30 Days on a 5th Gen

Here's a ride report from a trip I took August 21-Sep 20.


Despite It All

Yesterday, I left work for 30.5 days. Yesterday, I left home for 30.5 days. Yesterday, I left my camp chair because it wouldn't fit. Yesterday, I planned to leave by 3:00 PM. Yesterday, packing took way longer than I expected and I didn't get left till 4:45 PM.

I'm writing this from Two Wheels of Suches. I finally rolled in last night, sometime around 9:30 PM. That's quite a bit later than I had hoped. If I had managed to leave at 3:00, I wouldn't have had to ride up US 60, US 129, US 19, et al in the dark.

The Honda VFR800 has a very unique sound, especially the 5th gen with the gear driven cams like mine. Some have compared it to a raging beast, but last night, my girl Vanessa was anything but that.

Allow me to set the scene. It's after 9:00 PM. The sun's been down for a while. Forest creatures skitter around. Mostly silent minus those drama queen cicadas. The Viffer is running great, dual headlights cutting into the forest. Wait, the forest? Shouldn't they be shining on the road? Turns out my headlights that were slightly high with no weight on the rear become better suited for coon hunting loaded down. The low beams were decent but hardly night riding confidence inspiring. Instead of a raging beast slashing it's way through the forest, she became a lumbering pack animal with glaucoma, man. I'd have to use low beam up to the point when I lean into the corner, then I could switch to high beam mid corner. Kind of like playing one of these with half the screen covered.

The scenery was beautiful, well at best okay. Oh, who am I kidding, I couldn't see it!

Despite things not going to plan, here I am! Full Day 1 begins now.


Pics will have to wait because I forgot a SD card reader.

 

Life's Little Bugs

After the harrowing ride up GA 60 in which my headlights touched the road less than a pathologist's tongue would be likely to lick a specimen of ebola, I arrived at Two Wheels of Suches. After a good nights sleep and a hearty breakfast of pancakes and bacon, I walked outside to start loading the bike back up.

I was met with disappointment. As soon as I rounded the corner of the building, I see a blue 5th gen VFR800 with polished wheels pulling out of the parking lot. A guy on the porch remarked: “He'd been trying to figure out who had the red VFR. He was pretty desperate to find someone to ride with.” I missed him by 20 seconds. This may not seem like a big deal, but I've never actually seen another 5th gen VFR from closer than across I-26 let alone having the chance to talk to the owner. VFRs aren't crazy rare bikes, but in my area of the country, a BOLO for a black and chrome bike would result in 95% of local bikers being pulled. Much Harley. Such Chrome.

When I did finally leave, I took Wolf Pen Gap Rd. What a brilliant road it is! I enjoyed the area in general much more than the Tail of the Dragon, although the Kickstand Lodge is still tops in my book. Much less traffic and wider shoulders make for a more enjoyable riding experience. There's nothing like the feeling of a morning ride in the mountains as the fog lifts, the grass still wet with dew, the air is crisp and invigorating. It makes me question why I live in Flatland, SC.

I am of the personal belief that when Satan possessed the serpent for a time, but he still resides in every yellow jacket ever. I don't like bees. I really don't like wasps. I hate them in my helmet.

I was diving into a particularly juicy corner on Wolf Pen Gap Rd (GA 180) when a large bee thunked on my windscreen and managed to flip up into my helmet (visor was fogged, so I had it up) landing directly behind my nose guard and between my mouth. With the business end of a bee pressed against my mouth and still wriggling bee fuzz on my lips, it was hard to stay concentrated on the corner. I managed somehow, and flicked it out when I found a straight section, which takes a while on that road.

It got me thinking. Like a bee in our helmet, life throws us unpleasant things that we have to face head on. We can flip out at the occurrence and end up in life's ditch, we can postpone action until it's too late and we get stung, or we can choose to remain calm and deal with the situation in a timely manner.

Back to the road, GA 60 is the best. Move over Cherohala, Tyrone's got a new bae. This road has it all. Sweepers, technical stuff, scenery, good pavement, ample services available. Just marvelous.

The rest of the ride to Parsons, TN was pretty uneventful, minus 60 miles in the rain on I24 and 840. I made the mistake of taking Blue Ridge Rd to Ocoee, TN. Great scenery, but SO MANY raft buses belching clouds of various colored smoke like a soup du jour of coolant, oil, and fuel. The smell made me think of the assault my nasal passages took in Managua, Nicaragua, and that, my friend, is not a good thing.

Just remember, if life throws a venomous creature in your face, keep your eyes on the apex and throttle in for the long haul.

 

Sunday morning, I set out from my cousin's place in Parsons, TN bound for Harrison, AR. The previous days riding had been great, but reality set in when I checked the radar for the route I was taking. I was wondering why they used a different color for Arkansas than the other states on the map, but when the radar went into motion, I realized that they hadn't colored the Natural State red because of the Razorbacks (Woo Pig Sooie!),* but because of the huge storm front starting in Oklahoma, stretching across Arkansas and all the way into Tennessee. I looked outside and it was raining already in Parsons.

