Part VII "That's What I Like About The South"

Saturday August 27th.

Up and at'em early as the bike has to go in for a new set of boots this morning at 9:00. Trey's up as well to escort me to the Suzuki dealer on the other side of town. The air is fresh but not cold so I don't need a jacket, only a long-sleeved shirt. It takes us about twenty minutes. We arrive on time and they are ready for me. We look at the tires, although not exactly the same as I've been using, a sport style tire, the dealer has the ones Suzuki ships stock on the V-Strom. Bridgestone Trail-Wings. I've used them in the past and have had an OK experience with them. They are a bit on the soft side but they will work for the trip home and a bit left over. Peter the service guy says, "I do have these other tires if you're interested." He pulls out a set of Metzler Tourances in my size. Now these are serious tires for the serious touring machine. They are rock solid with a tread that gives any Interstate the finger. I go with these Bad-Boys and Trey and I scoot off for breakfast while the guys at Ultimate Motorsports service Buddy Black.

After breakfast we run over to another bike apparel shop Trey knows to see about getting me a new rain jacket to replace the one that blew off way back in Illinois. We walk in and there is a jacket, comparable to the one I lost, two sizes too big, which I want so it will fit over my riding jacket with room to move, hanging on the rack. I try it on over a borrowed riding coat and it fits great. Turns out this jacket is on the clearance rack and has been marked down considerably. I figure it's down to probably fifty dollars but I'm pleasantly surprised at the check-out where the saleswoman rings in $14.95. Bonus!

The bike's ready and we're off, back to Trey's house to pick up Kathy and go riding in hillbilly country. Trey has a Yamaha V-Star 1100 cruiser on which he loves to cruise the local mountains. Trey leads us off on a round the houses ride with a key stop in the first half hour. He pulls into a small parking lot in front of a store with a sign that says Ciderville Music Store. Now this place is a small country music store specializing in guitars, mandolins, banjos amps, all the toys any player likes to slobber over. Trey is an accomplished guitarist himself so he is well at home here. You walk in and almost walk back in time. The wooden floor creaks and groans as your boots clump across it. The walls are covered in stringed instruments, posters, photos, memorabilia and anything remotely relevant to picking. Behind the front counter is a kindly woman in her sixties who says Howdy and jerks her head to the back and says, "The fellas are back there playing some tunes." I go back through a couple of small rooms full of instruments and find these four gents picking Bluegrass music. Now remember where I am. This is Eastern Tennessee, on the edge of the Appalachian Mountains, where this music was born! I'm like a kid in a candy store drooling from the ears to the wondrous sounds. We stay for four or five songs and sadly we have to go as there are roads in the hills waiting for us.

                                      
                                          Kathy & Trey outside Ciderville Music Store

Picking In The Back

This banjo player could really pick!

                                          Every wall was covered with instruments.

Back on our way, Trey takes these winding rural roads that disappear into the trees and valleys. We pass by lots of small homes tucked away in little clearings in the trees. Small farm holdings with some livestock grazing in the fields and the ever-present convoy of pickup trucks and ATVs. These are hill folk and they've been there for generations. They may have a few more modern conveniences than their ancestors, but they are dyed in the wool hill people nonetheless and their roots run deep.

We are riding a combination of roads, three main ones in fact, that collectively are known as The Devil's Triangle. The surfaces are excellent. Shoulders and ditches? Forget about it. Do not venture too close to the side or you're going down into some deep ravines. Along the way we pass Brushy State Penitentiary, an old State Prison built in 1896. Back then it was in the middle of nowhere in this secluded valley and made escape an impossible task. One note of interest: James Earl Ray, Dr. Martin Luther King's assassin was housed there. He did escape once but was captured in the dense bush three days later. The prison closed it's doors in 2008 or 2009 and now stands like a ghost.

Norris Dam

We made a stop at Norris Dam where I took some photos. From there it was an enjoyable ride back down the hills to home stopping to pick up some monster T-Bones for the barbecue that night. Trey and I jammed some guitars down in his studio and we spent the remainder of the evening kicking back with the usual cold refreshing beverages.

I love the pace in Tennessee. The views are spectacular, the people are very friendly and Trey and Kathy epitomize the famous Southern Hospitality.

Feeling burnt and beat I'm off to bed.

Good night.

It is Sunday morning and in the tradition of the South we're off to Church for 9:30. Trey is the Worship Pastor and Musical Director so he heads out earlier to get prepared. Kathy and I soon follow and take our seats in the second row. Now this is a church that rocks. They have an eight piece band plus four woman singers. Trey is the leader of this group and vocalist too. The band is very professional and puts on a wonderful Sunday morning concert. The Pastor's sermon was interesting and thought provoking. The topic was something that has been on my mind lately and gave me some affirmation that I was on the right track. Coincidence?

For the afternoon we went out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant as a precursor to Trey's Birthday the next day. I spent the afternoon updating the blog as well as Trey and I washed our bikes. For dinner Trey, originally from Texas, cooked Chicken Fried Steaks. I understand it's a Texan speciality and I found it delicious! That evening we stayed up a bit too late watching TV but it was a very pleasant way to sit and enjoy the company of good friends.

