THE BIG IDEA:
The Set Up
I am a middle aged man who sits in a cubicle. I design car parts. I have done it long enough to see the parts that where so important to the suits (management) that they made me miss a large part of my childrens lives, end up, rusty, powering crystal meth addicts around the mean streets of New Jersey on reruns of COPS. In short, I have put the whole thing in perspective. I spend 51 weeks per year scheming about next excellent adventure.
My history, I presume is shared by most people on this forum. My mother begrudgingly let me have a 3 hp mini bike when I was 11. She claimed it was like marijuana in that it was an entry drug. I thought she was crazy, she wasn’t, I have ridden nearly every piece of crap motorcycle that would start over the last 38 years. I have always wondered “what’s over there?”
Thanks to an understanding wife, I was able over the years, to pilot my assorted and sundry hunks of crap motorcycles throughout 46* of the contiguous United States with a vibrant assortment of good hearted ne’er do wells.
Having conquered most of the United States I began to notice a pattern forming, as my real life only allows one week of absence every other year or so I would ride like hell for 3 days away from home, go to as many states as I could, slowly wistfully turn around put my tail between my legs and ride home. This turned the last half of every vacation/adventure into a very long commute to a job that I have long since lost my enthusiasm for.
This summer as I plotted my next exit scenario I stumbled upon “The Big Idea”.
Instead of running out to the end of my leash, jerking up short and dejectedly heading back to the doghouse I figured out a way to double the leash and finally bite the mailman. I WOULDN’T TURN AROUND.
I would go straight out for my whole vacation and abandon my recent nearly used up rat bike and fly home.
To add an element of excitement to the trip my 13 year old son expressed an interest in tagging along.
Aye Karumba!
*Rhode Island and Delaware remain elusive dreams, no real compelling interest in either except that George Thorogood and the Destroyers are from Delaware. What gnaws at me is that I know that information but still occasionally spell my wife’s name wrong.
The Trip
Detroit to San Diego
San Diego was a logical destination as it was the farthest I could get from Detroit and I have in-laws there that could help facilitate. The theory being if I could leave the bike at the in-law’s pole barn I could return next year and continue the trip maybe down to Costa Rica, maybe cruise across central Mexico and pop back out into Texas and re abandon the bike or maybe take the Missus up to Seattle. The world is my oyster.
The Bike
My weapon of choice is my beloved Honda PC800. It was Hondas answer to a question no one in the 1990s was asking. It is a pretty dang good all round bike with a copious amount of luggage and as reliable as the monkey bars at school. The only draw back is that if you have any more testosterone than Pee Wee Herman you may be embarrassed to be seen on it. It has followed the path of my last few bikes general neglect and a flair for the practical use of cable ties, dry wall screws and duct tape has created a monster.
Note:
Lawn mower handle/barbeque legs luggage rack
Lowes $19 toolbox luggage
Bus turn signals
Pine stick lid prop
Pre-trip Planning and Inspection
Usually I don’t do either I just leave, but because pride and joy was coming along riding shotgun a certain amount of parental prudence was necessary. Buddy Jeff (ex excellent adventurer who has given it up for golf) Suggests that as I am going through the desert my coolant level should be reviewed. This disturbed me because I suppose I always knew the bike had coolant but had never checked it. After a little furrowing of the brow and some sloppy new math I came up with the number 17. 17 years since the anti-freeze was installed in Japan, god why didn’t check this earlier? I looked in the resevoir NOTHING (hyperventilate), looked in the radiator and someone had replaced the antifreeze with restaurant grade Coca-Cola™ syrup (conniption). T minus 21 hours till blast off and I had a marginal situation on my hands. I impatiently kicked off the shroud covering the radiator and chiseled out the remaining coolant and replaced it with fresh. There ready to go.
Threw all my crap and his crap in the luggage and went to work for the final day.
There is nothing can stop time in its tracks like having a loaded bike at home on your last day of work. I endured. Departure time at home was 4 o’clock.
This picture was taken just after I had kicked off the front lower radiator cowling. I pray to god no one from the Pacific Coast web site sees this or I will be lynched. The mere breaking off of a tab sends them into a state of apoplexy.
ap·o·plex·y (āp'ə-plěk'sē) Pronunciation Key
n.
1. Sudden impairment of neurological function, especially that resulting from a cerebral hemorrhage; a stroke.
2. A sudden effusion of blood into an organ or tissue.
3. A fit of extreme anger; rage: "The proud . . . members suffered collective apoplexy, and this year they are out for blood" (David Finch).
The Posse
The Players Left to right
Big Bad Biker Buddy Bruce- Human GPS. A long term buddy who can always be counted on to roll I mean ROLL. Distance is nothing but math to Bruce. We started riding dirt bikes together in the mid seventies so we have history. Now he is riding Electra Glide number 4 he puts 100k on them and buys another one. I bought my first motorcycle off him in 1974 (TS250 Suzuki). We have hit most of the states together. Rock solid riding buddy and all around guy.
Drifter- my 13 year old son wants to grow up to be a writer so I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to flash some cool sights, smells, feelings past the boy to create fodder for his fertile imagination. It was his last week before school starts and a trip like this is just what he might need to help him stare out the window and let his mind wander for the next 9 months while his grades falter. I have no small amount of personal experience with this.
Chip- Next gen. excellent adventurer. Neighbor of Bruce’s as a child, turned ‘hey Bruce watch this” into an early reality series. Has been a reliable co conspirator since the early 90’s. He is rolling on a 1985 E-Glide (Bruce’s number 2 AKA Blue) that he has resurrected from a rusting rattle canned barn ornament status to a new looking and running touring bike. Most impressive feat to date was 4,000 mile tour to the 4 corners on a Suzahamasocki impaler (250lb man, deli sandwich sized seat). Will go anywhere and do any thing on a moments notice. I have known him for 10+ years and never knew his real name or needed to until last year.
ME- AKA Vermin, behind the camera, grumpy middle age man since birth according to my wife.
Departure
We rolled out of town headed toward the slab (WB I-94) on a 2 lane. The jitters are redlined at the moment because of the enormity of the trip and the responsibility of doing something inherently stupid and dangerous with the fruit of my loins on the back of the bike. In short WE ARE JACKED UP.
I practice some relaxation techniques that don’t work. We roll west into an ominous black cloudbank. 15 miles from home we don the rain gear. 15.0000001 miles from home we get hammered 30+ mph crosswinds, hail, lightning and driving rain. No where to run to baby, no where to hide. I had to do the futile endeavor checklist.
1) Pull over and stop= impractical as we would still get soaking wet, still get hit by lightning and possibly get rear ended by a car.
2) Keep going= get soaking wet, hit by oncoming traffic, blown off road and tumble through ditch and get hit by lightning.
We chose number two because there would be less disgrace and less standing in the pouring rain looking stupid.
We finally found a gas station with an awning we could pull under.
This part is true* As we stood under the awning a semi-truck and trailer pulled in to fill up we noticed water was up to its axles.
*as exaggeration is the norm on a trip we resort to presuming that all statements are damn lies unless this disclaimer is present.
. My high buck Aerostich suit might as well be made of crepe paper as I was soaked to the bone. Oh well we are accustomed to this type of foolishness in Michigan so we got on the freeway and picked our way through flash floods in all the low lying areas. Say what you want about the boredom of freeways I kind of like them for the way they quickly, safely and easily get me the hell out of Dodge.
We motored on west toward Chicago with little trouble the post storm weather was pleasant and I started to relax and get in a groove. Battle Creek, Kalamazoo, Paw Paw, it was starting to click. Who knows maybe Gary Indiana* won’t be the horrible traffic snafu it usually is. For those of those unfamiliar with I-80/90 through Gary it is exciting.
Every car and truck headed from the northeastern United States to any where west of Cleveland goes through this corridor. It usually has construction and ten mile back ups.
