Corner To Corner -- Final Thoughs

It seemed strange to sleep in our own bed last night, and to get up and not go downstairs, eat a “continental breakfast” at the hotel breakfast bar, and load up the bikes and head out. The ride back from Cape Flattery and Neah Bay was uneventful, except for the frustration of road construction, and my internal sadness that the ride was over and we were not going someplace new in the morning.

I must confess I have a wandering soul I suppose. I always have, and I attribute some of that to my parents who were thoughtful enough as I was growing up to take us someplace in the car or the camper nearly every week. This is one of the greatest gifts they gave me – to not be afraid to see what’s up around the next bend and to love travel. And I suppose as well that it could be considered a curse.

As we were heading towards home down US-101 we got to a junction where US-101 continues south, ultimately to the Mexican Border south of San Diego, and we had to turn on WA-104 over the Hood Canal Bridge and towards Seattle. I told Tony, “hey, lets just turn south and ride down the coast to San Diego”. The look he gave me would have stalled my bike had he looked at the engine. I’m fortunate that I have the means and the job that allows me to do that – not everyone does. So we continued across the bridge, down WA-3 and Bremerton and across the Southworth ferry and headed to Alki Beach for dinner before riding home. A ferry ride is perhaps the perfect way to cap this trip – taking the boat into Seattle is always something I look forward to.

There is a song by singer-songwriter Randall Williams called “The Man With The Wandering Soul” which is about a sailor and his love for the sea and how it affects his family. I suppose you could change it to someone like me who loves the road…

“You were not his first love, he was seduced by the sea air on his skin, as a young man he promised his heart to Aurora Borealis and the stars.
May you never be the widow of the man, with the wandering soul.”

I have that wandering soul, and after a day of catching up on a mountain of mail, and phone calls and things around the house, and making an appointment for work on the bike tomorrow at the HD Dealer, I’m itching to get back on the road.
So for now this will be the last post for a while. I do want to thank you for reading, and I hope you have enjoyed it. We’ve heard from a lot of you with very kind and nice comments, and I’m flattered -- especially those of you who said it was what you looked forward to reading each morning. As a budding writer, it makes me think there might be possibilities for this. We have lots of notes and lots more stories that we didn’t put in the last 15 chapters – I would have spent all my time writing and not riding! I’ve toyed with the idea of a book – like “Blue Highways” or “Travels With Charley”, but I’m not sure. However, I would appreciate any feedback you have, good and bad… you can e-mail me at grgardner@comcast.net

And I would be remiss if I didn’t thank a few people who encouraged me to do this and who helped put it together.

Number one of course is Tony – who took all the great pictures and who’s notes and recollections as I wrote this were invaluable. It’s as much his story as mine. This ride was his idea, and he's the one who encouraged me to go on it, even when we were having second thoughts up until the day we left.

Tony’s sister Debbie who gave us the Harley Road Atlas for Christmas that had all the maps we used.

Tony Screws and the crew at Downtown Harley Davidson who got the bikes in shape for a 5,000 mile ride.

My parents for giving me the gift of wanderlust.

And all of you who read, commented, and encouraged us along the way.

As a final thought. I’ll leave you with another song lyric – this one from Alison Krauss a song on her “Lonely Runs Through It” CD called “Gravity.

I left home when I was seventeen I just grew tired of falling down. And I'm sure I was told the allure of the road would be all I found. And all the answers that I started with turned out questions in the end. So years roll on by and just like the sky the road never ends. And the people who love me still ask me - When are you coming back to town? And I answer quite frankly when they stop building roads and all God needs is gravity to hold me down.

I use that last paragraph as the signature on my personal emails, and it’s the title of my “Livejournal” at http://grgardner.livejoural.com which is a more personal version of a lot of my rides in case you are interested.

Gary Gardner
August 5, 2008
And the people who love me they ask, when are you coming back to town. And I answer, when they stop building roads and all God needs is gravity to hold me down.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 15, The Other End Of The Road

We went to dinner last night at the Quinault Beach Resort and Casino. What is it about casinos that attract the mullet crowd? We had heard that the restaurant there was quite good and wanted a nice place for our final night on the road. If we’d gone with our first impression though we would have left. We first tried their sushi bar, however it had “run out of rice”. A sushi bar that runs out of rice? So we went to the main restaurant where there apparently was no hostess on duty. I was having a gut feeling this was not going to be good, especially after getting things sorted out we had 15 minutes to wander the casino until the table was ready. This place had gotten good reviews and the hotel/spa was quite nice and I was hoping my first impressions were wrong. They were. We had a nice bubbly waitress, and fantastic food, and lingered there for a good 90 minutes reflecting on the trip so far.

When it came time to pay the bill the waitress noticed my business American Express and asked what I did for a living. I explained and she told us she had a degree in “Political Communications”. She had gotten her degree and then went to LA for a few “fun years” but came back to the reservation with a two year old kid and this job paid the bills. She was as dismayed as I am about the state of political discourse in this country and said she wouldn’t take a job in her field now. I had to agree.

It was quite foggy and darn right cold when we pulled out of Ocean Shores this morning on the final leg up the Olympic Peninsula to the town of Neah Bay and the far Northwest Corner of the lower 48 at Cape Flattery. We left with every stitch of clothing we could have on to stay warm. In my case, a long sleeve t-shirt, our “commemorative” Corner To Corner t-shirts (still available at http://cafepress.com/tonyandgary), a zip-up hoodie sweatshirt, and medium lightweight leather jacket – and even pulled out the big leather gloves for good measure. It was that cold, and rather ironic since two weeks ago we were looking for a baptismal font in Georgia to cool off in, and after a few miles in this we were looking for a hot-tub! While riding through the rain forest I turned to Tony and asked him if he was sure it was August.

Neither of us had ridden up this section of US-101 before, as it skirts the Pacific shore and goes through the Olympic National Park rain forest. Although it was foggy, what we could see was magnificent, and we’d like to come back again. As the day wore on the sun burned the fog off, although it stayed cool, and we continued up the 165 miles to the far northwest corner of the US. We rode through the small logging town of Forks, and shortly after found the turn off to Cape Flattery. It seemed so strange to think that the journey was about to end as we motored down WA-112 into Neah Bay and around to the point.

We literally drove as far as we could in the parking lot for the short walk to the end of the earth. To tell the truth, I was actually kind of sad, and choked up. After all these days, and all these miles -- after crossing the entire United States of America, seeing things we'd never seen, places we'd never been, and meeting some great people, here we were – at the other end of the road. It was all coming to and end and I didn't want it to. As we pulled up with grins on our faces, the people getting out of the car next to us asked if we were having a good day. “A great day!” I replied, and they asked where we came from, and I answered “Key West”. The young lady who asked did a double take and said “Florida?” and we said indeed. We became instant celebrities in the parking lot – especially after we took off our jackets and they saw our commemorative t-shirts (still available at http://cafepress.com/tonyandgary – did I say that already?)

When we got to the point – which is a cliff overlooking the Pacific, there were a number of people there, and as we waited for a quiet moment to take a picture, people read our shirts and asked about them, so once again we said we’d just spent 15 days riding back from Key West. We had more than a few pictures of us taken, and then posed for one ourselves. So here we are, 15 days and 4,973 miles from the end of the road at Key West.
So, while the road ended at Cape Flattery, and at Key West, it really never ends as all you have to do is turn around and head out – and then just like the sky, the road never ends.

Corner to Corner: Tony's Perspective

Our travel blog is usually written by Gary while I take most of the pictures. However, today I thought I would contribute my thoughts as the trip has come to an end and what my thoughts are and have been... Tony

This morning I stand looking out into the fog that has crept onto the beach of Ocean Shores, Washington and I think...



Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by
The rules of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes
And leap...

It's time to try defying gravity
I think I'll try defying gravity
And you can't pull me down

Today is the last day of the Corner to Corner ride that I have been on since July 19th, when we left Miami (following the week I was there for GALA Festival 8) and rode our Harley's to Key West. Since then we have been making the trek across the country and meeting some fascinating people along the way...

Four years ago, riding a motorcycle was only a dream. Even after I got my license and bought my first motorcycle (Suzuki Boulevard 800), my thoughts were only to ride around West Seattle and possibly Seattle once I felt comfortable enough. Then I had this idea to ride our motorcycles to Whistler for our annual Summer trip there and after only two and a half months of riding, Gary and I loaded up his Harley 1200 Sportster and my Suzuki and made the 300 mile trip to Whistler and then took 500 miles to get home across the backside of British Columbia. This 800 mile trip was the longest ride either of us had ever done and we realized that we really liked long distance riding.

I'm through accepting limits
Cuz someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try I'll never know
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost

I'd sooner buy defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

Since then, we have ridden across Scotland on rented Harley's, all across the Northwest while the Seattle Men's Chorus and Seattle Women's Chorus were on tour buses and last year all through New England after attending the wedding of my cousin in Mansfield, PA. As I stand looking out to the Western Sky, I feel like I have truly accomplished something incredible by riding the backroads of America from Key West to Neah Bay.

So if you care to find me
Look to the Western sky!
As someone told me lately
Everyone deserves the chance to fly
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free
To those who ground me
Take a message back from me!

Tell them how I am defying gravity
I'm flying high, defying gravity
And soon I'll match them in renown
And nobody in all of Oz
No Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!!

What happens next? I don't know but I am excited to ride into the unknown.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 14, Dusty towns left far behind, mountains drawing ever nearer...

The title for this chapter comes from a song by Canadian Folksinger Garnett Rogers about a night drive across Canada. It is quite fitting for our ride today, as well as for what we have planned tomorrow since the next line is “Dreaming of the Western Ocean”.

We left Pasco, Washington (one of the Tri-Cities - the other two being Richland and Kennewick), or as I say “Try” cities since it “tries” to be a city) and headed West on US-12. At this point US-12 merges with I-84 for 70 miles or so to Yakima, but you know how we feel about Interstates, so we got off in the small town of Prosser and took WA-22 which is the old US-12, through the orchards of the Yakima Valley. This road runs parallel to the freeway, but it isn’t the freeway which is kind of the point. It reminded me of something Tony says while skiing and we have our choice of a blue run or a green run that get us to the same place, and he says “why take a blue run when there is a perfectly fine green run over here.” Same thing with this trip – why take the Interstate when there is a perfectly fine two lane.

This morning, as well as last night, the bikes started conversations. Last night we rode over to a Sonic Drive in for a late bite, and of course rode with the new LED’s glowing. A couple eating at the drive in came up and commented on the bikes, and asked about the trip. Then this morning a large contingent of Mexican wedding attendees were checking out of the hotel and two of the bridesmades wanted to pose with the bikes. It’s amazing how motorcycles start conversations and bring strangers up to you to ask questions.

The road this morning was familiar – at least to me, I’ve ridden it several times already this year, but it was new to Tony. As we curved around out of Prosser, I could see Mt. Rainier rising up in the distance. I knew then we were close to home. Even though the Mountain is several hundred miles away, it dominates our view at home, as well as out here on the opposite side of the state. About this time on my i-Pod came Johnny Cash’s version of “I’ve Been Everywhere”, which is a fun tune listing hundreds of cities and is quite the trick to sing. It was rather appropriate as we rode towards Mt. Rainer and neared the end of this journey.

In Yakima we turned West again on US-12 and headed up over White Pass and down into Western Washington. Mt. Rainier was close enough to touch it looked like, and it was a tad chilly on the pass and down the West slope. We stopped for lunch in Morton, and then continued on down 12 until it met up with I-5. Both the Yakima Valley and this part of Southwest Washington are the “Red” parts of a very “Blue” state. What few Republicans in the legislature are from here. There are billboards for the Republican candidate for Governor, Dino Rossi, that are too offensive for words, and every time I see one I tend to give it the one-fingered salute. They say “Don’t let Seattle steal the election again, Re-Elect Dino Rossi”. Now I’m not often proud, and in fact often wish I could de-annex myself from Seattle, but to say we “stole” the election or that Dino was elected to begin with is highly offensive. I was about to do it again here, and Tony was ready with the camera when an oncoming car pulled up and rather than risk them thinking I was addressing them, I skipped it.

When US-12 split off from I-5 just north of Centralia, we exited off and continued Northwest into Aberdeen, Washington. As we neared Gray’s Harbor it cooled off considerably and we had to get our jackets on. We rolled into downtown Aberdeen, which in it’s heyday apparently was quite the bustling town, but now feels like the worlds largest ghost town, with blocks of four and five storey buildings that are vacant and abandoned. This was a timber town, and years ago as the timber ran out, so did the town unfortunately, and now it’s just someplace to pass through on the way to the coast. It also is the literal end of US-12, which starts in Detroit, MI. We’ve run on a number of stretches of this road on this trip, in Michigan, as well as Minnesota, and have been on US-12 for the last two days since we left Billings, MT. It’s somewhat ironic and quite sad that this highway has it’s end points in two cities that are dead or dying.

Leaving Aberdeen we turned onto WA-109 for the ride out to the town of Ocean Shores and the Pacific Coast. This road is signed as a Tsunami Evacuation Route – just in case we spot a big tidal wave coming in from Japan.

Right at the coast we ran into some fog as is typical here, and then turned onto the beach itself and rode up to the tide line. We turned the bikes off and realized we’d reached the Pacific Coast – we had ridden coast to coast, a distance of 4,808 miles over the course of 14 days. And while we’ve reached the coast, we aren’t done. This would be like reaching the South Summit of Everest and not going for the peak. Ocean Shores would be the equivalent of what Miami is to Key West on the Florida Coast – at the shore, but not as far away as you can get. Out here that would be Neah Bay, up in the far Northwest Corner of the Olympic Peninsula, and still over 100 miles away. We’ll head up US-101 to that corner of the country tomorrow and have completed our journey.
Meanwhile, we’ll sit and look out over the ocean from a nice hotel room with a fireplace, relax, and know that tomorrow we will truly reach the end of the road on US-101 and the other corner of the US from Key West on US-1.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 13, Closer To Home

One thing about bikers, you can almost always approach them and chat. We can spot each other a mile a away. In the small breakfast areas of hotels it’s very easy to spot the other bikers – most of the time we all have Harley shirts on for one thing. This morning at the Holiday Inn Express in Missoula we sat next to a table of guys from Michigan. We’d chatted briefly in the parking lot when we checked in yesterday, and met up with them at breakfast today. There is that commonality of interests that instantly binds you to each other, and we talked of places we’d been, and our ride in Michigan and it turns out they were from the same area. This morning they were headed south towards Yellowstone on a road Tony and I had taken a couple of years ago, so we gave them some suggestions, and we all swapped stories before heading out. It’s this way in every hotel we’ve been at – especially as we’ve headed West and run into the Sturgis bound traffic. Our hotel was also filled with a crowd of Hells Angels – actual Hells Angels. I’ve rarely felt intimidated, but these guys kept me on my guard.

We headed West on US-12 this morning out of Missoula and up the Bitterroot valley. It was somewhat overcast, and I wore a long sleeve t-shirt, but we kept adding layers as we headed into the mountains and by the time we crested Lolo Pass we had shirt, sweat shirt, and leather jackets on. It was still a bit “wintery” up there. The road over Lolo Pass from Missoula to Lewiston, Idaho is a long and very lonely one. There are signs warning you to gas up before heading out, and it’s nearly 112 miles between stations. The Dyna has a 4.5 gallon tank, and I can get about 160 miles on it before I start getting nervous. Tony’s Geezer Glide has a 6.5 gallon tank and he can drive nearly 280 miles.

As soon as US-12 turned up the canyon to the pass I noticed a smell I hadn’t smelled in a couple of weeks. I can’t really describe it, but anyone who has grown up in the mountains of the West knows it. It’s that fresh, crisp, clean smell you get along a brook or stream in a canyon. It’s not “piney” at all or “woodsy”, but it’s a scent that instantly takes me back to the mountains where I grew up. I didn’t smell it all in the mountains of the East – I think the air is too “heavy” there. You need dryer air, maybe some “altitude” as well, and of course less people. However, that scent told me that I was getting closer to home. And when we crossed the pass and into Idaho, we dropped into the Pacific Time Zone, and reset our watches one last time. Now we really are getting close.

Dropping down the other side into Idaho we followed the Clearwater River all the way until it joined the Snake River in Lewiston. We watched this river grow from a trickle to a fairly good sized body of water – and all the way, the water was crystal clear. It was so clear you could see the rocks on the bottom.

About half way down we stopped for gas and a break in the small town of Orofino. Across from the gas station the local girls dance team was having a bake sale, and all the girls, and a few of the moms were eyeing the bikes, so we rode over to say hi and grab a snack. They had a couple of card tables of home-made goodies, and we found a nice ziplock bag of white chocolate chip cookies. I asked how much, and they said, “as much as you want to pay, it’s a donation”. So I said how about $10, is that enough? It was, and they were all smiles, as were we because the cookies were quite good. We munched on them all afternoon on the road. Mom asked about where we were going and we recounted the story of Key West back to Seattle, and they all got bug eyed. One of the girls asked for a ride, but we had luggage all strapped on so we unfortunately had to decline. We hopped on and fired them up and they all smiled and waved as we pulled out. Nothing like a small town bake sale.

We rode down into Lewiston, Idaho on the Snake River and our stomachs said it was time for lunch. We cruised Main Street looking for something interesting, and we saw a sign in a small brownstone downtown across from the railroad tracks that said “Effie Burger”. We did a nicely illegal U-turn and pulled up and went into this small tavern where every booth was filled and so we sat at the old-fashioned lunch counter. The first thing I noticed was the price. I’m not usually price conscious, but the menu said “Effie Burger - $17.” I turned to Tony and said “what the hell?” but by this time he’d spotted a picture on the wall. This thing was huge – it had to be a dinner plate sized thing. Fortunately they also offered “half Effie Burgers”. We each ordered a half burger, and I was hoping I was ordering from Effie, but it turned out it was Connie. She owned the place, I could see her name on the license. She apparently walked right off the set of the old Dick Van Dyke show, about as tall as a fire-plug and complete with Rosemarie hairdo and Laura Petrie capri pants. I overheard her age – approximately anyway, she said she didn’t need to sign up for Medicare for a few years. The burgers were fantastic, and she was happy we said so. We again had to tell her, and most of the people at the lunch counter about the trip, and how we were on the tail end of it. It’s amazing the number of people we run into who get that wistful look in their eye, and who have rarely been more than 200 miles from where they are sitting. We are indeed fortunate to be able to travel as we have.

It had warmed up to 85 so we changed out of our jackets and into sleeveless shirts and pulled out and back onto US-12 West, and crossed the Snake River into Washington. Home. Our license plates on the bikes were no longer out of place. And gas was still over $4 a gallon. We were most definitely home! It was interesting to note that places like Key West had cheaper gas than Washington where we have refineries and no transportation costs. Go figure.

Roaring down US-12 towards Walla Walla and Pasco we passed through what is known as the Pallouse. It’s a huge wheat growing area of Washington, and perhaps the nicest scenery of the day. Rolling hills of dry farmed wheat and small groves of trees, red barns and small grain elevators. The first crop had been harvested and the stubble was still not plowed under, and the next crop was ripening nicely, so as far as you could see were golden fields of grain. One of my favorite artists is a guy named Z.Z. Wei, and he paints the most magnificent paintings of the Palllouse. Compare his painting to the actual and you'll see.
We zipped through Walla Walla and into Pasco for the night – traveling some 369 miles today. It was a nice relaxing day as a road trip should be. Tomorrow we’ll continue further west on US-12 until it ends and actually hit the coast of Washington at Gray’s Harbor, and then Monday morning motor out to Neah Bay – the far northwest corner of the Olympic Peninsula, and then home to Seattle. We’ve lost track of the days of the week, and when retelling our trip to folks, we have to say, “when we were in Indiana – what, 8 days ago?” and things like that. I have to confess as well that as we pulled into Lewiston, Idaho, we passed a junction for US-95 South – which goes south through Idaho, and into Nevada and Arizona, and a road I took back in May on a solo bike trip, I got to thinking, Hmmm, maybe we don’t need to go home after all.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 12, My God Montana is a Big State

Mile marker numbers start at 0 on the west and south ends of states, and get larger as you go north or east. When one is traveling across a state, east to west like we are, you can see how far you have to go just by reading the mile markers. Montana is a freakingly large state. When we got onto 1-90 yesterday at Crow Agency, MT, southeast of Billings, the mile markers on I-90 were in the 500s. And although we didn’t travel much of the Interstate on Friday, we are still in the 100s in Missoula. This state just never ends.

It was cool when we left Billings – I had on a long-sleeve t-shirt for the first time this trip. However, once again the sun was shining and not a cloud in the sky. We headed north on MT-3 to where it picked up US-12 West. As is usual in these sparsely populated areas there was little or no traffic. I was able to put my feet up on the travel pegs, stretch out and enjoy the sun shining on me. Going up hills on straight runs at 65 mph or around gradual curves with my feet out and arms up, it almost feels like flying as you bank into a gradual curve, or climb up into the sky. A lot of riders like tight quick curves, and they too are fun, but these long gradual curves where you can lean into them, stretched out like an eagle flying are what I really love. In fact a couple of times I got so lost in it I actually lost sight of Tony (and his buddy Sturge) behind me.

In Montana, the American Legion puts up a marker wherever someone has died along the road. They are small white crosses, and judging from the number we saw, both on US-12 and on other roads when we were here two years ago, Montana appears to have a disproportionately high number of highway fatalities. It’s actually kind of creepy to see these markers all up and down the road.

At one point US-12 merges with US-89 – and I had a chance to have the same moment Tony had back in Michigan when we were on US-41 and US-2. US-89 is the main street in my home town of Salt Lake City, and it also is the main street where I spent a number of years, Tempe, Arizona. US-12 heads back to Seattle. It’s one of those crossroads in life that appear on the horizon, quite literally in our case on this trip, and I think it makes for a great visual.

You have a lot of time to think and contemplate while riding a motorcycle, and my mind tends to be all over the map, from work and relationship problems, to song lyrics, to philosophy, to curiosity, to contemplating how life has changed over the years. Take for example bales of hay. Huh? Bales of hay? When I was a kid we’d go visit my uncle Ted on his dairy farm in Southeast Idaho. I was – and still am – fascinated by farm machinery, and how much like Rube Goldberg contraptions they tend to be. Its one of the reasons we stopped at the Farm museum back in Minnesota. Anyway, one of the cool machines Uncle Ted had was a hay bailer. It scooped up the hay, compressed it into blocks, bound it up, and spit them out the back like a Pez candy dispenser. Rows of perfect little green blocks that ripened in the sun into yellow hay bales, which then got stacked into building sized piles. This was the ONLY field we saw this trip with normal hay bales.

Apparently now days however, bales are made into huge minivan sized round balls. These things don’t stack into nice haystack sized things, and they are so massive you have to have a forklift to move them. All these hundreds of miles we’ve traveled in farm and ranch country in Minnesota, South Dakota, and Montana, only once have I seen the square hay bales – and everywhere else it’s been field after field of minivan sized round balls. The sad thing is that the farm boys won’t build up nice muscles tossing square ones around anymore. What a shame.

We kept heading west on US-12, and of course passing what seemed like hundreds of bikers headed east to Sturgis, which gets rolling officially today. At one point we were riding through a hay field and ran into a cloud of grasshoppers. These little monsters HURT at 60 mph, and they make a big mess on the bike and on me – it felt like I was getting shot by a bunch of bb’s, and by the time we got to Missoula they were stuck in every crevice of my bike and we had to go spray it off at a car wash. Tony, in the Geezer Glide, with all it’s faring did better – all that plastic blocked then from hitting him, but his bike was plastered as well.

We started to get hungry as we were pulling into Helena, and Tony and Sturge pulled along side to ask where we should eat. I did my hand signal of making a swirly motion on top of my head which is Gary’s universal sign for “small drive in with a vanilla soft serve cone on top”. Tony just rolled his eyes, but I had another thing planned as a surprise. Tony’s buddies in Minneapolis have been raving about a regional chain called Taco Johns, and I had seen a billboard for one outside of Helena. Tony lit up when I signaled and pulled into the Taco Johns and couldn’t wait to get in. To me it was the same as any chain taco joint – just OK, but he was a happy guy.

Wile we were sitting there I was contemplating our route and what to do. We still had many hundreds of miles to get out of Montana, and we had wanted to complete the ride on Sunday. The more I looked at the map, the more I saw how far we had to go, and more importantly the distance between towns with hotels. We had a couple of options at this point, neither of which we really liked. We could stay on I-90 and blast to Idaho and maybe as far as Spokane, or we could take US-12 and try to get to Lewiston, ID. Both of those options would involve almost 600 mile days, and we were just barely at 250 miles at that point. We would be riding well into the evening. We had to make our mind up at Missoula where the roads diverged. While we were eating a fellow diner who over heard us talking told us we needed to stop by the “Testicle Festival” up the road. He said some “Hells Angels” were there, but we should have fun anyway. Eating castrated calf testicles with Hells Angels – hmmm, sounds like fun in my book. Neither of us thought twice when we passed the billboard at the exit for the festival.

We rode West out of Helena and US-12 merged with I-90 again for 70 miles into Missoula. As we merged onto the freeway it was hot, and we faced into a strong head wind. In addition there were lots of trucks, and truck ruts on the road, and more than a few hundred bikers headed east. Getting buffeted by high winds, dodging 75 mph traffic on an Interstate, and realizing we’d be on this for some time was not a pleasant thought. I remembered as well what has become my “Prime Directive” if you will. We ride on the road to HAVE a good time, not to MAKE good time. Yes, we wanted to get Neah Bay on the other corner on Sunday. But in order to do that we’d have to sacrifice the enjoyment of the road trip itself – which is why we are on it. I realized then that we could call the kennel, have the dogs stay another day, and finish the ride on Monday. We could stop in Missoula for the night having done 356 miles. We’ll do another 300-400 on Saturday, taking US-12 which we haven’t done and ending up in Washington somewhere, then another 300-400 on Sunday, getting us to the Washington coast That way on Monday we finish it by riding up to Neah Bay, and then back to Seattle.

So, that’s what we’ll do. We will be on the road an extra day, and that’s a good thing. Never forget the Prime Directive of a Road Trip. Travel on the road to have a good time – not to make good time.

Corner To Corner - Chatper 11, The Wild Wild West

Another warm and sunny day this morning as we loaded up outside the Holiday Inn in Sturgis. We wore our “biker” ripped off sleeve button up shirts we bought yesterday for the ride out, after making one last loop through the Sturgis Main Street. Loading up the bikes every morning is a little ritual – hauling the suitcases downstairs, strapping them to the bike, putting my note-pad and pen to take notes with and my I-Pod in the tank bra, taping up my directions on the yellow sticky note, and spraying on sun-screen, strapping the helmet on, and so on. Tony and I do our glove touch and roll out.

After our detour down Main Street one last time, we headed West on SD-34. More and more bikers came in, and we passed an endless stream of them on the road headed towards Sturgis. I realized we have to come back and spend some more time as. As it gets closer to the rally starting, more vendors are arriving and setting up. One we saw setting up this morning was doing trike conversions on Honda Goldwings. Tony said "hell, might as well add a fourth wheel and call it a Civic". Everyone we talk to says we should come early and leave early before the crowds, which sounds like a plan to me for next year.

We headed up into the Black Hills on SD-34 towards the town of Belle Fourche. This town has intrigued me for quite some time. One of my favorite movies is “The Cowboys” one of John Wayne’s last movies. If you recall the movie, there are no cowboys to take the cattle to market, so John Wayne hires out the school kids – all 12 years old or so. He gets killed along the way and the cattle stolen and the boys become men by rounding them up and killing the guys who stole the cattle and then driving them into Belle Fourche. So for that reason, plus it sounds somewhat “romantic” in an old-west kind of way, so I wanted to see it. It was a small, charming town, with a lot of old west flavor still, and a rail-head with a large cattle lot – and to this day it’s used just like it was 100 years ago when the movie was set.

I got Tony a little biker bear that rides on his windshield as we left this morning -- its our 12th anniversary and this guy will keep him company on the long stretches as we head home. We turned west on US-212, which cut across the corner of Wyoming. As soon as we crossed the Wyoming line I felt I was getting closer to home – though not “home” as in Seattle. I grew up in Salt Lake City, and we spent a lot of time in Wyoming when I was younger – although it was the opposite corner the Southwest one. Still I was in Wyoming and that means we’ve come a long way from Florida and are getting closer to home.

One thing about the far west, the towns are a hell of a lot further apart. Even in sparsely populated South Dakota, we had small farm towns every 25 miles or so. In Wyoming and Montana, it’s more like 80! You go long long long stretches without passing a single car, or even a farm house. Somewhere in the middle of the Powder River Valley in the SE corner of Montana we stopped at the only town we’d come across, Broadus, MT, and the only gas station to fill up and get a drink.

As we were filling up a group of riders headed towards Sturgis pulled in. By coincidence they were members of a Harley Owners Group Chapter that’s affiliated with the Marysville HD Dealer. Small world. We chatted for a bit, and as we were wearing our Sturgis shirts they asked how it was and this was their first trip. Since we have been we are no longer Sturgis virgins so we could fill them in (like we know anything, but I guess we looked like grizzled veteran bikers). They were all excited to go, until I asked them where they were staying and they answered “we don’t know we’ll figure it out when we get there.” I guess I had a look on my face as they said, “you don’t think that’s a problem do you?” Lets see, 10,000 bikers invading a town and you don’t have a hotel reservation. Yeah, I think so. We quickly gave them the number to the Holiday Inn Express we stayed as as they had mentioned they had some cancellations and told them to get on their cell phone now. As we pulled out we could see them huddled around one guy who was on the phone – lets hope they got something.

A bit further West on US-212 we ran into every biker’s nightmare. Road construction. Miles of it. It appears they were widening and repaving the highway, and it involved us riding for about 9 miles on dirt and gravel – very slowly – and waiting for pilot cars in the heat. Fortunately the flagman walking the line said “why don’t you guys cut to the front of the line so when the pilot car gets here you don’t have to wait behind all these trucks.” Needless to say we jumped at the chance. I don’t know why they needed to widen the road though – we maybe passed 10 cars in 50 miles – there just ain’t a lot of traffic out here.
It had started to get a bit hot and dusty as we rode across the Crow Reservation, so we stopped at a small town with a great Indian name – Lame Deer. There were two restaurants – one a bar with a sign that said Welcome Bikers, and had about 6 bikes in front, and the other, a café that said “Shakes”. We opted for “Shakes”, and were sorely disappointed that their ice cream machine was broken. This was also a local gathering spot, and the food was good, so we didn’t mind.

Unfortunately US-212 merges with the dreaded Interstate 90 at Crow Agency, Montana – where Custer’s Last Stand was fought. I felt like I’d been over-run as well having to get on the Interstate, but we had no choice. It also seemed like the rest of the biker world was headed to Sturgis while we were headed in the opposite direction. I’ve never seen so many bikes headed east on the freeway and on US-212. We didn’t pass a single bike headed West. In a way it makes me wish we were headed back that way. Fortunately it was only 60 miles to Billings, MT where we have camped out for the night.
Today was also about the last stretch of unknown road for us. Virtually all of the remaining route home is on roads we’ve ridden before. Indeed we are getting closer to home.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 10, STURGIS!!!!

