed covered his bike and mentioned some weather might be coming in but I decided to leave mine uncovered...until the
marquee scrolled across the tv screen that a front was moving through with damaging winds, hail and flood warnings.
I covered my bike too. An hour later the 4th of July started early with heavy lightning, powerful winds and sheets of
rain. Man I'm glad I'm not in a tent somewhere in the middle of a praire tonight. I'm not sure if a tornado can
tell the difference between RV's and mobile homes.
Good night Emily and Eli (thanks Eli for taking care of the sound system this week)(great job on the grades too!)
Night baby. I'm officially one time zone away from you now. See you soon.
