Texas-to-Spokane 2001
A Nonfiction Story About a Motorcycle Trip From Texas to Spokane, Washington
By Doug McIntire
Disclaimer: This is the second of three stories in which we traveled, by motorcycle, through all of the lower-48 states of the Continental U.S.
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The story of a 15-day, 5,000-mile road trip on Harley-Davidson motorcycles from Texas to Spokane, Washington, going through all the states of the western U.S.
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Day 1 — Friday, August 24, 2001
Day 2 — Saturday, August 25, 2001
Day 3 — Sunday, August 26, 2001
Day 4 — Monday, August 27, 2001
Day 5 — Tuesday, August 28, 2001
Day 6 — Wednesday, August 29, 2001
Day 7 — Thursday, August 30, 2001
Day 8 — Friday, August 31, 2001
Day 9 — Saturday, September 1, 2001
Day 10 — Sunday, September 2, 2001
Day 11 — Monday, September 3, 2001
Day 12 — Tuesday, September 4, 2001
Day 13 — Wednesday, September 5, 2001
Day 14 — Thursday, September 6, 2001
Day 15 — Friday, September 7, 2001
You already know the characters from last year, Randall and Mike. Randall and I have known each other for years, and even worked together once. Mike and I used to work together, but now he works with Randall.
The only problem this year was that Mike couldn't make it. For some reason, he had used up all of his vacation in the US Virgin Islands...something about single guys being in rut...but with no vacation left, Randall and I had to go it on our own.
Last year, Randall had the Honda Goldwing, while Mike and I were on the Harleys. It wasn't intentional, at least on my part, but Randall took a lot of abuse for having a reverse gear and a heater. For some reason, if you're going to rough it, then you shouldn't be too comfortable. Randall was starting to come around though. He sold his Goldwing last year and got a 2001 Harley-Davidson Road King. I think it had more to do with the 63,000 miles on the Goldwing and less to do with the ribbing, but who knows. Now if we could just get him to wear a leather jacket instead of his denim one. I guess you can only improve so much of your image at one time.
During our trip last year, somehow or other we came up with the idea of hitting all of the lower-48 states in five years. We already had a good start, since we were able to knock out 12 states last year on our way to Canada and back, at least Randall and I did. Since we met up with Mike in Kansas City, Missouri, he missed Oklahoma and Texas so he only clocked in 10 states.
Unlike last year though, this year, this year we didn't really need to go anywhere. If you remember, last year I had to make a trip to Iowa and we stayed over a day there and a couple of days in Canada to see my cousin. So without needing to go anywhere, it was time to decide where we wanted to go.
The first part of the preparation was the planning, and the first part of the planning was figuring out the route. Nothing solid, but at least something to get us going, and headed generally in the direction we wanted to travel! But we did need to get an idea of where we wanted to go, and when we were going to meet up.
I had been toying with the idea of a trip from Texas, hugging the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, down to Key West, but August in Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Florida sounded a bit too hot and humid for us, so we had to come up with another destination.
That left us with only one option, and that was to reach out for cooler climes. I started looking at a map and figured out that the distance from Dallas to Spokane, Washington was only 1,800 miles. Double that, 3,600 miles for a round trip and you roughly have what we did last year. That didn't sound too bad and it also knocked out one of the farthest states we had to reach, Washington.
We could get over into New Mexico, up through Colorado, into Wyoming, hit Yellowstone National Park, on to Montana, across the upper part of Idaho and from there it's just a hop, skip and a jump to Spokane.
On the way back, it was down through Oregon, over to Nevada, Utah, back through Colorado and New Mexico, and home. That left out California and Arizona, but they would always make for a good trip by themselves.
I passed the proposed itinerary to Randall, and alas, a trip was born! Of course nothing is set in stone at this point, or in fact at any point in the trip for that matter, but we did need to get a general compass heading of where we wanted to go. Randall liked the idea and was ready to start immediately.
It worked out well that we were going through Colorado, since Randall's Mom lives in Greeley. That would give us a great place for laundry, stay overnight, and get some real food, and probably more importantly, a shower!
The next question that we needed to answer was where we were going to meet up. If you remember last year, I hooked up with Randall in Oklahoma, since I left a day before he did. He wasn't able to leave until Saturday, while I left on Friday. This year, we were both planning on leaving the same day, but it would be out of my way for me to head to Dallas first, which is north and a little east from Georgetown, when the general direction we wanted to travel was northwest. With that in mind, we came up with a plan. He would head out due west, while I would go northwest and we would meet up on the road. This year I got a cell phone too. That way, there should be no problem in hooking up on the road; at least, that's the plan. In the Army, they say that plans only last until the first shot is fired, and I think it's something like that on motorcycle trips too.
But there were other things to prepare for too. Last year, my first day on the bike left me with a sore butt, so this year I planned ahead. I had wanted to put some miles on my bike, so I came up with the idea of taking a picture of my bike in front of every courthouse in Texas. Considering that there are 254 counties in Texas, that's 254 courthouses to go see. It also gave me a reason to go places and see things I normally wouldn't go see. As it turned out for this trip, it killed two birds. It got my butt in shape for the long rides, and it gave Randall and I a perfect location to meet. He would head out on US Highway 380, while I would head up US 87 and we would meet in front of the County Courthouse in Tahoka, Lynn County, Texas. The distances for each of us were similar, and it gave us a great landmark to meet at, considering neither of us knew the area.
Now that we knew generally where we were going, and where we were meeting, we just needed to decide who was bringing what.
Mike brought the tent last year, but he wasn't going, so luckily Randall knew a guy who would loan us a tent. But getting a tent is only half of the problem; we also needed to figure out how we were going to haul it. Randall doesn't have his Honda Goldwing anymore. I swear he could pack a house on that thing! But he said not to worry, that he could pack the tent.
We also learned a lot last year about what to take and what not to take. Last year I took a cast iron Dutch oven and a griddle for camping, but we never used them, so I knew better this year. I suggested that we just needed an aluminum fry pan, which Randall said he would get. Other than that, we pretty much were responsible for the same items we brought the year before. That way we didn't have to relearn what to bring and how to pack it. Remember that space on a motorcycle comes at a premium, so we didn't want to waste our space by all bringing duplicate things. This year we did pay more attention to who was bringing what. We didn't both want to bring a hatchet, for example.
Day 1 — Friday, August 24, 2001
The day of our departure finally arrived! I jumped out of bed at 6:00 am, earlier than I ever get up. I jumped in the shower, kissed my wife, Cheryl, goodbye and was on the road! Last year I still had some packing to do the day I left. Not this year! My motorcycle was sitting there, fully loaded, just waiting for me to jump on and go!
I started out heading east on Texas State Highway 29 to Llano, and then took US 71 to Brady, then US 87 to Sterling City. I made good time, and my plan was to go ahead and photograph my motorcycle in front of the courthouses on my way out of the state. I already had a fair number of counties on my way, but Sterling City, Sterling County was my first stop for a courthouse picture.
From Sterling City, I veered west on Texas 158 to Garden City, Glasscock County, for another picture, then north on FM (Farm to Market for those of you who don't live in Texas) 33 to Big Spring, Howard County. In Big Spring I got a picture in front of the courthouse, and on my way out of town, I ran into the Big Spring Harley-Davidson Dealership, so I stopped for a t-shirt. The Big Spring dealership bills itself as the oldest Harley-Davidson dealership in Texas, so what real choice did I have? Besides, you get a Harley owner more than a hundred miles from home and they just have to get the t-shirt.
After Big Spring, I veered west again on Interstate 20 to Stanton, Martin County, for another picture and then took Texas 137 North to Lamesa, Dawson County and then US 87 on into Tahoka, Lynn County.
I got to the courthouse in Tahoka at about 3:30 in the afternoon, and by about 4:15 I was really beginning to wonder where Randall was. I had tried his cell phone, but all I got was a busy signal. I called my wife to see if he had called and left a message, but she said he hadn't.
To make matters worse, Tahoka, at least around the square of the courthouse, was about a ghost town. There were lots of buildings, but the shops were all closed and boarded up, so I couldn't even window shop. It looked like there was a restaurant across the street from the courthouse by the sign out on the sidewalk, but it had gone out of business too. It was a pretty hot day, the courthouse was closing, and although I had plenty of shade, it was still pretty warm.
Randall wasn't having as good of a day as I had. He finally showed up at about 5:30 in the evening. First of all, he ran into a sandstorm. He said it looked like smoke going across the road, but it was sand. He said he had sand in every orifice of his body. After the sandstorm, he ran out of gas about 28 miles from Post, Texas...not a good way to start a several-thousand mile road trip!
He tried to get gas at Jayton, but the gas station there didn't have any gas. He also tried to get gas in Clairmont, but Billy wasn't around, so the gas pumps weren't turned on. I guess Billy goes fishing from time to time, and if he's fishing, he's not pumping gas. Randall tried to limp into Post with his gas gauge on "E", but he didn't make it. It must be nice to have a gas gauge on a Harley; mine doesn't have one.
As his motorcycle began to sputter on the last few drops of gas in his tank, he spied a lone tree alongside of the road and he was actually able to stop in the shade; it was the only tree for miles he said.
Along with that, his cell phone wasn't working, at least not the way it should have been. It turns out that the reason it was constantly busy when I tried to call was because of a problem AT&T was having. He could call out, but he couldn't receive any calls. Now you would think, remembering that I got a cell phone for this trip, that this wouldn't be much of an issue. I was only about 50 or 60 miles away from him at this point, and it wouldn't have been too difficult to run over there with a gas can and bail him out. Of course, that would assume that he actually had brought my cell phone number with him. Trust me when I tell you that there's really no such thing as too much planning on these long trips.
So, stranded as he was under the one lone shade tree in that part of Texas, about the only thing Randall could do was to start flagging down cars. The first car Randall flagged down was a Volvo, and therefore ran on diesel, so they weren't able to help him much. The next couple of cars didn't have any gas either, but everyone offered to take him to a gas station. Randall pointed to his bike and said there was no way he was leaving it there. Remember that it was loaded down for a long trip, so it wasn't just a simple matter of locking it up. In the end, they each advised Randall to stop one of the farmers going by because they always carried gasoline, and they went on about their way, leaving Randall alone under his shade tree waiting for the next car to flag down.
Then along came Andy and Henry. Andy and Henry were brothers, and they were each in their own pickup truck. On top of that, Andy and Henry were both built like Samoan Sumo Wrestlers. Andy and Henry had just put a new motor in one of the pickups so they were out test-driving it to make sure it worked. They didn't have any gas with them, but they had pickups. As it turns out, they also had straps that they could use to tie down the motorcycle, so they parked the pickup in the ditch and proceeded to manhandle Randall's motorcycle into the bed of the truck.
They gave him a ride into Post, Texas, found a place to unload his bike, he got gas, bought Andy and Henry a case of beer, and he was on the road again! Amazingly, his ride from Post to Tahoka, about 26-odd miles, seemed to go without any further incident, and that's where he hooked up with me.
All in all, I was glad to see him, even if he was a couple of hours late. It's always a bit worrisome to meet up somewhere out on the road, and always a relief when you actually do meet up. Of course Randall is two-for-two in being late to the prearranged coordinates, so I should be getting used to it.
From Tahoka, we were hungry, so we figured we could get to Lubbock and find someplace decent to eat. We did, at a hopping little place called the Hub City Brewery. It was a little restaurant and microbrewery that seemed to be one of the local favorites. The meal was great while the beer was just okay. Cindy, our waitress, made up for the lackluster beer though by interjecting her bubbly personality at all the right moments.
August 24, 2001 — Lubbock, Texas
Cindy, our waitress at the Hub City Brewery.
For some reason she kept coming over to our table and sitting down.
She kept coming over to our table and hanging out. I think it was to hang out with a couple of good-looking guys. Randall thought it was because we were probably the most fun loving. It's probably because she spotted good tippers. But whatever the reason, she was fun and we enjoyed our brief stay there.
After we left the Hub City Brewery, we went in search of the courthouse for my photograph. We didn't realize it before we got there, but Lubbock is a college town, and a happening little college town at that. We could have easily stayed and sampled some of the party atmosphere, but it was still the first day and we felt the urge to get back on the road. We had a little bit of daylight left, so we decided to get to Levelland, Texas. Several of the locals in Lubbock told us about a free campsite in Levelland, plus it was the next stop on my list of courthouses to photograph. Besides, it was beginning to look like rain, and we wanted to avoid rain this year if at all possible.
In Levelland, we found the free campsite and pitched our tent. There weren't much in the way of amenities, other than water hookups. There weren't even any bathroom facilities, but we didn't care. The campsite was really designed for travel trailers, but that didn't stop us. There were a couple of travel trailers there, and they were pretty friendly. Some of the other campers specifically warned us about the rattlesnakes, but we weren't to be deterred.
Last year we had packed all of our camping equipment but did very little camping. This year Randall and I decided that we were going to do a lot more camping and a lot less in motels, which is how it worked out.
By the end of the day, I already had over 460 miles, and I didn't have a sore butt. Much better than the 270 miles I made on the first day last year with a sore butt! The rain missed us completely. The first night in the tent, I dug out a 200ml bottle of Bacardi Limon, a lemon-lime flavored rum. We mixed it with coke, and it was a hit for the rest of the trip. Randall read the story I had written about our Canada adventures last year and was laughing his sore-butt off while I made notes in my journal. And so ended the first day.
Day 2 — Saturday, August 25, 2001
Saturday started off with us getting up about 7:30 am. You can tell we're on vacation because I don't even get up this early at home! It didn't take us long to brush our teeth, pack our gear and head out.
