WELCOME to Between The Lines

This is my chronicle of my occasional travels about the country. I started it in 2010 for my trip on my 2005 Harley Road King Classic for Big Daddy's Gulf Coast Gypsy Tour to New Orleans...Read below to find out about it! NEW REQUEST FOR READERS! If you are following this blog, sign in as a follower! That way I get to know who my audience is, which makes it more fun. Thanks!

In 2011 its the same destination, and its another Big Daddy Gypsy Tour, but on a different bike (my new Road Glide Ultra) and via a different route. This year is going to be in preparation for a 'Travels with Charlie' trip sometime in the future --so its camping along the way, and reporting as I have energy and internet connections.

Periodic posts will appear below, latest first. The
"Pages" down at the bottom have some information of more general applicability or interest. Enjoy! HippieDave

Thursday, June 26, 2014

The Elephant in the Room...

OK, it is something that we all are aware of, but nobody ever mentions.  And sometime we have to sit down and discuss this question as adults:  Is Kansas really necessary?
And I don't want to pick on just Kansas.  If you look where the spiral spine of your atlas is, there is a swath of states going north to south, each of which is equally unnecessary: North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma and...sorry Texas, but y'all would benefit from losing a little weight if we slimmed you down some.

I have spent the last two days, and put only 750 miles under my wheels, mostly in Kansas and Nebraska.  Usually on an interstate network I can do better than this, and believe me--if it were someone's front yard I was driving by--I'd be impressed.  Very pretty lawn! Did you use sod? and, hey! Nice vegetable patch!  But really, do we need this much 'yard'?  My apologies to North Dakota, as I am dismissing you based on circumstantial evidence (your proximity to the others) and the movie Fargo, but I have driven extensively in and through the rest on my list and I contend fervently:  they are unnecessary.  Lets just get rid of them.  Maybe Canada would be interested? Eh?

Or, if one wished to keep the number of stars on the flag the same, and not disrupt the balance of powers in congress, well--we could just shrink them (like using your fingers on your IPhone) to the width necessary to spell out their names vertically on the map.  All of the people presently living there could still fit in, and your friends there would be a lot closer to you.  Just take a map of the U.S. do a bifold thing, and you'll see:  it works a charm.  Now I admit Texas has a bit more population to worry about, but you can't tell me Texas can't afford to lose a chunk the size of Kansas without anyone even noticing!

Mostly, what this would do is remove the last two days from my memory, as they never would have happened.  My God! the tedium!  The grass!...nothing but grass and cows.  I will dream tonight of riding a tractor mower forever in rows, back and forth, back and forth.  An occasional water tower offers the hope of a town on the horizon, but --alas--the tallest structures for miles around other than water towers are silos.  As near as I can tell, other than to provide a place for gas stations to situate themselves, there is no reason for towns here, and without the interstate trucking industry and me, there would be no towns.

One thing they do have here in plenty is weather.  Other than winds, which I would say were following me around on this trip were it not for the fact that they are always blowing adverse to the direction I'm going, I have been able to skirt bad wet stuff.  (I did get soaked to the skin in a rain and hail storm on Tuesday, but that was back in Illinois and was over before I knew it, or could do anything about it.)   I stopped today for lunch and read the Wyoming State Paper (no towns are big enough apparently to have their own papers) the Wyoming Tribune Eagle.  According to the front page headlines, I missed just yesterday 1) hail the size of baseballs that would have destroyed my motorcycle and 2) a tornado that would have made the hailstones irrelevant.  So, I count my blessings, and proceed westward under sunny skies and into winds that justifiably gave the conestoga wagons their nickname the Prairie Schooners --I'm surprised the oxen et al could even keep up! Or the that the Indians could even find them.  I can see Chief Crazy Horse now saying "Avast mates! Heave to!"
!



Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Eastern Missouri Feels a lot more like Home

I spent last night in mid Ohio, awakening periodically to thunderous crashes of...well, thunder and lightning and the sky just dumping water.  Woke up to clear cloudless skies and headed westward ho!  Had I wagons, they would have started circling around 1 pm.  I've safely crossed the rest of Ohio, and fully traversed Indiana without incident:  but southern Illinois is looking pretty threatening.  Just as I'm about to talk to the wagon master about pulling over and hunkering down, it opens up. Hail, rain and more rain.  Temps drop about 50 degrees and in the four or five minutes it takes me to find an exit off the trail and find cover (gas station) I am soaked through.  I get a hot beverage without having to build a fire (how did the conestoga folks survive!) and decide to wait it out.  A nice lady with a smart phone (how have I ever managed to survive so far without one) checks the radar and I look good to go west.  She, the poor thing, is traveling east with the storm.  But she's in an SUV and does not deserve to look so nervous.  Sure enough the sun reappears, and I have to pull over again to take off the rain gear I put on too late and to no avail. ah well.

The landscape of gas station and trailside eateries is starting to look familiar again.  The east had odd looking jumbles of commerce strewn haphazardly around.  The west tends to be more organized, having , no doubt, the luxury of space in which to be organized.  Road engineering is also improving. The east depends for safe interchanges on everyone around already knowing where they are going.  There are tremendously unsafe highway and road connections east of the Mississippi compared to western standards.

All and all, it is starting to feel like the west again.  If my wagon train can only make it through the wild west of Missouri and Kansas,,,,remember this was Jesse James country....I should be OK.  Colorado weather, Utah and Nevada heat and then blessed California.  See you soon.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

My experience in NJ was actually good...it really puts things in perspective.  Not everything is homogeneous in the good old USA...we have it really good in CA because voters have generally made good decisions over the years, plus we have less population density per square mile.  I count it among my many blessings to live here, and access to the ocean because of the California Coastal Act is just one of them.