What magic is this? It has four brand new lanes and light traffic. Finally I might have a smooth departure past the south end of Lake Michigan. NOT. As we approach Gary the brake lights come on and we hit the jam. The rainstorm has flooded both sides closing the eastbound lanes and closing half of the west bound lanes. Half of the traffic is Asplund tree trucks filled with Mexicans stuck on the freeway trying to get into Chi-town to clear downed trees from power lines. We are rebels and just blast down the shoulder. Hey if they where all on bikes there wouldn’t be a problem. Not to mention two of our crew are on air cooled bikes and too much not moving makes man and machine fail.
We clear the mess and head into Joliet, Illinois to set down for the night, We get unpacked in our room and Chip calls his girlfriend at the crib. Come to find out 50 minutes after Chip came to my house the storm came through his neighborhood and blasted (knocked down or severely damaged) all the houses but his. Good way to start a trip.
*Michael Jackson’s hometown and from what I can tell a particularily wretched rust belt chancre sore of a town.
Buddies
It is time to reveal the true nature of Bruce and Chips involvement in this whole charade. They have limited time so they are going part way. Their role is to be the booster rockets that help get me past the gravitational orbit of my normal life. They are damn good blokes for doing so.
Below is my shrine to excellent adventures the dark black lines are the places one or both of them has traveled with me so I cut em some slack
Day 2 (August 25th, 2007
Anyone who does this trip knows that an eastern boy traveling west has to recalibrate somewhere around the Mississippi River; Things slow down a little, you get your groove back. I was not meant to be a go-go go getter and out here that is just fine they like you the way you are. It rubs off and I begin to be less of an asshole. The cashier asks how is it going and listens to the response. She seems to care more about your day than you do. The smiles come easier. There is one more recalibration around the Missouri River I will get to later. I don’t know if this same transmogrification happens in a car full of people. I doubt it.
We head into the Quad Cities (Davenport, Rock Island, Ottoman and Moline) I holler at Drifter to get pictures of the flooding. The water is up the roofs on some of the houses and outbuildings. I should have given him some rudimentary instruction on digital camera operation before leaving. Tempers flare. Oh well the inappropriate double A batteries fail almost at once anyway. It would be some time before we found the appropriate gillion dollar kryptonite batteries to take blurry pictures of the back of my head.
I get the distinct impression that this had been a bean field the day before.
We went to the worlds largest truckstop on I-80 it is quite an edifice to movement. Chip was like my mom at a scrapbook convention as he is a trucker. I forgot to go around back and look at the 800 parking spaces filled with American Steel. Enjoy your biscuits and gravy boys the Mexicans are coming.
This is one large truck stop. There are 2 semi rigs inside along with miscellaneous other vehicles.
Drifter looks natural behind the wheel doesn't he
We got us a convoy
We probably saw 100 of these tree trucks headed toward Chicago.
Obligatory picture of the Mississippi
I like Iowa, it is like rural Michigan was when I was a wee lad. We headed west (I-80) for awhile until Bruce got tired of leading at which point he instructed me to go about 70mph for 25 miles and then head south (just west of Des Moines which is French for “the Moines”) to break up the boredom. God I was excited I got a position of responsibility. I charged out front and enjoyed leading my posse across the cornfields. Once the thrill of the promotion wore off it occurred to me that I had no way of knowing my speed or distance* and I hadn’t been paying attention to the mile markers.
*I abbreviated/eliminated my instrument cluster when my speedo broke. The logic being that I had not been pulled over for speeding since 1987 and even then I had a speedo so it didn't help. Bye Bye speedo. Tach who needs a tack it is a Honda twist the handle until the noise quits getting higher there is your redline. A side benefit of this arrangement was that without a temp. gauge it would not overheat. I would have liked to have kept the gas gauge but my mallot was not that precise.
I blame Bruce for pegging me as leader. Oh well I rode west for a undetermined period of time and then headed south on a 2 lane.
As it turns out this areas claim to fame is that it was the setting for the book/movie “Bridges of Madison County”. I read/saw neither. I don’t tend to watch Merle Streep movies as they don’t usually have any explosions or wet scantily clad women. For that matter I am not sure I want to see Merle wet, scantily clad or exploding. I digress. As fearless leader I decided to follow one of the historically significant signs to one of these bridges. The name of which escapes me. I envisioned a long covered bridge with gingerbread scroll work on the peak. I thought it would be an excellent photo op. to add some interest to our mid afternoon ride. Of course the fact that I cared for the aesthetics of the moment and had heard of Merle Streep put me on the suspicious list with male nurses, male flight attendants and banquet organizers. Sorry if I offended anyone, if so go take a nap.
Anyhow we turned off the two lane and headed down a soupy gravel country road for quite a ways. Under these circumstances Chip usually gets quite agitated, this was no exception. Bruce just handles it having driven 800 miles of gravel road in the Yukon on his fully loaded E-Glide the previous summer (distance and territory subject to later fact injection). Now that I think of it my bike was no picnic, a tired road bike with no suspension* 2 up with the equivalent of a refrigerator on the back. We rode some distance (no odometer) and finally came upon the bridge. It was a piece of crap, It had a flat roof and was about thirty feet long with some pot bellied local guy running his riding mower next to it. Oh well, we still have our health. We headed west on county 2 lanes till we got to the Missouri River and we crossed on an old tyme run down toll bridge that was about 1.5 lanes wide. Just think approx. 200 years ago Lewis and Clark went under this very bridge headed toward North Dakota. Historical footnote, the act of shivering was perfected during this phase. Until the Lewis and Clark expedition shivering was only used as a primal response to kissing old moley aunts.
The Missouri River up north by where it crosses I-90 is the boundary of the true west for me. When ever I ride out to Sturgis on westbound I-90 over the hill that gives you the view of the Missouri it takes my breath away. To the east is the world you know, square cornfields, Home Depots, and lip biting soccer moms. To the west is the true prairie, hot grass lands as far as the eye can see that mankind has never really figured out how to harness. Teddy Roosevelts only failure involved loosing a large portion of the family fortune grazing cattle in the badlands. I dig it. Drifter has no point of reference for this feeling yet. Maybe he'll get it maybe he won't. I hope he is better at adapting to the "real world" than I am and becomes a success on his own terms and won't have to run the prairies to find peace.
unfortunately we are between cameras now use your imagination.
In Nebraska now, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride,
corn, corn, corn, whats that smell corn, corn, corn, (Haywood Banks I-80 song)
York sleep
*after a several year struggle with fork seals the forks finally puked fork oil all over newly installed brake pads. That was the straw that broke the camels back. I drilled holes in the fork legs and watched the demon fluid drain out into a tray. I have never regretted that move.
cheyenne or bust
DAY 3 (August 26th, 2007)
York, Nebraska, wake up, Bruce and Chip peel off to the south.
Some body guessed credit card issues BINGO my card quit working. I had a message on my phone to call the company. I called and come to find out my spending patterns where incongruous with my normal life so they put a hold on it. No Kidding. Easily fixed.
Drifter and I head west on US-34 toward Grand Island. In Grand Island we run across some artist types headed toward Burning Man in the desert of Cali(?) or Nevada I don’t know. It sounds like my kind of gathering. Unfortunately their school bus had alternator problems that had them behind time and stuck in Nebraska. While we where shooting the shit a local farmer came over and started a gave it a good old fashioned roadside analysis that set them on the right path. Farmers are good at diagnosing problems on the fly with nothing but a screw driver and a pop can for tools. The cool thing about being out west is this farmer probably had a lot to do but he took time out to monkey with these guys rig.
Ya see there is this little D shaped hole under the alternator
Nuttin Honey
West on US-34 Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride, Corn, Corn, Grand Island, Corn, Ride, Ride, West on US-30 Ride, Ride, Ride, Ogallala, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride, Grass, Grass, Dead Badger, Burnt Grass, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride, Ride.