Part VI "East Bound And Down"

The morning alarm received a sharp curse word and had the snooze button smacked for it's trouble. I must have needed the extra shut-eye because I lingered in and out of consciousness for the next forty-five minutes. Yesterday's long hot ride left me feeling drained. I crawl out of bed and hit the shower. Now I was awake I ventured a peak outside through the window. The day was bright and sunny with not a cloud in the sky. A quick cup of tea and an orange and I was good to go.

After pre-tripping the bike, habits die hard, I jumped onto I-435 which skirts the eastern perimeter of Kansas City and threaded my way into the morning commuters. I was going against traffic so in no time I was passing Royal Stadium and merged onto I-70 East heading for St. Louis. The Missouri countryside rolled by and was pleasant to view. It reminded me a lot of Southern Ontario with the undulating farmland and stands of maple trees. Chatting with a fellow during a gas stop I learned the landscape is not always as friendly. A week before he showed me where a twister had ripped the siding and trashed the huge overhead sign of the McDonalds across the street. He went on to say passing motorists abandoned their cars and ran into his store to seek shelter. It seems Missourians don't second guess tornadoes. Note to self: Keep an eye on the sky and get to shelter fast.

The V-Strom gobbled up the miles like a hungry bear, I crossed the Missouri River and was soon approaching St. Louis. The traffic had increased considerably and it was going fast. It was something like driving the freeways around Montreal. The drivers are fast, crazy and it's everyone for themselves. I-70 goes right through the heart of the city where we soon came to a grinding halt. Traffic was snarled, people were honking and the GPS was throwing out detour suggestions. I scouted the scene and saw it was only some road work, three lanes were converging into one, however; it was stressing the locals to no end. Now me being a Vancouverite I had no problem dealing with construction traffic snarls, being squished into one lane and sitting needlessly. Hey! I'm used to it and for a moment it felt like home! The traffic soon sped up as I passed The Gateway To The West arch and next crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois. I was now officially in the East!

I-64 led me to I-57 which swung south and continued to roll along through farmland, the odd small town and crossed the Ohio River. That's three big rivers in one day. On the other side of the Ohio River I paused for a stretch at a roadside rest area and took a few photos. Later down the road I looked down at my side carriers and noticed something missing. Stopping to investigate I discovered the jacket to my rain suit was gone. I keep the rain suit close at hand as you never know when you will need it and evidently the turbulence had blown it free and it was gone. A couple of years ago Norm Ingram, my oftentimes touring buddy, and I were riding through eastern Oregon on our way to Idaho when I shifted my weight and my trusty sheepskin seat cover blew out from under me, much like a waiter snapping a tablecloth out from under the dishes, glasses and cutlery. The hapless hide went airborne over Norm's head and off into the ditch; all this at seventy miles per hour. I walked back about half a mile and I never did find the sheepskin. It seems every trip something goes missing.

                                                     The Ohio River

Crossing the Kentucky state line I was tired and looking for an early night so I  entered "Hotel" into the GPS and presto! Up came a few suggestions and one to my liking was just down the road about twenty-five kms. Perfect! I called it day spent a quiet evening in Paducha, Kentucky. Yeah I know. I'd never heard of it either.

Good night.

It's now Friday, the 26th and I'm up early. Today's path is I-24 to Nashville and then I-40 to Knoxville, my destination for this leg of the trip.

This morning's pre-trip revealed a startling find. My rear tire had a wear stripe down the centre much like a skunk's back. I knew the tire had sixty percent life when I left Vancouver and planned on buying new tires later, most likely in Boston or New York. This was a surprise but as the blind old Master said to Kwai Chang Caine in Kung-Fu, "Ahh Grasshopper. Always expect the unexpected". I got on the phone to three bike shops; one close by in Clarksville, one in Nashville and another in Knoxville. The best I could come up with was the guy in Knoxville who had the rear tire in stock and could order me the front one; I always change them at the same time. He could have it by Tuesday. This sent my plans for a skid, however; it was the only game for the moment and it looked like I had no choice. Now I was going to be staying the weekend with friends in Knoxville but this would extend me two additional days and I didn't want to outstay my welcome. All the way to Knoxville, which was a wonderful ride by the way, Tennessee roads are in tip-top condition and the drivers are courteous, the tire was fine and I was relaxed and singing along with the sound of the highway. .

On the west side of Knoxville I get on the web, (love my IPhone) and find another Suzuki dealer. He has the tires in the sizes I need, oh and yes he'd be happy to put them on for me first thing Saturday morning and do an oil change while I'm there. Friendly, helpful guy. If you're ever in Knoxville and need service on your Suzuki, Ducati, Triumph go see the guys at Ultimate Motorsports.

The last few miles are gone and I'm coasting into Trey and Kathy's driveway. It's great seeing them again! We have a couple of cold refreshing beverages, pile into Trey's truck and we're off to a local brew-pub for dinner. The first leg of the trip is under my belt and I'm relaxed and looking forward to the weekend with Trey and Kathy where we'll no doubt be doing some local sightseeing on our bikes.

Ah. Bliss.

Part V "Feeling Hot! Hot! Hot!"

Where am I? Oh yeah. Spearfish North Dakota.