The first stop was at the courthouse for the photo of my bike. We lucked out because the courthouse was right on our way back to the main road from the campsite. We discussed food, but decided to get some miles on before stopping, so it was off to Littlefield for another photo of a courthouse.
In Littlefield we stopped at a Sonic for breakfast. Right next to the Sonic was a Motor Trike Dealership. Motor Trikes are the 3-wheelers you see on the road. They make them out of Honda Goldwings mostly, but they had a couple Harley-Davidson models too. They were pretty cool, and I learned a lot about Trikes, but Randall was more interested in the '37 Ford Jalopy that pulled into Sonic across from us. Randall had picked up an old pickup recently that he was restoring, so he was interested in old cars and trucks.
After breakfast, we headed up to Muleshoe and Farwell, Texas for two more courthouse photos. We didn't know it at the time, but Muleshoe and Farwell have a lot of cattle feedlots. One of the thrills about riding a motorcycle is actually being part of the environment, instead of watching the environment, like you do in a car. One of the downsides of riding a motorcycle is that being part of the environment applies to road kill, skunks, and stinky cattle feedlots! Oh yeah, feedlots attract insects, and the feedlots here were no exception. Randall and I drove through a swarm of gnats that plastered our windshields. I'll bet that between the two of us, we collectively killed a million gnats. It felt like sprinkles of rain when we drove through them.
But I got my courthouse photos despite the feedlots and gnats, and then it was across the state line and into New Mexico. We learned our lesson last year and our plan was to get a picture by every state welcoming sign, but I guess we weren't welcome in New Mexico, because I sure didn't see any sign welcoming us into the state. We did make the switch from Central Time to Mountain Time though, so we were making progress!
August 25, 2001 — Fort Sumner, New Mexico
Randall is standing out in front of the museum beside our bikes.
August 25, 2001 — Fort Sumner, New Mexico
Notice the bars around the gravesite and the chips taken out of the headstone.
What some people will do for a souvenir.
Not far into the state of New Mexico, Randall saw a sign that said that "Billy the Kid's" gravesite and tombstone was just outside of Fort Sumner, New Mexico, about four miles off of US 84. The weather was gorgeous, so we couldn't pass up an opportunity like this now, could we? It was only four miles out of our way, and what's a motorcycle trip across America without a little adventure? So off we went to go meet Billy the Kid.
Of course, every roadside attraction is designed to take your money. The museum charged for the tour, but the gravesite itself was open to the public. So rather than spend our money on the tour, Randall and I headed out to the cemetery back behind the museum.
Iron bars surrounded the gravesite itself. Evidently the headstone has been stolen in the past and has had to be replaced so they placed a cage around the gravesite. That still didn't prevent souvenir hunters from taking pieces of the headstone. In the picture, you can see where pieces have been chipped away. What a shame.
But it wasn't until we were leaving Billy the Kid's gravesite that the real adventure began. I got on my bike and take off just like normal. Randall is a couple of steps behind me so he still in the parking lot, about to leave, when I discover that I can barely control my bike. The front end of my motorcycle is shaking wildly and I'm having a hard time maintaining control and not dumping it on the ground. I wasn't going very fast, only about 10 miles per hour, but evidently it was fast enough. I managed to slow down the bike and pull back into the parking lot of the museum with a flat front tire, and I had just gotten a new tire and tube put on right before this trip.
Randall and I roll the bike back and forth, looking for nail or whatever has flattened the tire. We can't find anything in the tire, so Randall pulls out his can of fix-a-flat and we proceed to air up my front tire.
The tire comes up, but there is air leaking out of everywhere, around the spokes, along the bead on the rim, everywhere. The tire has a tube, and that was why all the leaks, but it took us a few minutes to figure that out. We roll the tire back and forth as we're filling it, so that the stop-leak stuff in the can will seal the leak. The tire airs up, but we can tell it's still leaking, so we limped back to the main road and to Fort Sumner to find a motorcycle shop open on Saturday.
I took it pretty slow and we make it to the main road, which is about four miles from the museum. Once we got to the main road, I drove on the shoulder with my hazard lights on. Right on the edge of Fort Sumner there was a tire shop, about six miles total from the museum, so we stopped. I knew that they would have an air compressor and could hopefully direct us to a bike shop open on Saturday.
Finding a tire shop right on the edge of Fort Sumner may sound lucky, but let me explain. The tire shop didn't fix motorcycle tires. There was no motorcycle shop in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. The town of Clovis, 68 miles behind us was probably the closest motorcycle shop, and it's already about 1:00 in the afternoon, so getting there and finding the shop open would be a neat trick, and they sure wouldn't be open on Sunday, and maybe not on Monday (for those of you who don't ride motorcycles, it's not uncommon to find motorcycle shops closed on Mondays). Santa Rosa, the next minor town ahead might have a motorcycle shop, but no one seems to know for sure.
So, while deciding on the best course of action, I filled my tire up to see if it held air. I also called my roadside assistance service program, Bros Club, which I signed up for before this trip in case of just such an emergency. Of course, out in the middle of New Mexico, or more specifically out on the eastern edge, cell phone service was really spotty. My cell phone was on Sprint PCS, and it was pretty much useless, which is to say that I got analog service part of the time, depending on where I was standing. Randall's cell is on AT&T and the service is a little better, but it doesn't get incoming calls if you remember the story from yesterday. But through it all, I get in touch with Bros Club and I find out that there service isn't the fastest. I don't know, maybe none of the roadside assistance programs are very fast. On top of that, George, the owner of George's Auto Service, the tire shop where I'm parked, closes at 3:00 pm, so the clock is ticking.
Randall thinks ahead and runs up to the local Napa Auto Parts Store to pick up two more cans of fix-a-flat and two screwdrivers and a patch kit in case we have to try to fix the tire ourselves. He also got a six-pack of Coors Light. Hey, you have to have priorities, and if we were going to be stranded, we might as well be comfortable, and maybe a little numb, but we held off on the Coors Light until we were able to determine our best course of action.
It's about 2:00 pm now, and George is only open for another hour. Bros Club is going to call me back when they have some information, but they haven't yet. George, the owner, is really pretty nice and pretty sympathetic to our plight and he wants to help, but doesn't really know what he can do. He makes a comment off-hand that everyone who brings motorcycle tires in to get fixed already has them off the bike.
What did he say? Randall and I look at each other. Randall definitely has the wheels turning and asks George if he can fix the tire if we can get it off the bike. George says, "Sure."
And just like that, a plan is born. We only have an hour before George closes, so like a pit crew on race day, we get the bike into a bay, jack it up and proceed to remove the front tire.
Now remember, this is a motorcycle, and it's not just a simple thing to "jack it up." First of all, we have to get the jack under the front part of the bike so the front comes off the ground but the backend stays put. You have to also consider the balance of the bike; you have to make sure the bike just doesn't topple over. We solved the balance problem by me staying on the bike and basically holding it from falling over.
This all sounds easy so far, but if you jack up the front end while I'm holding the bike's balance, a problem develops; in the process of lifting the front end off the ground, it also lifts my feet off the ground, so there goes the balance. This was solved by placing the bike on the hump going into the bay so it was high-centered in the middle where my feet were, but lower in the front and rear. By having it lower in the front, we also didn't need to lift the front end as high. Problems are solved so far; the only one left is how to get the wheel off the bike.
Well, Randall is pretty mechanically inclined, and he saw a motorcycle mechanic take a front wheel off once when he was six years old, so he thinks he can do it and starts twisting wrenches. Before long, the wheel is off the bike; George has the tire off the wheel, and finds the problem. It seems that when they put the tire on before my trip, they left a crease in the inner tube, and it just wore a hole through the rubber. I'm only 626 miles from home; so needless to say, I'm less than pleased with the folks who replaced my tire before the trip. George says you can avoid this by blowing the tire up once, letting all the air out and then refilling it. That way, the creases come out of the tube; good information for future trips!
It didn't take long before the tube was patched, the tire was back on the wheel, and Randall was turning wrenches in the opposite direction. The bike came down off the jack, I backed out of the bay, the tire was holding, and it's only 2:50 pm! George said we owed him ten bucks for the service. I paid him twenty. Life is good again and Randall and I are back on the road.
Our luck was holding, because about 5 miles out of Fort Sumner we discovered that we were on the wrong road. We were on US 60 headed west to Vaughn, when we should have been on US 84 headed north to Santa Rosa. So we turned back, figured out where we went wrong, plotted our new course and headed out again...right into the face of a thunderstorm. As soon as raindrops hit the windshield, I pulled over onto the side of the road. Lightning was all around us, and the wind was pretty fierce right in front of the storm.
We threw on our raingear and Randall thought that if we turned back a couple of miles, the storm might blow by us, or at least the worst of it. We tried that, but the storm caught up to us and we were driving in rain before long, so we turned back around. We figured that if we were going to drive in rain, we might as well make progress. The wind was terrible, so we drove on the shoulder with our hazard lights on. After the front of the storm passed, the wind died down and we were able to actually drive on the road. We drove through about 15 miles of hard rain, but we were out of it by the time we got to Santa Rosa, and all that was left was some damp pavement.
In Santa Rosa, we jumped onto Interstate 40 and then got off on US 84 headed northwest to Las Vegas, New Mexico. On the way to Las Vegas we hit some sprinkles, but no real rain. We did hit another cold-air curtain like we did the year before in Minnesota, and the temperature dropped about 20 degrees immediately
We made it to Interstate 25, dug out our jackets, and it was on to Las Vegas, New Mexico. Once we made it into Las Vegas, we found a restaurant called the Blackjack, which served Italian food. The place was packed so we had to eat on the patio. Remember I said it turned cold, so we had to keep our jackets on. The food was okay, nothing great, and it cooled off pretty quickly. Over dinner, we decided to call it a night and find a motel. We decided it was too cold and rainy to try and camp. We needed to warm up.
The Blackjack was also a motel, but the rates were pretty high, so we found the local Budget Inn. We parked our bikes on the sidewalk in a narrow little walkway and we proceeded to unload. Randall cheated; his bike was equipped with all of the quick-disconnect stuff that just made his bike seem to fall apart! The saddlebags snapped off; so did the windshield, and every other piece of luggage or adornment. Did I mention his gas gauge? It figures that the guy who drove the Honda Goldwing last year would get the most comfortable Harley he could find.
August 25, 2001 — Las Vegas, New Mexico
There isn't much room on the sidewalk for the bikes, but we don't want them too far away.
After unloading, we walked across the street for Zima and another 200ml bottle of Bacardi Limon. We discovered that a 200ml bottle is perfect for a one-liter bottle of Diet Coke.
We relaxed in the room, talked to the guy who came in on a BMW motorcycle after us, and Randall lost a bet to me, a six-pack of Zima, that the name of the town was Muleshoe, not Mule, Texas. I had almost 765 miles for the trip so far; with just over 300 miles for the day, not bad considering flat tires and rain.
Day 3 — Sunday, August 26, 2001
Sunday morning was cool and crisp and we got showered and on the road for an early start. We decided to get 100 miles on before we stopped for breakfast. Last year we did this a couple of times, putting on 100 miles before breakfast. It worked well then, so we decided to try it again.
August 26, 2001 — Somewhere along Interstate 25 in New Mexico
Randall dubbed this "Mohawk Mountain" and thought it was worth a photo.
August 26, 2001 — Interstate 25 on the border of New Mexico and Colorado
Our first State Welcome Sign of the trip!
I also had my first chance to wear my new leather chaps that I bought just before the trip! They were great! They were nice and warm, and blocked the wind really well!
We stopped for breakfast at Raton, New Mexico, and then pushed on toward Colorado. We were over all the trials and tribulations of the day before, and we started getting back into our relaxed frame of mind. The first thing we realized was that relaxed people on vacation take pictures, so we stopped and took pictures, because after all, we were on vacation and we were really working on being relaxed!
Before long we were climbing a steep, curvy grade, and then before us stood the sign which welcomed us into Colorado. I found out that the long grade was leading up to Raton Pass, and the pass itself was right on the New Mexico/Colorado border.
Once we got into Colorado, we continued to make great time. Along the way, we passed a guy and a kid hauling a nice custom bike on a trailer. We exchanged waves, and continued on our way. It was a beautiful ride down Raton Pass. Randall saw a sign for the Sand Dunes, so we pulled off to check the maps to see how far out of our way it would be. It turned out to be too far, but while we were checking the map, the guy we passed with a custom bike on a trailer stopped and talked to us. He wanted to make sure that we were okay and that we knew where we were going. He highly recommended getting off Interstate 25 and going to see the sand dunes, but it really was too far out of our way. Randall's Mom lives in Greeley, Colorado, so we wanted to get there by nightfall.
August 26, 2001 — Somewhere along Interstate 25 in Colorado
A guy we passed stops to make sure we're okay.
He had a nice custom and was on his way home with his son.
By the time we got to Pueblo, it was finally warm enough to put away the leather jacket and chaps; Randall put away the denim. That was one thing I was really going to have to work on this trip, getting Randall into leather. Now that he was off the Honda Goldwing and onto the Harley-Davidson Road King, it was about time he exchanged the denim for the leather.
From Pueblo to Denver, I couldn't believe the number of motorcycles on the road, and they were rude too; no one waved. Motorcyclists on the road always wave; it's something about the brotherhood of motorcycle owners and the camaraderie they share. I guess the motorcyclists in Colorado don't belong to the club.
