July 29, 2005 - Friday - Day 34

48 States or Bust – The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 206 - Total Miles: 8623– Average: 253.6 (travel days)
11AM-4PM (5hrs)
ST. JOSEPHS, MO to HANNIBAL, MO
(-staying at an EconoLodge) MO (33/48)
- CROSSING MISSOURI – A RIVERBOAT RIDE ON THE MISSISSIPPI -


If anyone asks you how far it is from one side of the top of Missouri to the other, you can tell them it’s just about exactly 200 miles! And that’s what we covered under sunny skies today. It was mixed road surface so in parts we had to slow down, but basically it was farm fields of corn and some wheat, warm winds in our face, and pockets of trees beside the road. Also, rolling hills for a change instead of pancake flat land. Karen noted that more than half the sky was covered with swirling clouds.

We had begun late because we had to pick up another camera battery and charger at the local Wal-Mart, but it was basically a good ride. And then we had a race to get to the 4pm riverboat ride which was the last of the day out of Hannibal.

Hannibal, Missouri. The name conjures up for me the days of Mark Twain and the slow-paced days of life on the river. I had bicycled through here in 1985 in the midst of my New Orleans to Canada – All Mississippi bicycle ride. (1642 Miles - 31 Days - Jun 24 to Jul 26) It was a great ride and as a far as I know, I’m still the only one to have crossed the country both ways (west to east, and south to north) solo!! Anyway, one of the highlights of that ride was my campsite right by the river. Here are my notes about it from my 1985 journal:

As I wrote this particular journal entry it was a really special and wonderful moment. I was sitting right smack dab on a bank of the Mississippi. It was not more than ten feet in front of me. My tent site wasn't more than 100-yards in back of this picnic table I’m writing upon. A huge barge was just floating by. A long train whistled past to the left about 300-yards away. It was just before dusk and there was a cooling wind to the east blowing my way.

The river looked so serene here. An occasional bottle would float by, but otherwise it looked clean and gentle. I was seated with cameras at the ready and binoculars set. The green of the banks and the green/blue/gray of the ripples combined with the millions of birdcalls to create an idyllic peaceful setting.

The barges moved so slowly and smoothly down the river. They were like hour hands... they hardly seemed to move at all, but then you noticed, after looking away, how time tricked you. And movement was there after all. But like southern drawls, and the ways of many southern folks, the barges were purposeful, & intent, and forever moving forward.

The odd duck horn of the tugs as they nudged their cargo downstream was delightful and it was easy to see how Samuel Clemens - or anyone - could fall in love with the Mississippi. The snake-like barge cargo seemed to stretch for miles in front of the barge pushers. And what a slow inexorable push it was! I got a wave from a riverboat captain and it felt like a real treat! It was about 8PM, and the light was dimming on the riverfront. To the sounds of the river, the train, and the birds, I fell fast asleep in the cozy tent.

As I wrote, we raced to the 4pm riverboat ride. I didn’t think we’d make it really, but arrived JUST in the nick of time to get tickets and board. We got there at 3:55pm! As with most touristy places, one has to go the gift shop area first, but then we boarded for the hour-long trip up and down the river near Hannibal. The PA system had a cheesy soundtrack of history and jokes and tall tales that occasionally punctuated the peacefulness of the ride. One could see many of the younger folks quite bored with the ride. After all, there were no loud fireworks, fast animation, or gored up battle scenes. It was a slow and purposeful trip. Occasionally the loud full horn of the ship would blast and there was a short rendition from the big calliope on the top deck. It was warm and sunny and we both enjoyed the ride – and the comparison between it and the willy-nilly racing of the motorcycle rides that we’ve daily been taking for more than the last month.

Soon it was over and we climbed back on shore, to the Shadow, and having gotten caught up in the mellowness of the river, and the steamboat ride, and the sunny day, we made the decision (even though we were only at 200 miles) to stay in Hannibal for the night. We found a reasonable EconoLodge and scored one of the nicest rooms of the trip – a huge spacious new room to boot.

After a little nap we got on the motorcycle (sans gear other than helmet) and took some back roads into the main part of town. We noticed to our dismay that even on this Friday evening, all the tourist shops and little stores had closed up early – before 8pm even.

We went to the Mark Twain Dinette (the enormous mug proclaiming its name as signpost) and had a delicious reasonably priced meal, that included home made root beer in a somewhat frosted mug.

From a town brochure:

Hannibal is a picturesque town situated on the banks of the Mississippi River approximately 80 miles north of St. Louis off of US Highway 61. Best known as the boyhood home of the American author Samuel Langhorne Clemens (1835-1910), who is better known as Mark Twain, the emphasis on this fact is evident throughout the town. Many attraction and businesses focus on a relationship to Twain or two of his better known novels of life along the Mississippi - Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Attractions in this genre include the Mark Twain Boyhood Home And Museum, the Becky Thatcher House, and Grant's Drug Store where Twain once lived.

Hannibal does have a significant history besides its connection to Mark Twain and his imagination. Hannibal was founded in 1819 and chartered as a city in 1845. The first railroad to cross the state of Missouri was the Hannibal & St. Joseph Railroad. The first locomotive manufactured west of the Mississippi, a 34 ton engine called the General Grant, and the first railway mail car for sorting mail en route were made in the town's railroad shops.

After the meal we walked around the corner to see some of the old buildings – Becky Thatcher’s house, Mark Twain’s boyhood home, and the Tom Sawyer fence of fame. We headed back after the walk through the cool air of dusk – we were determined to get a good night’s sleep and an early start tomorrow.