Oh boy did it feel good to sleep in – and an extra hour too since Sturgis is on the Mountain Time Zone. We really are headed west, and it’s noticeable as we cross time zones now. Sturgis is like Mecca for bikers. All we’ve ever heard since we started riding was “are you going to Sturgis” “Have you been to Sturgis”, “When are you going to Sturgis?” And even though the rally hasn’t technically started, we are here now, along with thousands of other bikers. Good Lord I’ve never seen so many bikers in one place, and this is apparently just a drop in the bucket of what’s to come.

This small town is completely overrun by bikers in August every year, and the town turns into one huge motorcycle event. The vendors are already set up or in the process of setting up. I’ve never seen so many t-shirt vendors in my life. But along with the t-shirts, leathers, patches with cute, funny, and obscene sayings on them, and biker accessories galore, all the major accessory vendors and bike makers are here, along with the custom chopper crowd, and enough food vendors to make the Puyallup fair look small. The one thing they were lacking is Port-A-Potties. We were drinking quite a bit because of the heat and all that water and soda had to go somewhere. The vendors all told us they don’t put the Port-A-Potties out until later in the week when the crowds really get big, and so we had to keep ducking into bars to use the facilities.

Tony and I spent most of the morning wandering among the bike vendors and t-shirt shops. Yes we bought some, I’m not telling you how many, but suffice to say we have to ship some home. We bought some accessories for the bikes, and Tony splurged and got his Big Blue Bike all decked out with blue LED lights. Tom and Dwayne from American Custom Cycles in Houston did a fantastic job, and boy does it look cool! These guys came up from Texas and do the bike shows installing lights and air horns and such. They set up an outside garage next to their 5th Wheel trailer and go to work on bikes during the rally. It took about an hour to wire up Tony’s bikes with the lights, which are sure to be a head turner when we cruise Alki on summer evenings.

It’s was quite hot wandering around Main Street in Sturgis, but getting on the bikes felt good after we started moving. Bikes and bikers as far as the eye can see. I kept getting hit on by girls too – who’d ask me if I was here with my wife or girlfriend, and I learned to reply, “now why would I bring my wife OR my girlfriend here – I couldn’t have any fun”.

We let it cool off a bit by relaxing around the hotel pool, and about 3pm decided to head out for a ride up to the Crazy Horse memorial and Mt. Rushmore. I have to say the Black Hills of South Dakota are really something. It was cool, the air smelled of pine, and the roads twisty. We went on a nice loop up through Deadwood and Hill City on US 14 and US 385. Deadwood and Hill City were nice old mining towns now turned gambling towns, and the bikers were everywhere, lining the streets and riding the highways. A car was indeed a rare sight.

The Crazy Horse memorial was amazing, and the scale is hard to contemplate. It is no where near being done, and my bet is that it never will be. When you compare it to Mt. Rushmore the size becomes evident. The head of Crazy Horse alone is as big as the four heads of Mt. Rushmore.

The loop was about 150 miles, and we rode it without helmets. My mother is going to have a conniption fit at that, but you know there was NO ONE riding with a helmet anywhere. We’d have been the only ones. (Yeah, I can hear it now, “and if everyone jumped off a cliff would you too?”) Nonetheless it was a bit un-nerving and not something we’ll do on a regular basis. But I have to confess it sure felt nice.

Riding down Sturgis’ Main Street at dusk with Tony’s blue lights was cool, and the town is up and partying for some time. I imagine this place becomes quite the zoo in a few days when the rally really gets going. I’m almost wishing we could stay, despite how I hate crowds. We rode past the shop where Tony got his lights done and told them all the positive comments we were getting -- and it made me want them on mine. So at midnight, these guys put the Dyna up on the lift and outfitted it with some hot red LED lights. Tony has his blue, I have my red, and we'll be the hit of Alki on summer evenings!
Tomorrow we’ll head out, maybe find some time to swing by Devils Tower before we head northwest into Montana and Billings or beyond.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 9, Conversations With Dusty

Does it count on the Corner To Corner Ride that I didn’t ride the motorcycle 129 miles today, yet the motorcycle and I are in Sturgis, South Dakota as is Tony who rode 345 miles, while I only rode 216 on the bike and for 129 miles the bike and I rode with Dusty in the tow truck? Do I still get credit?

Harley Roadside Assist sent over a very talented young tow truck driver named Dusty, who was able to get the bike up on the flatbed with no problems. He and I set out in the truck for the 129 miles to Pierre, while Tony rode behind on the Geezer Glide. There was a fair amount of road construction over dirt roads which were rough in the tow truck, and I could hear Tony cussing at it from 100 yard behind. It took us two hours to get to Pierre in the tow truck, and Dusty asked about the ride, and was a bit wistful since he said he’s never been out of the Midwest. He’s 27, and this is his family business – along with his Dad and brother. He was born and raised in Huron, and bought his first house – a 2200 square foot place on a quarter of an acre for $60,000! Needless to say he was shocked at Seattle housing prices. Huron is the pheasant hunting capitol of South Dakota, and Dusty says they experience an invasion of hunters every fall. About that time a pheasant flew out of the ditch and about knocked Tony off the bike! And of course they have that huge pheasant statute in the entrance to town. We talked of farms and crops and how they tow big implements out of the field when they get stuck. Dusty had more than a few stores of wrecks, and trucks plowing into wandering cattle and such.

He asked me if he had a few days to drive and see some scenery where should he go? I said “Go West”. Head up to Montana – see some mountains. He’d been to Detroit to see an old High School buddy and hated it, but he seemed intrigued about Seattle and why I loved it so much.

The two hours flew by, and we pulled up to the Harley Dealer in Pierre at noon. Dusty got the bike down and pushed into the dealer, where they tinkered with it and Tony and I went to the Longbranch Saloon for lunch (no Miss Kitty or Marshall Dillon). It was very hot in Pierre, almost 100, an we were feeling it when we walked back to the dealer. They hadn’t figured out what was wrong yet, so we sat, and we sat, and we sat, and we napped, and we sat some more. About 4pm they said that they had gotten it to act up once, but had not been able to get it to do it again – and they had tested and probed and run everything and couldn’t figure out what the problem was, and that it had started 15 times in a row with no problem. They charged me $60 and sent me on my way.

Our goal was to be in Sturgis tonite and spend a day here before the big Black Hills Motorcycle Rally starts later this week. In order to get their quick, and be along a well traveled route incase the bike acted up again, we decided, much to my dismay, to take I-90. It’s 225 miles to Sturgis via the freeway, and at 4pm in the afternoon heat, just a ton of fun. The freeway cuts like a knife through the prairie – and through my heart. It was long, straight, hot, and full of trucks. It didn’t move with the land, pierced it like an arrow. I would have rather continued on US-14 and SD-34 the back way through the Black Hills and taken the back way, but we thought it was wise to stick to the well traveled road. As it was the bike behaved and we had no problems.

South Dakota has a 75 mph speed limit on the freeway, and at that speed you get a lot of wind noise. I’ve been riding some with my I-pod, but with that much wind noise you have to have LOUD music on to overcome it. I had a playlist of what people my age consider rock and roll – things like the Eagles, Marshall Tucker Band, Styx etc. This playlist I had labeled “Fast Ski Songs”, for songs that I like to listen to while skiing fast. Apparently there are also a few show tunes and movie tunes on here – including songs from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. So picture it – I’m riding along, feet out on the travel pegs – arms level on the ape-hanger handle bars, arms very tan and muscles bulging from having to hang on at 75 mph, a glare on my face, doing a little seat dance, and foot tapping, and looking like a weathered grizzled old biker – singing along with the I-pod “I’m just a sweet transvestite, from transsexual, Transelvania…” No wonder the truckers were giving me odd looks.

So, despite singing along to Rocky Horror and a few other oddities, the time passed very slowly on the ride up I-90. The country was interesting – grasslands as far as the eye could see, and I felt like I was riding through the set of “Dances With Wolves”. Apparently Lady Bird Johnson didn’t remember South Dakota when she had billboard taken down off the Interstates. This stretch is lined with them – all for upcoming tourist things. Places like Wall Drugs, Wonderland Cave, and Gator World. I imagine this is what the old Route 66 and other major roads looked like back in the day – and to be honest, I kind of liked it. It helped pass the time, and had we had some extra, we might have stopped in on a few of them just for the silliness factor.

As we got closer to Rapid City and Sturgis, the countryside changed from the grasslands to some very pretty hills and I’m looking forward to riding through them tomorrow as we explore the area, and take in the experience that is Sturgis. We went into town for dinner, and already the vendors are setting up and there are a lot of bikers in town early. We’ll avoid the crowd and still have some fun. By Friday this street will be lined with 10,000 bikes!
I-90 is right outside the door, and we could take it straight back to Seattle and be home in a day – but I’ll be damned if we will.

Corner To Corner - Broke Down!

There is a song by Texas songwriter named Brian Burns that has a line that goes:

"I don't know why the hell I drove this far, and I wish I could be back there where you are, but I'm broke down in Tulsa, on a cold and rainy morning, crying on the shoulder of an Oklahoma highway, hoping I can get home.."

Well it isn't quite that bad, I'm in a hotel parking lot in Huron, SD. However the Dyna's electrical problems have resurfaced, and she won't start, and I don't get any indication of any sort of electrical system or indication of power at all. My ignition key has been sticky for the last few days, so I'm suspecting that's where the problem arises.

We have Harley Road Side Assist, which will tow the bike to the nearest Harley-Davidson dealer. From Huron, South Dakota, there is one in Watertown, SD, which is 112 miles back the wrong way, or one on Pierre, SD, which is 119 miles the right way we are headed - West. In dealing with Roadside Assist, the nice lady, who stuck religiously to the script she was given, insisted that they tow it to Waterton, even though it's the wrong direction, because it is the closest dealer. I offered to pay the 7 miles difference. I suspect that HOG will get a strongly worded letter when I get home.

Nonetheless, Road Side Assist is a great buy at $38 a year, for unlimited tows on the road to the nearest HD dealer.

We'll keep you updated as things progress -- but right now we are back in the hotel room waiting for the tow truck to show up.

Corner To Corner - Chapter - 8, Somewhere Out On the Prairie

It was good to rest for a day in Minneapolis and not ride a few hundred miles. After six straight days of hard riding, we needed it. We left Minneapolis late as well to avoid the commuter traffic. There is nothing worse than being on a motorcycle, in a strange big city, trying to read confusing freeway ramp signs, getting lost in a tangle of ramps that looks like a can full of worms, and dodging rushing commuters who are on auto pilot. As it was the short trips around Minneapolis on Sunday meeting up with friends were trying – and we missed ramps twice and ended up going all over town. It was a very pleasant morning once again, and we left Minneapolis in t-shirts. Riding along in the warm sun – bare arms out, fists in the wind – there is nothing to compare to the feeling, and I could ride for hours like that. We’ve really lucked out with weather on this trip – other than the two rain squalls, we’ve had sun. However, earlier in the day as I was noting out the route west and seeing how damn far we still had to go, I actually found myself thinking “maybe we could ship them home and just fly…” I know, a crazy thought eh? But truth be told, another day’s rest would have felt nice.

We headed southwest on a tangle of freeways out of Minneapolis, aiming for US-212 West, and out onto the Minnesota Prairie. Riding along this nice two-lane out on the prairie is great. It’s not so flat and boring, (like Florida), and the towns are about 15 miles apart. You can see them start to rise before you – grain elevators and silos – then you ride through a nice small town main street with two story brick buildings, and past the grain elevator and the farm implement dealer and out onto the prairie again – watching the town disappear in your rear view mirror. You ride through a few miles of corn or soy beans, and the next town starts to rise up before you – towns like Hector, Bird Island, Oliva, and Danube. Out here they still have 4-H and FFA clubs and town parks sponsored by the Rotary Club. If it’s a county seat, there’s usually a fancy courthouse built at the turn of the century. It’s really what middle America is all about.

Out here on the prairie we’ve lost the Baptists and their reader boards demanding that I ACCEPT HIM!!! And we’ve landed, as Garrison Keilor says, out amongst the Lutherans. Lutherans are not nearly as preachy as Baptists apparently and all the towns have a nice large Lutheran Church and the reader board only lists the Sunday service hours and when the next Church Supper is. Every town also has an implement dealer. I like the John Deere ones – with their green painted tractors. These beasts are huge! Especially the combines and corn harvesters. They dwarf most houses and no doubt cost as much.

We turned south on MN-23 and found ourselves motoring through the small town of Hanley Falls. Just outside of town we passed an antique tractor with a sign saying “Farm Implement Museum” with an arrow pointing to the town, and since we needed a break, we pulled in. The museum is housed in the town’s old school building – a two story building put up by the WPA in the 1920s. This is a classic old school, where Ruth the caretaker told us the town had all 12 grades up until 1965. On the hall walls were the class pictures over the years – in 1960 the high school class had 7 graduates. In 1964 they had 14. Evidence of the baby-boom in action. The ceilings were 20 feet high, and the doors all oak. All the rooms were filled with old farm implements and equipment, antique cooking stuff, cool “feed” signs, and the like. They must have cleaned out every barn in the County for this collection, including a bunch of old tractors in a garage out back! And inside, on a shelf, was a small bottle labeled “Mt. St. Helens Ash”. Hey, something from back home, all the way out in a museum in Hanley Falls, MN. Ruth had us fill out and sign the guest book and we put a pin on the map in Seattle – the only one from Washington. I guess the Farm Implement museum doesn’t get a lot of traffic. We gave them $20 in their donation bin and headed back out on MN-23, looking for a place for lunch.

The next town up was Marshall, and according to Ruth at the museum we’d be able to find something there. I told her we didn’t want to do “chain” places, we wanted real food, and I wanted some place with a swrily vannila ice cream cone on top and she assured us we would find it In Marshall. I had grave reservations however as we rolled south as the sign for the “Adopt a Highway” litter pick up was for the Marshall Starbucks. Now as an investor in Starbucks, I appreciate that – as a connoisseur of road food, any town with a Starbucks means the hunt for real food will be hard. It was. We cruised down the main drag – finding nothing but Mc Donalds, Carls Jr., Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, Applebees, and then hidden off in the corner of a motel was “Mike’s Café”. It wasn’t a chain. So we did a U-turn and headed in. It was the best decision of the day.

Our waitress brought us menus and water and asked where we were from and going to – the typical question everyone asks traveling road bikers. We told her we were riding from Key West back home to Seattle, and said “ you are crazy!”, paused for a minute and said “Seattle” her eyes lighting up. Yep, we replied, she asked “what part”? We told her West Seattle and she said she lived in Puyallup for two years. Her name is Karen, and her husband took a job out there so they packed up and moved out for a couple of years despite being born and raised on the Minnesota prairie. She didn’t look it but she said she had a 20 year old son and a 16 year old daughter, and, she’d move back in a second. She said her son was in a class of 70 in Marshall, but graduated from a class of 900 in Puyallup, and she was grateful for the diversity and culture of Washington. She said she could talk with us all afternoon about Seattle, and how nice it was there, and how pretty and green, and the water, and the mountains. She just gushed – and we had to agree since neither of us can imagine living anywhere else. They were sad to have her husband’s job transfer him back to Minnesota.

About that time a table full of characters right out of the Andy Griffith show wandered into the café, including a deputy sheriff. I overhead someone say “tornado warning” and indeed the sky was getting dark. I decided to wander over and ask about it, and was invited to sit down for a moment. There was a mention on the weather about the conditions being ripe for a tornado, although there was no watch or warning. One of the farmers said he’d had one cross right in front of him last week and it took off the roof of a barn. I asked them “what should I do if we spot one”, and was advised to get in the ditch as quick as I could, and if possible crawl into a culvert. At my size, I don’t think there are many culverts that I could crawl into. They told me what to watch for, and said to listen to the radio. I’ve been teasing Tony about his “Geezer Glide” with all its gadgets, but right now I was very glad to know he had a radio. Then one of the guys said, “say hello to my sister in Enumclaw for me”. Small world indeed – at a café in Marshall, MN, we run into two connections to home – a waitress who would love to go back to Puyallup, and a farmer with a sister in Enumclaw.

For dessert I had peach pie and Tony had some sort of pudding concoction that was out of this world. Karen talked about how she missed the flowers from Pikes Place Market, and that it’s a big conspiracy to tell people that it rains a lot in Seattle. We settled up, and the farmers all wished us a safe ride, one of them even coming out to show us what to watch for in the sky. However, as an omen of things to come I noticed across the street from Mike’s Café a new Arby’s under construction – with the sign saying “Coming soon – the Excitement is building”. I think not. Lets hope that Mikes’ Café stays in business a long time.
We headed out, underneath a dark sky, keeping a watch out for swirling clouds, and flying cows, and passed the local BNSF Freight train. I was very nervous looking for any sign of a twister, but Tony kept an ear on the radio and said nothing was being reported. We passed a huge windmill farm with hundreds of giant windmills out in the corn. These things were gigantic and really fascinating to watch. A bit further down the road we turned West on US-14 towards the South Dakota state line. We also passed our first “Wall Drug” sign of the trip. This famous South Dakota tourist mecca in Wall, SD is famous for having signs all over the world pointing you to this kitchy little place. You know you are getting into the West when you run into Wall Drug signs on the highway. Us-14 is also signed as the “Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Highway”, as it apparently connects several of the settings from her “Little House” series of children’s books.

We crossed into South Dakota and up the highway we came into DeSmet, SD, which has a warring faction of Laura Ingalls Wilder booster clubs – one with the actual house they claim, and one with the “homestead”. The homestead is about a mile off US-14 and on a dirt road. I turned down it. Tony’s big geezer glide doesn’t handle all that well on dirt roads, so by the time he rolled up five minutes after I got there I got a look that said we should keep going. So we kept rolling west towards our destination – Huron SD, not wanting to contribute to the 21st Century’s South Dakota equivalent of the Hatfields and McCoys or having to endure Tony’s look.
We settled in for the night in Huron, SD after riding 297 miles today, and had dinner at a local dive that deep fried everything. Now we have a spectacular lightning storm to watch, along with listening for a tornado warning siren. Huron is the home of the "World's Largest Pheasant". My bike is acting up with some sort of electrical malfunction, but I was able to get it started after dinner and am hoping we can nurse it to an HD Dealer down the road. Tomorrow, we’ll take a short ride into Sturgis, SD. Now the famous Sturgis Motorcycle Rally doesn’t officially start until next week, which is why we could get a hotel room! We plan on spending the day exploring – there should be a number of early arrivals and folks setting up, plus riding to see Mt. Rushmore and Devils Tower. Then on Wednesday, we’ll keep heading West towards home.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 7, The Pasty Highway

The rain had washed the air clean and it was a cloudless morning when we rolled out of Manistique, Michigan on the Upper Peninsula about 8am. We are definitely in the north woods, as it was quite cool and again we needed our jackets, and the bikes, as well as any surface was covered with large bugs that looked like a cross between a mosquito and a crane fly, and if they teamed up could fly away with a small dog. Fortunately they didn’t bite.

We rolled West on US-2, which goes through the north woods of the U.P, and which I have now named the Pasty Highway. You see the road is lined with lots of small Ma and Pa motels and fishing camps, and even “tourist cabins” that were built in the 40s and 50s – most of which are still in business. These are the kinds of motels that used to line all the major highways before the chains took over, and it was almost like a step back in time. Almost all of them had big signs saying “PASTIES”, reminiscent of the “FRUIT’ stands that line the highway outside of Wenatchee and Yakima, or espresso stands in Seattle. I wondered if there was some sort of college for strippers nearby and there was a cottage industry of making the little tassel things that they put on their boobs. Tony, having spent time up in the U.P. said that they are “kind of like a Scottish sausage roll – a pastry filled with meat and potatoes or veggies, and they remind me of a beef stew.” However, that early in the morning, none of them were open yet, however one of them advertised on their reader board:

Pasties
JESUS SAVES
$35

So I have to ask, if He showed up at this little motel would He save $35 on a box of pasties while the rest of us paid full price?

In Escanaba, Michigan we set our watches back an hour as we entered the Central Time Zone. We’ve been in Eastern Time for the last week as we’ve come up North from Florida, so this really does indicate we are headed West towards home. Outside of Escanaba US-2 is joined by US-41. If you recall, this is also the Tamiami Trail in Florida and what we rode across the Everglades, and is a main street in Tampa, Tony’s hometown. Looking at the map, US-41 runs from Miami up to Marquette, Michigan. I’ve always loved the visual image of highway signs, and their connection to places that mean something to me. For instance, US-89 runs north and south through Salt Lake City and the West. While I lived in Phoenix, it was my connection to home – I could be on US-89 and know that if I just followed it, like Dorothy followed the Yellow Brick Road, it would lead me home. I felt a kind of peace when I got homesick if I walked US-89 in Tempe. So here we are in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, about as far away from Seattle and Tampa as we can get, and what do we come across? A junction that split US-41 South from US-2 West. We pulled up and reflected on that -- it was a telling moment for Tony – the pull of his two homes. He could go West on US-2 home to Seattle, or South on US-41 to his hometown of Tampa. We’ve gone through a lot this year, and this trip through the U.P. had been a retrospective for him as the last time he was here 12 years ago he was ending his relationship. We sat there for a bit and reflected on things, and then pulled back onto US-2 West.

Outside of Spalding, Michigan we rode past an outdoor display of finely cut iron work – images cut by a saw or torch into metal works – many on old saw blades. We saw one great “Welcome” one with a bear, and thought it would look good on the side of our new garage so we pulled in to get a closer look. The owner/artist came out to see us – his name was Eric, and he walked with a bad limp. He was a biker at one time, but arthritis made him sell it off. He’d created hundreds of these and sold them by the side of the highway. He invited us into his house to look at more, and we were very surprised to walk into his rec room to see a hardwood floor, mirrors floor to ceiling, some old leather couches, a bar with a metal Harley-Davidson sign, and in the middle of it all, a pole. A stripper pole. He caught Tony staring at it and said “yeah, it’s what you think it is.” He didn’t offer any explanation. Unfortunately it would have been rude to take a picture, although we discretely tried.

The bear sign we wanted was $500 with shipping so we’ll think about it on the ride home. I still want an explanation of the stripper pole.

We crossed into Wisconsin and picked up US-8 West, and in the small town of Crandon, we rolled through a wonderful small-town main street festival with artists, and a car show, and horse rides, and of course booths selling Pasties. I love small town festivals like this, but we needed to keep moving, and I would have no doubt bought stuff we didn’t have room to take back. We stopped for lunch at a small roadside tavern outside of Tripoli, WI with a few other bikes parked out front so we figured it had to be good. I wish I could figure out how to phonetically spell a Wisconsin accent. It’s quite nasal and drawn out – with similar but softer vowel sounds to a New England accent, with some Canadian in it, and they say “yah sure” a lot. They are almost as nice as Southerners and just as helpful.

After lunch we took off our jackets and continued West on US-8 as it dropped out of the North Woods and into the farmlands of Southwest Wisconsin. It was warm and nice, and as usual after lunch we got a bit drowsy. We’ve done six straight days of hard riding and we are finding we get tired a lot more – and we stopped about every 100 miles or so today. At a nice roadside park we even laid on the grass for a bit, and I had a hard time getting back up and getting on the bike.

A few miles after our siesta, we rolled into Tony. Literally – Tony, Wisconsin. Tony has his name on the water tower, and the store is called “Tony Depot”, conjuring up an image of shelves full of little Tonys.

Our ultimate goal was Minneapolis, as Tony has some friends here he wanted to see. I just love riding into a big strange city on a freeway, but we had no choice. Fortunately we had directions to the hotel and were able to navigate through the city OK. We arrived after 422 miles for the day, and had a nice dinner with some friends and watched a fireworks show over the Mississippi river. We decided to stay and rest a day and not ride, which is why this is being posted a day late. We’ll stay here Sunday and just relax, and then head West into South Dakota tomorrow.

So you get a break from us as well. Feel free to get up and move about the cabin. We are half-way home.

Corner To Corner - Chatper 6, To The Top Of Michigan

It was a beautiful sunny morning when we rolled North out of Holland, Michigan a little before 8am. We thought t-shirts would be sufficient, but after a couple of miles we decided we needed our light leather jackets again. We are definitely getting further north. Holland is a tacky little place on the shore of Lake Michigan – made to look like a Dutch town (Holland – get it?) Lots of faux windmills and giant wooden shoes. I’m sure it’s popular with the elderly lady bus tour set. We rolled out late again this morning – it’s getting hard to get up in the morning – we’ve been riding hard for six days now, and we’ve never ridden six days straight without taking a break, and I could use one.

One of our morning biker rituals is a morning “good luck” tap – where Tony and I bump fists before throttling up and moving out. Well I bought some new fingerless gloves at the Goldwing rally yesterday back in Ohio – and as you can see no self-respecting Goldwing rider would ever wear them – they are too “motorcycle-ey” for them. However, the little spikes gave Tony a nasty jab this morning, so maybe they aren’t such good luck after all.

We headed up US-31, which is another of these US highways that has been turned into a pseudo freeway – with a speed limit of 70mph that even the trucks exceed. I’m a little disappointed in the Harley-Davidson Road Atlas, which has been more or less our Bible on this trip. It shows this as a designated motorcycle ride with great scenery and places to visit. I was expecting to have some vistas of Lake Michigan and some cute towns – and what we got was miles of faux freeway, no views of the lake, and long strung out towns with slow traffic.

As we were rolling through Manistee, Michigan, we saw a group of three riders in a motel parking lot – two of them roared out in front of us, the third got caught behind us. After a few miles when it was safe we waved him up to join his group, and he paused and asked me where we were going. I told him the Upper Peninsula, and, as good Harley riders do when going the same way, invited us to ride along with them, and we accepted their offer. Well, we didn’t have much of a choice, since we couldn’t pass them. A few more miles down the road, he backed off and asked me where we had come from, and when I told him he said “no shit!” and rode up to talk to his buds. Another mile or so and he drifts back and says they are stopping for lunch in Traverse City and wanted to know if we would like to join them, and I said OK. Now these guys most definitely need to take one of Professor Tony’s classes in Group Riding, and their leader needs to take Dr. Gardner’s class in how to be a Road Captain. These guys had no idea how to ride in formation – let alone use hand or even TURN signals! The next thing we knew they were turning in – without warning – into a Harley dealership in Traverse City.

It was at this point we all got to introduce ourselves. The three all work together – as Prison Guards – at the State Pen in Muskegon, and were off on a four-day trip to the Upper Peninsula. When they heard where Tony and had been and were going, Greg, Jerry and Brock were a bit shell shocked and in awe. In fact one of them had just bought his bike a few weeks ago. We went into the dealership and all bought shirts (number three on this trip if you are counting). When they asked if we liked Mongolian BBQ, Tony practically ran to his bike to get going. We motored up the road to a nice joint and had a great lunch and learned that the prison portrayed on the TV show “OZ” is not at all realistic, and all of them were quite relieved to find out I was not a defense attorney. All had taken the job when there was nothing else to do after high school. The economy in Michigan is still not what it is elsewhere in the country.

After lunch, their “Road Captain” Greg took off and violated Road Captain 101 – make sure your group is ready to go with you, and do not make a right turn unless the entire group can go with you. He rode alone for 20 miles in beach town traffic before we could rejoin him. We stopped in a nice park on the shore of the lake for a break, and had a chance to talk more and pose for a picture. When we left the park, I was able to maneuver myself into being the lead rider, which if nothing else made me feel safer since I wasn’t having to watch for sudden movements and turns on their part.

When we got to the top of Michigan at Mackinaw City, just before the bridge to the Upper Peninsula, we stopped again at the Harley Dealership there and all bought shirts (four for us now on this trip.) They were going to take a different road at the other end of the bridge so we said our good byes there, and although they invited us to go with them up to Sault Ste. Marie on the Ontario border – and we were tempted because we were having a good time with these guys – we declined and decided to keep heading West.

That’s the thing about Harley riders – you are instantly part of a bigger family of riders, and its rare that a group of Harley riders won’t ask you to join up with them for a ride. You get to meet the most interesting folks, and its one of the true joys of riding.

Now the Mackinac bridge is really spectacular – a high suspension bridge that goes over the strait between Lakes Michigan and Huron and connects to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and is roughly two miles long. It’s also very windy and if you are afraid of heights, you don’t want to take this bridge. The views were unbelievable (as were the antics of our three new friends in weaving in traffic and taking pictures, and all to soon we were at the toll both. We waved goodbye again as Tony and I curved onto US-2 West and they headed up north on I-75.

US-2 runs due west along the shore of Lake Michigan, and this is what I was expecting the road up from Holland to be like – miles of shoreline. This road is not highlighted in the Harley Road Atlas – a serious mistake in my book. What we were not expecting is a towering thundercloud ahead of us. About 40 miles down the road we pulled into a rest area to answer the call of nature, and I thought maybe I’d put on my rain gear just in case – we’d seen a number of bikers heading east with their gear on. Just as we pulled it out of the saddle bag it started to sprinkle, and by the time we got into the gear it became a full-fledged downpour like what we’d seen in Florida. We thought it might be best to wait it out so we sat on the front porch of the log cabin rest area building and watched the rain come down. A lightning strike across the parking lot scared the bejeezus out of us as well, and we were glad to have stayed put. The storm was moving west to east, so we assumed it would let up, but while we waited we called down the road to get a hotel room and to catch up with friends and family back home. Ain’t cell phone technology wonderful!

After an hour the rain had slowed to a trickle and we decided to head down the road before it got much later. Forty very wet miles later we pulled into Manistique, Michigan and a Quality Inn. The storm had knocked out the cable and thus the Internet connection, but we were glad to get inside and out of the rain gear that is only 75% waterproof.

We’ll keep heading West on US-2 tomorrow – and could, if we wanted to, stay on US-2 all the way home to Seattle. We won’t of course, but I’ve always thought it would be fun to ride from Key West north to Bangor Maine on US-1, then turn West on US-2 to head home – or maybe to US-101 and ride down the coast of California, and back to Florida on US-98. As you know by now, I find highway numbers somewhat magical – especially when I can connect them with a place that means something to me – like home. I’ve been thinking of home a lot today – and to be honest, while we are having a great adventure out here on the road – the call of home is being heard faintly in the background.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 5, Farm Country

OK, that’s more like it. Today was the kind of day that road trips are supposed to be. The weather was perfect, for the most part we stayed off the freeway, we met come cool people, ate at non-chain places, and saw a lot of the country we’d not seen before. This is what this trip is supposed to be about.

We slept later than usual, but needed the rest, and finally got out on the road at 830am. I’d plotted a course that was 90% rural roads, but first we had to get out of Columbus. This city sprawls – we noticed it, and Tony complained about it yesterday as we rode the belt freeway around the city to get to the north end where we stayed. I agreed that it felt like we were driving around the world. We had to take the same loop out to get to US-33 which heads Northwest out of Columbus and into Indiana. It was warm, we rode in just t-shirts today and didn’t need our jackets. In fact, I don’t think it got above 80 all day so we were comfortable the entire day.