Actually, Randall was able to explain why the motorcyclists don't wave in Colorado. Because of the large number of bikes on the road, you would be waving all the time, so they've stopped waving. I guess it makes sense, because there were more motorcycles on the road than I have ever seen outside of rallies and organized rides. It was hard to break the habit though, and I still waved most of the time.
We made it to Denver by early afternoon, and we decided to stop by the capitol building for a picture. In my travels through Texas, I had stopped by the capitol building for a photograph, so we thought that it might not be a bad idea to get other capitol buildings if we were in the neighborhood, and Denver was the first one that we were in the neighborhood for. We could have done a few last year if we had thought about it, but oh well...
August 26, 2001 — The Capitol Building, Denver, Colorado
My motorcycle is in front of the steps, while Randall and his motorcycle are off to the side.
Denver was the last major stop, so from there it was off to Greeley to Randall's Mom's house. We arrived there at about 5:30 in the evening. Randall's Mom, Penny, was so glad to see him. I also met Randall's sister, Denice, Lee, her other half, and their daughter Tiffany and son Levi.
August 26, 2001 — Randall's Mom's House, Greeley, Colorado
Randall's Mom, Penny, and his niece, Tiffany (on back), are on my motorcycle.
That's Randall's nephew Levi is in the driveway.
The first night at Penny's we were treated to steak off the grill and corn on the cob. Good grub. By the end of the day, I had 1170 miles for the trip which made it just over 400 miles for the day.
Of course we stayed up long into the night; Randall getting caught up with family stuff, me getting to know everyone. Randall and I taught his niece Tiffany how to do push-ups the Army way.
Day 4 — Monday, August 27, 2001
Randall started out the day by taking Tiffany to school on his Harley. It was a thrill for Tiffany. The first thing on my mind is to get my bike into the local Harley-Davidson dealership to have my front inner tube replaced with a new one. I had too many miles left to go on this trip to trust it to a patched tube.
I started calling around starting at about 8:00 am. The Greeley Dealership was closed, it being Monday and all, but the voice message I got at the High Country Harley-Davidson in Frederick said that they opened at 8:30 am. I finally got a live person at about 9:00, but John, the service manager, said he didn't have any techs in so he wasn't sure if he could fix my bike today or not. Finally, after some prodding, he said that he would fix it himself if he had to, to go ahead and bring my bike in. I guess that they had just started opening up on Mondays, so all the kinks weren't worked out of the system yet.
High Country Harley-Davidson used to be in Longmont, Colorado, so that's where Randall took me. After driving around Longmont, we found that they had moved and so we were able to get directions to the new location. It was right on Interstate 25 and I had seen it when we went by yesterday. As it turned out, Longmont was quite a bit out of our way, but we got the bike into the shop.
By the time we got into the dealership, John's techs were also in so they were able to work on my bike. It took a while before they actually got my bike into the shop and on a lift, but eventually they did. Adrian was the mechanic who worked on my bike, and he was a great mechanic! He is the kind of mechanic you want to find to have him do all the work on your bike. He's the type who sees something is loose and automatically tightens it up without asking you if you want it tightened.
While he was replacing my inner tube, he noticed that my spokes were in bad shape so he tightened them. I'm not sure if he just tightened up the front spokes or on both wheels, but remember this because it will be important later in the story. He suggested that when I got home to really have a mechanic go over the spokes. He would have done more with them, but you have to be able to true the wheel, and it really is more work than it sounds. While I was in the dealership, I also found a rear luggage rack and was able to get Adrian to mount it for me. Last but not least, I also bought a spare inner tube and Randall bought a couple of tire spoons in case we had to work on another tire on the road.
Once we finally got out of the Harley shop with a bike in good mechanical order again, Randall took me for a tour around town. We went over to the hitch shop that Randall's ex-Brother-in-Law, Tommy runs. We ran into Tommy's son, Zach before we saw Tommy, so Zach went into the back and told his dad that there was "this guy out here who wants a hitch on his Harley."
Tommy hollered back to "tell the guy we don't do motorcycles". Zach asked his dad to come talk to the guy, and that's where he saw Randall. They were pretty happy.
After sitting around the shop for a few minutes, we decided to go pay Audra, Zach's sister, a visit. She had just gotten a new car, so we decided to play a little joke on her. I went up to the door and rang the bell. Randall was around the corner. When she came to the door, I told her I had hit her car and that we probably needed to exchange insurance information.
Audra took it all in stride and put her shoes on to come outside, where she saw Randall and the joke was discovered. We laughed all night about it. Audra's husband, Mike, was also home. He had had a little bit of a misunderstanding with a bull the Sunday before. Mike was riding the bull and the bull didn't want to be ridden, so they butted heads, literally. Having been a butcher, I can attest to the fact that there isn't much in this world that is harder than a bull's head. Mike said it rung his bell pretty good, and there was definitely a concussion involved.
It wasn't long before Zach and Tommy showed up, with beer, of course. Zach's girlfriend, Joey, also arrived and it wasn't long before a full-blown party was going on. But luckily, the beer ran out and it was time to move on.
Randall took me around town, showing me his old hangouts. I saw his high school, Monsato, where he used to be a butcher, and several of the local attractions. It was after 10:00 pm by the time we got back to Randall's Mom's. She was waiting up and had the photo albums out, so I saw pictures of Randall growing up, and his favorite shirt. And so ended the day.
Day 5 — Tuesday, August 28, 2001
We didn't get much of an early start today. Randall started out by taking Tiffany to school again, this time on my motorcycle. Randall wanted to change the oil on his bike before we left and didn't want his bike hot from driving it.
So when Randall got home he proceeded to change his oil...badly. Let me start by explaining that on Randall's bike, the transmission fluid drain and the oil drain are right beside each other. Well, you can guess which one Randall took off? Yep, he took off his transmission drain. The best part though was that he didn't realize it was the transmission fluid, so once it was finished draining, he replaced the drain and went to fill up the oil reservoir with oil and after a little over a quart or so, the oil overflowed everywhere. That was about the time when we realized that the oil he had drained wasn't engine oil.
He originally had enough oil for his oil change, but after mixing part of the new oil with the old oil that hadn't been drained yet, he didn't have enough oil to complete the oil change, and he didn't have any transmission fluid. So I took off for the Minnig Harley-Davidson shop in Greeley to get some transmission fluid and some more oil. It was Tuesday so they were open. Boy, the Colorado Harley-Davidson dealerships got a lot of business from us since this was the second day in a row that I was in a Harley shop, all in the same small area.
August 28, 2001 — Randall's Mom's Garage, Greeley, Colorado
Randall just couldn't change his oil without making a mess.
On top of all of that, Randall made a mess in his Mom's garage with oil all over the floor. We finally got his bike back together with all the fluids in the right places, and then we had to clean up the garage where he made the mess. I think that his Mom was pretty forgiving, because I'm not sure we got it very clean...in fact, I'm sure she would tell you we didn't get it clean at all!
But she didn't seem concerned with the garage; she just didn't want to see Randall leave. I guess it's always like that when you stay with your Mom.
After Randall got his bike back together, his Aunt Charlotte and Uncle John came by to see him. They had stopped by the house the night before, but Randall and I didn't get home until about 10:00 in the evening, so they left just before we got there.
Randall gave his Aunt a ride on his motorcycle, but I don't think she was very thrilled about it. I talked to his Uncle John for some time. He had been in the Army and he liked to fish and cook, so we had plenty to talk about!
But during all of the messes in the garage and visits by relatives, we finally got packed up and hit the road headed to Wyoming at about 1:00 in the afternoon. We ran into a few sprinkles of rain, but not enough to don our raingear.
August 28, 2001 — Wyoming State Line
Finally back on the road again and putting on some miles.
We got onto Interstate 80 and headed west to Rawlins, Wyoming. We had debated cutting north off of I-80 and getting into the Medicine Bow National Forest, but when we talked to folks, they said it wasn't worth the trip. They said that there was nothing there but antelope and they talked about how the winds just whip across the landscape there and without any kind of protection, we would spend a miserable night camping. So we stayed on I-80 and camped in a KOA campground in Rawlins. We only made about 200 miles for the day, but it was already over 1500 miles for the trip.
A couple named Fran and Jean ran the campground were we stayed and they really seemed like nice people. Fran had a Honda Goldwing, but it was put away for the winter and he hadn't gotten it out yet. We tried to talk him into getting it out and going with us, but he didn't.
August 28, 2001 — KOA Campsite, Rawlins, Wyoming
The fence behind the tent isn't for privacy; it's for protection from the wind.
The house behind our campsite is where Fran and Jean lived.
The campsites for the tents had little fences in the corners to block the wind. We talked to Fran about it, and he said the wind hadn't been bad lately, but that it can get pretty bad at times. As it turned out, the wind wasn't too bad so we started thinking about building a campfire. After all, what's camping without a fire?
Fran and Jean sold firewood at the front office, but it was four or five bucks for a small bundle, so we decided to rough it. Later on, Fran dropped a bundle off at our campsite and said it was on the house. So we ended up with our campfire after all. Randall and I had some beer iced down, and we had our now ever-present bottle of Bacardi Limon, so we were set. The evening came on and we sat at the picnic table drinking and talking and watching the fire.
August 28, 2001 — KOA Campsite, Rawlins, Wyoming
Relaxing by the campfire with a beer.
In the back of the campground, not far from where we were actually camped, there was a set of apartment buildings. As we were watching our campfire, Randall saw a man in one of the apartments snapping a boy with a towel, so we took our flashlights and started shining them in the window of the apartment.
The lights got turned down in the apartment and some of the blinds got pulled down. We made some comments about child abuse and beating children, when a girl in the apartment called down to mind our business. We made the offer to come on down and try it on someone their own size, but that offer was ignored.
So as much as we hated to do it, we went over to Fran and Jeans living quarters and asked them to call the police and explained what we saw. They did and the police came almost immediately. We showed the police which apartment it was and off they went.
The police came back about 20 minutes later and said that all they found in the apartment was two boys. One boy was older and quite a bit bigger, but no adults were present. Randall and I thought the parents might have skipped out in case the cops did show up, but the police said the bigger boy had a really high-pitched voice that sounded like a girl or a woman.
So as it turned out, there wasn't any child abuse going on, but just two brothers horsing around. We thanked the cops for getting there so quick and apologized to Fran and Jean for having to bother them so late, and we called it a night. As it turned out, it was a nice campsite, but we were a little too close to Interstate 80 and we heard the trucks going all night long.
Day 6 — Wednesday, August 29, 2001
It was another cool morning as we packed our bikes again. We stopped for a quick bite to eat at McDonald's, and then we were off. We headed up US Highway 287 all the way to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and the Grand Teton National Park.
Boy, let me tell you that US 287 isn't the most exciting highway in the world...at least the part that we saw. Wyoming is full of nothing but wide open spaces and antelope, and believe me when I tell you that we saw plenty of both. US 287 has these really long stretches of highway, that just go up and down hills, without hardly and twists or turns. On top of all that, there's not a very large population of people living around through there, so amenities, like say, gas, aren't that easy to come by.
By the time we got to Jeffrey City, I was starting to get a little low of fuel, so we looked for a gas station. We didn't see one, so we stopped in the post office to ask if there was one in town. There wasn't, but there was one in Sweetwater Station, about 20 miles up the road. Luckily for us it was in the same direction we were headed or we would have had to back track to get gas.
Along about now, we're beginning to think that we should get a spare gas can or two for our bikes. Randall has already run out once, and up in this neck of the woods, there aren't gas stations every 10 or 20 miles. In this case, it's more like every 100 miles or so.
But we made it up to Sweetwater Station and we were able to fill up our tanks before running out this time. Conveniently, there just happened to be a bar attached to the gas station, and it was pretty hot, so we decided that we deserved a break. Besides, we didn't have that far to go today, because we were definitely spending the night at Yellowstone National Park.
August 29, 2001 — Sweetwater Station, Wyoming
Me shooting darts with Rick, the bartender.
Notice I'm conveniently concealing the dartboard with my body because Rick's beating me!
It wasn't so much a bar, as a meeting place for all the locals that just happened to sell beer. The bar did have one of those electronic dart games, so I pulled out my darts and I played a couple of games with Rick, the bartender. I played...badly. Rick, on the other hand, has played a game or two on that machine before.
The bar itself was pretty much what you would expect to find out in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. There were lots of antlers, and old jukeboxes, and old beer signs. There were cattle brands, and antique woodworking tools, lanterns, and woodstoves...although I must admit that I think the woodstoves were less for show and more utilitarian in nature.
August 29, 2001 — Sweetwater Station, Wyoming
This is just some of the paraphernalia we saw in the bar.
After losing three games in a row to Rick, Randall and I decided it was time to move on down the road. We said our goodbyes to our new friends and off we went in search of Yellowstone.
After leaving Sweetwater Station, we started getting into some prettier country. The mountains became a little more evident, and the trees started showing up on the landscape. Along with the change in scenery, we also crossed the Continental Divide for the first time this trip.
Up until now I have had a terrible problem with my sinuses the entire trip. They were really dry and I was miserable. I absolutely couldn't breathe out of my nose. Randall had some Clariton-D along with him, so I tried it. That actually made it worse. The -D in Clariton-D stands for Decongestant, which means it dries you up. Boy was that not what I wanted to do. At one of the gas stops, I bought some nasal spray. It was expensive, but as it turns out, it was well worth the money. I started feeling better almost immediately! Pay attention because the clearing of the sinuses becomes important almost immediately.
August 29, 2001 — Somewhere along US 287, north of Sweetwater Station, Wyoming
Randall hanging out with the bikes. The scenery is finally starting shape up.
