Every Moment a "Kodak Moment" at 11,000 Feet

US 50 (I-70) near Green River, UT

Salina, UT

Stung by my observations regarding his obsessive riding-before-daylight behavior, Old Danny Boy cooled his jets this morning. We didn’t roll ‘til dawn’s early light. Or was it the passing thunderstorm that gave him pause. He even put on his rain gear BEFORE he got wet. I’m thinking the guy is starting to pay attention to what I’ve been telling him. Maybe he had to see it in print.

After a nice forty-mile ride in the rain, we arrived at the Rocky Mountain’s foothills. They quickly became the real deal. The rain stopped but ODB was glad to leave his raingear on for warmth. The thermo was stuck on 62 degrees. Climbing elevation negated the sun’s warming power.

At our first fuel stop, ODB called Al the Fisherman in Eugene, Oregon and sang him the Happy Birthday Song. AtF is 74 today. He’s a good friend of mine and is like a brother to ODB.

A few more miles down the road we started ascending Monarch Pass. Things did not look good. A few miles up, and I mean UP, the road disappeared into the massive black cloud that obscured any view of the mountain. He had his raingear on already, but it was getting colder and his gloves were wet from the morning rain. It was time to stop and change into warmer clothes.

Here’s the thing about mo-cy riding. You are outside. When conditions are stable, even if they’re bad, you dress once and go. When conditions are variable, changing stops are needed. Hence, an underpass becomes the riders changing room. With no underpass available today, ODB found a safe place to pull over out in the open.

Bear with me now, please. If I can do it, you can too. Okay, his rain pants and jacket come off. Heavy over pants go on over his jeans. A thick leather jacket goes on over the liner, which he already had on under the raingear. The rain pants go back on over the over pants. The rain jacket goes back on over the leather jacket. Don’t forget to thread the wires for the heated gloves down the sleeves of the rain jacket. Get the gloves plugged in to the wiring harness, and the harness plugged into the mo-cy. There. He’s good to go. And we’re off.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention all this happens at 8000-something feet. After bending over to get the stirrups of his rain pants situated under his shoes, he stood up and darn near passed out from the lack of oxygen.

So, what do you think happens immediately after putting on three pair of pants?

Yup. He has to go.

“Are you kidding me? You need to go?”

“I know. I just went, too. It’s crazy. Maybe if I just ignore it, it will go away.”

“Right.

We head up the road and into the dark cloud. It doesn’t rain, but it is cold enough to make him glad he went to all the trouble of getting into his heated gloves and warm clothes.

“Okay, I gotta go. I’m pulling over.”

“Right.”

"No. No. I can make it. We'll just keep going. It's probably a false alarm."

"Right."

A few miles later, we stop.

While he heads off to do his business, I calculate just how many fastening devises he’s going to have to undo and redo to accomplish this feat. Elastic waistband on rain pants; a Velcro-strip buckle, two snaps, and a zipper on the over pants; a belt buckle, a button, and zipper on jeans; and that gets him down to his underwear.

Up we go through the clouds. The altimeter reads 10,000 feet and we’re still climbing. On our way east we topped out at 11,111 feet on the 550. Today, we crest Monarch Pass at 11,312. This point is also the continental divide. On the Pacific side we find nothing but azure-blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Unbelievable.

Before long we’ve stopped again. It’s pushing 80 degrees now and ODB is eager to get out of all those clothes. It takes another good while to get everything put away.

We saw hundreds of bikers today, all headed east. We presumed that most of them were headed for the Sturgis, SD motorcycle rally. Several times while we stopped for fuel people asked if we were headed for Sturgis.

“Nope. We’re headed home to Oregon.”

I could hear a note of relief in ODB’s voice when he said it. We’ve been on the road four weeks today.

The word for the day was “Wow!” What with Colorado’s Rocky Mountains and Utah’s amazing geology, every moment was a “Kodak moment.”

An intersection of note today – where the 550 begins in Montrose, CO. We were headed southbound here on Friday, July 6.

Another factoid: My trip odometer passed the 10,000-mile mark today.

Tomorrow we go deep into “The Loneliest Road in America.” There is one place where it’s153 miles between gas stations. I hold five gallons. If Mr. Lead Fist takes it easy, I’ll give him 40 MPG.

The odds of him taking it easy on this lonely stretch of desolation?

Not good. Not good at all.

