Bruised, battered and beaten to Nebraska!

By mid week I’m looking at the maps and weather channel for a place to go, especially a destination that will also have a stamp or two to collect. This time, the west looked best. What made that sweeter was the chance to see my friend Claye would also be heading in that direction.

Saturday’s ride.

I was on the road by 6:30 a.m. Destination: Omaha, Nebraska. Round trip would mean nearly 1000 miles on the OD, which was a nice bonus. I needed to reach 12,000 miles ASAP because my plans to circle Lake Erie were only two weeks away and the bike needed its check up.

I think it was joy at being on the road that made me ignore the wind. You’d think I’d learn from the St. Louis trip. I wouldn’t know until 11pm Saturday night that the winds were 32mph, including wind gusts of the same velocity. Traveling along I-88 West, a road in dire need of some patching, I eventually noticed the snarling winds. The winds swirled the cool air with such force that my helmet kept being whipped back or snatched to the side. Eventually, my neck hurt from trying to keep my head and neck attached to my body.

Two hours into the trip and I was really looking forward to West Branch, IA where President Herbert Hoover’s childhood home site stands. Getting a stamp there plus the one in Effigy Mounds, Harper Ferry, IA, would complete my Iowa stamping. West Branch is near Iowa City, a town I always enjoy. Interstate 80, like I-88 was tough going too. The winds were far stronger than any I had ever encountered. I felt my spine contort to a “S” shape as I tried to keep Jesse under control and in its own lane. That sideways feeling, that feeling of being at a 45 degree angle got old fast. I stayed in the right lane but many times, too many to recall, I was pushed into the left lane. This happened often in curves where I had to lean a little. Each time it happened I gasped for air. I did not like this at all.

West Branch was a welcomed stop. When I pulled into the lot for the Hoover Museum, I saw a skinny kid who looked like a white version of Steve Urkel. I noticed first his large glasses and that something was clipped to his belt. I found a parking place and as I turned off the bike, I noticed that the kid (whom I learned was really a young adult) was running in my direction.

I sized him up and immediately thought I could take him easily if I had to. But he was smiling. When he got to me he started talking a mile a second, pointing to my bike. I tried to read his goofy expression. “I’ve only seen one bike like this on the road—I want one—either that or a Honda VFR.” He went on to talk about the day he visited Gina’s BMW in Iowa City and checked out the bike. “I saving for one now. First I’m going to get my license. I’m an EMT.”

His name is Jacob; it should be Chatterbox.

I remained seated on the bike as I watched, listen to, and talked to this fireball. His mother isn’t keen on the idea of him getting a motorcycle but his dad is cool. Jacob has traveled extensively throughout the US because his father is a Ranger; in fact, he’s the Ranger for the Herbert Hoover site.

Before heading inside the Visitor’s Center, Jacob gave me a run down of the motorcycle accidents he’s seen and helped, the fires he’s helped put out, and the evils of riding a Hayabusa and the importance of riding gear.

When I dismounted the bike, I asked Jacob if he wanted to sit on it. I barely finished the offer before Jacob was on the bike, grinning like it was Christmas Day. I think Jacob can forget about that Honda. He seemed in love!

Jacob told me to take Main Street into Iowa City. It turns into Herbert Hoover highway. It is a fun road with rolling hills, farms, and some nice twisties. It is a one lane road into Iowa City that made me forget about the wind and my now aching left shoulder and neck. I lunched in Iowa City and came close to thinking I should get a room there stay overnight. But I wanted to see Claye and hear about her travels.

I forged on and very soon regretted it. I began thinking of my trip in 50 and 75 miles blocks. If things didn’t improve in 50 miles, I would end the trip. At each point, I stopped and took a break, frequent breaks, which I think helped relieve my aches. Finally, Des Moines, IA became the point at which I would get a room and call it quits. Getting there was not fun, I will admit to that. It’s difficult to admit about myself that I have a hard time letting some things go.

Claye and I left messages for each other. My messages whinned about how battered and beaten I was feeling, and how I doubted if I’d make it to Nebraska.
I didn’t like leaving such messages but giving voice to my situation was cleansing in a way. I had come pretty far to give up. While I didn’t feel the riding was dangerous, I felt I was aggravating the collar bone and my back of previously cracked ribs. The whole area felt hot.

I-80 does a strange thing near Des Moines. It drops and heads a bit southerly. The winds were still strong but considerably less aggressive. So I forged on. I was beginning to feel that Nebraska was within reach if the winds stayed right where they were in Des Moines. This wasn’t meant to be. They stirred up but I stopped at every rest stop and took a five minute break. My goal now was to reach Nebraska before nightfall. The GPS estimated my arrival at around 8:47pm—assuming I didn’t keep piling on the stops.

I-80 takes a deeper southerly shift around Neola, IA and from there, it was an easier journey. I pulled into the Sleep Inn that Claye reserved. I arrived before nightfall, bruised, battered and beaten. I was hungry too but felt too exhausted to walk across the street to get food. That night, Claye and I stayed up and talked and made plans for Sunday’s ride to IL. I munched on rice crackers, GORP, and the joy of having made it to see my friend.

Sunday's ride.

Claye was in definite need of new tires (her more than month long trip put on over 8000 miles) but our plans to ride together back to IL so that she could get new tires, fell through. We would go our own way. Claye had been on the road at least a month and beginning to feel the call for home. First, she had to reach Cleveland, where she would have new Tourances put on her BMW F650GS. Thus, there was no need for her to hit the road as early as I wanted to depart. Oh, and the two queen bed suite that we had planned to share? Turns out that the hotel made an error that involved smoking rooms and we were upgraded to two single, nonsmoking rooms. Thanks, Claye!

In the morning, I texted my goodbye to Claye, who kindly dressed and met me in the lobby to say hers. I was on the road by 6:30 am. No wind to speak of. The Weather Channel said the winds would be 6mph—baby stuff! The sky was clear and the temps were in the 40s. I tuned on the heated jacket to “Low” and settled in for a nice ride.

I stopped only for gas and visits to the bathroom. I rode straight through to IL. Somewhere near Geneseo I acknowledged my hunger and stopped for a hour long lunch. On so many levels it was refreshing. My shoulder ached but because I didn’t wrestle the wind, I didn’t aggravate it further. I was fine. I was in the house by 5:15pm. While Sunday’s ride didn’t quite make up for Saturday, it came close.

Was it all worth one stamp? Probably not. But it was great seeing Claye. And really, Saturday made me appreciate Sunday. Isn’t there some adage about if you embrace the light, you also must accept the dark? The ying-yang of life, perhaps?

Ride total: 994 miles

Jesse's warning, getting out of Dodge, and a new daily record

I packed to stay overnight. But by the time I reached St. Louis yesterday I qualified as a battered woman! Upon leaving, I noticed the wind but optimist that I am, I believed if it did not worsen, I could handle it. It's one thing to deal with wind for a few minutes--even an hour. It is quite another to deal with it the entire trip! I said somewhere else on this blog that I didn't mind the wind. Ignorance will make us say things we only think we believe. An "assault," is the only word to describe how these winds treated those witless enough to ride a motorcycle in it.

Battered around and around, I kept hoping I was just traveling through bad spots and it would eventually die down; it never did. I admit to feeling challenged. I recognize that I have issues with letting go. So, I applied my training and counter steered and it did make me feel more able-and confident. Still, robust wind gusts, most of which were unpredictable and some of which whipped the bike in a way that made me feel it would swirl; several times, the ambush snatched my breath away. A clarion call to the ancestors was answered. After two hours, and no tangible end in sight, I settled down and concentrated on getting first to Springfield, IL and if there I had had enough, I would end my trip for the day, get a hotel room and return home on Sunday.