By about 3:00 in the afternoon, we were entering into Grand Teton National Park. The first order of business was food, so we found food. We stopped at Leeks Marina, a sanctioned stop in the Grand Teton National Park. We decided to live on the wild side and have something exotic, so pizza it was. It was quite a large pizza, and we weren't able to eat it all, so we saved some for later.
The original plan was that from there, we were going to push on into Yellowstone National Park, only a 50 or 75 miles north, but as we were eating our late Italian lunch, we thought about it and decided that we should spend the night in the Grand Teton National Park and go into Yellowstone in the morning. It was kind of hazy and we couldn't really see the mountains very good, we didn't want to miss anything, and it was late in the afternoon, so we decided to stay.
August 29, 2001 — Leeks Marina, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
The sign on this trash can was our first real indication that we were in bear country.
Of course, on our way back to our bikes, we saw the trashcan that told us explicitly that we were in bear country. Oh well, too late to turn back now, we were committed. From Leeks Marina, we headed slightly south to the Coulter Bay Campground. We were in luck, because the campground was pretty empty. The park ranger who admitted us into the campground was nice, and nicely warned us about the bears. She was nice, not the bears.
We were beginning to catch on to what camping in this neck of the woods was all about. There were bears here. That slowly began to dawn on me, although I wasn't about to let Randall know that I was on to their little secret here. I figured that what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. As I found out later, he was coming to the same realization about the same time that I was, but he wasn't going to let me know either.
So here we are, two tough bikers, not about to let some bears spoil our little adventure, camping in the Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming. The park ranger pointed us to a campsite that was pretty isolated from the other campers. I'm still not sure if that was a good idea or not. Let's see, the bears won't come near us, they'll go where there is more activity...OR...the bears don't want to be disturbed during their evening meal, so they will come by our tent since there's no one else around.
I really tried not to think about it too much. Of course, once we got to our campsite, we weren't able to forget about those pesky Wyoming bears, because the signs were everywhere. There was a sign on our picnic table; another was on the door to the restroom right across the road from where we were camping.
August 29, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
Reminders that we were in Bear Country continue. This one was stapled onto the picnic table.
The park was nice enough to provide steel lockers for us to lock our coolers in for the night. Of course, our coolers were actually safe, unless the bears have acquired a taste for rum. The now ever-present Bacardi Limon was about all that was in the cooler. But mentioning the rum, we didn't have any mixer, so it was my turn to run up to the store for the Diet Cokes. As it turned out, there was a convenience store right at the entrance into Coulter Bay, so it was a short trip.
August 29, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
And still more reminders that we're in Bear Country. Now it's the restroom door.
On the way to get the mixer, I came up on some deer feeding in the undergrowth. The deer here weren't quite as tame as they were at Devil's Tower last year, but they were still pretty immune to all of the activity around them. I was able to drive slowly up and take pictures for several minutes. In the meantime, other vehicles came and went, some taking pictures, some just moving on, but the deer stayed. I finally moved on before the deer did, but they were gone by the time I got back.
August 29, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
It's not just bears that inhabit the park.
There are about 3 or 4 more deer in the brush off to the left.
So now that Randall and I had our mixer, we were able to complete our campsite setup, which by the way we were getting pretty good at by now. Truth in fact, Randall had it pretty well set up by the time I got back. I'm sure that my lollygagging with the deer along the road gave him just the right amount of time he needed.
August 29, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
Our campsite. You can see the Bacardi and Diet Coke on the table.
August 29, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
Of course it looked like rain, so the tarp came out to go over the bikes.
Once I got back with the mixers and my bike cooled down, we went ahead and covered the bikes with the tarp because, like usual, it looked like rain. But we were pretty happy; we had our Bacardi Limon, with mixers, we were both trying to act brave with the apparent bear epidemic that was plaguing Wyoming. We put on 279 miles for the day, and tomorrow was it was on to Yellowstone!
So we drank our drinks, and turned in for the night. One advantage to being pretty isolated in the campground is that it was quiet! This was one of the best camping nights we had, except for one slight problem. Our tent was on a slight incline, so it was rather difficult not sliding downhill. We originally started with our heads downhill, but after the blood coagulated in our brains, we decided that we should probably have our heads uphill.
But all in all, it was a good night camping. I slept pretty well, especially now that I had the nasal spray. Randall could tell that it worked, because I started snoring for the first time on the whole trip. It hadn't been a problem up until now on this trip because I was so dry, but now that I had some moisture, I guess that was all it took. We got to laughing about how he and Mike would try to race me to sleep last year so they wouldn't have to hear me snore, but I still think they were lying about the whole thing.
Day 7 — Thursday, August 30, 2001
Well, to put it succinctly, Randall and I woke up to a cool morning, having successfully survived our first night in bear country! I must say, that for as apprehensive as I was going to bed, I was kind of disappointed that we didn't actually see a bear. Oh well, I guess it was for the best. Besides, I think the idea of seeing a bear is probably better than actually seeing a bear...at least up close and personal.
As I said, our campsite was isolated from the other campers, so we really had the place to ourselves. If the bears had shown up, we could have had a hell of a party, and no one would have been the wiser. But, as it was, the bears didn't show up (kind of reminded us of last year at the dump in Canada), no one else was around, it was morning, we were out in the middle of a National Park, and we were hungry.
Randall started the morning by lighting the lantern in the tent to warm it up. We both commented about how we used to use candles in the Army to do the same thing, warm up the tent on the cold mornings. You would be surprised how quickly a lantern or even a candle will warm up a small tent!
After the tent was warm and Randall was out of the sack, he donned his Chef's hat and started to make breakfast. As any good chef would do, the first thing he did was take inventory of our supplies. The main ingredient he found was a can of beans, and considering that we were out in the middle of nowhere and we were camping, beans are a perfectly acceptable breakfast staple, as everyone knows.
The next question became what were we going to have with the beans?
August 30, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
What's camping without beans for breakfast? Need I say more?
Of course I knew Randall, being the resourceful lad that he is, would find something. And find something he did...Beer. Of course, he tried to convince me that the recipe for beans and beer was an age-old tradition handed down from generation to generation in the Glenn family, but trust me, it was nothing like that. When beans and beer are cooked for hours in a Dutch oven, cooking over a low fire, I might buy it, but when both the beans and the beer come directly out of cans...well, what can I say? And let's not forget that the beans were hot and the beer was cold...wait a minute, this is beginning to sound better all the time.
August 30, 2001 — Coulter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
How did that Coors Light get mixed in with the breakfast stuff?
Well, you know how the old saying goes; Beer...it's not just for breakfast anymore. We were trying to lighten our load, and as it turns out, beans and beer do go together pretty well. Okay, for the wives and parents who might read this, I have to tell the truth. We weren't really drinking the beer, we were low on water and we were washing the mess kits. We figured that the alcohol would kill germs...yeah, that's it. We used the beer to kill germs!
But enough about beans and beer; it's a brand new day and we are almost to Yellowstone National Park, so there was no dawdling around at our campsite, calling for another round, it was time to get on the road! But first, we had to see the Grand Teton Mountain Range without the haze.
August 30, 2001 — Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
You know that you're in God's country when He makes the contours of the mountain range match the contours of you Harley-Davidson!
After stopping along a lake for a quick couple of pictures of the Grand Teton Mountain Range, which by the way is the newest mountain range in the Rockies, it was time to head to Yellowstone and look for Yogi the Bear.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
This was about our first glimpse of Yellowstone.
The fire damage from years ago is still quite evident, even now.
We were actually kind of disappointed when we entered into Yellowstone National Park. The evidence of past forest fires left a lot of the scenery pretty barren. We asked about it, and it turns out the forest fire was from twelve years ago! I remember when I was in the Army in 1989 when they were going to send us to Yellowstone to help put out forest fires...I guess this is exactly one of the forest fires they were talking about.
But once we really got into the park, the scenery changed for the better. If you've never been to Yellowstone, there is a loop that runs all the way around the park. Because it was so late in the season, part of the loop was closed, so we had to backtrack, but we didn't care. The Continental Divide runs right through Yellowstone, and we crossed it a total of five times today, and only a couple of times were because of the backtracking.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Crossing the Continental Divide, the first time of many times today.
The first thing we wanted to see in Yellowstone was Old Faithful, but we were delayed by a traffic jam. Randall and I were both scratching our heads, because there really wasn't that much traffic in the park. But there it was, big as day, with cars stopped for about a half-mile in either direction. Once we got a little closer to the middle of the pack, we discovered what all the commotion was about; there was an elk grazing just a few yards off the road. As silly as it sounds, elk do cause traffic jams in Yellowstone.
Once we got through the traffic jam, we continued going to the west side of the Yellowstone Loop to see Old Faithful. I had never been to Yellowstone National Park before, so that was the one thing I wanted to see. As we were getting closer to Old Faithful we could begin to see some of the thermal activity that Yellowstone is famous for.
We saw a small lake or pond that is literally boiling constantly. There are warning signs all over the place not to walk out on the mud. I guess the mud changes from day-to-day. One day, the mud will be solid and you could walk on it, but the next day you might fall into boiling mud by walking in exactly the same place as the day before. I don't know about you, but spending the day in boiling mud didn't sound too appealing to Randall, or me, so we stayed on the marked trails.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Yellowstone is famous for the thermal activity and this thermal lake on our way to Old Faithful was the first, but not the last, evidence that we saw of it.
When we got there, we had a 20-minute wait before Old Faithful went off, so we went into the Old Faithful Inn and got something to eat. It was pretty hot out, plus we were in long sleeves and riding gear, so it was even more so. But the Inn was air conditioned and cool.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Old Faithful before it went off.
By the time we got back out to Old Faithful, quite a crowd had gathered for the show. The park has bleachers built in a half-moon around Old Faithful capable of holding several hundred spectators, and even though the park wasn't full by any means, the bleachers certainly were! I can only imagine how packed the bleachers get in the summertime when Yellowstone is busy!
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
A crowd gathers in anticipation of Old Faithful going off.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Old Faithful is showing off in all its glory.
Once Old Faithful finally erupted, we were impressed how long it actually went for. It just seemed to go on and on. Randall and I each took about 10 pictures before it settled down some. Even then it spurted for a couple of minutes before finally returning to quiet mode.
But there was much more to see in Yellowstone, so after Old Faithful, it was off to see what other wonders we could find. Because of the road closures due to the lateness of the season, we had to backtrack from Old Faithful and move around to the east side of the park.
About the first thing we ran into was a lake, and quite a large lake at that; Yellowstone Lake to be specific. Randall and I parked our bikes and walked down a steep embankment to walk along the lakeshore.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Yellowstone also has a lake, and this is it.
From the Yellowstone Lake, we continued on around the loop and ran into three herds of buffalo. We stopped for pictures at the first herd we came too.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Yellowstone has lots of wildlife. This was the first of three herds of buffalo we saw.
Leaving from here is where the buffalo walked right across the road in front of me.
Right after we stopped for the photo, we got back on the bikes to continue on our route. I was still in the lead. Buffalo don't cause quite the traffic jam that the elk did, but it still slowed down traffic a bit. The cars ahead of me were going pretty slow, because it looked as if a buffalo was about to cross the road. Well, the buffalo did decide to cross the road, but waited until after the car went by and went across right in front of me. I don't think the buffalo was more than 25 feet in front of me. I actually think it was closer, but I was pretty excited; and a little anxious.
Not only were there bear signs warning us not to leave out food, but there were also signs around warning us that buffalo were wild animals and visitors to the park have been gored on occasion. Lovely, I'm on a motorcycle facing a buffalo that outweighs me and my bike by at least double, and the park is reminding me that visitors sometimes get gored if the buffalo happens to be in a bad mood. I wonder how tough buffalo's head is compared to a bull's head?
One thing about riding a motorcycle, you don't just see the environment, you are actually in the environment; you're part of it. Before I bought this motorcycle and started going on the long trips with Randall to see America, I had always heard that riding in a car was like seeing the environment on television, but riding a bike was experiencing it.
Of course I believed that was true, but it didn't take on any depth of meaning until I started to smell the skunks that have been killed along the road, or the wild flowers, or the cattle feedlots, or see the pavement whizzing inches below my feet at 70 miles per hour.
Well, sitting there as this American icon slowly walked across the road right in front of me was exactly one of those experiences. I could actually smell the buffalo! What a rush! If I were drinking a beer at that moment, I would have hoisted it and toasted to this being a sublime example of what the good life is all about.
I looked back at Randall, and he wasn't as impressed. Last year when we saw the albino buffalo in Jamestown, North Dakota, I had found out that Randall used to work on a buffalo ranch. I guess that's why he wasn't too impressed.
The buffalo didn't look too impressed either. It wasn't that he looked annoyed either, it's just that being surrounded by hundreds of tourists snapping pictures was totally normal for this particular buffalo, and probably for his great-great-grandfather as well.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
There were lots of forest fires going on while we were on this trip.
Everyone kept asking us if we saw any of the forest fires. We did.
The next stop along our route through Yellowstone was to get a picture of a forest fire. All along on this trip, people kept asking us if we had seen any of the forest fires. By this time in the trip, Randall and I had been on the road for a week, so our main source of news was listening to people talk while we were pumping gas or eating our meals.
When people had asked about the forest fires, we politely told them that we had not seen any of them. Of course, now we had, and people still kept asking us about them throughout the remainder of our trip. In the end, the drive-in totals included 3 forest fires, but this one was the closest and the only one we got a photo of.