(Google Map Update)

"Danny, We're Not In Kansas Anymore"

Well-worn elevator on the Kansas 50

Pueblo, CO

The plan, as explained to me by Old Danny Boy as he parked me for the night, was to sleep-in until “AT LEAST 5:00.”

So, along about 4:15 here he comes, all perky and cheerful, asking me if I’m "ready to rise and shine and greet the day?” There are reasons he rides alone. This is one of them (the list is long).

There was absolutely NO reason for an early start. We gained an hour crossing from Central to Mountain Time, and we had a relatively short, 400-mile ride. Evidently that information was lost on Mr. Morning Person. Soon enough we were on the highway, riding merrily along, in the dark.

Why he does this, no one knows.

Not surprisingly, traffic was sparse, as was the scenery. I’m not sure what we would have seen were we able to see anything. The road was a straight-as-an-arrow two-laner with good paint, which is most helpful when it comes to staying between the lines. Still, it was good to see those first rays of daylight in that forever Kansas prairie sky.

We rolled through the infamous old west towns of Dodge City and Cimarron. We noticed more cowboys on ATVs than on horseback. Still, there was no mistaking them for city slickers.

And then we arrived in Garden City, KS, a city we remember from our ride north on US 83. On July 10, we rode this very road. It was the day we departed Dog Food Motel in Abilene, TX. This morning we stopped to commemorate the event (no, not the dog food; the crossing of the paths). You can see by the light and shadows that it’s still early in the morning. Check out ODB in my rearview. (right)

While this point seemed to us like the center of the lower 48, the actual “Midway USA” was 88 miles back the way we came, in Kinsley, KS. We looked for but could not find this sign. Turns out it was a relic of Hwy 50’s early days and is now long gone.

Just before we crossed into Colorado, we arrived in Coolidge (pop. 95). ODB made a U-turn and stopped to look around. Here’s what Ol’ Dan discovered on this dazzling 30^th day of July. 
 (Google Map Update)

 

The Phone Company

ODB Talks to God

South Hutchinson, KS

Tallgrass National Preserve near Emporia, KS

It’s a good thing we weren’t here last night. Eighty mile per hour “micro-burst” winds took out power in general and tore roofs off several buildings in this area. Now, the sun is shining brightly, there’s a gentle breeze, and it’s a warmish 104 DEGREES!

Old Danny Boy was ready for this one. He did his research and knew it would be wise to be off the road by noon. Therefore, we pulled out of Union, MO this morning at 0330.

What ODB didn’t count on was a line of thunder storms marching through Missouri about that same time. As he prepared his gear for takeoff, lightning flickered in the distance.

“Chances are it will have moved on by the time we get there,” he assured me.

“Chances are you’d better put your rain gear on before you get wet instead of after,” I replied.

 A few miles down the road we took shelter under a gas station canopy while Mr. Wet Pants pulled on his rain gear. With hours to go before sunrise, we were in for an adventure.

Eastern Missouri’s US 50 is two lanes of curving, rolling highway. Straightaways are rare and short. Other than the strobe effect of flashing lighting, it was pitch dark. Rain came in waves from pour to sprinkle. As one storm-cell moved on, another arrived to take its place.

We were lucky that the lightning was directly overhead only once. Once was plenty.

KA BLAM!

It made Old Danny Boy talk to Jesus.

“Excuse me, Jesus. I’m Mary Ellen Dreier’s son, Dan. She’s been asking you to watch over me, not electrocute me. If it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to ride out of this in one piece, please.”

A short while later the rain stopped. Before long, a rising sun in the east lit up clouds in the western sky. It was 80 degrees by 6:30.

The landscape slowly transitioned from rolling forested hills to prairie land.

By the time we pulled into South Hutchinson, Kansas at 11:30, it had been 100 degrees, or more, for two hours. The forecast high here today is 108.

Highway 50 takes many shapes and forms. It’s an old system, but in places it has been rebuilt, combined with other routes and on occasion, paired with Interstates. However, there are some sections that go way back. In these areas, we’ve noticed a few old gas stations that were built for the horseless carriage. We saw one in Syracuse, MO today.

Here’s a link to it on Google Street View and a couple of Internet photos.

This link is just down the street in the same town, Syracuse, MO, population 170.

I wanted to stop so ODB could take some pictures, but no. ODB was hell-bent on getting to his motel. There’s no stopping when he’s like that.