Today I continued my meandering route to avoid the Jersey Turnpike.  This was fun, as it led me south into northern Maryland and West Virginia.  I stopped for coffee mid-a.m. And there was an equal number of license plates in the parking lot from PA, MD, WV and Virginia.  It must be unsettling to drive around never knowing what state you might be in.  I have no idea where the coffee stop was, other than near the border of those four states.

I drove westward mostly through Maryland and then  West Virginia, and then back into PA for a bit before entering Ohio, in which jurisdiction I presently reside.--somewhere just west of  Columbus for those keeping track.  To tell the truth, not much of interest is viewable from the interstate, other than the fact that there is a striking cluster of churches in the very center of Cumberland MD (or it could be WV—I haven't checked.) Perhaps because of the mining history, this town was obviously influenced by the major religions, as this “church hill” is comprised of impressive brick built cathedral-like structures, each vying for the highest, closest to god steeple.  There is an odd 'country' then intense 'city', then 'country' feel to the landscape.  It is like New Jersey, but real, without the people.  The people are all in these monochromatic brick towns;  the countryside is just countryside.

Tomorrow, I attempt to burrow deep into Missouri, and then on tuesday to my music jam in Topeka.  Tell you how it goes later.!

Saturday, June 21, 2014

You can look, but you can't touch!

I ran SE this morning to the Jersey Shore, leaving about 8 and getting to the beach about 11:30.  Ocean Grove NJ is definitely a beach resort town.  It is pretty amazing, in that someone took the concept of an oceanside B&B, got a good model up and running, added a number of sidewalk bars and cafes, and then duplicated it 5,000 times and named it Ocean Grove.  It is very compact, neat and orderly, and totally devoid of any personality whatsoever. Cars are tightly parked everywhere in carefully and clearly marked parking slots.  The B&Bs too are nestled jowl to jowl along the grid of streets, each identical to the other, except for a few decorative touches and a different cute resort name.  It is very uniform, gridlike and swarming with people on a June Saturday. I  felt like I was in line at a major Walmart having a going out of business sale on beach going togs and sand castle construction equipment.  I did find a parking spot--one huge advantage of riding a motorcycle! --and walked down to the shore.

The shore consists of 1) a frontage road; 2) a fence; 3) a boardwalk paralleling the beach and 4) periodic breaks in the fence for access, with a pier jutting out towards the Atlantic and restrooms etc right there; and 5) ramps down to the actual sand beach.  The beach seemed pretty crowded for 11:30 a.m., and bristled with beach umbrellas and towels.  This topography of the shore appeared to repeat itself as far in either direction as one could see.  I got a winsome lass who was just sitting there in a chair (why was she sitting there? I asked myslef) to take my picture in front of an informational  sign, and then walked out on the pier to take some photos.  So far so good.  I had in fact arrived at my ultimate destination:  The Atlantic Ocean!--A trip, shore to shore according to the computer maps, of 4038.7 miles for the route I actually took to get there. Since I get lost a bit, and there were four days of RKRR rides tucked in there, my actual mileage is probably 1200 or so more than that...I will calculate the total when I get home. So, there was only one task left--to dip my toes in the actual ocean. I had had many hours to plan this step.  I would walk down to the lapping water (I had not contemplated what I would do with crashing wavers) and wade in  Then I would simply snap a photo of my motorcycle boots in the ocean.  Wonderful imagery, no?  Alas, here, I was brought up short as I began to walk down the ramp to the beach: "Sir", asked the winsome lass "do you have a pass?"  " A pass?" said I, and she pointed to the sign I had stood in front of for our short bonding moment when she took my picture.  I turns out that you can walk the boardwalk and the pier.  You can also use the restrooms.  But if you actually want to walk down the beach to the water, you need to buy a pass.  It was all spelled out clearly on the sign. $5.00 for a day pass. (I could have gotten a senior season pass for a trifling $45 or so.)

This may seem a trivial thing, given that I had ridden a motorcycle 4,000 miles just for the experience of dipping my toes in the Atlantic.  But it quickly became a msatter of principle.  $5 to park I might have begrudgingly swallowed.  But $5 to walk on a public beach that constitutionally belongs to me?  I just couldn't do it.  I explained to her the nature of my trip, and how symbolic and lovely a gesture it would be to allow me five minutes to walk down, click the shutter, and return.  And while she seemed mightily impressed, she was having none of it, for rules are rules on the NJ shore!  So I left, somewhat disappointed, but filled with new detailed information about why I don't live in New Jersey.

New Jersey is the Garden State, and at first blush it is beautifully lush with vegetation and river resources that justify its name.  But it has had several hundred years of a LOT of people living there, and they have left an imprint.  A cultivated botanical garden, sculpted and crafted by hand provides more of a feeling of nature than does New Jersey..or New York (lower) or PA for that matter.  Everywhere you look, yes--you see trees--but you know it is people that dominate and heavily tip the scales of importance in that area.  My cousin Pat told me about upstate NY:  "Take all the leaves off, and you'd see 10,000 deer looking at you".   NJ is the similar: remove the trees and you have several million people staring at you, and ready to take your parking spot the minute you look away.  There is a sense that people are what the place is all about, and no pretense to being a nature preserve can change that.  Plus, c'mon, everyone knows it: you got attitude in Jersey like no where else.