July 28, 2005 - Thursday - Day 33

48 States or Bust - The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 401 - Total Miles: 8417 – Average: 255.1(travel days)
11:30AM-9:30PM (10hrs)
GREAT BEND, KS to ST.JOSEPHS, MO
(-staying at a Super 8) KS,NB,IA,MO (33/48)
- THREE STATES! - A FRIEND FROM THE PAST - INTO THE HEARTLAND -


One of the Days Inn come-ons is that one can pour the batter and make freshly made waffles in the morning. While Karen was making us a few in the snack area, a woman said to her, "I don’t go hardly nowhere, but I don’t know if I’d want to do it on a motorcycle."

On that bicycle trip of mine a quarter century ago I stayed in Great Bend for a night. Here's how it went after that 84-mile bicycling day from my journal notes:

One cute woman in the laundromat and I got into a conversation and after she learned about my adventures, she asked if she could call her husband. He happened to be a reporter for the Great Bend paper. She went to pick him up. I spent the next hour being photographed and interviewed. Then, when my tip of a place to stay in at Pawnee Rock fell through, reporter Chuck Smith and his wife Lisa invited me to stay at their home. Lisa made bean tostados for supper. Chuck was a big fellow and wears a cowboy hat and a bushy beard. He was constantly puffing on an ever-extinguishing pipe. The couple was in their twenties and Lisa is expecting a child in December. I slept on the floor in my bag which was laid upon Chuck's big buffalo cape. I forgot to ask the Smiths to turn off the fifteen-minute-interval chime of the grandfather's clock. The huge clock was in the same room where I was sleeping. But it didn't matter. From the time my head hit the bag at 11:00, until I was up at 6:00, I didn't hear a thing. In fact, I thought they had turned it off! My sleep was sound and deep.

Well I wondered if maybe Chuck Smith might still be around these parts. I called a person by that name in the phone book and the lady who answered said it was the wrong one. Then I mentioned that he had been a reporter 25 years ago and she said, "Oh yes, I read his stories in the paper!" I quickly got the Great Bend Tribune phone number and before you know it, I was talking with Chuck Smith.

As soon as I said I was the guy who slept on the buffalo robe, he knew exactly who I was from so long ago. We chatted a bit on the phone and I was sad to learn that Lisa had past away, but Chuck had remarried and was doing well. He was now an editor of the paper. He invited Karen and me over to the office.

We were there by 10am or so and Chuck and I gave each other a good hug. After some conversation, he took a picture of Karen and me and the Shadow with intention of doing a story about us. Then he invited us in to his office. When we walked into the Great Bend Tribune newspaper building, Karen, who had worked for a publishing company many years ago, immediately smelled the ink and felt nostalgic.

Chuck was just recently 50 and there were birthday messages in his office. (Like, "Antique Human – THIS is what 50 looks like!")

We met Kevin, a friend of Chuck’s. As we were talking about Chuck STILL being at the paper after all these years, and how surprised I was, Kevin gave a friendly jab to his pal by saying, "Well, you’ve gotta add the element of sloth in there, too."

We got a nice tour of the little newspaper office including the huge press machines in the back. Chuck and I reminisced about my time there and we talked about his kids and a little about Lisa. There were some good posted slogans that I liked around the office – one in particular read, "It’s Fun Doing the Impossible!"

Chuck, admiring the trip we were taking by someone older than himself, said as we left, "What you’re doing gives me hope." We shoved off at around 11:30ish.

We rolled passed some cattle pens. Not the big ones like yesterday. Outside Dodge there were huge stinking pens of cattle. The smell was intense. Here’s what I wrote 25 years ago, and what I still thought today:

On the way out of town, I passed sprawling cow pens. The poor beasts were mooing their lungs out ready for slaughter or ready to be sent to the slaughter houses. I wanted to tell those cows that it wasn't *my* fault, being a vegetarian and all. But I pedaled speedily away. The stench of the air from the unclean pens made me want to get away quickly. And the filth there made me gladder than ever for being a vegetarian!

We swung eastward on Route 56, then 156 north, then I-70 east then 75 north, then 2 east, and I-29 south... Now, that’s a lot of numbers but what they meant was we zipped through Kansas to Nebraska, then into a little nip of Iowa, then south a-ways into Missouri. And that added three more states to our goal of reaching all 48 contiguous states. (At the last gas stop in Kansas, I was going over the route with a trucker guy, and he turned the phrase, "So, you just gotta go up and tap Iowa, an’ then come back!")

Trees. We saw trees today for almost the whole day. That’s the first we saw of trees on our way back from the west. Also, today was the first day of the trip in which there was not a single cloud in the sky for the whole day.

The roads were the worst of the trip on I-29 south out of Iowa and into Missouri. There were big vertical cracks in the highway that just looked hungry enough to gobble a motorcycle tire. I was VERY careful there to be sure. Karen noted that it bumped Ohio off as having the worst roads.

Coming into St. Josephs, I let the mileage get all the way to 112 for the tank of gas. Still didn’t have to put it on reserve.

We had stopped at one of those visitor’s centers and saved a bunch of bucks with a coupon on a Super 8.

On my run in the evening out of the motel, I found Carlos O’Kelly’s Cantina (a mixture Mexican and Irish place I guess) and got us a couple of guacamole tostados to bring back for supper. Karen wasn’t sure if we were getting potatoes or beans.

July 27, 2005 - Wednesday - Day 32

48 States or Bust - The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 444 - Total Miles: 8016 - Average: 250.5 (travel days)
9:30AM-9PM (12.5hrs) (back into Central Time)
SANTA ROSA, NM to GREAT BEND, KS
(-staying at a Days Inn) NM,TX,OK,KS (30/48)
- TOPPING 8,000 MILES – THREE STATES TODAY! -


In eerie reminiscence of our first day on the road at my cousin Leslie’s place, the phone rang at 2am! It was the room phone this time and woke us up out of a dead sleep. There was no one was on the other end when I picked up the receiver. I called the office, and they said that someone in another room must have called the wrong number! Arghhh...