(Google Map Update)

MME Answers Mail in St. Louis

Union, MO

He sings hymns. He can’t help it. He was born into it.

We’re westbound on the Half Buck. The sun, rising directly behind us, illuminates misty fields. Our long shadow precedes my front wheel.

These hymns reside someplace in his brain where memory cells still function. They come to him, usually in multiple verses, these old-time gospel songs. This morning, it was “When the Roll Is Called up Yonder.”

Especially the lines:

“On that bright and cloudless morning.”

And, “When the morning breaks, eternal, bright and fair.”

This time of day is Old Danny Boy’s fix, if you will, – the open road, the purr of my engine (remember, he’s deaf and rides with his hearing aids in an Altoids box). He feels close to Whomever and Whatever it is that isn’t here. He is peaceful, happy, and content.

I asked him, “What if the roll WAS called up yonder this morning and now you ARE there?”

He allowed, “That may have happened. There sure aren’t many people about.”

Then we remembered . . . it was Saturday.

Okay, YOU ride with somebody every day for a month and see what YOU talk about.

US 50 did what it does, mutating from two lanes of local access to busy divided four-lanes, then back. Being Main Street for Small Town, USA. Going through larger cities is a challenge as the “50” signs disappear. GPS isn’t always reliable as it wants to be efficient and practical. So it’s seat-of-the-pants dead-reckoning when it comes to following the Five-O in cities.

In the countryside, there always seems to be a sign on the far side of any intersection with a numbered highway. ODB likes it best when the GPS screen reads, “Continue on US 50.”

Continue on we did, right on to St Louis. Freeway construction afforded us a place to pull over while he snapped the “Gateway to the West” arch. The west? Seems like we just started through the Midwest yesterday. We have six days of “the West” stretched out in front of us.

 

This afternoon we passed a Six Flags amusement park here in Missouri. My rider paid me a nice complement when he said, “I have all the thrill ride I’ll ever need right here under my butt.” He’s a sweet guy, that Old Danny Boy.

And that brings me to this, a couple of e-mail queries:

This from “Your Faithful Reader” in Eugene, OR:  “How can you write? You’re a motorcycle and don’t have any fingers.”

It is not necessary to have fingers in order to write. All you need to write is to have something to say.

Furthermore, I have staff.

And this from “Just Wondering” in Poughkeepsie, NY:  “You and ODB seem to be in a relationship. Are you two in love?”

I had to check in with Old Dany Boy on this one. It’s a toughie. First of all, I’m not a person. I’m a thing (and proud of it). Hey, according to the US Supreme Court, some things ARE people. But I, like Bad Hat’s John Perry, digress. . .

Mr. O. D. Boy remembers not only hearing, but believing that “You shouldn’t love something that can’t love you back.”

Fair enough. But wait . . . What about your country. Do you love your country? And freedom, do you love that? Those are not people. One is a place, the other a state of being.

Personally speaking, I’m a machine. (That was a joke, right there. In case you missed it.) Okay, I’m a machine. I can’t love any thing, any place, any way of being, or any body. So that’s easy. I just am. It just so happens that other than my motorcycle attributes, I can write.

The big question is, Does Old Danny Boy love me?

He loves She Who Is His Life Partner, his family, and his friends. He loves his country and his freedom. He loves to play music. He loves to write (He’s a MUCH better writer than I). And he loves the way he feels when he rides me, his motorcycle.

When I pressed him with, “But do you love me?” he thought about it. He considered how much money he has spent on me, how much time he has spent with me, and how much fun, agony, terror, and thrills he has had with me.

After a period of silent pondering he sighed, nodded, and confessed . . .

“Yes.”

(Google Map Update)

Heading West On the Half Dollar

Newport, KY

Raindrops splashed on Old Danny Boy’s bald head as he packed me up for this morning's ride. After yesterday’s sizzler, he said the rain felt good. Though the morning air was warm, he put on his raingear, threw a leg over, pressed “Start”, and there was thunder . . . Mine!

ODB and I are dedicated to following US Hwy 50. The GPS continually challenges that commitment with suggestions for more direct or faster routes. But no, we’re doing The 50 from end to end. Later, that meant backtracking when He Who Navigates took us down the wrong road. We dutifully turned around, went back, and picked up the Half-Dollar Highway.