So a bit to the wiser and a bit disappointed, I headed west hoping to get as far as I could to use the day efficiently.  Unfortunately, it not only costs you to visit the beach, it costs you to get away as well.  Pretty soon I found myself on the New Jersey turnpike, as my GPS thinks that is the only direct route out.  It turns out the GPS is right.  That IS the only way out of there that is at all efficientl  After racking up $15 bucks in tolls in only a few dozen miles, I bailed out and reprogrammed the gps to take non-toll roads.  We've been wandering about the PA landscape trying to find a way out ever since.

Each setback has its positive aspect tho.  In our wanderings today I encountered many Menonites, driving horse and buggies, but also riding bicycles and showing other signs of a much more relaxed adaptation to the world, such as patterned, less austere clothing.  I'll have to do some reading about them, and how they compare to the Amish.

Off to Mid Ohio tomorrow, and then St Looey and Topeka for a Tuesday night music jam.  More later.

Friday, June 20, 2014

Going East to Get home....

Tomorrow I take off eastward to begin my return trip.  That is because I have not yet dipped my toes in the Atlantic, and must do before turning westward ho.  Will refine plan over coffee in the a.m.  I really want to go to Atlantic City, the cultural hub of the area, but time constraints may make me set my sights lower.

This has been a fun but extra tiring week of riding.  Northern NJ, at its intersection w/ PA and NY is a very beautiful area, with very beautiful homes, incredibly pastoral rivers and lots of roads.  Mucho roads.  You have to take ten or fifteen roads to go anywhere. (See earlier posts re this.)  Today we visited Highpoint State Park, which has an obelisk monument celebrating the fact that it is the highest point in all of New Jersey, at 1800 feet.  They didn't say whether that is with or without the monument. We could see all the way to our motel from up there, plus the bridge we crossed to get there. Despite all the incredibly lush vegetation, however, this is an extraordinarily urbanarea.  Lots of people.  Lots of stores, roads etc that make up an urban landscape.  Oh, give me room, lots of room, to see the starry skies.  I wanta go home.

It was great seeing people I only see at these events, and to share biker stories.  People have some new bikes.  Barney from Miami Fla. has a new Indian!  Gorgeous bike!  Some of these folks are genuine eccentrics, as you might imagine given that they are all MC Riders.  We had people from over 20 states...from Florida to California (that would be me) and from Canada. I had the oil changed at a local dealer while we stopped for lunch one day, as I've racked up over 5,000 miles since I left Caspar and, therefore, since my last oil change.  No serious accidents this year--we had one fender bender when a sudden stop caused by an errant truck caused two of our bikes to collide at a stop sign.  $320 bill later for a new tire fixed the situation.

Mostly we've just ridden the back roads around here, but it has been tiring, as there are lots of stops and tight turns and it has been hot.  Today we rode to West Point and got a guided tour of the facility on an airconditioned bus.  It was very interesting and nice. I could have used the time for a good nap, but the tour guide kept waking me up to go see something.  Lots of history there.  This year's athletic cheer is "Beat Someone, Anyone!"

I don't know when I will have internet again, but until then I am yrs. trly.....

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

 I never know what state I'm in...

..other than lost.  I am presently in Pennsylvania.
Without the gps machine, though, only the ghost of Robert Frost would know which road I've taken.
New england has been around so long that they have filled up every nook and cranny with people nestled together in little hamlets. (Don't get me started on the language barrier---”towns” are not towns at all, but very large sections of land which contain towns.  No more than one town per town, please.)  Where there are not towns full of people, there are rivers and road connecting all the dots.

I left Canton Sunday a.m. heading for my friends' Steve Gillette and Cindy Mangsen's home in Bennington Vermont.  It took somewhere around fifteen different roads to get to Bennington....excuse me, to NORTH Bennnington.  To get to Bennington itself takes another whole set of directions.  I came down through Adirondack State Park, alongside slowly moving, very large rivers, much physical beauty, and virtually nobody outside enjoying it.  One of the puzzlements of this section of my trip are these huge rivers with nobody playing on them!  But back to the roads.  I imagine because of the incremental growth pattern --filling in here, filling in there—and the need to utilize every square inch of land, there is no road grid pattern.  To get from point A to B, they put a road in.  Then when points Aa and Ab And B1 etc. came into being, you just drew a bunch of squiggely  lines hooking them all together.  In any event, there is much truth to the old Maine joke with the punc hline: “you know, you just can't get there from here.”  There is certainly no easy way.

In a minor rebellion sort of mood, I turned off my GPS machine.  She and I had been developing something of a contentious relationship, and there were some communication issues...such as my asking “why do you say “bear right here” when what you really mean is “turn right”...there is a difference you know!  So after a wonderful visit with Steve and Cindy, and a night spent in the sleeping loft over their music studio (look for one of their CDs and you will not be disappointed:  Steve Gillette is the singer songwriter responsible for Darcy Farrow and Molly & Tenbrooks and his sister Darcy (yes Virginia, there IS a Darcy) was due to take over the studio sleeping pallet the day after my departure), I headed south west to my ultimate mid-point destination of Matamoras PA.  Being off-GPS I got lost almost immediately.  After wandering around a bit, finding ever tinier and quainter hamlets, I stopped to ask for directions to the interstate, which maps indicated should be no more than about twenty miles away.
This proved  to be a non-trivial problem.  After scratching his head a bit, the gas station owner said I should come inside and talk to Bob.  I did and Bob said: “...mumblemumble,bestway, I goto my grandson's that way, so you ...left then straight and pick up Highway 22 South.  Take you right there.”  [Pause] Me: “I thought I was on Highway 22 south.”  Bob: Oh you are. But you gotta, mumble draaaz [incomprehensible] then leftrightleft,,,,,or rightleftright? You'll see.  Then you mumble mumble and pick up Highway 22 again.”