Like I said, US-33 heads Northwest out of Columbus, but alas it mimics a damn freeway for about 30 miles before it becomes a nice two-lane highway. I’m going to again quote some wisdom from the Disney/Pixar movie Cars, where Sally is expounding on the difference between a freeway and a two-lane. She says “back then the roads didn’t cut through the land, they moved with the land.” Freeways are designed to keep you moving, where traditional roads are designed to connect places and people. There is nothing ON a freeway, you have to get OFF to find it. On a two-lane it’s right in front of you. I’ll ask you which would you rather travel on – a road like the one at the top of this post, or this one? Both are the same road, US-33 in NW Ohio.

About 50 miles out, in the town of Bellefontaine, we pulled off to stop by a Harley dealer to get some new fingerless riding gloves. However as we neared the town we noticed a ton of motorcycles heading our way – all Honda Goldwings. Then we passed a sign saying “Honda Homecoming” and then a huge Honda factory. It all started to make sense now – this is like the 105th Harley-Davidson Anniversary party later this year, and the pilgrimages HD riders take back to Milwaukee, only for Gold Wing riders.

As we exited we saw a sign for a motorcycle rally as well, so we decided to take a little detour to check it out. We were the only two Harley guys – everyone else was on a Honda product, and 90% of them were Goldwings.

Goldwings are the Winnebagos of the biker world. They are large machines, covered with faring so there is no engine visible, and they have reverse gears and complicated dashboards. They also attract the same demographic – retired old white people. Large old white people. Many of whom convert their bikes into trikes! Some pulling little trailers. They don’t even look like bikers – and I’ll state for the record that a Goldwing is in my book, simply a two wheeled car. Motorcycles should have visible V-twin engines at least, and they should make NOISE. Goldwings are very very quiet. Where a Harley roars to life with a copyrighted sound of “potato potato potato potato", a Goldwing sounds like – well nothing. Hell, a Prius in electric mode makes more noise than a Goldwing. All the time people wait for me to start my bike or ask me to. No one ever asks anyone to fire up a Goldwing!

We wandered around the vendor area, and found the fingerless gloves we just paid $25 for at the HD dealer on sale for $6 at a vendor booth. Tony needed some night glasses as well, so we wandered into MisFits Eyewear, which is a traveling booth run by Mick and Sassafrass Zellar from the upper peninsula of Michigan. While Sassafrass unpacked, and I petted their dog, Mick expounded on the superiority of his product over the PanOptics I wear. He also complained about having to wear bifocals, and I said it comes with age. He is 62, his wife much younger. He asked how old I was, and I told him to guess – he said 50. I left the tent. He asked Tony his age, and said Tony was 35. Three years younger. Damn Asians. I came back in the tent and we joked around some more and Mick said the best things happen after 50 -- its when he married the much younger Sassafrass. Tony bought a pair of his goggles and we ambled back out into the sea of Goldwing riders. There wasn’t much to interest us so we got back on the bikes and headed out on the road towards Indiana, curving off US 33 on to US 224 West.

This is farm country – corn and soybeans as far as the eye can see. It is really very nice, with small towns, lots of farm implement dealers, freshly spread fertilizer in the air (mmm, smells good), and shirtless Midwestern farm boys riding tractors. We started to get hungry, and as we pulled into Markle, Indiana, underneath the smiley face painted town water tower, we found a little restaurant that had a sign saying “Indiana’s best steak burgers.” I sensed a story! So we pulled up underneath the happy water tower and went in to find out if indeed it was the home of Indiana's best steak burgers – only to find it closed at 130pm (my watch had 132pm) . She did say however that there was a McDonalds two miles up the road. Perish the though.

So we continued up US 224 into Huntington, Indiana. This is the home of Dan Quayle apparently, and the town is still proud of him. I kept looking for a roadside hamburger stand with a big swirly vanilla cone on top or something, and we found a nice outside car-hop kind of place where you order from a thing that looks like a drive-in movie speaker, so we pulled in there. They specialized in Coney Dogs, and if you bought the “basket” you got a free root beer. Well I was in the mood for a root beer float, so asked if they would make me one, and the girl on the other end of the speaker box said “no”, you have to buy a root beer float. So I said OK, I’ll do that, and she asked “do you still want the free root beer too?” At this point I became Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces. You remember the famous scene where Jack wants to order wheat toast and has to get a chicken salad sandwich on toast, hold the chicken salad to do it? I decided to tell her “Forget about the float, just bring me the free root beer and a small vanilla cone, hold the cone and just put the ice cream in the free root beer”. She said, that would be a root beer float then and she’d have to charge me for that. We are NOT in the South anymore. No wonder Dan Quayle came from here – he was the inspiration for “Are you smarter than a fifth grader” game show you know. I supposed she made the fries out of “potatoe” too. So I told her to just bring me the free root beer AND the small vanilla cone, so she did, and I dumped it in the root beer myself and it foamed up and made a mess, but I had my float and Tony did the same. The dogs were good by the way too.

We turned off of US 224 and onto IN-9 which goes straight north into Michigan. Through more farm country on a warm afternoon – bare arms in the wind, and tunes on the I-pod – coupled with a full stomach, one tends to get a bit drowsy. Not good on a motorcycle, so we stopped for some Red Bull, and chatted with a local biker for a while. Seems everyone we talk to is amazed that we’d ride from Key West all the way back to Seattle. The Red Bull snapped us wide awake as we motored across the state line into Michigan and into the town of Sturgis. No, not the Sturgis of the famous bike week – that’s in South Dakota. However, we can now honestly say we’ve been to Sturgis. They have a Harley dealer too, and so we bought shirts to prove it. Only the second ones on this trip, we are doing pretty good!
It was still great riding weather – sunny and in the 70s, and it was a pretty part of the country, so we decided to try and get to Holland, Michigan on the shore of Lake Michigan for the night. We wound through the countryside on US-12 (which we could ride straight home if we wanted to), and then north on MI-40 to Holland. Its amazing to me to note the change in the countryside from the swamps of Florida, to the heat and red clay of Georgia, to the Blue Ridge Mountains in the Carolinas, to the Coal Country of Kentucky and the rust belt along the Ohio River, to the farms of Indiana and the forest of Southern Michigan. It’s hard to believe that five days ago we were in Key West. We’ve come 1883 miles since then. Looking at a map it’s quite a distance – and still a long way to go.

Tomorrow we’ll continue up the coast of Lake Michigan, and up across the bridge onto the Upper Peninsula.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 4, The Country Music Highway

There was quite the thunderstorm last night in North East Tennessee, so once again it was cool when we set out, but not raining – cool enough that we wore our light leather jackets! Quite the change from the extreme heat of Florida and South Georgia two days ago. We gassed up and hit US-23 North, which, as you will recall from yesterday is marked as “Future I-26”. It still felt like a freeway to me. In fact we stayed on this road the entire day today.

US-23 is for some reason also branded as the “Country Music Highway”. I’ve not figured this one out since it doesn’t go anywhere near Nashville. However, I have a gut feeling that it is because a number of country stars were born in the vicinity, as this road traveled along the canyon of the Clinch river and through the “hollers” and small towns of eastern Kentucky coal country, which if you know Country music, is the breeding ground for much of it. Much of the country looked like the set from Coal Miners Daughter!

The canyon is dotted with big coal mines, and the road runs along the bottom of the canyon with the Norfolk Southern railroad and the river, and the towns. The towns are actually long and narrow things, with two or three streets wide, and run for a mile or so up and down as there is really no place else to build. It looks like a great big model railroad come to life!

The place is also crawling with Baptists – in fact we passed one church that had a sign saying it was a “Primitive” Baptist church. And despite my personal belief that religion in general is primitive, I couldn’t fathom what “Primitive Baptist” is – the building was rather new, so maybe they don’t have flush toilets or something? After all if Jesus didn’t have it, and the Bible is literal, we shouldn’t have them either.

We stopped at the Harley-Davidson dealer in Pikeville, Kentucky to have them look at Tony’s bike after he went down on it yesterday on the Blue Ridge Parkway outside of Asheville. The service guy said “y’all had a wreck?, le’ me look at err and see if we can get y’all goin' quick.” He looked at it and noted that while there was nothing structurally wrong, the engine guard was bent from the 900 pounds of bike that landed on it when Tony went into the shoulder. He’ll need to replace it when he gets back to Seattle, but the bike is safe to ride, and after he re-adjusted the headlights back into alignment, and I bought a t-shirt (first one this trip!), we set back out onto US-23.

We’d only gone about a quarter mile when we saw a huge black cloud in front of us, and another quarter mile we were in a sprinkle. I turned to Tony and asked if he wanted to get rain gear out, and he said no. In another quarter mile it started to pour and by the time we pulled into a Shell station it was a full blown shower. We changed into our rain gear.

Tony was a bit apprehensive after his incident yesterday and the rain didn’t help, especially a deluge like this one, but he toughed it out and went slow – we put our flashers on for good measure and I asked him at one point if he wanted to pull off and wait it out, but he said no. After about 45 minutes and 20 miles it stopped raining hard, and another 20 miles it was just cloudy, and about 10 more miles it was sort of sunny, so we pulled off in a Wal Mart parking lot to wiggle out of the now soaked rain gear, and grab a sandwich at the Arby’s.

I absolutely hate the way the bike gets dirty in the rain. I almost can’t stand to get on it. My nice denim black paint gets an ugly dirty grey, and the chrome is dull. Fortunately we were able to wash them up in a small coin operated hand wash in Waverly, OH. A quick spray and scrub and while not showroom ready, they were tolerable to drive.

We kept rolling north on US-23, and dipped into West Virginia for all of one mile, and then into Ohio along the Ohio river for a number of miles before turning north. I was quite surprised by the huge amount of corn they were growing here – and the flat land after one gets out of the Ohio river bottom – I thought perhaps I was in Iowa. We did 355 miles and rode into Columbus a little after 6pm.

In my book, any day on the motorcycle is a good day – and except for the rain, the ride today was quite nice both in weather and in scenery and places seen that I haven’t seen. However, it felt “rushed”, and I think I violated my cardinal rule. I’ll borrow one of the lines from the Disney/Pixar movie “Cars” that I have adopted as one of my personal anthems. In explaining the love of the road and why the town or Radiator Springs died, Sally the Porsche says: “Back then people didn’t ride on the road to make good time, they rode on it to have a good time.” I firmly believe that. But today it felt rushed – that we “made good time”. Tony has some friends in Columbus and I have a client who wanted to go to dinner, and we stayed on the same road the entire trip, and didn’t once get off to explore, find a nice place to eat, a neat park or a roadside attraction. We just drove and on a road that often looked and felt like a freeway too, despite being a US-highway. We drove and drove – and while I saw some interesting things, we didn’t stop, we ate at an Arby’s and we didn’t once get off of US-23. I didn’t even write down directions on a yellow sticky note! The hotel is right off of US-23. We didn’t even meet any interesting people to show you, and because of the weather, hardly any pictures. It’s not a disappointment – but its also not why we came on this trip.
That won’t happen tomorrow. I’m vowing to work our way up to Michigan via back roads, and not even aim for a city to stop in – just ride until we get tired and start looking for a place.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 3, Lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains

It was the best day riding of the trip, although it was not long in miles -- only 276 today. But its not distance, its quality that counts. There was a spectacular thunderstorm near Thomson, Georgia last night, which cooled things off nicely and actually de-humidified things as well, so when we hit the road a little after 7am it was actually kind of chilly, but it felt wonderful after all the sticky heat of the last three days. The sun was just starting to come up, and the clouds a vivid salmon color, which makes riding that early in the morning so wonderful. And after a rainstorm, the air smells so clean and fresh you wish you could bottle it up and sell it as an air-freshener. We headed north on GA-43 through the pines and red-Georgia clay hills along the Savannah River. Of course on such a beautiful morning, Tony tries to take the first picture only to find that the camera battery died. This is not the land of 24-Hour Walgreens so we had to ride until we found a min-mart just over the South Carolina line where we bought a couple of emergency AA batteries which will work in a pinch.

We motored up SC-23 which runs along the Strom Thurmond Reservoir on the Savannah River, through lots of small little towns that could have been stand-ins for the set of the movie Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café – with abandoned stores and buildings covered with Kudzu vines. It was such a pleasant ride this morning we hesitated to stop in Anderson, South Carolina, but we needed to check the map, and to get real camera batteries and a few other sundries. Besides there was a Harley-Davidson dealer and we had yet to stop at one this entire trip! I know, hard to believe coming from the guys who have over 170 HD shirts between us.

Now I’d carefully plotted out a nice route for the day, but it was becoming obvious that it would be to circular and we needed to find a slightly more direct route. The Walgreens clerk had one idea and her manager had another, and they argued among themselves for a minute while I tried to write it down and couldn’t. However they could agree on how to get to the HD Dealer, so we went there, and while Tony got some parts for his bike, I asked the parts counter lady what she thought. Well she and another parts department lady go into a discussion of which was the better way to go and how far we could get and was there food or gas along the way. In the middle of that, along comes a customer who had to give his two-cents. Now mind you this isn’t a heated discussion by any means, just a long drawn out Hee-Haw sketch of how to get from point A to point B and where to eat and stop along the way, with me trying to pick up key words here and there. So we decided that we’d head up into North Carolina and ride the Blue Ridge Parkway into Ashville, and stop in a town before that to ask about timing. All three could agree on that.

We left out of the HD dealer and headed north on US 178, and passed several more big Baptist Churches, one of which told me that Jesus was coming and asked if I was ready (I better have Olga come clean before he gets here). When the ladies said it was slow going they were right. We averaged 30mph for well over 65 miles between Anderson, SC and Balsam Grove, NC. I would estimate only one mile was actually straight as an arrow through the trees and up into the Blue Ridge Mountains. This was grand fun for me, as my bike is nimble and quick, however Tony struggled in this big lumbering Ultra-Classic Geezer Glide, which is very heavy and not made for quick sharp turns.

We climbed up into the mountains and crossed into North Carolina and it seemed like a great place to stop, take a picture, and answer the call of nature. We’d not passed any cars for a long time so I figured it would be safe. Well, I assumed the position and just then Tony heard a bike, and around the corner came a group of 8 other HD riders on their way back to Ohio, who also decided then and there to do the same thing I was doing. So one glorious mass urination and grunting and knuckle dragging Neanderthal behavior all the guys talked bikes for a few minutes. Hearing southern accents I asked them for their advice on where to go, and promptly got 8 more different answers and a long drawn out discussion. I pieced together some of it which will be helpful tomorrow as we get into Ohio, and we waved them off as they roared up the mountain ahead of us.

Shortly after that we crossed the Eastern Continental Divide, and we both started getting hungry. Unfortunately there were no towns on the map, and we’d not passed any out of the way honky-tonks or bars. Fortunately we dropped into the small town of Balsam Grove which had a post-office and another building that said “sandwiches” and had an “open” sign. We did a U turn and went back and found ourselves at “Galloways” which was a small room with three tables, one of which was occupied by four folks who all said “Howdy” to the two bikers who just invaded their sanctuary.

We went up to the counter to order, and I saw they had burgers listed, so I ordered a Bacon Cheese Burger and asked the cook “does anything come with that?”, and she replied with a drawl as thick as molasses, “a smile…” How Southern is that? Picture “Flo” on the old TV show “Mel’s Diner”. Actually it came with home-made potato salad or chips. I opted for the chips. We ate and looked over the map, and one of the men at the other table asked “y’all need hep?” And I replied we were trying to get to Ashville, which is apparently pronounced “Ash-VULL” note “ville”. He told us that we should keep going on NC 215 and pick up the Blue Ridge Parkway, then take it up to "Ash-vull" and take Highway 191 and pick up US 23 and go to Johnson City, TN for the night. While he was telling us this, his companions decided to correct him and tell him, no, take this road, or take that, and don’t take the freeway. It makes for a lively discussion, but once compromise and agreement is reached, we have a plan. Now it was time for desert – which in this case was home-made yellow cake with chocolate icing. The setting, the service, and the cake reminded us of the Whistle Stop Café in Paradise, Montana which we hit on our SMC ride a few years ago. THIS is why you get off the damn freeway and find the back roads!
We paid our tab and I wandered out and called back, “Thanks”, to which Tony said “you realize you just fell into a southern accent don’t you?” I don’t think I did, but he says I have a habit of mimicking accents in the oddest places.

We hopped back on the bikes and headed up NC 215 and climbed up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. This spectacular road winds along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains for nearly 400 miles. When we got to the junction however there was no directional sign pointing towards "Ash-Vull" so I took an educated guess and turned. Tony unfortunately took the turn too wide and he and the bike went into the shoulder and down. He was OK, but we had to bend back his pegs and his mirror and his faring was a bit bent, and he was shook up, but otherwise fine. He rode a bit cautious for the rest of the day, and we’ll have the bike looked at by a HD dealer along the way tomorrow.

We got back on the road, but after about 10 miles I felt we were going the wrong way – it felt “west” and we needed to go “east”. I had just a gut sense, because there was no way to tell from the maps or road signs. We decided to turn around – figuring the worst that could happen is that we’d end up a bit further away from Asheville than we wanted to be, when we came across a waiting boy-scout troop. Who better to ask directions right? So we pulled over and asked the scoutmaster who said that indeed we had been going the right way to begin with and he said it doesn’t “feel” right either but it was. We thanked them and did another U turn and went back the way we were going the first time. The weather was a bit cool up that high, but still we both agreed it was the best day of riding so far this trip, between the scenery and the weather. I would love to come back and ride the entire thing one day. As it was we did only about 50 of the 400 plus miles, and could have kept going all the way up towards Roanoke, Virginia. In fact we debated it as we got towards Asheville, but after looking at the big picture map realized we’d really be going the wrong direction and have to scramble to get back West. We will just put that on the list of rides to do in the future.

In Asheville we picked up US 23, which has been re-signed as “Future I-26”, In other words, a “freeway”. Well, sometimes you have no choice, so we motored up “Future I-26” to Johnson City, Tennessee where we pulled into a nice Quality Inn. I have to ask though, what is it about Southerners and Buffets? The restaurant next to the hotel said “Steaks, Chicken, Buffet”. I was in the mood for a steak. I got yet another buffet and no steak. We had buffet for dinner Sunday, lunch Monday, dinner Monday, and now dinner Tuesday. They grow ‘em big here in the South and I do believe the prevalence of the Buffet is one of the culprits. I’m going to have to do double workouts at the gym when I get home to work this off!

Tomorrow we’ll continue up US-23 (now NOT a freeway), and aim for Columbus, Ohio for tomorrow night. We’ll go across a bit of Tennessee, a bit of Kentucky, and a bit of West Virginia too, before crossing out of the South and into Ohio. I’m going to miss these southern accents and hospitality – where else so you get a cheeseburger with a side of “smile”.

Corner To Corner - Chapter 2, the Deep South

After a restful quiet night at the Holiday Inn Express, Tampa Airport Runway, (it is literally right under the North aproach) we got up about 6am and enjoyed the standard free breakfast bar, loaded up the bikes and headed out. I’d spent the night before plotting a course that would take us, I hoped, up into Northeast Georgia near Augusta. I wanted to avoid Jacksonville, Florida, and any other big city, so unfortunately we couldn’t go through the Ocala National Forest like I would have liked to. Right outside our hotel was a ramp to the Veterans Expressway, so we took it – unfortunately it was a ramp that went South, rather than North, and the toll-booth didn’t have an automatic Sun Pass reader. In those cases, you are supposed to roll up to a staffed booth and the reader scans the pass and opens the gate, while the person in the booth sits and reads a trashy novel. Well in our case, the reader didn’t read the Sun Pass, so I had to get Mabel’s attention in the booth. I pointed out the Sun Pass and she said “What’s that, I’ve never seen one”, and I had to convince her, by showing her the large SUN PASS logo on it, that it was indeed real. I can tell the training department at Florida DOT is on the ball! She wrote down the unit number and opened the gate. She had to do the same thing for Tony. However, since we were going the wrong direction, we did a U-turn in the toll plaza and went back the other way and through an automatic Sun Pass reader that didn’t read it again. Nor did the reader on any of the other 5 toll booths we went through. I’m sure Florida DOT is going to have a field day with us.

When we got turned around and heading north on Veterans I remembered how nice this part of Florida really is. Very green, very quiet and lush and the cool morning air made it a joy to ride. At one point as we were winding north on US-41 through some rolling hills passing some horse farms and nice homes, I had to ask Tony if we were still in Florida, as it felt like the hills around Lexington, Kentucky. The picture that starts this posting was taken along that stretch. As we pulled into Floral City we went passed one of those signs that explain how people get lost. We were going east into the sun, and the sign said, US-41 North, US 98 South. Huh?

As we neared the outskirts of Ocala it started to warm up, and the wide six lane road was reflecting a lot of heat back up on to us. Combine that with the heat from the V-twin engines, and the heat pounding down on you, it can get uncomfortable quickly in city traffic. I was hearing the lyric to a Jackson Browne song called “Loadout” where he sings about being on the road for a long time, saying their next show was “in Chicago, or Detroit, I don’t know, these towns all look the same…” Indeed they do these days, especially the miles of “big box” stores along major routes – Home Depot, Lowes, Kohls, Bed Bath and Beyond, Wall Mart, Target, and so on. Tony said that Ocala when he was a kid was just a small farming town. Not any more.

We kept rolling northward through Central Florida on US-41 and US 301, through a number of farming towns and it kept getting warmer. We’d stop for an occasional bottle of water in the shade of a mini-mart or gas station, and we finally crossed the state line just outside of Folkstone, Georgia. We’d come 218 miles so far today, and add that to the 423 yesterday from Key West and we’ve driven the total length of state – 641 miles by our route.

We had to gas up and get some lunch in Folkstone, so at the gas station, I asked the young man on the other side of my pump if he was from here, and he said, with the absolute deepest southern drawl that “yessir” he was. This is the deep south – since, as Tony says, Florida is South of the South, and thus not “southern” and we were just over the line in Georgia, this was about as “deep” south as you can get I figure. So I asked him if he had a good local recommendation for lunch, to which he replied, “Yessir.. ya’ll see that brick church over there, just passed it is the best place in town, called the Okefenokee Restaurant, y'all can eat off the menu or the buffet, and I’d say the buffet.” We thanked him and he hopped in his pick up and drove off. So we motored down to the Ofekenokee and parked the bikes and ambled in. The very sweet Kathy showed us to our table and asked if we’d be doing the buffet, to which we said yes. She said, it’s $7.50 each and help yourself. “Y’all want sweet tea?” and we said of course. The buffet was actually quite good, and the catfish were out of this world, as was the fried chicken. When it came time to go, Carrie noticed our shirts (those fantastic “Gary and Tony’s Corner To Corner Ride” ones that you can get on line at http://cafepress.com/tonyaandgary.) She said “cool shirt”, so I explained what it meant and wrote down the address for this blog, and asked if I could put their picture in. They said yes, as long as they had veto power. They liked this one, so here you go, Kathy and Carrie at the Ofekenokee Restaurant in Folkstone, GA. If you are in that neck of the woods, it’s the place to eat. I have to say though that the only disappointment was that they did not have any Peach Pie. This is Georgia for crying out loud, what kind of self-respecting southern restaurant doesn’t have Peach Pie? But I forgave them with their very sincere apology for not having any. Thanks Kathy and Carrie!

We got back on the bikes, much fuller and satisfied, and it had warmed up even more. This part of Georgia is Baptist Country. Actually I think all of Georgia is Baptist Country, but it seemed like every hundred yards there was a Baptist church. Most had reader boards, so I was commanded to be SAVED, or to OBEY, or to ACCEPT HIM, several times a mile. I was tempted to stop and be baptized on more than one occasion figuring getting wet would cool me off for a few miles, and I could stop at a different church every time I dried off, and the ride would be much more comfortable.

We headed north on US-1 (same road as off the Keys), heading towards Northeast Georgia. As we rode along it got hotter and hotter, until we had to stop an hour later in Alma, Georgia to cool off and get some water. Once we stepped into the Min-mart I didn’t want to leave. I guzzled two bottles of water and we bought one more, and once we got outside, Tony was able to approximate a Catholic baptism by spraying us both down with the contents of the bottle to the amusement of the Georgia State Patrolman and Min-mart cashier. The patrolman said it was the hottest day of the year so far and you could see it in the air. He was right. He wished us well and told us "y'all have a safe ride home".


Tony took this picture as we left Alma, and the "haze" in the picture is not pollution it is actually the heat and humidity. We seriously debated whether or not to get in out of the heat for a while, but decided to tough it out until the next town. And after we hit the road, and after the baptism had worn off, it wasn’t so bad so we kept going. We stayed on US-1, which by this time had combined with US-23 and GA-4 so the road signs were 1-23-4! In Wrens, GA we picked up GA-17 and it suddenly turned cooler and very pleasant. This stretch of rural Georgia was just as I’d pictured it – houses with no foundations on cinder blocks, red clay roads, and pine trees. It was a nice ride for 25 miles to Thomson.

We rolled into Thomson and found a nice Holiday Inn Express and checked in. What is it about Southerners? They are just so darn friendly! Either that or they are gay. You can’t tell. Tony says they are nice, and then after two drinks they are gay. Our desk clerk was no exception. Picture the actor Leslie Jordan, (from the movie Sordid Lives, and TV show Boston Legal) only a bit more masculine. After checking us in and chatting about the weather and the hotel, I asked him “if he could eat anywhere in town where would it be?” And without missing a beat he said “Augusta” (which is 30 miles east). I said, come on, there has to be a good local restaurant in town, and he said actually the Chinese Buffet in the parking lot was about the best we could do if we didn’t want fast-food. Then he gave us a goody bag of “snacks for later” and even signed me up for the Holiday Inn Express point program. Just what I need, another affinity program, but given we’ll likely be in these for quite a bit on this trip it does make sense. He let us park the bikes under the portico as well so he could keep an eye on them.
He was right about the Chinese Buffet too. It was actually quite good, and although the sauce for the sweet and sour was a bit too red (picturing Fred Willard in the movie Waiting for Guffman), it was tasty and filling.

Tomorrow we’ll head northeast again, and get into South Carolina, where we’ll ride what the Harley Ride Atlas has nice green colored road which is their cue for a good motorcycle road towards Asheville, North Carolina and up the Blue Ridge Parkway. After tomorrow I will have been in all but three states in the lower 48 – Kansas, South Dakota, and Alabama. I’m hoping that Southern hospitality continues to find us as we head north.

Corner To Corner -- Chapter One...

OK here we go. Chapter one, page one… Tony get me another drink... this isn’t so hard… You know every great story has to have a great opening line. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”, or “Who is John Galt?”, or “Howard Roark stood naked on the cliff.” If this is going to be a good book, I have to have a good opening for the story. So…

The sun was low in the Atlantic sky, the air heavy with the smell of jasmine and magnolia as we loaded up the bikes and tried not to wake the other guests of the bed and breakfast. We left the bikes off until we backed out of the drive, and turned south on Flemming Street and headed to Mile 0 on US-1 at the southern most point of the US. After tapping the sign for good luck, we turned our backs to the East and the Atlantic, and headed west without looking back.

That work? We’ll see. None the less, we got up early and although it was 7am, no one was stirring at the guest-house. After all it was Sunday morning, and most of the guests had been out partying on Duvall Street or in the pool until 3am when we hit the hay. So naturally there was no breakfast in the breakfast bar. We snuck out as quietly as we could given we were on Harley’s and headed to the start of US-1 for the long trip back home to Seattle. We posed by the sign, and tapped it for good luck and roared off up the road. We went .5 miles and found an open Denny’s and stopped for breakfast. Sunday morning at 7:30 most Denny’s are hopping – we were the only ones there. A further testament to the partying ways of Key West. We stopped for gas, and finally got rolling north on US-1 for good a little past 8. It was quite pleasant that early – no traffic and it had yet to turn ungodly hot. We made good time up the Keys and again I was amazed at the railroad bridges that withstood time and hurricanes and still stood. The most amazing one is at the Bahia Honda channel, and as you can see, it is what is known as a “thru truss” bridge, meaning the support is over the tracks. This meant when the state took over to build the highway they didn’t have room at the track level so they chose to build it on top of the bridge. Can you imagine driving over it, on lanes barely wide enough for a single car with the mirrors pulled in?

The 130 miles up to Homestead went by fairly quickly and it was a nice ride and didn’t really warm up until Key Largo and the last 30 miles to Homestead. We stopped at a McDonalds for a drink and to use the restroom and were resting in a booth when I spotted another biker drive in, and she was driving my exact bike, outfitted with bags just like mine. This bike is my Dyna FXDBI Street Bob, which is not normally a long-distance touring bike, and I’d never seen one outfitted for that other than mine – until now. We had to go talk to her. So we saddled up and rode around to the other side of the parking lot and met up with a nice biker chick who was as amazed as I was that here was someone on a dressed out Street Bob. She too thought she was the only one.

I asked her what her name was, and she said it was “Em”, and I said that’s short for what? Grabbing my note pad she wrote down “Emereldeyz”. She said her Grandfather gave her that name for her green eyes. She also handed us her contact information for her page on “bikerornot.com” which is a new “My Space” kind of place for bikers. We will have to check this one out. She also noticed the shirts we were wearing – I hope you do to. Tony designed them to commemorate this trip.
They have a big map of the US and say “The mildly amusing adventures of Gary and Tony – 2008 Ride, Corner to Corner.” She wanted one, but alas all we have with us are what we are wearing now. But she, and you too can buy your own. They are available on line, at: http://www.cafepress.com/tonyandgary. I could do a whole Ron Poppeil “Ginsu knife” thing here, but I wont. Aren't they cool?

So we said goodbye to Em and her pals, and headed up the Florida Turnpike to pick up US-41 and go across the Everglades. The Everglades is very cool, and I’d wished we had time to stop and take an airboat ride or watch some alligator wrestling on the Microsukee reservation. US-41 is also known as the Tamiami trail – as in TAmpa/mIAMI. Get it? It’s also 100 miles of ramrod straight road with not a single curve or turn. This is absolute hell for a biker. We live for curves and turns. It’s about as exciting as watching paint dry at 75 mph. At least the road-kill through the everglades is interesting -- if not pungent and gross. I'd sure hate to run over one on the bike! I kept hoping for some excitement along the road, even a bump would have been nice. I might as well have been riding on a treadmill!

On the other side of the state at Naples, Florida we picked up Interstate 75 to head north to Tampa for the night. We really had no choice, and you know how we feel about traveling freeways -- only as a last resort. So we blasted up the Interstate for 160 miles in the oppressive heat and humidity, feeling like a rack of Gyro meat on a spit in a Greek restaurant, glistening in sunscreen and sweat. However I forgot to put sunscreen on the back of my hands and it was too warm for gloves – so now I have nice lobster colored fists that hurt like the dickens.

