As for my tardiness in getting this thing out, I'd like to offer my sincere apologies. I must say, I'm both flattered and embarrassed when it comes to this blog.
--Flattered because of how many of you are reading it... I think I had an idea, but I certainly didn't realize how committed to it you all were.
--Embarrassed because it appears I've been slackin' off in getting it updated!
One definitely lends itself to the other too, because ya'll let me HAVE it for not getting it updated! And rightfully so! Regardless, I have an excuse... Or at least, I think I do.
Not having a real plan when we started this thing certainly lent itself to the excitement of the trip. In reality, all we had was a goal at the end of each day... A checkpoint, if you will. We knew we had to make certain areas of the country in order to stay on track for completing the ride in the allotted time, but there was no plan. Generally speaking, each day began with a bit of a headache (shocker), a hearty breakfast, and a quick conversation. The conversation would go something like this:
"So, where we headed?"
"East."
"OK. Who's in the lead?"
"You are."
"OK. Which way is East?"
"It's that way."
"OK. Is it time for a beer yet? Aww screw it... Better get goin'. We'll get a beer at the next gas stop!"
...And off we'd go...
Heading out of Lompoc, California on day one (for Tuna and I, anyway) set the standard that would remain with us through the entire trip. It was sunny, warm, and dry. Miraculously, we rode the entire country never having even thought about donning a rain suit. In fact, Rigid and Overtime were on the road for 29 days and never ONCE put on their rain suits! That is unbelievably good fortune!!
Below is my recollection of each day's ride, sequentially of course, from California to Washington DC.
Lompoc, CA to the Joshua Tree National Forest, CA
We rode South out of Lompoc down the Pacific Coast highway for a time before jumping off the 101 onto Route 150 and the scenic roads around Lake Casitas. After an amazing ride down 150's twistys however, it occurred to us that it was Friday at noon and soon enough we would be running right smack into the middle of Los Angeles rush hour if we didn't start haul'n ass. And so we did! The group had a couple of near misses in so far as somehow being able to avoid the heavier traffic in the LA area, and by the time we reached San Bernadino we were moving along at a pretty good clip.
Perhaps one of the more entertaining events of the afternoon were the two other bikers we saw... As the four of us were riding steady around 75 MPH, we suddenly heard this roar come blasting over our left shoulders! There were two of them and they belonged to a club which will remain unnamed. To their credit, these dudes could ride. They had to have been somewhere in the neighborhood of 95 MPH when they blew by us, and they were swerving and weaving in perfect unison as they blew through. As for us, nothing changed. It was a spectacle and nothing more. The two rode out of sight, and we just kept our current speed and direction.
15 minutes later, still locked in at 75, we came upon the two bikers on the side of the road, apparently making friends. For behind them were three California Highway Patrol cars, lights flashing. As we drew closer to the scene, we could see all three cops walking up to the bikers with their hands on their sidearms. It was going to be a long day for those guys I think...
On our way into the Joshua Tree National Forest we came through a high wind area; a resource which the great state of California would not let go to waste. We rode through miles of windmill farms, and these things are HUGE! Even somewhat intimidating! Feeling like a bunch of modern day Don Quixote's, we pressed on into the California high desert. The Joshua Tree National Forest was just around the bend and cold beers were calling out to us... At some point, Overtime wound up in the lead and managed to miss the off ramp we needed in order to make our destination. However, we did not... Myself, Rigid, and Tuna took the ramp and watched Scotty ride off into the distance... After about 10 minutes, he came shooting down the road, we hopped on our scoots, and were off again.
Following a quick gas stop and a restock of beer and ice (we'd be needing it at camp that night), we kept our heading into the high desert... Though interestingly enough, we must have changed altitudes far more quickly than we'd thought. Suddenly the bikes were sluggish and slow and struggled to climb up the mountain roads. It seemed strange at first, but all 4 bikes being fuel injected helped because eventually they self adjusted and we were back and cookin' again. When we reached the Joshua Tree Saloon, there was a great sense of achievement, at least for Tuna and I, and some much needed shade. Despite stopping several times for fuel and rest, and reapplying SPF 30 on our arms and faces, we STILL got sunburned! Regardless, the joint was air conditioned and the beers were cold... Moreover however, the characters in this bar were unique to say the least...
The bartender, whom we would call 'Hurricane' (I believe her real name was Camille) was as welcoming as Sam (Ted Danson) from "Cheers"... In fact, it seems everybody in the bar wanted to spend a minute or two talking to the mysterious biker element that just blew in, and they all had a story to tell... How they got there, why they remained... It was quite a place.
We left out of the JT Saloon about an hour before sundown so we could make camp before dark. The campsite for the night was up the road about 10 miles, just between Joshua Tree and 29 Palms. The grounds were incredible in terms of the landscape, and the night's sky was cloudless and only a day away from a full moon... No lantern or campfire needed, the moonlight lit the area like a streetlamp. Day 1+ was more than I could have ever imagined, and we were just getting started...