I stopped for gas and munching but remained on course. In Springfield I had a refreshing break at Oak Ridge Cemetery, where I visited the Lincoln Tomb. Getting off the bike for more than a few minutes, was the diversion I needed. I then made my way to the Lincoln Home NHS and collected my stamp. The slow speed required to navigate these locals streets seem to make the wind invisible. At the Visitor's Center, I spotted a Lincoln Harley-Davidson, called the "Circuit Rider" Lincoln Bicentennial Motorcycle. It's designer and builder, Kim Shirley created it in honor of Abraham Lincoln's 200th birthday.

About the wind...I was duped! The wind hadn't disappeared, it was there lurking, waiting to exert itself sharpest at speeds over 30 mph. Thus, my journey to St. Louis continued the previous beating and before getting out of Illinois Jesse, for the first time, got a warning. I'm not a speed demon--it just doesn't appeal to me on any consistent level. I will confess to having tried out Jesse's horse power but that was on an isolated, wide open road in the early morning hours and no one else was present and Jesse was newly broken in and frisky for fun. That thrill is memorable and I've had little desire for a repeat performance. Speed is not easy to manage in the wind, I learned. A steady speed slowed considerable when bucking a headwind. Wind that butts from behind requires an adjustment too. A sideways wind slap made me handle the throttle differently too. It is no wonder that my previously broken clavical throbbed more than usual. Probably the worst part of the trip was the beating I took from trucks. I stay away from trucks. Trucks on a windy day--there's nothing like it. The wind they stirred made me feel as if I would be sucked underneath or blown off the road. I shoke and rattled in their space. I stayed away even more than usual.

As I was watching their loads sway and passing on the left, I came to the crest in the road. Once beyond the trucks, I slowed and switch lanes. It was then that I spotted an Illinois State Patrol car sitting on the side of the road in one of those spots for "Authorized Vehicles Only." I continued to slow down. The posted speed limit is 65mph. I checked the GPS and I was doing 67. I looked in my mirror and saw the patrol car pull in behind me. No pulsating red and blue lightsnthat accelerates your heart when you see them in your mirror. He rode behind me and I rode on. Minutes later. I mean many minutes later, he turned on his light. ??? I figured he needed me to move to the next lane so he could pass me and get whatever criminal he'd had just been radioed to pursue. But when I pulled over, so did he. It finally dawned on me that I was the culprit he was gunning for. But why?

It took him seemingly forever to exit the car and tell me he had made a horrible mistake. When he approached me, he seemed hesitant. Then he said, "Sir, do you know why I stopped you?" In my most polite voice, I said, "I'm not a sir and I don't know why?--I wasn't speeding." He apologized rather profusely and said he was confused by the bike-- "even though I saw all the hair--"Is that your hair?" I told him the hair was mine. He smiled and apologized again. His eyse traced the bike from front to back. Motioning his head toward the bike, he said, "That's a nice bike you have." Again, he asked if I knew why he stopped me. I said I didn't and again said I wasn't speeding. "I was doing 67 mph." He said I was but "back there as you were coming over the hill, I clocked you at 76."

I said, "Way back there?" I put an emphasis on "Way" to indicate that it was some time ago to just now put your lights on me. "Back then, I was trying to get away from the trucks, I slowed as soon as I passed them." He agreed that I did. "Nice bike. Let me see your license and registration, please" Momentarily, I didn't know where it was. I check the luggage--no find. I checked another place on the bike--no find. I wasn't worried about not finding it, just where. I knew I had it. I found it in a bag I had on me. I turned over multiple papers. "Where are you going?" I told him I was headed for St. Louis. "I wouldn't be out here, it's windy." I agreed and told him that I was being battered by the wind and trucks, which is why I was trying to get away from the convoy." He said, "I'm not going to give you a ticket, just a warning. Let me check these and I'll have you on your way in no time." At every point, he was polite--even friendly. Still, I was pissed. It took him a very long time to return to the bike and sitting there, I was getting chilled.

When he finally returned to my bike, he said words that stunned me. "Ma'am, this bike doesn't show up on the computer." Huh? "There is no record of this bike when I put in the VIN." "Huh?" I had turned over the vehicle registration, BMWMOA membership number, insurance card, title info--everything--including the bill of sale (I carry everything with me except the dealer who sold me the bike--I am that paranoid, especially riding anywhere south of Chicago!). "I don't know why that's the case, this is my bike and it's legit." He said he believed me and suspected that it is an error at the Secretary of State's office. Still, he looked for the VIN on the physical part of the bike. We found it and it too checked out against all the other papers. Yet, the state's computers failed to bring up any info on the bike--as if it didn't exist. "I swear, this is my bike." He said, "I agree, Ma'am. Seems like a clerical error in the Secretary's office--just give them a call and have them fix it." He complimented me on having so much paperwork with me and said had I had any less, he would be suspicious. He gave me a written warning and told me to "be careful out there and have a safe trip." He was a kind, friendly trooper and I appreciate the questionably deserved warning Jesse received. ;-) In my dark hours, my greatest fear of solo riding is a town like this. I imagine being stopped in such a place never to be heard from again.

By the time I reached St. Louis I felt depleted and famished when I got off the bike. I munched and drank the whole way and had consumed a hearty breakfast at 6:30am that morning. My GPS led me to what was to be the Visitor's Center but it wasn't there--at least I didn't see it. I rode around the maze that is downtown St. Louis and wound up too far east of the city. I pulled into a gas station and after talking to several people, a man who first told me he'd take me but didn't have time, insisted in the end to escort me. "I'm going that way, just follow me," he said. He led me to the parking facility of the Arch along Memorial Drive where I parked and learned I'd have to pay $6 for what I should be a five minute visit to collect the stamp.

The Jefferson National Expansion Memorial is a magnificent site. But getting to it is a huge pain in the gluts! I had to hike to The Gateway Arch, where I expected to get info about the stamp. I enjoyed taking pictures of shiny arch. A gorgeous azure sky with puffy clouds made the walk to the arch lovely--if I didn't have to haul my tank bag, jacket and helmet, which I had to since I left the lock behind that would have allowed to keep these items on the bike. Two rangers stood at the foot of the arch and told the crowd that the access was close and to get in required walking to the other leg of the arch. We hike there. That's when I felt my blood begin to boil. I got in line (stamping my Passport book takes seconds, literally) and waited. We were instructed to remove jackets, empty pockets of metal objects and prepare for purse and bag checks. A sign said they apply airport security techniques to get into the Arch. I stood in line for way too long; I started sweating. Someone, several people ahead of me, kept tripping the machine's siren. They searched him several times but couldn't figure out what prevented him for passing through. Eventually, they snubbed the machine and waved him in.

By the time I reached the Visitor's Center Information desk, 45 minutes had elapsed. It would take a miracle to reach Grant's National Historic Site before it closed. The Ranger said I could but probably had only 5 or 10 minutes to spare. I couldn't get my GPS to locate the place with an address. The Ranger said it's a tough one to get to. He gave me what he felt were good instructions--and it's really NOT in St. Louis as the Passport book states. I left the Arch without seeing anything of historic value about St. Louis. It's not my first trip to St. Louis, but seeing anyplace from the seat of a motorcycle always makes it a novel experience.