Just after we took the photo of the forest fire, we saw a US Forest Service truck with a sign by it saying that this was a "Natural Forest Fire" and not to report it. It kind of gets you wondering what an unnatural forest fire would look like.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Yellowstone is famous for the thermal activity and is just one more example of it.
This is Dragon's Mouth Spring.
The next stop along the route was Dragon Mouth Spring. We could smell the sulfur in the air long before we got there. There was a lot of thermal activity in the area, as well as another buffalo herd, but the spring itself was pretty amazing.
Steam and water boil out of the mouth of the spring, causing a loud whooshing sound. The sign that marked the spring said that the water was 185º F and that members of the Washburn Expedition in 1870 heard the noises made by the spring as far away as Yellowstone River.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Tower Falls. We had to hike a little ways to see the falls, but it was worth it.
After Dragon's Mouth Spring, the next stop was Tower Falls. We had to hike to the falls, either the short hike, about 1/10 of a mile, or the long hike, about 6 miles. Of course, being dressed in motorcycle leather, we chose the long route...not! The picture of the falls is from the short hike, and the long hike went downhill, so I'll bet the view was spectacular, but I definitely won't see it at least until my next visit to Yellowstone.
August 30, 2001 — Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Notice the bands of rocks? On our side of the canyon the road goes underneath that band, making a roof of sorts over the road.
Tower Falls was about our last stop. From there it was out of the park and into Montana. On our way out of the park, there were bands of sandstone. Some of the bands were softer than other bands, so the soft bands of the sandstone were worn away while the harder bands were resisted the erosion longer. We took a picture across the canyon to show what I mean. What it did on our side of the canyon, though, was erode the soft sandstone out from under the harder band, and that's where the road was, so we were driving under this huge overhang of mountain above us. It was really pretty neat, but there wasn't anywhere to stop for a photo.
We also hit some terrible roads on our way out of the park. We saw a sign that said 15 miles of rough road, and they weren't kidding. Once we got through the rough road, we saw another sign that said 18 miles of extremely rough road. They weren't kidding here either!
Now remember that part of the loop was closed on the other side of the park for repairs. Surely they chose that section because of all the roads in Yellowstone, it was the section that was most in need of repairs. It really makes you wonder what that sign would've said...Really Extreme Rough Road? What is the next superlative beyond extreme? I think I was glad that they made us backtrack from Old Faithful and didn't let us go through that section.
Of course, there were also the seemingly ever-present raindrops to contend with on our way out of the park. We stopped and donned our raingear, but it was a waste of our time. The rain was over before it even really started. Boy, this trip was nothing like last year...
After getting out of Yellowstone National Park, we made straight for Helena, Montana. There wasn't any real reason for going to Helena, other than that it was the Capital of Montana, and the distances looked about the same whether we went to Helena or went around it, so we went to Helena.
It was dark by the time we arrived, so we treated ourselves to a much-needed hotel and shower. We stayed in a Motel 6 that had a Laundromat for guests. We still had to use quarters in the washers and dryers, but we felt special just by the fact that it was provided.
It was only Tuesday since we had washed our clothes at Randall's Mom's, but believe me that when you're on the road on a bike, you wash clothes when the opportunity presents itself, short of just hanging out at every Laundromat you pass along the way.
By the end of the day, I had over 2100 miles for the trip and over 330 miles for the day. Not too bad considering that a good share of the day was spent lollygagging around Yellowstone.
Day 8 — Friday, August 31, 2001
August 31, 2001 — State Capitol Building, Helena, Montana
You can't really tell from the picture, but the Montana 2001 sign is made out of flowers blooming in different colors.
Friday morning broke cool and crisp and our absolute first priority was a picture of the Capitol Building. It took us a little while to find it. It wasn't evident at the time, but people in Montana, or maybe its Helena specifically, don't give good directions.
The capitol was pretty. They had the word Montana and 2001 spelled out on the front lawn in blooming flowers; it was quite attractive. Unlike Denver, traffic around the capitol in Helena was nearly none-existent. We were able to drive right to it, park right beside it, and snap off several pictures without worrying about cars or pedestrians in the photos.
From the capitol, we were in search of a leather shop. At the Motel 6, Randall looked in the phone book for a Harley shop. It wasn't that we needed a Harley shop; it's just that we wanted a t-shirt. Well, Helena doesn't have a Harley-Davidson dealership, but they did have a leather store listed under Motorcycles in the Yellow Pages. It had a really catchy name, The Leather Store.
Once Randall saw that there was a leather store in Helena, he was set to stop there. I was looking forward to it too, but I found out that Randall had plans I wasn't aware of; namely of buying a leather jacket and possibly chaps. I may have these two priorities reversed, but you get the general idea.
This is where it became evident that people in Helena don't give accurate directions. We had the address from the phone book, so we stopped and asked people how to get there. I'll bet that we asked six different people and got six completely different sets of directions on how to get to The Leather Store.
But somehow or other, we finally got there, and as it turns out, The Leather Store was really pretty cool. We were quite surprised that they had really good prices for being out in the middle of nowhere, Montana! The owners, Lonnie and Robin Morgan, were really nice and even came outside so that we could take their picture in front of our bikes. If you decide to drop by their shop, just stop and ask any of the locals for directions. They were all more than happy to help.
August 31, 2001 — Helena, Montana
Lonnie and Robin Morgan are the owners of The Leather Store.
You can see Randall's new chaps and jacket on the seat of his bike in the foreground.
Once Randall had his new leather, it was off to Idaho by way of Missoula, Montana. Helena may not have a Harley-Davidson dealership, but Missoula does, and being this far away from home, we needed a t-shirt!
We also stopped for lunch in Missoula, at a casino/restaurant called the Rocky Mountain Bar, Grill and Casino. Lunch was pretty good, but the Moose Drool was better. The Bar part of the Grill and Casino served several different microbrews, and my choice was the Sky Brewery Moose Drool. It was a lively brown-ale that tasted better than it sounded. Randall had a hefeweizen that had a name that means welcome in German, or so I was told. I think it was Randall who told me.
The Moose Drool was okay, but I'm really not a big brown-ale fan, so I switched to Zima. The bartender sent the Zima with a glass of ice and a lime slice. I didn't need the ice or lime, so I sent it back. We heard the bartender yell at the waitress "Who's not using the ice with the Zima?" We asked the waitress about it later, and I guess everyone around those parts drinks Zima over ice with lime. Boy, it just never fails. Every year we learn something new about Zima. Last year we discovered that putting a Jolly Rancher into Zima does not alter the flavor of the Zima to match the flavor of the Jolly Rancher. This year it's ice and lime. What next? I hope I'm still drinking Zima when next year's trip rolls around.
After lunch, we gambled briefly at the slot machines in the casino portion of the bar and grill, but we were anxious to get to Idaho, so we hit the road again.
Idaho was the only state in the northwest United States that I had not been to before. My Dad, used to travel to Idaho every year when I was a small child. He took my brother with him once, but by the time I was old enough to go, Dad wasn't going to Idaho anymore. It looked like I had to get there on my own.
August 31, 2001 — Montana/Idaho Stateline
I finally made it to Idaho!
And I finally did make it to Idaho. We cut across the narrow northern part of Idaho though, so it had good points and bad points. On the down side, we were across the whole state in less than an hour, since it was only 60 miles across, but on the up side, it was gorgeous! From what I'm told, we were in the part of Idaho that is much prettier than the rest of the state. I'm not sure, but it was pretty!
We took Interstate 90 across the state, so it was pretty fast traveling. There weren't a lot of places to stop for photos, so we were really through the state before we knew it. We passed through Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, and then we were in Spokane, Washington in just the blink of an eye.
In just over an hour from stopping at the sign welcoming us into Idaho, the state I had never been to, not only were we through the state, but also we were in Spokane, the main goal for our trip this year! In essence, this marked the halfway point in our trip, because there was nothing to do now, but turn around and make our way back to Texas.
One of the flaws in our planning, or lack thereof, was that there wasn't anything we wanted to do once we got into Spokane, so we really just did a tag-and-run.
Of course, we didn't really turn around, but we did adopt a more southerly list in the direction our bikes were traveling. We stayed on I-90 through Spokane and traveled down to Sprague, Washington, where we stopped to camp for the night.
The campsite was the Four Seasons Campground. It was literally just a quarter mile or so off of the interstate, but we had to travel four or five miles to get there after our exit. On top of the distance, it was gravel and dirt road for a good share of that. But we got there and got our campsite. I think the owner didn't want us mingling with the other guests, because she put us off by ourselves.
Unlike a lot of the other campgrounds we had stayed at up until now, this one was a real campground. Like the KOA in Rawlins, Wyoming, we had to buy wood for a fire if we wanted it, but here we had to pay if we wanted a shower. I don't know, but that seemed a little extreme. So basically renting a campsite was specifically for the little piece of land where our tent and our bikes were, and nothing more. The campsite was next to a nice lake though. Of course, with the interstate so close and a railroad beside the interstate, all the noise during the night was provided at no extra charge.
But of course, Randall, being the resourceful lad that he is, collected enough wood around the lake to make a nice campfire, so we cheated a little, but we absolutely refused to pay for a shower!
By the end of the day, I had over 2500 miles for the trip, and over 380 miles for the day. Randall said that we rode our butts off, but that's because the last few days we had been light on miles.
Day 9 — Saturday, September 1, 2001
Randall and I got packed early in the morning and headed out. We continued down Interstate 90 until we got to Ritzville, where we got off the interstate for US 395 south. We stopped at McDonald's for breakfast in Ritzville. That was, by far, the slowest and most expensive McDonald's I've ever been in.
After breakfast, Randall and I made good time, and we were in Kennewick, Washington before we knew it. We stopped at the Kennewick Harley-Davidson to buy T-shirts, and then got on the road again.
We saw the welcome sign to Oregon, but the location was terrible to try and get a picture, so we didn't, we just continued on.
We stayed on US 395, which joined up with Interstate 84 for a short while, but then took off south again. We found out the US 395 is a lonely stretch of highway in a lot of northern Oregon. We went for miles and miles without seeing any other traffic!
September 1, 2001 — US 395 somewhere in Oregon
395 had almost no traffic, so I couldn't resist sitting the camera on the yellow line to take the picture.
But as luck would have it, we happened across one of the prettiest drives I have ever been on. Once we crossed Battle Mountain, the scenery really started to change. We also started seeing an increase in the motorcycle traffic.
By the time we got to Ukiah, Oregon, we were into a full blown, gorgeous, curvy ride that was to kill for! It turns out that the stretch of US 395 is called the Ukiah-Dale Scenic Corridor, and bikers come from all over the state for this ride. Randall and I just happened upon it. What luck!
The down side was because of all the curves, there really wasn't anywhere to stop for pictures, so we didn't stop until we needed gas in Ukiah.
Oregon has some strange laws, and pumping gas is one of them. There is no such thing as self-service on the gas pumps in Oregon. The gas station attendant has to pump the gas. I guess that someone thought that by eliminating self-serve at the pumps, it would help prevent unemployment. I'm not sure what they were thinking, because it did more to cause a line at the pump waiting to gas up, because often the same person pumped the gas and then went inside to ring it up, so it wasn't like it created an extra job or anything.
Anyway, we stopped in Ukiah for gas, which is a little town out in the middle of nowhere. This girl comes out in purple socks with a huge hickey on her neck to put our gas. Too weird.
Randall and I relaxed with an ice cream bar, and then got back on the road. The next stop was Mount Vernon, and this time it wasn't ice cream we were after. We found a little place called The Wagon Wheel Tavern so we stopped in. The first thing we saw was a guy named Allen drinking Hamm's Beer out of a can. I didn't know they even made Hamm's Beer anymore.
September 1, 2001 — The Wagon Wheel Tavern, Mount Vernon, Oregon
I didn't know that they still made Hamm's Beer.
Everyone in the bar was pretty friendly, so we enjoyed ourselves. It was getting pretty late in the day so we didn't have much further to go anyway.
September 1, 2001 — The Wagon Wheel Tavern, Mount Vernon, Oregon
Even the dog looks comfortable in here.
The Wagon Wheel was just loaded with personality. They had a dog that was asleep on the floor, and the bathroom had a ceiling that was only about five feet high. There was a sign on the bathroom door to duck, and they weren't kidding.
September 1, 2001 — The Wagon Wheel Tavern, Mount Vernon, Oregon
They really mean to duck. The ceiling in the restroom is only about 5' high.
Well, after our visit at The Wagon Wheel Tavern, it was time to get down the road and find out where we were going to camp. Before we left, the nice folks there suggested that we stay at Starr Ridge, a campground up on top of the mountain in Malheur National Forest, just a few miles down the road. That sounded good to us so they gave us directions and sent us on our way.
We stopped at a town called John Day, Oregon to get staples on our way to the campground. Our bikes were loaded down pretty good by the time we got on our way again, and we saw about a thousand deer right beside the road on the way up to Starr Ridge.
When we got there, it was $4 per vehicle to camp, and you leave the money in a drop box. So we found a campsite and went back and put in our money.
Even though it was twilight, we got the camp set up pretty quickly and got the campfire started. Someone had left some wood cut up at the campsite, so the fire got up in no time at all. For dinner, we cooked hot dogs and beans over the campfire, and we also had sardines and crackers. Mix that with Zima and Mike's Hard Lemonade, and you have pretty good eating!
The campsite was quiet by comparison to the one in Washington the night before. Here we were off the main road, which was a nearly deserted US highway, rather than a busy interstate. After going to bed, we started hearing the coyotes. They sounded really close, and we heard them almost all through the night. It was pretty cool once we figured out that they were coyotes. It wasn't the typical howl at the moon noise popularized by Hollywood.