When I looked out the motel room door from that second floor deck the sky was roiling, full of dark clouds covering the whole of the atmosphere above. They started clearing away around 9ish. We very rarely have the tv on in the motel room, but this morning Karen checked out the weather channel. The map there showed that there was rain behind us and below us and north of us, and in fact it was predicted to be wet everywhere but where we were headed!

It’s interesting how on a trip like this little inanimate objects can have a real pull on one. My little camera, the second of three that we have along, was missing. And we searched high and low, but somehow it got out of my thigh bag and was gone. It can be replaced, of course, but the feeling of missing it after all these days of companionship of sorts, was intense.

In the parking lot this morning as we were packing up, a fellow from San Antonio came over and chatted with Karen. He and his wife were coming back from the Albuquerque area where they had met their son. The son had flown in from Washington State where he was on leave from duties in Iraq. His folks had asked him what he’d like to do, and his reply was that the one thing he’d like to do is some fly fishing in New Mexico. They said that if the kid could get to Albuquerque, they would meet him and do some fishing together. With great sadness in his eyes, the dad said that now the boy was headed back for his last tour in the Middle East and strongly implied that we as a country shouldn’t be there in the first place.

The same San Antonio guy said that the day before he had met a retired school teacher woman who was horseback riding from the Canadian border to New Mexico. She was taking all back roads, of course. She told him the story about how to get out of the rain one day, she had ridden her horse right into a service station bay. (A bit like us back in Vermont, you faithful readers will recall.)

What a fabulous day of riding this was! The day began in complete cloud cover and ended 444 miles later without a cloud in the sky. It was clear, sunny, fresh breezed, gorgeous, and totally cool throughout the day. For much of the time through this mid-western area it felt like a San Francisco cable car hook was underneath and just pulling us along.

For most all of today we traveled up roadway from grain silo to grain silo that I had bicycled upon on that 25-year ago cross-country bicycle journey. Again, nothing much seemed familiar except the museum that will be mentioned a bit later here, but the town names were warmly and well remembered and it was good being here again. Later in the day I would read to Karen from my journal notes of 25 years ago and that flooded back a lot of those quarter century ago memories, and correct other misremembering.

Today as most days, it was all good road to travel upon. A few spine-crunching bumps and holes here and there, but basically fine highway. And I was thinking, as I do on many days, that the good system of roads in this country is surely what helps make it great.

Just as we turned off I-40 and headed northeast on Route 54, the land changed dramatically. It went from the butte and mountain scene to flat agricultural areas. And that’s what we traveled all day with good winds and blue skies. The clouds at first were impressive to me. There were lower little cotton puffs of clouds scudding along swiftly layered under larger clouds above. And we had good winds today, too. Mostly at our back.

Most of the speed limits throughout the day were posted in the four states we were in as 55-70mph. But all the roads were built for faster than that, and it was a rare vehicle that wasn’t cruising at around 75. We sailed through the empty countryside at about 80-85mph most of the day. There seemed more trucks than cars, but not many of them either. Passed plenty of semi’s, and all were friendly, most moving over a little as we passed. The roads were long and mostly straight, the mirages of water at the end of them seemed real and palpable. Coming the other direction, the mammoth trucks would appear to rise, shimmering out of those mirages, headlights like two monster eyes.

I am most appreciative of the drivers who were pulled over by the police ahead of me. By their sacrifice we were able to soar along throughout the day without a delay of having to chat with a patrolman.

In Tucumcari at our first gas stop we had a close one! Karen was pulling the straps around the back bag a little tighter and, not realizing her new-found strength, almost pulled the Shadow over on to herself. And to make matters worse the gas tank top hadn’t been closed yet so gasoline would have spilled over. I caught the bike just in the nick of time.

We came into farming-type areas where there were long stretches of road – maybe 30-50 miles with nothing there other than barbwired-off land, and then little towns sprouted on the roadside. Along the way, occasionally, one would see a little farm house pocked into a small valley.

There was a monstrous fire on the short distant horizon just outside of Dalhart, TX that had smoke plumes billowing up way into the sky – and there was a single white cloud there that was being dirtied, and shortly consumed by that smoke.

There was a $10,000 Reward poster in the gas station in Dalhart and the I thought it was a joke one. The man in the picture looked like the little man with the big moustache who was taking my money. I asked if it was him. He said that no, it was his great uncle and that it was for real. "Black Jack" Ketchum, around his grandfather’s time, was hung nearby, he said, and was in the books at the museum.

A train leaving town, and others during the day, at our urging (by moving our arms in the manner of pulling a cord!), gave us a huge bellowing of it’s horn. It was energizing and brought big smiles to each of our faces.

Tracks traced beside the roadway most all day once we hit Kansas. And in one of those magic moments a train was going in our direction, on our left. We started at the end and, going 80, caught up with the engine and then took the lead. It was like a scene from Superman when he was running alongside and beat the train.

No trains have cabooses any more. Haven’t seen a one yet. Karen said that she heard they were outlawed for some reason a few years ago. I miss them.

Into Hooker around 3pm, I recalled the sign that I saw 25 years ago – "Hooker Pig Sale – Where Champions Come Alive!" But there was no sign of it now. The town got it’s name form the Civil War general who passed through here. At our gas stop here, we got a couple new matching do-rags, and we were 250 miles into what we hoped would be a 500-mile day.

We both had a few small, hard, sharp stones hit our legs out on the roadway today. Even through the Aerostitch thick material they caused bruises on our lower legs. And once, Karen had something fly by and just graze her helmet. She didn’t have her shield down at the time so she felt fortunate the projectile wasn’t over a few inches.