As I walked back to the garage I came to another Ranger. As a check on what the first one said, I asked how far the Grant site was. He estimated 15 minutes, 10 minutes LESS than his co-worker. I decided to call the site and wade through the annoyingly automated phone system before being able to select a live person. When I reached one, she told me that I would probably pull in five minutes before they closed and, "We close right on time." She gave me detailed instructions, which differed dramatically from the first set of instructions. This was a longer route? but more direct. She doubted that I would make it there on time and her instructions seemed to guarantee it. That was all I needed as I too had reached a similar conclusion. While inside the Visitor's Center, I had stamped my book a second time for the Louis & Clark National Hist. Trail. I don't know if this will count, but my goal was two stamps for St. Louis. I decided to scrap any notion of staying overnight. I'd seen enough of St. Louis--I wanted out of Dodge. The wind's beating and hunger had made me a tad moody. I needed to slow the pace.

I hit "Go Home" on the GPS and made my way across the Martin Luther King Bridge and found I-70E and I-55N, which I took to IL. It was now 4:45 pm and would mean arriving home around 10pm. I didn't care. If I ate a decent meal, I'd be good the rest of the way. I rode for 90 minutes before finding a place to eat. I had a light, good meal and relaxed for about an hour before leaving. The GPS said I would arrive home at 10:59. Times like this make having music a good thing. I dug out the Ipod, stopped only for gas and was in the house at 11:15pm. The miles peeled away. With the exception of the SaddleSore I completed (over 1000 miles in less than 24 hours), I set a personal daily for myself. Knowing I can go the distance--even under challenging circumstances, will serve me well should I decide to finish this National Parks Tour.

I had planned to go to Indiana this morning--there's an easy stamp in Chesterton. Instead, I'm going to hang around, read the newspaper, finally finish Levitt's book, Freakonomics, and celebrate my commercially expropriated holiday, Mother's Day, any way the mood strikes.

Saturday ride total: 620.3 miles

Three stamps and a ton of riding fun!

Last Saturday, I left early as I had approximately 500 miles to cover before the St. Croix Falls, WI visitors center and the Upper Mississippi River Valley visitor’s center closed in St. Paul, Minnesota. The Interstate would be my friend for much of the trip, but I’d planned on riding state highways and some local roads for large sections of the journey.

The weather differed dramatically from the previous weekend, which rained virtually the entire weekend. This Saturday already seemed wonderful in comparison. Still, I put the heated jacket on low and felt comfy cutting through the crisp, cool morning air. I would be covering some of the same ground from last week having ended that trip empty handed –not one national park stamps to show for my efforts. This was a new day. Saturday morning traffic was light, just the way I like it. I had packed some snacks and had a light breakfast before departing. On this trip, I would focus on riding one. Being a tourist would have to wait for another day. If I’m going to make a valiant attempt at the Iron Butt National Parks Tour, I’ve got to accept some realities. I need 50 stamps from 25 states in one calendar year. Now, I’ve tried to work this out mathematically and I keep coming up short. I know the obvious things like concentrating my trips in the east. But still, time to enjoy some of these beautiful roads is a huge desire too. My heavy riding is restricted to weekends. I figure I can get in about 1000 miles for a weekend ride. So far, I’ve fallen short, with 616.7 for the first weekend and 948 miles that I will log for this weekend. This means that I’ll use the superslab for these quests more often than not. Fortunately, some of these locations are remote enough that one has to do some heavy mileage away from the interstate as I would learn about getting to St. Croix Falls, WI.

The trip out was uneventful and just plain enjoyable. Jesse Owens hummed the entire way. Seems like the more I ride this bike, the better the ride gets. I do feel one with this bike. I feel that it fits me perfectly; I sink into it and we blend together. On the SV650, after about 350 or so miles my legs would often begin to feel a bit cramped. A stop and a stretch usually did the trick. On the ST, this just doesn’t happen. The leg is extended just a wee bit more and it makes a mammoth difference.

The roads to St. Croix Falls are scenic, remote and actually breath-taking in parts. State highway 35 that follows the Mississippi River is quite wonderful. When I arrived in St. Croix Falls, WI I had planned to rush inside the Visitor’s Center, get my Passport book stamped and be on my way back south to St. Paul. But the Ranger there had other plans. He was a nice gent that reminded me of Barney Fife on the Andy Griffin show. We chatted about the Passport program and given that this was my first stamp, I felt compelled to buy something to celebrate. I settled on a lovely blue heron pin. As I was leaving, he asked me if I wanted to see a video of the St. Croix River. I really didn’t. But not only looked forlorn, he looked rather lonely there all by himself. He made the St. Croix River sound important. I didn’t have the never to say, “I just want the stamp.” I really did need to get to St. Paul before that visitor’s center closed and it was supposedly closing in a couple of hours. I asked the Ranger if it was possible to get to St. Paul before it closed. I could easily go on Sunday as I was staying in St. Paul for the evening. But that would mean waiting for the place to open on Sunday and getting a later start than wanted for my return trip home.

In his most Barney Fife voice, he told me that it closed at 9pm. I was stunned! The website said it closed around 5. He volunteered to call them to check and sure enough they were open late. I had no reason now to rush out. In fact, this slowed down the whole trip in a good way. I felt myself relax.

Besides, if I’m going to visit all these places, I should at least spend a few minutes learning a few things about these historical sites. I sometimes think that the folks who work and volunteer their time in these places do a lot of waiting around for visitors to show up and when they do, they’d like to introduce them to what the center is all about. I watched the movie. Fabulous! Well done, replete with wonderful scenery and many interviews of local legends, geologist, historians, and other experts who make the St. Croix River come alive. I must confess my ignorance. Before this movie, I possessed less than a thimble full of knowledge about the St. Croix River. I knew only that it met up with the Mississippi at some point. The movie taught me a lot about the river and the local’s love for it and determination to keep it clean and protect its native inhabitants. Before leaving, I hung around and took some pictures of the area.

With plenty of time to get to St. Paul, I took a scenic route--what a pleasure to ride free of the onus of getting there before it closed. I arrived around 5:15p.m. Two Rangers dressed like Smokey the Bear managed a booth inside the Science Museum. They were friendly and seemed to know immediately why I was there. The woman said, “Are you one of those….?” She couldn’t think of what to call me. The guy said, “Yes, one of those….” He was stumbled too. I explained that I was collecting stamps for a national parks tour. The guy, “Yeah, yeah the, the… “ He was still thinking. I mentioned the Iron Butt group and they both perked up. I asked if they get a lot of them coming in. “No,” the guy responded, “Not a lot but when they do come in they are memorable—they are a unique group.” I didn’t ask him to elaborate. I could tell from his expression that he thought them to be an odd bunch. “They are a determined group,” he said—or something like that. We all chuckled. I chatted with them and they told me what to visit in St. Paul, where Rice Park was (almost right outside their front door) and that I should take in a meal at Minnehaha. The name struck me as hilarious but I contained myself.    

I walked around St. Paul for a long time and I had an interesting encounter. I was taking a picture of the Landmark Center, an ancient, huge gray stone building downtown. I glanced at an African American woman across the street waiting at a bus stop. Before I could take more than a few pictures, she was at my side. “Hi, are you a photographer?” I said, “Well, I’m visiting and just taking a few pictures.” She said she found it interesting that I was taking pictures of that building, which she thought was a fine building but not something she’d probably take a picture of. She said that when she visited Europe, she noticed that they had many such pictures in architectural books she thumbed through and that’s why she thought I must be a photographer. I asked and she told me a little about the social history of St. Paul, which she prefers over Minneapolis. “St. Paul is more family-like, it’s more like a small community . Minneapolis is more like a big urban area. You see a lot of black there but they are poor, not like here where you just don’t see much of that on the streets.” When she learned that I was from Chicago area, her face flashed instantly. “I lived in Markham—I was born there and lived there until about 20 years old.” Markham is a suburbs close to where my suburban home is located. When she learned I had ridden a motorcycle to St. Paul, she was incredulous. I had to assure her that it could be done by me, a lone woman. She was like meeting a long lost cousin. We had surely walked some of the same Illinois ground. We talked nearly 30 minutes--what a small world.