It was one wet morning as we crossed Virginia, West Virginia, western Maryland, and more of West Virginia. The 50 is two lanes of blacktop as it snakes across the Blue Ridge Mountains. Areas of fog made for an extra challenge. Still, it was warm, the roads generally in good repair, traffic was sparse, I was running well, and ODB was in good spirits after a tough day in DC.

Note to travelers in these parts: When the suggested speed for a corner in the Blue Ridge Mountains says “25 MPH”, it means that you COULD make the corner at 25 MPH on a good day IF you were at the top of your riding/driving game, and IF you wanted to challenge your cornering skills. Otherwise, better take it at 20. ODB found this out the hard way, drifting me into the oncoming lane – unable to hold the line at the posted speed. We encountered several 15 MPH corners along the way that were extremely difficult due to steep grades. All in all, ODB found the morning’s ride to be technically challenging, exciting, beautiful, and most enjoyable.

The day heated up, the rain stopped, and my rider changed out of his raingear. At Bridgeport, WV the 50 suddenly morphed into divided four-lane – a welcome change of pace. After 125 miles of that, it was back to two lanes as the world around us transformed to Midwestern-style farms and fields. We toured Main Street in dozens of small communities along the way.

Check out Hillsboro, OH (right) http://goo.gl/maps/WvcO where eleven roads intersect. One of them is US 50 West.

My thermo read 102 when we reached Cincinnati and crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky for the night. We’re right across from the Great American Ballpark, home of the Cincinnati Reds. ODB is relaxing in his motel room. I’m out here in a thunderstorm working my tailpipe off getting this report ready.

I don’t mind a bit. It’s good to be back in the Midwest.

(Google Map Update)

Emotions at 102 Degrees

Winchester, VA

We turned the corner at Ocean City, Maryland before sunup. Old Danny Boy parked me on the side of the street, and then walked to where he could get a shot of the “Sacramento CA 3073” sign. It was already warm, windy, and muggy – a combination we’re not used to.

Rehoboth was a very quiet place unto ODB pulled the trigger on my ignition at 4:45 this morning. Ocean City was a different story. Quiet, yes – but far from deserted. OC is a big-time resort and party town, There were plenty of folks making their way home as daylight encroached over the Atlantic. One lip locked couple leaning against a utility pole evidently believed they already were home . . . with the door closed . . . to the bedroom.

Okay, that was interesting, but not worth going around the block for. But hey, he’s the driver, not me. What’s a mo-cy to do?

He claimed the reason he went around the block was to get the sign shot.

Right.

That corner in Ocean City was a big deal for Mr. Boy. He’s big on end-of-the-road phenomena. And he’s been obsessing about US 50 for years. We even stopped long enough for him to have a cup of coffee from the 7-11 at that very corner.

Then we were off, barreling eastbound and down on a nearly empty US 50 in rural Maryland. Conditions gradually changed the closer we came to Washington DC. By the time we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge (one impressive structure, this) US 50 was four lanes of madness. Later, I would understand why.

This is a guy thing. I know all about guys. My rider is one. Guys understand that before they get into DC, traffic will come to a standstill. Therefore, they take that into considerations when they figure how fast they will drive. In this case, the speed limit is 55. However, since a fair amount of time will be spent below 10 MPH or stopped altogether, one must drive 80 when one can in order to average things out at 55.

The lack of city governance is obvious in DC traffic. Timed lights? No way. Arbitrary street repair with no warning of lane closure? Who needs warning signs? Just start digging and let drivers figure it out when they get there. Street blockades? Hell yes. We wouldn’t want anyone driving past the White House for cryin’ out loud. Parking? Park in Virginia and take a tour bus back to DC. The tour companies need the money and DC doesn’t have room for such mundane stuff as parking. After all, legislators are dropped off and picked up by one of the hundreds of dark windowed town cars that park illegally in the outside traffic lane.

By now the thermo’s at 102. Humidity must be pushing 99%. ODB, in his mo-cy gear of long sleeved cotton shirt and heavy jeans, decides he needs to visit Arlington. I wait in the parking lot, one of the few in DC. No wait, Arlington is in Virginia. I rest my case.

So, off goes Mr. Tender Heart to see Arlington. When he comes back he’s a basket case. Not only is he exhausted from the heat and humidity, he’s completely overwhelmed by what he’s seen: JFK’s Eternal Flame. Ted and Robert Kennedy buried under simple wooden crosses. Reports fired in the distance in threes – funerals are underway. A horse-drawn cortege passes. The Tomb of the Unknowns and the changing of the guard there. But most of all, rows and rows upon endless rows and rows of perfectly aligned marble gravestones.