After suiting up in all my rain gear (PVC and insulated gloves make for a free sauna experience) I said goodbye to my gracious hosts and tenderly made my way down their treacherous driveway that was slicker than eel snot. I wasn't looking forward to riding in rain all day, but the trip must go on!

Thankfully, the rain stopped after about 20 miles, and the roads were dry enough to take off (come to think of it, the term I most often use for putting on the rain suit is “donning it”, so is there an opposite to donning? Undonning?) the rain gear. Things still looked pretty overcast, so I kept an eye on the radar. The storm seemed to be breaking up on the north, a good bit further north than I had planned on heading, but dry was dry.

I had two choices: I could continue with the route I had planned, which would have me on more fun roads, but further south into the possibility of heavy rain, or I could strike out up north, hugging the Missouri border, which had much straighter, boring roads but less chance of rain. In the end, I chose to head north, and I'm glad I did.

Like a charm, the rain broke up on the North and I came as close as meeting people with their wipers on, but I ran with no rain for the rest of the day, and I even got the chance to ride some twisties.

Push Mountain Rd was disappointing at first because of the very poor pavement, but it soon became a Mecca of sweepers and curves. Very fine ride after the pavement cleared up. While coming around one corner, I saw a bit of debris on the centerline. I thought it looked like a dead squirrel, so I decided to see if I could slap it off the road. In hindsight, not the best plan. I don't have the best luck slapping things going down the road. I almost broke my arm once trying to brush my fingers on a traffic barrel and ended up catching it mid-arm at 45 MPH. So, anyways, I leaned into the corner, leaned over and almost grabbed it when the now very much alive squirrel whirled around to face me with a look of terror and a hint of befuddlement. I decided not to grab it, because I wasn't sure what I'd do with it when I had it. So it goes...

What surprised me was AR 14 to Yellville. That road might just be in my Ozark top 3, behind Hwy 7 and* Hwy 123. The fact that it leads straight to Razorback Ribs is also a huge plus. If you've never been, you've never truly eaten. Well, okay, maybe you have, but at least not on a RR level.

Harrison was a homecoming of sorts. I lived there for 15 months in 2011 and 2012. Rolling into Harrison was a harsh reminder that time marches on unmercifully, at least to your memories. Things change, places that once were popular hangouts are now boarded up, but new construction everywhere. You can't live in the past, but it sure would be nice if you could every now and then.

So, anyways, further updates will be slow. I'm writing this at a campground in Badlands National Park in South Dakota, so I have no service to upload.

You can plan all you want to, but there are no shortages of wrenches that can be thrown into the works. The key is learning when to fold your plans for something new, or to stick to your guns.

Until next time:

The best laid routes of mice (or squirrels) and men....

 

Localized Glaucoma

Arkansas treated me just fine, like usual. It was hard to leave, I could have stayed another day or even a week. As I headed up Hwy 60, I was greeted with the familiar sights; Branson, Hollister, Ozark, and Lambert's Cafe. On a side note, there's a lady suing the “home of throwed rolls” for throwing a roll at her and hitting her in the face because she didn't catch it. If only they had signage indicating the dangerous possibility of airborne gluten bombs! Oh, wait. It's on the billboard. Carry on.

Honestly, I don't have a lot to share with you about this day. It was pretty uneventful, mostly just getting from the Ozarks to Nebraska which involved far too much Missouri. Nothing against Missouri, just that coming from the excitement that is the Ozarks, straight, flat roads can get a little boring.

For this post, I'll let the pictures do the talking. I don't have many pictures during the day, because I got a late start and had a lot of miles to put on.



I believe this next picture sums up all of Midwest small town America into one photo.



When I was taking this photo, a guy pulled up on his bike and asked if I was okay. When I told him I was taking pictures of the town, he said “Taking pictures of Union, Nebraska? You must be out your mind, there's nothing pictureworthy here.”

I beg to differ sir, I beg to differ.


Wildfires elsewhere have left a haze of smoke in the sky, which isn't great for breathing, but is great for sunsets!



I finally arrived in Seward, NE at late thirty. I had to trek back about 2.5 miles on a gravel road. I thought riding that far on gravel was bad. But things were about to get much worse...

Takeaway of the day: Often, others can see beauty in things you cannot, because you are too familiar with said things. Sometimes it takes looking at the trees as a stranger to be able to see the forest.

 

Take Time to Smell the Buffalo

I stayed the night in Seward, NE. Refreshed after a good nights sleep, (which I needed after 495 miles the day before) I rode back on the gravel to pavedness. The air was a brisk 64 degrees, the birds were chirping, all the native wildlife was apparently hiding in the corn. Come to think of it, about all I could see was corn for the first 100 miles or so. I headed for Grand Island on I-80 and then took Nebraska 2 up through the Sandhills.

I stopped in Broken Bow at the Sandhills Visitor Information Center and had a delightful chat with the two ladies running the place. They paused from their card game to give me a brief history of the area and we compared notes on water tables in SC and NE and various other things. They had some pretty neat exhibits, including over 200 variations of barbed wire. I never knew there were so many types!