The highlight however was the somewhat circular route we took into Tampa. Rather than stay on I-75 I wanted to loop through St. Petersburg and go over the Sunshine Skyway bridge. It was cool up on the bridge and the view is spectacular, and I love going over cool bridges on the bike. I could see all the way out to St. Pete Beach and the fabulous Don Cesar Hotel which is one of those turn-of-the century resort hotels built on the scale of and with the luxurious treatments of the Titanic. We stayed there last year for four days and I didn’t want to leave. Staying on the beach in a private cabana with a flag you could raise for cabana-boys to bring you new drinks and towels. It was heaven. And since I’d had just about enough of riding through a blast-furnace exhaust, I signaled for the exit to St. Pete beach. Now Tony, who is always riding back and to the right, usually follows along with me wherever I want to go. Not this time, no way Jose' -- he stayed put and wouldn’t move over, try as I may to get him to. So at the last minute I moved back over into the thru lane, and Tony rode up and glared “NO” at me.

You have to note too that Tony has let his beard grow and does not intend to cut or trim it this entire trip. By the time we get home he’ll look like ZZ Top. In the wind on the bike it curls up too, and so when he gets off the bike he looks a bit funny. I’m threatening to take scissors to it at night.

We pulled up to a Holiday Inn Express near Tony’s folks house at 4:45pm and had put just over 423 miles on the bike today. I was so covered with sun screen and road grime the soap tuned black and stuck to my fur. However after a half-hour of cool water and lots of soap I felt like a new man and Tony was able to get his beard to lay down too. Tomorrow we’ll head further north, I’d like to head up through the Ocala National Forest and avoid Jacksonville before crossing into Georgia. We are aiming for Augusta, Georgia or vicinity tomorrow night we hope.

Now go to: http://www.cafepress.com/tonyandgary and buy a shirt!

Corner To Corner -- To The Starting Point at Mile 0

After a late night in the pool cooling off and celebrating the successful debut concert for Tony’s “BEARatones” group in Miami, the 6:45am wake up call didn’t do its job and we were awakened by room service bringing us our breakfast a bit after 7am. We quickly ate, checked out, and took the bags down and loaded them on the bikes. It was quite warm and of course too humid even that early in the morning and the short walk to the garage got us drenched in sweat. I got rather badly sunburned bringing the bike back from the Miami dealer to the hotel, so I chose to wear a short sleeve t-shirt, and to drench myself in spray-on sun screen. I forgot how sticky that stuff makes you feel, especially when you spray it on top of a layer of sweat. The road grime sticks to it as well and after several applications throughout the day, you end up with a layer that you can peel off with the edge of a credit card like candle wax dripped on a table.

Leaving Miami proved to be a bit difficult too – given the one-way streets and the hidden ramp to the freeway, but we managed to find our way out and on to the Turnpike. Time to test out the Sun Passes. It was nice to ride through the reader lanes, and we hoped they worked. Checking the account on line tonite it doesn’t appear that they did, so we will either get multiple $100 fines mailed to us, which we can fight, or they’ll choose not to pursue it (we hope), or we can prove we bought the pass and it was their fault it didn’t deduct the toll.

The Turnpike ends at Homestead, Florida, where we picked up US-1 for the 130 mile run down the keys to Key West. This road is just like I remembered it – mile and miles along blue green water, over long bridges and short islands. Originally the highway was built mostly upon what was left of Henry Flagler’s Florida East Coast Railway which was built in 1908 and abandoned after a hurricane in 1935, The Railway sold the bridges to the state who built the original US-1 on top of it. Much of the road on the islands is still built upon the roadbed right of way. The old bridges and causeways still stand for much of the route and are now used as fishing piers.

The Key’s have interesting address systems too – by mile marker. So if an address is 45009 US 1, you know it’s just past mile marker 45. It starts at 0 in Key West and gets higher as you go North. About mile 45 is the famous Seven Mile Bridge, and midway along is a small island called Pigeon Key. This is where the railroad had a work camp for the massive bridge, and today it’s a bit of a ghost town. You can take a ferry from Vaca Key to get there. I read up extensively on the building of the railroad after the first trip down two years ago, and I wanted to see it. We need a break from the ride anyway, so we stopped at the small museum on Vaca and bought tickets and waited for the boat.

Now the fun think about Key West, and other “end of the road” towns like Provincetown, MA, and Homer, AK is that they tend to attract a lot of human flotsam and jetsam. Folks who drift or run away end up in places like this because they literally can’t get any further away. They attract all kinds of oddballs and interesting characters. Our boat captain was no exception.

He introduced himself as “Captain Billy”, and he piloted the fishing boat with Tony and myself and a newly moved to Florida retired couple from Michigan. Captain Billy is originally from Long Island he said, and started coming to the Keys on fishing trips as a kid, and as he got older each trip lasted a little longer and a little longer—first a week, then two, then a month, then two, and finally decided to not go home. It’s typical of the folks who populate ends of the road. He had that permanent Florida Key tan, was barefoot, and in shorts the whole time. He talked of fishing charters, and hurricanes that he’s ridden out, and how shallow the water was, and what it was like to live in the humid Keys. “You get used to it” he said. I suppose, but I couldn’t I’m sure.

We toured the buildings on Pigeon Key in the sweltering heat, wondering how construction workers 100 years ago could stand working there, and we climbed up on the old railroad bridge for a spectacular view down the Gulf. We could look down in the shallow waters and see Tiger Fish swimming about, and figured that Captain Billy would be the perfect model for “Crush” the Sea Turtle in the movie “Finding Nemo”. He came to pick us back up and we sailed back to Vaca key where we hopped back on the bikes for the 30 miles down to Key West. I have to say the post noon heat was excruciating. The wind was hot, and once you get away from the water you lose the cool breeze, and all you feel is the heat radiating up from the pavement, and down through that hot moist air, to where it feels like you have molten steel being poured on you. We had to stop about 5 miles from the hotel and duck into a Wendy’s for a frosty just to cool off and rest in some A/C comfort for a bit.

Key West is literally the end of the road. The road ends at a marker for the Southern Most Point in the Continental US. We posed the bikes and had our picture taken. The fact that these are our bikes – with Washington plates, and that we rode them here and will start riding them back tomorrow is what I think makes this something special and intimidating at the same time, especially when I think about the distance and exactly how far we are from Seattle. These bikes, which reside in our garage at home, are literally as far away from there as they can possibly get, and when we get home, we can look at a map and say – “we rode these guys from there!
Tomorrow the ride home officially starts. We’ll get up early, swing by and pose at sunrise at the end of the road, then turn our backs to it and start heading home.

Corner To Corner -- Getting the Bikes Ready

I swear I don’t understand at all why people are moving in droves to Florida. It’s hotter than hell – 95 degrees and 99% humidity, the air is heavy and smells not of the ocean but of heat, and sweat and grease. It’s flat as a pancake and all you see when driving are trees or swamp land on the side of the highway which has no curves – unless you are in the city, when all you see are strip malls, CVS Pharmacies, more strip malls, Walgreen’s Pharmacies, more strip malls, STRIP club, another CVS… and on and on. Me, I need mountains, and cool clean air, and rocky beaches, and pine trees, and curvy, twisty roads that climb and move with the land. You don’t get that in Florida. Tony has been here a week for a conference, and I just got here last night. I’m ready to leave. None-the-less, here we are. You couldn’t pay me enough to live here however.

The bikes, which were shipped on July 3rd, made it in fine shape, albeit a tad late. They got here yesterday – three days late. And despite the last minute arrival, Petersen’s Miami Harley Davidson did some work on Tony’s bike, (thanks Nick!) and we drove 20 miles from the hotel to pick them up this morning. Florida has toll roads – lots of toll roads. Toll roads on a motorcycle are very difficult. First, you can’t just “toss” in a quarter, since the tolls are all $1.25 or more. Second, you have both hands on the controls of the bike, so you have to go up to a booth. Then you have to, kill the engine, put your foot down in a puddle of water and oil and hope you don’t slide and tip the bike over. Then, while standing up straddling the bike, reach into your pants pocket and get funds to give the non-English speaking toll taker. The then give you back your change, you put it back in your pocket, sit down on the bike, start the bike up and drive off, hoping again you don’t go down in the ice slick oil and water puddle while pulling out into merging traffic at 60 mph. It’s great fun.

Or you can get an automatic toll transponder, or Sun Pass as they are called, and ride through on a fast lane without stopping. So as Tony rode back to the hotel, I went in search of a CVS Pharmacy where they sell them. As I said earlier, you can find a CVS about every block in Florida. Not this time – not when you need to find one. I finally came across one about 45 blocks from the hotel and bought two and came back to the hotel to set up the account, then pre-loaded them with a credit card, and stuck them on the windshield of the bikes. The stickers have an RFID chip that overhead scanners read and deduct from your account. Pretty slick.

Now comes the fun part. First thing in the morning we hit the road to Key West. I’ve been looking forward to this for two years – the last time we rode the Overseas Highway. The road is US-1, and its 130 miles down to Key West, island hopping and on bridges the whole way. It’s cool since you are over the water, and the scenery is amazing. It's one of the most magical motorcycle rides in the world. This picture was taken on the last trip two years ago when we rented bikes in Tampa and drove down. We’ll spend a night in Key West and first thing Sunday Morning head to Mile 0 at the southern most point in the US, and the “lower corner” of our Corner To Corner journey.

2008 - Corner To Corner, a Prologue

A year ago Tony planted a seed of an idea – and last fall, while riding through the fallow fields of the Midwest on a gorgeous fall day, it started to take root.

We had found ourselves in Chicago so Tony could attend a certification class for work, and we had the weekend to spend riding before things started. We picked up a couple of Ultra Classics at Wildfire HD in suburban Chicago and headed north into Wisconsin on a pilgrimage of sorts to the home-town of Harley Davidson, Milwaukee, WI. After we left the suburbs of Chicagoland we headed north, riding along US 45 through farm country and freshly plowed fields where they had stripped the harvested corn stalks. It was chilly as it usually is in the fall, the leaves a brilliant yellow, orange and red. As we rode through picture perfect Midwest small farm towns I was moved to thinking about Tony’s idea of riding “corner to corner” of the US. His idea was to ship our bikes to Miami where he’ll once again be at a conference, and then at the conclusion, riding down to Key West for a night, and then starting at Mile 0 on US-1, heading back towards the northwest corner of the US – ending our ride at the northwest corner of the Olympic Peninsula about three weeks later.

I looked at the map and got somewhat intimidated at the distance and the time it would take. I take that back – the distance actually looks scary when you stand back and look at a continental US map. But when I was riding across the prairie in the early morning, watching the hunters dressed in cammies off to the fields after pheasants, smelling the fresh crisp air, and watching the farm town water towers that look like giant golf balls perched on 10 story tees rise before me as we near a town – riding through at 25 mph, past the town café where we can smell the bacon cooking, I was moved to want to see all of this great land.

We took two days riding through Illinois and Wisconsin – spending the night at the small town of Lake Geneva, WI, which sits along US-12. Once again I was drawn to the fact that if I turned West, I could ride that highway all the way home to Washington. We spent a lot of time on US-12 two years ago on the big SMC ride, and that small black and white shield with the number “12” on it is one of the icons that makes me want to hit the open road. Hell almost any road sign does that, but the black and white “US” numbers, especially ones that I know go “home”, pull at me like nothing else.

We’d ridden down from Milwaukee, stopping at a few spots along the way, seeing the small town kids starting out on their trick-or-treat rounds, and knowing it would be dark soon, decided to stop in Lake Geneva. It was almost a déjà vu moment, as it was a very similar night that we rolled into Rockland, Maine last summer. It was starting to get dark and a bit chilly when we saw the town ahead, and rolling past a small-town multi-plex and seeing a nice Comfort Inn off a side road, we decided to stop for the night. Once again we hit the movie and then went for dinner in a small town café, just like we did along the coast of Maine.

The next morning we rolled out early and headed further south into Illinois. We motored through Hebron, IL where the town water tower was painted to resemble a giant basketball and commemorated the local high-school’s state championship. In 1958! The paint was still fresh, and this small American town still remembers it’s crowning glory, which still has not faded from memory. The fall harvest moon was still full in the sky and we rode south along with the migrating birds in their “V” formations. We neared Chicago and the suburbs ate into the farmlands until we rode up to the HD Dealer and reluctantly turned the bikes in on yet another perfect fall day.

I realized I couldn’t pass up the chance to spend three weeks riding like that again making the journey itself the purpose of the trip. Riding until it gets to be dusk, looking for a nice motel and maybe a movie theater for a break. Seeing what it is that makes this, such a remarkable country, the people, places and history. Enjoying the total freedom of a motorcycle, the open road, a book of maps, no schedule, and an American Express card can bring.

The question I have now is not “can I do it”, but what can I do with it. I’m told that I have a gift of writing. If we do this trip would I be able to take the adventure and describe the people we meet, the places we go, and the roads we take in such a way as to make it a book? Could I take others along this journey and make it worth reading? Has the “motorcycle road trip” book been done to death, or could I write the next “Travels with Charlie” John Steinbeck’s masterpiece about hitting the open road, or Jack Kerouac, or even Long Way Around, Ewan McGreggor’s book about going around the world on a BMW bike a few years ago? To me the pure enjoyment of riding is the purpose, not the “ends’. I ride to have a good time, not to make good time. If I make this a “project” will it become just that – a project, and not a trip? All great writers have a plan, an outline, a goal in mind when they start. Do I do this as well, or does that make it less of a trip and more of work. If I want to see if I can become a writer do I make that the purpose of the trip? Those are now the questions I’m asking.

Tony’s seed has now grown into a tree. On July 3rd we shipped the bikes to Miami. We used Federal Motorcycle Transport, a division of Allied Movers, who put the bikes on a pallet and shipped them in a moving van. We dropped them off at 6am.

We pick them up on Saturday July 19th and ride to Key West. As another of my heroes, Warren Miller the ski bum/filmmaker/philosopher says: “if you don’t do it now, you’ll just be another year older when you do.” The question now is what kind of fruit will the tree bear.

You can follow along and find out with us here.

Corner to Corner: Tony's Prelude

On July 19th (just over a year from our last posting on this blog) Gary and I will be venturing out on the biggest motorcycle trip in the 4 years that we have been riding. We are calling this trip "Corner to Corner" as we will be riding from the Southeast Corner to the Northwest Corner of the United States on two of our Harley's.

Prior to this, there are a few things that will happen. First, we will be shipping my 2008 Ultra Classic and Gary's 2006 Dyna Street Bob to Miami, Florida around the 1st of July. It will take about 3 weeks to get there, which is perfect timing with my plans to attend GALA Festival 8 in Miami.

In fact, three weeks from tomorrow I will be leaving Seattle to fly on the Red Eye flight from Seattle to Orlando. I will be picking up a car at the Orlando airport and then driving direct to Miami, where I will pick up Steve, fellow Seattle Men's Chorus and The BEARatones member, at the Miami airport before driving to our hotel in the city.

The GALA festival is a gathering of gay and lesbian choruses and small groups from around the world. The week will be filled with performances from all the various chrouses and Seattle Men's Chorus will be anchoring the Tuesday evening (July 15th) performance at 11pm. Then my small group, The BEARatones will be making our debut GALA performance on Friday, July 18th at 4pm.

Gary will join me in Miami on the 17th so that he can see the BEARatones perform and then we will pick up the bikes from the Miami Harley-Davidson dealership on Saturday the 19th and ride the 130 miles across many bridges and blue green water to Key West.

We will be blogging the trip here like we do with all of our trips, so look for more postings about our stops in between.

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 11, Washingtonians Crossing the Delaware

We woke up to brilliant sunshine and very warm temperatures in Goshen, NY today. One last time I wrote out directions on a yellow sticky note for the windshield -- this time a bit more detailed with Mapquest directions to our hotel in downtown Philly. After our free breakfast of generic "Holiday Inn O's" and toast, we loaded up the bikes. Two ladies enjoying a morning smoke came over, and sounding to the world like Edith Bunker with the thickest Brooklyn accents we've heard, asked about the bikes and how much they cost (one lady saying her son wanted one). We told them and they were surprised at the cost (the bikes we are on list for $18K), and we had a nice chat about our travels. They were here for one of the weddings at the hotel today.

Indeed it was so warm and sunny that we decided to attempt to even out our tans (our arms looking like they'd been dipped in brown paint) by riding shirtless. We sprayed what's left of our sunscreen all over and throwing all sense of decency to the wind, rode out of Goshen bare chested. The morning sun felt so nice on my skin, and the quiet back road we were on through the corn fields reminded me of the opening scene of the movie "Love Valor and Compassion" where the young Ramon enjoying a similar road takes his shirt off and sits on the back hood of a VW bug and throws his arms to the sun as his friend James drives them to upstate NY. Hard to do on a bike, but doable. We had to pause to allow Tony to cease his hysterical laughter. He had the camera so there is no corresponding picture of him shocking the NJ countryside.

We had a very short ride anyway today, so we took our time and enjoyed the NY, NJ and PA backroads, and went diagonally across NJ before crossing the Delaware into PA and riding down the west shore of the Delaware River along the old Delaware and Pennsylvania canal. (You will recall we went on the north side of the river when we left Philly last week.) We stopped at a nice biker friendly bar that overlooked the river for lunch -- there must have been a dozen bikes parked out front and we passed many other bikers enjoying the cool ride along the river.

All too soon we were nearing the outskirts of Philly and had to hop on the freeway to get into downtown. Riding on a freeway in a strange big city is a nerve racking experience, but it was Saturday and traffic was very light. We motored into town and right down past Constitution Hall where the Declaration of Independence was written. Tony, as always the showman, while we were waiting for the light, launched into his litany of tunes from the musical "1776", to which I had to tell him "Sit down, Tony, sit down..for God's sake Tony sit down..." the light changed and on we went to the hotel. The hotel itself was an interesting experience. Last night we'd booked a Rodeway Inn right down town at a decent price. When we got there we found a dirty little place with a malfunctioning elevator, a desk clerk who gave us a room already occupied (and did so to two other guests while we were there too), and no promised Internet connectivity. We left there and went to a real hotel, a nice Marriott three blocks away. Heck, we can splurge on a fancy hotel once on this trip.

Even Mariott's will take dirty bikers. And one thing you get while on the road all day is dirty, which is why it's so nice to check into a hotel and jump into a shower. Witness the washcloth that I used to just wipe my face when we checked in. Need I say more. A nice refreshing shower after a day on the road is why we stay in hotels while on the road rather than camping in a tent.


It's been a great 11 day trip. We took some great roads thanks to our friends at the Camden, NJ and Framingham, MA HOG chapters. Riding in today we passed a sign for the New Jersey Turnpike, which made me start to hum Simon and Garfunkle's song "America", with a line in it "...counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, they've all come to look for America..." That's why we ride, and why we explore the roads. I'm not sure what exactly we are looking for, so therefore you can't really find it I suppose. However, we went through a lot of the country -- nine states and areas neither of us have ever been. We met some cool characters, and we ate some great meals. We racked up about 2200 miles on the bikes, and went through our country's early history along the Delaware River, the Boston Post Road, and the Pilgrim's landing at Provincetown. We went through the East's great mountain ranges -- the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Green Mountains of Vermont, and the Adirondacks and Poconos of New York. We past countless Revolutionary and Civil War battlefields and old forts, and went through towns that were founded in the late 1600s. So did we "find" America? Like I said, I don't think you can find it, you can just live it, and so far I think we have. Remember, there is no wrong turn, as long as it leads to more pavement.

Tomorrow we'll take the bikes back to the dealer, hop on the train to Newark and then fly home to Seattle. It will be good to get back home, to the house and our bed and the dogs. We hope you've enjoyed coming along with us on this trip.

From the Mariott in downtown Philly --

Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 10, "They went forth unto the land of Goshen"

Like the Children of Israel leaving Egypt, we left Montpelier VT, not knowing exactly where we'd go, what route we would take, and where we would end up. Though we weren't in bondage, we went forth, and ended up, like like the Children of Israel, in the Land of Goshen. Our Goshen is in New York however, but it truly must be a similar Blessed and Holy Land -- as there is to be a wedding in the Holiday Inn Express off Exit 127 of NY Route 17 tomorrow. In the lobby was the grand announcement. I suppose it's a step up from the Shiny Pines Mobile Home Court rec room -- with the proud father of the bride giving away his precious at noon tomorrow in Meeting Room A of the Holiday Inn Express.

Indeed the Holy Spirit seems to be everywhere -- Tony has been reading "Mormonism for Dummies", a real book from the "For Dummies" series that he found in Barns And Noble just before we left. He said he's learned more about my family, our vernacular, and our peculiarities by reading this book than in the past 11 years. He even said he was feeling a burning in his boosam at times, but I told him it was more than likely the chili covered nachos he had for dinner.

We left Montpelier a tad later than we'd wanted to. When we got up it was raining, but according to the Weather Channel, it was due to stop and so we waited out the rain after breakfast and hit the road at 10am. We rode past the small State Capitol, with it's dome gleaming in the sun, and headed south on VT-100. This road came highly recommended by both the HOG Road Atlas and other riders we'd talked to, so we were looking forward to it. It did not disappoint. This probably ranks right up with the great roads we've ridden both on this trip and elsewhere. The picture at the top of the post is from some point on the route, which heads more or less due south and runs through the heart of the Green Mountains, past great farms, along the Mad River, past small villages and covered bridges. We both agreed it is exactly how we pictured Vermont would be. We went past some of the great ski resorts of the east too -- Sugarbush, Killington, and Pico -- all large for the area but nothing like what we've got back home in the west.

When we got to Killington we had some decisions to make -- do we keep heading south on VT-100 into western MA, or do we turn west and go into upstate NY? We wanted to avoid NYC traffic, and we wanted to get as far south as we could without trouble so we would only have a short hop into Philly on Saturday. There was no burning bush to point the way, only our maps and intuition, and Tony's Blackberry which he was busy using to pull up radar and weather info for each route. We chose to head west into NY and then head south past Albany and end up somewhere close to the NJ border for the night. The weather looked clear with some storms far to the north. However, as soon as we went around Killington Mountain and into Rutland, VT, there was a doozy of a thunderstorm waiting for us and we hit it just as we crossed over into NY. So much for the accuracy of the weather.com. We got drenched as there was no overpass or pull out where we could pull off and put on our rain gear. However, the sun came out as we came into Whitehall, NY and we dried off rather quickly. We stopped for lunch in Fort Ann, NY, right along the Champlain Canal and had a HUGE meatloaf sandwich that kept me filled up until well into the evening.

We headed south on US-4, aiming now towards Albany. Yesterday we rode on US-1, US-2, and US-3 -- today we are on US-4, and we'd been on US-6 and US-7 already, somehow though we've managed to miss US-5. Just an odd observation. US-4 however was in bad need of some paving -- there was a BUmp evERy fiFTy feET regULar aS ClockWOrk whICh drOVe us QUite MAd foR At leASt tEN miLEs. These were caused by the expansion joints being paved over but not smoothed down. We ducked under I-90 which, although it was a freeway (or here a turnpike/toll road) would take us directly home if we wanted to, as it ends at Safeco Field in downtown Seattle. If it were me, I'd rather head west on US-2 or US-6 than I-90, but it will be good to get home on Sunday none the less.

In Albany we picked up US-9W and rode down the west (hence the "w") side of the Hudson River until we came to Woodstock. That's right, THE Woodstock, home of the 60s rock fest/drug party. There happened to be a Harley dealership too, so we stopped in for a rest and a t-shirt, and Tony used that time to try and find a hotel room for tonite. We'd planned on going to Port Jervis, NY, but since it's sort of a "resort" area and it's Friday night, we called ahead. None of the standard Quality Inn, Hampton Inn, Holiday Inn places had availability (good thing we'd called first), and so we were directed to this lovely Holiday Inn Express in Goshen, which is about 30 miles from Port Jervis. From Woodstock we had the choice of some NY back roads, or the NY State Thruway, which is a toll road. We debated for a while, but the weather was so nice, and the temperature about perfect, we decided to take the back roads. This caused us to wander like the Children of Israel all over Ulster county (hey, we got our "U" county for the Harley ABC contest anyway). The sun started to go down, and off in the distance we could see lightning from a thundershower to the east. We even ended up back at Orange County Choppers where we were on Sunday. Here we picked up I-84 for the short run to Goshen, where we checked into the hotel and went into the small town of Chester for a late supper.

Tomorrow we will retrace our steps from Day One, heading down the Delaware River to Trenton and into Philly. So, we've wandered pretty much all over the North East these past 10 days, and we've got just a short day of riding left tomorrow. It's going to be sad to take the Heritage and Road King back to Barb's, but it's going to be good to be heading home as well, after all we are down to two pair of clean undies!

From the Holiday Inn Express in Goshen, NY
Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 9, Maine to Vermont

Well, we finally saw the Coast of Maine, and had a chance to ride up it for about 40 miles this morning. It's pretty much how we had pictured it for the most part -- rocky, with lots of harbors and bays. US-1 runs along the coast for almost the entire length of Maine, but we only took it for a few miles, and I'm suspecting that it gets much prettier, and much quieter the further North one goes. The stretch we rode -- indeed the common denominator for all the coastal roads we took in MA and NH as well as ME, was that they consisted of strings and strings of small towns, and endless rows of motels and resorts and "crab shacks" or "lobster shanty's", and tons and tons of tourists. The towns are quite charming, and we actually have plenty of time to study the architectural details as we are stuck in traffic. Case in point, this picture, taken in Camden, ME. This is at 10am and the traffic is stop and go for the entire length of town. It's tough on the nerves and on the hands constantly riding the clutch. We were very glad to turn inland and head north up to Bangor.

We pulled out of the Hampton Inn, in Rockport at 915am -- it was tough to get up as the bed was without a doubt the most comfortable one we've been on this trip, and this hotel the nicest as well. Harry Potter was good, and the dinner before the movie had spectacular. Now when you think of Maine, you think of Lobster right? Well next door to the hotel was an Applebee's, which we didn't want to go to unless we had to. The front desk suggested a place a mile up the road in the restored train station. As you know, if it has anything to do with trains I'm a happy guy, so up the road we went. This small train station has been restored, and the restaurant quaint with outstanding food. It always pays to ask the locals. While this place wasn't a seafood place, we did manage to have a spot of Maine lobster -- in a lobster rangoon appetizer.

Growing up the TV show M*A*S*H was a big part of my life, and if you know the show, you know that Hawkeye Pierce came from Crabapple Cove, Maine. Well, there is no Crabapple Cove listed -- but I suspect it looked a little like this. Growing up I always thought Crabapple Cove sounded so far away and romantic, and I had it pictured in my head. It's funny how pop culture can do that to you (there is no Shawshank either, from Shawshank Redemption, but I digress.) Maine, like Washington, also has a propensity for unpronounceable place-names based on Native-American words, although the Washington ones aren't as tough. Where out in Washington we have "Snoqualmie" and "Salish", and "Walla-Walla" -- in Maine it's a tongue-twisting nightmare with places like Ogunquit, and Skowhegan.

We turned off the coast road and north onto US-1A aimed for Bangor, Maine. The moment we turned off the coast route the traffic vanished, and we were able to make good time up to Bangor. As I often say, my motto is that I ride on the road to have a good time, not to make good time...BUT, there are exceptions, and sometimes you've got to let those big V-twins run! And you don't have a good time constantly clutching and shifting and braking despite the scenery. Bangor was the furthest north-east point on this trip -- and when 1A ended, we turned west on US-2 at it's beginning in downtown Bangor. Actually, it felt like turning home -- as we are now officially on the way home, having gone as far as we could on this trip. Heading west on US-2 really is homeward bound too, as US-2 -- if we were to follow it off into the sunset-- would take us home, eventually going up and over Stevens Pass and dropping down to the Sound to end in Everett, WA. The pull of that left turn was a pull towards home, and being on the road for 9 days it's good to aim for home at last. I admit, there is something that draws me to highway numbers, and I can't explain it, except that its a symbol of both the open road and it's draw, and the connection that we have to home. So when I see a road that I know leads both away from and back to the places I love, it becomes attached to me for some reason.

So we headed west into the sunshine on a glorious day in Central Maine, aiming ourselves to Montpelier, VT. US-2 was quiet and pretty much devoid of traffic and lucky for us, freshly repaved. Riding a motorcycle down a newly paved road is like skiing on fresh untracked snow, or skating after the zamboni smooths out the ice. We stopped for lunch at a small local "Dairy Barn" drive in -- sitting on a picnic table under a tree and enjoying the day and the rest. A nice older couple came up and the husband asked if we'd been to Sturgis (not yet we told him), and he gave us suggestions on roads to take and reminisiced about his friend who once had a '47 Harley after the war and headed out west on it. We roared out of the parking lot to the waves of his wife and himself, and kept ourselves pointed into the sunshine, all the time thinking how much of an adventure it would be to ride all the way home on US-2.

The flat central area of Maine gave way to the White Mountains on the border with New Hampshire, and like US-2 was leading us home, this felt like home. It was the closest we'd seen to anything that felt like riding back home -- with the weather, the scent, the feel of the land, and the vegetation, AND we'd moved far away from that blasted coast. We both agreed that riding the coast, for all it's cracked up to be, is not as enjoyable as a nice lightly traveled road heading west. Indeed it got cooler as we climbed higher in the White Mountains after crossing into New Hampshire and as the afternoon turned to evening, we had to stop and put on our jackets! That's a first for this trip.

We have noticed that there are far more churches in this part of the country than there are anywhere outside of Utah, where there are LDS chapels every few feet. However the churches out here, while predominantly white with steeples, that's it as far as commonality. Here they are different, where as in Utah they come out of a stock catalogue it seems. Here they are all different denominations, including several that billed themselves as "Full Gospel", which causes me to wonder "what about the rest? Do they only have 'partial gospel'?" I've yet to see a "half-gospel" or "partial gospel" or a "2/3 gospel" church in my travels.

We hit Montpelier about 730pm, pulling on as the sun started to sink low and gleam off the capitol dome. We didn't see any hotels on our way in, so we pulled into the local Chamber of Commerce information booth and found a brochure for a Quality Inn out by the freeway (which is why we didn't see any hotels on the way in.) We had a bit of difficulty finding the damn hotel too. The local "fun" cartoon map was not accurate or to scale, and we figured the easiest way to get there would be to get on the freeway and go up one exit. However, we got on the freeway going North when we should have got on going South. This gave us a lovely 20 minute, 15 mile tour of north Montpelier as the next place to turn around was 7 miles up the road. To top it off, the local Quality Inn was booked and so we took a room at the statley old "Capitol Plaza" right across the street from the state house.

We've got two more days of riding, and I've yet to map out the exact route. We can either head South through the Green Mountains of Vermont and end up somewhere in Western Connecticut (dangerously close to NYC), or we can head West into upstate New York and head south through the Adirondacks. Today we did a bit over 300 miles, went through three states, and got our faces royally sunburned as we headed on the road home. All too soon it's going to end.