I tried to get him to leave, but no, he “has to” visit the Viet Nam Wall. He would not listen to reason. So, with My Rider about ready to fall over from heat and emotion, we head off to The Wall.

It took a while to find a place to park. We’re back in DC now. Finally, we land a spot; he leaves me to walk across a field of grass. It’s so damn hot! He’s thinking about sacrifice and how silly it is to complain about the heat, considering what so many have faced. He arrives and walks down to the monument. Again, he is overwhelmed. These soldiers were his peers. His name could easily be on the wall had things gone just a little bit different back in ’64. It was just too much. Too many names. Too much heat. Too much humidity. Too strong a reflection back from The Wall. He kept seeing himself.

We try to flee DC but are unable to get through jammed traffic. He’s taking a beating from a relentless sun. My engine is throwing off even more heat as we sit in a stagnant sea of iron.

About the time he starts seriously contemplating criminal behavior, traffic breaks and we start moving. That brings some relief. At least the air is moving. The thermo drops to 100-even and stays there until we reach our motel, two hours later.

(Google Map Update)

A Lovely Late Start

Rehoboth Beach, DE

Can you say “ruh-HOE-buth”? I thought not. That’s the way the motel keeper pronounces it and she’s lived in this part of Delaware all her life.

But I’m ahead of myself. Return with me to Ashland, Mass.

I wasn’t sure if Old Danny Boy was going to drag himself away from Quent and Joann this morning or not. He lingered over breakfast. My wheels did not roll until 7:30, that’s late for us. You see, ODB and the Sewells go way back. They met in 1960, when ODB really was a boy and folks actually did call him Danny. Joann still does.

In ‘64, the Sewells moved away. ODB rode a Greyhound to see them once in ‘65 – from Iowa to Framingham, Mass. and back. And that was the last time they saw each other until Monday afternoon. After 47 years, they had some catching up to do.

Joann fixed massive amounts of really fine food. Quent gave ODB the Grand Tour. But mostly – and bestly – they talked, laughed, shed a tear or two, waxed profoundly, ranted politically (staunch libs, they and he), and listened to music made back in the day.

 We arrived to a big sign on the front of the house.

After casually mentioning that his accommodations were the best he’s had yet – except, maybe, for the lack of randomly scattered dog food (a perk he enjoyed so much in Abilene, Texas). ODB’s day was made when he walked into his room later that day.

Finally this morning they gathered round yours truly, they hugged, they said loving words and they hugged again . . . and then we were off on Leg III, The Ride Home.

About two miles down the road we rolled over the big blue Boston Marathon starting line. It’s painted permanently on the street there in Hopkinton. Then we worked our way over to New York’s Taconic Parkway, an amazing road that is limited to passenger vehicles, but no campers RV’s, or trailers. This divided two laner is posted at 55. It had very little traffic, no stop signs or signals, no driveways, and very few cross roads. It was like driving through a 60-mile long park. Oh yes, it had no tolls.

Unlike New Jersey’s Garden State Parkway, that has a toll plaza every few miles. ODB grew quite proficient at throwing handfuls of quarters into the big catch basins at the exact change stations. Traffic on that “Parkway” was atrocious. In all fairness, it does go through some highly populated areas (Newark, for one). Still, who ARE all those people and why are they all going in the same direction at the same time? And fast? Are you kidding me? All four lanes were running 75 to 80. Posted speed? 55 MPH.

Thanks to ODB’s superior planning, we arrived at the Cape May Ferry as the boat was leaving the harbor. We had to wait 90 minutes for the next $31, 17-mile, 85-minute ride across Delaware Bay. Still, it was a beautiful day in Cape May, as it was all the way from Sewell’s to ruh-HOE-buth.

(Google Map Update) 

ODB, SEE, and MME

ODB and Sarah Elizabeth Evans

Norway, ME

We’ve had a fine weekend here in Norway, Maine, where Old Danny Boy spent time with his friend Sara, her four kids (#5 is on the way), and her partner Mike.

ODB met Sara while driving the 40 Royal route as a rookie bus driver. It was 1985. Sara, then an 11-year-old girl, was taking care of her younger brother and her mother, making sure they got off at the right stop and had all their things. Sara’s mom had big problems with alcoholism in those days, so Sara stepped up to be the one in charge.