Having reconciled with my GPS, we wandered south, found the interstate and safely arrived at our destination in Matamoras.  Old friends and new bikes to talk about.  More later on the 11th Road King Riders (and Gliders) Annual Rendezvous.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

The birds are tweeting and I am not

It is a beautiful morning in Canton NY!  the birds are singing, it is not raining (got it all done last night) and I am sitting with a cup of joe contemplating what it will feel like to do nothing today.  I will tag along with my cousin and hubby to a community garden potluck lunch.  And we may go visit the Remmington Museum (he was a local in this area, which I did not know.)

I am absolutely thrilled to have had my first encounter with the Amish Community.  It wasn't much.  I just passed a two horse team buggy with a familiy in it, and then a bit later a two draft horse flatbed wagon piled high with grain.  I say thrilled, because -- while I do not aspire in any regard whatsoever for the austere religious community life---there is something very romantic in the throwback lifestyle of hand tools and horse drawn locomotion.  Maybe it is because I've just done 3600 miles or so on a  motorcycle that the idea of sitting on a buggy behind a beautiful matched team of horses to go into town to shop just sounds wonderful.  How do they get their ice cream home frozen though?

Talking with my cousins, I learn that the Amish have been in this area a while, and are increasing in number as their need for land expands, presumably as families grow.  Land is relatively cheap here compared to Pennsylvania.  I know  next to nothing about the Amish.  I presumed that they were home schooled, but was not aware that English is taught in schools, to varying extents, as a second language, and that they speak one of several dialects of German dating back to the 17th Century...Their 'official church' language is Hoch Deutsch, or high German.  The fact that a population (current estimates are about 250,000 nationwide) of people can more or less smoothly coexist in our society even when they hold such dramatically different beliefs and cultural practices from the rest of us speaks to the flexibility and strength of our system.  It is surely a difference to be honored and respected.

I wonder if there's a place I could buy an Amish hat...they are really cool.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

"If I Could Have a Beer With Jeezus!"
If that 'hook' and title for a current 'modern country' song leaves you speechless...and in fact more or less freezes all thought processes while you are trying to grapple with the concept ...you are not alone. This singer/songwriter seems also to have difficulty in articulating what, in fact, the answer to this rhetorical question might be. He generally pokes around at what the consequences of such an event might be, but leaves us wondering what in fact would happen?  Would it be, for example, the sort of profound, life changing conversation that so often occurs over a few glasses at a bar?  Would he complain about how traumatized he was in Sunday School as a child?  Would he find a way to raise the fact that the  Cubbies haven't won a world series since 1908?

I raise this to make a general complaint to the radio universe:  I am a big fan of country music.  Real country music is just a subcategory af Americana/fok music, and holds a secure spot in the history of popular music in America.  Remember that Frank Sinatra once called George Jones the second best singer in America.  Merle Haggard is a true artist.  But when your radio selection choices are either fundamentalist christian stations (the so called Christian Music channels being even worse than the talk show versions) and 'Modern Country'  you are really between a rock and a hot place.  People were appalled when Miley Cyrus broke new ground in repulsive entertainment at last year's Video Music Awards, but it doesn't hold a candle to the travesty inflicted on country music by her father Billy Ray Cyrus with his mega hit “Achey Breaky Heart.”  That set the stage for the curent 'modern country'.  This genre has been so refined now that in a major urban area (lets say....Missouri and into Illinois and Indiana) you can flip rapidly among channels and swear you're hearing the same exact song on every channel.  That's because, you essentially are. Its Achey Breaky Heart with different words.  Imagine the relief when occasionally you run across a gem like If I Could Have a Beer with Jeezus!  At  least they're trying! Maybe this guy could pop for the beers and ask Jeezus for help with the verses?

All of this occurred to me while rolling from just east of St. Louis this a.m., across Illinois, Indiana and most of Ohio, and ending up on the northern border of Ohio and Pennsylvania, in Geneva OH.  Other things occurred to me too, but music is one way to relieve the tedium of the road, and contemplating the sorry state of our airwaves occupied a good bit of time.  One of the other things I spent some time contemplating of course was how cities smell.  Non motorcyclists do not usually realize how much of the motorcycling experience is olfactory.  Going though towns in Illinois, for example, I was constantly smelling tacos...I realized at last it was corn tortillas, or rather some sort of corn processing I was detecting.  Indianapolis smells like burned rubber and Columbus OH is a real puzzler.  'Smoked industrial chemical' is the best I can come up with...a combination of the smell you get when you open the package of a throw away plastic raincoat and the aroma of chipotle chilis.

It is hard not to spend some time thinking about regional differences in driving etiquette as well.  If there were a Miss Manners for traffic behavior, it is apparent that there would have to be a franchise in each jurisdiction.  In California, everyone just drives 5 to 7 mph above the speed limit, and adjusts lanes and positions accordingly.  I don't know what other drivers do in Nevada, as I never saw one.  Practical speeds in Utah and Colorado appear to be primarily dictated by geography, since everything is in curves. Kansans obey the speed limit to the letter as far as I can tell, as do Missourans, although the latter do tend to cheat a bit if they are pretty certain no one is around who will mind, or tell.
In Illinois, things are very mannered, and it appears that the basic rule is “trucks go a mite slower than the limit, and cars a mite faster.” Indiana? Forget rules.  Indiana sets impossibly slow speed limits on major freeways, which causes everyone to completely ignore them and do what they like.  There is a reason they located the Speedway there!  Ohio will drive you crazy!  They must have a network of information about where their highway patrol is on any given day.  When they are present, they will pull people over for going 72 in a 70 mph zone, and everyone drives the speed limit as a result.  That is unusual, however, as the two officers assigned to that duty can't be everywhere at once, and they appear to like hanging around together on the same highway.  On all other highways, it is dog eat dog and fend for yourself!  The only rule I could infer is that if there are three lanes (common) the middle lane is for the slow traffic.  The left lane is for the bold ones who think the slow lane is for wusses.  And the right hand lane is for the free-for-all crazies who meander about seeking any and every opportunity to go faster than anyone else in the neighborhood.