I must be in the groove as the days and places are starting to run together like a watercolour painting. I haven't worn a watch, looked at the newspapers, watched television or listened to the radio since I left Vancouver. The Best Western I stayed in last night offers a complimentary breakfast so I head down there to check out the fare. Oatmeal? Check. Boiled eggs? Check. Toast and lots of tea? Double check. Everything I like is here. I've got my breakfast made and I'm siting at the table and I'm drawn to the television mounted on the wall. It's tuned to CNN and there is a report about a hurricane, Irene, heading up the Eastern Seaboard. Running up the coast from the Carolinas with an expected path to New York and Boston. Hey! Wait a minute! That's exactly where I'm heading! What am I going to do? They're showing how an evacuation of New York would look in the event of landfall there. How do you evacuate one of the largest cities in the world? Where do they go? Will they go? If an evacuation of New York is a possibility then I better come up with an alternative. A motorcycle on a collision course with a hurricane is not going to fare well.  Plan B, C, D and E all spring to mind and I'm left in a quandary as to what to do if this storm does all it is expected to. Looking at the dates and times laid out by the Weather Bureau gave me some leeway. Irene was expected to be in the New York area around the coming Sunday, the 28th. I'll still be in Knoxville then so hopefully the hurricane will have passed or better yet blown out to sea. So I'm sticking with my original plan, the one you read about it Part I, and will continue on to Knoxville and we'll see what pans out.

Spearfish is just up the highway from Rapid City so I hop on the Slab, passing by Sturgis, home of one of the largest motorcycle rallies in North American and likely the world. I'm not sure what is larger rally, Daytona or Sturgis but they're both huge. This year's rally was  a couple of weeks ago but that suits me fine. I'm not a big crowd person and the town would have been a zoo. A couple of friends from Vancouver rode down this year and I hear they had a great time. Since Mount Rushmore is just around the corner so to speak I set a GPS route to the national monument and see how it has changed since I was last there with my family in 1995. The road steadily climbs out of Rapid City. Along the way you pass all the tourist traps  hungrily reaching out for you vacation dollar. There were water slides, miniature golf, horseback riding, Go-Karts, golf courses, trinket shops, T-Shirt stands, used car lots, gun shops, liquor stores, hotels, motels, bed and breakfast inns. Too many to list. Somehow I don't recall all this third party commercialism sixteen years prior. I stop in Keystone for some gas and from there is a quick set of hairpins up to the park. Coming round the corner the first thing I see is a toll booth. That wasn't there last time. I roll up and the woman demands $11.00. I counter with my National Parks Annual Pass knowing that the pass will waltz me into any National Park, Monument or Historical Site. When it come to national recreational places I have carte blanche. The toll keeper crisply informs me my pass is not applicable. This is a private parking area and it was $11.00 in case I'd forgotten. Sighing I fork over the money and I'm through. I have to take another hard left turn and there is is multi-storey parking lot rivaling any parking lot in a downtown city building. When did this happen? Back in '95 the parking lot was something like 4 lanes with a centre divider and parking on both sides. Now it's five stories with each floor now three times the size of the original lot. As luck would have it I'm there fairly early and score a prime spot right by the stairs. A couple of short sets of steps lead you to the long stone walled avenue leading to the front viewing area. The walls are  decorated with photographs of the historical carving process. At the end of the avenue is a plaza, surrounded by flags in a theatre style setting. The faces of the famous look down upon you. The gift shop has also been outsourced to a third party so the souvenirs abound. The 1995 era gift shop was a far cry from today's department store sized emporium. Despite all the ancillary hype the mountain never ceases to impress me.

                                                                    

Next I thought I'd ride over to see how the Crazy Horse carving had progressed in the last 16 years. A winding road through tall pine trees and open valley views eventually lead you to the Crazy Horse site. Now this carving project is a bit different as it is on private lands and is not a National Monument. I roll up and there it is. Another toll booth demanding another $10.00 to see the carving. The same carving I can see from the parking lot that frankly hasn't progressed all that much since the last time I saw it. Feeling a few tugs of frugality, I opt for the U-turn and beetle my way out of there. In hindsight I think perhaps I shouldn't have been so cheap; that the money raised by parking helps fund the project, keep the site clean etc. Too late now as I was off and heading for Nebraska.

My GPS starting acting up today. The unit was displaying error messages that the power source was not there and the battery was failing. I knew it wasn't the DC power source on the bike as I had been charging my cell phone with no issues. I was not sure if it was the GPS's cradle charger unit or the cable itself. When I checked in the hotel that night this proved to be the correct diagnosis because when I wiggled the cable it fell out and the corresponding contact from the cradle fell out too. No problem. At least it wasn't the GPS unit and only a cheap part that I could probably pick up at a Best Buy later on.

Highway 385 was hot, windy and boring. I laboured south to Highway 26 and opted for a more scenic route along The North Platte River. It was OK and I rolled into the town of North Platte late in the day.
The temperature was still in the upper nineties so I chicken out and grab a motel just off the Inter-Slab, opting for a hot shower and a cold refreshing beverage. The cool motel also gave me the chance to answer some e-mails, work on the blog and get a good night's sleep. I knew tomorrow would bring more of the same hot windy riding so I wanted to be well rested for this endurance test.

Good night.