We flew into Kansas and wanted to stop in one of the first towns there, Liberal, for a late lunch. Liberal is the home of my fabled pancake story. Here’s the tale from my journal notes of 25 years ago, April 20th, 1980:

Came to a terrific pancake place on the main drag where I had two orders of buckwheat and wheat germ pancakes. The big platefuls were for only $2.00 each. And the owner couldn't believe it when I wanted more. Finally, with amazed customers looking on, I downed twelve plate-sized pancakes. I imagined that I heard bets being taken on how many I'd eventually finish. The bike tires were a little flatter with my pancake-bloated belly weighing things down a bit. (Note: Bicycled 71 miles that day!)

In Meade, KS, we stopped at the history museum. We met Deb, the lady in charge, and I told her how I was there 25 years ago. She checked on some records from the past which had just been found within the last couple of weeks. Sure enough, there scrawled on the paper, was my name where I had made a Life Membership donation 25 years ago. Karen and I walked around the museum and enjoyed the many well displayed artifacts there. Deb played a piece on a player piano for us which was delightful to hear. Here’s what I had written in my journal when I bicycled through in 1980:

Despite the lateness (it was about 3:15), and the distance to Dodge (which was still considerable), I lingered in Meade. That's the home of the Dalton Gang Escape Museum, and the small, but really superb Meade County Historical Society Museum. Lottie Bisbee of the Historical Society was a warm and wonderful woman who I enjoyed listening to immensely. I decided that when I came home, I would send the Society a donation. The whole town of Meade really impressed me with its cleanliness, quietness, friendliness, and beauty. I really lingered at the park there – it has a beautiful patch of flowers, trees, color, and greenery. It was rich in beckoning and warm in friendliness. I wanted to stay, but had to move on. But still lingered. Pulled in by the indescribable quality of peace.

Around 6:30 or so we pulled into Dodge. I well remembered my time there back in ’80. The town had grown quite a bit, but there was still the Boot Hill area of ‘old Dodge’ in the middle of town. The backdrop of old time stores was now replaced with some real ones, and the old hangin’ tree (which I had posed by so long ago) was gone and it was much more touristy now. I don’t recall having to pay anything, no less the $8 fee they now imposed, to get into the area. The entry was now through a "museum" which was really just a gift shop. We picked through the shop and I was content because of the fee and the lateness of the time of day not to go into the main area. But when the young girls went to ring us up the computer was down, and so, as a courtesy she let us go on to Main Street and see the ensuing gun battle, for no cost.

Neither of us were impressed with the somewhat loosely acted out sophomoric gun battle, and we left before it was over.

We traveled long and hard today. This morning we had an IM session with Steve again and it began the day with good humor, encouragement, and good-natured prodding. The session went a little like this:

Steve: finally getting an early start
Steve:(8:22:49 AM): well if you were still on pacific time anyway
Joel perlish (8:23:07 AM): yes, we hope so, but not as early as we hoped. a call came into the room at 2am by mistake!.... arghhh...
Steve: (8:24:05 AM): so how far did you make it yesterday
Joel perlish (8:24:48 AM): 380! caught by the cold actually.
Steve: (8:25:27 AM): i had you pegged pretty good again.
Steve: (8:30:33 AM): based on your current habits and past performance 422 is the best you could possibly do today. honestly i'd be impressed to see you get to 400.
Steve: (8:31:00 AM): at the mirage the odds are posted as follows:
Steve: (8:31:40 AM):
under 200 miles ------ 20 to 1
201 to 300 miles ------ 10 to 1
301 to 350 miles ------ 4 to 1
351 to 400 miles ------- even money
401 to 450 miles ------- 2 to 1
451 to 500 miles ------- 7 to 1
501 miles or more ------- 15 to 1

We thought about and smiled about that during the day. I was determined to get to 500 today, but as we pulled into Great Bend, with still about 100 to go, and darkness falling fast, I realized we didn’t have the time to get in before dark. Steve had pegged us right for another day.

As we had passed into Great Bend we went by a Days Inn that advertised "Wireless Internet, Waffles in the Morning, and $39.99 Lodging." We sailed by to the other end of town to get gas, but it was then we realized that the wise judgment would be to stay here, so we doubled back.

July 26, 2005 – Tuesday – Day 31

48 States or Bust – The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 383 - Total Miles: 7572 – Average: 244.2 (travel days)
10:30AM-7PM (8.5hrs)
FARMINGTON, NM to SANTA ROSA, NM
(-staying at a Days Inn) NV (27/48)
- STREAKING EAST! – RIDING WITH THE HELL’S ANGELS -


It seems to me that some of you readers may not know anything about motorcycles. Here’s a primer on how they work. I am surely no expert, so perhaps you should take that into account when reading.

Well, a motorcycle usually has two wheels – but there are also trikes out there.
It’s my understanding that the gasoline put into the engine sets off a sparking bit of energy that makes some cylinders of some kind go up and down, which in turn moves a chain or leather belt that turns the wheels. (Millions of years’ worth of prehistoric animals that died for this – a tip of the hat to you, and thank you!) There are various complicated other ways the above happen, but I think you get the gist of it. Anyway, one used to start a motorcycle by kickstarting it. That created the force to get the whole process going. As far as I can tell, all bikes worth anything have a little button that works as an electric ignition.

Well, after the bike is turned on with a key, that ignition button is pushed and assuming the bike gears are in neutral, the engine should start purring away. (If the bike isn’t in neutral, and the gear shift lever isn’t held in, then the bike will buck out of control.)

Okay, on each of the handlebars there is a lever. The right handlebar lever is the brake for the front wheel. (The brake for the back wheel is operated by a lever near the right foot.) The left handlebar lever is for the clutch. One squeezes this to engage the gears, much like pushing down on the clutch with your foot in a car. Motorcycles usually have five or six gears I think. The toe of the left foot moves the gearing. A little lever there pushed down is first gear. Lifting the lever with your left big toe (usually in a boot) moves the bike into neutral. Then lifting the lever again with your toe moves the bike into second gear. And so on up to the bike’s highest gear (for when you’re moving really fast). When you go slower or faster you push the gears down (or up) in tandem with pulling in that gear-shift lever on the left handlebar.