Joshua Tree National Forest, CA to the Grand Canyon, AZ
Day 2+ started early. As many of you know, when you're camping, if the sun comes up, you're pretty much up, too. My tent, which, was completely rigged; tied off between my bike and some shrub because the ground was too hard to drive stakes, started collapsing in on me and it was time to escape. As I started coming out of this thing, Rigid, Overtime, and Nelson were hysterical laughing at the sight... First one arm, then the other, then my head... I looked as though I was being birthed by some gigantic insect. Disturbing for me... Hilarious for my compatriots.
After the drama of escaping the tent, we went about packing our things, loading up the bikes, and setting out for a bite to eat. No sooner had we fired up, with Rigid as the lead bike, Scotty and I came around the corner to find Rigid hanging on to that monstrous Road Glide for dear life! He'd hit a pocket of deep sand, the front wheel went in, and he was down, though managing to keep the bike from completely laying on its side... I jumped off my bike and went running over to help him pick up the Road Glide while Tuna, who was riding behind me and couldn't quite see due to the angle, only saw me running toward something and had no idea WHAT to think! We got Rigid up off the ground and thankfully there was no damage to his scooter. Once again, we were off.
It couldn't have been 7:15 AM when we were leaving the park (maybe 7:30) and it was already 80 degrees! In the bar the night before, we saw the weather reports on the television for the Southwest region, and some parts of the low desert were going to reach 110 to 112 degrees! No choice.... We were riding through it...
On the way out of the JTNF we stopped at a small diner in 29 Palms, had breakfast, came out an hour later, and it was 90+ degrees... It was time to ride, heat or no, and anybody with a Harley-Davidson knows, the only way to keep 'em cool is to keep air going through them. This wouldn't be a problem as we would encounter nothing that would even resemble traffic... We rode approximately 150 miles down a perfectly paved two lane road which cut through absolutely nothing. I could count on one hand the number of cars we saw during this time, and not a single biker... I mean, it was desolate... Still though, there's a remarkable beauty to the landscape in the high desert and as far as I was concerned, and I was having the time of my life...
At one point while riding out Highway 62 through this lifeless place, it seems out of nowhere there was a series of fence posts along the side of the road with what appeared to be laundry lines between them. Hanging on the laundry lines were dozens of shoes! At first site you think, "Ha! Look at that!"... And then you think, "Damn! We're in the MIDDLE of the desert! What happened to all the people that owned those shoes?!", and you find yourself just riding faster! It was something to see anyhow. Definitely interesting.
We finally coasted into the next gas station, just over 150 miles between fill ups, and mine and Tuna's bikes were on fumes... Opting to figure out where in the hell we were, we took a quick break and determined that we were in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Suddenly I started thinking about every horror movie I'd ever seen. The people tending this service station were an interesting brood, and there was a big white trailer out back. I was trying to decide if the kids that kept meandering in and out of it were in there cooking methamphetamines, or actually disposing of the bodies whom all those shoes belonged to about 20 miles back. An unsettling thought to say the least. We press on...
Still jamming through the middle of the desert, we pretty much kept the hammer down and breezed on through to the next town... Still more of the same, a whole bunch-a nothin'... But again, something about that vast space made it spectacular in its own right. Suddenly, we came around a turn and there in front of us was some of the deepest, bluest water we'd ever seen! An oasis in the desert? Sorta... It was the Colorado River just South of Parker Dam and Lake Havasu!
The temperature around this time was 103 degrees and no amount of rushing air was going to cool us or the bikes. We made a brief stop in a local convenience store with a single gas pump that backed right up to the Colorado River, bought a new cooler to strap on my bike, filled it with beer and ice (priorities people), and were about ready to take off down the road when the attendant told us of a spot about a mile and a half down where we could park the bikes and sit by the river. This was as good a time as any for a cold beer, so off we went.
No sooner had we pulled in to this quaint picnic area, we were greeted by a very kind, if not intriguing, gentleman who was retrieving something from his car. He was shirtless with shaggy blond hair, probably in his late 30's. He introduced himself as 'Christian' and was kind enough to offer us all cold beers. We declined, but only because we had our own. We spotted a nice picnic bench under a shaded tree just next to the river and started toward it. If you're a boater, you couldn't ask for anything more... There were boats running everywhere... Hot day, cool water, great landscape.. This was quite a place. Still, despite the boaters being everywhere, I made an executive decision... It's time to get wet! Something about being that close to the Colorado River and not experiencing it wasn't sitting well with me so, naturally (pardon the pun), I stripped down to my skivvies and dove in! It didn't take long for the rest of the crew to follow me in, either. However, Scotty was hesitant... Sitting on the picnic bench enjoying his beer, he eventually gave in to the incessant chiding from the three of us, shed his jeans, and jumped in... Though as soon as he hit the water, we all knew something was hilariously wrong! Scotty came up from the water frantically feeling around for his drawers!! Christian and his girlfriend, Rose, were hysterical laughing, as were we! Ultimately, Scotty regained his shorts and came out of the river, if nothing else, refreshed...