From the Capitol Plaza Hotel in Montpelier, VT
Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 8, Off the Cape And Up The Coast

Provincetown is a party town, and as a result, we slept in a bit longer than we wanted. We spent last evening at several clubs with some friends, and then walked back to the hotel along the beach under the boardwalk. It got foggy after sundown, and remained foggy for much of the morning, so leaving as early as we'd hoped would have been difficult anyway. As it was, when we left just before 10am, after a nice breakfast on a sidewalk cafe where our friends walked by just as we were finishing up so we had a chance to say goodbye again, we were still in a bit of hazy fog riding out of Provincetown and down the Cape towards Boston, though it was surprisingly warm.

We set our sights on Bangor, Maine, which would be nearly 400 miles from Provincetown. In order to make that distance, and get through Boston, we'd have to spend a fair amount of time on freeways, so we'd be able to take the scenic route through Maine up the coast on US-1. Normally both Tony and I despise freeways for a number of reasons, but it's best summed up by a line from the Disney-Pixar movie "Cars", which has my vote for best movie of last year, as they discuss the merits of the old roads vs freeways..."People didn't use to drive the road to make good time, they drove on it to have a good time." Well, today we drove the freeway to make good time so we could drive the old road to have a good time later -- a bit of a trade, but worth it. Our late departure also allowed us to miss Boston traffic, as we hit the city about 1130, and ducked into the BIG DIG, otherwise known as the Thomas P "Tip" O'Neil tunnel. I have to say it was pretty cool, and we saw the skyline of Boston rise up before us, then sink into the tunnel for several miles, only to rise up again and see the city skyline in our rear-view mirrors.

We picked up US-1 right after coming out of the tunnel and followed it through North Boston and into New Hampshire. You know how out in in Seattle there are Starbucks coffee houses on every corner and sometimes on multiple corners? Well, in the north east, Starbucks are spotty, but Dunkin' Donuts are EVERYWHERE, and we found several places where they are on multiple corners. I have to ask if people in the Northeast navigate by Dunkin' Donuts like we in the Northwest navigate by Starbucks? "Go down the road, turn at Starbucks, then go three blocks, turn at the next Starbucks..."

The fog lifted as we got through Boston, but it was replaced by a couple of spotty showers that were strong enough to get us damp, but not strong enough to warrant pulling off and getting the rain gear on, and it stayed quite warm as well. Maybe the heat and humidity combination are what make Boston area drivers the rudest I've ever encountered.

This part of New England is dotted with small towns that still have the remnants of the early factories that started the industrial revolution -- mills that are along the waterways that powered their machines. Most of these places now house antique businesses, which again begs the question, where in the world does all this old furniture come from? However, it makes for nice scenery while riding, as these old roads dip and weave and move with the land, as did the old railways and canals. However, there are so many abandoned factories and buildings and rail lines it seems like this part of the country is in the depth of the 1930s depression. Indeed a common theme when talking with people is the lack of good paying jobs in this part of the country, which is why the west is so booming I imagine.

We only spent a few miles in New Hampshire before crossing over into Maine. Every state has a motto or saying on the signs designating the state line. Maine's is "Maine -- The Way Life Should Be." I think Connecticut says "The Birthplace of President George W. Bush -- We are So Sorry".... We had hopped for a nice ride along the rugged coast of Maine, but unfortunately where US-1 crosses into the state, it isn't so rugged, and is lined with outlet stores by the dozens, motels, "resorts" and lobster shanty restaurants. We hit a 10 mile stretch where our average speed was 20mph because of all the tourists and traffic to the beaches. We also observed throughout this trip that chainsaw carved bears are NOT unique to the Northwest, as we seem to see them everywhere, except along the coast, where, just like in Washington, they morph into yellow rain-slickered salty old sea captains, who look like they popped off a box of Gorton's fish sticks.

After Portland, ME the road got quiet again and we started to see the coast just like we thought it would be. However, the fog started to roll back in, and summer disappeared just as quickly and we had to get out our leather jackets! The delay in south of Portland also meant we wouldn't make it into Bangor, and we'd miss much of the coast in the dark, so when we rolled into Rockland, ME and saw a big new Hampton Inn with a multi-plex theater next door showing Harry Potter, we decided to stop for the night after rolling up a tad over 300 miles.
Tomorrow we'll continue up the coast to Bangor, which will be our furthest North-east point on this trip. We'll then turn west towards home on US-2, at it's starting point in Bangor and which, if we followed it all the way, would indeed take us home as it ends in Everett, WA. However, we'll cross over into the White Mountains of New Hampshire and then into the Green Mountains of Vermont, before heading south again towards Philly.

From Rockland, Maine..
Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 7, NOTHING

Here we are at the End Of The Road -- at the tip of Cape Cod, past Provincetown, MA at the end of US-6. We took this just about sunset, after riding a couple of miles from our hotel. It's the only riding we've done today to speak of, and as you can see we did it in shorts (got to watch that primary cover! Gets a wee bit warm). The weather has been most pleasant, in the 80s, and a nice breeze coming in off of the Cape. Evening is nice especially.

We essentially did NOTHING today. Or at least tried to do nothing, I did have a few e-mails to answer and some work to do -- the Internet access here is in the lobby of this hotel, not in the rooms so I have to schlep the computer downstairs to work or to post this update. Cell phone access is spotty as well. My driver's license got here today too! Now I'm "legal" again and don't have to worry about getting pulled over or getting on the plane home. Mary had it sent overnight from Corning. We spent a fair amount of time laying by the pool getting tan and reading. The hotel we are in has a big Tea Dance every day at 4pm so they clear the pool deck and have the party there. Surprisingly the beach itself at the hotel is not that nice, nor is it anywhere along Provincetown, so most everyone stays in the pool deck areas. The nicer "beaches" are outside in the Cape Cod National Sea Shore, where the road ends and it's grassy and somewhat sandy, and what I'd pictured the Cape looking like before I got here.

Provincetown reminds me very much of Key West like I said yesterday, it's a beach town at the end of the road -- lots of "characters" who kind of fell off the face of the earth and landed here. Like the guy who came here 15 years ago and has been peddling a ped-a-cab ever since and a few illegal substances on the side. Or the old lady with fire red hair who runs the post office and refused to mail a box of our unwashed laundry we were shipping home unless we handed it to her personally and not buy stamps and put it in the mail box later.


Also like Key West, it's a compact little town, everything is walking distance, lots of shops (t-shirt ones being the most predominant), and a party town atmosphere. Even on the motorcycles its tough to get around. We had a great dinner of fresh Halibut, and will walk down the road to get an ice cream here shortly.

Tomorrow we'll head out fairly early to give us time to get off of the Cape and get through Boston and head up into Maine. We've spoken to a number of folks here and have been getting some wonderful suggestions of where to go in Maine and how to get there. The weather looks mixed -- with a chance of thundershowers, otherwise it says sunny and 70s, which beats the upper 90s we are hearing about back home in Seattle.

From the End of The Road in Provincetown, MA

Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 6, To the End Of The Road

Greetings from Provincetown, MA -- quite literally the End Of The Road. Provincetown lies at the end of US-6, on the far tip of Cape Cod. It's quite literally as far as you can go on land, and is one of those "End Of The Road" kind of places like Homer, Alaska, or Key West, FL. You can't go any further and you have to turn back or stay. It's the folks that stay that make towns like these so unique and quirky at the same time. Provincetown is no exception, and reminds me very much of Key West -- lots of lost souls, old hippies, people who can't make it anywhere else -- and a town where the industry consists of t-shirt shops, ice cream stands, and bars - and in a few cases, all of them rolled up into one establishment!

As far as miles go, the route we took was just a bit over 200 miles -- but where it ends is a world apart from Stockbridge where we were last night. We pulled out of Stockbridge at 8am on the button and the sky was quite overcast with a heavy post-rain mist in the air. It had rained over night so the bike seats were nice and wet this morning. We debated the rain gear and decided to head out in just the leather this morning. Our first leg took us down US-7, which is lined with more antique shops than I thought could ever exist. I didn't think there was that much old furniture left in the world. We then turned on MA-23 through the heart of the Berkshires, and the heart of the rain storm that had left its mark on Stockbridge earlier. Just like us, the storm was headed east, and we went along for the ride at about the same speed. About 10 miles down the road it started to get very wet so we to put on the rubber suits. Just our luck, we pulled into the only wide spot on the road under a tree -- right in front of an old farm house with a very yappy Yorkie of some sort who we were afraid would wake up the world. We got the rubbers on and headed back out on the road. Even in the rain the Berkshires were very lovely, and the road a nice twisty two lane with no traffic. With the rain it took us about 90 minutes to get the 50 miles to Springfield where we rested at the local Harley dealer and took the time to get out of the rain gear and more importantly, re-map the directions.

Since this is such an unfamiliar part of the country, we found the easiest way to navigate is to carefully study the map, and then write down very simple directions on a yellow sticky note and put that on the inside of my windshield. Things like MA-23 to US-44 to CT-169. Unfortunately the sticky notes don't really stick in the rain, and the one for today had washed off somewhere way back in the mountains, so we had to re-calculate the route in Springfield as you can see me doing here. What's really irritating for me is the windshield on the Heritage Softtail I'm riding is one of the XXL sized ones, and combined with a Softtail's lower seat and my already vertically challenged stature, I find myself looking THROUGH the windshield rather than over it. It's fine when it's dry, but when it's misty or raining, it's not that easy -- try driving in the rain without your windshield wipers sometime. I end up sitting up as straight and as high as I can and peering over the windshield when it's raining.

This is a very different part of the country, and for someone like myself, growing up in the west where the distances are vast, and the oldest stuff is generally from AFTER the Civil War, it's fascinating to be driving through small towns and villages that have signs that say "founded in 1719" or something like that. In Utah, the towns tended to be about 15-20 miles a part -- or a day's ride on horseback when Brigham Young founded the place. Elsewhere in the West they are even further apart. Here they are all a mile or two apart. Each one also has a traditional old cemetery -- just like in the old horror movies, with huge cool gravestones that are weathered and have very intricate carvings on them, and leaning this way and that. Usually you'll also find a traditional white church with a high steeple as well (though in PA we did actually find one stock 1997 Model 5757-L, Medium Size Mormon Ward House with Satellite dish, looking quite out of place).

These twisty back roads take a lot longer to traverse -- but that's the point. We averaged about 35-40 mph, but we saw, and felt the countryside, and we could read the dates on the buildings, and the gravestones and smell the bacon frying in the roadside diners. We could read the "Welcome to Westfield, MA -- Founded in 1743 -- the Whip City", sign. We didn't stop however to inquire as to exactly WHY Westfield is the Whip City. We also traveled the old "Boston Post Road", now US 20, east for quite a ways out of Springfield.

As part of this trip we are also compiling our entry into the Harley Owners Group "ABC of Touring" contest. In this contest HOG members take pictures of themselves, the current HOG magazine, their bike, and the "Welcome to..." sign of someplace. The goal is to have a City and a County that begins with each letter of the alphabet, and as many of the 50 states as one can get, plus a few other odds and ends such as Harley factories and National Parks. We've already got all but the letter "x" in towns in Washington, so now we are collecting county and state signs. With all these little tiny states back here, we are stopping frequently for pictures. Here's Tony as we enter the smallest state.

We dipped into Rhode Island on the way out to the Cape today, and had lunch just outside of Providence. We then picked up US-6 for the ride out to the tip of the Cape and Provincetown. I'm not sure what we expected along this route -- I had envisioned sand-dunes, grass, and ocean. What we got however was much like the ride to Key West along US-1 -- without the bridges, and only the ugly slow parts through places like Key Largo. However unlike the Key's folks here INSIST on driving at least 10 miles UNDER the speed limit. In some places the road twisted and turned and ducked under the rail line that doesn't appear used though the tracks are still here. Provincetown itself is very reminiscent of Key West as I said, and we had a chance to wander the main street, which as I write this at 11pm on a Monday, is still teaming with people. We had a nice bite to eat in an ocean front cafe and did some people watching before heading back to the hotel. We are meeting up with some friends tomorrow and will explore a bit more, do the laundry as we are both out of clean socks and undies, and rest up for a day of little or no riding (I sorely, and I mean SORELY, miss my custom padded seat on my Dyna back home -- I'm getting saddle worn on this stock seat.) Tony, being a Floridian by birth wants to spend some time laying on the beach as well (I try to avoid places where I'll be mistaken for a beached whale). We'll spend Tuesday night here as well, then head out on Wednesday morning and go back around the cape and up through Boston and into Maine.

Good night from the End of the Road in Provincetown, MA --
Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant -- Day 5, PA to MA

Well, we are officially in New England -- I suppose you can tell by the covered bridge eh? Tonite we are in Great Barrington, MA, some 330 miles and across five states from Mansfield, PA where we left this morning just a little after 7am. We are just down the road from the old Trinity Church, known now as the Guthrie Center, but better known as the church were Alice lived with her husband Ray and Fasha the dog, and where the movie Alice's Restaurant and the song by Arlo Guthrie were set.

It was sunny and the temperatures were expected to hit record highs all across the North East today so we wanted an early start both for the cooler temps and the longer distance we had to travel today. After the free breakfast of Quality Inn "O's" and toast, we headed out in shirt sleeves, but only made it as far as the single stop light in Mansfield before deciding that maybe the jackets would be a tad more comfortable that early in the morning. Being that it was Sunday, the traffic was extremely light on US 6, and we rolled through the "Endless Mountains" region of North East, PA, through the rolling hills and quiet farms along the road. This is my favorite time to ride, the roads are quiet, the air is crisp and smells wonderful, and the sun feels good on my face. For some reason Tony always has me ride lead -- I think he assumes I know where I'm going, and usually I do, though I've been known to miss a turn or two from time to time. Being the lead, I see Tony in my rear view mirror all the time - and I'm always checking to make sure he's there and OK. It's very comforting, and reassuring at the same time, and so much a habit that when I am riding solo back home I still keep looking back to see where he is, and having to remember that he's not there.

Our goal was to make it to the Stockbridge, MA area tonite for Arlo Guthrie's concert, which was at 8pm, so we had plenty of time. We decided that since we were more or less in the area, we'd swing by Orange County Choppers in Montgomery, NY -- you know, the dysfunctional family that builds cool motorcycles on the Discovery Channel? The day got progressively warmer as we worked our way east through PA and down the Susquehanna River towards Port Jervis, NY. We ended up taking off our jackets about 11am and riding in T-shirts the rest of the day. We dipped into New Jersey briefly before picking up US 209 into New York and riding that up into Montgomery. Truth be told, the scenery was not great, the traffic heavy, and the weather very hot through NY -- in the low 90s. Had we realized that the OCC store was not all that great, we'd have chosen a different route up through the Adirondacks and stayed cooler and with less traffic. But we'd committed to the route and so we stopped there for a look-see and a break from riding. The bikes that were on display were cool, but the rest was a testament to their business and marketing skills, with OCC branded everything, including safety glasses and deodorant (you too can smell like Paul Sr.).

We didn't stay long, as we needed to get lunch and get back on the road. We swung into McDonalds where I noticed that my drivers license was missing. We racked our brains and figured out that I'd left it in my Sporran (or as Tony calls it a "Man Purse"), which was packed for shipping along with the rest of the kilt gear and sitting at Aunt Mary's house way back in Corning. So not only was I an "unlicensed driver", I'd have a devil of a time getting back on the plane home! Tony called her and the box had not been mailed yet thank goodness, so she was able to open it up, find my license and is overnighting it to our hotel in Provincetown, MA where we'll be Monday-Wednesday. I've avoided being pulled over so far on this trip -- lets hope it stays that way until Tuesday.

We got onto I-84 since we had to cover some ground AND had to get around New York City traffic. Well, we managed to get AROUND NYC, but not around the traffic. We ran into a big traffic jam outside Danbury, CT, which on the bikes, in 90 degree heat is just a ton of fun. The traffic cleared out eventually and we had a nice ride through the cool trees along the Housatonic River Valley and into the Berkshire's through Connecticut and into Massachusetts. We found our hotel in Great Barrington, right outside of Stockbridge and the shower and air conditioning was most welcome.

After resting for a bit, showering, and changing into shorts we headed off down THE real road to Alice's Restaurant and the church nearby the restaurant. The church is now home to the Guthrie Center, an educational foundation run by Arlo and his family that offers a lot of support and educational programs, and is home to way too many old hippies and others lost in the 60s. We hadn't had dinner yet and were just planning on picking up our tickets then going to town for something when we learned that they were offering food in the church and we could eat before the show. Without thinking, we figured this was a good idea. We forgot that this was an old "multi-faith" church (or as Arlo says, a "Bring your own God church"), run by a bunch of volunteer hippies wearing gauze skirts who, if they drive at all, are either in an old VW microbus or a Prius.
The menu featured "Vegetarian Chili" and "Organic Chicken Salad", and a "Vegetarian BLT sandwich" (the "B" was a soy bacon), and herbal tea. We decided to stay since it was open seating and we had very good seats. And nonetheless, the Veg chili was quite good, as was the BLT, as long as I didn't think about what the "B" was. We even had "peace" cookies for desert -- large cookies made in the shape of a peace sign (vegetarian of course, which I think means no eggs), and coffee (free trade coffee of course.)

Arlo put on a wonderful two hour solo show, going through some great new songs, and some of his old standards. The fun of an Arlo show is not only his music, but his fantastic storytelling, and he was his usual fun self. The show was in the old sanctuary of the church ("downstairs where the pews used to be" if you know the song). It had rained a bit during the show, and so we took a slightly longer route back to the hotel to enjoy the freshly scented by rain night air, with the concert still running in our heads.

Tomorrow we'll head out early again and scoot across the length of Massachusetts and head for Provincetown which is at the very tip of the hook of Cape Cod.

From the Travel Lodge in Great Barrington, MA, just a half a mile from the railroad tracks...

Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 4, The Baptist and Scottish Wedding

We just got back to the Quality Inn after a wonderful and to say the least, eclectic afternoon reception for Tony's cousin and her new husband. The weather absolutely perfect all day -- no humidity, sunshine, and 80. The ride back at sunset along sleepy Pennsylvania farm country roads, in sleeveless shirts, and crisp air in what is known as the "Endless Mountains" region of PA, was one we didn't want to end.

We even started the day with some riding around the local area before the wedding, and stopped into the local Harley dealer for the mandatory t-shirt for the collection, as well as an appropriate HD Wedding card. And yes, we did ride to the wedding in the kilts. The church was only 2 miles from the hotel, but it was still an exercise in caution (riding sans helmet), with bare legs and billowing fabric. Tony's aunts were waiting at the church door, cameras in hand when we rode up to a round of applause. Being a Saturday morning, there were lots and lots of bikes out, and we passed or waited for more than a few as we rode the two miles to the church -- no doubt there will be people talking about this tonite -- those odd chaps in formal kilts riding Harley's through the town of Mansfield, PA.

The wedding was in the First Baptist Church -- and the retired pastor was the groom's father. The groom was on the church committee to pick the new pastor, and the bride (Tony's cousin Sarah) was even baptized a few days before the wedding having been raised non-denominational. We felt like Daniel walking into the lions den. As you know, it was a Scottish themed wedding - the groom (Ben) in his family kilt, the groomsmen in their clan kilts, and the bride wearing a sash of her new family tartan, with a crown of ivy. Bill wore a traditional "great" kilt, which is a one piece affair that wraps up over the shoulder that his wife Mary made herself with an "ancient" McLachlan tartan. Now this was a true "church" wedding, with prayers and hymns, along with a bagpiper and an Irish tin-whistle. But we were glad to see this wasn't a fire and brimstone Baptist wedding, and after the ceremony everyone went to the hall for cake and punch (no alcohol, and the lady serving seemed rather put off that I'd even ask if there was any in it -- though I was asking because I don't drink and Tony is allergic.) After the wedding we got back on the bikes and went to the hotel to change for, as Bill called it, the "real" reception.And how does one get on a Harley in a kilt you ask? Very very carefully, especially if the seat has been sitting out in the sun for some time. First you straddle the bike, then standing up, reach between your legs and grab the back of the kilt and bring it forward between your legs, and then sit down, tucking the kilt underneath your thighs. This way it doesn't fill with wind when riding and billow up. In theory only, because one has to put one's legs down at stop signs, which releases the fabric into the wind when one takes off. This is not for the faint hearted, and although Paul Sr. on American Choppers did it..and now so did Tony and I, it's not something I'd recommend for any great distance.

We repacked the kilts and dropped them off with Aunt Mary to ship back home for us and rode out to the second reception, up in the hills at "Bucky's House". The directions were not exactly accurate, and we rode past the turn we were supposed to take -- and we were not alone, for we rode 4 additional miles with three other cars, including the groom's retired pastor father and his wife in a proper Baptist minivan, and we all made u-turns and headed back. We finally found the correct turn and drove a mile up a gravel road (not an easy task in a 900 pound motorcycle), to what can only be described as a miniature modern day version of a NE Pennsylvania "Woodstock" campground on Bucky's Mountain. Bucky himself, a friend to everyone, wood carver, musician, and motorcycle rider, along with his wife, greeted us and welcomed us to his home-made compound of workshop, huge out-door kitchen, campground, tent, reception area, cabin, hammock area and whatnot, and proceeded to make us, and everyone else feel right at home. There was live bluegrass and celtic music, TONS of food, people camping in tents, a fire pit, and Bucky's dog Harley (what else!). The complex is up in the mountains, deep in a forest of maples and oaks, and the buildings made of old barn wood and found things. Bucky makes his living carving things and selling them at art fairs, and we bought a wonderful carved pine tree for our mantle back home in Seattle. Bucky and his wife were ready to jump on their bike and join us riding to Massachusetts tomorrow, especially after they learned we'd be seeing Arlo Guthrie in concert, and we'd have loved the company. This one-of-a-kind character would be someone to take on a bike trip to make it even more memorable. He's been friends with the groom and Bill for some time, and he hosts 600 people at his complex every Memorial day for "Acorn Fest". If he and his wife were not at Woodstock in the 60s they should have been.

Tony spent most of the evening chatting with his new found family. Bill's two other sisters came, and Tony spent many hours chatting with his aunts Nancy and Susan, along with his Grandfather's brother. Like Tony's side of the family being unaware of Tony's grandfather's other family, they really were never told about Tony's side, and although they lived for a few years and grew up 20 miles apart, no one ever knew, and no one ever spoke about it. Even Dick, Tony's grandfather's brother didn't know why William and Helen divorced. Tony's aunts looked like Gilkinsons as well, and Aunt Nancy even had a daughter that named Debbie who at the same age, looks remarkably like Tony's sister Debbie. Everyone was very glad to meet and get to know Tony and I'm sure that this branch of Gilkinsons, despite the family history, will remain close. I know Tony took great pleasure in meeting them, as I'm sure they did, and the fact that he has brought the two sides of this family together is something wonderful to see. Everyone was happy, and at the same time, sad over all the years they went not knowing that each other existed. Indeed the only shame in all of this is the loss of years of another brother or sister or aunt or uncle in one's life.
It took a long time to say good bye to all these new family and friends, but Tony and I needed to head back to the motel to pack and wanted to get off the hills and down the dirt roads while it was still light. The final group hug was with Bucky and his wife and Tony's cousin Sarah and her new husband Ben. We'll very much miss our new family in this part of the country and someday hope to return for another visit -- and likewise, hope they'll come visit us out west.

So while I've been writing this, Tony has been packing and is just about done. Tomorrow we'll load up the bikes and head East on US 6 for a ways before turning north into New York and over into Connecticut and Massachusetts. The bikes are already gassed up, and although we've thoroughly enjoyed this part of PA, we are itching to get on the road again.

One last night in Mansfield PA at the Quality Inn..
Tony and Gary

The Road To Alice's Restaurant -- Day 3, Discovering Tony's Roots

We woke up to soft sunlight and a beautiful dry morning in Mansfield, PA -- which if you look at a map, is just below the New York border and about half way across the state. It's very quaint small college town -- and our hotel is on a bluff overlooking the town as you can see. It's in the rolling hill country of PA, on what is known locally as the "Norther Tier." The primary reason for this trip is to attend the wedding of Tony's half cousin whom we've never met. Indeed we spent the day meeting relatives of Tony's that he's never met, exploring the area, and, as is customary for family reunions, learning lots of family secrets -- err, stories.

Now, you may need a score card for this in order to keep track, so go get a pencil. Lord knows it helped me. Tony's paternal grandfather and grandmother were both raised in the Corning, NY area (just over the border from Mansfield, PA). William Park Gilkinson II and Helen Barber were married and lived in Bath, NY. They had two kids, Jack and Judy. Jack is Tony's father. When Helen was pregnant with Judy, they divorced and William married another woman. They had four children, including one named William Park Gilkinson III or Bill. Helen never spoke about her husband, or his second family -- and though they lived 20 miles or so apart, they never met. When Jack was 16 and Judy 14, Helen moved the family to Tampa, FL where they remained, and where both live today. William III (Bill) married Mary and remained in the Corning area. OK, do we have everybody straight?

Tony, in 1990, began searching for his family history and "discovered" Bill and his wife Mary and they corresponded for a number of years, though they never met. About three years ago, Tony told his Aunt Judy about Bill up in Corning, and they started corresponding, and Judy flew up to meet about two years ago. Bill's oldest daughter is getting married, and it's that wedding that we'll be attending tomorrow (in kilts) that brought us to this part of the country and on this trip. Today was the first time Tony and Bill have met.

We hit the road about 10am and headed up to Beaver Dams, NY which is outside of Corning, and about 30 miles north of Mansfield. It was a gorgeous morning for a ride, the air nice and cool, the sun out, and no traffic on US-15. We went through a number of charming small towns -- including Lawrenceville, right on the NY border, where the entire town was having a town-wide garage sale. The main (and really the only) street through town was lined with every single house having a community garage sale for about a mile. I suppose it beats having a dump -- since the neighbors from other towns come to buy your junk, or your current neighbors and you just swap junk...but I digress.

We motored on up to Corning and into Beaver Dams and roared into Bill and Mary's driveway where Judy was waiting to greet us. At last Tony and Bill met, and while I was busy taking my helmet off I heard Bill speak, and if I had not seen him, would have sworn it would have been Tony's father Jack. They don't look alike, except for the Gilkinson freckles, and hairline -- but to me, he sounded exactly like Jack. We trooped back to the back porch for ice tea and numerous posed pictures like this: From left to right, you have moi, Tony's aunt Judy, Tony, Tony's uncle Bill, Tony's Great Uncle (Tony's grandfather's brother) Dick, and Tony's aunt Mary (Bills wife). Tony is the tallest in the family, and Dick remarked when he met Tony for the first time -- "well, you're a big one aren't 'ya?"

We spent the afternoon swapping stories and family lineage and history and secrets -- which we will spare all of you at this time. For lunch, we rode and drove down to a little local biker hangout that Bill likes for burgers and a fish fry, then it was off down the road to Bath, NY to explore the town where Jack and Judy grew up. Bath is about 20 miles NW of Corning, and we took the back roads there and enjoyed the "Southern Tier" of NY - what the locals call the area. In Bath we stopped by the courthouse which was built in 1870, and where Tony's grandmother worked as a secretary for the County Clerk. Then it was up the road to the two houses that remain of the three they lived in before moving to Tampa. Tony's Dad had asked him to call from the house at 35 Robie St., which is where he remembers most of his early days. Tony took a moment to phone his Dad while standing in front of his father's old home, and he and his Dad spent some time talking about the house and the large tree next to it, while Bill and Judy and I listened in. I always enjoy these kinds of things -- the old "physical" item that brings the past to life -- and I know how Tony felt finally seeing the places his Dad spoke of growing up, and hearing his aunt Judy talk about their childhood in upstate NY.

We said our goodbyes at the gas station in Bath, and while Tony and I filled up, Judy and Bill headed back to Bill's house and Tony and I headed south back down to Mansfield where the wedding will be on Saturday. The ride back to Mansfield was almost perfect -- the temperature just right, the air clean and smelling of hay and fresh mown grass and trees, and an absolutely idyllic countryside of farms, red barns, and quiet country roads. Indeed we went past Mansfield and rode a loop around the PA countryside, it was so nice out. What more could a motorcycle rider ask for?

We had dinner in the local college town pizza joint -- and truth be told, it was one of the BEST pizzas we'd ever had. We followed that up with sundae's at the ice cream parlor next door to it, and then rode the few blocks back to the hotel. Tomorrow, we have the wedding, and we will be riding the short mile and a half in our kilts. Judy has promised to be there with camera in hand to record it for posterity. (Or record our posteriors for posterity I suppose, as you know what one wears under a kilt...)

From the Quality Inn in Mansfield, PA...

Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant - Day 2, Philly to Mansfield PA

It was so rainy last night in Philly that they CANCELED the 4th of July fireworks. It was also warm and muggy, as is usual for the east coast. Unfortunately the air conditioning in our hotel didn't work either -- and about 1am we called and had them move us to a room that did have AC. So suffice to say we were a tad concerned about the weather for today.

However, it dawned dry, and only a tad humid, and we walked down the block to a small diner for breakfast, then caught a cab to Barb's Harley Davidson, in Collingswood NJ, just across the Delaware River from Philly. We got there just as they opened up and spent an hour doing rental paperwork for the two bikes. Tony's riding a black 07 "Road King Classic" with white wall tires! I'm on a Cobalt Blue 07 Heritage Softtail Classic.
Right behind us in line were two chaps from the UK who were here on business renting for a day ride, and we had a chance to chat and swap stories of riding in Scotland. We also kept a wary eye to the North West, watching a large black cloud drift closer. After all the time spent on paperwork, compounded because Tony forgot his proof of insurance card, we loaded up our suitcases on the bikes, did our customary "high-five", and drove across the street to pick up some supplies and hit the road. About that time the large black cloud decided to pour down rain on us, so we promptly went back across the street to the dealer, where Tony says I was more grumpy than usual. We waited out the storm for about an hour, with Tony checking the weather radar on his Blackjack computer. When he said it looked like the coast was clear, we loaded back up and headed out.

Getting out of the Philly area entailed riding on the freeway as far as Trenton, which wasn't really all that bad, except that it started to rain again. But it was just a brief shower, and at Trenton we exited, as per the instructions from Meg Crouse from the Camden NJ HOG chapter, and picked up NJ 29 which runs along the Delaware River. It was a wonderful ride up the river, twisting and turning, very little traffic, and charming small VERY OLD towns. It was surprisingly rural as well -- we didn't know what to expect, and we always tended to think of New Jersey as a big ugly suburb of New York. It was not the case. We both found this stretch of NJ a very pleasant place. We even went through the park where George Washington crossed the Delaware during the Revolutionary War. We wanted to stop and take a picture of one of us and call it "Washingtonian Crossing The Delaware", but we were running late because of the storm and wanted to keep going.

As is par for HOG Chapters, who's unofficial motto is "Live to Ride, Ride to Eat", playing off Harley's tag line of "Live to Ride, Ride to Live", Meg suggested stopping at one of their favorite places, Hot Dog Johnny. So we stopped for lunch there and a break, and took time to take off all the leather which was getting a tad warm. We also stopped to put on sun-screen which we really didn't need when we took off under the overcast damp skies earlier in the day.

