Well, I thought I was pretty smart posting a blog. As I was admiring my literary masterpiece, I decided to do some more. The problem was it took an hour to get to the point where I could type something again. I guess you have to log in from scratch again. Maybe when I figure all this voodoo out, I can come back and delete the first experimental posts. I'm gonna try and cut and paste a trip log that I wrote a while ago. Who knows what will happen!.
I made a trip to Vernal, Utah in July, 2006 and met up with my old Marine Corps buddy from 1975. I did not take any pictures until I got to Sedalia, Colorado. In fact, I didn’t even get a map until I got to Lamar, Co. When I left home, I figured on riding about 350 miles a day. The longest trip I had ever taken was 360 miles in one day up to that point. When I got to Charleston, WV, I thought that would make a good stopping point. The weather was perfect and if I stopped then, there would be nothing to do other than twiddle my thumbs and watch guiding light on the television. I continued westward. Many bikes blew by me with a wife of girlfriend on the back and I couldn’t figure out how they were going so fast with such apparent ease. I promised the bride I would call her at 2000 each evening to let her know I was still alive and well. At the appointed time, I pulled off interstate 64 and told her the trip was going fine and I was passing through the Hoosier National Forest in Indiana. By the end of the first day, I had gone 713 miles. At the end of the third day, I pulled into Pueblo, Colorado. I didn’t think that was too bad on a softail deuce with no windshield. I found a Harley shop, but they had just closed for the day. Had they been open, I may have traded my bike in for something designed for doing the miles I had done and anticipated in the near future. The trip ended up being 5316 miles in eight days of riding. Once in Colorado and Utah I wished there was a way to let the missus and those I knew east of the Blue Ridge to appreciate the scenery that I had seen. While riding through the Gunnison National Forest I was laughing to myself how insignificant we humans are on the grand scheme of things. Having to deal with urban sprawl on a daily basis, this was unbelievable. As I was getting ready to leave Vernal and head home, I looked at a map and figured Yellowstone was about a good days ride due north. The chance of being this far west anytime soon was minimal so I decided to take a look-see. Sure am glad I did. As it was a Sunday, there were lots of tourists and many traffic backups for some reason. It didn’t take long to figure out why the congestion was so bad. I had stopped and taken a picture of some bison about a hundred yards away. I thought I had really captured a photo masterpiece. Little did I know the beasts were standing in the road a mile away and snarled traffic while people were getting close up shots. As I made my way past some of these critters, if I had three arms I could have reached out and touched them; they were that close and massive. As I was ready to go home and see my bride I headed out of fishing bridge, eastbound. By the time I got to Cody, Wyoming, it was time for a break. I holed up at the Western Six Gun Motel ready for a piece of steak meat and a frosty malt beverage. The motel clerk said there was a steak place just down the road, so that’s where I headed. That was the best piece of blackened prime rib I have ever eaten, (Cassie’s supper club). Not until weeks later did I learn the history of the place. The next morning I got up at zero dark thirty to make an early start on the way home. As I was going to the motel office to turn in my key, there was a baby blue BMW a couple of rooms down from where I had stayed. I thought, that’s an unusual color, I had only ever seen one like that before. It had Virginia tags on it too. Upon entering the office a woman, wearing a Richmond BMW Riders tee shirt was coming out the door. I asked, “Is that your BMW?” She said it was. I then asked if she had eaten breakfast at Poe’s Pub in Richmond. She had this incredulous look and confirmed she had. I informed her I had seen her and her bike there the year before. Although I didn’t know her, she was so excited and took me into the motel lobby where her husband was partaking of the normal motel breakfast food. I recognized him immediately from Poe’s Pub, although I didn’t know his name either. We chatted for a while and compared travel notes. It really is a small world. The scenery that day was beyond description. I stopped for gas in Dayton Wyoming after coming through the Bighorn National Forest. Although I was in town for less than five minutes, I think I want to live there. Although I was now behind schedule due to my detour, I figured I might as well go by Sturgis, just to say I had been there. They were ramping up for the annual festivities and I proceeded on to Deadwood to spend the night. Now I realized how close I was to Mount Rushmore, so the following morning I headed south and took a picture to the monument. I headed back North and went through the Badlands National Park on Hwy. 44. That night I had made it to Council Bluffs, Iowa. The deuce was running like a Swiss watch, but I realized it was not designed for doing what I was doing on it. Now I was to the point where all I wanted to do was get home. Next stop was Jeffersontown, KY where I crashed for the night. Next day I was home by mid-afternoon. I went thousands of miles and never saw any litter anywhere. Crossing the Virginia state line coming home, there was more garbage in one mile than I had seen in days, west of Missouri. On 3/10/07, I put my trusty deuce on consignment at the local Harley shop and rode out on a 2007 Ultra Classic. Now I know how those couples blew by me at 75 mph. Now I need to find the time to do some touring in luxury. AM/FM, CD player, cruise control and somewhere to stash everything one needs to take on a trip. I suppose that now makes me an official old guy, riding this geezer-glide. It sure is sweet though.