We sat at the picnic table a while longer and dried off, during which time Christian's brother, whose name I didn't get, came by and asked us if we "burn", offering a joint to smoke. We passed... As he was walking away, I noticed the very large 'USMC' tattoo across the top of his back. Rigid looked at me and said, "I think he's put all that behind him, don't you?" We laughed, got up, and made our way toward the bikes.
It was here that we encountered our first snag of the ride... Rigid picked up his Road Glide and realized that his kickstand was hanging limp under the bike. Nothing major, the spring had only popped off the stand, but it was a three man job in a sand parking lot. Tuna had to hold the bike at an angle most humans wouldn't have been able to sustain, Rigid moved the stand in place, and I grabbed a set of pliers from my bag to stretch that bastard back into place. 5 minute repair... Good team work... We were back on the road headed to Havasu City.
There was one other problem that needed addressing before we could head to the Grand Canyon for our final stop... Both Tuna and I were unprepared as far as long sleeve shirts were concerned, and from the ride the day before, our arms were burned bad and couldn't take much more sun. Being far to hot for leather, I was stuck wearing a long-john style long sleeve shirt, and Tuna was wearing a black moch-turtleneck tee. We were burning up and needed to make some quick adjustments. Time to head to Wal-Mart, or "Wally World" as Overtime calls it. We found the store no problem, but then another problem existed... We were in Arizona, and they didn't exactly have a large selection of long sleeve shirts available... Finally we found a $3.00 sale rack with sportsman / boating shirts, and only a few. Fortunately they had a 2X and a 3X... One in olive green and one in khaki. Perfect! We outfitted in the parking lot, fired up, and headed toward the Grand Canyon.
The ride to the Grand Canyon from Havasu was maybe another 150 miles... An easy ride... And mercifully, as we climbed in elevation the temperature fell sharply, which was quite nice. We ruled out camping because of a threat of rain and high winds, so we rode straight into town just outside the South rim entrance for the Grand Canyon park and quickly learned that there were no hotels with any vacancy... The closest one we would find was 20 miles back the other way. Not the end of the world, just part of the journey I suppose. We got a couple of rooms, grabbed some dinner, and closed the night with a few beers. The next day we would tour one of the Seven Wonders of the World via motorcycle. A tour we were all excited to make.
Grand Canyon, AZ to Middle-of-Nowhere, NM
DAY 3+ started out with the realization that we'd been "trick fucked" (not my words) by either lousy meteorologists or the biker Gods, because it never rained a drop through the night and it certainly wasn't windy... We could'a camped... No matter. After riding motorcycles through 100 degree heat for two days, we were all due for a shower anyhow.
The crew gathered up and headed back toward the park entrance in search of a diner for a bite to eat before beginning our tour. The weather on this day couldn't have been better... Air temp was probably 75 degrees, sun was shining, winds were calm... Perfect for the type of day we would have.
As we entered the park we saw two mule deer just standing next to the road; welcoming committee... The first stop wasn't a 1/2 mile in, and we were immediately struck by the magnificence of this place... If you've never been, go. It looks as though you're standing in the Heavens looking down into another world. As soon as we approached the edge to look over, we all noticed a huge Eagle soaring beneath us, gliding on the updrafts from the canyon. Tuna tried like hell to get a picture but was unsuccessful. In all there were 6 or 7 look out points to see and we hit 'em all. Though it dawned on us at some point that we were definitely taking our sweet time, and before we knew it, it was after 12:00 PM and we had some miles to ride to get to Santa Fe... Or at least we THOUGHT we'd make Santa Fe!
We chose our route and started heading toward the interstate. If I had to guess, I'd say the ride down from the Grand Canyon to I-40 was probably 30 miles at a descending elevation of about 3500 feet. That ride by itself was one of the most scenic we'd seen. I remember that, as soon as we hit the interstate, my iPod started playing AC/DC's "Hells Bells". Fitting I think considering we were rumbling into the Arizona desert. As the lead bike, the music overtook me and I decided right then and there we would "make up some time" and I pinned the throttle between 90 and 95 MPH to set the pace. The speed limits on I-40 in this part of the country were already 75 MPH, so why not?
We blazed down the highway... In all we maintained this speed for about 120 miles. At one point, and again as the lead bike, I noticed a tumbleweed, probably about 3 feet tall, blowing across the highway several hundred yards ahead of me. I never let up as I watched the tumbleweed clear our path, when suddenly a gust of wind caught it from the other direction and blew it right back in front of me... I hit it SQUARE. I'll tell you, I never thought of what might happen if I hit a tumbleweed with a motorcycle at 90+ MPH... I mean, who would? But when I hit that thing, it flat out vaporized! The guys in the back said it looked like a small explosion of hay, and the next thing they new they were eating pieces of it coming through my draft!! It was amusing to say the least.