The next morning came quickly. I hit the shower, grabbed a tea from the lobby breakfast counter and hit the road after checking the tires and fueling up. Eastbound I-80 was fast and busy. This Inter-Slab pretty much runs across the centre of the country bisecting north from south. Tired of the flat treeless plains I was hammering it across Nebraska as quickly as I could. I stopped in Grand Island to get a cradle and cable for the GPS at Best Buy. It turns out my GPS isn't as current as I'd thought and guess what; parts aren't available off the shelf. I could maybe get what I needed on-line but I was "no-fixed-address" so that was out of the question. Like a kid in a candy store my eyes got drawn in by the new slim-line GPS units. Ones that utilised USB cables to connect to external power, not an internal power source. I select one with a "Maps For Life" feature, Blue Tooth, and software that displays topographical features and a whole myriad of other features I've still yet to discover.

Another mishap challenged my patience later that afternoon. Remember in Part I when my Thermos got destroyed? Well I had since replaced it with a shiny new stainless steel unit and it was proving successful. I stopped for my lunch of noodles and much to my dismay found the cup lid had worked itself loose and was M.I.A. somewhere on the Inter-Slab in the middle of Nebraska. This trip was proving to be hard on me and my gear.

 I finally made it across the state, hopping off I-80 at Lincoln and taking Hwy 2 to Nebraska City. I was eager to leave this desolate place when out of nowhere the road comes to a complete stop. Closed. Barricaded. Nowhere to go and no instructions on how to go somewhere else. So I ask the GPS for a solution and it says, go north and catch Hwy 34. I trust my fate to the GPS, who should know where to go right? I mean it is it's job. Off I ride and ride and ride and ride until I get to the suggested turn. Well guess again Stevie Boy. The road is closed. I've disliked Nebraska from the onset and it seems it still had it's life-sucking claws in me. I'm doomed. Destined to dry up and rot here. I finally figure out what is going on. I am on the western side of the Missouri River where all the flood devastation has recently occurred. Now I knew what was going on. There is a sign system just around the corner clearly marking out the detour route around the flooded area. Armed with a new confidence I scold the GPS for not giving me a better escape. The state line is fast approaching, I turn left on a downward bend and there's a sign saying in no uncertain tones. "Stop. Pay Toll" I somehow muster a smile thinking Nebraska had the last laugh and scooped a dollar out of my pocket for the right to leave it's borders.

The problem with Nebraska is it doesn't cater to tourists or anything related to tourism. Nobody wants to go there. It is strictly a place you pass through. Since nobody goes to visit they don't do anything to invite visitors. There is an obvious lack of tourist infrastructure. Nebraskans are reluctant to put mileage on the road signs. They do not promote any local historical places. There are no picnic areas on the roadsides. Parks and campgrounds are few and far between. The hotels are cheerless and austere. Food stops are fast and unappealing. They look at tourists as aliens among them and are barely tolerant of their presence. The downturn in the economy may have hit Nebraska harder than some other states. The roads are in poor upkeep and in the small, off the beaten track towns businesses are boarded up and decaying.


                                

                             You know business is bad when the only bar in town closes up.

Down the hill I cross an old bridge and am greeted by the long waited "Welcome To Iowa" sign. At this point I'm down on the flood plain and the destruction is horrific. There are barns with water up to the second story hayloft. The tops of houses are peeking out of the water like the keels of overturned boats. This havoc stretches on and on as far as I can see. I take back all my moaning about losing half a day due to detours when I see what all these local residents have lost.

I get clear of the flood area, get back onto I-29 and I'm steaming south to Kansas City. It's getting late. 8:30 or so. The light's fading fast and so am I. My mantra comes to mind, "If you think you're tired you already are." Sternly tell myself, first exit I come to. First motel I come to. I hop off the "Slab" and wheel into the Days Inn where I conveniently have a discount coupon. Whoopie! Hot shower, cold refreshing beverage, emails, chat with Lori and my day's done. I'm free of Nebraska, safely in Missouri, the air is moist, the people are super friendly and I'm another day closer to Knoxville.

I'm ready for bed. Lights out.

Part IV "Finding The Groove"

I woke before daybreak. The alarm was silent and it was still dark outside. A quick glance at my clock told me I had some time to loll in the sack, however; I was feeling well rested and excited about the day's ride. Anyone who's has gone on extensive trips, whether by motorcycle, automobile, on foot, whatever the means, will understand what I say about getting in the groove. Think about it. The first couple of days of travel you're still finding your feet. Getting your mojo in sync with the rhythm of movement. I had just come from work within the last thirty-six hours and my head was not in vacation space as it were. There is really no way to find this pace other than surrender yourself to the process and let time take it's course. Once in the groove you operate on a kind of auto-pilot. The bike runs smoother. The load packs and unpacks easier. Your clothes feel more comfortable and your dealings with people are loose and laid back. You can't make this happen it has to happen on it's own accord and you will know when the groove has found you.

OK. Let's dispense with the ethereal musings and get some meat on the plate.

I made a quick breakfast of oatmeal, orange and a pot of tea. Sitting there, as the sun began to peek through the trees, my hot cup of tea made for good company. Breaking camp took some time as I was not in the groove yet. So after some fumbling, rolling and stowing I got the bike loaded, said good-bye to the park and I was on my way by 6:45.