I miss having Bruce and Chip along for the familiarity/company but Drifter starts to hold his own conversation wise. We cruise down US-34 westbound, Even now there are things and places I would like to show him but we are limited to a week. We are cruising the Platte River Valley. It gives one a false sense of how green Western Nebraska really is. One of my favorite places is the Sand Hills to the northwest. I have been down the north/south road out of Hyannis Neb, before, not a tree or a driveway (maybe one) for 67 miles. Pure beauty, this is the area that people in cars can’t appreciate because it looks like nothing in a picture frame with a rear view mirror in it. You can’t really appreciate it until you have done it on a bike and are enveloped in the vibe. Of course survivor man could live off the grasshopper jerky that accumulates on your shins.
This is also the area where my bike, affectionately known as Cack, had to tow a buddies new Harley-Davidson Fat Bastard 15 miles with a close line rope, to a bar so he could call the North Platte Harley dealer to come get him. Apparently air cooled v-twins are still a novelty at the motor company and bad cam bearings should be accepted as part of the Harley experience. Does the Honda dealer have a nice trailer with a diamond plate ramp? Who knows, the Maytag repairman probably uses it to take his quad up north. Maybe they store brochures and key fobs in it.
I believe this particular experience contributed to this buddies zeal for golf.
Dead Badger, I had never seen one of these in the wild, they do look on’ry. This one was taking a nap on the shoulder of the road. I didn’t wake it up.
Big grain silo
Big train
We take our sweet time and hop on I-80 near North Platte.
Long run on sentence warning
Things are starting to heat up near Sidney Nebraska the cockpit temperation is into the low 100’s (105 this part is true) according to the hot tub thermorator, cable tied to the hole in my dash where the speedometer was, that I retained from my opulent 90’s lifestyle I lived in the early 2000’s. Sadly the hot tub had to be removed because its success relied on my wife getting into a bathing suit, but I cleverly kept the thermomajiger
We go west an unknown speed /mileage until we pull into Cheyenne Wyoming.
There is a nice downtown square with bands playing and people partying so we chuck out the anchor.
This is where drifter gives the illusion of photography. If I had known none of the pictures would turn out I would have given him a savage beating right downtown (gross exageration used for comic effect). But as it is we are back home with his mother so there can be nothing but tender pats on the head.
There was an old school hotel right downtown that had been refurbished that was the right price. It had a top notch restaurant and real cool coffee shoppe and gift shop on the first floor. The interior was all cowhide and western motif (oh crap I knew the word motif, I am definitely under suspicion again) The place had not been gutted during the rehab it had kept the original wood/tile/stained glass. It sufficed to give Drifter a taste of what existed before the freeways and the Super 8 motels. It was called “The Plains” I recommend it highly. Across the courtyard is the old depot that has been redone as a visitor center with some nice restaurants. Oh yea I forgot they have cool 6’ tall cowboy boots all over downtown with scenes of Wyomings past painted on them.
Again, please try to imagine it as there is scant photographic evidence.
All in all I would say downtown Cheyenne is doing it right.
We spent the evening walking around town. Saw the state capital. We went up on a bridge overlooking a rail yard and watched them switch trains and take off. It was still around 95deg. Didn't say much just stood around watching the sun go down.
In summary one of the better days I've had traipsing around this planet.
Sorry to leave Cheyenne, a pleasant place to hang. This trip has a nice mellow feel to it. When I was younger our trips where brutal, Bruce and I left Detroit one Friday afternoon afternoon, in 1990 and went to sleep Sunday night in Winnemuca Nevada. It seemed appropriate at the time but that time is past. I have done Iron Butt mileage but have never had the organizational skills to keep the paperwork in order. We head south down US-85 toward Greeley Colorado. The morning sun is perfect temp. and we are rolling effortlessly. A nice ride down the front range with the Rocky Mountains dancing along on our right.
Drifter hightailing across the majestic planes.
I stop at a post office in Nunn CO to mail a card. I am as good a husband as I am a mechanic as I erroneously scheduled this little trip to coincide with our 22nd anniversary, MORON.
In a feeble attempt at damage mitigation I have dragged an anniversary card through a couple of time zones so that through some fluke, should I remember, I could mail it to her. I was pretty damn proud of myself for remembering, until I pulled the card out of my tank bag and realized my STABIL brand fuel stabilizer had vomited all over it.
Think quick moron. I sent it to her anyway and put a heart around the stain and said the 22 anniversary is the fuel stabilizer anniversary as it represents the stability of our love.
I told Drifter to cross his fingers. I been with Sweet Thang for 25 years and the humor angle is bound to get stale. She is sho nuff pick o’ the litter and I don’t wanna loose her.
Headed down through Greeley and went west on US-34 headed toward Loveland and Rocky mountain national park. I kinda liked Greeley it had just the right amount of Mexicans, college students, working stiffs and just enough yuppies to keep it organized.
Of course this keen sociological study was done at 40mph on a sunny day so if it doesn’t reflect the Greeley Colorado you have seen, it is understandable.
Drifter and I have a nice breakfast in Loveland. It is a nice mom and pop diner. I can tell that Loveland has been swallowed by modern life as it is identical to the town we left in Michigan with the exception of the big lumps on the western horizon. Something is starting to bother me about the modern sophisticated world. Everyone lives in their own demographic age/income/race groups. Where are the old people in my town? There might not be any. What are they going to do with me when age forces my cost to exceed my productivity? What happens when the hamster can’t keep his wheel rolling?
“To the lumps Drifter”. It is pretty exciting as we start to climb Big Thompson canyon toward Estes Park.
This is the first taste of big rocks we have had in a while and it is exhilarating.
Alot of people don't understand motorcycling. I don't understand wanting to hang onto a hot rock all afternoon. Look close and you can see the guy.
At the entrance of the park a few respectable gentlemen on BMW r/75s from Boulder accost me and are gradually won over by the spirit of CACK. Hey they asked. We see them off and on throughout the day.
Having a bike like this is a nice efficient asshole detector if a person doesn’t smile or makes a critical remark we don’t have to waste many of our precious moments on earth talking to them. The beemer guys passed with flying colors and were good company.
Nice twisties
Rocky Mountain white rumped sheep.
Estes Park
I marvel at my machine, at 12,000 feet above sea level, it runs like a top. It still has the factory spark plugs and wires.
I marvel at Drifter, we have had a fair amount of physical duress and he has been grinning from ear to ear this whole trip.
We get up above the tree line and go into one of these nature walk areas at the top of one of the mountains and do the high altitude walk,gasp,walk,gasp. It was nice because we are in good enough shape to hike out where most casual tourist can’t go and have some nice alone visiting time.
It was in this section that alot of unnatural noises where coming out from Drifters helmet as occasionally the right, left or both sides of the road would vanish and you had a coupla thousand foot drop. Should I have checked the brake fluid?
On a more ominous note there is something attacking the pines in the park, near the town of Grand something. There is not a living tree on the entire side of the mountain. The waitress that gave me the details on the pine situation was a Romanian exchange student and her knowledge of North American botany was a bit sketchy. I could have inquired further but chances are the truth would have bummed me out so we booked.
Coming down the backside into Grandby was bliss cool, a little overcast and little traffic. I was getting tuckered out by the time we left Granby.
If the shoe fits.
The only buffalo we saw the whole trip who cares if it was bronze?
We cruised out US-34 to CO 9 at Kremmerling and headed south to Copper Mountain where we had kinfolks waiting.
Thank god, friendly familiar faces. They are both marathon runners and they do their long days at 10,000 feet. Drifters aunt can kick your dads ass. Aunty cooked up some kick ass red beans and rice and her beau grilled some good chicken and the Corona fairy had left a nice present.
Nice digs too, a condo at the bottom of the Copper Mountain ski lift.
They always make us feel welcome and we love them to pieces.