So after lifting your leg over the bike, you straddle it. Then engage the first gear, slowly release the clutch while turning the end of the right handlebar (the accelerator), lift your feet to the pegs and off you go.

When riding, there are generally two positions. One with feet on the regular pegs (the right one near the brake lever, the left one near the gearshift lever). Or if one has crash bars (bars that curve out from each side of the bike to take the brunt of a fall should the bike tip over), one could put cruiser pegs on these bars and put his or her feet up on these pegs. It’s good to change positions occasionally on a long trip. And sometimes I ride with one foot up and the other down.

////////////////////////////////////

We slept late because we were up late last night. But it wasn’t our fault this time – seems the shower stall of the motel backed-up, the guy never came to fix it, and it was 11pm before they finally gave us a key to the (unoccupied) room next door to use its shower!

It was basically a head-down hard riding day though the southwest. Came up short against darkness and cold though for the planned 500 mile day.

Rode the 130 miles into Gallup and though it was a delightful ride, there was much more wind-buffeting than yesterday. Also, the scenery had continued to level out and there were hardly any dramatic mountain rises or cliffs. All day it was a cool delightful ride – much to our surprise.

Had lunch in Gallup before getting on the big highway, I-40, to cross New Mexico. As we were getting on the bike, a boy of about 9 years old came running excitedly out of the Taco Bell and wanted to know how many states we’ve been in. Karen told him 27 and that we’d be going to Texas next. The boy very proudly said, "THAT’S where I come from!"

Had a note from friend Wayne the other day and he wondered if we had seen many of those dark skid marks on the desert highway and then veering off to the side of the road usually. Actually, yes, we had seen a bunch of them. He said he had read or heard that those skid marks were made by drivers who were on long trips who had fallen asleep while driving and then awoke with the horror of their situation.

Once we got on the other side of Albuquerque, it became very cool as we were on a side of some storm front. And as we rode further it became actually cold. I could see my breath as it slightly fogged up the inside of my helmet. By the end of the riding day, I was actually shuddering. (Had talked with my sister by phone today. She lives near Philadelphia and she said they were having a heat wave of 98 degrees weather with high humidity!) Hard to believe Karen and I had the coolest of the two places here in the Southwest.

Yep, rode with the Arizona Chapter of the Hell’s Angels this afternoon. As we streaked down Interstate 40, I saw them cross on a bridge over the highway. There were about 20 of ‘em maybe. Then, in a little while after they came down onto the interstate, they came right up and rode beside us in the passing lane. Then they passed us. So we rode together for about at least five or six seconds. I’m not sure we exactly blended in with our yellow outfits, but they didn’t seem to mind. They rode right on. Actually, I’m not sure whether they noticed us or not.

We arrived in Santa Rosa, cold and butt-sore, with evening approaching. We stood at the gas station trying to decide whether to go on or not, but then inertia kept us in the town. I checked out a couple places along motel row here and we ended up in a very nicely appointed Days Inn with high hopes of getting a good night’s sleep. As you’ll read tomorrow, it was not to be.

July 25, 2005 - Monday - Day 30

48 States or Bust – The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 370 - Total Miles: 7189 – Average: 239.6 (travel days)
11:30AM-9PM (9.5hrs)
GRAND CANYON, AZ to FARMINGTON, NM
(-staying at Travelodge) AZ,UT,CO,NM (27/48)
- THE BEST RIDING DAY EVER! – VERMILLION CLIFFS – FOUR CORNERS – JUMPED OVER 7,000 MILES -


Didn’t have a great night’s sleep here in the log cabin on the rim of the Grand Canyon. Just as I would begin to fall to sleep I’d have an itch somewhere that had to be scratched, or an important or silly thought enter into my head that wouldn’t leave. Karen, on the other hand, fell instantly into a deep sleep, not having slept too well the past two nights.

We had a good run/walk to the bike to get the cover over it and then around and about part of the rim admiring the morning views. Then to the wonderful dining room where we enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast and our last views of the Canyon through the wall-sized picture windows. Our waitress was a young woman from State College in Pennsylvania and she told us that our timing was good there – that a couple weeks ago there were fires so bad that it was uncomfortable being outside and the views of the canyon were obscured. The couple at the next table were from Pittsburg and the man said that with eastern, mid-PA, and western-PA, we "had the whole state covered."

It’s nice being away from the steady beat of bad news from around the world. Occasionally that seeps toward us from an CNN report blaring from a lobby tv, or a stray newspaper on a restaurant table. But otherwise, it’s nice not having all that negativity of bombings and hurricanes and the like in one’s daily life.

On the parking lot, we talked with a likeable motorcycling couple, Paul and Paula out of Ontario, Canada. They were also a month on the road but had to miss Bryce because of time problems. Their Harley broke down on them and they lost a day with that fiasco. With regard to Bryce, I was in the odd turn-around position of telling someone else (as folks often tell us), "You should have seen!"

Seems they had made their reservations here at the Grand Canyon two YEARS ago. So we felt especially lucky to get the room we got as a walk-in yesterday.

It took us 50 minutes back to Jacob Lake instead of the hour and a half it took us to get to the rim in the rain last night. As we went around some of those curves on the way back, Karen observed it seemed like the three of us were one machine.

One view from Route 89 was almost overly dramatic. A mountain ridge at the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument was along the whole broad expanse of view and otherwise there was an empty plain with nothing but scrub as far as could be seen in all directions way out to where the ground met the sky at the four horizons. A number of weather systems could be observed out in the distance. Rain tendrils fell down out of darker clouds, then a little further over, bright sunny areas were sparkling.