The day before was cold and this morning was no exception. The air had a sharp, crisp bite to it hinting that autumn was much closer than we anticipate. A quick gas stop in Cranbrook and I headed east to Crow's Nest Pass. I have always enjoyed going through Crows Nest Pass. You approach through the mountains and everything becomes compressed into this narrow pipe like gap between the mountains. There are a couple of roads and a train track all squeezed into this pass. As soon as you enter it it spits you out into the Alberta foothills. The landscape opens up, the hills change to a khaki brown and the sky opens up to a vastness only found on the prairies. The enjoyment is short-lived as you approach Pincher Creek and see all the wind generators standing like alien beings across the landscape. They are there for a reason and soon the winds hit you. They are strong and unforgiving as they batter you and your machine from side to side with no mercy. On the upside the air grew considerably warmer as you drop down onto the flatlands. By the time I got to Fort McLeod it was peel off the leather jacket, ditch the full-face helmet in favour of an open one and get down to eating some miles up.

The bike easily breezed into Lethbridge where I turned south on Highway 4 and made a bee-line to Montana. The winds were roaring and the air was a furnace. I've ridden across Mojave Desert during the Santa Ana Winds yet these Albertan blasts put them to shame. It was akin to riding with a hairdryer blasting in your face. The border crossing at Sweet Grass, Montana was uneventful save for the extremely cold and sarcastic border guard. I know these folks have a tough job to do with a lot of responsibility but would it hurt not to go out of the way to be so rude?

All the way south I was getting peppered by grasshoppers splattering themselves all over my helmet, face and body. At one point an errant bee joined the mix and slammed itself into me, surviving just long enough to place one last defiant sting on my throat. Thanks. It seems no bike trip for me is complete without sustaining at least one bee sting. This reminds me of a friend Sue, from work, who rides a Yamaha and looks after the fish tank. OK. Most of you know who I'm talking about? Well a couple of years ago we were on a group ride to the Okanagan and on the way home a bee flew into Sue's shirt while she's riding along and stayed long enough to put three or four owies on her. Funny now but not so at the time.

All this wind and heat was taking it's toll. I tried to drink as much water as I could and stay as covered up as possible but the day was draining me the further south I rode. When I got to a crossroads called Craig, I spotted a small campground and decided to call it a night. Twelve dollars in another self-registration box scored me a campsite right on the bank of the Missouri River. It was a popular fishing hangout with anglers from all over the western states come to fish for the local trout. Too tired to eat, I downed another bottle of water and hit the sack.

                                                    Dawn On The Missouri River
                                                    Craig, Montana                                                               

The next day I woke up revitalised and rested by 5:30 AM. There's no time like the present so I was up, fed and packed much quicker that the day before. I was beginning to find the groove. Its cold again but I didn't seem to mind as much this morning. A few deer lingered in the ditches and I kept a wary eye on them lest they dart out across the road in front of me. By midday the temperature was up into the high nineties. Funnily enough today was one of the nicest rides I'd had in a some time. The road was in great condition. There were no other vehicles. The turns and twist were rhythmic  and the bike was in it's element so I let the big dog run. If any of you readers find yourself in North-Central Montana check out Hwy 12. I came across this as suggested by my GPS. I have an aversion to the Inter-State of the Inter-Slab as I will refer to it from now on. Hwy 12 meanders through canyons, dense forests and open rolling plaines. As well as the usual Mule Deer there was an abundance of antelope grazing on the prairie grass.

I made my way down through the blistering heat to Little Big Horn. I took a couple of hours to go to the visitor centre and take the interpretive drive along the hillsides, stopping to peer over the top of a knoll and down to where General Custer made his fateful last stand. The National Monument is well done and very informative. There are stones erected throughout the entire area where three major battles were fought. These  stones are named markers denoting who the indivual soldier or native warrior was and where they fell in battle. The day was getting on so I downed a couple of bottles of water and hit the road. Oh in case you're wondering, the thermometer at the visitor centre read 101 degreed Farenheit. Ouch!

Much to my pleasure the trusty GPS plotted another path sans Inter-Slab. Not that I'm a slave to the GPS. I still do the old map on the tank routine, I just like the added information it provides and sometimes can save you a lot of aggravation. This was not to be the case a few days later which I'll describe in a future post. The afternoon ride was a pretty fast rip across the south-eastern hills of Montana, clipping off the north-east corner of Wyoming and on into South Dakota. This road, US 212, delivered quality riding with little to no other vehicles as well as wonderful rolling prairie vistas.

Feeling pretty wasted I rolled into Spearfish, South Dakota and opted for a motel. A hot shower, and a cold beer, not neccessarily in that order, put the grin back on my chops. All-in-all it was a 905 km day and frankly my backside was witness to the punishment. I updated the blog, did some emails, yakked with my gal and called it a day. A wonderful day.

Part III "Away We Go!"

The Saturday morning alarm rang a little to soon for my liking but I was committed so it was up and at 'em. Luckily I had retired early the night before so it was only a question of grabbing a quick shower and strapping the last few items onto the bike. Lori came downstairs to assist me and we had the bike loaded. It was not without a few pangs of sadness as we said our good-byes.

 Two of my work mates, Allen Stowell and Mike Silver, offered to ride along with me for the first part of the trip. This was an offer I couldn't refuse so I quickly piped up yes please! Allen and Mike are both intrepid riders in their own right. They have logged miles upon miles together having just recently returned for another marathon tour of Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana. We had arranged to meet by 6:30 AM at the quintessential meeting spot where all of Canada meets up...Tim Hortons. It was just around the corner. It was 6:15, I was a tad early but Mike and Allen were already there nursing the first coffee of the day. A large tea for me, some chit chat and we saddled up and were off.