I found my hotel easily—only four miles from the Science Museum. When I reached it, I realized that I hadn’t had a meal all day. I had my usual GORP, water and juice but that was about it. I was starving. The hotel clerk recommended a Thai restaurant next door. I tried it. I left it happy and with a full tummy. As I walked to the hotel, I could feel the effects of the day slowing my steps. It was now nearly 10:00pm. I prepared for bed, turned on the weather channel and I remember turning on the Kindle to read ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sunday morning

I wanted to leave early. The weather channel said it would be another great day—even better than Saturday. If lucky, I was going to capture two stamps. One in Harpers Ferry, IA (Effigy Mounds National Park) and another in West Branch, IA (Herbert Hoover National Historic Site). This amounted to more than eight hours of riding and roughly covering 382 miles to reach these sites. And, this didn’t include getting home! The day’s total would be approximately 594 mile and 11 hours, 40 minutes of riding. I decided to play it by ear.

The ride to Harpers Ferry, IA was only 190 miles but it took a bit over 4 hours. I went the scenic route. Rode to La Crosse and moved to the WI side to follow the river. On the previous trip, I rode WI state highway 35 heading north. This time I was heading south. The river looked anew, bright, lively and inviting, and not the gray, misty and cold place of the previous week. Rt. 35 is simply beautiful. One passes through small towns like, Red Wing, MN, (yes, home of the Red Wing shoes that many motorcyclist swear by) and Winona, MN, Genoa and De Sota, WI. Speed limit is greatly reduced in these small towns and from the looks of things, I strongly recommend not going a mile over the limit. Besides, it allows one a good, long look at towns were time seems to have stopped. It is easy to understand why I feel like a tourist attraction here. There just isn’t a lot of diversity so folks are curious, which brings me to a few interesting people I met along the way.

I stopped at a visitors center in Prairie du Chien, a town I felt a tad more comfortable in given my previous stay there. I was directed on how to get to Effigy Mounds—it’s a bit tricky. The direction seemed a bit confusing so I programmed the GPS to take me to Marquette, IA where I’d surely see signs for the Mounds, which I did. My breakfast had worn off and I was beginning to tire. When I reached the center, I hung around some but had no energy to tour the mounds, which is really sad as I’ve been planning a trip here for years. This made me realize a hard truth. Collecting the stamps really is mostly about collecting the stamps when all I have are weekends. The way I see it is the parks and sites I visit will be noted as places to re-visit when I’m not on a clock so to speak. On some trips, I’ll surely have an opportunity to hang out as I did in St. Croix Falls. But given my limited weekend window, I can’t tour like I want to. I started thinking of my priorities. I had now collected three stamps. A fourth stamp would add approximately another 4 hours and getting home, another 4 hours. As I searched for a place to eat after leaving the Mounds, I thought of how satisfied I was already with the ride and how if I didn’t have pressing work due on Monday, I would take the day off and extend this trip.

I ate again at Culver’s (a restaurant that a week ago wasn’t even on my radar). Fries and milkshake—both are excellent here. The manager swore he had seen me in the restaurant before. I finally agreed with him even thought the Culver I ate in last time was in Rockford! We really don’t all look alike but I was too hungry to disagree. I ate while peering over a map and fiddling with my GPS. If I had a nickel for every double take someone did when seeing me there, I could quit my job!

Outside the restaurant, I fiddled with my GPS. I turned when I thought I heard someone call out. I looked and saw a couple walking in my direction. When they approached the man told me his name and introduced his wife. They said, “We’re photographers.” The man said, “I’d like to take your portrait.” Inside my head, I thought, “Yeah, right, I’m not falling for that.”
They said they were “watching” me in the restaurant. While they were talking to me, others left the restaurant and I guess because they say me talking to the couple, they felt okay about talking to me too. It felt as if the couple broke the ice for others. I don’t know. I just found it interesting that folks were coming to say something to me or comment on the bike or the GPS.
The couple and I exchanged pleasantries for some time and they told me where they lived in Prairie du Chien. They want me to stop by on one of my visits. Nice folks. Both are artists (photographers) and belonged to several organizations devoted to the arts. We traded contact info and later the woman sent me some links on their photographer friends and photography happenings in the area.

I left Prairie du Chien, feeling like I knew a little more about the place, having visited it now for two consecutive weekends. I took the scenic route home, traveling along US Hwy 18/52 south into IL. Quite scenic with long, quiet, lightly traveled roads. Because it was Sunday, I encountered many Amish families trotting along in their horse-driven buggies. In one, a kid waved at me. Once I reach St. Hwy 64, a very familiar rode, I always feel that home is near and I never mind that there are quicker ways to get there. I like 64.

At a rest stop, I sat on a park table, away from my bike and sipped ice tea and munched on trail mix. A car load of guys parked next to the bike and when they exited they eyed it closely. When they went inside the rest stop, I prepared to leave. Before mounting the bike, the guys had returned and we struck up a conversation after one complimented the bike. Turned out that they are all riders who live in Chicago. They were returning from a weekend of camping in the UP. One of them had just bought a used BMW and said it was a great bike. When I answered their inquiry on where I had ridden, one of them laughed and said to his buddies, “Hey, we’re going to have to step up our game. We need to catch up.” One of the others said, “I could ride that much if I didn’t have to work.” I resisted the temptation to tell him that I worked too. I understood his point. Working is the one thing that bothers me about the National Parks Tour. Work means freedom comes only on the weekend. How am I going to manage riding east and back in time for work on Monday is going to be difficult.

Given this, the “Tour” has shown me that it really is about the stamps. There is some great riding near these sites but I don’t feel like I have enough time to do justice to them. Yet, I’ve learned that it makes sense to hang around the visitor’s center a bit. It is strange, almost rude to burst in these places, collect the stamp and exit. I’m not certain if I’ll finish the tour or not. For now, that’s not the point. Don’t they say, it’s not the destination, it’s the journey, that matters most? Having a structure to my weekends has been fun so far. If I tire of it, so be it.

Well, it’s already Saturday. I need to go to bed for today I’m heading to St. Louis, MO. If I leave early, I can gather a stamp in Springfield, IL ( Lincoln Home National Historic Site (NHS) ) and a couple in St. Louis (Jefferson National Expansion Memorial and the Ulysses S. Grant NHS). If I’m feeling really up to it, I can also zip over to Vincennes, IN and pick up the George Rogers Clark National Historic Park (NHP) stamp. I will play it by ear for there are also some great riding roads in MO, like state highway 19 and 21. Hmmm….I just might skip Indiana altogether and check out those Missouri roads.

Ride Total: 948 miles

'cyclist killed by nail-polishing driver!

Since hearing about this Sunday evening after returning from putting over 900 miles on the 'cycle, I've been a little depressed. This rider could have been any one of us. She did all the right things. Had on a hi-viz jacket and helmet. She was stopped at a red light. She was rear-ended by a totally senseless, entirely avoidable assult by a driver (this isn't an accident as far as I am concerned and I refuse to call it that). The culprit admitted to polishing her nails while driving and claims not to have seen the motorcyclist stopped in front of her--REALLY?! HELLO?! This woman lost her life because someone's nails mattered more.