Good Night
Cockpit tours
Thank you for flying Vermin Pacific Coast Airlines we have reached cruising altitude of 9,200 feet in the city of Leadville Colorado. Feel free to unbuckle your safety belts and mill about the cabin. For those interested the captain will be giving tours of the cockpit.
“Hello my name is Vermin thank you for being our guest on Vermin Pacific Coast Airlines. I am about to show you some advanced instrummmaaa. Never mind. I forgot this is a charter it is a bare bones operation.
I am as good a graphic artist as I am a husband. This paint program worked like a crappy digital etch-a-sketch ( my daughter now tells me if you hit the A button in paint you can type in the letters. Where was she a hour ago?
A) Cable tied on mirror/turn signal assembly. The advantages of ABS plastic bikes is that you can gore holes in it with any number of sharp objects contained in G. The reason the mirror was dangling is due to “The Incident” that won’t actually happen until the 29th. Either I have a crummy continuity editor in this film shoot or I have stumbled into another pesky anomaly in the space/time continuum. Either way my mirror was dangling and I didn’t have the right allen wrench to access the really cool Honda (put the mirror back on with no damage) clips.
B) Who in the hell made handlebar grips the size of a roll of Certs I came back from one trip absolutely convinced I had Lou Gehrigs disease. Sweet Thang pointed out that I had just done a round trip to the bayou of Church Point Leweezeanna (2400m +/-) on a early seventies shovel head superglide.borrowed from a 5’2”tall woman. Ever since then my hands give me hell on trips so I took some pipe insulation and wrapped it in electrical tape to give me relief.
C) Cupholder from some Nissan that I bolted clean through the fake gas tank. This is handy I put change for tolls in one of the holes and my Ernest Tubb coffee cup in the other one. Don’t get me wrong “Bob Wills is still the King”
D) My GPS, a compass I got at Murrys auto parts with a digital something else that failed within the first week. The compass only points to the W (due to some high energy electro magnetic fields, emanating from the coil probably). This suits me just fine as I only like to go west. When I head E toward work and I look down and see the W it makes me happy because W is where I like be and it brings back sweet memories..
E) Sunglass holder drywall screwed to the dash. Picture yourself pulling into Sturgis with your real cool prescription sunglasses on. Picture the sinking feeling you get when you realize the vest pocket that held your $350 prescription regular glasses is flapping empty in the breeze. Ah it is only a coupla hundred miles to our last stop in Pierre we can find them. NOT! I could only ride in the day the rest of the trip. That is the trip where the Harley Fat Bastard Blew Up .Which turned out pretty cool as it forced me to stop in my tracks at dark, all alone. I met a lot more people on that trip because of that. But I don't recommend loosing glasses or blowing up motorcycles to meet people.
F) We have stumbled upon one of my nuclear rants, the one thing America has done right and it has remained unchanged since its introduction and it has never been improved upon THE SWING-AWAY-CAN OPENER. This is still a privately run business out of St Louis MO they don’t have corporate jets or jaw clenching CEO’s (buy high sell low) and they manufacture the damn things here in the USA. Wall Street would have you believe that such a thing is out of the question. My grandma had one bolted to the wall in the farm house and it opened cans when my dad was a kid, when I was a kid, and when my kids where kids and it still worked fine when we buried them, rest their souls. The only reason electric can openers took off in the first place is because the wretched cheap imported can openers wouldn’t open cans. Unfortunately this one fell on US-23. at rush hour and I found it a coupla months later on the shoulder and retrieved it. No it was not good as new. The only other product made in the USA is J.B.Weld without which I could not survive.
G) Gerber Brand multi tool with the slide in pliers that don’t pinch the crap out of your tender palm meat the moment it spins off a rusted on nut in which you have invested all of your strength. I had a old leatherman that is a flippin biohazard with hunks of vermins paw sheared off and wedged in the little cracks. I created a unique leatherman dance that included chanting obscenities while my biting bottom lip all squinch eyed. (I will admit to tearing up time and again).
I) Homer Simpson (thanks Andy)
J) Homer Simpson bottle opener
K) I was unable to find a replacement Swing-Away so I am temporarily stuck with this Chinese hunk of junk.
L) My Sweet Thang distress come get me transponder. (cell phone)
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heading to the heat
The next day
We bid our teary fair wells to the rels. Fine people. We headed south from Copper Mountain through Leadville. Thanks to you guys I was looking for a cool gravel road to take me west to Aspen but I had one of those small atlases that didn't rally show back roads so I played it safe and went south of Leadville to the main highway. Bikes running great, the sun is out and the weather is perfect. Real life is a vague memory we are day forgetin, mile eatin, heart breakin, scenery seein, bug eatin drifters fo sho now. We head northwest on Colorado highway number I don't care. Up a beautiful pass that leads up the back side of Aspen.
Drifter tries to scare his mom.
Drifter scares himself
Twistin
Why do they call this town Aspen?
Ski Hill
This is a town of richass people, drifters are looked on with confusion and mild discomfort. I try to explain to the drifter that this lifestyle is the reward for a life well lived, attention to your grades and
exemplary moral fortitude and well worth striving for. I don't know if he bought it. To bad I am making vagrancy look like an attractive option.
he transmogrification is completed
Vermin woke up again at 3am put bandaids on the weasel wounds and continured
The transmogrification is completed.
Drifter and I sit in the grass and eat corn and beans out of a can, next to on upscale grocery store near Aspen. This doesn’t draw any negative attention so we linger. I have become lethargic, the sky is perfect, the grass is perfect and I have that nice I wanna nap sensation wash over me. I have a reluctance to leave that is hard to describe. I finally figured it out. Up until now everything we had seen I had seen before I knew what to expect. This placed me in the role of knowing loving father/tour guide. It is a comfortable role for me. But once we head west on I-70 we would be traveling into the unknown and the unseen. I had also planned on staying near greydog bus lines so that god forbid something happen to Cack we would be able to take the license plates off and hitchhike to the next bus stop. But now we where leaving “The Grid” so to speak.
Enough introspection. Roll now. Head west on I-70 toward Grand Junction. “I have never been here before” , words I can’t remember saying in a very long time. The cool part is we are sharing each vista and blast of heat and cool looking cloud formation together as equals for the first time. I am still a little more equal than him because I still have aholt of the rudder and the atlas but none the less it is all new to me. As we descend toward Grand Junction along the Colorado river things start to heat up. I like heat because I am a 6’4”, 165lb pencil necked geek and I shiver from September to May every year. So out here you get good and hot down to your bone marrow. If I could bottle that up I would be rich.
To be honest at the time I thought the scenery around Grand Junction was fabulous but the ensuing assault to my eyeballs through the Southwest left the memory kind of dimmed down.
We stopped and laid in more nice grass in Fruita CO. it is starting to cook real nice at this time. Memory escapes me but it was probably in the low hundreds. Fruita like a lot of small towns is proud of their enormous fiberglass animals.
Barneys love interest
We headed west into Utah it was an uneventful but certainly pretty trip, nothing fell off or broke..
I know we are in a desolate area because we pull into the town of Cisco, Utah that was significant enough to make the small size atlas but as far as I could tell the place was abandoned there were several houses and businesses but there where no people or cars. No sign of life.
Downtown
Cisco Utah
We had just come 50 miles from Fruita and had 45 to go to get to Moab, and this was the only town on the map, glad I got gas. The only vehicle I saw in this stretch was a dang school bus, I thought there goes one expensive kid because the nearest school had to have been 40 miles away.
Road outta Cisco
The next stretch of road into Moab blew my mind. We followed the Colorado river for 45 miles descending deeper and deeper into beautiful red rock canyons on a twisty road with no cars. Pinch me I am dreaming.
The term breathtaking is become cliché but about once every five miles I would come around a corner a see something so beautiful that it would literally make me catch my breath. Color me impressed.