Since I appear to be in an Andie Rooney mood tonight, what else can I grouse about?  Well, its not really a grouse, but I wonder if the average person, who does not spend a lot of time crossing back and forth across the country, has any idea of the magnitude of the freight traffic on our interstate highways?!  Except in urban centers, where the major highways served primarily as commute corridors, I would guess that as much as 50 to 60% of the traffic on the interstate system consists of semi tractor/trailer rigs.  It might be more.  I don't know if this is a new phenomenon, or whether I just never noticed in before.  Particularly on the long east west pipelines for freight, I 10, I 40, I 70 and I 80—each of which I have traveled extensively in the last four years-- the semi-tractor trailer's are the dominant species.  I wonder if computer technology and the ease of dispatching and controlling freight has led to an increase in the use of freight trucks rather than trains?  I raise this issue not in complaint – I like my LLBean order to get to me as quickly as anyone---but as a question.  When we run out of fuel, what will replace these leviathans of the road?  If you figure it out, lets form an investment club and buy stock in whatever that technology will be.  Of course it has to be solar, but what will it look like?  Are solar semi-tractors feasible, or will it have to be back to a gigantic new network of trains fed and relieved by local electric shuttles?

Final observation...not really final final, but final for tonight, and maybe for a while, as tomorrow I hole up with cousin Pat and hubby Louis for some partying as only those in the north woods know how:  the obesity epidemic in this country is apalling.  I admit, I'm only encountering people at truck stops, gas stations and inexpensive family restaurants, and this may be selecting out those more habituated to fast foods.  But still, everywhere you look people are extremely over weight—particularly 20 and 30 year old women, but also many men in that age group.  The old guys who have given up the fight, or who never even gave it a passing thought are still around, and always have been.  But I am talking about a whole wave of young people –20 to 40s—who are just grossly unhealthy.  Very sad.  Of course, I never even think about how skinny it makes me look in comparison.  But, forget the diet! We have more important, national issues to think about.  Like what social atrocity will the Cyrus clan inflict on us next?

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

OK, its Wednesday so where do I start to catch up?

Awoke very early in Liberal KS, having gone to bed about 5 pm the day before....not that there is nothing to do in Liberal, but...

Hit the road about 6 a.m. under passably blue skies, with only some surrounding clouds.  Importantly: no wind to speak of. I started out with full winter condition gear  on though.  It was COLD.  After about two miles I encountered ground fog....not enough to obscure vision or anything, just pervasive enough to blend with the now completely overcast skies so as to create this feeling of being completely wrapped in freezing grey wool.

I'll say this for Southern Kansas roads.  They are straight!  No curves for these folks.  If they pitched, I'd bet it would be a fastball right down the middle every time.  This is also serious, industrial grade agriculture.  No waving fields of grain here.  There is no other way to describe the bleak bare earth fields, plowed and planted perhaps, or awaiting seed.  But virtually no crop growth is apparent.  there is also evidence of cattle, although I did not see vast herds.  One can periodically smell feed lots, but no cattle evident.  Passing through several industrial, silo'd towns...the principal purpose of which appears to be to collect the harvested result of the farming business...I note how completely inactive and empty they appear.  Abandoned run down buildings suggest failure;  however, much of it has the feel of seasonal inactivity.  Perhaps the beeves are in process and the seed is in the ground.

The beeves in process theory gets points as I pass huge factory buildings with names like "Acme
Beef Co." and note (it is imposssible to miss) the distinct odor of frying hamburger wafting across the highway....And I do not mean the pleasant aroma which may blow across from your neighbors backyard barbeque!  This is a rank, processing type smell that you do not want to linger over.

At around 9:00 a.m., I pull up in front of a diner located across from a silo farm and with nothing on either side.  It is the first eating-establishment I have passed (and having not yet breakfasted, I have been looking!)  The seed in the ground theory gets support from the fact that the diner is completely full of mostly round, mostly white middle aged men (one african american stands out strikingly against this background melee of caucasian chatter.) Plaid shirts, overalls, gimme caps prevail as the standard attire...the African American being no exception.  I feel like I have wandered into the radio set for Garrison Keillor's Chatterbox Cafe in Lake Wobegon, with its collection of Norwegian Bachelor Farmers.  Although no one is looking at me, they each are staring at me, at my motorcycle outside and, as I hang up my motorcycle jacket, at the fact that I am NOT wearing plaid or a gimme cap.  I stand there hoping to be invited to join the party, as there are a couple of tables with an empty chair.  But such is not to be.  After a few minutes, one older gentleman does wave for my attention, only to let me know that there is an identically sized room on the back of the diner, and that there are more tables back there.  Indeed there is and are;  there is also a great deal of peace and quiet, as I am the only diner back there.  The food was good, and plentiful however.  I had to apologize to the waitress for not cleaning my plate, and explain that when I ordered the hamburger patty and eggs special, I wasn't expecting an entire side of beef and a dozen eggs.

It is an old saw that one picks eating establishments by looking for the most local cars parked out front. That was certainly the way to do it in this little Kansas town, although to be fair, it was the ONLY place to eat for leagues around.  But it was clearly the gathering place for the local farmers/ranchers...probably representing 'spreads' which in fact were pretty spread around.  And the fact that they were all lounging around over coffee at 9:00 in the a.m. suggests that it was a down time of sorts for them.