I am angry. I don't know this cyclist from Jane but she could have been me or you. Right now, they have not charged the driver with much. But if ever there were a case where the book and everything else should be thrown at the culprit, this is it. I'm searching for what else I, and others, can do about this assault. While out there this past weekend, I saw lots of horribly bad driver behavior that really started me to thinking about how lenient the laws are with regards to what seems like blatant vehicular homicide to me. The driver ought to be in jail right now. Period.

Article

R.I.P. Anita Zaffke

Two stamps--YAY! Sunday Update =3rd stamp...

Saturday

I am safely in St. Paul, MN after a wonderful ride Saturday, which couldn't have been more different than last weekend when the weather displayed mother nature's merciless wrath the whole weekend! Evidently, all is forgiven for this was beautiful riding weather. Left early Saturday morning and rode in a crisp, cool air that warmed up throughout the day, reaching the mid 60s. Made it to  St. Croix Falls, WI (more later on the interesting folks I met) and then headed over to St. Paul (met more interesting folks) What a wonderful ride.

Today is Sunday.  

In a few hours I'll head to Harpers Ferry, IA to finally see the Effigy Mounds National Monument. From there I might try a visit to West Branch, IA to see the Herbert Hoover National Historic Site. That would make four stamps in a weekend--not to mention adding to my knowledge about the country's national history. If I happen to get four stamps for the weekend, I'm getting close...four down, only 46 to go in the Iron Butt National Parks Tour. Yay!

Ride total for Saturday: 478 (s)miles

Sunday 

A brief check in. Home safely with another stamp in hand. Made it to Effigy Mounds in Harpers Ferry, IA. Many interesting characters and events on this trip, which I'll write about after I've processed this exhilirating weekend of perfect weather riding. For now, just some totals.

Ride total for Sunday: 470 (s)miles

Total for the weekend 948--and every minutes was joyous.

New installs and necessary corrections...

There have been way too many complaints about the ST battery dying--just kerplunking out. It appears that these deaths have occurred anywhere from 4000 to 10,000 miles. I've had no problems with my battery. My understanding is that BMW will replace the battery at no charge; however, it has to die first. What sense does that make? If a known problem exists with the batteries, they ought to be changed out! Period. 

As someone who is out there alone and often on remote roads, I didn't want to wait for a failure. Since I'm near that upper end of these spontaneous expirations, I decided to be proactive and replace the battery. Yes, I spent a bit by going this route but it would be my luck to wait and have the thing go out on some isolated back road in West Virginia.  My recurring nightmare is not getting stranded, it is getting stranded in certain parts of the country. I'm sorry but the south happens to be one of those places--no offense to anyone.  I'm working on my regional issues.

After getting the battery changed, I decided to have a Datel voltmeter installed. My shop, Motoworks, did a fab job (Thanks, Zach!). It looks like a manufacturer's OEM installation. My friend Claye had one installed on her F650GS and I loved it instantly.

Claye also turned me on to the Throttlemeister knob thingy. It is the correction that the Throttlemeister should have made, according to its creator. It prevents accidental activations of the Throttlemeister. I've not had been bothered by this as I rarely use my Throttlemeister. But this will eliminate the problem I did haveon my way back from Virginia when the device consistently turned on after the heated grips were on for long periods of time.  At least that's what we think caused the spontaneous activitations.

Problems all resolved!

Hoping the weather improves for the weekend--I've got stamps to collect.

Stamp hunting...Score one for the weather!

Okay, so last weekend was the launching of my first outing for collecting stamps as part of the Iron Butt National Parks Tour. I need 50 stamps from 25 parks, historical sites, monuments, etc., and I need them in one year. I figured I’d pick up three easy stamps over the weekend. My plan was to get to Prairie du Chien, WI Saturday in enough time to take a trip to Winona, MN, where I’d collect the Mississippi NRRA stamp. I’d rest and head out early Sunday morning to head across the river to IA to visit the Effigy Mounds National Monument, McGregor, IA. I had planned to spend some time here as I’ve had Effigy Mounds on my radar for a few years. Not far from there, I’d run to Herbert Hoover NHS in West Branch, IA. The trip home from there is easy and familiar.

With the exception of getting to Prairie du Chien, NOTHING in the above paragraph happened. I had signs I ignored from the start. First, I didn’t sleep well the night before. At 4:00a.m. I was awake from tossing and turning for hours. Three hours later, I was tired. I like to head out early but I didn’t actually get on the road until 9:30 (late for me) due to various misplaced items and a last minute urge to repack. It had already been raining much of the night and it was drizzling when I left with a gray, threatening looking sky.

Also, it was windy and a bit on the cool side--but I had hopes of it warming up. Then traffic was backed up on the tiny part of the Interstate I was planning to take. A turn around and detour led me away from that. Then, only 15 minutes into the trip, it started raining rather heavily. And it rained. And it never stopped raining more than 10 minutes or so all the way to Prairie du Chien, WI! I took the back way, that is, the long way—the very long way to Prairie du Chien. In hindsight, it probably would have been wiser to stay home. But since I didn’t, it would have been smarter to stick to the Interstate. The back way to WI, while scenic, with enough rolling hills to keep you interested and many long sweeping curves, it is also rather desolate in parts. It is down right spooky in the dark. On a bright clear and sunny day, these roads feel heavenly. I know. I’ve done them.

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On a cold, dark, cloudy, windy, rainy and foggy day the roads bring to mind a question I asked myself a couple of times: Why am I doing this? I could be home reading a new novel. These vast open spaces allowed the wind to really kick up and by the time I reached Beloit, I was feeling it. I hadn’t yet put on my rain gear (my Fieldsheer Adventure Touring jacket kept me dry). But I was getting chilled. When I tried to fired up the electric jacket (Tourmaster)—Nothing! Nada! I pushed the buttons and plugged and re-plugged. Nothing. I rode on in steady, sometimes very heavy rain made it difficult to see clearly and it was all reminding me of my ride back from Virginia. Unfortunately, the back way doesn’t allow for many places to pull over. There are widely spaced small towns, farms, and homes here and there. The map showed that I would need to ride a long way to an Interstate. I rode on. To give myself a break, I pulled over at a historical marker or stopped to peer at some cows and to give my visor a good, futile wipe off. At one point, I plugged in the new XM satellite radio as I was feeling the need for some company. Nothing. What?! Nothing. I later learned that it was my error. The radio is fine. Perhaps that was a good thing as I needed all my attention focused on the road that were, with every passing hour, becoming lined with huge pools of water along the road’s edge. I imagined that one hid five feet of water, waiting to swallow me and the bike.

When I reached the Mt Horeb area, the weather seemed to worsen. I was too far into the trip to do anything but continue. I rode in the middle of a long line of cars and trucks heading west on US 18. I received some strange looks from both people and cows. The trucks that passed me heading east seemed spooky, mammoth and menacing. Still, I felt totally comfortable on the bike. It felt steady, solid and the tires performed superbly. I never felt shaky in the curves and I leaned into them with confidence. The wind, however, did make me say a couple of prayers and call out to the ancestors to watch over me. I discovered on this trip that I don’t mind any of these separate, challenging weather situations. I do mind when they exist simultaneously.

I know I’m not supposed to but I like riding in the rain. I don’t really like the fog, but I’ve been caught in it a few times to know how to handle it. I don’t even mind a nice wind now and again. All of this together and I’m on high alert. It is draining to say the least.