Even with all the stops, we still put on 324 miles for the day.
Day 10 — Sunday, September 2, 2001
Maybe it's just me, but it seems that when you're camping, every day when you wake up its cool and crisp out. This morning was no exception. We got out of the tent and looked around, but the only evidence of the coyotes we heard all though the night existed in our memories because we couldn't find a trace of them.
We did, however, see lots of fresh deer tracks made during the night. Now this is camping. No showers with slots on the doors for quarters, no paying $4 or $5 for a small bundle of firewood, or checking in or out.
We were so secluded in our campsite here that if we'd died in the night, they'd still be looking for our bodies, and our bikes, and our tent! The only real downside to our campsite was the distinct lack of water.
But camping is camping and you make do with what you have. Luckily we had eggs and Sizz'lean for breakfast, and Randall was just itching to cook. At home, I cook all the time, so I was actually digging the fact that Randall wanted to cook, in fact, I'm sure I encouraged it to some small degree.
For spices, we had everything necessary for a breakfast fit for a champ; salt, pepper, and hot sauce packets from Taco Bell. What more could a fellow ask for?
September 2, 2001 — Starr Ridge Campground, Mahler National Forest, Oregon
Randall cooked one helluva breakfast of Sizz'lean and scrambled eggs.
Notice the Taco Bell spice packets on the table?
So Randall went to work cooking, and I checked on the supplies. We were a little short on water, and what we had we were going to need to put out the fire, so I needed to find something to wash down breakfast with. Luckily we had one bottle each of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Zima left. Those would take care of washing the dishes after breakfast, but we still needed something to wash down breakfast.
Oh well, camping is often about making compromises and making do with what you have, so we decided to use the Wet Ones for the dishes and we would have to drink the Hard Lemonade and Zima with breakfast; after all, it wouldn't be very responsible of us to use alcohol to try and extinguish the fire now, would it?
As it turns out, we still didn't have enough water to extinguish the fire, because after it was out, it flared back up again. We had to use dirt to put it out. Why didn't we think of that sooner? We could have used the water for the dishes instead of the Wet Ones!
September 2, 2001 — Starr Ridge Campground, Mahler National Forest, Oregon
There's no beer for breakfast here, just Zima and Mike's Hard Lemonade!
Actually I think the bottles were just left over from last night. That's my story...
Well, with our breakfast out of the way, the dishes cleaned and the fire put out, there was nothing left to do but pack up and get back on the road. After the beautiful route yesterday, we were looking forward to our trip today.
As it turned out, the scenery took a serious change; not that it was any worse really, but it definitely was different. The first scenery change we saw was sand dunes. They were just a little too out of place so we had to stop for a photo session. I climbed up on top of the dunes and you could see that they went on for miles.
September 2, 2001 — Somewhere along US 395 in Oregon
Sand dunes! Notice my backpack is open in the picture. It was open after I drove off too and my camera and some other stuff flew out. Luckily, Randall was behind me and picked it all up.
I guess we were just destined to see sand dunes on this trip, since we didn't go to see them in Colorado.
When we were leaving the sand dunes, it was a good thing that Randall was behind me, because I left my backpack open and when I took off, my camera, t-shirts, rags, and other various assorted stuff flew out of it. Randall was behind me, picking all the stuff up as it flew out. I noticed it a short distance down the road, but it could have been disastrous! As it was, my camera was in the soft, squishy, foam bag it came in, and I must say, it bounced pretty well, because the camera still works fine. The bag still carries the scars that look like road rash, and every time I look at it, I think of our trip.
After the sand dunes, the next scenery change was the alkali lake. Although we didn't know it at the time, the name of the lake was Lake Abert. We knew it was alkali because there wasn't anything growing in the lake. That's not actually true, because on the southern end of the lake it was fed by springs and the water supported a little bit of greenery in it.
September 2, 2001 — Lake Abert, just north of Valley Falls, Oregon
This is an alkali lake that nothing lives in. We drove along the shore of this lake for miles.
After stopping for gas at Valley Falls, Oregon, we continued south on US 395 to California. Originally in our planning, California and Arizona weren't scheduled stops, but the closer we got, the more Randall and I figured that we could squeeze them in and still get Randall back in time to go to work.
Randall and I were making great time! Last year we were so plagued with rain that we had a couple days of almost no miles. This year, it seemed like we were consistently making somewhere between 300-350 miles a day. At that pace, getting back in Texas for Randall was going to be easy.
September 2, 2001 — Oregon/California State Line
Randall missed this big old Welcome sign so we had to backtrack for the picture.
A couple in a RV stopped so Randall and I could both get in the picture.
Randall was in the lead when we got into California and he missed the Welcome sign, so we had to turn around for the photo. While we were there, a couple in a RV going into Oregon stopped and offered to take our picture.
We knew we were only going to hit a corner of California, so once we were in the state, we figured we should stop for a photo of something. Goose Lake just happened to be off to our west as we were going down US 395, so that's where we stopped for the photo.
September 2, 2001 — Goose Lake, California
We were just hitting a corner of California, so this was our token picture!
Of course, this is where I left my backpack open again, only this time I didn't lose the camera out. Just some t-shirts and rags, but again, Randall was behind me, picking the stuff up as we went along. Again, it wasn't long before I noticed, but again, it could have been disastrous.
I also hit a bird on our way through California...hard. I had to get a damp rag and wipe down my chaps because they were covered with blood.
September 2, 2001 — California/Nevada Stateline
Randall looks good in his new chaps, don't you think? He's looking more and more like he belongs on a Harley-Davidson every day!
Once we got into Nevada, it was just a hop, skip and a jump to Reno, where we spent the night. We got a motel this time though, because we wanted to go out gambling and we wanted our belongings secure while we were out.
So we got unloaded, and I was up for the shower first. We had passed a car wash on our way to the motel, just 1/4 mile back up the road or so, so Randall opted to go wash his bike while I was in the shower. I had other priorities though. Besides, how was I going to get the "this is the end of our trip and this is my filthy motorcycle" picture if I wash it every three thousand miles or so? And since we were going out to gamble, it stands to reason that we would be parking our bikes next to each other. It stands to reason that the cleaner, shiny bike is more likely to get stolen than the dirty, filthy bike.
Randall was back about the same time that I was out of the shower, and I'm sure his bike and I were both feeling the same way...let's face it, there are some times when a shower really feels good! Once Randall got out of the shower, it was time to try our luck in the casinos!
Of course, casinos have changed over the years, even though the same stories still circulate all the time. For example, I have never found that all-you-can-eat, no-holds-barred, come-as-you-are buffets, all for the low, low price of $2.99 that everyone, who has ever entered a casino, talks about. One-dollar blackjack tables are also a thing of the past, but I'll get to that in a minute.
The first obstacle we had to overcome in our quest to gamble was parking. We chose Circus Circus, because they offered a parking garage. Of course, finding an actual parking spot within the parking garage was another issue. After climbing about halfway up into the garage, Randall started revving up his bike. Now remember, Randall's bike, although not as loud as Mike's was last year, is still louder than mine. Add into that equation the confined space of a parking garage and it equals a lot of car alarms going off. I think Randall was actually enjoying it, because he kept it up all the way to the top of the garage, where we finally found one parking spot. It was a good thing we were on motorcycles so we could share the space.
Once we got the bikes secure, we headed into Circus Circus. The first stop was to find a hatcheck, so we could drop off our motorcycle helmets. This was the second thing we noticed that's changed about casinos. I think that in the old days, the days everyone keeps talking about, casinos tried to cater to you, and make you feel special. Now they just treat you normally. They don't need to put on the Ritz anymore to attract the business, so they don't. They didn't have a hatcheck, but the guy behind the front desk did put our helmets behind the counter. What do others on motorcycles do with their helmets? Are we the only helmet wearing motorcycle riders who come through here?
Once we got the helmet issue out of the way, if was off to gamble. I roamed around looking for $1 blackjack tables, but all I saw was the $10 tables, so I tried out a couple of one-armed bandits, aptly named, with no real luck. After losing a couple rolls of quarters, I went back in search of the $1 blackjack tables. I finally asked a dealer at one of the $10 tables. He tried not to laugh, but it was apparent that he thought I was some hick as he explained that they didn't even have $5 tables, because they couldn't afford to pay the dealers. Somehow, I find that hard to believe.
Anyway, Randall and I got hooked back up after an hour or two, and we decided to head back to another casino, The Bonanza, we had seen on our way into town. We went back for our helmets, but the guy we gave them to was gone. Another guy was there, and he didn't seem to have a problem just handing them over to the first two guys who came and asked for them, I'm just glad it happened to be us. From there, it was out of the parking garage, lighting up a few car alarms along the way, and out onto the streets of Reno.
Of course one-way city streets and parking garages that have the exit somewhere different than the entrance always present a problem to those of us who have no real sense of direction, like myself. Don't get me wrong, I can backtrack with the best of them, and I am a real pro at following directions, but when it comes to sense of direction, I am definitely challenged in that department.
We got out all right, but somehow, we got split up at a stoplight almost immediately! I took my best shot, and ended up winding my way back to the motel. The motel was between Circus Circus and The Bonanza, so I figured it would be a logical meeting spot considering our state of not togetherness. After a few minutes of waiting in the parking lot, I decided that we both knew where The Bonanza was in relation to our motel, so Randall would catch up with me there, if he weren't already there ahead of me.
When I arrived, I drove around the parking lot, which was a lot smaller than at Circus Circus, but Randall's bike wasn't anywhere to be seen, so I went ahead and parked. The Bonanza, like Circus Circus, also didn't have a hatcheck, so they put my helmet into the cleaning closet and shut the door. This casino was definitely smaller than Circus Circus. In fact, once I was really able to get a look around, I noticed that as casinos go, this one was what you would call a dive.
But hey, they did have $1 blackjack tables, so I was interested in trying my luck. I sat down, cashed in some green for chips, and I was off. Of course, my first mistake was that I was at a $2 table, rather than a $1 table, but what the heck; at least it wasn't a $10 table!
After we got separated, Randall drove around the area of Circus Circus trying to get back to where we got split up, but finally gave up. Although he wasn't searching for me long, waiting at a few stoplights makes it longer than it seems. He finally caught up with me at The Bonanza, and found me losing at the $2 blackjack table. I pointed out the girl who put my helmet in the closet and his helmet soon joined mine. I think that by now, Randall was through gambling, because he seemed content watching me and drinking his Coors Light.
After several hands, in which the house did much better than I did, I decided that I was tired, tomorrow was another day, and it was time to call it a night. By the time we collected our helmets and made it back to our motel, we had 3250 miles for the trip, with over 425 miles for the day. Not too shabby overall.
Day 11 — Monday, September 3, 2001
The day started out interesting. It was chilly first thing in the morning, but it warmed up rather quickly. We decided to put 100 miles behind us before breakfast, so we got our bags loaded onto our bikes and we were off. We started out on Interstate 80 headed east, but got off onto US Highway 50 east almost immediately.
We were barely an hour outside of Reno, when we stopped for gas and decided to buy bandanas. The air here was really dry, as it had been almost the entire trip and we figured that if we could wet down the bandanas and tie them around our nose and mouth, we could artificially humidify the air we were breathing. I had my nasal spray, and I used it as frequently as I did my Chapstik, but nasal spray wasn't something I wanted to share with Randall, and he hadn't gotten any, so bandanas were our answer to dry air.
It took a little while to work out the kinks, but eventually we did and the plan worked great! One of the stops to work the kinks out though happened to be a place called Salt Wells. Randall was in the lead and needed to adjust his bandana, so he pulled off the road into a parking lot. That was okay with my, because my bandana needed adjustment too.
Salt Wells was a trailer, maybe a doublewide, surrounded by a high chain link fence. While we were adjusting, a woman came out and started talking to us through the fence. At first, I thought she was talking to herself, but no, it was directed at us.
Now I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. Having spent almost 10 years around Army towns, I know exactly what a girl's interested in when she says "Hey sugar." It's not your good looks she's interested in; it's the contents of your wallet, if you know what I mean.
Not that we would have been tempted in any case, but we certainly weren't in this case. She wasn't much to look at. On top of that, she didn't seem to be all there, if you know what I mean. That's probably why I thought she was talking to herself at first...maybe she was.
Anyway, I can attest to the fact that neither Randall's nor my butt left contact with the motorcycle seats, and after adjusting our bandanas, we were heading on down the road.
After leaving Salt Wells, the bandanas worked pretty well, and we found ourselves in Austin, Nevada before long. The drive to Austin was great! It was all desert-like, but there were lots of winding curves going up and down the mountains. Austin was built right on the side of a mountain, so the streets were a touch on the steep side.
The first order of business in Austin was to gas up the bikes, and that's where Randall met a new friend. This old coot came up and just started talking to him like he was a long-lost brother. The old guy must have been about 55 years old, which was about 45 years too many. He told Randall how he was an ex-Hell's Angel, a Vietnam Vet, and he owned a wolf or two. To tell the truth, I didn't know you could be an EX Hell's Angel, and I'm not sure how you would go about it even if you could. I thought that once you were an Angel, you were always an Angel. But basically I think he just needed a friend. Well, needless to say, we got our gas and headed down the road pronto.
But it was really starting to heat up so we needed to cool down, and that made the next stop The Owl Club. We were out in the middle of nowhere, Nevada by this time (as a matter of fact, Austin is right about dead center of nowhere) so we figured we'd rest up for a spell.
September 3, 2001 — The Owl Club, Austin, Nevada
It was hot in Nevada! We couldn't wait to get out of the sun!