At the next gas stop, Rigid walked over to me and said, "What are your intentions?" I replied that I was simply trying to make up time, to which he said, "Well, when we're running at 95 MPH we're burning more gas which means frequent fuel stops which means we gain nothing. I was really hoping you were going to tell me we were riding that speed because it was fun..." Well, it was fun too!!
It was at this gas stop however, that we determined there was no way to make Santa Fe before night fall. Not that we minded riding at night, but cold beer seemed so much more appealing than riding through scenery we couldn't see, so we decided to cross the New Mexico state line and camp at a local KOA campground in Gallup, NM. Once there, the order of the day was to get beer and ice, set up camp, and drink said beer until we passed out. Not so much. Turns out Gallup is a dry town on Sundays by order of the local yahoo Mayor. This would not do. The gas station attendant, some 18 year old kid, said the next town was 10 miles down, and the Mayor of that town was far more understanding of our needs. Off we went... Only now we decided to stay on Historic 66 as it and I-40 run parallel. Well, 10 miles turned to 20, 20 turned to 30, 30 to 40, 40 to 50... 55 miles later (Thanks ya little bastard gas station attendent- Trick fucked again) we came across a "tel" just next to a truck stop.
This "tel", short for Hotel because the sign was in such disrepair, was a real gem. One story, gravel parking lot, smoking rooms on one end of an 'L' shaped building, non-smoking on the other end. We checked in, dropped our gear, and headed out to grab some grub at a $9.00 all you can eat truck stop called the 'Iron Skillet'. Immediately following the feast, we grabbed a ton of beer and ice, went back to the tel's parking lot, and started to imbibe. It was about this time we noticed the train... In fact, the "tel" was about 75 yards away from the tracks, and what's more, an intersection. If you know anything about trains, then you know they're required to sound their horn each and every time they approach an intersection... Well... Those trains came every 15 minutes like clockwork through the entire night! Full speed, roaring down the tracks and sounding that horn as instructed. Nobody would sleep on this night... At least not soundly. Regardless, that experience was as memorable as any other and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Though it's much easier to say that now than it was then...
Middle-of-Nowhere, NM to Colorado Springs, CO
It was another early morning setting out on Day 4+ as the train gently woke us all from our slumber. Today we would make our way through Albuquerque and on through Santa Fe on our way into the mighty Rocky Mountains. We stopped and had breakfast at the "Iron Skillet" once again and determined a route. We would run I-40 to I-25 where we would pick up Route 285 through the New Mexico desert.
On our way through Santa Fe I remembered that I needed a few bolts for my sissy bar as somehow or another I'd lost a few along the way, so we stopped at the local Harley dealership to get the goods. While there the whole crew kinda split up and started meandering about the premises checking out the scoots... I picked up a conversation with an old Marine, had to have been close to 70 years old, who was waiting on repairs to his Ultra Classic he'd run off the road two days prior. Said he missed a turn and went into a burm at about 30 MPH. Ouch. Said his ribs hurt, but no other injuries. Tough old bastard. He then went on to tell me he was riding with a group, and that they'd elected to press on to Washington DC while he awaited his repairs... He said he didn't think he'd have any trouble catching up with them so long as he could take off that day. I asked where they were.... He said Memphis. I looked puzzled, and I know I did... He said to me, "No, no... I can catch up with them on the road... I'll just run I-40 at about a 100 MPH or so, should have 'em in my sites in 2 days." Semper-Fi indeed.
After the repairs were made we headed into a suburb of Santa Fe, though not on purpose. Regardless, while there we saw this old trading post, full of Navajo goods and relics, so we decided to stop. The two men running the store were a collective 175 years old, give or take a year, and the history of the store was even more impressive... It was his Daddy's store and it had been in the family since the days of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. And here we were having a conversation with a couple of guys who may have well known those men! We made a few purchases, bid the men farewell, and headed up 285 North toward Colorado.
We'd ridden about 50 miles on my tank when I noticed a gas station and thought to myself, "there'll be other gas stops soon enough... We'll keep going." WRONG. Tuna and I run Harley-Davidson Softails with 4 gallon tanks while Rigid and Overtime run tour bikes with 5 and 6 gallon tanks. For them, 200 miles on a tank of gas ain't no big thing... For us, it's an impossibility. At about mile 160, Tuna and I were sweating it, and we were right smack dab in the middle of where Jesus left his sandals. There was absolutely nothing in any direction. We looked behind us to realize Overtime and Rigid were nowhere to be seen... Turns out, they were putting down the road laughing their ever-loving asses off at the prospect of the prospects running out of gas. Tuna and I stopped to try and figure out our next move. Even if it meant murdering our two jackyl companions and living off their remains in order to survive in this damned desert. When the wise guys eventually caught up, we decided this was as good a place as any to have a beer, and so we did. While enjoying our fine adult beverage, Rigid and Overtime started taking bets as to who would run out of gas first, me or Tuna. And if that bet didn't stick in the event we actually made the gas station, the next bet was for who would take on more gas... So happy we were able to amuse them...