It took me a little more than 8 hours to get to Prairie du Chien. It was not dark, but the sky was replete with robust dark gray clouds. I checked in a Super 8 and unpacked the bike in a heavy downpour. The clerk took one look at me and seemed puzzled. She told me that they had a dryer if I needed one. I must have looked like a wet rat.

I've not stayed in Super 8s. I must say I was pleasantly surprised. The room was massive with a little living room area and a couple of comfortable chairs, a nice TV and in-room wireless. They also had a frig, microwave and kitchen sink! What I valued the most, was the heating system, which I cranked up to 82 degrees F. I was freezing. My butt was also very cold, literally. I peeled off my wet stuff and hung them near the heater. My feet too were cold. I had dressed for working electrics. In years past, when I didn’t have electrics, I dressed differently and never experienced the kind of cold I felt Saturday. I was starving but didn’t want to go out for a meal. So, I munched on GORP and a Root Beer from the vending machine. I felt asleep too early and was awake at 1am.Sunday Morning. It is raining. I talked with Dave a couple of times, got a weather report on happenings in IL. I was a bit worried because the weather in Prairie du Chien was predicted to only get worse. He had been receiving the SPOT signals and knew that I was fine. I thought of Effigy Mounds across the river and wondered how a quick trip there would work. But the local weather report said heavy thunderstorms much of the day. The same for Winona, MN. I toyed with the idea of going anyway. I went back and forth. Then I heard on the Weather Channel that a motorcyclist had been struck and killed by lightning in Kansas.My jacket was dry but my boots were still damp on the outside and the memory of being cold made me pause and come to my senses. Taking Dave’s suggestion, I decided to head north along the Wisconsin side of the river along WI-35 aka, “The Great River Road.” La Crosse is about 60 miles away and even with the steady rain, this was a gorgeous ride. Before leaving the hotel, a woman told me to do the speed limit in Ferryville (popl. 174) and Stoddard (popl. 802). She stressed being careful in Ferryville because the “cop” there lives for speeders and will “get you.” I do not ever speed in small towns that appear to be caught in a time warp. I don’t care how many impatient drivers are kissing my bumper or trying to go around me. If I’m ever stopped it won’t be for speeding in a small town!

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Breath-taking views with only a slight look to the left at the river. It almost made me forget about the rain and cold. I wanted to pull over and take photos but it wouldn’t have been safe given the conditions. The sky was grey, purple, and steamy. Off into the distance, the scene was wintry and mountainous. It reminded me of a drive I once made through Washington state during a dark, foggy rain. My return trip mimicked the trip out. The rain did not let up for more than a few minutes. WI-35 led me to the Interstate and I was happy to see it. Riding the Interstate gave me an instance sense of comfort. Having ample rest stops, gas stations, restaurants and other cars on the road, put me at total ease. Even with the steady rain, I enjoyed the entire Interstate journey. I stopped mainly for gas. I zipped by the rest stops because I felt fine.

I had planned my big stops in Madison or Rockford. I missed Madison but stopped somewhere briefly near Lake Delton, WI. I had a real meal in Rockford, IL. Finally, I was close enough to home that I felt I could relax. I ate at Culver’s (never been there before) and enjoyed fries, fish, and a strawberry shake that really hit the spot. I usually avoid fast food but this was a treat and each morsel helped soothe my jangled nerves from hours of riding in the most challenging rains I’ve ever experienced. About 20 or so minutes after leaving Rockford, the rain stopped. It held off for the rest of the trip. The bonus of getting to IL was the considerably warmer weather. I finally removed the rain gear and that too increased my level of comfort. My Fieldsheer jacket and my MotoGP pants really make rain gear optional. Seriously.So, how many stamps did I collect on this trip. Well, if you have read this far, you know that the answer is a big whopping ZERO! I shall repeat this trip soon. Still, I got in a tough ride with Jesse. No complaints. Learned a few things about myself. For me, that’s a lot of what it is all about.

Weekend ride total: 616.7 miles

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Long Distance toys

I now have several items to make long distance riding more fun, especially on long day rides of SaddleSore distance (1000 miles). Even in the range of 500 miles, these "comforts" will be good to have even if I don't use them. One item I don't use--just never felt a need for it is the Throttlemeister. I got it only because my throttle hand has a wrist that is held together with a  6 inch titanium implant. I figured the Throttlemeister might help when I needed to rest my wrist. But so far I've not felt the need to use it more than a few times. 

I am also not a listener of music on my rides. But it sure came in handy in the 800 miles phase of the SaddleSore, when it was dark and quite lonely out there. I had just enough Ipod juice to get me through the last 200+  miles. Coming back from VA recently, my Ipod got me through twelve hours of riding that Saturday. There is something comforting and relaxing about riding in the dark with love songs playing in your ear. 

This brings me to my new XM satellite portable radio. One thing I've missed on early Saturday morning rides is listening to National Public Radio, C-Span and CNN. Now, I can if I desire. My other newest toy is the Amazon Kindle. What does that have to do with riding? Well, it has to do with packing for my rides. I typically carry four books with me, which takes up far too much room. On those multiday rides when I've tried to take one book, I invariably end up going to a local bookstore and buying books! How crazy is that?! 

Nothing satisfies me more than ending a long day of riding with reading the night away. And, I've just never learned to read one book at a time.  Though I love the physical book, the smell of new--and old--pages, the whole tactile experience, I can't spare the space to tote four books with me on each trip. Initially, the Kindle felt like indulging in a forbidden pleasure, like cheating on books. I've gotten over that. I traveled with it to and from VA. In it, I carried 11 books in a package thinner than the newest Ipod and about the size of a paperback. It comes with an internal Oxford Dictionary and a Theasaurus. I can make margin notes and highlight passages of each book and store my notes as backpages to each book. It's an addicting device that promotes minimalist packing.

Riding this season is about distance + fun, which will be a huge challenge given that I work each day. I read that some mileage club distance riders, to keep in ride-shape, will take an evening or early morning ride of a few hundred miles. One rider came home from work and after dinner, would ride for three or four hours. I hope for a BunBurner this ride season, that's 1500 miles in 36 hours, which I think should be easier than the SaddleSore.  I can actually factor in a nap with the BunBurner--couldn't do that on the SaddleSore.  

At some point during the weekend I'm bound to test out the XM. With regards to my toys, I should add the new heated jacket and pants--and the bike's heated grips. All this reminds me of the adage it's better to have something and not needed it than to need it and not have it.

Stamping Time

We've had some funky weather lately. My riding has been cold and wet and often, both. I'm not complainging--it's better than not riding at all. But the times are a changin' .  The weather reports for the coming weekend will plung Chicagoans into serious summer heat. For me, it is never too hot to ride.  So, I'm heading to Iowa.

Last season I purchased a "Passport: To Your National Parks" book to collect stamps from National Parks, Historical Landmarks and Monuments, Battlefield sites, National Seashores and a host of other sites in the U.S. National Parks Service Program.

I mostly bought the passport book in consideration of another Iron Butt Association ride, this one is their National Parks Tour, which requires a visit to 50 sites in 25 states within one calendar year. This sounds doable until you take out a map and realize linking 25 states together in a short midwestern ride season will be a challenge. But a few weeks ago, the bug bit me try this tour. Why not just do it? Even if I don't complete the tour, my efforts will not be wasted--it's a win-win for me.  

Too bad I didn't grab a stamp or two on my way back from VA last week. Oh well...this gives me another reason (like I need one) to get back to the VA area.  So, it is official stamp collecting time.