We picked up Interstate 80 for a quick hop into Pennsylvania. It's a nice tie to home to realize that this is the same I-80 that winds its way back to where I come from in the West, and I've always loved the fact that I can be on a road that goes through my home-town and no matter where I am, if I stay on that road, I'll make it home. I-80 is one of those, as is US-89 and a few others. Indeed we'll spend a fair amount of time on this trip on US-6, another road that leads "home" as well.

Right after we crossed into PA, we exited off and picked up US 209, which runs through the Delaware River Water Gap recreation area. The sun had come out by now, and it was warm and the road quiet, and no towns at all. We swing off of US 209 and took a short-cut up and over the crest of the Pocono Mountains and dropped onto I-84 into Scranton PA. There we picked up US-6 for the run to Mansfield.

However, by now the afternoon thunderstorms had built up and as we were coming up Clarks Summit, we saw a solid black cloud in front of us. We pulled off into a gas station to debate whether or not to put on the rain gear, while Tony checked the radar on his Blackjack. What he saw made us cringe -- a solid wall of yellow and orange radar between us and Mansfield, right along US-6. Just then the thunder clapped and it started to pour. We scrambled into our rain gear and cursed the skies. Riding in the rain is not exactly fun -- even in a rain suit. It's hard to see, your goggles get all covered with drops, you get wet no matter what you are wearing, cars splash you, and it's cold.

All that being said, we found US-6 for all those miles between Scranton and Mansfield one of the darn right prettiest rides we've ever been on. It is listed as THE ride for PA in the Harley Road Atlas, and apparently for good reasons. Had the sun been out it would have been spectacular, and even in the rain, which ran the gamut between showers to mist and even a couple of dry spells (those were just teasers though, lasting only a mile or two), this road ranks high on our list of great rides. It dips and weaves through the rolling hill country of North Central PA, past tons of small farms and quaint old towns founded in 17 something-or-other. We saw many rainbows on the way, but no pots of gold, and the traffic was very light.

We made it to Mansfield by 7p, and checked into the Quality Inn, which is full of high-school boys for some sort of baseball tournament in town. We changed out of our wet gear and dried off. The rain of course went away as soon as we got here, and we rode back into town for dinner. Mansfield is a small university town, and is set along the Tioga River, and from the first glance before the sun went down, quite a nice little town.

Tomorrow we are going to meet Tony's half-uncle and aunt for the first time (it's their daughter who's getting married, and why we are in this part of the country to begin with.) We'll also run up to Corning NY to check out Tony's father's home town. We put just close to 300 miles on the bikes today -- nothing close to the distances we put under our belt last summer on the big ride, but our buts are feeling it none the less. We'll be here for three nights, with the wedding on Saturday (which we'll be going to in our Kilts -- this should be really interesting on the bikes!)

From the Quality Inn in Mansfield PA, somewhat damp still...
Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant -- Day 1, getting to Philly

530am came early today. Our flight from Seattle to Newark left at 830am, but in this day of TSA scrutiny of little old white ladies driving Lexus' to the airport, and the weighing and examination of toothpaste and shampoo lest some gay passenger decide to "do" hair on the flight, we had to be at the airport at 630am. Madelon was kind enough to drive us to the airport on a glorious Seattle morning at that ungodly hour, so we hoofed it up to their house with our small pile of motorcycle luggage. Here we are, half asleep still.

After getting through security, we still had 90 minutes to kill, so we had coffee and a donut and read the paper. It was a nice 4 hour flight to Newark, in 1st class on Alaska Air. Why Newark you ask? Aren't we renting the bikes in Philly? Well, yes -- BUT, it's much cheaper to fly into Newark where one can catch an Amtrak train right at the airport for the 45 minute trip to Philly. Besides, we wanted to at least partially live the "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" movie -- or in this case Planes, Trains, and Motorcycles.

A couple of Tony's friends who sing with him in the BEARatones were on the same flight - off on a Broadway Show Queen tour of six shows in four days. They took a limo into Manhattan while Tony and I walked to the train station. Because our flight was almost an hour early, we were able to catch an earlier train to Philly and were in our hotel by 6pm. It's a charming older boutique hotel in downtown Philly, and we walked to a nice Irish Pub for a very good Shepherds Pie dinner. Because it's the 4th of July there isn't much to choose from and the city is pretty well shut down. We've never been to Philly, and I'd like to visit a bit longer. Tony wants to go to Independence Hall where I'm afraid he'd break out into songs from the musical 1776 (he's already been singing "sit down John, sit down John, for Gods sake John sit down!" for most of the evening.) Perhaps we'll have a chance to visit when we turn the bikes in on the 15th.

Tomorrow we'll be off to Barbs Harley Davidson, which is actually across the Delaware River in Camden NJ to pick up the bikes. The forecast calls for a 50% chance of thundershowers (thanks a lot Mom!), and we were caught in one walking home from dinner. We are keeping our fingers crossed.

Tonight I'm going to study the route that Meg Crouse of the Camden County HOG Chapter was kind enough to map out for us -- going up along the Delaware River before crossing over into Pennsylvania and heading to Mansfield where Tony's cousin is getting married on Saturday. We brought along a pad of yellow sticky notes which I intend to do a "Rt 40 to Rt 6 to Rt 9" kind of simple directions that I can stick to the windshield. Having never been here, we turned to the local Harley Owners Group (HOG) chapter for advice and both here and in Massachusetts the local chapters have been quite helpful. It's one of the benefits of being part of the Harley fraternity I guess -- a host of people to tell you about the best way to get from A to B on two wheels.

From the City of Brotherly Love and the Latham Hotel..
Gary and Tony

The Road To Alice's Restaurant

It was a year ago in July -- one July 4th week one year ago when Tony and I went on the Easy Rider 2006 trip. We traveled nearly 4,000 miles through five states last summer with the Seattle Men's Chorus western states tour, and we've been itching for another big motorcycle road trip. We've been planning this one for about 5 months now -- ever since we got invited to the wedding of a cousin that Tony has never met (more on that to come) near where Tony's father Jack grew up outside Corning, New York. Since neither of us has ever been through that part of the country at all, we figured, what the hell, lets rent Harley's and tour the Northeast for a few weeks! So that's what we'll be doing.

But first, I should probably explain the title of this year's adventure. "The Road To Alice's Restaurant" is not about Alice, or a Restaurant, it's not even the name of a restaurant. It's just the name of Arlo Guthrie's song, and that's why we call this year's post, "The Road to Alice's Restaurant." HUH??? I hear you thinking to yourself -- or maybe outloud. You see, Tony and I are both big fans of folk singer Arlo Guthrie, and anyone who knows him knows his 18 minute song "Alice's Restaurant" from 1967, which takes place in and around Stockbridge, Massachusetts. And as it turns out, Stockbridge is on a nice motorcycle road in far western Massachusetts. So we figured, especially since he'll be in concert and releasing his latest CD, that we'd swing by and say hello. The concert will be in the church featured in the song where Alice (remember Alice?) used to live with her husband Ray and Fasha the dog.... but I digress. By the way, Arlo also has another hit song called the Motorcycle Song, in which he sings, "I don't want a pickle, I just want to ride on my motor-sicle"...(in order to get it to rhyme)...but I'm getting way far afield...

It was either call it "The Road to Alice's Restaurant" or "The Road to Rhode Island" from the TV cartoon Family Guy, and the episode where Brian and Stewie hop a freight train bound for home in Rhode Island, and launch into a broadway show tunes along the way. They sing lines like "We're off on the road to Rhode Island, having the time of our lives... We are quite a pair of partners, just like Thelma and Louise"... and at that point, folk music won out over Broadway show tunes, and the graphic of Brian and Stewie, when Tony said that since I resembled Stewie, I would get to be him on this trip. I think not.

So enough of the name -- here's the rough, and I stress, ROUGH itinerary. The purpose of this trip is to explore, to go down roads that look fun, in state's we've never been in, and explore things with no agenda and no set time and place to be for the most part. My motto is "there is no wrong turn as long as it leads to more pavement." In fact we only have TWO places outside of returning the bikes on July 15th that we HAVE to be. The wedding on July 7th, and meeting friends in Provincetown, MA on July 9th. That's it. We pick up the bikes at Barb's Harley-Davidson in Camden, NJ just outside of Philadelphia on the 5th, and have to return them on the 15th to the same location. The wedding is in Mansfield, PA, just below the NY state line about the middle of the state, and Provincetown is at the end of Cape Cod in MA -- another of the "End of the Road", this time US-6. Between Mansfield and Provincetown is Stockbridge, MA where the incidents that inspired Alice's Restaurant took place, and hence the inspiration for the title to this blog. (The lyrics to Alice can be found at http://www.arlo.net under the tab "lyrics", just in case the references today, and down the road, become confusing -- you might want to read it, there will be a test later...)

We will have the laptop, and will endeavor, like last year, to publish a post every day, (and as Arlo says, with full orchestration, five part harmony, and all kinds of other phenomena, along with lots of 8x10 color glossy pictures with circles and arrows explaining what each one is) and hope you'll enjoy going along for the ride. Thanks to our riding buddy Ray Flores for the picture of Tony and I at the top of the page.

In Seattle -- for a few more days..going over a pile of AAA maps and Harley Ride Atlases...
Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Home

We are home. It was a short 137 mile trip from the Red Lion Hotel in Wenatchee to our garage. Easy as pie, piece of cake, hell we did 130 miles before breakfast these past 13 days! As all journeys go, it's both sad to see them come to an end, and nice to be home at the same time. It's going to seem odd to not get up, load up the bikes, hit the gas station, and head off down an unknown road tomorrow morning, and who knows how long before we get restless again -- but I expect it will be a while before we undertake another trip as big as this one has been.

We slept in as best we could -- the time change and the urge to get home was a bit strong. It was a warm morning in Wenatchee, and so to even out my tan I wore a sleeveless t-shirt, which proved to be a bit chilly going over Steven's Pass, but otherwise it was a quite nice and short ride over the Cascades and home. We pulled into the driveway just after noon, having left Wenatchee at 930am and dodging a bit of a repavement project (there's nothing like riding a motorcycle on a newly paved smooth as silk road). Our leathers were covered in bugs and bikes rather dirty (which we've since cleaned). We put 3,897 miles on the bikes, got some interesting tan lines, and saw a lot of wonderful country.

To wax somewhat poetically like a certain credit card company...

Two Harley Davidson Motorcycles -- $30,000,
Number of states visited -- 5,
Number of tubes of sun-screen used -- 2,
10 new HD Dealer t-shirts -- $200
Miles Driven -- 3,897...
Adventure experience...priceless.

From our home in West Seattle,

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Homeward Bound, Day 2 - Salmon to Wenatchee

Almost home. Almost. We are in Wenatchee, Washington, just 160 miles from Seattle, but after 540 miles today, we just couldn't finish it -- indeed we didn't think we would after leaving this morning. As it is, we pulled into Wenatchee about 8pm, PDT -- after leaving Salmon, ID at 8am MDT, so we were on the road for more than twelve hours, and the sun was setting over the Cascades and so we decided to pull into the Red Lion Hotel -- a real hotel with a pool and room service, and treat ourselves to one last night in a good hotel on the road before heading into Seattle in the morning. We crossed the high rolling wheat fields of Washington, and watched the Cascade's rise up from the plains from about 60 miles out as we climbed out of the Columbia River Coulee just as the sun started to set. It's the kind of a view that Woody Gutherie would have seen when he wrote "This Land is Your Land"...wheat fields waving, dust clouds rolling, etc. It seemed fitting to wind down the road trip on that note, since it's how the Chorus closed the shows on this tour.

We got up early and pulled out of the Stage Coach Inn motel in Salmon a little after 8am, and headed due north on US 93. The road follows the Salmon River, and there are lots of little fishing camps/motels all along the route. It was in 1806 that the Lewis and Clark expedition was returning east along this route, and there are countless "historical markers", wherever Lewis or Clark stopped to go to the bathroom or some such event. It was a tad overcast and nicely cool when we left -- I swear there is nothing like the smell of a pine forest in the early morning with cool crisp air. It's even better when one passes a sawmill and you can smell the fresh cut wood on top of it. After we crested the pass and crossed into Montana we followed the Bitteroot River valley and noticed that the main industry seemed to be manufacturing log homes. It seemed that ever mile or so was another log home manufacturing plant, milling giant Lincoln Logs for gorgeous houses. It was all I could do to keep Tony from stopping and picking up a catalogue at each one. Needless to say we smelled a lot of sawdust on the run today.

When we got to the junction with US 12 at Lolo, we had a decision to make. We pulled into a gas station/café and pulled out the maps. We could turn on US 12 and head southwest into Lewiston, ID, or continue northwest on US 93 further into Montana and crossing the Idaho panhandle and northern Washington. Since it was quite clear that we likely wouldn't be getting home tonite anyway, we both felt we might as well take a longer route to get home and enjoy it, so we opted to continue on US 93 rather than turn west on US 12, dropping into Lewiston, ID and crossing Washington much the same way we did when we left two weeks ago. We elected to keep going north and go into Missoula, Montana. There is a nice Harley-Davidson dealer in Missoula, just like there is further up I-90 in Bozeman and in Billings. These aren't just "nice" Harley dealers, they are almost Theme Parks dedicated to all things HD. It makes us both wonder why a big city like Seattle can't have one of these mega dealers, while they seem to be strung out like Christmas lights along I-90 in Montana. Naturally we stopped for shirts and a look-see. On this trip we've managed to score cool HD shirts from Salt Lake, Pocatello, Jackson, Billings, Bozeman, and Missoula. We will need to re-arrange the t-shirt drawer when we get home.

We ducked under the dreaded I-90 and headed north on US 93 until we turned northwest on Montana 200. After a few miles of gawdawful road construction with stripped off pavement (we've run into this several times this trip, not fun in a car, and really not fun on a motorcycle) we hit a little shower but it didn't last and soon we were dry again. This road follows the Clark Fork River (named after you-know-who), as well as the old Northern Pacific Railroad. About lunch time we came across a small town that used to be a division point on the NP called Paradise, and the only place to eat was the "Whistle Stop Café". With a name like that we had to stop in. It was right across from the tracks, and very much a little local hangout. The only thing that would have made it perfect is if it had "Fried Green Tomatoes" on the menu, and Fanny Flagg in the corner. As it was, the food was great, including home-made Dreamcicle Cake. Had we stuck to the Interstate we never would have found the "Whistle Stop". Nor would we have smelled the fresh pine air and felt the cool of the river bottom. It is why one takes back roads on a motorcycle.

We turned West on a county road that took us over Thompson Pass and back into the Idaho panhandle. There we had no choice but to pick up I-90 for 30 miles, crossing the boundary back into Washington just before Spokane. Those 30 miles were shear hell. Unlike the back roads, the freeway is ALWAYS full of cars going roughly the same speed you are, and the air pockets, vortexes and wind-wakes they create combine to slap you and your motorcycle around so that after a few miles I end up feeling like I've been in a bar brawl. In addition, you have to be constantly paying attention to the other vehicles moving along with you, and you can't really look around and enjoy the country you are passing through. You are much like a leaf caught in a raging river, rather than floating lazily down a quiet stream. You can go just as fast on the back roads in most cases, especially in the West, but the lack of traffic makes them smooth as silk, giving you the chance to enjoy the ride and the scenery, and not end up feeling like you've just been run through a blender.

We stopped for a water break at the BECU facility in Spokane where Tony is often training employees. He didn't have his ID badge and looking like the road warrior he's become, they were a tad hesitant to let him in (much like my Aunt Jane was when we showed up on her porch). Once they realized who it was they let him in and we were able to rest, cool off and relax from the freeway run. We left there and headed west on US 2 aimed ourselves towards Wenatchee.

US 2 runs pretty much straight west in the middle of Washington -- past lots and lots of wheat fields, and small almost ghost towns. The color of young wheat before it ripens and turns gold is a wonderful light green, and combined with the building afternoon thunderheads in the distance, makes for one of the prettiest sights, and one I could never really describe. We went on for miles through the wheat -- it's 160 miles from Spokane to Wenatchee. However, this route also drops down into the Columbia River Coulee and past Lake Roosevelt which is formed by Grand Coulee dam. I've never seen the dam, and we didn't have time for the side trip up to it, but someday we'll come back. We dipped down into another Coulee and as we rose up out of it we could see the Cascade Mountains rising in the distance, and at that moment we knew we were almost home, and the trip just about over, and we'll pull into the driveway almost exactly two weeks from when we were SUPPOSED to leave.

We've seen a lot of wonderful scenery and places along this journey, and we've got one last stretch over Steven's Pass and down into the Puget Sound area tomorrow, then it's over. We've been over a lot of new roads, been through towns we've never seen, and likely never will again. We've wondered what's that awful smell, and enjoyed the cool crisp air of the high mountains. We've killed millions of bugs and will be scraping them off the leathers for weeks I expect. We've seen deer, antelope, elk, buffalo and tons of other critters. We've ate in wonderful little local dives, and watched as whole new audiences have come to love the Choruses. It's been a wonderful adventure.

We will sleep in a bit tomorrow, have a room service breakfast, and still be in Seattle before lunch. Thanks for coming along with us...

From the Red Lion hotel in Wenatchee..

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Homeward Bound, Day 1 -- SLC to Salmon ID

Well, we are on the homeward stretch, so to speak. It's Sunday night and we are in Salmon, Idaho -- 504 miles and 9.5 hours from Salt Lake City, via Tremonton, UT, Burley, ID, and Sun Valley. We didn't send out a posting last night after the Salt Lake show since we were exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and needed to get an early start from SLC today.

The final concert at Libby Gardner hall (no relation I know of, despite the Mormon "Family Bush" theory) on the University of Utah campus was without a doubt the most emotional for me and many of the singers, as well as the best received by an audience anywhere on the tour. The hall was spectacular, both architecturally and acoustically. Dennis Coleman, the artistic director had the choruses do EVERY song they took on tour in this single show, so it lasted nearly three hours, and the audience still wanted more. Tony read the proclamation by the Mayor of Salt Lake setting the day as SMC/SWC day in SLC, to which Dennis said "I think I like your mayor", and the audience reacted with wild applause. I've tended to get a bit teary eyed during "Not in Our Town" every time it is sung, and this was no exception, but I also got rather verclempt during the Brokeback Mountain set, as well as the Peace Medley -- as did most of the audience and many of the singers. I think the combination of the audience energy, the final show, and the emotion of the music sung by singers on the top of their game combined to get everyone reaching for the Kleenex. I was particularly happy to have 20 members of my family there in the audience -- and aside from a few, none had ever seen the Chorus, though they've heard Tony talk about it for years. They finally got to see what all the fuss was about, and everyone raved about the show, and Tony's dance choreography. His bows were well deserved.

This morning we got up and hit the road a little after 8am to beat the heat. As usual, we tried to keep off the Interstates, and planned a route accordingly, but unfortunately there really isn't any way to "escape" Utah without taking an Interstate for some stretch. We went north from SLC along US 89 as far as we could, and we had planned to head northwest through desert to Corrine following the original transcontinental railroad route, but missed a turn and had to take I-84 for about 20 miles to Snowville where we picked up a back road and took it across the desert up into Idaho and landed up near Burley. Gadzooks it was hot. By the time we got to Burley it was 98 degrees on the bank of Burley sign and we were roasting, in our black leathers sitting atop a roaring hot engine, and feeling the heat bounce back up off the pavement. That stretch of desolate desert was long and hot, and the road had more dead animals on it than I'd ever seen. Tony called it "Road Kill Highway".

One of the things they taught us in the basic motorcycle rider class last year was that bikers always "wave" when they pass. We observe this rule more or less all the time, and often find ourselves reflexively waving while driving in a car as well.

We stuck to the parallel to I-84 stretch of US 30 until we hooked up to US 93 North through Shoshone and into Sun Valley, one of our favorite towns. It's very different without snow. Past Sun Valley we headed up into the mountains and crested at Galena Pass, a route that neither of us had ever been on. It was a gorgeous twisty road that climbed up to about 7800 feet before dropping down into the headwaters of the Salmon River. In the little wayside of "Smiley Junction" we stopped for a quick drink and to put on the rain gear at the advice of the attendant at the store who said it was raining up the way. Two other bikers, guys from California headed for the "Arctic Circle" were doing the same thing. They said they expected to get up there about the 20th. Long long way still for them. In fact, just before we got to our hotel tonite we passed a sign marking the crossing of the 45th parallel which is half-way between the equator and the north-pole. These guys had a long way to go, as do we it seems. We then followed the Salmon River for 170 miles to Salmon, Idaho.

The plan now is to get up early again and head north to Missoula and then turn west on US 12 and go over Lolo Pass and drop back down into Idaho again and end up in Washington via Lewiston. We'll likely take a bit more of a northern route from Lewiston towards Seattle, but we are both anxious to get home so who knows. It is possible, though not probable, we'll get into Seattle late Monday.

It's been a long trip, both literally and figuratively and we are both ready to be home, while still looking forward to the drive back. We checked into this old motel (but with Wi-Fi, albeit spotty) and at their suggestion went down the river a bit for some fantastic prime rib and tomato and mozzarella salad. The motel is right on the river and our room has a patio that faces the riverbank -- and despite about 30 other bikers on a group ride staying here, it's rather peaceful.

So, from the "Stagecoach Inn" on the banks of the Salmon River in Salmon, ID -- on the downhill slope home..

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day 10, Bozeman to SLC, the Long Way

We woke up this morning to a clear and cool sky in Bozeman. We'd wanted to hit the road early since it's such a long trip, and as it was we slept a tad later and left a bit after 8am. The downpour from last night had blown over, and the bus that went into the ditch was in the hotel parking lot, so we can assume everything is OK. We've not talked to or heard from any other chorus folk today so we don't know for sure. We took a rather long way to get from Bozeman, arriving at my parent's home a little after 8pm -- 12 hours later, and two miles shy of 500 on the day, with 498 showing on Tony's odometer, going through four states. The Chorus crowd on the buses got off relatively easy, taking I-15 south and only being on the road for 7-8 hours.

It was just the two of us this morning -- Thatcher and Rose were still asleep when we left, and Dan and Ken were dropping off the tour at this point and headed north to Glacier National Park. It was nice just the two of us, we could set our own pace and not have to worry about the rest of the herd. Group riding is a ton of fun, but it's also work, and everything goes by consensus. Tony and I think enough alike that we know when we need to stop and for what, and we even commented that we were riding much more relaxed today, and not pushing ourselves to go as far or as fast as we tend to do in a group setting. The other thing you have to remember is that apparently I'm not allowed, with rare exceptions, to handle the camera -- which is why nearly all the pictures are of me riding, since Tony refuses to let me hold the camera while riding, and I only get it when he sets it down.

We left Bozeman and headed south on US 191, aiming for West Yellowstone and the entrance to Yellowstone Park. We'd dressed in long-sleeve t-shirts but that was too cool, so as we started up the canyon of the Galatin river (where the movie A River Runs Through It was set), we pulled over and put on sweat-shirts and warmer gloves. Our first real stop was at the turn off for Big Sky ski resort, where we stopped for a bathroom break and a drink. I guess we are becoming rather "seasoned". We are looking very weathered, sun burned, and our leathers are covered with bug splats. It seems everyone is curious as to where we are coming from, or where we are going. We have two answers -- the short one and the long one, depending on how much conversation we feel like getting into. We can either answer, "Bozeman to Salt Lake" for the short version for today as an example -- or the long one, which is Seattle to Salt Lake, back up to Pocatello, then to Jackson, over Beartooth to Billings, then to Bozeman, south back to Salt Lake then home to Seattle. Peoples eyes really bug out when we tell them that one. However, we get asked it ALL THE TIME on this trip, and I've been tempted to just launch into the old Hank Snow/Johnny Cash song, "I've Been Everywhere", where the singer runs an entire atlas of cities when asked the question where he's going..."been to Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa...." and on and on. It does feel that way sometimes.

The ride through the corner of Yellowstone where you don't have to pay was quite nice, with no traffic until we hit the tacky tourist town of West Yellowstone, where we stopped for another quick break and a nice lady asked us "Are you going to Sturgis?" (the big 500,000 person biker rally in South Dakota each summer). I guess we really are looking a bit long in the saddle if we are mistaken for the hard-core bikers who go to Sturgis each year.

We continued south into Idaho, skirting the back side of the Teton's and we stopped for lunch in Ashton. One of the best things about being on the road on the bikes and taking back roads is that McDonalds are more or less hard to find, so you get to eat at local little burger joints with big revolving mugs of root beer for a sign, served outside on a picnic table by a 15 year old girl, and eat real hand cut fries and shakes made with real ice cream on a Kelly Green colored Hamilton Beach three headed mixer. It had warmed up enough for us to ditch the sweatshirts by this time, and we rode in our long-sleeve t-shirts.

We actually backtracked on a 20 mile stretch of road we'd taken earlier in the week from Idaho Falls to Jackson -- only this time we did it in the reverse direction. If you have an atlas, our route has actually been a figure eight, starting and ending in SLC, going to Pocatello, over to Jackson, up to Billings, over to Bozeman, back to SLC -- with the point in the middle of the figure 8 being a 20 mile stretch of Idaho Route 31 between Victor and Swan Valley.

We went south from Swan Valley on US 26 and back into Wyoming's Star Valley on US 89, and despite having grown up in Utah and spent a lot of time traveling the west growing up, I'd never been in the Star Valley. I have some very distant relatives in that part of the country (we Mormon's don't have family trees we have family BUSHES!), as my great, great, great, grandfather had some of his wives stashed up there. We passed a "Gardner Village" service station just after going under the "Worlds Largest Antler Arch" in Afton, Wyoming. The owners son has that "Gardner" jaw, though we didn't stop to find out or chat. It was starting to really get warm at this time and we debated changing clothes, but decided to ride on.

The route took us back into Idaho, then back into Wyoming again, before finally curving into Utah. We went up and over a 7,000 foot pass with some snow still on it, before dropping into Ogden, and stopping for Chinese food in Bountiful, just north of Salt Lake. By this time it was scorching hot and we were ready to rip off the leathers and long-sleeve t-shirts, but decided to spare the SLC traffic the sight of that, and instead we crapped out and took the freeway the rest of the way to my mother's house, feeling like horses returning to the barn knowing fresh hay and oats await. Our hay was a cool shower and the oats were my Mom's chocolate cake.

We get to sleep late, do some laundry and gear up for the final show. Ticket sales aren't great, and I'm hoping the chorus guys will promote the show out at the local bars tonite -- and we'll get some of the last minute types to show up. We've got 20 from my family going, so we'll have a good showing, and I'm going to enjoy watching them watch the show.

Then it's pack up again and head north back home to Seattle. It will be good to get home, most likely exactly two weeks from when we left. Tony and I are both anxious to get back to our home and own bed, our dogs, and our friends back in Seattle.

From my mother's guest room...a tired and sunburned,

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day 9, Billings to Bozeman

It was about as perfect a day on the bikes as you could get -- a nice 220 mile ride from Billings to Bozeman, no freeway, and glorious weather. There is a reason Montana is called the "Big Sky" country -- it's very appropriate. The vistas went on for miles -- both along the prairie and through the small mountain range to drop into Bozeman. It's also very isolated and remote -- not a lot other than the road, the sky, and the horizon ahead.

We'd wanted to do a whole chorus group ride -- the four women in SWC, and the six with SMC. The women are performing tonight in Helena, and we'd mapped our a ride that would take us all for about half the distance before we guys going to Bozeman turned south, and the Women kept on going to Helena. However, the Women, had to leave earlier in order to get to Helena in their bus "Handbasket" AND stop for brunch somewhere along the way at a church, didn't have time to ride with us. However, this is the first time all six of us with the Men's Chorus have ridden together. Tony and I rode with Rose and Thatcher from Pocatello to Jackson, and with Dan and Ken from Jackson to Billings. All six of us met in the hotel portico at 8am and slathered on sun screen and headed north east out of Billings.

There is a lot of heat and reflected radiation from the sky as well as the road when you are on a motorcycle, so you get very tanned and if not careful, very burned. We've gone through two tubes of sun screen already this trip, and despite those efforts, my arm looks like a paint chip from Home Depot, with four very distinct shades of reddish/tan, caused by my varying shirt lengths which are based on temperature and weather. My hands and wrists are very dark since that's what's nearly always exposed. There is a distinct line and a drop in shade where I've pulled up my long-sleeve t-shirt to my mid fore-arm, then another one from where my short-sleeve t-shirt hits, and a final one where my sleeveless t-shirt rides. Tony on the other hand has the worst case of "racoon eyes" I've ever seen, complete with a white "helmet chin strap" stripe. It's quite colorful.

As I said, the ride through the sparsely populated high plains north east of Billings was wonderful -- we dipped in and out of a river bottom, and along high grass covered plains past very small towns and farms, and at a steady 65 mph. Traffic was very light, I don't think we passed a dozen cars. Part of the line followed the old Milwaukee Road railway which was abandoned in 1983. They took up the tracks, but left the signals as well as the old red-brick substations that powered the only electrified mainline in the Western US. I'd wanted to stop and take a few pictures, but when one is traveling with a group of five others you can't really stop easily. Thatcher wanted to stretch the legs on his sport-bike, and decided to take off and push the limits -- the traffic was so light he could really let it rip and says he got it up to 120 mph out on the prairie. We got to Bozeman at about 2p and rested before the afternoon rehearsal and evening performance.

The show in Bozeman was at a small venue on the Montana State University Campus. Once again the small audience was to say the least, overwhelmed I think at the power of the music that the guys sing, not to mention being amongst so many supportive and positive people. Like I've said, its great fun for me to sit out among the audience and watch them. Many, if not all, have no idea what to expect -- the shows in each city are promoted by local non-profits such as the local GLBT group, or AIDS organization, to whom the proceeds of the show are donated. In troupe a couple of hundred tuxedoed guys who launch into wonderful music. It's fun for me to watch these folks fall in love with the guys in the Chorus just like I have, and to watch them be moved -- often to tears -- by the power of the music. I've seen the shows enough to know what's "coming up", and the jokes and skits are amusing, but to the audience they are new and I get the laugh now in watching them burst into hysterics at the antics on stage or the smart-ass lyrics.

There's one more show to go in SLC on Saturday night. We've got 400+ miles ahead of us tomorrow to get to SLC, then we can rest a bit on Saturday before the show that night. We rode home in another Montana evening thundershower, just like last night in Billings -- and we are soaked, and changing to catch a ride to the cast party and BBQ at an estate north west of town that is owned by one of the SMC Board Members.



ADDENDUM: One of the busses taking SMC members out to the cast party tonight went into the ditch after dropping folks off at the house. The rain turned the dirt road to mud and it gave way under the weight of the bus and the bus slipped into the ditch on it's side. No one was on board or injured. They called out a heavy-duty wrecker from Bozeman to come out and pull it upright and out. As of 1240am it's unknown if the bus will be able to make it back to SLC or they'll need to get a replacement one or what.

We'll want to get an early start however, and we'll ride south from Bozeman to West Yellowstone, then down the Snake River in Idaho and into Utah and past Bear Lake and into SLC.

From the Downtown Holiday Inn in Bozeman -- a wet, tired, sunburned and hungry...