In Ely Nevada I encountered a similar phenomenon..  There I had made a quick pass through town looking for a breakfast establishment with no luck, until I noticed that the parking lot at the local McDonalds was pretty busy.  Sadly, the local McDonalds appears to be the Chatterbox Cafe of
Ely.  One could identify through overheard conversation and intuition, local businessmen and shop keepers and ---I swear--two local attorneys each dressed to the nines in shirt and tie, dockers, ostrich skin cowboy boots and huge silver belt buckles, no doubt having been won as a prize in some important local legal contest.  OK, they could have been local used John Deere salesmen---it's sometimes hard to tell the difference.  But I like to think I encountered the local Ely Nevada bar at a power breakfast meeting at the local McDonalds.

Back to yesterday:  All went well across southern Kansas to Wichita, where I picked up I 35 N into Kansas City and a room for the night with an old friend.

Today, Wednesday, June 11 2014 broke sunny and clear, and hot and humid...in other words, a normal KC day.  Being an early riser, I snuck out, found a place for a quick breakfast, found a Starbucks for a cuppa and its wi-fi connection to do a little planning.  I have had to cancel a trip up to Iowa to visit an old friend from high school on account of delays, and I decide that as much as part of me wants to laze around in the balmy Kansas City weather, prudence dictates that I make hay while the sun shines.  (I hope you are not missing the way these agricultural homilies are creeping back into the old lingo?)  But, truly, I don't know what weather will hold down the road, so I might as well get scootin'.  One very important thing must first be attended to, however.  The bike is grossly dusty.  Inquiry determines that there is a self service car wash right around the corner, and that task is taken care of quickly.

With the bike at least presentable, if not in showroom condition, I then head for the local Harley dealer, which happens to be just a long five iron from where I am staying.  What is needed are extended mirrors.  The way I have planned this trip means there is one way to pack the bike...not just one efficient way, but only ONE way that all major pieces can be accommodated.  Unfortunately, not forseen, is the fact that --so packed--my vision aftward is obscured.  Safety and my disinclination to collect speeding tickets dictate that I be able to see behind me.  Harley Davidson has provided for this, and the dealer has them in stock.  Ten minutes later, tools packed back away and mirrors installed, I head back to my abode, pack up, provide hugs all around and hit the road for....well, somewhere east.

As the day progresses, the weather gets more mid-westy...that is, sort of permanently unsettled, overcast and basically grumpy--sort of like me.  I will not let it get to me though.  Today and the rest of the trip ---I am determined-- will be laid back, relaxed and without stress.  And so it goes.

In mid afternoon I cross the Missouri River going into St. Louie where Louis was once invited to meet at the fair, but never let on whether he went.  The Mizoo is impressive.  Only describable as quietly awe-inspiring, though, is the river one crosses as one exits St. Louis:  the mighty Mississippi.  It has a quiet ominousness about it, like a catapult permanently cocked and ready to fire, straining at the ropes, waiting to surprise.  It is massive.  I believe this makes it more impressive up at the St. Looey end than down in the Big Easy, where it just runs at will, seemingly uncontrolled and untamable,  but without the sense of foreboding one feels up north.

Crossing the Mississippi brings me into Illinois, despite my being under the impression (because of a unfortunate experience in fourth grade geography) that I am in Indiana.  Although I have an invitation to overnight in Chicago, I forego this so as to avoid the urban crush that our largest enclaves of civilization provide. Instead, I head cross-state, aiming to cross a.s.a.p into what really is Indiana and aim my cycle towards northern NY State.

Before I leave Illinois, though, I have to note how absolutely beautiful and lush it is.  Heavily forested landscape rolls away beside the highway, revealing acres and acres and still more acres of manicured fields of corn....some wheat, but mostly corn.  The corn is about as high as an elephant's shinbone, if that.  It is uniform in its color, height and impression of endlessness.  If you popped all of the corn in the fields I saw today, it would fill... well, something pretty big.  And everyone could watch every movie ever made twice, and still have popcorn to spare.

Carefully positioned on manicured lawns amid the fields are pretty little farmhouses of brick and carefully painted wood, which add to the Norman Rockwell-esque feeling of the surrounds. While it is most certainly the case, in today's age, that these fields are actually owned, tilled and harvested by giant agribusinesses, one cannot ignore the contrast with the stark industrialized landscape of southern Kansas.  This is a pastoral, rolling beauty wanting to be caressed and appreciated: The other is the ravaged and pillaged aftermath of a rapacious user.

I hunker down once again for the night and head off tomorrow for some destination northeast of here.
good night all.





n


Monday, June 9, 2014

OK folks, here goes.  Circumstances, explained below (so you'll have to read all the way) have me holed up in a run down motel in southwestern Kansas.  But it leaves me with some time to get caught up.  As the blog will put this all under today's date, I will list the days so far chronologically.

Day 1 I leave South Lake Tahoe, headed east.

Most of Nevada is in what is called the Great Basin.  This is part of the Basin and Range area, which extends from central Utah to the Sierra's on the west, and from southern Idaho to Mexico to the south. The defining feature of this area is that no surface water exits.  Exceptby evaporation of course, wotch occurs in spades.  One would think that this feature would create a big lake, but other features...notably exceedingly hot temps, result in this area being a high desert instead.

And I say High.  I left Lake Tahoe at 6200 feet, and for the next several days meandered from a low of 4500 feet to a high of 7400 feet in central Utah, with most of it probably around the 6500 foot level.  This is high desert!