My first stamp pursuit will be this weekend as I head to Harpers Ferry, IA to visit the Effigy Mounds National Monument. I wish it were farther away, as the entire trip will be under 600 miles.  If I'm going to have a decent showing in the BMW MOA mileage program, I'm going to need to up my weekly mileage, which is another way of saying, add more fun to the diet! 

Whether I make my 15,000 miles goal I've set for myself, is relevant only to me. Yes, I'm goal driven--probably too goal-driven for some but I take no prisoners. This is my riding goal that only needs to make sense to me. Nothing works for me like a nice long, long ride to cure the dark corners of my life/work.

First stamp coming up!

Bringing Jesse Owens home

(Note to the reader: Sorry for the overly long, draft post. As you can see, I've been rather scant on the posts lately, so indulge me a bit as return to regular blogging). 

Part I

Thursday night

Jesse Owens, my 2008 BMW F800ST, is now in my possession! Insert the voice of Fernando Lamas here, “He looks MAA-VAH-LUSS!”

Claye, a wonderful friend whom I met at the 2008 BMW rally, met me at the airport, hosted me, and allowed me to hang out with her. Being with Claye, Sylvia and Fritz at their home is something I would gladly do even if I didn't need to retrieve my bike. I'm convinced now that my accident last summer brought us all together and for that I'm grateful. How else would I have met Sylvia and little dog Fritz? Given that this wasn’t a trip per se, more like a pick up and leave, we didn’t have much time to visit but we fit in a lot of stuff. Still, great company, excellent food, lots of motorcycle talk and sharing of news on cool gadgets, gear and travel tales. Claye and Sylvia are serious riders and it's a joy to talk to them about it and other things.

(Fritz, the guard dog)

Another thanks to Claye who picked up my bike for me on Thursday, which allowed me to check the bike out that night rather than wait until Friday when Morton's opened. Claye test rode it too, amassing about 30 miles. I was able to get a real rider’s perspective. She liked the ride although she felt the riding position was a bit “aggressive.” The bike checked out and after her ride, Claye tucked it in her garage-like shed. I'm grateful too that the Throttlemeister didn't rear its head during her ride (more on that later). Between Claye and Sylvia, six bikes bring joy and challenges to their lives. Sylvia’s newish, mint condition V-Strom is the latest addition. A bike that will surely lead to many adventures this season.

Friday morning

I was overcome with joy at seeing my bike Thursday evening. It reminded me of the day it became mine. I took a ride along Truslow street until it dead-ended. I picked up another part of Truslow and continued that until Truslow ran out again. It is a smooth road with long sweeping curves and enough rolling places to make the ride interesting. The ST is a great bike. I come alive when I ride it.

(Fritz keeps watchful guard on the ST)

Claye and I spent part of Friday hanging out in her wonderful backyard. That afternoon, before we headed to Morton’s so I could finish up the paperwork on my bike, we had a little (mis)adventure. Fritz the dog is the cutest thing on four legs. He is a hard working dog and valiantly served as my therapy dog the last time I was there. Fritz probably weighs in at 7lbs—I don’t know. . He looks like a miniature Doberman with massive ears. Before leaving for Morton’s, Fritz disappeared, which had us searching high and low for him. I prayed for his discovery—losing him while I was there would be nothing short of horrible. I’d feel like a walking black cloud. We found him. Let’s just say, to sort of quote Cyndi Lauper, “Dogs just wanna have fun.”

(Enjoying a bit of R&R)

(Claye outside Morton's)

Saturday A.M.

(Ready to hit the road, Jack)

Saturday, I donned my new TourMaster electric jacket liner (glad I didn't get the vest) the whole way, I rode comfortably without the pants and remained dry. That is, until the temps dropped at night. Add to that some pretty robust winds in West Virginia and Maryland that blew from the mountains and swirled around open spaces. I was on high alert with plenty of opportunities to practice counter-steering. Riding into the glare of the setting sun was often blinding. It's a discombobulating sensation even if momentary. Survival mode helped me focus closely on the painted lines. Still, it offered some periods of challenge that I don't recall ever being an issue before. It reminded me why I love my Nolan N 102 helmet. The sun visor, which is attached to the exterior top of the clear visor, is a smart design. I just flip the smoky color visor top down when I need it. I used to love my HJC Sy-Max helmet. But it forced extra work and a tricky installation—not want you need on an all day ride.

(A view from Sideling Hills Wildlife Management Area)

Not until nightfall Saturday did the temps drop low enough to make me think about putting on the heated pants. I never did-- not because I didn't need to. My lower extremities were off and on cold. Several times, I thanked my German motorcycle makers for the heat the ST throws off around the legs. I hugged the tank as tight as I could. I wanted to get to the hotel and stopped only for bathroom and gasoline.

(Martin Fabrication Lights)

Saturday night I tested out the new moto-like lights, by Martin Fabrication. Excellent accessory—thanks, Lucas for telling me about these. Riding in the black of night, I was able to throw considerable light across the lower front of the bike and along the side of the road—a most comforting feeling given that my arrival to Zanesville, OH took far more time that I imagined. This was due to three things: weather, physical issues, and my propensity to debate the GPS and some of Claye's directions.

Last on my list of time robbers: the directions. I selectively followed Claye’s direction, mixing them with my own and sometimes the GPS. Somewhere near or after Berkeley Springs, I lost ground. I don't recall much of US Hwy 522, which I should have taken to I-70. I wound up taking on I-68 rather than I-70. No biggie, I checked the map and kenw I would pick up I-70 later. Only later was really really late. I rode I-68 forever and a day! Eventually, I hopped on I-79 and spent time on that too. Don't ask me why or how. I just did. I started feeling as if I'd never leave West Virginia, a state that is not on my list of favorites. When I'm not pressed for time, I don’t mind venturing off track—it's actually fun, part of the whole "it's the journey" mentality. Ordinarily, I'm painstakingly meticulous about my directions—at least in the preparation phase. Then in real time, I play loose with the directions because I know my official route and I've built in some wiggle room. But this was different and by the time my own desire to get moving reached my brain, it had gotten cold enough, too dark and the anvil I felt I was carrying on my head was screaming in my ears.

I arrived at my Zanesville hotel right around midnight! For the most part, I had been riding since 9:15 a.m. that morning—from Fredericksburg, VA! When I rolled into Zanesville, I remember saying, “Where in the H-E- double hockey sticks did fifteen hours go? That's IBA territory except that I had little to show for it. That's when I forgave myself and remembered the three time robbers: the rain, an increasingly sore neck and my cavalier disposition regarding the directions. You play, you pay. It rained from Fredericksburg, VA until about 20 miles south of Berkeley Springs and heavy rains saturated at least two or three locales, which made handling the huge sweeping curves along scenic Highway 17 interesting and fun—albeit, wet fun. But it slowed travel considerably. The neck, well, I think it’s just smarting and letting me know the healing continues. The increasing inability to turn my head sans pain forced me to make many short stops. If I didn’t turn my head sideways, the discomfort wasn’t too bad. It makes sense given that I have only recently been able to return to lifting weights. Three weeks ago, I would rather have given birth than do the simple neck rolls and shoulder shrugs with weights, which used to be easy warm ups to my regular routine. What I used to do with 10lbs weights, I can only do with 3lbs now. Improvement take time. Just part of the healing process.  Nothing more, nothing less.