In fact we did make the next gas stop, though barely. My FatBoy was chug'n and weez'n on fumes as we pulled into stop in a little town called Antonito in Colorado just over the state line. Remember I mentioned we have 4 gallon tanks? My bike took 4.3 gallons of gas. Guess I burned all the fuel out of the lines, too! Tuna's bike took 4.1 and change... Rigid, betting on me, won a 6 pack from Overtime.
From Antonito our course changed due East down highway 160 towards I-25. Here we would have to pass through the beautiful snow capped mountains we'd been seeing in the distance for the last 200 miles, and the ride was more than any of us could have imagined. According to Uncle Dave, whose home was our day's destination, it was Colorado's first 70+ degree day since September '07. The mountains were not only snow capped, they were covered in snow even into some of the lower elevations. It was mail-order motorcycling. Huge sweeping turns on a 4 lane highway generally used by logging trucks and not much more. We were encased by the towering snowy peaks as we moved through the mountains in the warm dry air. Unbelievable...
When we reached I-25 and started heading North to Colorado Springs, we all put to bed any notion that Colorado was corner to corner scenic mountain terrain. In fact, East Colorado is as flat as anyplace I've ever seen. What's remarkable however, is the mountains that do cover the vast majority of the Colorado landscape come jutting out of the Earth in a straight line. It's either perfectly flat or humongous jagged rock walls stretching into the Heavens... There's no in-between.
The ride North was uneventful and also scenic in its own right. In the distance both North and East, the area was surrounded by storms... To the East we had heavy rain and to the North we saw a spectacle of lightning strikes as if directed by a philharmonic composer. We all thought the same thing... "Hang on! Here it comes!" Still, nothing... Smooth sailing right up to Colorado Springs. No rain!
Once in the Colorado Springs we stopped off in a big corporate Italian restaurant to fatten up before showing up at Grandpa Carl and Uncle Dave's place. The ride to the house was an interesting one as apparently, somebody named 'Hancock' was quite popular in Colorado Springs. We encountered one stretch of road where we must have seen 7 different Hancock Streets and of course, the directions we were following were to head down Hancock Street. This went on for about 45 minutes before finally figuring it all out. We arrived at the Kindsfater's around 10:00 PM. Grandpa Carl was already in bed, but not Uncle Dave! Cold beers on ice in the back, boys... Have at it!
Soon after our arrival, we heard another Harley come rumbling up. It was Scotty's nephew, Justin Daubert. Justin, who's active duty and stationed in Kansas, determined the next few days at work would be slow... No real need to be there... Better fire up and meet up with Uncle Scotty on the road... So quite literally on a whim, Justin called Uncle Dave, didn't get him on the phone but got the answering machine, and havening never met or even spoken before, left a message saying he was coming and he sure as hell hoped he had the right number! Well, he had the right number... Dave conveyed the message to me that Justin was coming later that day and sure enough, he made it. Another good days ride, though the longest yet, and the crew was tired. From that point on it wasn't getting any easier...
Colorado Springs, CO to Leavenworth, KS
Day 5+ would be a long one. Thankfully, Uncle Dave and Grandpa Carl were gracious enough to put up five bikers for a good nights rest. So graceful in fact, Dave insisted we take all the beds as he slept on the couch. And that rest would come in handy, because on the day, we would ride 605 miles from Colorado Springs to Leavenworth. It's not necessarily that it's such a long stretch, 'cuz it's not. But when you're riding a number of days on end, a stretch like that, especially through the Heartland, can seem endless.
The ride out of Colorado was a bit more eventful than any of us would have liked. Not that anything out of the ordinary happened, but those famed winds Overtime had been talking about caught up with us, and as we headed East out of Colorado we were met with 40 MPH wind gusts blasting us from the South. We spent several hours fighting our bikes just to keep 'em upright. At one point, my FatBoy, which boasts solid front and rear wheels, was picked up like a wind sail and moved about 2 feet into oncoming traffic. Thankfully there was no oncoming traffic, but had there been, that situation could have turned dodgy on me in a hurry.
After fighting our way out of Colorado, Western Kansas was relatively calm. In fact, from the Kansas state line we just hummed along through the flatlands putting miles between us and the West for about 4 hours. As we made the Central part of the state however, the scenery changed dramatically and in fact, Kansas was quite a nice ride. Around Manhattan, KS the landscape turned into huge rolling green hills with nary a tree in sight. The grasses on the hills seemed to sway like the sea, and though we were moving at a pretty good clip, the flow of it all became somewhat tranquil.
Probably one of the more memorable stops of the day would be a gas stop surrounded by fertile fields and nothing but crops... The service station we would hit was a little Mom and Pop joint just off I-70 around Hays, KS. There was a large hand-written sign hanging in the window that read, "This store is protected by a 12 gauge shotgun 3 days a week. You guess which 3 days." Ahh Heartland justice. As it should be. We got a good chuckle and a nice rest before firing back up. A needed break in the monotony.