So, that is what is interesting about it.  Unless you like lots of sagebrush and alkalai plain...then you have a lot to feed on.  But, personally, once I've seen a tunbling tumbleweed, I've seen 'em all.  I saw lots.  Fortunately, it wasn't too hot--mid 80's.  I was thankful.

Day 2:  I leave Ely Nevada, intending to make it to Gunnison Colorado.

I don't.  I camp out in Ely, leave early.  beautiful mornin!
I have dedided at tnt to follow U.S. 50 as far as Kansas City, and then perhaps pick it up on the east coast on the way back, so as to completely navigate the Lincoln Highway.

Started in 1913, the Lincoln Highway--nowU.S. 50--was the country's first coast to coast highway.  It began at the time in New York, and went to Sacramento.  It still ends in Sacramento, but now terminates at the other end in Ocean Beach Maryland.  There are signs at either end saying "Ocean Beach/Sacramento 3500 miles" etc.

It is a LOT slower than today's interstate however, and I slog along through Utah and into Colorado, and run out of steam in Montrose CO.  I AM POOPED! so I motel it.  Camping for sure tomorrow though, as all I have to do is make it across the Rockies and into flat as a pancake, easy as pie Kansas.  See below.

Day 3:  Montrose to????
I leave Montrose to sunny skies and head for Monarch Pass, the highway 50 route over the western range of the Rockies.  All goes swimmingly...or, rather, dryly.  However, looming thunder clouds seem to be following me, so I keep the throttle open and scoot eastward.  As I approach the eastern range of the rockies in the mid afternoon, however, the thunder heads catch up and there is as ugly a sky as I can ever imagine!  Bravely, I soldier on towards the 12,000 foot pass. Ooops! Lightning!  I can tolerate all kinds of weather, but lightning is not among them. I spin around, determined to find the nearest road going south,thence to pick up something going east.  While I quickly find the southern route, the eastern one is more elusive.  All routes east actually go northeast, into the same system I am running from.  The afternoon turns into a hunt and seek, with the storm system relentlessly pursuing me south.  But I prevail. Blue skies at last!!! I am in Santa Fe New Mexico!

I go east around the southern end of the Rocky Mountains and  north towards Kansas, determined to hole up in the first motel I see.  150 miles later in freezing cold, I encounter the same storm system i have been running from all day..but at least we are now b oth on the eastern side of the Rockies.  All it is is cold and wet;  all I am is freezing and wet.  But not fried.  I consider it a victory, and twelve long hours in the saddle later, pull into a motel in Raton New Mexico, poised for Day 4's thrust into the heart of America...Kansas!

Day 4: Shit Toto! I think we're in Kansas again!

Up to breakfast at 6 at the 'free' best western breakfast...this one consisting of granola and english muffins.  I feel virtuous.  The only thing good about it is that it is quickly over with and I am on the road.  For about a mile.  There is a tornado watch on, and though none are visible it is extremely windy and very cold.  I don a sweater, and move on.  then stop for another sweater.  Then stop again for a rain jacket/wind protector for under the jacket.  I am wearing every piece of cold weather gear I have short of stripping down and putting on my longjohns -- which I consider.

But it is not the cold that is bad.  Cold is bearable because I plan for it.  As is rain, sleet and anything short of snow.  But the wind!!! I have motorcycled across Wyoming and thought I had experienced the worst.  HA!  I had not experienced Kansas/Oklahoma in June!  For four hours I fight forty mph cross winds, stopping every 80 miles or so to catch my breath, fuel and hydrate.  I am making good time, but the system is getting worse.  Outside of Liberal Kansas the wind gets so bad that it is flicking around a 1000 pound combo  of Harley and rider like a leaf, and I am barely able to maintain control.  It is time to go to plan B, which hasn't existed 'til now.  Plan B is to return to Liberal and hole up in a motel 'til tomorrow.  That's the circumstance that permits me to update the blog.  It is still gusting in the range of 45 to 60 mph outside with rain now joining in on the fun.  so I am happy I'm inside.  Adventure is all well and good, but....
I have had to cancel my reunion in Topeka for this evening with my old folk trio from high school, which is a shame.  But maybe we'll hook up with one another my return trip.  Tomorrow my plan is to high tail it to Kansas City to catch up with my schedule.  More later good friends, I am yrs. trly.....


Saturday, June 7, 2014

Gentle readers, I have not forgotten and abandoned you.  I began my trip a  bit later than originally planned, and have been delayed by heavy winds in progressing as fast as anticipated.  I have things to report, and pictures to display, but not the time or energy to do so right now.  Instead, I'm going to bunk down early and hope that tomorrow brings a better day for blogging.

In synopsis, however: Fridat June 6 was my first day on the road, after spending a couple of days at Fallen Leaf Lake getting acclimated to some of my camping gear and fine tuning the packing of the bike, and it was uneventful but slower than anticipated.  I camped last night in Ely Nevada.
This a.m. quite early I hit the road hoping to make it to Gunnison CO.  I made it to Montrose CO, which is close but is no Gunnison.  Tomorrow my target is Dodge City Kansas, but that will be a 500 mile day, so I mayv end up pitching the tent somewhere in between.  I will keep all as up to date as I can ....

Friday, May 30, 2014

My packing problem has been solved....just don't take big camping stuff or as many clothes!