(Jesse Owens)

Part II  Zanesville, OH to IL via Indianapolis, IN

Sunday, April 12, 2009

It is Sunday morning and the memory of last night's cold hits me again when I open the door to retrieve my heated pants liner from the bike . Lesson learned from Saturday: wear the pants! One glance at the bike, all covered in frost, made me shiver involuntarily. As I disarmed the alarm I made a mental note to carry a bike cover with me next time. I touched the frost on the top case and thought again of last night and whispered to myself that the ride season has officially started. I don't mind riding in the rain. It's the long, bone chilling cold rain that demands all my attention and takes away a tiny part of the joy of riding. I barely noticed the farms and scenery that lined the way. My photographic memories are virtually nonexistent.

I left Zanesville with every intention of making three stops regarding my underground railroad research. After being directed to the wrong place by the hotel proprietor and looking over at the interstate, I decided to head home by way of Indianapolis for lunch at Shapiro's deli. The pain in my neck throbbed but it nothing to worry about.

The ride began with temps in the 30s. The sky was blue jay blue with huge puffy clouds—not a drop of rain predicted from OH to IL. I donned full heated gear but frankly, couldn't get the pants to fire up --totally my fault, as I learned later. The jacket was sufficient and the heat from the bike again helped the lower legs. It took me about an hour to settle down into the ride. I stopped more than usual that first hour. A brief stop is all I seemed to need to recover. Otherwise, I felt great.

(Pickerington, OH The AMA and the Motorcycle Hall of Fame Museum)

I have friends in Granville and thought of them as I passed that exit. I decided to stick to the interstate, figuring I needed to see this not as a trip per se, but a simple task to retrieve my bike. I can always return to see what I missed. The goal now was to get myself and the bike home. But when I reached Pickerington, home of the AMA and the Motorcycle Hall of Fame Museum, which I’ve visited before, I stopped. Although the hours indicate that they should have been open and a few cars were in the parking lot, they were closed. I took a few pictures and left.

After a light lunch, I decided to focus on riding. Listening to music soothed the sore neck. I wanted to get to Shapiro's Deli and indulge in real food. Some say that interstate travel is boring. It’s not my favorite travel method, but I don't find it brain numbing on a bike. I am tortured more by it in a car. I made it to Shapiro's around 3ish. I had a tuna sandwich that ought to be illegal—it's that good. I thought about a full Easter meal there but I don't like riding with a heavy meal in my belly. Lots of people evidently escaped cooking Easter dinner and ate at Shapiro's. I don't eat meat; still, the meat at Shapiro looks and smells good enough to change any vegetarian’s mind. Seriously. If you are within 100 miles of Shapiro, go there for breakfast, lunch and dinner! I found out about Shapiro's from my friend Brent Miller. His brother meets there with some BMW riders each week. I never met up with the group but I now go to Shapiro’s every chance I get to route myself through Indianapolis. It's only about 200 miles for my house, which means it's an excellent day ride choice. I must say, Chicago has some excellent delis. But they are all within a few minutes ride—what fun is that?!

Belly full from half of a tuna sandwich, ice tea and lemon cake, I was ready to roll. Except for a horrible back up in a couple of spots on I-65, the trip was uneventful. My music (which I rarely listen to while riding) ran out on Paul Simon's “Graceland,” leaving me ample time to solve the worlds problems and enjoy the rest of the ride.

One big ride issue...

Well, I wish I could say the trip was perfect. It wasn't. One major problem to report. The Throttlemeister got in the way in a big way. As I've said elsewhere on this blog, I’ve used the Throttlemeister once or twice. I got it in anticipation of problems with a severely fractured wrist (non motorcycle injury) that is held together by a titanium implant. I’ve been told it will “eventually” give me trouble. Being proactive, I thought the Throttlemeister might be a good thing to have if I was going to do a SaddleSore or other IBA ride. I did a SaddleSore and never felt the need to use it. Still, it's on the bike if and when it becomes needed. You know the saying, it’s better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it…or something like that.

Imagine my surprise when riding Saturday when the bike started surging, unexpectedly. It was rather unsettling and more than a bit scary at times. At first, I brushed it off, thinking that my new cold-weather gloves, which are bulkier than I'm used to, had accidentally activated the Throttlemeister. But it started getting odder. When I pulled in the clutch, the engine seemed to rev loudly. Mind you, when this started happening, I just thought it was user error to which I paid closer attention. Then I noticed that downshifting was darn near impossible. Right before the down shift, I'd pull in the clutch, give the engine a blip and that blip would lock the throttle at that spot and the bike would accelerate. Whether I twisted the throttle open or closed, it would remain there. In other words, there was no, give or spring to the throttle.

I pulled over several times and adjusted the throttle. It would function well (I mean it would be deactivated and stay in the non-use mode). Then after 20 or so miles—sometimes less—it would gradually take over again. I'd pull over again and go through the same drill. Outside of Berkeley Springs, I got out my anonymous book and thought of calling for help. I thought of local dealerships. It was drizzling and rather than wait, I thought I'd try it once more to see how far I'd get. I can hear some of you say that this was dangerous and I probably should have stopped riding. I realize it wasn’t a great idea but I kept a very steady throttle hand and checked the play in the throttle at ever traffic light. For the most part, it behaved much of the rest of the way. When it didn’t, I was able to periodically check the spring in the throttle to ward off the unexpected throttle locks.

(A nice rearview, I think...)

Before leaving on Sunday, I checked the adjustment on the Throttlemeister. It appeared to be holding in place. Things changed in Indianapolis, however, where I noticed it had worked its way on again. Such things never happen at a good time. After leaving my great meal at Shapiro's, I blipped the throttle to downshifted. The throttle locked and I had to do a quick correction—I had plenty of time to make the adjustment. This was the most frustrating part of the ride, not something I want to experience again. I will have my mechanic check this out.

A Brush with a BMW Celebrity

While there, Claye got me interested in joining the BMW mileage program. Claye racked up the miles last year and placed well. Had I finished the ride season last year and been part of the mileage program, I would have been in the 13,000 miles range—not a lot but a nice start. Instead, I finished the year with only about 7519 miles after six months of owning the bike.

To join the mileage program, I need signatures of two BMW MOA members. Claye was number one. Friday, while at Morton's I forgot to get the form signed, which meant a return there on Saturday. It meant riding in the rain in the opposite direction of heading home. When I arrived, I asked the first salesman I saw. He was actually the dealership owner. He apologized for not being eligible to sign the form. He scanned the room and looked thoughtfully at those in the shop. Then he looked outside and his face had that light bulb moment appearance.

Before entering the dealership, I noticed a rather elderly gent, preparing to take off. His apparel looked ancient, like those garments favored by the super long distance riding crowd. The dealer looked outside and said, “Hey, how about a celebrity?” He was looking in the direction of the man I had noticed earlier. “How about David, he's a celebrity. He's passed the million miles and has been honored by BMW riders.” His name is David Swisher and before he could get away, we went outside and Mr. Massey, the dealer, made the introductions. Mr. Swisher was gracious, eager to oblige. He even had to dismount and disconnect himself from his bike to unearth his wallet from his top case to apply his official BMW member number. At this point, I am clueless on the identity of this man but judging from the looks of his bike, he and it have seem many places.

He signed the form and agreed to pass on the task of filling out the details to Mr. Massey. I thanked him and wished him well and followed Mr. Massey to the showroom, where he located Mr. Swisher’s info on the computer and completed the form. One word about Mr. Swisher? Amazing. Talk about pressure. I have a lot to live up to. Upon arriving home, I did a brief search on Mr. Swisher. I hit the jackpot. I'm impressed with his motorcycling feats and feel honored that he signed my form.  

The ride took 846 miles to complete: 430 miles on Saturday and 416 miles for Sunday. The season has been launched. I am eager to rack up some long, safe miles in some exciting places.