Dewey Bridge
I am purposely being vague about routes and route numbers because I believe in the soul of a trip and if this report gets one person off the couch and head into the great unknown I would prefer it to remain unknown and to be honest my best experiences tend to happen after the plan goes seriously awry. In other words leave quite a bit of slop in your schedule. With my adventure buddies the only planning we really do precisely is generally the departure time.
Another excellent adventure tech tip is to agree in advance that everyone does exactly what they feel compelled to do. It is not uncommon for us to leave the house with six or eight guys have that group break up several different ways and then reconvene in miscellaneous locations. We do try to pair up as there is a element of comfort and safety in that. On the other hand I have had some dang good times alone.
Now that I am thinking about lurkers and Noobs that might want to take this type of travel up I would like to impart one piece of safety advice. I have nearly killed myself on these contraptions with my own stupidity on 4 occasions. They all had common elements.
Now come in close campers so you can hear.
DON’T RIDE 2 LANE ROADS IN THE EVENING/NIGHT OF A LONG DAY
Your wits and senses fade after a long day in the saddle. On the freeway you don’t really need either but on a two lane the wage of sin is wadding your skeleton through the grill of a Kenworth.
I digress
Now that the transmogrification is complete Vermin and Drifter have no need for modern conveniences and set up camp on the Colorado river under this sandstone cliff.
We eat a canned food dinner and sit in lawn chairs out in the desert and watch the sun go down and the moons light illuminates this cliff.
Cliff picture.
Another day well lived.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Day number I don’t know
Rise and shine.Today is an off day or should I say a non linear travel day. I cook up some breakfast gruel. We leave the tent where it is, as we will sleep there again tonight.
I am as good a cook as I am husband.
Vermin attacking the food supply
Drifter prepares for whatever may come his way.
Vermin and his limozeen go to town.
good
We are going mountain biking. We rent mountain bikes from Poison Spider Bike Shop they were great guys, and go up into the slick rock trail. It is a two mile climb out of the canyon Drifter looses his enthusiasm half way up. It is a good life lesson, if you want to get to the good stuff sometimes you have to keep going long after the fun has died and it becomes painful.
The slickrock is way cool and worth the trip to Utah itself. I have heeded the warnings about dehydration and death and carried water bottles and 2 70oz camel backs. We needed every bit of that water.
The scenery was beautiful
Drifter at negro bill canyon learned a good life lesson about perseverence.
Vermin learned a good life lesson about clotting.
We did some riding and some walking. It was hot, probably 90-100, but not unbearable but I could definitely see how easy it is to die out there.
We returned the mountain bikes to Poison Spider Bike Shop they where great.
Thanks T.J.
In the afternoon we cruised around on old faithful. How much gas do I have? Lots I think. We retrace our steps up the Colorado for a ways and turn right up the cathedral/castle valley (I can’t remember the name) for quite a ways. It is in the blazing hot temp. range.
Weather Rant Warning
In Michigan they trump up the heat by adding to it with a heat index in an attempt to make people more miserable than they already are. Which brings me to another rant. In Michigan they make great sport in the Winter of “wind chill factor”,
Which for those of you in the South means freeze your ass off index. They do not pull this out until no one in their right mind is even outdoors. This means that this is how cold it feels to the bare skin as the wind dissipates heat faster. This particular data is relevant only to naked people. As long as I have lived in Michigan I have never seen a naked person, or even one in a speedo outdoors in the winter (with the exception of a Finnish sauna takin' friend who shall remain Karl with a K). This leads me to conclusion that the weather guy is just trying to make us more miserable than we already are. Well I have news for you there is plenty of misery in Michigan to go around no need to add to it with the damn weather report. It is like subtracting points from a Detroit Lions game to highlight how bad they really suck.
Rant Over
Where was I? Oh yeah desolate highway don’t need much water because we are on the motorbike and drank most of it on the slickrock and don’t really know how much gas is in the bike.
Female relatives please avert your eyes for the next section,
THE INCIDENT!
I have no photographic evidence of what transpired next, thank god.
We see a beautiful scene of red rock monoliths shooting for the sky we pull a coupla hundred feet off the desolate road for a photo op and possible short hike. As I near the monoliths the bike falls out from under me, crashes to the left and traps my left foot.
I do a high speed inventory of how screwed I am, freak out, and kick the seat with my right foot and snatch my left foot out from under the bike. Dang close call.
Drifter is intact and doesn’t appear to be too shaken by our situation. Apparently there was a wash that the blazing sun obscured from view as I was staring up at the monoliths instead of where I was going. I am less screwed than I was .5 seconds earlier but I still had a significant physics story problem to solve.
What we know.
1) Vermin=49 year old, 162.5 pound pencil necked geek, with the strength of a 13 year old spelling bee champ, with a bad back, heart disease and a hernia.
2) Drifter=13 year old spelling bee champ
3) Cack=2.5 metric tons of smooth hard to hold on to ABS plastic and household waste. One side is brightly illuminated by 105deg desert sun and the other is quite dark.
It wasn’t looking good for our dynamic duo. I used a little psychology on the boy. I said “ok, pretend we are both large strong men and pretend if we can’t get this bike up we will die out here in the desert”. Boingo, up comes the bike.
After 10 minutes of zip tie surgery to the dangly left mirror we leave.
Things are looking up. This will remain a subject of good natured ribbing in years to come rather than a helicopter search and rescue.
We continue down the road and up into the mountains the view from the mountains is good.
We meet two English guys on the overlook that are doing a two week vacation of the southwest on Harleys that they rented in Denver.
I personally enjoy English guys they seem to have a reasonable level of contempt for all carbon based life forms. We latch on and ride along with them for company I am sure they don’t want.
We motor on choosing to ignore the bridge out signs as it probably means bridge closed to cars for some pothole patching that we can weasel around. We soldier on, how many miles since Moab? 70 +/- 20 how much gas do we have? Come to find out the bridge is actually out, the english guys hurl a few expletives and we turn around. I now have the situation that if I go all the way back the way I came I may run out of gas in the desert but if I go down this interesting dirt road it should cut the trip in half and I make it back no prob. Dirt road it is, good bye bitter englishmen.
Another key to excellent adventuring is to make your bike do things through raw skill and nerve that it was never intended to do.
So I spent the next hour picking my way down off a mountain on a deep sand and gravel road with my 2.5 metric ton bike, which was designed to ferry women to work in freeway traffic. The road dumped us out at the entrance to the slick rock trail and we cruised right into town pretty as you please.
Pulled up to get gas and met this pretty lady.
All she wanted was some affection, but could I give it to her? No of course not I was too wrapped up in my own selfish needs. She turned her head sighed and laid back down on the seat. The moment had passed and I lost the opportunity for dog love from a parishiltonhund.
Drifter and I took a nap. After waking up we had canned food dinner and headed up into arches national park for the sunset.
Obligatory natural beauty photo
As we where dismounting in the viewing area of delicate arch, amongst the rabble, a young guy struck up a conversation and pointed out how our trip was like Pirsigs in zen and the art of motorcycle maintainence. It made me wonder, what came first my desire to ramble and include my son or the book. I know that when I read the book originally as a teen it resonated deep in me. I reread the book this summer and it still makes me want to be a better person and focus on “quality” in everything I do.
I tell the guys girlfriend that the only difference between the books main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence.
Before this trip my friend maryjane also noted the similarities between Phaedrus’s journey and mine, the only difference is his insurance covered electroshock therapy.
Maryjane
Much wisdom was offered at this mans counter during the 70s, 80s, and 90s at his hardly Davidson scrap yard in Detroit, it largely fell on deaf ears.
He became so disgusted with primates in general that he vanished. I consider it an honor that he told me where he went.
As the sun went down all the winnebagos headed out. We just laid out in the desert without talking and watched the full moon come out.
Good night
----------------------
The next day
We wake up, pack up. Goodbye Utah hide out. These two nefarious drifters will miss you.