Last camping trip I went for comfort, and took a six person tent, an armchair, a cot, lots of kitchen stuff, a big down bag etc.  As you can see from photos of my 2011 trip, all I needed was a rocking chair strapped on top and you'd think I was one of the Joads coming out of Oklahoma into the LA Basin in 1930.  This time, I haven't sacrificed any one element of comfort, but I'm downsizing.  I'm taking a two person tent instead of a six. I won't be able to stand up in it, but it shouldn't be too claustrophobic for sleeping, and I can put essentials (like the guitar) in there with me to keep us out of the rain. I'm not taking an armchair, but a much more compact camp chair.  I'm packing a 45 degree-rated bag instead of a polar quality down bag.  This, together with a fleece blanket, should suffice for most reasonable weather conditions I'll encounter.  Harsh, unexpected weather is what motels are for.  The cot stays, however, as does the inflatable mattress to go on top of the cot and the pillow. I'm beyond the age where sleeping on the ground is fun.

After removing duplicate items and un-necessaries, I find  I can get all of this on board with some room to spare.  The Guitar straps right in where a passenger would sit and camera and long lens go in the right saddle bag where they are handy.

Here is my cool little tent, an REI HalfDome--

--and here is my entire kitchen.  This little stove by Primus will boil a quart of water faster that you can say "where did I put the instant coffee"? Eggs for breakfast? No problemo--there's usually a little diner nearby.  I do not plan on doing much food prep, but being able to sit back w/ a cuppa in the mornings and evenings is a must.  (I am taking a spork in case the urge to cook becomes overwhelming.)
And, speaking of which, last trip I took along a french press coffee maker and some coffee beans. Now, I've discovered Starbuck's Via line of instant coffee, which is supposed to be good and sure packs easier than the french press.  At less than $1/cup, its not a bad answer to one's need for civilized comforts.

So everything is smaller on this trip, and there's very little duplication of stuff:  One all purpose vented and waterproof MC jacket, one light sweater, one heavy sweater, one pair of rain pants.  Three pairs of gloves (very important, gloves).  I'll be on the road for four weeks, so I figure about one week's worth of clothes will do if I stretch that a bit (after all, I'm riding by myself and by definition am upwind of myself) and plan on doing laundry at my cousin's place (about half way through the trip.) Shoes are a surprising problem, as they are a bit awkward to pack and resist multipurpose applications.   I need two pair of riding boots, always a good idea on a long trip, believe me; a pair of flip flops for lounging around in, getting to the camp shower etc; and a pair of general purpose shoes.  I am going to be around civilized people from time to time, and sitting in their living rooms in motorcycle boots or flip flops doesn't seem right.  So call me Imelda if you will, I'm hitting the road with four pairs of footwear.

As far as the bike itself is concerned, all oils got changed out last week, steering bearings greased as per the manual for the miles I have on her (18,000 already!) and new tires were put on yesterday, along with new breakpads (rear).  She's waxed and sleek and rarin' to go.  Hope I can keep up with her.  A trial packing up a few days ago was successful, but I didn't think to grab a photo--ah, cameras were packed...that's why!  Next blog post will include pics of us both as we start her up and turn eastward.  
Laissez le bon temps rouler!

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Well, observant readers will notice there is a missing year in this on and off chronicle.  Yes, we have now skipped over 2013 in its entirety and landed smack dab in the middle of 2014.  What happened!? Well PROJECTS piled up and I needed to take a year off from fooling around and pay attention to doing stuff.  So, while all stuff is not done, progress has been made......soooooo! Here we go again.

Around and about June 3 I'm hopping aboard the FLTRU Road Glide Ultra and aiming its two headlights at Scituate Massachusetts, where I have  scheduled an evening to sit and listen to Mr. Greg Brown.  Like you, I too had never heard of Scituate Mass, although a friend from Boston says its quite famous (she didn't say for what).  However, my general plan called for me to be in the area of the East Coast of the USA on or about June 15, and that is when Mr. Greg Brown is appearing at the River Club Music Hall in said Scituate, Mass. So, that's where I'm going to be too.

This is all by way of my eventually arriving at the nominal objective of this trip, which will be attending the 11th annual Road King Riders Rendezvous, to be held this year in Matamoras PA.  Like you, I too had never heard of Matamoras PA, but between June 16 and 21 that is where approximately 67 Road King Riders will be on approximately 53 motorcycles.  It once was the case that each of these motorcycles would be Harley-Davidson Road Kings, and the riders mostly participants in the Road King Riders Internet Forum.  To satisfy mutual curiosities about who their internet correspondents were and how they could possibly hold the ridiculous opinions expressed in the quasi-anonymous ether of the net, these folks decided that an annual face-to-face showdown would be a good idea.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, that has remained the collective view.  However, as the group has evolved fewer and fewer Road Kings show up, having been displaced in greater and greater numbers over the years by 'geezer glides'--such as the FLTRU Road Glide Ultra upon which this geezer will ride in.  This year the event takes place in Matamoras, PA, I believe, for the simple reason that that is the point where three states --NY, NJ and PA--collide.  Whether Matamoras is the product of negotiated border war settlements, or something more exciting, will be reported on by yrs. truly later.

To get there, I am planning pretty much of a beeline route through the heart of America so as to reconnect with old friends in the land of Oz and neighboring flat places.  From there, I divert slightly to accomplish two objectives: 1) visiting my fondest cousin in Canton NY and 2) to mix some Pacific Ocean salt water with some Atlantic Ocean water as a souvenir.  I am looking for a suitable vessel for this stuff, something more meaningful than a urine sample bottle, yet easily packed and transported.
Suggestions are welcome.

More tomorrow on the problem inherent to this trip:  How does one pack a motorcycle for a one month camping trip across the country and also leave room to take a guitar and camera/lens system, thus enabling me to enjoy three avocations in one trip.  That is the puzzle.  Check in again to see if it has been solved!