One thing for sure, it will sure be hard to get used to the puny sizes of clouds, sky, and landforms when we get home.

The clouds decorated the ridges we rode through today with designs large and small. Often the shadows would appear as images zany to clear according to how much imagination we’d be using.

The wide open riding went on for mile after endless mile with nary a car and not much aside from the tall electric power line towers marching like huge behemoths in the near distance. It was the best riding in the world. Certainly the best of the trip. The day was relatively cool. The road level, clean and straight... And endless seeming. And as we’d scamper at 80-90mph from one long horizon to another – and skitter between or through storm systems it dawned on me that THIS was the best place on Earth to motorcycle. There were endless changing views of cliff and color and small gulch and enormous canyon. One’s attention didn’t need to be on the road incessantly, so one could actually observe the fine sights. And fine sights they were – and as each ridge at the horizon would be scaled, the new views were wide-eyed amazing.

At some of those new views, one would have to be made of solid rock not to be impressed, and mightily impressed with the sights. Occasionally, but actually more often than not, as we crested a hill or turned a corner, I would instinctually utter an exclamation of astonishment! Or my eyes would widen in certain disbelief at the scene before me. Or my breath would actually be taken away for a bit! Or my mouth would drop open. Or I’d release the throttle just a bit to get a few extra moments to take in the vista magnificent. Well, you get the idea. In reds of Earth and blue/white of sky, the endless scenes were ever-changing and a delight. Even during the times we rode through rain today it was delightfully cooling with splashes of raindrops.

Not to say there wasn’t nervousness about some of the day’s ride. Despite our urgings for it to go in a different direction, often the road would turn right into a massive black area where lightning could be seen splitting the dark clouds above. First came a spattering of drops and then the downfall. But we never did get a good drenching this day. But there was always the worry of another hailstorm-like torrent or strong winds to contend with.

We got into Page near Lake Powell right before 2pm. What the time is has been a problem today. Some parts of Arizona and the Indian reservations have Daylight Savings and some don’t. So we basically had to keep asking.

Traveled the entire day’s ride with nary a traffic light. It’ll sure be hard to get used to them when we get back east.

At 4pm we stopped to take a picture of the odometer as the Shadow rolled over it’s 10,000th mile. It was in the middle of Indian country surrounded by buttes and mountains and with the Navaho Indian Monument land in view.

It was an incomparable sled ride today. (Many motorcyclists refer to their mc’s as ‘sleds’.) Riding today was so effortless at times it seemed like the surrounding landscape was moving at high speed alongside us and WE were actually the ones standing still.

What with the G.C. this morning, the Vermillion Cliffs this afternoon, and the Four Corners this evening we hit yet another record for images taken today – 675! Karen has not been just sitting idly on the back of the motorcyle, folks!

While buzzing down the highway we came across a bunch of goats with dogs trying unsuccessfully to herd them as they meandered on and off the road. Good thing I was paying attention.

Four Corners was established in 1868 by US Government surveyors and astronomers. Since childhood Karen has had a long and abiding interest in the culture and area of the Four Corners. And in recent years she’s read all the books by Tony Hillerman, an author whose novels are set in the Four Corners locale. Karen said, "Fifteen years and twenty books later, I’ve finally made it here!"

Four Corners is surrounded by Navaho and Ute Indian nations. It’s the only place in the country where four states come together at right angles. Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah are the states one can put each limb into at one time. There’s a monument there in the desert that shows the demarcation. We, along with the others there took turns at having our pictures taken making all kinds of funny contortions at the magic spot. Around the monument are sales stalls where various Indian groups sell native jewelry and the such. We sampled the Indian fry bread (much like funnel cake) and bought a little Navaho pottery jar. We left the Four Corners at what we guessed for that area was 7:30pm.

We got caught in the dark at the end. In what seemed long ago in the Grand Canyon Cabin of this morning, Steve Diano, my Las Vegas friend, had IM’d us in the late morning and scolded us with how we should have been out on the road already! And we knew he was right. (Well, sort of knew. After all, the Grand Canyon IS the Grand Canyon – and who in his or her right mind would hurry away from that?) Then he bet we’d get 422 miles or below. And I took that wager. All day long we worked at winning that bet and would say how we’d go on for as long as it took to best 422! But as we rolled into Shiprock (an enormous ship-shaped rock nearby), we realized we would be losing that bet. Here, in the deep dusk of desert we either had to go 93 miles (and a 10:30pm end-time) to Gallup or 30 to Farmington. No place else in between to stay. So we opted for Farmington.

While tooling through the nightfall of the city looking for a motel, it was hard not to be thinking of the grandeur that was the day’s ride.

July 24, 2005 - Sunday - Day 29

48 States or Bust – The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 143 - Total Miles: 6819 – Average: 235.1 (travel days)
BRYCE CANYON, UT to GRAND CANYON, AZ
(-staying at a cabin overlooking the Grand Canyon North Rim)
UT,AZ (25/48)


Sell your pets, rent out your house, trade in green stamps, find a sitter for the kids, and just get yourself to Bryce Canyon and the Grand Canyon!

After a good breakfast at Harold’s Place Inn, we took off by 10am for the northern rim of the Grand Canyon. After the magnificence of Bryce we were thinking of skipping right to Four Corners, but put off that decision until the last moment at the turn off.

We took Route 89 most of the way today. And right after that landscape opened up to total flat in every direction for as far as one could see. It was very impressive. And the long walking stick-straight road was more than 20 miles in length. At the end of it was a small mountain, and looking back from the mountain, the plain was very striking with that road curling down through it. And NOTHING else there could be seen but scrub and land.

As we crossed that landscape Karen noticed a little stream called Asay Creek which was snaking along and curly-qued for miles and miles.