Besides, we just had to stop. Anyone with a sign outside of his or her establishment that designates a Harley's only parking area had to be worthy of our business.
September 3, 2001 — The Owl Club, Austin, Nevada
Of course, you have to like it when they specifically have a sign like this displayed.
It turns out that The Owl Club was a good choice indeed because it really turned out to be an interesting place. Butch, the owner, was quite a character. We were just getting acquainted with him when he showed us his new glasses. When we took a closer look, the glasses had a little skull and crossbones hologram on each of the lenses. Too cool!
He also gave us the skinny on Salt Wells. It is a brothel, just as we suspected, licensed and all. Shucks, if we had known it was legal, and if the woman who came out had been a little more comely, well anyway, we were too far away to go back.
Butch also gave us the lowdown about the road ahead, like where the cops usually hung out. Finally, he told us where to stop when we got into Ely, Nevada, since we would need another break by then.
September 3, 2001 — The Owl Club, Austin, Nevada
Butch is the owner of the Owl Club.
Notice the skull holograms in his glasses.
The Owl Club turned out to be a lot of fun, even though Randall, Butch and I were the only ones in the place. Besides it being a pretty cool place, it was pretty cool in the place, and it was hot outside, getting hotter. We really didn't want to leave, but as much as we wanted to stay, we had to get on down the road. By the time we made our next major stop, it was already late afternoon, and the stop was Ely, Nevada. We figured that Butch was good for his word, so we stopped at The Keyhole, the bar he had recommended.
The Keyhole turned out to be a local watering hole without much to recommend it besides Butch. The bartender was watching The Outlaw Josie Wales on television and didn't really want to be bothered, but he did get us a beer if we asked him nicely.
I played one of the nickel slots there at the bar and finally, I doubled my money, from $2 to $4! It was about time! Now that I had won some of my money back, it was time to vacate Nevada before they had a chance to get it back from me.
But once we vacated Nevada, we were facing a whole lot of nothing called The Salt Flats of Utah, so we had a couple of housekeeping chores to attend to before we could actually leave Ely.
The first chore was dinner, so we found a little Denny's-type diner where we could sit down on comfortable seats and look at our map. Although I don't actually remember the name of the diner, and the food wasn't really memorable either, there are two distinct things that do stand out from our stop there.
The first thing that stands out was that almost everyone was wearing some kind of Harley-Davidson paraphernalia; either t-shirts, or hats, or something, although Randall and I had not seen another motorcycle in at least 100 miles, and probably more. I'm not sure if they really had Harleys, or if they just wanted everyone to think that they had Harleys. Whatever the case, we sure didn't see another Harley while we were in town.
As Randall and I talked about all the Harley stuff and the apparent lack of actual Harleys, I discovered the second thing I will never forget about our stop in this diner, and that was that Randall was mentally playing Rock, Paper, Scissors with the other bikers we met on the road.
Let me explain. Bikers have several ways to wave, and usually they always wave (unless you're in Colorado). Sometimes they wave above the handle bar, sometimes below. What I didn't realize, but Randall pointed out, was that their hands are always either in a Rock (otherwise known as a fist), a Paper (the open palm), or a Scissors (peace sign) configuration. So since Randall had figured this out, he was mentally playing with them, trying to beat them on each wave. I started playing after I found out, and he was exactly right!
Once we finished with dinner, we stopped at a liquor store to re-supply our Bacardi Limon reserve, and then at a hardware store to buy gas cans. Randall had already run out of gas once, and we were getting ready to head across the dreaded Salt Flats. Our plan was simple. It was already turning late afternoon and the day had been just hotter than Hades, so we decided to go ahead and take on The Salt Flats at night. It would be much cooler for one thing. For another, if you've never been across The Salt Flats, there just isn't anything to see, except Salt Flats. This goes on for hundreds of miles, so we figured we would spare ourselves the tedium of that by driving at night. On top of all that, we were trying to make up some time for all the dilly-dallying we had done during the day because of the heat. But one thing was for sure, and that was that we were not going to run out of gas in the exact geographical center of nowhere called the Salt Flats, so we bought gas cans, just to be on the safe side.
It took us several trips back and forth through town to get all of our housekeeping accomplished, but after filling up our new gas cans, we left Ely and continued on US 50 east into Utah. About the time we hit Utah, that where we also hit the Salt Flats, and nightfall hit us, pretty much according to our plan. We were trying to make some time, and after nightfall, it did cool down quite nicely, so we just continued on.
Of course, driving across the Salt Flats at night is not without some hazard, and we discovered that hazard comes in the form of cows. That's right, cows. Cows were in the road more than once. Randall and I both drove with our bright lights on. Although it was only a two-lane road, we drove in both lanes to get the maximum effectiveness of our headlights. There wasn't much traffic, and The Salt Flats are aptly named, flat being the optimum word here. We could see what little oncoming traffic there was for about 12 miles before we actually met them. I think we could have seen them further if the curvature of the Earth didn't put oncoming traffic below the distant horizon, just like ships at sea. If I haven't already mentioned it, it's really flat out on The Salt Flats.
After about an hour or so driving like this, we found a place to pull over for a break. There was absolutely nothing out here, to include traffic. We timed our break just right since the moon was just beginning to rise behind what looked like a huge mushroom cloud.
Randall called Bettina, his significant other, while we drank Diet Cokes and gave our butts a break. Driving at night avoiding cows is tiring work. Not only that, but the roads are really, really straight, for a long, long ways. What doesn't make sense though, is that the roads are straight for 20 miles, but then they will jog over one direction or the other for no apparent reason, so you have to stay on your toes. Actually, I do know why the roads jog like that. It has to do with the adjustments you have to make in lines of Latitude because the Earth is round, not flat like a map is, so the jogs are to keep you actually lined up going east or west.
September 3, 2001 — Somewhere along US 50 in the Salt Flats of Utah
Watch out for cows on the road at night! Notice the gas cans to balance out the lack of gas stations.
That little orange dot in the picture above the motorcycles is the moon rising.
After our break, we continued on and by the end of the day, we had made it to Delta, Utah. It was about midnight when we gassed up. The gas station was just about to close, so we asked the attendant if she knew where there was a campground. She did. She also said they would be closed, but that she knew the owner and called her on the phone to see if we could squeeze in. The owner of the campground said it was okay, and that we could just find a spot to camp and that we would fill out all of the paperwork and settle up in the morning.
Randall and I got found the campground quite easily and found a place to camp. After parking our bikes, the first order of business was to find the restroom. Randall went first, but discovered it was locked with a combination lock on the door. The owner on the phone had neglected to mention that we needed the combination to use the bathroom, so Randall and I decided that we weren't staying if we couldn't use the restrooms until morning. We stayed in a motel instead.
We had a pretty good day overall, even though it was pretty hot until sundown. We put on just over 475 miles for the day.
Day 12 — Tuesday, September 4, 2001
Traveling through Utah left a lot of memories. We couldn't put 100 miles on before breakfast today though, because of the length of open stretches. We went as far a Salina, and stopped for breakfast there. We could have gone on, but there was a huge open stretch before the next center of population, so we decided that Salina was the stopping point.
Unfortunately for us, I don't think the people of Salina see motorcycles too often though, because they certainly didn't see ours. The first problem came when we were following a lady (and believe me when I say that I use that term generously) who was passing a truck. We were going along at normal highway speeds, and she is right beside the front of the truck. We are alongside the very rear of the truck, with Randall in the lead, when all of a sudden she locks her breaks up. Well, this started a chain reaction because Randall nailed his brakes and so did I. I almost rear-ended Randall's Road King, but he eased off his brakes just in time. Luckily for us the truck kept going, because as soon as it was passed, the lady cut across the right hand lane to get to her exit!
She almost got us killed just because she wanted to make her exit! Randall and I could have killed her. We pulled over to catch our breath and let our hearts slow down, although we used the excuse of checking the map. We were so pissed!
After we got back on our bikes, we went on into Salina and found a greasy spoon for breakfast. It turned out to be a pretty good place. The breakfast was huge, and cheap!
After breakfast we checked the map again, and a nice old guy came over to see the bikes and see if we needed any directions. We talked for a few minutes, and then got on the road again. At least two other cars pulled out right in front of us before we got out of Salina. I will say that I was glad to put that town behind us.
After Salina, there wasn't much until you got to Green River, Utah, probably about 110 miles away. It just so happens that we were getting about 100-110 miles per tank of gas, so we were going to be cutting it close. We were already happy that we had gotten the gas cans.
Of course I say that there wasn't much between Salina and Green River, but US Highway 50 joins with Interstate 70 just after Salina, so we had a little bit of interstate travel. Being an interstate and all, there were still the truckers to deal with, and one Roadway truck in particular stands out. Randall was in the lead again and we were coming up on this triple bottom truck, when it blows a tire. We back off to give us room to breathe and react to flying chunks of retread and tire. We were glad we did because right after we backed off, it tipped the back-most trailer around a corner just like in the movies, with the wheels on one side off the ground.
About the time we saw that, there was an exit for a scenic turnout, so we went ahead and got off to let the Roadway truck get out of our way.
September 4, 2001 — Somewhere in Utah
There was a scenic pullout so we decided to take pictures!
This was just after the Roadway truck blew a tire in front of us and nearly tipped over!
September 4, 2001 — Somewhere in Utah
This is another view from the same scenic pullout.
While we were there, another bike came in and stopped so we chatted with him for a couple of minutes before moving on. Once we got out from behind the Roadway truck, it was pretty smooth sailing all the way to Green River. The scenery was great!
We did come up on the Roadway truck again, but he was going about 15 miles per hour by then. Evidently he figured out what happened or another trucker told him.
Once we got into Green River, gas was the absolute first priority, and then it was back on the road. As we were coming back to the interstate, we came across another biker who just happened to be out of gas, so we were able to be of assistance. He was pretty appreciative, although it was only a mile or so to the gas station. Still, his bike was loaded down like ours, so I'm sure he wasn't going to leave the bike to go get gas.
But we were happy to help out too. He wasn't on a Harley, in fact I think it was a Suzuki, but who cares. Randall got help when he was out of gas, so it only seems fair to pass it on. In fact, Randall had a MP3 player with him, and one of the songs on it was by Clay Walker about that very topic.
September 4, 2001 — Green River, Utah
I think that after Randall ran out of gas earlier in the trip, he felt good helping someone else out in the same situation.
Not long after Green River, we were able to get off of the interstate and headed south on US 191. Although we looked at our maps often, somehow both of us completely missed the fact that our route took us right through Arches National Park!
September 4, 2001 — Arches National Park, Utah
This kind of caught us by surprise. We didn't realize that our route took us through another National Park. We didn't stop, but we did get a couple of pictures from the road.
By this point in the trip, we were pushing it a little bit because Randall had to get back to work soon, and by this point in the day, it was getting pretty hot! So because of the temperature and time constraints, we didn't stop per se, but we did pull over on the road to snap a couple of pictures.
We did stop in Moab, just south of Arches National Park though. It was so hot; we really didn't have much of a choice. We found a little place called the Poplar Place Pub and Restaurant, so that was our destination. We did eat while we were there, but water was what we really stopped for.
September 4, 2001 — Moab, Utah
This was our waitress at the Poplar Place Pub and Restaurant.
K.D. stands for Kathryn Diane.
Our waitress was K.D., who told us that stood for Kathryn Diane. She was fun, but not as much fun as Cindy in Lubbock, Texas. She did keep the water coming pretty regularly though, and we were appreciative of that.
After our brief intermission in Moab, it was on south, since we still had to get into Arizona before the trip was over. Again, we should have checked the map better, because we came mighty close to the four corners without actually going for the picture.
I didn't realize it, but that's the only place in the United States where four states come together in one place. I realize it now, looking back and looking at a map!
By the time we got to about Blanding, Utah, we were already hungry again, so we stopped in a Taco Bell Express that was attached to the gas station where we filled up. Randall went to the restroom while I went ahead and ordered.
The cashier and I got to talking about sporks, Taco Bell's version of a hybrid spoon and fork. The cashier and I were laughing about it so hard, that I told him to ask Randall if he would like a spork with his meal.
Randall came up and ordered, and the cashier said, "Would you like a spork with that sir?" and we started laughing about it all over again. It was one of those silly giggles that you just can't stop. I guess it was hotter out today then we had thought!
But as it was, it was late afternoon by the time we got to the Utah/Arizona border. It was finally beginning to cool down somewhat. Some of that was due to evening coming on, but part of it was due to the dark storm clouds that we were rapidly approaching!
September 4, 2001 — Utah/Arizona State Line
It's been hot all day, but we see rain clouds up ahead so hopefully it will cool down some.
We did get a few sprinkles, but nothing to worry about other than some spots of wet pavement. It wasn't long before we got to Round Rock, Arizona and as we were coming into the town, there was a rainbow off to our left. I could see that we were coming up on a pretty rock formation, and if I stopped just right, I could get a picture of the rainbow coming down on the rock.
September 4, 2001 — Round Rock, Arizona
Well, we haven't hit rain yet, but if this rainbow is any indication...
Randall must have been thinking about gas and where we were going to camp, because he didn't see me stop and just kept going. But after the picture, I got back on the bike and caught up with him.
We stopped for gas in Round Rock and asked about a campground. They told us that there was a free campground in Chinle, about 30 miles down the road. Well, night was fast approaching so we got on down the road to Chinle.
Once in Chinle, we stopped and asked for directions to the campground. It was dark by the time we got there and it was just a little out of the way, but not too bad. We got in and got the camp set up. We were getting pretty good at this and even in the dark it wasn't much of a problem.