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day 8, Billings Show

It was a nice lazy day today. We slept in until almost 9, and went to the breakfast buffet and found that most of the rest of the chorus was still in bed as well. We were both able to catch up on some work voice and e-mails, and then went out to explore the town a bit. Billings reminds me a bit of Spokane, WA -- about the same size, and SLC when I was a kid. First stop was Beartooth Harley-Davidson. A HUGE store -- it rivals anything in Seattle, and I was able to find a part I'd been looking for for some time, and of course we picked up a couple of t-shirts for the collection. We took some time to do some laundry at a coin-op, and wash the bugs off the bikes as well before having a nice lunch in a little sandwich shop in a revitalized part of town near the train station. We chose it because it had a poster for the Chorus show in the window, and we weren't disappointed either.

One of the songs that the men sing is about how the town of Billings was able to stand up to the KKK some ten years ago, and so a local TV station was filming the afternoon rehearsal, and it prompted a few more ticket sales as well. The theater isn't set up for large ensembles like the combined SMC/SWC so they utilized a neighboring church for dressing rooms and walked next door to the there. The show itself was very well received and people appeared quite moved by several of the numbers. It's fun to sit amongst them and listen to the gasps and a few tears, and "oh my's". [Tony writes]: The tears came from many members of the chorus as well. Singing "Not In Our Town" in the real life city that the song is about, made the words that much more emotional. I was singing through my tears and I could hear other members of the chorus sniffling throughout.

And after, there are a lot of "thanks" and hugs from the audience, who in towns like Pocatello and Billings, need the affirmation that the Chorus brings to them. Tonight at the after-show reception, hosted by the local sponsors, we met a nice older gentleman who apparently lives half-way between Billings and Bozeman in a small town. He'd never been around this many gay people in his life and he was very moved by it, being the only gay person in his small town. He shared his own 'Brokeback Mountain' story about falling for another sheepheader one summer, only to leave his wife of 2o plus years to finally come out of the closet. He's going to see the show again tomorrow in Bozeman. This is why the Chorus tours, and why even when the audience is small, and the travel time long, it's all worth it.

We are (or I should say Tony is) packing for tomorrow's ride. We are meeting four other riders at 8am in the hotel parking lot and riding as a group over to Bozeman. The Chorus is going to take I-90 the short 145 miles to Bozeman, and the motorcycle contingent is naturally taking the back roads and going about 200 miles. Only the men are going to Bozeman -- the women split off and are going to Helena. They have named their bus the "Handbasket", so they will be -- say it out loud with me -- "Helena in a Handbasket."

From the 16th floor of the Sheraton Hotel in beautiful downtown Billings Montana (and where despite the menu in the room, room service DOES NOT operate until 11pm).

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day 7, Jackson to Billings

We've been on the road a week, and this is the day we've been looking forward to. I've actually forgotten what day of the week it is too -- apparently it's Tuesday -- or so I'm told, as I haven't read a newspaper in a few days. Without a radio on the motorcycle, both Tony and I tend to "sing" songs in our head -- either favorites or ones that are somewhat apprapro for the moment. One that came to mind today for me was by country-folk singer C.W. McCall, who had a song called "Wolf Creek Pass" in which he describes some mountain road with lots of curves as "one of them looked like a can full of worms -- another one looked like malaria germs..." That would be an accurate description to the wonderful 306 miles we rode today on a road known as the "Beartooth Highway".

Today we teamed up with two other tour riders -- Dan, who sings with Tony, and his partner Ken. Both ride Harley's and are in another group we ride with, the Border Riders. Because we were riding through Teton and Yellowstone Parks on the 4th of July holiday, and given the distance as well, we figured an early start would be best. We were glad to leave the "Snow King Resort" in Jackson -- a sort of "hotel hell", of which if I have time on our off day tomorrow I'll post a list of reasons why you should never stay there, but I digress..We met up with Dan and Ken on Jackson's main street at 7:30am and promptly headed north on US 89, the main road through Teton and into Yellowstone. The sun was coming up and lighting the east face of the Tetons in a wonderful light. It was rather cold, in the mid 50s, so we had to bundle up, but with no traffic (save for an ungodly number of cyclists Lance Armstrong wannabes who were on some tortuous "Tour de Teton" or something who tended to ride in clumps, peddling madly with their heads down watching the asphalt roll away rather than at the gorgeous mountains) we made good time and soon we were paying our $20 to ride through Yellowstone.

The tourists were just beginning to stir as we started through the park, and so were the buffalo. We ran into the midst of the largest bison herd in the US not long into our ride. We were in a high sage plain and there were several thousand grazing along the road for a mile or so. This time I kept hearing Roger Miller sing "you can't roller skate in a buffalo herd..", nor can you ride very fast through one on a motorcycle. We stopped for some breakfast at the south end of Yellowstone Lake, and then hit the road again. We bypassed the main tourist portions of the park -- Old Faithful and the like, so we could make good time towards Beartooth.




Midway through the park we took another break at "Artists' Point" in the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, and posed for the obligatory picture with the falls in the background. We headed towards the little used North East entrance to the park which sits at the base of the Beartooth. Tony and I had wanted to ride the Beartooth ever since we'd seen it written up as one of the best and most scenic motorcycle roads in the world, and it was the main inspiration for riding the bikes on this tour. Our riding partners Dan and Ken had ridden the Chief Joseph Highway to this end of the park a year ago when the Beartooth was washed out and closed. The Chief Joseph is also highly regarded as a great scenic motorcycle road, and we'll have to come back and try it again.

Just after leaving the park is Cooke City, Montana, which is where the road up to Beartooth Pass starts. We stopped for lunch at a bar that had a dozen Harley's lined up like horses in front of an old west saloon -- so we knew it had to be good. It was a nice rest, and we geared up for the ride up the pass, slathering on sun screen and making sure the ties were secure on the luggage. It had warmed up considerably so we were all riding in t-shirts. The first few miles were of freshly watered gravel -- kind of slick, and slow going. Once we hit real pavement again though it was a great, curvy, twisty, "can full of worms" road up the mountain. We stopped at a couple of scenic overlooks, and as we neared the top we could see the daily mountain thunderheads building up along the top of the pass, so we changed into rain gear. In the picture below, you can see the top of the pass as the "notch" above and to the right of Ken's head (the one in the black head-wrap). It's way up there! It was a good thing too, as the elevation gain had lowered the temperature once again and it was rather chilly.

Beartooth Pass tops out at 10,947 feet, and we (and the bikes) felt for the lack of oxygen and had a bit of difficulty running, not to mention it being a tad cold this high above the tree line with lots of snow still around. The view back down from where we came was stunning, and we could see the road twisting and turning and heading north back into the Yellowstone Basin.

On the other side of the pass, the road had a sickening drop and was more an equivalent to looking like a "malaria germ". It clung to the side of the mountain and twisted its way down and around, taking 20 miles to advance about 3 miles in the direction we needed to head towards Billings while dropping 3,000 feet in elevation.

At the last scenic overlook we stripped out of our still dry rain gear as it was getting warm again (best prevention is one that is never used) and started down the last portion of the pass. Naturally, not 1/4 mile after we left we ran into the remnants of a shower and a few drops on the windshield later we were out of it, and not wet at all.

We dropped down into the town of Red Lodge, another biker friendly town (indeed we saw more bikes than cars on the Beartooth), where the motel advertised "free bike wash" if one stayed. It was a cute town and we'd like to have had time to explore, but having been on the road for almost 10 hours, and because EVERYTHING was closed for the 4th of July, we hightailed it on down the road, watching for cops after being warned by a fellow biker of some nasty speed traps. After about 40 miles of fast running on flat farm land we hit I-90 and decided to ride it the short 15 miles to Billings (Montana's speed limit is 75 on the freeway, so it was a fast run) where we checked into the Sheraton - a good two hours ahead of the main contingent of Chorus folk, who had taken a shorter route and left Jackson 90 minutes later than we did.

We showered and rested, getting the sun screen and grime off, and went to dinner at one of two restaurants open in downtown Billings on the holiday, and we heard from the Chorus members who had made it to town about how they had sung "This Land is Your Land" before a nice crowd at the Old Faithful Inn where they had stopped for lunch, and how they paused for a group picture at one of the Teton overlooks and broke into "The hills are alive..." It reminded Tony and me of when we all posed for a group picture on the steps of St. Paul's cathedral in London when the Chorus sang there several years ago, and how they all broke into "We Shall Overcome.." The picture of that tour is framed and on our stairway to this day and one of our favorite memories. We both wished we could have been in that group picture at the Tetons as well.

Tomorrow is actually an "off" day of sorts -- the show isn't until 730pm and we have the day to rest and not do much of anything (except go to the Harley dealer for Beartooth t-shirts.) Its going to be nice to not get up and drive somewhere tomorrow. The concert in Billings should be good too, and the local PFLAG group has been busy promoting it, so we expect a good crowd.

From the 16th floor of the Billings Sheraton Hotel -- glad we don't have to ride tomorrow..a very tired..

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day 6 - Pocatello to Jackson

(Just a reminder - if you click on a picture, you'll get a larger version in a separate window)

Greetings from Jackson, Wyoming -- a town that ranks high on the tacky tourist scale. It's in a very lovely setting, high in the Teton Valley, with mountains and rivers galore -- exceeded in number by t-shirt shops, ice cream stands, and "trinket" outlets. The universal reaction among many we are traveling with is "its a big mall!", albeit one with staged gunfights in the town square and stage-coach rides, and all within spitting distance of Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. Needless to say it attracts tourists by the veritable bus load, not to mention RV, and yes, motorcycle riders. This place is beginning to look like a mini motorcycle rally town -- like Sturgis or Daytona during Bike Week. Most of the riders are coming from the Western Harley Owners Group rally in Billings that ended yesterday, and I'd bet motorcycles came close to outnumbering cars at times today.

We got a very early start this morning, meeting up with fellow Chorus folk, Thatcher and his girlfriend Rose (Thatcher is one of the token straight guys in the Chorus, and Rose is the costumer). Both of them have been riding the tour, but they skipped the initial ride to SLC and met up with the Chorus in Pocatello. We showed them the route we planned to ride and they wanted to ride with us, so we all met up at 715am in the hotel parking lot.

We headed north east out of Pocatello on US 91, reversing the route we took down from Blackfoot two days earlier. After Blackfoot it was all new however, and once we left Twin Falls on US 26 we started climbing up into the Mountains. After crossing the Snake River, we turned east on Idaho 23, and climbed up and over Teton Pass before dropping down into the Old West town of Jackson. It was another glorious morning for a ride -- and in fact it was cool enough to cause me to switch to a long-sleeve t-shirt. There was a fair amount of west bound traffic too -- a harbinger of what I expect we'll run into in Yellowstone Park over the 4th of July Holiday.

We got to Jackson in good time, about 1130, a good two hours ahead of the Chorus. The hotel rooms were not ready so we grabbed lunch at the "Million Dollar Cowboy Bar" -- Buffalo Burgers all around. Once the rooms were ready after 3p, we freshened up a bit and rode out to Teton Village to take the Jackson Hole Ski Resort tram up to the top of 10,000 foot Rendezvous Peak. Tony and I both realized we'd like to ski Jackson sometime, and were sad to see that they are closing their famous Tram this fall and we'll never get a chance to ride it skiing. The view of the Teton valley was spectacular, and one couldn't see a single tacky tourist in a fanny pack or a t-shirt/polished rock/stuffed animal shop, and the grazing Moose made you forget for a moment you were close to the worlds largest outdoor mall.

We had a nice quiet dinner at a great sushi place that made dumplings that reminded us of Tony's mom's homemade ones, and now we've retired to the room for a good nights rest. We are up early for what promises to be the best day of riding yet - through Grand Teton and Yellowstone Parks, and up and over the Beartooth Highway to Billings, Montana. We should have a group of four to six other chorus folks on this ride, all leaving at this time with us. The idea of riding over Beartooth is what prompted the whole idea of riding this trip to begin with, and we want to get out of Jackson and across the Parks before the tourists wake up and start up their lumbering mobile homes.

From an overpriced, underutilized hotel in Jackson, WY..

Tony and Gary

Easy Rider 2006: Day 5, SLC to Pocatello

203 miles, and only 2 on the Freeway -- and that was by accident! Actually, it was part of that grand conspiracy to force people to take the super slab and avoid the side roads, and this time we fell for it. Heading north out of Bountiful, UT, US 89 takes a jog to the east, but the obvious road continues forward and directly and WITHOUT AN OPTION -- on to the damned Interstate. We'd mapped out and planned a route with NO Interstate, and by golly we were going to stick to it. We took the next exit and went back to US 89 and continued on our way.

We got up early and loaded up after doing laundry at Mom's and resting for a couple of days. We headed north out of SLC on US 89, after swinging by the Chorus' hotel and making the guys and gals envious of our mode of transportation. I love traveling early on Sunday's -- there's no traffic, the temperatures are cool, and the words of Kris Kristoffeerson's "Sunday Mornin' Coming Down" keep running through my head "..I watched a small kid playing with a can that he was kicking, then I walked across the street and caught the Sunday smell of someone's frying chicken...and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing, and it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday..." We'd hear singing as we passed churches, and see fresh scrubbed Mormon boys in white shirts walking late to Church... Tony was playing count the Ward Houses (Mormon Churches) along the route, but in Davis County he ran out of numbers...

We went up through the suburbs of SLC through Davis and Weber Counties -- I'm awed by how much things have changed, but here and there are little touches of things I remember from growing up in Utah and working in the Bountiful, Farmington, Centerville and Ogden. A few little businesses from my day remain here and there, a familiar neon sign or too -- but much of it has changed beyond recognition. Such is the pace of life after some 24 years.
After Ogden we stuck to the old highway as it clung to the mountains on the east side of the valley, and at Brigham City, we kept going on State roads up the back way to Logan, and then picked up US 91 outside of Logan and rode into Preston, Idaho for lunch. Preston is the setting for the movie "Napoleon Dynamite" -- or so we've been told, as neither of us has seen it, and we've been advised to rent it immediately and repeatedly. We stopped for lunch at a local burger joint, slathered on more sun screen and hit the road once more. It had been a pleasant ride up to that point -- very little traffic on a Sunday morning, and a nice cool temperature.

The Chorus, having sung at a SLC Church that morning, was a few hours behind us, but catching up fast as they were on the super slab of I-15 the whole way. As it was, we followed US 91 up the same way we had come down on Friday, past the small semi-abandoned towns that died when the Interstate came through. Past old drive in theaters and interesting old motels. I'd once toyed with the idea of driving all over the west at night and compiling a coffee table book of old neon signs -- seeing so many broken old ones now makes me wish I had.














This time we took the side roads the ENTIRE way to Pocatello, and got to our hotel by 230 -- well before the afternoon rehearsal and time to rest for a bit. Tony's tux was VERY wrinkled, so he ironed it, and realized that it would wrinkle again if he folded it, forcing him to ride to the show on his bike in his Tux -- he turned a few heads in Pocatello on the way.

The performance tonight was great, and well received by the Pocatello audience. The Hall was beautiful, though only about 1/3 full. The audience very appreciative, and we mingled and chatted for a long time after. Many of the folks in the Chorus joined the tour here in Pocatello, including a number of others on motorcycles, and we are planning several group rides for the next couple of segments. Tomorrow, we are up early to ride over Teton Pass into Jackson, Wyoming.

From the Ameri-Tel Inn (sounds like a phone company doesn't it?) in Pocatello --

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day Four -- SLC

Last night, just before bed, we were downstairs with Mom and Ron watching television when we heard the rain start. By the time we came upstairs to take a look at the rain, it had changed from rain to hail stones. Coupled with some thunder and lightening, it made for an interesting way to end our first night in Salt Lake City.

Surprisingly, we awoke to a beautiful morning and had breakfast before heading over to the Harley Davidson dealer to drop the bikes off for a tune up. Since we were dropping the bikes off at 9am and had no plans until later tonight, I bought tickets to a 10:30am showing of “Superman Returns” at a local movie theatre. Mom and Ron followed us to the dealership and then the four of us stopped by Kinko’s to make 700 copies of the SLC Mayor’s proclamation announcing that Saturday July 8th was to be “Seattle Men’s Chorus and Seattle Women’s Chorus Day” in honor of our last tour stop before heading to the movie.

“Superman Returns” was a good movie and we didn’t realize that it was 2 hours and 45 minutes long. So after the film, we were READY for lunch. We ate at an Applebee’s at the Gateway Mall where we saw the movie and half way through our meal I noticed Dennis Coleman walking by outside. I ran out and we talked and when I mentioned we were inside having lunch with Gary’s parents, he wanted to come in and say hello.

We saw a few other chorus folks in the restaurant and around at the mall before we headed back to the dealership to pick up the bikes. After we did that, Gary and I headed back to the mall where I bought a new watch (I lost my watch after laying it on my luggage to put on some sunscreen in Clifton Idaho -- but then I headed off on the motorcycle without putting the watch back on). While at the mall, I found the PERFECT shirt for the Reception hosted by Salt Lake Men’s Choir tonight. The shirt says simply “I (Heart) LOVE Mormon Boys”.

After a short afternoon nap, Gary and I hopped in Mom and Ron’s Range Rover and headed for the reception at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center. It was a very nice evening where the SL Men’s Choir performed 5 or 6 songs for us, and then SWC, Sensible Shoes and SMC each sang one song before we joined together to perform “This Land is OUR Land” for the guys in Salt Lake.

While all this was going on, Gary worked with the local gay and lesbian bars along with the ACFEA guides and bus drivers to coordinate an after reception bar crawl. Gary was able to arrange free admission for any member of SMC and SWC at both the Trapp and Trapp Door and $2 admission into the women’s bar “Paper Moon” where Sensible Shoes performed “Sweet Dreams” for the people at the bar.

Gary and I got back to his parents house around 11:00pm and I started our last batch of laundry and packed so we can be ready to go in the morning. While the choruses head off to two churches to perform a small selection of songs, Gary and I will be heading back to Pocatello on the back roads through Northern Utah and Southern Idaho. Tomorrow night at 7:30pm, we open our tour with our performance in Pocatello.

From our bedroom in Gary’s parents house…

Tony and Gary

Easy Rider 2006: Day Three - Blackfoot to SLC

It is only 149 miles from Blackfoot to Salt Lake City -- if one sticks to the Interstate. But why would one want to do that when we could do it in 224 miles? The Interstate is a long slab of hot concrete with big triple-trailer rigs wearing ruts in the road surface that grab bike tires and drag you all over. It goes straight as an arrow, and you miss things. The Interstate forces you to go fast -- 75 mph or more just to avoid getting run over. No, who would want that unless they had to? Certainly not us. It appears however that this deviates from the norm -- and the powers that be keep conspiring to MAKE us take the Interstate, and constantly try to direct us or redirect us to it. Try being the operative word here....It seems at every exit, every turn, and every junction, there was a sign telling us to go back to the Interstate "THIS WAY", or even misdirecting US Highway signs pointing to the Interstate as well. We refused to fall for that conspiracy.

This short hop to SLC began with the ubiquitous "breakfast buffet", consisting at the Best Western Blackfoot -- of generic "wheat oh's" and bagels, with tepid weak coffee. We loaded up the bikes, gassed up, and tried to find US-91, the north-south route that was the old road between Northern Utah and Idaho. The main road in Blackfoot was signed for "Interstate 15 Loop", which is the bypass route that was set up in vain to try and get the lemmings off the concrete slab. It really doesn't work, but its where you find the local hangs and dives that serve great burgers and shakes and stuff like that. This did indeed turn into US-91, which, when we found it, we settled back into the bikes, put our feet up on the travel pegs and cruised under the cursed freeway and followed the rail line to the next town. Old roads tend to follow old rail lines -- this one was no exception, and we'd wave at the engineers to get them to blow their horns, and enjoyed the empty road, the cool morning temperatures, and the solitude of the byway. US-91 was once THE major road between Ogden, UT, and northern Idaho, through Idaho's Cache Valley and beyond. The Union Pacific line to Butte, Montana paralleled the route, and there were lots of little monuments set up by the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers to mark history potty-break stops or some such thing. There is (was) generally a small town every 15 miles or so, and many of them cling to life of some sort now that it has passed them by on the Interstate a few miles to the north-west. It's where we found a cool abandoned gas station that hadn't pumped gas in some time -- well before it went over $1 a gallon anyway.

If old US-91 is a side road, then we went off of the side road onto an even more side road -- named the "West Side Highway". It's really more of a farm road, that Idaho maintains by spraying tar down and sprinkling rock chips every few years. It also runs down the West side of the Cache Valley -- hence the name -- trough a string of very very small farm towns, one of which is where my Mother was born and raised.

Clifton, Idaho -- population in the low three digits, has a single gas station/store and a post office, a Mormon ward house, and a handful of my relatives. My "aunt" Jane (really my Grandmother's sister), once ran the store and post office and gas station, but is now 86, a widow, and winters in St. George Utah with the rest of the retired Mormons these days. She was however in Clifton when two sweaty, leather clad Harley Riding guys roared to a stop next to her house, which is next to the store. Once she figured out we were harmless, she insisted we come in and then insisted on going next door to the store to get us a fantastic bar-b-que lunch -- which no one else knows about since they are all stuck on that insane Interstate the other side of the valley. We had a nice, but short visit with Jane and then road off down the West Side Highway and crossed into Utah.

It got very warm after lunch and we went around Logan, Utah -- something I was hesitant to do, but the traffic congestion on the one road through town is insane and it was rather hot and the stop/go traffic would have been no fun. We picked up US 91 again at the end of the Cache Valley and rode over Sardine Pass to Brigham City Utah. At this point we had only a short stretch of US-89, which I thought would be cooler than the super-slab since when I was growing up this road was lined with miles and miles of fruit trees and orchards and the shade was very cool, and there were lots of little drive ins and fruit stands to stop and get refreshed at. Alas, they have all been replaced by tract houses as this is now part of the Utah Urban Sprawl. We opted to high-tail it to Salt Lake for a cool shower, so we genuflected and throttled up the on-ramp to I-15.

I don't think either of us had been more miserable this trip than the stretch from Brigham City to Salt Lake. The freeway was under construction, the traffic heavy, the speed limit an insane 75 mph, and we got stuck behind several "almost" empty dump trucks who had just enough sand to spit out little grains every few seconds which felt like a visit to the acupuncturist.

By the time we got to Bountiful, about 10 miles from SLC, Tony signaled he'd had enough and we exited off onto US 89 and right into the lap of an old "Dairy Ann" drive in, where we promptly stopped for an ice cream and a break. After that, we decided to stick to 89 and come into SLC the "old" way behind the Capitol building. We cruised through town, and were tempted to stop by and say hello to my Mother and her husband Ron who are tour guides for the Mormon Church -- we thought our road weary, sweaty biker look would go over big and maybe scare a few old ladies at the same time. However, the cool shower at home was too tempting, so we made it to my Mother's house a little after 3p.

So now we are showered, in clean clothes, and waiting for Mom and Ron to get home so we can go to dinner. We'll rest in SLC for a day or so -- it will be nice to NOT get on the bikes, except for a run to SLC Harley for a tune up for the next leg of the trip -- we'll drop the bikes all day at the dealer tomorrow, and be ready to go Sunday morning after the Chorus sings at a couple of Baptist churches and boards their buses for Pocatello, Idaho, for the first show on Sunday night. We'll also take a break from the blog, so until then...

From a cool, air-conditioned couch in my Mother's house...

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day Two, Lewiston to Blackfoot

The shape of Idaho is somewhat like that of a letter "L". Our route was very much "L" shaped today, and at times it felt like "'ell" too. Our route from Lewiston, up along the Washington/Idaho border, to Blackfoot in far south-east Idaho, took us through some very wonderful scenery, and some absolutely awful weather in a total ride of 546 miles in an "L" shape if you follow on a map.

Curiosity about long-distance motorcycle riders tends to invite questions and start conversations with everyone from desk clerks to people in line at the freebie breakfast buffet that, along with free wireless Internet, is the calling card of today's modern road side lodge. In the old days along Route 66 when American was traveling in the 30s, and 40s, "modern" meant air-cooled and car port. In the 50s, it was a phone, and in the 60s, color TV. Today its free breakfast and high-speed Internet...but I digress.

The point I was making is that everywhere, nearly everyone asked where we were going and how long we'd been on the road, and nearly everyone seemed envious about the bikes or the ride. Guys dressed to ride make for an easy conversation starter, and we learn a lot about what to expect and find along the way.

We left Lewiston a little before 8am and headed south on US 95. It was cool and a tad overcast. We climbed up to the Camas Prairie area of Idaho through the Nez Perce Indian Reservation. It started to sprinkle a little bit, making the air nice and cool, and as we were riding through some lush hay fields that had just been mowed, it smelled wonderful. One of the best things about being on the bikes are the smells. It's why dogs like to hang out the window when you drive -- the smells when riding are intense. Good and bad. The good ones, like rain dampened fresh hay, and sawdust at a sawmill far outweigh the occasional pulp mill or manure spreader.

The clouds appeared to be thickening up so we stopped and put on our rain gear. Riding in the wet isn't fun, and when one's clothes are wet to boot, its even more miserable. We just put on the jackets as it didn't appear that it would rain so much that our leather chaps wouldn't keep our legs dry, and we more or less had off again - on again sprinkles for quite some time. The Camas Prairie area is a stunningly lush and beautiful high prairie, and the ride was fantastic -- for about 160 miles.

Just as we started to climb up into the mountains near McCall we could see a rain squall up ahead, and before we knew it, we were riding in a downpour that soaked us through the leather, and we'd have been fine and dandy had we had snorkels to breathe with. We tended to stop every 30 miles or so at gas stations just to wipe off our glasses and shake off the water as best we could. When the storm suddenly ended just as we started to drop down into Boise, the sun came out, and we started to roast in our water-proof rain coats. When we hit a remote controlled signal (replacing a flagman at a construction site), we had just enough time to take them off and stuff them in the saddle bags before the light changed and we were moving. It was very hot by the time we hit Boise at 230p, and we needed to stop for lunch.

We found a nice diner in Eagle, just outside of Boise and sat down for a good lunch and rest. But as we were eating we could see one of those typical Western afternoon thunder storms, and sure enough, just as we left the diner it started to sprinkle and we could hear the thunder. It appeared however that we could get ahead of the storm, and so we aimed the bikes for the short stretch of I-84 that we had to take to get to Mountain Home. Unfortunately, we were wrong, and we got hit by the second downpour of the day just as we were getting onto the freeway and WITHOUT our rain gear on. The storm lasted all the way through Boise and it ended just as quickly as it started, and because it was hot and dry away from the storm, and we were riding along at 75 mph, we dried out rather quickly. It also washed off all the sun-screen we'd applied before leaving Boise -- not a good thing since our arms look like we dunked them into a vat of brown paint up to our elbows.

About 10 miles out of Boise traffic came to a dead stop -- apparently there was an accident a few miles up. Rather than sit idling on the freeway, we went up the shoulder to the nearest exit and a large Truck Stop. We stopped, put on more sun-screen, and checked the map. We found a back way to Mountain Home and decided to take it, and headed out over the freeway, which was still plugged up like a colicky baby.

This is high desert with lots of sagebrush -- and apparently Antelope too, as a small herd of 6 bounded across our path quite suddenly. As cool as it was, it was very unexpected and somewhat frightening since accidents with motorcycles and deer (and antelope too) are fairly common to those who ride in the country at night. I'm not sure how common in the high-desert in the middle of the day however.

We picked up US 20 east, and headed out. This road leads to the turn-off to Sun Valley, but it travels a very sparsely populated area and we made great time and the temperature cooled off and the riding was almost perfect. There were a few small towns along the route, each with a grain elevator and a gas station or two, and not much else. This road also took us along the northern edge of the Craters of the Moon National Monument. It really felt like we were on the moon -- miles from nowhere, and no plant life growing among the lava flows. The road was posted for some construction work back at the junction with the road to Sun Valley (and we'd been tempted to detour to Sun Valley and stay a night, but decided to keep going). The "construction" consisted of removing the entire road surface and replacing it with...nothing -- for 9 miles. Those were a long nine miles at 30mph and through gravel, sand, and rocks. We both felt like doing what the late Pope John Paul did and getting off the bikes and kissing the asphalt once it resumed.

Our original itinerary had us in Pocatello tonight, but we realized it was not going to be possible, given the construction zone, the accident on the freeway and the slow riding in the rain, so we settled on shooting for Arco, Idaho -- the First Town Powered By Atomic Energy according to the sign at City Hall. It also had only one motel that was a little to reminiscent of the Bates Motel for Tony's comfort, so although it was 9pm, we decided to try for Blackfoot. 66 miles further on, which sits on I-15 and would have, we hoped, a venerable plethora of accommodation to choose from.

The road from Arco south to Blackfoot has to be tied with US 6 in Nevada as the "Loneliest Stretch of Highway in the US". We didn't pass one car for 66 miles. However spooky it was, it was glorious as the sun was sinking over the high desert and the road was straight as an arrow and appeared to be disappearing into the horizon. There were only a few scattered lights of ranch buildings or mysterious "Area 51" kind of buildings for the Idaho National Laboratory, and had we been abducted by aliens it wouldn't have come as a surprise.

We finally got to Blackfoot a little before 10pm, and got a room at the Best Western and just finished a late dinner at the Sonic Drive In across the street. We are both ready for some sleep. In the morning we'll make the 4 hour run into Salt Lake and expect to be there by sometime mid-afternoon. It will be good to rest the bikes (and our butts) for a few days before meeting up with the Chorus and starting that part of the tour.

It's been a very long day -- and we've covered a lot of territory, and I think it's the longest day on the motorcycles we've ever spent, both in time and in miles. Time to hit the hay....

From the Best Western in Blackfoot, Idaho

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Day One, Seattle - Lewiston

It took a while -- but we finally got on the road, and we did 379 miles to Lewiston, Idaho. Considering how late we got started, this is a small miracle. To make it this far is about in line with our original itinerary and we figure we are only about a half day behind our original schedule. It took some doing however.

We got up at 6am and promptly called Harley Road Side Assistance -- the AAA type program that gives us a free tow to the nearest Harley dealer in case of a breakdown -- which we purchased especially for this trip. Our goal was to get to the dealer before they opened so as to be first in line. The nice operator at Road Side Assist said the truck would be there in 30-45 minutes, so we got dressed, loaded up and waited. Promptly in 30-45 minutes actually means 2.5 hours, as they finally showed up at 830am. Our flip-flop wearing, flat-bed tow truck driver -- lets call him Apu -- was a bit confused about how to first back down our driveway, and second, how to load Tony's bike. First hooked his tow strap to what he thought was the front fork, but really was Tony's windshield -- which when he started to pull, came right off. We then pushed the bike up to the top of the driveway, and Apu took the truck out into the street, where Tony rode down the street and up the flatbed ramp. The bed, having had spilled oil that Apu had thoughtfully sprayed with water to wash off before hand, was a bit slick and Tony skidded the bike along the bed and tipped it over and almost off onto the street. Fortunately he didn't and we got the bike upright with no damage, and off we went to Downtown Harley Davidson -- which is actually in Tukwila.