Just before Kanab, there was a canyon of red rocks. The most spectacular was a double football field sized canyon wall with unbelievable scoring on its surface of straight lines and holes and designs.

It was precisely 100 miles from Bryce to Jacob Lake, which leads to the Canyon. There were huge storm clouds over the canyon area, so we had lunch until they cleared. A very friendly mid-80’s couple was in there. They were from Sedona, AZ which they proclaimed was "the most beautiful place on earth." The man said he was born in Philadelphia. The smiley fellow said that they used to ride mc’s when they were younger. Karen mentioned that most of the folks on motorcycles we see on the road are around our age, and he replied, "That’s young to me!"

Unfortunately, by the time we got gas, more huge black clouds returned. I made a call from the lodge at Jacob Lake and discovered it wasn’t raining on the rim. We asked several locals and tourist types whether the rim would be worth seeing after having experienced Bryce. We got mixed replies, but generally favorable.

We left for the rim at 1pm. And almost immediately we were riding through a cool steady rain through cold winds. We were very cold. Karen was glad to have bought those Aerostitch pants so long ago it seemed. I had to stand on the pegs a few times to see over the water-dotted windshield.

It took an hour and a half to go the 44 miles. It was sunny at the rim with white clouds playing over the big hole in the ground. But the enormous black cloud was still over the area we had ridden through – maybe bigger now. I checked out availability at the Grand Canyon Lodge and found there was exactly ONE cabin left. And I decided to take it! Most times it’s weeks or months in advance to get such a place, but we lucked into a cancellation.

As Karen was putting the cover on the Shadow she chatted with a guy at his van waiting for the rest of his family. He was admiring the bike and as Karen was telling him about our journey he said a couple times that was something he always wanted to do – take a long trip on a motorcycle. Karen advised, "Do it soon, before it’s too late!"

It was a cabin that had a view of part of the canyon walls. It was simple but spacious, and also had a homey gas fireplace.

The rim of this northern part of the Grand Canyon is 8,255 feet, which is a thousand feet higher than on the southern edge. The average depth of the canyon is one mile. From South Rim to North Rim is 10 miles as the crow flies and 200 miles by car! There are far fewer visitors in the winter than summer on the North Rim because the average snowfall is ten feet a year.

The Angel Trail out to Bright Angel Point which overlooks the Canyon on the northern rim goes out about a quarter mile. The path is only about 3 or 4 feet wide. And on either side are unparalleled views of the Canyon stretching out to infinity. The path is smooth of surface but raises and lowers in elevation at points by a hundred feet or so – it’s not an easy trek out the end point. One could spend literally a year photographing the rocks alongside the path, the views spreading out from the path, the plants and trees all around it. Some of the rocks raise high beside the path and brave (or stupid or talented) scramble high up and cavort or pose there for pictures. Two such girls did so high above the path (and Canyon) on a mostly narrow boulder, and we all gasped.

In a related note, Karen spied in a pamphlet that over 250 folks a year are rescued from the depths of the Canyon.

The Grand Canyon’s top five layers are clearly visible on the walls of the Canyon. They represent 50 million years of ancient environments – swamps, seas, and deserts. Some rock layers are sheer vertical layers, while others form slopes because some of the rocks crumble more easily than others. Geologists guess, though, that it has taken less than five or six million years to carve the canyon.

The views really were amazing. And they made me really crave my good photo equipment – and a tripod. It made me laugh and surely seemed ironic and perhaps even oxymoronic seeing someone take pictures there of all that grand majesty with a cheap disposable camera. One guy I saw took some shots with his pda. There was a Frenchman there with a higher-end camera on a tripod. I got a good shot of him far out on a ledge with the canyon walls as dramatic backdrop – and gave him my email address to send him the shot.

Way out at the end of Bright Angel Trail I scanned below with my binoculars and amongst the trees saw a big waterfall – tiny through the lens, of course.

On the path, people of most every description were walking to and fro, coming or going. Sometimes going the same way, sometimes passing us walking in the other direction. It was a friendly conglomeration of folks and I got right into the spirit of that friendliness. A few times as people would pass, I’d put on a mock grin, and put my hand out, and say, "That will be $5 to pass, sir." It got a good laugh every time. And I’d go up to someone and innocently say, "Do you know if they deliver pizza out here?"

Hard to compete with a 35 year old memory of that southern Grand Canyon rim that I had, but the views here were as spectacular. And a lot different. Not as deserty as the West Rim that Karen knew.

We missed seating for the dining room which overlooks the Canyon walls, but had good eating in the deli... veggie-tofu over rice, and two good portabella mushroom sandwiches.

We spent some time in the gift shop, and then back at the cabin we settled in with the usual chores of unpacking – and trying to go to sleep early.

Tomorrow morning – a short run along one of the biggest holes on earth, and a huge mileage day!


(BTW, just as a reminder, readers are welcome to write in and ask things about which you may be wondering. We like hearing from you and knowing you're with us. Hope you're enjoying the trip. -- Joel

Any online readers can also feel free to leave their comments by clicking the appropriate "Comments" link under each online journal entry.)

July 23, 2005 - Saturday - Day 28

48 States or Bust - The USA on Two Wheels
Miles Today: 313 - Total Miles: 6,676 - Average: 238.4(travel days)
8AM-9PM (10hrs - moved back into Mountain time zone)
LAS VEGAS, NV to BRYCE CANYON, UT
(-staying at Harold’s Place Inn) NV,AZ,UT (25/48)


Everything before this was preamble. All that we’ve seen from before were poor, pale shadows to what we witnessed today. The Virgin River Gorge, Zion National Park, and Bryce Canyon National Park. Each alone would make much that has gone before tiny in comparison!