When the camp was shipshape, we filled our cups with Bacardi Limon and Diet Coke, and I wandered about the camp a bit. Par for the day, we hadn't checked out the map sufficiently. The campground we were camped in was the Canyon de Chelly National Monument. If you're not familiar with what that is, as I wasn't, it's that place where the cliff dwellers built houses and buildings back up under the cliffs.
It turns out that it's a little bit of a hike to the cliff dwellings themselves, so we didn't make it, but it was interesting to know that that's where we were.
After having the opportunity to help out another biker today, Randall and I sat up and talked about Clay Walker's song Chain Reaction. We thought of some ideas to promote the idea of helping out others, but we never did do anything with them once we got back from the trip.
In spite of all the heat and problems today, we still put on 430 miles for the day. On top of that, I had a total of 4157.6 for the trip so far. Last year I only had 4122.5 miles for the whole trip, so here we are in Arizona and we already had more miles than last year's trip.
Day 13 — Wednesday, September 5, 2001
Wednesday morning was gorgeous! As we were breaking camp, we saw lots of dogs and camps roaming the campgrounds, scavenging for food. We also noticed several groups of hikers going off to visit the cliffs. I think with a little planning, this would be a great spot to come back to on a future trip!
Before camp was completely torn down, an Indian came by. He said he ran out of gas about 6 miles out of town and needed money for gas. Randall said, "You're in luck! We have gas. Let us break down camp and we'll go put in gas."
"No," the Indian replied. "I need money for gas." Somehow, he just couldn't make Randall see that he didn't want gas, just money for gas! He finally got frustrated that Randall couldn't understand and went on to the next campsite. Obviously it wasn't just the dogs and cats scavenging.
Randall and I finally got everything loaded and headed back to town where we stopped at McDonald's for breakfast. In the parking lot was a sign about helping the community by not giving money to solicitors. We saw similar signs all over town. It reminded me of South Dakota last year. After our six-hour ordeal in the mud, we stopped for gas and got approached by no less than eight drunken Indians asking for change.
September 5, 2001 — Somewhere in Arizona
I guess solicitation is a big problem here. We saw these signs all over the place.
Interesting that they would use advertising rather than legislation.
After breakfast, we headed south to Interstate 40, and then east to New Mexico. The trip, as far as Randall and I were concerned, was already over. Now it was time to get home. There was nothing left to see.
I remember having this feeling last year, so this year I decided to cut down to El Paso and take pictures of my bike in front of courthouses so that the trip wouldn't be entirely over. So with that in mind, Randall and I decided to split up just after Grants, New Mexico. He was going to continue on Interstate 40 to Amarillo and then to cut down on US 287 to Dallas.
My plan was to cut south just after Grants and take Highway 6 to Interstate 25 south to El Paso, Texas. So we traveled along, stopping for gas, but otherwise just clicking off the miles.
We came to the Arizona/New Mexico border and determined that New Mexico isn't too proud of their state because there wasn't a welcome sign here either. So we passed into New Mexico without stopping for a picture, and made our last gas stop in Grants and said our goodbyes for another year. Randall and I split up at about 1:15 in the afternoon. He made it back to Dallas that night about one-something in the morning as I recall.
I, on the other hand, was just beginning my own adventures. Just like the last couple of days, it was hot on Interstate 25, and it wasn't long before I had to stop to shuck leather. I had two gallons of gas with me, so I decided I was going to push it and see just how far I could go on a tank without refueling. As it turns out, 110 miles is just about right, at least loaded down like I am (I can get about 135 miles without the load). Right after I turned on my reserve, I came to a rest area so I stopped and emptied the contents of the gas can into my tank.
The next order of business was water, because it was hot! They didn't have a drinking fountain, but there was a vending machine, so I put my last $1 bill in for the water, and the machine took the dollar without dispensing the water.
So I went back out to the bike and dug out some change and went back to the vending machine. I got 95 cents in, but the machine kept rejecting my nickel, so I had to put a dime in. You guessed it, I got cheated out of my change, but at least this time it actually dispensed a bottle of water.
I should correct that; it vended a bottle of ice, solid ice. Here I was, hotter than Hades in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico, with a bottle of ice and nothing to drink. So I put the bottle in my backpack to thaw out and headed out again with absolute resolve to write to the New Mexico Department of Transportation to tell them how their vending machines treat visitors to their state; of course I never did write.
I made it to El Paso, Texas, about 40 miles south, on the gas I put in. I stopped and fueled up for real and filled the gas can again...just in case. I also fuelled me up at McDonald's, and asked for directions to the courthouse. Of course, the directions were just like in Helena, Montana, and no two were alike. I got turned around one time and came within about 3 blocks of being in Mexico, but I got turned back around and found the courthouse not long after that.
September 5, 2001 — El Paso County Courthouse, El Paso, Texas
I started taking courthouse pictures so my trip wouldn't be over before it was over.
My bike is in the handicapped parking spot in the left of the photo.
I was kind of excited about getting El Paso out of the way, since it was by far the farthest courthouse I had to get. It was also the 63rd county courthouse picture I took.
After the courthouse picture, it was off to Sierra Blanca for my next courthouse picture. I went east on Interstate 10 and over what Texans call mountains. It was dark by the time I was going through the mountains, so I'm not sure how big they actually were. I'm going to have to get back there in the daylight to actually check them out. Once I got to Sierra Blanca, I went to the courthouse even though it was already dark and took a couple of pictures. The pictures didn't turn out well, so I had to go back in the morning to get them by daylight.
Camping was over for me because Randall had the tent on his bike, so it was motels for me from here on out. After checking in, I called Cheryl, my wife, and she finally admitted for the first time on the whole trip that she missed me. Now don't get me wrong, Cheryl and I are very compatible, but she is an independent little cuss, and she does like her privacy from time to time. These motorcycle trips provide her with that, and they give me a chance to get away too, but after 13 days on the road, it is nice to hear that you're missed.
Overall I had a good day. I traveled 569.5 miles for the day. This was the longest day of the entire trip.
Day 14 — Thursday, September 6, 2001
I got up early, got packed up, and headed over to the courthouse for a picture. From there, it was off to Van Horn. I won't bore you with all the details, but from Van Horn, I cut off of Interstate 10 on Interstate 20 to Pecos, then south on US 287 to Fort Stockton, then north on US 387 to Crane.
From Crane, I took Texas Highway 329 to Rankin, and that's where all the fun began. I was cruising along, making really good time, when the bike started to shake. I was only going about 70 miles per hour when it happened. So I pulled over, crawled under the bike, and looked around. Everything looked okay, so I got back on and went on to Rankin, although a little bit slower.
In Rankin, I stopped for gas and checked my tires. The bike was getting pretty squirrelly by this point, and I thought my rear tire was low on air. But when I checked my tires, the tire pressure was right where it should be, so I went on up to the courthouse and took the picture. After taking the picture, I pulled the bike over under a big shady tree and crawled under the bike again. I was determined that I wasn't going anywhere until I figured out what was wrong with my bike.
And that's when I saw them; four broken spokes on my rear tire. Remember Adrian telling me in Colorado that when I got home I needed to have my spokes looked at? Well, the spokes didn't make it home. Let me see if I can explain this. On the wheel, there were a total of 48 spokes, but they were split up into quarters. Twelve spokes went from the outside of the rim on the right to the inside of the rim on the left; another twelve stayed on the right both on the outside and the inside of the rim. Anyway, the four spokes that were broken were all from the same quarter of twelve spokes.
I went into the Sheriff's Office in the courthouse and explained my problem. My cell phone didn't have reception here, so I asked if I could use their phone with my calling card.
I called my wife to explain the problem, and then we looked up a phone number for Guy W's Harley-Davidson in Odessa, about 50 miles away. I called Guy W's and talked to Albert, the Part's Manager. He didn't have a wheel, but thought he knew where there was one and was going to check and call me right back. It's amazing how your version of right back depends on whether you're at work or stranded along the road, because it seemed to take forever for him to call back.
Cheryl offered to come and get me in her truck. She had arranged for the use of tie-down straps and a loading ramp, but was waiting for me to make the decision. It was tempting, because truth-be-told, I missed her too, but I just couldn't bear to think of hauling my motorcycle home the last 350 miles after just going over 5,000 miles for the trip. I just couldn't do it, so I waited to hear from Albert.
Now don't get me wrong, I was in comfortable air conditioning, talking to Virginia, Catrina, and Judy in the Sheriff's Office, as well as the various deputies that came and went. I called Cheryl again, she called Guy W's, I called Guy W's, and Albert finally said to bring my bike in.
Well, I thought that I could limp the 50 miles to Odessa, as long as I took it slow, but I needed to take some weight off of the bike. The nice folks at the Upton County Sheriff's Office in Rankin were kind enough to let me store it in one of their offices, and then I was on my way.
I made it a total of 13 miles before I had to call it quits. The bike was really squirrelly now, and when I looked underneath, 10 spokes were broken, again still from the same quarter of twelve spokes, which left only two good spokes. I was driving slowly, but I didn't really want to find out what would happen when the last two spokes from that quarter broke, so I pulled over. I guess once your spokes start breaking, they put more stress on the remaining spokes and just keep on breaking.
Now my situation was much worse. It was getting on into evening, probably about 6:00 pm or so. It was still pretty hot, I didn't have any water, and my cell phone didn't work from here either. One guy stopped and let me use his cell phone, so I called my roadside assistance service and told them to get someone out to me. It was kind of awkward without having a number they could call me back at, but that was the way we had to do it.
Another guy stopped and asked if I had water. I didn't, so he handed me a gallon of Ozarka water. What nice people in this neck of the woods! And that's when Steve came by. Steve saw I was stopped and pulled over. I explained the situation, and he said he was going to stay with me until the wrecker came. He said he used to have a Harley that got lost in a custody battle with an ex-wife, but he knew what it was like to be broken down along the road. In fact, he had a friend, Moses, who lived just a couple of miles from where I was broken down.
We tossed around the idea of trying to load the bike into a pickup and getting it to Odessa. Steve's cell phone worked, so he called Moses, and then I called my roadside assistance. They said a wrecker had been dispatched, so Steve and I cancelled the idea of loading it onto a pickup.
Moses showed up, and he didn't really have anything to do either, so they just stayed with me. They were both rough-neckers, the guys who work on oil wells, and let me tell you there are a lot of oil wells around Odessa. It didn't take us too long to figure that an occasion like this required beer, so I gave Steve some money and he headed to Rankin while Moses stayed with me and explained how oil wells and the pumps worked.
Steve got back, and we all sat around his truck drinking beer and swatting mosquitoes the size of birds. The wrecker showed up about the time the beer ran out, which is to say about 8:30 pm, well after dark, and well after Guy W's was closed for the night.
Well Steve already had all of this figured out. He had a trailer, so he was going to have the wrecker drop me off at a motel near Guy W's, and then he would come by in the morning with the trailer and pick me up and take me to Guy W's. Steve was a really nice guy!
So that was the plan. The wrecker dropped me off where Steve told him to, the roadside assistance worked pretty okay, although a little slow, and now I was showering the grime away waiting for morning when Guy W's opened up again. I had over 5,022 miles for the trip by this point, with just less than 300 miles for the day, not counting the part where I rode on the back of a wrecker. On the bright side, my cell phone worked in Odessa.
Day 15 — Friday, September 7, 2001
I must say, I was a little apprehensive about whether Steve was coming back or not. He said he would be there about 8:00, but 8:00 came and went without Steve. While I was waiting, I tried to get a picture of the inside of the wheel to show the broken spokes.
September 7, 2001 — Super 8 Motel, Odessa, Texas
My bike outside the motel waiting for Steve to come by with his trailer.
September 7, 2001 — Super 8 Motel, Odessa, Texas
If you look hard, you can see the broken spokes on the left side of the hub.
But my worries were for nothing. Steve called and said he was running late, and arrived not long afterward. I am, even now, amazed at the lengths Steve went to help out a guy he didn't even know. I still consider myself lucky that Steve showed up when he did along the road. I still call him from time to time just to say hi.
September 7, 2001 — Super 8 Motel, Odessa, Texas
Steve arrived and we got the bike loaded up on his trailer.
That's Steve behind the trailer.
After Steve dropped my bike off at Guy W's, this story goes into a stall. Steve looked around at the new Harleys for a few minutes, but then had to get on down the road, and I was on my own again. I tried to buy him a t-shirt or something, just to remember me by, but he wouldn't have any part of it. I did get him a t-shirt after he left and sent it to him when I got home. I also got a t-shirt for Cheryl for all the work she went through making phone calls to try and get me here.
Anyway, Albert did find a used wheel to replace mine with, but it didn't get there until after noon. Then it took the Harley shop until about 1:30 to get my bike into the shop, so it wasn't until 6:30 in the evening until I was on the road again, and I still had about 350 miles to go.
But I didn't let that stop me. I shot back down to Rankin and picked up my luggage from the Upton County Sheriff's Office. While I was there, I took a new picture of my bike at the courthouse without luggage and without broken spokes.
September 7, 2001 — Super 8 Motel, Odessa, Texas
My fixed bike, just before I picked up my luggage.
It turned dark not long after leaving Rankin, so the rest of my trip home was in the dark. I was tired from waiting around at Guy W's, but I was on the road again. There were lots of deer along the road, but I took it easy and made it home about 1:40 in the morning; my wife was still up.
My ending miles for the trip were 5,386.1, compared to 4,122.5 miles last year.
The End