Since we were in Langley it was a quick run up Glover Road and onto Hwy 1, The Trans-Canada Highway. The first thing I noticed was how cold it was. Cold enought to turn on the heated grips and make me wish I'd gone for less shorts and put some long johns in my duffle bag. It was cold all the way east to Hope, especially the stretch through the wooded section east of Chilliwack.

We rode in  formation, cruising along at around 120 kph. Allen and I both ride V-Stroms and have often commented to each other how the "Strom" is in it's sweet spot doing 120 - 130 kph turning about 4100 rpm in 6th gear.  I would come to echo that sentiment frequently over the upcoming days. This bike purrs along in a happy groove  and is miserly with it's fuel consumption. In what seemed minutes we were in Hope and heading for Rolley's for breakfast. Now anyone who rides the Fraser Canyon, Manning Park or anywhere east of Vancouver is well acquainted with Rolley's. Tucked into a corner right behind the Cheveron station in Hope B.C., Rolley's has been a motorcyclist's Mecca for many years. You can go for rides with old friends or perhaps with a new member to the pack and someone will say, "Let's stop at Rolley's" and everyone will know exactly what the plan is. It's one of those "unspoken" things. It's fast, reasonably price and friendly. Having the gas station right next door is a added bonus.

Soon breakfast was over and it was time for Mike, Allen and I to part company. I confessed I was a bit nervous undertaking such a trip but they quickly quelled any trepedation I had with bolstering words of encouragement. Safety first. Stop when you're tired. Start early, finish early. All things I was well acquainted with and part of my riding mantra, however; it was reassuring to hear it from friends. After the obligatory photo session in the parking lot I was on my way. Thank you Allen and Mike. I really appreciated your support.

                                                     
                                                         In The Parking Lot. Hope B.C.
                              (left to right) Mike Silver, Allen Stowell, Steve Buckton
                
So here I am, zipping along Hwy 3, heading into Manning Park and it is bitterly cold. Unbelieveable considering this was August 20th. Experience taught me that once I was over Angel Summit and rolling into Princeton it would warm up. Once again Princeton didn't let me down and the change was remarkable. This section of highway never fails to produce numerous wildlife sightings. Deer, sheep and bears are all regularly seen on the side of the road. Today was no exception with lots of "Ditch Donkeys" aka deer, a few raggedy looking sheep but not one bear.

Soon I was aproaching Osoyoos and it was getting hotter. On the western edge of Osoyoos is the Desert Model Railroad Museum. I have passed by this nondescript building situated in an industrial park many times. I kept telling myself, next time I'm going there. Well my plans were open, I had the time so I peeled the bike off to the right and into the parking lot. I've always enjoyed model railroad displays especially the details that go into creating the scene. The trains are secondary to the craftsmanship that goes into building these miniature worlds. This museum was exceptional. What struck me first upon entering was this wasn't your typical Canadiana scenery. This layout was all German complete with large industrial towns, rolling countryside and massive alpine vistas. It was truely unique. It is a family operation where the Mother handpaints all the figures and buildings, Dad is the electronics and computer tech and the daughter builds all the scenery. Great job.

Checking my watch I thought I'd better get going so it was saddle up and roll. Now I had this plan about cooking my lunch along the way. Well it wasn't my idea it was Lori's. Here's how it goes. You take a widemouth thermos, stuff it with Chineses noodle packets, fill it with boiling water and it can sit and cook while you're riding along. An hour or so later when you stop for lunch voila, it's ready to eat. In fact Lori takes these to work with her. So I stop and get my lunch all prepared knowing that when I get to say Grand Forks, lunch will be hot and ready. I'm messing around in the top saddle bag so I place the thermos on the bike seat. Since the bike was on it's side stand and leaning at an angle I should have forseen the imminent disaster. I stood helpless as my shiny new thermos, full of my wonderous lunch in the making, fell to the ground. As luck, or in this case, bad luck, should have it, the thermos had the old-school glass vaccum bottle in it so you know the rest. It's a humbling task to take your new thermos and throw it and it's contents into the trash can. Well at least I still had my orange and granola bar.

Grand Forks came and went. One thing of note. Ever since I was a kid I've always kept an eye out for license plates. I used to write down a list of all the different ones I'd see while on road trips with my parents and brothers. This carried over into adulthood and I still make note of the various ones I see along the way. That afternoon I saw several "foreign" plates. The two furthest ones were Nova Scotia and Arizona. I am very happy to report both of these were on motorcycles! Well done! Back to Grand Forks. The Nova Scotia motorcycle pulled out in front of me and I quickly fell in behind the rider and his passenger. This guy set a beautiful pace of about 110 - 120 kph all the way to Creston where he stopped for gas and I stopped for water. We exchanges a few brief pleasanties but there was nothing really to talk about. We both understood the camraderie we had experienced and the moment we shared along the road. Priceless.