My plan is going off without a hitch. On my normal trips I would have a knot in my stomach by now and nothing but Missouri and Illinois to look forward to but as we are headed into the great glorious unknown. My state of excited play continues to be on 11. I did my loose mileage cipherin’ and naught carryin’ before we left and reckoned that today was a movin’ day.
Look mom no hygiene.
We had run through and soiled all our store bought cloths so if we were going to be encountering humans we had better practice some hygiene. So we loaded up, strapped on all our provisions and headed into town.
We hung out down town and did laundry in the laundry mat it was a nice mellow morning nobody in the laundry spoke English mainly a German couple and some Mexican based lady folding a big pile of napkins. Nice enough people.
I didn’t realize how funky I had become until I took a little bird bath with paper towel in the laundries bathroom and put on a clean set of socks and drawers. God they felt good.
I told Drifter, the worse a situation gets on the road the better it feels when it stops. I am afraid that this discomfort/relief cycle is missing in today’s children’s lives. The phrase “it’s all good “ cropped up recently and it bothered me. I think my main problem with that state of mind is that it robs the kids of the chance to grow through conquering adversity. It’s not all good, and in order to be great you have to understand how bad it can be. Having said that I have run Drifter through the paces and I haven’t heard one complaint yet, this boy is made of good stuff.
Anyway, cleaned up, packed up and rollin. For the first time we are going South in a serious fashion. We head down the highway and get sucked in to a tourist trap. It’s ok as we haven’t really gotten any souvenirs for the loved ones.
This joint was low maintenance
As with any tourist trap they are proud of their fiberglass animals
This place upped the ante and had a scrap iron bull
And a jeep with scrap iron tires
There aren’t too many roads out here so if you are curious get out a map.
We blow by signs to the canyonlands national park and I realize that the little planning I did as far as returning from San Diego was a mistake as the entire rest of the trip should have been investigating this area. I rationalize that they are just red rocks and canyons and we have seen plenty of the former and are headed toward the mack daddy of the latter, so I manage to justify my decision.
The scenery on the main highway is nothing to sneeze at.
You can’t throw a dead cat around here without hitting a scenic erosion.
We move on South into another high plateau
Somewhere up here I notice Shiprock N.M. to the southeast, which is pretty amazing since it is I don’t know how far away. Maybe as far as a hundred miles. If one of you local GPS heads wouldn’t mind running up that road apiece and tell me how far you can get away from Shiprock and still see it. I may have been as far north as Monticello.
We keep cruising down a long stretch and my mind starts to wander. How did my drifting get started? I remember as a preteen scouring local maps for cool looking adventures and then executing the trip on my ten speed “English Racer” with a couple of buddies. My passion for travel immediately rekindled the drifting gene in my dad and we spent many days on bicycles seeing what is over there. He carries on to this day. The first thing he did upon retirement was ride his bicycle from Seattle to Detroit. I’m calling that Titanium Butt Association. A lot of these Iron Butt Assoc. boys are keen on a thousand mile day on a Goldwing but that is breakfast at tiffany’s compared to a hundred mile North Dakota August day with a headwind on a bicycle.
Anyway I like to share this time with my children the same way my father shared his with me. The lessons I learned on those trips, guided me through some turbulent times and are ones I carry with me today. Thanks Pops.
Rant warning
That was a time when people did not live in mortal fear of their neighbors. Around that time the Motorcity (Murdercity) was still smouldering from the race riots, the Oakland County child killer was on the loose, John Norman Collins was stacking coeds up like fire wood in Ann Arbor, we even had a local serial killer killing lovers parked on back roads. These were all real threats but a practical precaution was to go with a buddy. The risk to life and limb has remained constant but the fear has exploded at an exponential rate. Who is profiting from our fear?
Rant over
The rest of the day is uneventful just some casual very hot traveling. We met a nice guy on a GS in Blanding he was a busy boy, 2 jobs, he was cruising from Rapid City to Flagstaff for a stress reliever. The type of people on GS’s also seem to be the types that work so much they don’t get to use them. A little advice from the Vermin, work less, buy a 1985 Honda Nighthawk, bungee on some Samsonite, and spend the remaining money on campsites in Belize.
Mexican Hat Rock
Monument Valley
The rest of the day is unremarkable. We hole up in the Tuba City Taco Bell to cool off from the heat of the day. It is near 110deg not lethal but when you are from the arctic circle you have to make adjustments. This is pretty much an 100% impoverished Native town, Hopi, Navaho? One really pretty woman in professional attire came in with her twelve year old daughter. The little girl had a Pantera shirt on, I guess Dimebag Daryls appeal was universal he didn’t deserve to die that way.
The little girls subdivision
I have a fair amount of anxiety about my childrens chances in this evolving world I can’t imagine the early despair that must come in when you are raised in Gods cat litter box with few prospects. These are exactly the images I want burned in my boys mind.
We dodge thunderstorms across the desolate land and end up at the Grand Canyon at dusk.
It was surreal at the east entrance lookout almost no one spoke English they were all Europeans, Asians and South Americans on vacation very few from the U.S.A.. I guess the one benefit of having your currency loose value is it makes it affordable for people from other countries to vacation here even though you can’t.
Scenic horned varmints
We pull into the campground and set up the tent.
Good night
------------------------
If you are going to do a decent job at ripping a hole in the space/time continuum you should have comfortable accomodations for your guests.
A) Nebraska cornhuskers coffee cup that I paid way too much for because I get dizzy and weak kneed around diamond plate.
B) Soft Plastic Hot Wheels lunch box bolted to trunk for Passengers I-pods, game boys, cd players and 1000 AA batteries that will fail the moment an excellent scene is in the viewfinder of the camera
C) Dual feed hydration bladders, my only modern acommodation, failure in the desert equals death. Lack of water equals buzzards feasting on your eyeballs I take this very seriously.
D) Copious amount of lumbar support for the drifter. This is a brutal trip, comfort must be attempted.
E) More water.
-------------------------------
New day.
We wake up, I half forget where I am and what I doing. The old man eye phlegm doesn’t help matters. I shake off my slumbers and remember where we are and get excited all over again. I recreate the wretched gruel experience for myself and the drifter and we start breaking down our camp.
Of course on my way back from the bathroom I meet bikers and we regale each other with tales of daring do, once we have exhausted ourselves with lies about amazing motorcycle feats, I return to an exasperated Drifter who has had to break camp pretty much alone. I assure him that this is an important part of the suffering/redemption cycle I rambled on about earlier and it is for his own good. He doesn’t buy my line of B.S. and continues to give me the hairy eye for quite some time.
Pack up, strap up ready to roll. We do a 2 hour hike along the South Rim. It really is beautiful.
The little brown things on that cliffside trail are mule trains
I am really impressed with the National Park Service, the experience was top notch. All of the facilities where clean and well organized and easily handled the huge volume of people that come through there. I am sure the Euros left with a good impression. I am proud to be associated with this country at this exact moment. We walk along the rim away from canyon city toward the west for 2 hours then hop on a convenient shuttle and it whisks us back to the bike.
Roll Vermin Roll,
Southbound and down, loaded up and truckin’,
we gonna do what they say can’t be done.
We got a long way to go, and we don’t know when we’ll get there,
We’re south bound just watch ol’ Vermin run.
My hats off to Jerry Reed and Burt Reynolds for creating a movie that I still sing the theme of today. Smoky and The Bandit, I force my kids to watch this movie. It is one of the sacred triumvirate of film.
In order of importance to Western Civilization.
1) Caddy shack
2) Smoky and the Bandit
3) Any which way but loose
Citizen Kane put up a good fight for 50 years but this 1,2,3 punch of genius brought it to its knees.
I can’t think about the Buford T. Justice line, “boy when I get home I’m gonna punch yo momma in da mouf cause there ain’t no way a boy as stupid as you come from mah loins”, without laughing myself crosseyed.