I rode ahead to warn them, and to plead that they take it right away. Fortunately they did, and while Tony slept, they worked, and after much testing, probing, and postulating, they diagnosed the short, fixed it, reattached the windshield that Apu had taken off, and sent us on our way at 11am.

We went half a block down the road to the gas station, filled up, and said to each other "Here we go!!" At that moment in time, the headlights on Tony's bike went out. Back up the street to Downtown Harley Davidson (actually in Tukwila) we go where they were quite shocked to see us return. We explained the problem and back up on the rack went the Road King. An hour later we went back in to find it stripped down to the frame and all the wiring essentially taken off. At this point we decide to go to lunch at the former Denny's across the street. By 1230p we wandered back to find the bike put back together with essentially all new wiring. A short test ride later and we were pronounced good to go -- again. Taking no chances, Tony knelt down in solemn prayer to the motorcycle Gods, and whatever he said, it must have worked because we hit the road at 1pm on the nose.

We went southeast and up and over the spectacular Chinook Pass on the east side of Mt. Rainier National Park. The air was crisp, clean and spectacularly fresh, and made us forget the 7 hour delay in starting today. It reminded us why we ride the motorcycles on trips like this.

After cresting the pass, we dropped down into Central Washington and Yakima (the Palm Springs of Washington according to their highway sign). They grow a lot of fruit in this part of the state -- or as they say every few feet along the highway -- FRUIT in all capital letters. Lots and lots of FRUIT. We don't know what kind of FRUIT, but it is for sale all along the highway. Being shouted at in all capital letters FRUIT -- with no explanation -- reminded me of traveling along Interstate 44 and old US 66 in Missouri, outside of St. Louis, where ever exit had a massive billboard that shouted JESUS. Just that -- JESUS. Maybe JESUS needs to go to Yakima and get some FRUIT.

It was HOT in Yakima too -- a tad over 100, which feels lovely straddling a hot motor clad in black leather while frying pan hot asphalt bounces heat back up at you.

We picked up the freeway for a stretch in Yakima and exited off in Zillah, Washington. Since we'd been working with our "higher power" all day -- ever since the parking lot of the dealership, and traveling through God's country up around Mt. Rainier, we decided to exit off in Zillah to try and find the much acclaimed, but never found, Church of God -- Zillah. (Say it out loud with me..Church of God Zillah.) The mythical church was nowhere to be found, so back on Interstate 84 we went. The drive through the lower Yakima Valley was long, noisy and HOT -- and exactly what we didn't want to do. Our original plan had been to get through this stretch early in the morning before the heat built up -- but as it was we had no choice. It was a long 75 miles to Pasco, where we picked up US 12 East.

Neither of us had been in this part of Washington -- and it was very charming. We especially loved riding through the vineyards, especially when the sprinklers were running, making the air deliciously cool. This is a rolling, hilly country, where grapes give way to wheat -- miles and miles of wheat. The highway winds through some small, almost ghost towns, along rusty railroad tracks, and tall grain elevators. We averaged about 50mph, and about 7pm stopped in the small town of Waitsburg for dinner. The only thing open was a charming tavern where we had home-made Calzone and Iced Tea.


It was still light when we left at 8p and we rolled east through more small towns and a spectacular sunset on the prairie. We dropped down to the Snake River and crossed into Idaho and found a nice motel in Lewiston and decided to stop here for the night.

Tony just walked down to the mini-mart for some ice-cream, and I'm looking forward to a cool shower and some needed sleep. It's been a very long day, but we are on the road to Salt Lake, and making good progress. Tomorrow we'll head south on US 95 towards Boise and hope to make Pocatello by nightfall of day two.

In the Quality Inn, overlooking the Snake River in Lewiston, ID --

Tony and Gary

Easy Rider 2006: The Road NOT Travelled

It could be just bad luck, or it could be an omen, or it could be my mother's latent telepathic ability -- we don't really know, but none the less, we are still here in Seattle tonight. We'd loaded up the bikes, locked up the house, and were sitting astride the mounts when Tony's bike failed to start. Digging into the owners manual it appears to be an electrical short of some sort, and try as we might to find anyone with some diagnostic and mechanical skills to get us going, we were unable to get Tony's Road King to come to life.

Our plan now is to have the bike towed to the Harley Dealership about 7am so we are first in line in the morning when they open up. Then we'll beg, plead, bribe or do whatever it takes to see if they can get his bike fixed and running. At that point we'll start heading out -- doing our best to keep to our initial itinerary.

We absolutely must be in Pocatello, Idaho by Sunday afternoon for the first SMC concert -- so we have plenty of time for repairs and changes in plans.

But for now, we are eating Taco Bell tacos, having given all our food to the neighbors, and generally pouting and sulking, and crossing our fingers for a speedy repair tomorrow so we can get on our way.

Living in stage two (after denial, but before bargaining)...and still in Seattle..and very disappointed...

Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: The Red State Tour

They say the highway is just one big road, and leads from here to there (as sung by the Seattle Men's Chorus, taken from the movie "A Mighty Wind").

Here we go, taking the very 'blue state' Seattle Men's Chorus and Seattle Women's Chorus into the very 'red' states of Idaho, Utah, Wyoming and Montana so we've unofficially dubbed it the 'Color Purple Tour'. Having reached my mid 40s and deciding to revert to my childhood and take up motorcycling and heading out on the open road like Peter Fonda did in Easy Rider, (albeit without the flowing locks of hair), Tony and I decided to ride the Harley's for the trip. Originally we decided we'd just rent bikes in Salt Lake and ride the concert portion with the Chorus, flying to and from SLC to give us time with the family, but about three weeks ago Tony decided that he'd like to ride the whole way. I think seeing the movie "Cars" a few weeks ago also stoked our passion for the open road and slowing down a bit. So here we go.

If you saw the movie Cars, you know the central story is about finding the side roads where time has stood still. We'll then be avoiding the Interstates at all costs -- but there will be a few stretches where we unfortunately have no choice since the Interstate was built on the old road. But where possible, we'll be taking the 'Route 66' variant, and as a consequence, it's going to take a lot longer to get there than the 12 hours we used to drive non-stop from Seattle to Salt Lake on the freeway in the Hummer.

If you are so inclined, get out your Rand McNally's and follow along -- here's the projected itinerary. We'll leave Seattle after rush hour traffic today (June 27th) and head towards Yakima taking Washington 410 over Chinook Pass. We'll spend the night in Yakima and get up early on the 28th and head out across Central Washington to avoid the heat, aiming for Walla Walla and Lewiston, Idaho. In all my years in Washington I've never gone to Walla Walla and am looking forward to seeing that corner of the state. Time permitting we'll stop at a State Senate Republican fundraiser and scare them before dropping off some campaign checks. Ideally we'd like to get beyond Lewiston, Idaho ­ heading south on US 95 towards McCall. We'll spend the night somewhere on that stretch of highway.

The morning of the 29th well keep heading south on US 95 to Boise, where unfortunately we have to pick up the Interstate for a short run to Mountain Home. There we'll pick up US 20 and go east through Craters of the Moon and south towards Pocatello, and depending on time, weather, and general butt soreness, we'll keep going towards Salt Lake. I expect we¹ll spend the night somewhere near Pocatello and get to Salt Lake on the morning of the 30th.

We'll rest up in Salt Lake, have the bikes tuned, and then bright and early on the 2nd of July, we head north with the Chorus to Pocatello for the first show. From there it's on to Jackson, Wyoming over Teton Pass, then up through Yellowstone and over Beartooth Pass to Billings for another show. From Billings we'll take a long and loopy route to get to Bozeman for another show, then head south again to Salt Lake City for the final show on July 8th. On the 9th we'll again point the bikes toward Seattle ­ but have yet to determine an exact routing.

All in all, it should be about 3,000 plus miles, and we are due back to work in Seattle on the 12th of July, so the trip home might be a bit more rushed than it was going south. Nonetheless, here we go ­me aboard my 2006 Harley Dyna Street Bob, and Tony on his 2005 Harley Road King. The bikes are loaded and ready to go, and shortly we will be too.

Still in the driveway, waiting for rush hour to die down ---



Gary and Tony

Easy Rider 2006: Countdown to June 27th

Gary and I are getting ready to leave for a two week journey through the Northern Rockies on our Harley's. We are riding the roads while members of Seattle Men's Chorus and Seattle Women's Chorus travel by plane and bus on a 10 day tour.

As we have done with our trip to Scotland and Whistler before that, we will do our best to update our blog with stories and pictures from this trip. At the end of the trip, we will have put more than 3000 miles on the bikes and hopefully we will have as many stories to tell.

Here is the promotional stuff on the tour:

To sing the heart and soul of this majestic nation, we take the Northern Rockies for our inspriation. From Salt Lake City, Helena, to Pocatello, the music rings from Jackson Hole to Monticello. From Billings, Ogden, Bozeman, Butte and Bonner's ferry, the song of freedom sweeps across the rolling prairie as we sing the songs of this great land.

With a true pioneer spirit, the internationally-renowed Seattle Men's Chorus and their sister chorus Seattle Women's Chorus are hitting the road, touring through neighboring states for the first time in history!

Look for more soon!

Scotland2005: Post Trip Humor

Seems like everyone is doing travelogue blogs these days...

Scotland2005: Home

We just wanted to send out a final note letting you know we got home safe and sound. As I write this it's 5am on Wednesday, October 29th, and we have both been wide awake since about 430am, thanks to the after effects of jet lag. Yesterday it was 3am, and tomorrow we hope to be back to a regular 6am. We are both still feeling the effects of long jet travel -- sore scratchy throat, mild cough, and all the other ailments that come with being cooped up in a big toothpaste tube for 15 plus hours breathing recirculated air and germs of our fellow travelers.



Our trip back from Wales was quick and fast, although the train did fill up as we approached London with people who'd made a getaway for the weekend. We arrived back about 7pm and went for one last dinner at Garfunkels, that UK "Denney-esque" type diner. They had started an ad campaign while we were there with tube posters saying "A UK Institution" for 25 years. In UK time that's a drop in the bucket I suppose, but we liked it and it seemed a fitting last meal in town. Of course we had the Waffle Toffee sundae for dessert. Back on South Beach when we get home (I'm feeling a tad fat from ignoring the diet all these days).

Tony did his usual miraculous packing job -- unfortunately I'd been meaning to take a picture of the process since what he can stuff into a suitcase is truly beyond words. The usual process is that we lay out everything on the bed, then he makes me stand in a corner far away so I don't "help" (or inadvertently get packed I don't know which), and he goes to town. I've never seen anything like it, and by the time he's done, there we have everything neatly put into two rolling travel bags.

I however have control over the daypack -- which we use as our carry-on for the plane -- it has our reading material, tickets, passports, note pads, camera etc. It is the one thing Tony lets me pack, I suppose this is because there is very little in it and I can't do any damage packing it. Since I packed it, naturally the camera was deep inside when the real packing began so "out of sight, out of mind" I forgot to take a picture. Next time we go on a big trip I'll do one before we go to illustrate this. If they gave out an Oscar for packing, Tony would win it.

We decided to stay up quite late to be able to sleep on the plane, and fortunately London's gay night life doesn't stop, and we got home abut 3am. We slept for a bit, but worried that we'd oversleep our 915am flight, we had a wake-up call, the in-room TV alarm, and the travel alarm clock all set to go off at 6a. They all did, and we groggily stumbled down the street to Victoria Station, hopped on the Gatwick Express and made our way to the airport.

They say London is famous for fog -- we never saw any before on previous trips. We got introduced this time. By the time we got to Gatwick is was pretty foggy and by the time we got through customs and passport control and to the gate, several miles it seemed like away from the ticket counter, it was time to board. Naturally they let us board the plane, seal up the doors and then announce "due to fog, we are going to pull away from the gate and park at the end of the runway for 2 hours or more as we wait for a take-off slot." No way could they let us wait on the concourse with food, shops and things to do. So away we went to the far end of Gatwick and parked, fuel burning away, engines idling, and 200+ people on a 777 trapped in a prison of recurculated air.

About 11a, the fog lifted and so did we, and away west we went. At least it cut down on our 4 hour layover in Atlanta, which by the time we got there, was now just 2 hours. Nothing like 2 hours at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Hell to make one grateful that we live where we do. Then onto a 5.5 hour trip to Seattle. By the time it finally landed at 7p Seattle time we were both so tired of flying we swore we'd never go again -- or at least fly British Airways direct from Seattle next time.

Our friends M&M picked us up at the airport and deposited us in a driveway full of fallen aspen leaves with a huge tub of mail that came in while we were gone. We both spent yesterday sorting through the parts of life that go on while you are on vacation -- work stuff, home stuff, mail, e-mail, and small tasks around the house. We sort of made a dent in it, and should be back to normal in another day or so.

If you are truly interested in our travel adventures you'll note we've expanded the blog site and that Tony spent some time this morning updating it with pictures while I wrote this, as well as posting some of our summer travel this year before we went to Scotland. It now makes a nice on-line picture book of our adventures. I don't know if its ostentatious or fun or both, but if you enjoyed our Scotland adventure, read back into the archives as Tony put up our Whistler motorcycle trip e-mails to friends and family along with some pictures, and renamed the whole site. The archives are located on the right-hand side of the blog and start in July 2005 and continues into August 2005.

I expect we'll add to it when we send out other travel e-mails in the future, and it will be a fun way for us to share our experiences with you.

Now its back to the real world of clients, and politics, and work, and friends and neighbors and chorus and all that we do. It's good to be back, but a bit of a daunting task to get caught up for sure. First thing today we go pick up the dogs, whom we've missed terribly. And now that we are more or less back to functioning on Seattle time, we'll be catching up with our friends and family face to face.

Thanks again for coming along with us. Don't be a stranger.

From our Home on Fauntleroy Park..

Gary and Tony

Scotland2005: Hello from Wales (of all places)

And you thought we were in London. We had to get out of the city after yesterday. I don't think I've ever seen more people in my life than I did yesterday in London -- most of them on the tube. If we hadn't gotten out of town we likely would have gone quite devistatingly mad. On top of it being a very nice sunny weekend which drew lots of tourists to town, two of the tube lines were shut down so it dramatically increased the traffic on the other lines. It was almost summmer-like weather, so it was warm, stuffy and humid inside the tube, and the streets were very crowded with folks walking about too. We walked around late into the evening in t-shirts. London is a very big city anyway, and it was truly miserable yesterday. Tony and I both said if we lived in the UK, it would have to be in Edinburgh, follwed by Glasgow.

Not to say we didn't have a good time, London is a very fun city -- but we did do a lot of walking and lining up and being squashed like sardines in subway cars. We first went up to the theatre district and bought tickets for the matinee performance of "Guys and Dolls" which is my pennance for taking Tony on so many train rides. It was a good show, and like everything else in London yesterday, packed to the rafters.

We also did some shopping and wandering about the streets of London, along with doing one touristy thing. We'd done the usual sights on previous visits, but we both realized we had never gone through Westminster Abbey. Apparenly a lot of other people hadn't gone through either since the line to get in was 40 minutes long. Unlike Disneyland, it dindn't weave back and forth, it just went straight out the doors and down the street.

The inside was quite fascinating, particulary since we'd both read Da Vinci Code, so naturally we went looking for the Chapter House and the Isaac Newton memorial (if you've read the book you know why). Virtually every King and Queen of England are burried there as well, including Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots and Edward I (known as the Hammer of the Scots for the destruction he brought fighting with Robert the Bruce). It makes a fitting end to our trip since so much of what we saw and experienced in Scotland this trip was directly related to all of that, to visit those graves on the last leg of the trip made the circle complete.

We did some night clubbing last night as well -- not really Tony and my scene, but it was fun, and much different that going out in the states. Crowded and sweaty venues there as well, so we were quite tired when we got back to the Hotel and needed to get out of town -- hence the side trip to Wales.

Neither Tony nor I have been to Wales, and since our rail passes were still good today, we decided to head out to Cardiff, which is about a two hour train ride out from London. We got here a bit after lunch and toured their ancient castle at the center of town. It is composed of three parts -- an ancient Roman fort built in the 1st Century, a Norman castle from the 12th Century, and an exceedingly ostentatious mannor house built by the Marquess of Butte in the 18th Century. They gloss over the Roman and Norman history -- indeed they don't even charge you for admission to that part. The 18th Century manor house is what apparently draws people and which they charge admission for. It's the kind of place I think that the lady we ran into at Linlithgow in Scotland earlier in the trip would have loved. Even the guide called it "Victorian Disneyland".

This is the kind of place that Cal Hockley (Rose's fiance in "Titanic") would have built no doubt. At the time the Marquess was one of the richest people in the UK -- in today's dollars he'd earn about £3 Billion from his estate each year, because he had all the mineral rights to the coal in Wales. The House was rather over the top to say the least,ánd he only used it 6 weeks a year. I have to wonder if 200 years from now people will be touring Bill Gates place in Medina like we were touring this house and marveling over the excess and excentricites.

It was a nice train ride out to Wales as well -- though not terribly scenic. The rail line was First Great Western, another franchise owned by the giant First Company. We flew along at 120mph for most of the trip, and had one of the 1st class cars to ourselves. It was a nice respite from the crowds of London.

We are sitting in a nice sushi bar/Internet cafe in Cardiff just up from the train station. It seems like a nice city, dominated by a huge soccer/rugby stadium. Since we've already explored much of Scotland, this might be a nice place to explore down the road.

We leave for home tomorrow morning -- actually, about the time you go to bed on Sunday night, we'll be getting up and making our way to Victoria station then out on the Gatwick Express to the airport -- then on to Atlanta, and home to Seattle. We are both anxious to get home -- it's been a wonderful and very memorable trip. We hope you have enjoyed coming along with us.

From the Sushi and Internet Cafe in Cardiff, Wales ...

Goodbye

Gary and Tony

Scotland2005: Back in London

Well, we are back in London. The trip is winding down, and although we miss home and the dogs and our friends, I for one am sad to leave Scotland. It's such a beautiful country, and the people are all very friendly, and I feel quite at home there. We grew familiar with Glasgow (although Tony's sense of direction there never clicked in), and our hotel staff there was the best of the trip. We'll definitely stay there again. London is a huge cosmopolitan city with its own fun and charms, but I'd return to Scotland yearly if I could and if Tony would let me.

We are back at the Internet Cafe across the street from Victoria Station in central London -- where we started the trip. All around Victoria -- indeed in every big city in the UK, we are surrounded by US Brands -- Kentucky Fried Chicken, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, and the Internet Cafe is attached to a Subway sandwich shop. It is clear that the US economy dominates the world (but for how long?) I noticed the same thing in Hong Kong and other cities. It makes me wonder how come we don't see a British equivalent outside of the UK -- why we don't see Brit fast-food joints over in the states -- I don't think I can name a single UK consumer brand that has any real market presence in the US like KFC, Starbucks and McD's have here.

That is not to say that there aren't UK industries over in the states -- Scottish Power owns PacificCorp, the big electric utility in OR, WA and UT for one. Another giant that we saw a lot of here was First -- not one that is terribly familiar or that you'll recognize I suspect, but they own everything related to transportation over here. In the UK First runs the bus system in Edinburgh and Glasgow, they also have several of the national rail franchises here including all the trains in Scotland on ScotRail. In the US, First runs the School Buses in Washington, along with the Community Transit system in Seattle and a number of other cities. It's a HUGE company. But what we don't see are the UK consumer brands over in the US like we see US brands over here. Just an observation.

Along that line, we took a different rail route back to London than we have in the past. Last trip, as well as the north bound trip this time, we took the Great North East Railway -- GNER. It runs up the UK East Coast Mainline between London and Scotland. It's the quickest way to get up to Scotland from London, and they have wonderful trains. They've decorated their trains in a very tasteful, very traditional scheme, with dark colors, dark paneling and wide first class seats. It takes about 4 hours to go between London and Edinburgh.

We decided to take the West Coast Mainline back this time -- and the franchise is operated by Virgin Rail. In the UK they privatised the railways back in the Thatcher years (she turned 80 yesterday and there was a birthday party hosted by the Queen BTW). The actual tracks are owned by a company called NetworkRail, and they handle also all the dispatching of passenger and freight. Both passenger and freight are run by various train franchises. Companies bid on the franchise for 10 years and have operating rights on certain city pairings or routings. They set fares and pay NetworkRail for the track time. NetworkRail is independent and treats each company equally.

Virgin Rail is the same Virgin that is the large record company, cell phone provider and airline company. They have Virgin Trains over here on the west side of the UK. Richard Branson, the chairman, is sort of like a very eccentric Bill Gates -- one of the richest people in the UK, and has his fingers in a lot of things. They even serve Virgin Cola on his trains. He also has tons of bucks. He invested in brand new eqiupment in the last year -- very sleek, very modern trains that are more like airlines than trains (however with much greater room). They all have very modern decor, lighting, and gee-gaws like in-seat music (just like on the airline). The trains are made in Spain, and they have high-speed tilting mechanisms that force the train to lean into curves so it can go faster without all the jarring and swaying. It's really amazing and fast, and much like riding on an airline as it is about to take off and become airborne.

The West Coast line takes a lot longer -- almost 5 1/2 hours compared to the East Coast line. It runs through the very heart of industrial England, through their "rust belt" if you will. Cities like Birmingham, and Sheffield (where the movie Full Monty was set), and Manchester. One sees lots of abandoned factories along this route, and it's quite similar to going between Ohio and New York via train in the US.

We had first class tickets (naturally), and boy are we glad we did. This train filled up and in coach they were standing in the isles and vestibules. A lot of folks going to London for the weekend. Meanwhile we sat in a half-empty first class car and lorded it over them, although they kept sneaking down to use our loo. We (that is the "royal" we -- those of us in 1st class) were all rather put off by the riff-raff invading, very Charles Dickenish don't you think?

Although it was a long trip, I quite enjoyed it. I'm very content to sit and watch the world go by from a train seat. I find it hard to read or do anything else, especially when I'm in a place I've never been. I don't want to miss anything. While Tony read and finished his second book of the trip, and the tabloids, and had a nap, I was content with my map and timetable and an open window. I know it sounds boring -- but it's what I love. I need to SEE things -- to look at the landscape, to wonder what is in the factory, to plot my course. It's why I love driving and riding my motorcycle too, and why I HATE flying with a passion. I can't see anything and it bores me to tears.

We got to London in the height of rush hour, so the tube trip over to Victoria was rather pleasant to say the least. But we are settled in our hotel and figuring out what we'll do for the next few days. The weather is lovely -- and much warmer than Scotland, and it's supposed to be sunny all weekend. Our railpasses are good through Sunday, so we can get out of London for a bit -- maybe head out to Stonehenge, or down to the beach town of Brighton. We don't know yet.

Tony is looking for theatre tickets as I write this -- we tried to get some on-line ones for Billy Elliot, but so far haven't been able to. Tony also wants to do some shopping, and maybe go to a museum, and even thought about calling Delta to see if we could bump our flights back to Sunday from Monday, though I'd rather not.

Tonite we'll find a nice place for dinner, and maybe hit one of the gay clubs and enjoy London's nightlife.

Winding down the adventure from the Internet Cafe near Victoria Station, London..

Gary and Tony

Scotland2005: Ye tak the High Road and I'll tak the Low Road

Well here we are back in Glasgow again. The storms have cleared and it's been a sunny day so far and a wonderful train ride back from Oban. Got the laundry done and we checked back into the same hotel and in the same room, as when we left on Monday. Familiarity is good -- especially when one has been on the road for as long as we have. It's why we like Edinburgh so much.

We've just been wandering about Glasgow this afternoon after doing the laundry, enjoying the sunny weather and the shopping strip. We stopped by Glasgow Cathedral, which is the only major church to make it intact through the Scottish reformation in 1560. Parts of it date from the 11th Century, and it contains the tomb of St. Mungo, who died in the 7th Century and is the patron saint for Glasgow. Suffice to say it's a VERY OLD PLACE.

Glasgow is very busy. There are a lot of people on the streets -- young people. It almost makes me feel old -- but the eye candy is something else. Glasgow is home to three major Scottish universities, and as such is full of students -- and all three have downtown campuses right near where we are.

After we left the Youth Hostel's Internet access terminals last night where we sent out our update, we had to return the little blue Ford to the "car hire" agency. Even after three days and several hundred miles, I instinctively went to the left door to drive away, and then correcting myself, went to the right side, sat down, and reached with my right arm to the left side for the seat-belt. It wasn't there, it's on the right side, which your reach for with your left hand! It makes me wonder if Brits are naturally left handed, since the radio dial and the cup-holder for a driver over here are operated or used with the left hand. The gear shift is left handed too. For a "rightie" like me, it must give me a little taste of every day life for "lefties" in a "rightie" world. It was quite frustrating and somewhat difficult and awkward at times.

We had Chinese for dinner -- apparently rice is extra here as all the menu items were noted as "rice not included". It wasn't bad, though no matter where we are, Tony tries to get them to make Kung Pao like his mother does -- and unfortunately no one ever does.

Tony did his usual spectacular job of packing us back up and we left on the 820a train back to Glasgow. It was sunny, clear, and a beautiful sunrise over the Atlantic. The West Highland rail line is one that cries out for a US style scenic train with big windows and dome cars, but alas, we had the usual ScotRail self-powered cars -- nonetheless, the views were grand, and the fall colors vivid and bright.

It's a bit melencholy to think that the trip is winding down and that we'll not be up in the Highlands again for some time. We decided to head back to London tomorrow, and we'll spend the next three nights in London, taking in some shows and maybe a few sights. Tony said he's ready to go home, though truth be told I'm not.

From Glasgow..on our last night in Scotland this trip...

Gary and Tony

Ye tak the high road and I'll tak the low road and I'll be in Scotland afore ye, where me and my true love will ever want to be...

SCOTLAND FOREVER!!!

Scotland2005: Last day (thank God) in Oban

Wet, wet, wet. Not like people from Seattle aren't used to it, but it's been very wet the last few days. We've often said that the weather here is very similar to Seattle's, but it's rained so hard that there has been major flooding in England and Scotland, south of where we are -- so much so that the rail lines and some freeways are shut down. If this keeps up, we may have an adventure getting back to London this weekend.

Last night we went over to a little "TexMex" place here in Oban. Let's just say that the Scots do a very interesting TexMex, which consists of dumping Pace Picante Sauce on anything cooked, wrapping it in a tortilla and calling it TexMex. We were also the only ones in the restaurant at 8pm too. This town really does die at 530pm.

This morning we got up early and drove up the coast to Ft. William. It's about 50 miles away, but it still took us 90 minutes. The roads here, though two lanes, are very windy and very scenic by the same token, but distances here aren't great (like we are used to in the West), and 70 miles is almost considered a day's journey.

We got to Ft. William and found our train waiting on the platform. The Jacobite Steam Train is run by a charter outfit, and goes up the West Highland line, a very scenic rail line through rugged mountains and glens that was built in 1880, and is considered an engineering marvel at the time. The train doubles as the Harry Potter train from the movie, and they filmed the train from the air in the scenes where they go from Kings Cross to Hogwarts. The cars are all from the late WWII era, and one of the cars even has those traidtional compartments that that seat six on facing couches. All have wood panelling and plush seats. We had first class tickets, two single seats facing with a wee table between. Coffee and tea provided (really warm water with food coloring, so we sufficed with diet cokes and short bread cookies).

The train is called the "Jacobite" after the people who supported the return of the Stuart kings after the English civil war. Jacobite" refers to supporters of the lineage of King James, and James in latin is Jacob. "Although technically the pretender to the throne was named Charles (hence "Bonnie Prince Charlie"), he was a direct descendent of the line of Jameses that ruled Scotland for centuries. When he attempted to regain power, his base of support was all in this area of the Highlands and his supporters were named Jacobites (there will be a test later on all this).

The train filled up with quite a few people. Mostly guys -- it must be a "guy thing". Most were also train buffs, or railfans, or as they are known here "trainspotters". I guess old steam trains, like old cars, and really any kind of big machinery attract guys, and very tollerent spouses -- Tony included. While I spent much of the trip hanging out the vestibule window feeling the wind, smelling the steam and smoke, and watching the scenery, Tony sat and read, watched out the window, and eavesdropped on the other conversations going on around him. (Tony writes: Mind you, I am still battling a cold and didn't think sticking my face into the rain and wind would be a good cure for my ailment) Tony said one young chap, fresh back from Iraq said when the topic of Haggis came up "I'm not going to eat anything made up of assholes and elbows".

In addition to eavesdropping, Tony read the British papers, which are interesting in their own right. They tend to put the National Enquirer to shame, and include a bare breasted woman in each issue. As Tony said each time he came across one "Eww"! Now if they had been bare chested men, well, who would complain about that! Lots of gossip too -- especially about Boy George (you remember him don't you? -- the Brits sure do, he's their Brittany Spears I suppose). He was busted for Coke posession (the white kind not the soda) in New York last week, and its THE major news story over here. Tony also sketched out his Scotland inspired tattoo -- weaving the Gaelic word for "Bear" which he got from our hotel front desk lady who called her "mum" who speaks Gaelic, and the Scottish shield and some celtic knots. It will be very painful -- both to have applied and to the wallet, but it is pretty cool. With luck we might find a tattoo place in Glasgow for a truly permanently memorable trip!

While Tony was reading and snooping, I was watching the train along with a lot of other guys. "Every time the train would go around a curve, arms, heads, and cameras would pop out of every open window for a view or a picture, especially as we went over the Glenfinnan Viaduct, which is that big white arched bridge you see in the Harry Potter movies. I shared the vestibule with a couple of other guys, and we talked trains, and even motorcycles since I was wearing my Harley logo rain jacket to stay dry. Everyone asked if I rode a "'arley" back home...

We got up to the coast at the town of Mallig after about two hours, where they gave us a 90 minute break for lunch. We were able to have a relaxing lunch of steak pie, walk all the way around the town (both streets), watch the ferry to the Isle of Skye leave, and still have thirty mintues before the train left to go back to Ft. William. VERY small town.

The trip back was much the same -- me enjoying the Highland scenery go by from the open windows, and Tony relaxing in the seat. It's hard for me to describe the Highland scenery -- and words can't do it justice. Picture very rough, blackish rock on steep hills, covered with a light fuzz of reddish brown grass, scattered sheep grazing, with some trees here and there, cascading waterfalls coming down out of the mist covered mountains that disappear into the clouds. A small blacktop narrow road, no traffic, or a rail line -- scattered white stone farmhouses, and fields criscrossed by walls of stacked stones. It is something one must see and experience first hand to really appreciate -- it's unlike anything on earth, including our own Cascade mountains in Washington.

It's wonderful to have a spouse who will put up with your excentric tastes when it bores the crap out of them -- and I'll repay it when we get to London and he has tickets to some awful play -- something called "Midsummer Madness" starring Vera Charles, Chauncy Penman and Byron Prong...or something like that.

We got to Ft. William and made our way south to Oban on the same road we came up on. The roads here are wonderful for motorcycles, but a lot of work on anything else. I feel like I had a good upper body workout with the manual transmission and steering on these curvey up and