I wanted to make it to Cranbrook and was starting to push it a bit harder now. My friends' advice from that morning replayed in my head so I thought let's call it a day and start fresh tomorrow. So about 45 kms west of Cranbrook I come across Yahk Provincial Park. This a very small park, very clean but not offering much in the way of amenities. Other than fresh cold well water you're pretty much left to your own devices. That suits me to a T. It's a self-registration system so I scout out a campsite, stake my claim and prepare to walk back to the gate and put my money in the conveniently provided envelopes and stuff it in the lock box. I get about ten steps and this pick-up roars up and this little old lady bounces out. She's yabbering a mile a minute and I stand there staring at her with my mouth open. Evidently she is the "Camp Host" and thought she'd drop by, say hello, collect my fees, to save me the walk of course, sell me a monster pile of firewood, enough to heat a house for a few days and bend my ear off in the process. I fork over the $16.00, decline the wood as I'd never be able to burn that much, she frowns a bit saying it could get cool at night. Next she jumps back in the battered pickup truck and careens off leaving me standing in a cloud of dust. Well the road always produces interesting characters and here was one of the first of the trip. I knew there'd be many more along the way.

So the day ends with a quiet campsite, a yummy dinner of curried rice and beans, some fruit, a pot of tea and a good read. Pretty soon I'm nodding so it's lights out, wrestle my way into the sleeping bag and drift off to the sound of a slight breeze tickling the pine trees and the lonesome whistle from a far away train.

Part II "Planning, Packing and Preparedness"

In this second post I want to take a few moments and discuss the 3-Ps as mentioned in the post title. If you read the first post, which you probably did as it led you here to the second post, you couldn't help but notice the trip plan was wide open, loosey-goosey, up in the air, limitless in it's boundaries. This is fun to a certain extent, however; the reality is there are certain places I have to be on certain dates; well a certain place I have to be on a certain date.... perhaps....give or take a day or two.

I do know that along the way I want to check out Cypress Hills, Run south through Yellowstone, do a night ride across Nebraska. All doable wishes and well within the first 4 days. Maybe. Another activity on my list is in Knoxville Tennessee where my pal Trey is a pastor, guitarist and vocalist in the church band. This is a must-do and it embedded in "The Plan". To accomplish this I have to be in Knoxville one week from my departure date of August 20th. Will I make it? We'll know come August 27th! Readers stay tuned. The only other date I have in my calendar is to be in Brewster MA on or about Saturday September 3rd. That gives me a week to ride from Tennessee to about 75 miles south of Boston. No sweat!

I'm of the mind that a good plan has activities and items that one wants to see or accomplish. The other aspect of a good plan is that it has enough flexibility that you can alter, twist and reconfigure it at will without the entire "Plan" unraveling and coming apart. Originally I was trying to lay the entire five weeks out and found it just too overwhelming and frankly too much like work. This trip is supposed to be a mind cleanse, a pilgrimage or a hejira if you will. Therefore I plan to plan, bad grammar I know, only one week in advance maybe even three to four days in advance. I feel my plan is as good as it's going to get and I am relieved to say the least!

So much for planning. Preparedness for this trip has covered a couple of areas worth mentioning. My motorcycle, A 2009 Suzuki, DL-1000, V-Strom has been inspected end-to-end. Adam, the tech at Holeshot Motorsports in Langley, (free plug) went over Buddy with a long shopping list of maintenance items. The only thing he pointed out was the primary and secondary sprockets and the chain were showing some signs of early wear. As they say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure so I had Holeshot order up the parts and Adam replaced them last Saturday. I'm good to go on the bike. My next oil change will be somewhere out East maybe Tennessee, although more likely in the Boston area. At that time I'll be purchasing new tires for the trip home. This is my third Suzuki V-Strom and they have proven to be a top-notch machine. If you're in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia, stop by Holeshot and check the V-Strom out. Great dealer. Great service. I'll post a motorcycle page to this blog somewhere along the way and we can discuss the V-Strom in more detail.

So the plan is in place. The bike is prepared. Now it's time to pack. From experience I find I tend to travel like the army...I take it all with me. Not so this time as I've given up my hoarding ways and will be travelling lean and mean. At least my duffel bag is. What to take is always a mind crunch at the best of times. When going for a typical two week tour I usually pack for one week. This enables you to be fairly light in your load but will necessitate a visit to the laundromat in the middle of the trip. This is easy. You throw all your clothes in the washer and hang around for about half an hour while it goes through it's cycle. Next load the dryer, set the time and go for lunch. Easy huh? I take this half trip packing one step further. A few years ago I figured out a way to travel light. At the beginning of the trip I would pack my oldest T-Shirts, socks and skivvies. About a week's worth. Each time I changed I would toss the dirty item(s) in the trash. When I got to my last set of T-Shirts, socks and skivvies I'd head over to a Walmart, they're everywhere, load up on new unmentionables and be good to go for the last week. This kept my load light, my laundry bill down and more importantly ensure my wardrobe is up-to-date!

This trip is a bit different in that I will be camping and keeping the hotels to an absolute minimum. So for this tour add to the list, tent, sleeping bag, cooking stove, utensils, propane, oh and food. I will get into the discussion of food and camp cooking later in the trip for it is an interesting topic, worth examining and certainly deserves it's own place in the blog.

The gear stacks up as follows.

                                                        Nice and neat on a cart.

                                                      
                                           Let's spread it out and see how it looks.

                                        

                                          Looking good! Somehow it all fit on the bike.