When the screen writer penned that line of genius Shakespeare gave up writing and started making fishin poles.
We cruise south to Ash Fork, Arizona
This is a town that has jumped on the route 66 bandwagon. Cool song, crappy obsolete road that was replace by a freeway 10 feet away, I don’t get it.
Mini rant warning
I understand the business case for nostalgia, as Americans get old and crabby they cling to the past, I occasionally suffer this malady. Young Americans could be deceived into thinking there were good old days. Harley makes a lot of hay in this grey field, as does the, not as big as they used to be, but still fairly big three automakers. Well I am afraid that while we all are comfortably numb looking into the past through the rear view mirror in this country we are going to rear end the future and get our insurance cancelled.
Rant over
YES YOU CAN TASTE TERROR,
We cruised south out of Ash Fork aways and I pulled over to the side of the road to put on my helmet and for Drifter to pretend to take a picture of some grand vista. We where about 100 yards behind a cop that had someone pulled over. Just as I set the bike on the kickstand I looked back and saw a truck pulling a large travel trailer coming down the road. So far so good. As it approached I could see that the awning bracket on the side of the trailer had pulled loose and was sweeping the shoulder at 65mph headed right at us about neck height. There was no time to react. I immediately understood the ramifications of my situation but didn’t have enough time to do anything except stain my diaper. Whatever gland kicks out adrenaline figured this was its last big show so it swamped me. A wave of metallic coppery taste came into my mouth. The gomer in the truck was unaware that his rig had turned into a 15,000 lb scythe fixin to harvest my melon. (MOM, come to dammit I’m here typin ain’t I).
At the last minute the guy pulled wide to avoid blasting the cop. I looked at the cop he seemed unfazed by gomers makeshift guillotine and went back to serving and protecting all over his original perpetrator.
I realized that this could have a much worse affect on any future roadside person so I stood the bike up and told drifter to hold on and blasted after the guy. It took me a ways to catch him because (no offense to my bike) my bike sucks and with all this stuff on it is not terribly responsive. Don’t you hate it when birds pass you?
I caught up to the guy and passed him waving wildly trying to get him to look in his right mirror. It was the goofiest high speed game of charades ever seen. The guy was reluctant to pull over in the middle of the desert for an epileptic vagabond with the hi-vis psychodelic Sherwin Williams special. Eventually he realized he had the mechanical advantage and pulled over and cracked his window. He look stricken when I told him what happened.
Just another day at the office.
We cruised on down to Prescott and motored right through town. It has a lovely downtown, gotta remember to tell Sweet Thang that this may be a viable option for habitation should the grocery spigot dry up in Michigan. My family has been in Michigan since 1912 but it might be time to punt. I still hang with the people that I grew up with. I don’t know how difficult loosing those ties would be.
We keep on cruising down a gorgeous twisty highway through the mountains. I have been informed it is the Deals Gap of the west. I don’t remember what the number was I know the fun is in the looking for it anyway. Any way we are cruising and grooving down this sweet black empty ribbon When I came around a corner and saw a cross on the side of the road with a full face helmet on top. A shiver ran up my back when I realized someone had lost their only begotten son, who died for his own sins, on that stretch of road. It creeped me out made me nervous in the service for about 2 or 3 miles when all of a sudden
MOM/Sweet Thang please notice he is smiling The large blurs in the picture are hail this is after the worst of it has died off.
The skies opened up. I was already tense because of the cross and once again I was in a situation where pulling over and seeking refuge under anything was not an option as high voltage random organic vertical electricity was everywhere. I finally found a cliff with a shrub sticking out the side that we huddled under. The shrub only slowed down the marble sized hail.
It is an interesting sensation to have pan fried arms being pelted by 80 mph hail. The intensity of the storm died off and we moved on.
The aforementioned storm. (The Indians call these mountain storms whipalotta which means gods vomit.)
We were in the mountains and then came around a corner and could see out over this huge valley below.
As we came down the hill it was obvious we weren’t in Kansas any more. I had gotten used to 100-105 degree heat over the last few days but this was ridiculous.
Is this hot enough?
We started seeing these bone fide Wile E. Coyote Super Genius shrubs
We cruised across this plain for a fur piece until the afternoon sun made me stupid.
I had to pull over and seek shelter and sustainance while I still had my wits about me. We pulled into Werden AZ. And had our choice of 2 restaurants one was a typical local bar/grill where the odds of doing intricate verbal jousting was high and this other cinder bock joint that looked more family oriented. We chose number 2 and I am glad we did.
The place was the CACK of the restaurant world except way more elegant. It is called "Ingredients" I think.
Inside shot
omnisex bathroom
Nightlight
Great service
Outside eating
It was a blast eating here the women clearly took great pride in the food they presented and it showed. The ingredients were fresh and delicious and the conversation was excellent. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t much but on this particular afternoon it was just the perfect antidote for heat stroke. I wish these women all the luck.
Hot,hot,hot,ride,ride,ride,hot,hot,ride,ride,
Drifting tech tip:
Even though it looks cool to go helmetless in this kind of heat I pour cool water in my helmet and it slowly evaporates cooling my head while the helmet insulates it from the heat.
Hot,hot,hot,ride,ride,ride,hot,hot,ride,ride,
Finally pull into Quartzsite AZ and find a not so Super 8 I was a little crazy from the heat looking forward to a cool shower. Well guess what ? The cold water is the same as the air temp. 115deg, no relief so I laid down to sleep.
Good night
------------------------------
The fuselage
Nothing practical here, it is all showbusiness.
A) Elvises TCB lightnin bolt (takin care o'business in a flash) given to me by fat bastard after a pilgrimage to graceland (I think).
B) Cool indian bead belt I found in the trash, hides drywall screws to C
C) Lincoln Incontinental hood piece salvaged from a buddies wrecked luxoboat. Thanks Neil. It is to bad such a fine piece of Wixom Michigan iron had to die for my art.
D) Scrubby sponge for cleaning oneself and dishes in creeks.
F) I can't get enough Homer
F) Satans own sphincters, the fork seals from hell I hope whoever made these burns for eternity.
E) 1970 Honda cb350 foot pegs welded to something.
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Last Day OTR
[COLOR=white]
Drifter and I flee just before dawn as we want to get some miles before the cosmic cauterizer appears.
This is our last day in the saddle but the terrain and the route are unknown and exciting so there is not much time for the traditional last day introspection. This day is more alive with opportunity and excitement than most. My general direction will require one more drop south toward the border. I decide this is as good a place as any so I head down toward I-8 in Yuma AZ. The highway is as straight as, pause, something that is really straight (fill in with your own witty analogy, a fine chance for some do it yourself wit). I am not sure but I believe this is the northern part of the Sonoran Desert that starts down in Mexico, famous for killing people that want to come to our country to cut our grass and hang drywall.
It is I don’t know how far to Yuma so I gas up. The air is 95deg as the sun rises on our left.
Profiles in cartage
Last day introspection warning
By this point in the trip all of the tension of our roles has vanished. No homework to be handed in, beds to be made, bills to be paid,
I have seen my son for what he truly is a kind, intelligent, beautiful, tough young man and I love him more than ever. I hope that the transmogrification has allowed him to see the man his momma fell in love with in 1982 not the grumpy old man I have become. I pray that when he is tested by the future he does it with more grace than I did.
Last day introspection over.
Drifter introspectin
The ride toward Yuma was beautiful, we where in a valley between two ridges. The sun rise to the east was lovely, painting a cool flame job on the mountains to the right.
Yuma was a little different than the rest of the desert, lots of agriculture.
Do you really need a picture of cotton? Oooookay
We stopped for victuals at Brownies Diner. I usually look for old diners to eat in not for the homey ambience or a look into a simpler past but to keep my immune system at full alert.
You people that eat at the tidy, sterile restaurant chains are gonna drop like flies when the big bug hits and I will be the last Vermin standing.