As we neared Kansas City and Leavenworth, traffic started to pick up and the thought of getting out of the saddle became genuinely appealing. Ultimately we spent about 11 hours on the bikes, and the stops weren't nearly as lazy as the previous days rides. We finally reached our destination, Scotty's in-law's place, the home of Greg and Kelly. Greg, being a rider himself, and Kelly, yet another understanding and extraordinarily tolerant significant other, put cold beers in our hands as we pulled the scoots into the garage. They laid out a spread that would make Kings blush. Steaks, potatoes, veggies, and strawberry shortcake for desert. Well fed and a few beers in, I took a quick shower and hit the rack... Out cold. The crew woke up the next day, well rested and ready for another 500+ mile run to Louisville, KY. After a stop for breakfast at a cool old train depot turned diner, we were off and runnin' once again.
Leavenworth, KS to Louisville, KY
Leaving Leavenworth started out with looming clouds and a chance for rain. As a sprinkle or two hit our windshields we all wondered for about 2 minutes whether or not we would need to suit up when, as our good fortune would have it, we pulled out of the clouds into another day of spectacular sunny skies. Getting through Kansas City wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, having just missed rush hour thanks to our breakfast stop. We buzzed on through Missouri, about 280 miles, when we made a stop just outside of St Louis for fuel. About this time, we would discover another precarious development involving one of the bikes. Namely, mine.
As we stood in the parking lot of the gas station, I just happened to look down at my rear tire. I stood staring at it for a moment and thought to myself, "Shit, that can't be good." After getting a second, third, and fourth opinion, coupled with a ton of somewhat nervous laughter, the crew surmised there ain't no way I'm making it to Northern Virginia on that thing. Hell, I'd be lucky to make Louisville! My tire was damn near bald with just a smidge of tread still showing. I called my Sister in Louisville and asked her to call her local Harley dealership to see how early I might get the bike in for a pit-stop the next day. She obliged and the guys at the shop told her that travelers take priority when on the road. Biker Law, as it were, saved my ass... But not before a wild ride to Louisville.
Leaving out of the service station was perhaps the worst part of the entire ride. Not because of my rear tire, mind you. I elected to simply block that out figuring if I had a blow out I'd deal with it, but otherwise we're pressing on. No, it wasn't the tire. It was St Louis.
Now, I mean no disrespect to any of the fine folks that live in that town, let me make that clear. But I've never in my life experienced poorer road conditions than we did in ole' St Lou. Those roads were the pits. And worse, the drivers, at least the ones we had to deal with, can only be explained as "assholes". We white-knuckled it through the entire experience. The highways all detoured onto more poorly paved roads with no off ramps and tiny shoulders. What should have been a straight shot through St Louis on the interstate had us ducking, dodging, bobbing, and weaving around cars, potholes, below average drivers, and a constant need to read signs plastered everywhere while maneuvering through it all. Once again, I was the lead bike, a position I'd grown accustomed to at this point, and as such the crew behind me were heavily relying upon my hand signals... Left turn, right turn, slow down, pass, speed up, tighten up, loosen up... It was a show. I may as well never even put my left hand on the handlebar for each time I would, it seemed I would have to signal for a new predicament.
Having come through St Louis with only a few years off my life, we hit open interstate and hauled ass. I wanted to get us as far away from that mess as possible. Thankfully, we wouldn't incur another road drama for quite some time... That is until...
As we neared Louisville, now on I-64, we came to a point where we hit stop-dead traffic as a result of both road construction and rush hour. What's more though, directly in front of us was a guy in a white box truck weaving wildly side to side through the middle of both lanes! Now, I said it was stop dead traffic... And for the most part it was... We were feathering our clutches in and out of 1st gear doing no more than 5 MPH, but again, the guy in the box truck would not let ANYBODY get past him! Tuna and I were the front two bikes, and we were getting fed up in a hurry. The discussion to yank the guy out of the truck and pummel him road side came up more than once. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. Rigid pulled along side both of us and let us know he was going to ask the crazy bastard what was up. If that failed, he'd let us at him.
As it turned out, the guy was pissed at a couple of drivers behind him for some stunt they pulled a little further back, and figured his revenge would be to make them all miserable. You had to hand it to him, he was doing a fine job. He let us know he had no beef with us and gave us "permission" to pass. Still though, we had nowhere to go so we just putted along side of him. Then, as we inched near an off ramp to God-knows-where Indiana, he rolled his window down and said to me, "Hey! Ya'll wanna get out of this mess?" I nervously nodded while "Dueling Banjos" played in my head, and he said, "get behind me, I'll get ya'll to Louisville!", and with that, he shot off up the ramp! We all clicked into gear and jumped on his tail figuring we had nothing to lose ('xept our virginity), and away we went!
We found ourselves moving through some really nice twisty curvy roads just keeping pace with the crazy man in the box truck when, seemingly out of nowhere, we crested a tall ridge that dropped off significantly to the left with an absolutely picturesque view of the City of Louisville. The son-of-a-bitch did it! He waved us onto the next off ramp to I-64, blew his horn, waived, and he was gone. We completely bi-passed all the traffic and moved pretty nimbly into Louisville.