                           
To make sure it was balanced I took the loaded bike for a shake-out ride last Sunday, the 14th. I thought a brisk run from my home in Steveston down to White Rock would give me a good feel for the highway performance. Now 110lbs is less than your average passenger so I really didn't feel any difference on the freeway at 100 - 130 kph. Stopping distance was increased a tad but not much. Next I took a couple of twisty back roads over to Langley to sense the centre of gravity and handling performance. Again there is not much to report other than the odd cross wind seemed a little more apparent. It appears we are good- to go. For you techie types, air pressure is 36 in the front and 42 in the rear. I also jacked up the suspension a twist or two to absorb the shock more readily.

In summary the best advice I can give you is threefold. First do not scrimp on maintenance. This machine is you lifeline, your best friend and deserves the finest fuel, oil and care you can give it. Secondly, try and travel as light as possible. Your ride will perform better and you'll feel much better with a lesser load.Pack less clothes than you originally plan for. Look at you initial pile of clothing and ruthlessly cut it in half. Hit the laundromats as they are cheap and fast. Lastly, while you trip plan is loose at least plan on having fun. If something catches your attention stop and check it out. If a point of interest is only a hundred klicks away it's worth taking the time to divert and visit for you will unlikely be there again in the immediate future.

This pretty much concludes Part II. I'm hoping to add a third, "Last Minute Frenzy" post before Saturday morning. Wish me luck!

Part I "In The Beginning"

Where to start is always a dilemma. Logically one would start at the beginning, however; it isn't always the case. This story started a long time ago and and will hopefully continue on for some time to come.

I have always had a passion for motorcycles. Sputtering dirt bikes, slick roadsters and now touring machines. Motorcycles have taken me through parts of Australia and extensively throughout Western Canada and the United States. As far as I'm concerned the further the destination the better the trip! From my home in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia, Vancouver for you non-locals, motorcycles have taken me to destinations throughout British Columbia, Alberta, Washington, Oregon, California, many trips to Nevada, which is one of my all time favourite places, also Montana, Idaho, and Arizona. Some have been in the heat of of the desert's summer to the winter rains and biting winds of the Pacific North-West. No season has been too rugged. No destination too far.

In June 2010 my son and I were camping in Utah. Looking at a map of North America it struck me I had never ridden coast to coast. West Coast to East Coast, Pacific to Atlantic and back again. I suppose this was when the plan was hatched. Fortunately I had lots of vacation time in the summer months the following year. I had a tip-top motorcycle, a few bucks in the bank and the desire to go. That's about all it took. Done deal.

The winter months found me poring over maps and ride guides. What is the fastest? What is the most scenic? Having done extensive riding throughout the west, I decide to get as far east as quickly as possible. OK now that was decided what is the route? One idea was visit friends in Knoxville Tennessee. OK. Put that on the list. Another "To-Do" was return to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, site of my childhood summers and meet up with my Brother and Sister-In-Law for some beach time. After that the itinerary is pretty much wide open and remains so to this day. I have added a stop in Southern Alberta to hook up with an old high school chum now living in Calgary and who may ride along with me for a day.

So, it appears I have a plan...of sorts. Ride through Southern Albert to the Cypress Hills of Saskatchewan, south into Montana, cut the North-East corner off Wyoming and into Rapid City. After that it's point 'er south into Nebraska, Missouri, and eastward into Tennessee Next it's ride the Blue Ridge Parkway north-east through Virginia. After that I'll slip into Delaware, follow the New Jersey shoreline up to New York City and then it's a skip and a jump to Brewster Mass. for a week with family.

Coming home presents a couple of options. Ultimately I'd like to continue north to Nova Scotia and experience Cape Breton Island. The Cabot Trail which follows the perimeter of the island is rated one of the top motorcycle destinations in North America and the world. Since I'll be in the neighbourhood, so to speak, it would be a shame to miss this golden opportunity. After that I have a hankering to ride up to the Gaspe Peninsula and follow the shore line all the way round and end up at Riviere du Loup, Quebec. There is a ferry service that crosses the Saint Lawrence River to the North shore. This side of the river has much more appeal to a scenery junkie. The rambling Hwy 138 provides a more gentle alternative to the teeth gnashing Hwy 20 on the south side. Quebec City, Montreal, Toronto and westward home. Sounds like a plan....of sorts

Let us consider the viability of such a plan. Scenery-wise it will not fail to deliver. The only variable is the weather. It will be mid to late September and the weather could prove unpredictable. The eternal optimist in me hopes for the traditional Canadian Indian Summer, when the trees with be ablaze in their autumn finery. Crisp cool nights and warm sunny days will make for wonderful riding. On the other hand this area is also know for fierce winters and lots of snow. It is unlikely a snowfall should hit in September, but we're talking about Eastern Canada and the weather gods have a bagful of tricks. If this is the case I'll have no choice but to turn southward, perhaps as far as Washington D.C. and point the bike west from there. This may not be a bad thing either because that will give me a day or so kill at The Smithsonian and the National Gallery. My preference does, however; lie with the Canadian route.

So friends and readers, this is the plan. Warts and all. I will endeavour to write a daily entry and upload it wherever and whenever I can get web access. Before I depart on August 20th I will add another entry or two to discuss the three Ps; planning, packing and preparedness.

Please read along and feel free post any comments.

Come with me on this Motorcycle Odessey.