The family rode the bus system daily. In short order, the bus driver and the girl in charge became friends.

As she grew up, Sara moved back and forth between different foster homes, group homes, and periods be being back with her mom. But she always rode the bus, and the friendship between the bus driver and the girl endured.

Now, 27 years later, the mom still rides the bus, ODB still drives the bus, and they talk when time permits. Mom has been sober for years and is doing well.

Sara moved to Maine in 1994, but she and ODB have remained friends and correspond often. I met Sara on our first Major Motorcycle Pilgrimage Across America in 2008. We came out again in 2009. So this was our third visit. It is a joy to give her children rides. We put 150 miles on the dial and never left the area.

Lewiston Falls

Today, ODB and I head down the road 170 miles to Ashland, Mass to visit his friends there. We depart Ashland Wednesday AM for the ten-day ride home.

There weren’t any motel’s available in Norway as it was NASCAR weekend at the local speedway. Therefore, we’ve been staying in nearby Lewiston, the city Sara and family lived in for years before moving to Norway.

Here are some Lewiston landmarks.

I’ll be back with a report after Wednesday’s ride.

(Google Map Update)

Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul

One of Lewiston's many closed mills

The Turning Point

Norway, ME

What bliss – to be back on two lanes of blacktop. What a relief – not one single semi for the first two hours of the day. What thehellwasthat? – a black bear ambles across the road close enough that we had to slow down to avoid being eaten.

 The sun came up right in front of us as we traveled northeasterly out of Utica into upstate New York. So bright the sun on this clear and cool morning that Old Danny Boy had a hard time seeing. No complaining though, he knew it was our last day of eastward travel. Today we would hit the turning point of this Major Motorcycle Pilgrimage Across America. From here on out we were southbound a bit, and then westbound back across the continent.

Saranac Lake from Mt Baker

ODB is a might confused about the Adirondacks. He always thought they were mountains. We went right through the Adirondacks today and didn’t climb one single mountain. We did see lots and lots of beautiful lakes, villages dripping with character and charm, working traditional farms, and that bear. Signs warned of “LOOSE MOOSE”. We didn’t see any. Or any tightly wound ones, for that matter.

Saranac, NY Main Street (winter)

We came within a mile of Canada, and then made a right turn into Vermont and US Hwy 2. We hadn’t gone very far when ODB saw a 45^th parallel sign. He had to look at the map before he could believe that northern Vermont isn’t any farther north than Salem, Oregon. In fact, the Vermont/Canadian border is to the south of Portland, Oregon. Maybe you already knew that. It was news to ODB and me. And here we thought we were “up north.”

North Hero, VT courthouse

In New Hampshire we traveled past Mt Washington. On top is an observatory that held the record for the highest wind ever measured on the Earth's surface at 231 mph. And no, we are NOT going to try and top that, ODB. Don’t even think about it.

 The day started off cool at 58 degrees. Before long we had to stop so My Fearless Rider could put on his heated gloves. That was after we saw the bear. So although his hands were numb with cold, we couldn’t stop until we got to a town, lest another bear came by looking for breakfast. By noon it was warm enough he could shed his jacket. My thermo never went past 82 all day. A beautiful day for an amazing ride, it was.

 Now, back to that turning point . . .

 We’re eastbound on US 2 in Maine. GPS says our right turn to the south is coming up. As we get closer the screen reads, “Turn right on Lover’s Lane.”

 This sets He Who Twists the Throttle to thinking of She Whose Hand Holds the Key to His Heart. Unfortunately, Lover’s Lane soon deteriorates to the point we are expecting to see a “PAVEMENT ENDS” signs. As we made our 25 mph-way along one lane of washboard and potholes, I could hear his brain-wheel turning. Then he had it. He begged me to put it in my report tonight. He was so darned proud of himself it would break his heart if I didn’t comply . . .

We rode right down the middle

 of Lake Champlain – first on

a peninsula, then island hopping.

Here we had to wait for a boat to cross.

Just for the record

 Don’t say you weren’t told

 Lover’s Lane is a narrow

 And bumpy old road

 Burma Shave

                        (Google Map Update)

Time Traveling Through Indian Territory (Go East, Young Man)

Utica, NY

Thunder trumped the alarm clock for Old Danny Boy this morning. Getting up at 4:00 wasn’t too bad. After all, he had the alarm set for 4:20. We don’t see this kind of weather in Oregon – warm at 80 degrees, a thunder storm rolls in, crashes around for a time, quickly dumps a lot of rain, then rolls on. The humidity, now at 99%, causes a heavy mist to form on the ground. What a wonderful time to go for a motorcycle ride.