Not knowing exactly where Tracy (my sister) lived, we elected to pull off at an off ramp in relative proximity to where we were told to be. I called my Brother to have him come and take us in the rest of the way. While on the side of the road I thought I should once again have a look at that rear tire... Yeah... It was as smooth as a baby's butt... I then thought back to our ride through Illinois and remembered the strange sensation of my back end sliding back and forth about 6 to 8 inches at speed and figuring it was just the grooves in the road... No... My tire was basically floating on a thin layer of air with no treads to allow for traction. Good thing I wasn't thinking it was the tire swaying my ass in the breeze because we'd probably still be on the road today. I would have slowed that puppy down to about 30 MPH had I known the very real danger of wiping out at 80 MPH... Not my finest moment. Never the less, we made Tracy's without incident.
Once there, we were greeted by my Dad, who drove down from Chicago that day, my Brother, Billy, his wife, Ellie, and of course my sister Tracy and her hump-happy Bulldog, Suds. Not surprisingly, Tracy had gone all out in anticipation of our arrival and once again, there were thick steaks, grilled potatoes, and plenty of beer on hand. Save for my Mom, the four of us make up our entire immediate family, and it's a rare happening for us to all be in the same place at the same time. Not willing to let the opportunity go to waste, we made a party out of it. As overwhelming as the Yerkes family can be, Rigid, Scotty, and Tuna seemed right at home and truthfully, it was as much fun as any night we'd had since we started this trip. At least I thought it was.
At some point during the trip we all started noticing how much Rigid looked like Charles Manson with his wind whipped long hair and goatee. So much in fact that we pulled an image of Manson up online and took a picture of Rigid to compare. Well somebody better check that lunatics cell... He may well be missing, posing as a biker in West North Carolina. After some convincing and a great many beers and bourbon shots, a mascara pencil found its way into Tracy's hand, and she was drawing a swastika on Rigids forehead... It was a damn near perfect likeness. My poor sister-in-law, Ellie, probably still hasn't slept.
Later in the evening I had the opportunity to meet my Sister's new boyfriend, a brooding gent who goes by the name "Elwood". He's probably the first guy she's dated since high school I actually enjoyed. On his own he had the whole group cracking up. No falsehoods here... This guy was the genuine article. Meeting Elwood made our stop in Louisville that much better. Again, at least for me...
Tracy, being one of the kindest hearted people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, offered up her bed while she and Elwood crashed on the floor in the living room. Scotty and Rigid bunked together in the spare room, and Tuna blew up an air matress on the floor in Tracy's room. We would once again get a good nights sleep, for the next day's ride would be the final leg of the larger runs anyhow, and the party awaiting us at the cabin would all but ensure that sleep would be at a minimum leading up to the last little stretch to Washington DC.
Louisville, KY to Monterey, VA
Day 7+ was a bit rougher climbing out of the rack than previous mornings... My head hurt something fierce and I needed coffee, stat. The Harley shop just outside of Louisville is called Bluegrass Harley-Davidson and was quite literally on our way out of town. It opened at 8:30 AM, and we were on our way out of Tracy's around 8:00, so coffee would come first.
After a quick stop at a local coffee shop and an ever so interesting conversation with a grossly overeducated barista, we were on the road to the Harley shop... We pulled in at 8:30 and, true to their word, they pulled our bikes in for tires. I say 'bikes', plural, because Overtime determined he would need a new tire in the next 1000 miles also, and since we were stopping, he figured he may as well do it now. Everything worked out great and in fact, I went ahead and had the guys do my brakes, too. They cleaned the bikes up as best they could (the shields and lights were covered in dead bugs), and sent us on our way. In all we were at Bluegrass Harley-Davidson about two and a half hours. Relatively painless, save for my checking account. We topped off at the gas station across the street and took off toward West Virginia.
For those of you reading this who are riders, allow me to share this with you... If you're local (mid-Atlantic region) and looking for a good run, go to West Virginia. It's as fine a ride as any we'd see on the entire trip. Absolutely amazing roads run high up in the West Virginia mountains with vistas and views around every turn. At our first gas stop it was decided that we were running to fast and to tight. As a matter of fact, Tuna came up to us and said, "Is there any reason we're doing 80 in a tight formation around these curvy roads?" We all agreed he had a pretty good point... Let's spread out and take it all in...
Back on the road, still cruising along at 55 or 60 but significantly more spaced out, Rigid and I decided to enjoy the ride another way... With his Road Glide's four speaker stereo set up, I looked in my rear view to see Rigid quite literally dancing on his bike as he rolled down the highway... It was about that time that an Earth Wind and Fire tune, "Groove Tonight", came on my iPod and I decided to join in the fray. The next thing I know, we're cruising along open highways switching and swaying back and forth across both lanes to the rhythm of our tunes, just jammin' out enjoying the day... We'd pass the occasional car, and I could see them cracking up as we blew on by. Yep, West Virginia was quite a ride... Just one more chapter to the story.