At Steve’s urging and with his inspiration, we actually did get on the road a little before 8am! It was good getting into the morning earlier and miles on the road before the heat of the day.

Around 10am in the little town of Mesquite, NV we breakfasted on pancakes. A couple motorcyclists were eating there. We met up again with Bruce Lee and Wilson at a gas place in Hurricane a while later. They were just tooling up on their Harleys to the Bryce area for the weekend. It was a dazzling day to ride. Especially toward the end of the day, the heat was somewhat lessened by thunderstorms in the area.

Just before St. George, UT was the Virgin River Gorge. It reminded us of some of the other scenic byway gorges we’ve traveled through, but it had few trees, mostly scrub and rock. Oh, and much much taller mountains. I had to watch the road, of course, but I recall riding through the gorge on my bicycle with craning neck and bulging eyeballs at the scenes through that corridor of mountain miles.

We entered the 25 miles or so of Zion National Park at 1 o’clock. The road would lead us to route 89 which would take us to Bryce. In Zion were splendid views of mountains distant and near that rose to such heights as to be staggering to the thought. And then the road took us up with turns of narrow hairpin variety and finally near the top was a slender tunnel. A mile-long, it was through and along the side of the mountain. It was very dark in there, although it did occasionally have open ‘windows’ on the one side which let a splashing of light in. Only one lane of traffic was allowed through at a time and we were first in line. When it was our turn to go I proceeded slowly to be sure through the darkness. The light shafts that came from the truck-sized windows in the rock were welcome, but also caused pupils to close, so that when past the blast of light, it was actually harder to see in the darkness that followed.

Zion National Park is made of swirling, tortured, fractured rocks up to the clouds – dotted with the trees that would, along with other erosion forces, bring down the leviathan mountains in say, a couple million years.

We stopped occasionally to take pictures, but many of the turn-offs were gravelly and I was hesitant to stop on them because of the intense angle of the roadway and the worry about keeping the bike upright. Karen was snapping photos like crazy all the way from the back of the bike and at one point she said how her neck was getting stiff from looking up so much.

At all the stops we would attract attention because of our sign and at the final one we had good conversation with a lady originally from New Jersey, but who now lived in Arizona. As with most she wished us good luck on the ride.

It was about 80 miles or so getting to Bryce Canyon. After some sprinkles from the occasional dark clouds scudding around, we got to the Bryce area around 4pm. We decided to check out a motel about 15 miles from the canyon. We had to come back this way anyway, so we figured we’d freshen up, leave our stuff in the room, go tour the 18 out-and-back miles of the national park, and then return to the motel before dark. First I called a few other motels in the area. One was booked up and the other only had three rooms left. On the basis of this and the very reasonable price, we decided to take a spot in Harold’s Place Inn. We had a choice of little cabins or a more conventional building. The more conventional one offered wireless internet so we took that one. (But it ended up not working anyway!)

After we had gotten into the room I was actually a little light-headed for some reason – probably not having eaten for awhile or some blood sugar thing. But I drank some water, had the remainder of some long-ago opened corn nuts, and then we made our way toward the park.

On the way to Bryce is Red Canyon. A wonderful geologic area all in itself. The rocks resemble the result from when one was a kid playing at the beach with wet sand. Then taking that wet sand and drizzling mounds of it to make castles and columns. Only here the hue of the material was red and the substance was very solid rock. This fairyland design of magic pillars went on for maybe a mile or so of highway and a couple of times the road tunneled right through it.

After a bit more highway, we came to the Ruby’s Inn complex of buildings and attractions. The Ruby family had been at the right place at the right time in the late 1800’s and began an inn at the entrance of what would soon be a national park. Descendents of the original family still run the place. And they run it well.

At Ruby’s café we had a good dinner and then after a little sojourn in the nearby gift shop, we headed into the park. (By the way, most of the national parks cost $20 to enter these days, and so I was glad to have purchased a park pass before leaving.)

There were a number of vista points along the 18-mile roadway. The traveling was easy, no major switchbacks or hills to climb. We were already on the top of the immense canyon. At the breaks in the trees the vista points were nicely paved. We stopped at almost each one to take in the amazing sights.

Nothing like the combination of water, wind, air, and time to create such beauty! Because of the way the river canyon was formed and eroded huge mountain-sized structures were left after nature had its way with things. "Hoodoos", or seemingly slender odd-looking stove-pipe-like columns graced the landscape out to the horizon in parts. Slices of harder mountain rock still stood after the less strong surrounding rock had eroded away and the result was often jaw-dropping beauty of grand design. Frequently, that design looked to me like vistas of alien apartment buildings that ranged for twenty miles or more in every direction and of most every hue and shade of color.

All the turn out points presented dream-like views of this evening tapestry in rock with now lengthening shadows. One enormous rock area had been worn away from the middle and formed what appeared to be a gargantuan natural bridge, but which was really a fantastic arch spreading wide for all to see.

The day set a record for the most photographs taken (approaching 500!) and also for the most times scrambling off and on the bike. Karen especially got tired of that.

Riding back through Bryce this evening to the entrance on that broad smooth blacktop through the forest was like slicing through the freshest sweetest air in the world!

I was a little nervous about that leg of the ride because it was beginning to edge on middle dusk in the midst of that tree-lined roadway, and also because the gas tank mileage was approaching 100.

We stopped at the ranger visitor center for bit and then back at Ruby’s for gas and more gift shop time. I tinkered with the idea of buying an expensive Utah blanket, but instead opted for only some food stuff and a pair of sunglasses.

It was a cool to cold ride back through the expanse of desert and eventually through Red Canyon and to the motel. But it was a clear evening, and the 70mph fresh night winds hitting my face on that straight deserted drive evoked heightened perceptions of wonder and life itself. It was a grand feeling.

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(Tomorrow: going to the edge of one of the biggest holes on earth!)