Survivors of the next pandemic
These fellers where up bright and early to go blast the feathers off of doves. I felt there was some irony in giving the universal symbol of peace lead poisoning. I kept it to myself as this particular crowd looked like it didn’t appreciate subtle irony.
In the back of my mind I had considered the notion of doing a strategic invasion of Mexico.
Drifter tech tip
Ask the locals about the real situation don’t rely on prejudice or fear to stop you from doing something.
I asked the cutest blondest waitress there about the risk involved in travel across Baja and she said it was no big deal. We assimilate the data, weigh the risk and twist the throttle toward Baja.
Game on!
Reality check!
I live in the Detroit Michigan Metropolitan Area we have on the average (I’m guessing, if someone has pesky facts to the contrary please interject) 500 murders a year. I am 49 years old, that is 24,500 mothers, sons, daughters, cousins, buddies, fathers, lovers and friends have violently gone to their reward within spittin distance of my big fat mansion since I was born. I drive by a huge dump every day on the way to my cubicle and I often wonder how many human souls are buried in that pile, it is a great temple to the gods of consumption and sometimes there are human sacrifices.
In other words Mexicans should be afraid of Michigan.
We cruise down I-8 toward Calexico as I have decided to enter at Mexicali
Sandbox plantation
We pull up to the border and there are several lanes to choose from, some say “stuff to declare” (I am paraphrasing} and one says “no stuff to declare” I have no items worth declaring and any thoughts I have to declare are best left alone so I pull in to the no declare lane. Do to my unconventional conveyance I expected substantial scrutiny. There was no one there! I pulled up slowly looked around and nobody seemed interested in me so I cruised right on through. I have heard tales of hassle and Mexican insurance and what have you but that was not the case this time. No one seemed remotely interested in my comings and goings.
Once again there is scant photographic evidence.
Drifter seems unfazed by the stark contrast between the level of affluence in the US and the chaos and poverty of a Mexican border town. I attribute this to the amount of time he spends in his room which makes a Mexican border town look like Beverly Hills.
Dead Bronze guys
Naturally we get lost looking for the cross Baja freeway. I figure go south and west until you hit a wall. I didn’t find it for awhile and the neighborhoods where getting worse and worse .
Drifter tech tip
Always ride motorcycles and wear apparel that is appropriate to Mexico this is an entirely cack oriented area so I raise no eyebrows. I also do not appear like a profitable target for theft or vandalism. If your stuff is inferior to the locals it is much less likely to be purloined
Bus butt
Wry sarcasm warning
I have spent no small amount of time sucking bus fumes in Mexico as an agent of the great nervous gringo businessman invasion following the historic NAFTA agreement. This was a sweet deal. All we had to do is move all of our manufacturing facilities to Mexico helping to assure that there is no middle class in this country and they would rapidly become prosperous and stop flooding across our borders. That went without a hitch.
Wry sarcasm over.
I am hopelessly lost and pull over to a street vendor and say “Estoy gringo estupido, donde esta autopista dos”. Which in English means I can’t find my ass with both hands would you help. Imagine my chagrin when he points to the on ramp.
By now I am starting to feel “rode hard and put up wet” I just want to get this routine over with so I start hauling some serious west bound ass. I relaxed a little as I was on a freeway. I came around a corner and saw something in the right lane. Veer, clench sphincter. It was just half a dozen Mexicans, scratching their heads, standing around a Lincoln arc welder the size of a minivan (gross exaggeration used to reflect how things are amplified during a crisis). The heat during this stretch is brutal. I can’t imagine what it is like in Julio (Espanish for July, one of about eight words I remember from $300 of tapes, classes and online learning. Meaning that word alone cost me $37.50, enjoy, I offer it to you free.).
The bumpy part you feel on the globe
The bottom of this roadside ravine shows the results of the Mexican attention span.
Are there any Mexican Grand Prix racers?
Hot ride ride ride hot desolation ride ride empty lake bed.
ride ride ride.
Sorry I have no deep introspection on the human condition in Mexico, no one seems particularily upset to be Mexican.
Awkward moment of the century.
Americans (people from the Estadios Unidos (sic), that’ll be $75 please), tend to be a little more tense about entry into their country. As we sit in the line to enter our great sovereign nation at Tecate I inform drifter that sometimes vehicles that are as beautiful and inspired as ours may get additional scrutiny at the border. We buy water from a cute girl on the side of the road. I then ask “ have you ever heard of the law enforcement technique called cavity search? Drifter has a shot of adrenaline course through his veins and his eyes become as wide as saucers. “You are kidding right Dad” “I hope so Drifter”
We did receive some lackluster scrutiny but not the big glove. I presume they figure no one would be so brazen or stupid to carry contraband on this vehicle with a kidnapped minor on the back.
Hola, Cali
It never rains in California, girl don’t they warn ya, it pours.
(song stuck in head)
We pull in to aunty and uncle B’s house in Del Mar on the coast. Had I known that Sweet Thangs sister lived such an opulent life I would have elbowed their son out of the garage apartment and been their lawn boy/servant.
Imagine the revulsion and the sour milk drinking feeling my rels. got when this abomination slunk up the drive way. I took the remaining Stabil and put it in the gas tank (I don't know how much Stabil or how much gas). The original plan was to put the old girl (cack not sister-in-law) in my father in laws barn inland but the Corona fairy waved her wand over us that evening and made plan A impractical. What ever fate becomes her she has been a good and faithful servant and I will always cherish riding her (cack not sister-in-law). Unfortunately now my big shooter brother in law has a piece of crap moronocycle next to his sweet Heritage Softail Classic in his nicely tiled elegant garage.
Uncles list of things to do today
1) Make big gillion dollar corporate decisions
2) Criticize wifes execution of the construction project
3) Wonder about what to do with the piece of crap in the driveway and resolve to never invite vermin into our home again
As it stands i think this bike will be a pain in his ass for some time I didn't want it to end this way but you know "The best laid plans of Vermin and men". I am sorry uncle! Hey you shouldn't have given me Corona.
Stay tuned next year. If big cheese brother in law (who is a hell of a nice guy) doesn't throw the bike away I will fly out and cack (verb) down to Cabo or Costa Rica or Canada or Camden I don't know somewhere with a C name.
Dear opulent garage livin nephew,
You fell in it Roscoe.
Love,
uncle vermin
Dear aunt and uncle b,
Prepare yourself for a vermin infestation when I retire which could be any day now the way the auto industry is going.
Love, your opportunistic vermin-in-law
I am not so proud that I couldn’t be a parasitic hanger on.
The day has exhausted the pair of drifters so they walk to the beach.
Frolic in the surf.
Am I thinking of work at this moment?
Ahendepe shudders as he regains consciousness, he is driving a car down a familiar road into the sunrise.
He recognizes the temple of consumption.
He has driven by this tabernacle of trash approximately 8320 times, he notices the linear mathematical relationship between his number of passes, morning and night, and the height of the dump. He has prospered.
He approaches the machine, will it accept him? Will he get to grasp at the grocery spigot today?
The green light flashes he is accepted. He has humbly asked permission to play the game another day and it has been granted.
He sees familiar faces, they are busy people.
He has known these people a long time and has grown to love them. He has seen their births, deaths, weddings and divorces. They have watched each other grow old. He says “Good morning sunshine! How are you” they reply “Fine thanks, and you?
They don’t know he has been gone.
At the coffee machine his cubemate asks “so, how was your trip”
Ahendepe says “fine”
He sits down and notices the red light blinks on his phone. He can’t remember his password. There is a familiar tightening in his chest.
A) Chest loosener (Nitro)
B) Liquid enthusiasm
C) Red light reminds him that he has forgotten to put the “I will be out of the office message” on everything.
D) Unauthorized non-5S compliant personal effects with a picture of Sweet Thang surrounded by their larva.
Vermin has crawled back into his hole.
The End