Before long we were coming up on the Virginia state line and the anticipation of reaching what would be our final destination before home (at least for Tuna and I) was palpable. We were down right excited to see so many of our friends, take our packs off, and unwind over a bunch of beers at the Cabin. However, there was one more conquest on the horizon, and it came up pretty quickly...
As we were now only a few miles from the Virginia state line, coming off of an on-ramp onto the highway were four other motorcyclists riding four black and shiny brand spankin' new Harley-Davidsons. Each rider was adorned in Harley gear from head to toe. Harley helmets, Harley jackets, crisp blue jeans, and Harley riding boots... These guys were the epitome of yuppie bikers... They entered the highway all over the place, absolutely no form to their riding what-so-ever. As soon as I saw them, so did the rest of the pack, and we pulled together into a side by side formation, as tight as any we'd been in the entire run, and hammered down the throttle to a cool 90 MPH. As we blew by these guys, with their lead rider struggling to keep up, Rigid and I looked over and Rigid just waved. It was beautiful. Perhaps a bit of machismo going on there, but we didn't care... We looked good as we blew by these jokers, and soon they were no more than specs in our rear-views. Good times, indeed.
When we finally made it to Virginia, we took one of the first exit ramps that would ultimately lead us to Route 220 North along the West Virginia state line. Now, I'd been to the Cabin several times before, but I'd never ridden 220 that far South. I soon realized that speed would do nothing for us as the first hairpin turn we took also had a significant dip in it, and I was laying my bike into the turn, pipes scraping the asphalt the entire way through. After riding at speed for so long, you just kinda get used to it, and so 35 MPH seemed like walking speeds... We slowed down to a respectable 25 to 30 MPH through much of the first part of this road as it switched back and forth in 90 degree hair-pins for about 25 miles. Once through that though (an enjoyable experience to be sure), we cruised in between the mountains and valleys for about another 50 miles until we reached Monterey.
We made it to Earnies, a small grocery store and gas stop in the town of Monterey, right in time to meet with other friends and riders who came down from Northern Virginia. Purple Bike Mike, his fiancé Theresa, Vegas, and Sharkbite were all there waiting. We hopped off the scoots and said our hello's, then fired back up headed back the way we came to meet the rest of the party at the cabin.
The entrance to the cabin is about a 1/2 mile up a pretty steep gravel road. It was a bit tricky getting up, but all went well. No incidents to report. We arrived at the Cabin to a heroe's welcome with Sara, Justin, Sarah, Charles, Mike, Rick, Jim, and Celia all standing outside to meet us as we arrived. It was so cool to feel so welcomed by so many excited people, I can't even put it into words.
From that point on, we were in party mode pretty much the entire weekend. The night at the Cabin turned into one hell of a party with all kinds of food, beer, and liquor to supply the whole gang. And though I know we've said it a number of times already, a huge thanks goes out to Sara and Sarah for doing the heavy lifting for that party, and of course to Justin and the Lundsford family for providing such a great place to throw down like that. That really was a special night. One I know I'll never forget.
The night would be cool and crisp, perhaps even a little to cool to camp, but fortunately the Cabin sits atop a three car garage with plenty of space for most of the crew to throw down blow up mattresses... In fact, Rigid discovered that his mattress fit perfectly into the bed of a John Deere utility trailer and set up camp there... The rest of us drank until we couldn't possibly drink any more and slept anyplace there seemed to be space. What a ride... What a party!!!
Monterey, VA to Arlington, VA
On Day 8+ I was the last one out of bed. I remember waking up feeling horribly hung-over, no doubt the result of a belly full of rum thanks to my two knuckleheaded friends (I say that with love), Vegas and Sharkbite. I recall Sara saying my name over and over again until I finally staggered down the spiral staircase to the kitchen. There she was, hard at work, making breakfast for everybody! Biscuits and homemade sausage gravy topped with two fried eggs! Mmmmmmmm! My doctor certainly wouldn't approve, but she probably wouldn't think to highly of my doing 90 MPH on the back of a two wheeled Harley machine, either...
Slowly but surely, all the riders, 10 in all, made their way very cautiously down the mountain to the main road where they would take off for Earnies, the rendezvous point, before regrouping and heading North. With 10 bikes and 1 support vehicle, we snaked our way up Route 220 until we hit Route 55 East then finally, 66. It was a blast riding with the whole crew like that. I was the 2nd bike on this run and I must have spent half my time looking in the rearview. It was a fine sight to be sure.
As we neared Northern Virginia, riders dropped out of the group to their respective exits until we were all segmented into two and three man (and woman) teams. And as Scotty and I pulled into my driveway, I couldn't actually believe that All the Way 2008 was ending. Though what I could believe, and what stays with me still, is though this ride may be through, many more are in our future. Especially with this crew. No doubt we'll ride again... No doubt we'll share blazing adventures.
What a ride... What a ride indeed.
ATW '08
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