We don’t usually stop until we burn our first tank of gas. This morning, ODB pulled into the first stop on the turnpike for coffee. Contrary to his usual ways, he made me wait while he took his sweet time. It was still dark, the rain was falling but tapering off, and baby clouds were being born in fields across the way, still on the ground and waiting for liftoff. He's standing there singing between sips. How someone can be so darned happy at this time of day is beyond me.

Along about 8:00 we stopped so he could get out of his rain gear and check in with She Who Beat Chinook Winds at BINGO. SHBCWB who wasn’t all that happy to hear from him. Turns out it was only 5:00 in Salem.

 He knew we were getting close to the Eastern Time Zone, but was surprised to learn we’d been in it since crossing the border into Indiana yesterday.

 So . . . Hello from the East!

The last time we were in these parts was 2009 when we followed US Hwy 20 from Newport, OR to Boston, MA. That road runs right through downtown Cleveland. We got SO LOST while trying to negotiate city center that we ended up in a bus only lane. Ironically, it was a lane for Bus Rapid Transit, the same type of bus route ODB drives for LTD.

This time around it was WAY different. No stopping. No intersections. No Signals. No small towns to look at. And nothing to do but 1, Aim high in steering. 2, Get the big picture. 3, Keep your eyes moving. 4, Leave yourself an out. And 5, Make sure they see you (He's had remedial Smith System Training so often they need to invent a sixth key just to keep him interested).The only thing that slowed us down was the occasional toll booth. We spent the entire day on freeways or turnpikes. It’s a great way to get from Point A to Point B. It’s a lousy way to see the country. Thankfully we’re back on state highways tomorrow.

I-90 into Cleveland from the south

However, I-90 does go through Cleveland. We managed to do that during the morning rush. We were able to enjoy an amazing view of Cleveland’s skyline as we approached from the south. Front and center was Progressive Field, home of the Insurance Agents. I mean Indians.

In my humble mo-cy opinion, the 550 in Colorado with its deadly rock walls and sheer cliffs is a safer place to ride. ODB really had to keep his wits about him to keep us out of trouble. That’s not easy as he only has a few wits left.

(Google Map Update)

On the Road Again, Goodbye and Hello Mary Ellen

Fremont, IN

Although it was surely against the parking lot rules at Windhaven Assisted Living, I spent the night at the curb just outside Mary Ellen Dreier’s window – my namesake asleep just a few yards away.

When it comes to motorcycles, MED has an opinion that is succinctly pointed. “I just don’t like those noisy brutes,” to be exact. Well, I know she doesn’t feel that way about me. The first time we met in 2008 Old Danny Boy parked me in this exact same spot and brought his mother out for a proper introduction. By then, I already had her signature painted on my gas tank. My Rider got to talking with some other residents and momentarily lost track of his mother. When he turned around to see where she’d gone, he found her sitting sidesaddle on Yours Truly! She had asked no one to help her. She just assumed it was safe to climb aboard, I guess. But there she was, beaming proudly over her accomplishment.

It was way too early this morning when ODB came out to get ready for the day’s ride. He woke at 2 AM and could not get back to sleep. He got up at 3, had some coffee, and then brought out his stuff. He was packing it away when we heard tapping from MED's window. Sure enough, there she was, waving to us.

He finished loading, and then went back to her apartment. Although they said their goodbyes last night, they had another round at 4 this morning.

I-80 over Thornton, Illinois aggregate quarry

Then we were off into Iowa’s warm and humid dark before the dawn. I tried my best to avoid sounding like a noisy brute, but was unsuccessful. Sorry, Mary Ellen.

This day’s ride was purely business. Freeway all the way so thick with semi-trucks it was downright weird when there wasn’t one nearby.

We hit our first toll road today, as well – $6.90 for the first 125-miles into Indiana.

 It was warm today, 80 by 8 and 90 by 9. Later, we dodged storm clouds that dropped some rain. We did travel several miles of wet pavement – so much for “It’s good to be clean."

I’ll tell you what; it’s good to be rolling again, clean or not.

(Google Map Update)