Allow me to get to the point (see what I did there? Point? Barbed wire? I've got that “just got up cleverness” surging through me). Nebraska is pretty cool. I never would have thought that I'd say it, the corn and farmland is okay I guess, but above Grand Island on Hwy 2, the Sandhills start and things get beautiful. Don't take my word for it, feast your eyes...





The one thing that fascinated me was how the road ran parallel to the train tracks pretty often. I don't see a whole lot of trains usually, so it was pretty cool passing a train every 10 minutes or so. Most of them I clocked at 1.25 miles long.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pN7O2rFzeDc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udeaUe7Y7dc

I stopped for lunch at the Arrow Cafe in Thedford, NE. Writing in the window boasted “Best Burgers in town.” I guess it was honest, it looked like the only burger serving place in town. I chose the Jumbo Cheeseburger with fries.



The burger was pretty good, but the fries were straight out of the freezer into the fryer and left a bit to be desired.

Turning north on US 83, I kept riding and marveling at the beauty of the Sandhills. I finally made it to Valentine, NE, a town I had been really looking forward to. I was kind of disappointed. I thought the name was cool and the hearts painted over town were neat, but it struck me as too touristy, so I got out of Dodge (I mean, Valentine).

By the way, here's my Valentine...



Entering South Dakota was a nice ride, I headed west on SD44, then north into the Badlands. My word, what amazing rugged country!





Having a proper good time...



After the Badlands, I headed to Wall for supper, ended up killing some time at Wall Drug.



ATGATT!

Wall Drug was too touristy, so I ended up eating at DQ. I didn't realize that the time had changed, so I had to leave in a hurry to ride to the Sage Creek Campground. I knew it was back on a gravel road, just not how far. It was 8.5 miles on loose gravel. Longest 8.5 miles of my life, until the next day. The Viffer did well, handling the washboard roads like a champ. Well, at least a champion sumo wrestler scrimmaging on marbles.

Close to camp, I rode within 12 feet of a buffalo in the road. I cleared his personal space as soon as I could.

I finally set up camp, wrote out a quick ride report for the previous day, but couldn't do anything about it because of no service. It was beautiful watching the lightning highlighting the mountains in the distance, but not so beautiful once it headed my way. It was a fairly serious thunderstorm, high winds that were trying to pick the tent up with me in it and heavy rain. Thankfully, there was no hail, as I spoke to someone who received nickel size hail about 10 miles away.

Today's Takeaway: Like riding in loose gravel, some things in life are out of our control. We need to accept the fact that not everything is in our control, and like riding in gravel, we need to maintain a loose grip on the event, allowing things to right themselves. Sometimes, we can be so caught up in trying to solve all our problems on our own, we overcorrect and end up in the ditch. Is this a license to a loose approach on all of life? Absolutely not, but it does us well to realize when something is beyond us.

 

Highlight Reel

After a pathetic night's sleep thanks to the big storm rolling in, I awoke and got out of my tent to see this:



That was the one bright spot in a not so hot morning. After I was all packed up, I checked the map again, and I was faced with a decision. Drive back the 8.5 miles of gravel I came down on the night before and then loop around 40 miles, or drive 13.5 miles of gravel and only be 15 miles out of the way. I chose the 13.5 miles of gravel. Whether that was the best choice or not, I don't know. In fact, I don't remember a whole lot of riding out on the gravel, probably because my subconscious has repressed that terrible hour. The rain really softened up the roads and the gravel was looser than ever. Finally, finally, finally I made it to pavement. I almost kissed that road. I made a promise right then and there to Vanessa not to take her down any more gravel on this trip. I intended on keeping it, I really did.

Finally back on pavement, I had a spot to park so that I could put my rain gear on, as it was drizzling the entire time I was on the gravel, but the road was too soft to park. When I was putting my overpants on, I brushed against the right side fairing and it moved several inches more than it should have. After closer inspection, both large fairing bolts on the right side were missing. I ended up just pulling one from the other side and just having one per side till I can find a Honda dealer that stocks the bolts and won't take 5-7 business days to get them. Gotta love being in Harley Country!

I decided then that if at least one thing was going to go right today, it'd have to be lunch. I rode to Rapid City in search of the mythical Pizza Ranch. I had visited once before and had a great time, and now I was going back.



Just as good as I remembered.

The radar showed the rain coming in from the northwest, so I decided to ride down to the Mount Rushmore area and ride around to dodge the rain. Best decision ever. I had planned to ride the Black Hills, but they were not what I was expecting.

They were so much more...



After a quick dash down to Hermosa, I grabbed 36 to Custer State Park, from there hopping onto 16 Alt. I know it's a worn out expression, but do you remember being a child at Christmas? The sheer delight that came with Yuletide faded as I grew older, morphing into having more fun giving presents to others. Riding Hwy 16A, that supreme happiness overcame me once again. I'm man enough to admit catching myself giggling in my helmet like a group of 12 year old girls that stayed up a bit too late. I have a video I'll upload later. (of the road, not the giggling)



The best part of the road had to be the one lane tunnels. Running north as I was, it was simply awe inspiring to see Mt Rushmore perfectly framed while coming through the tunnels. The V4 howled through the tunnels, although these roads are definitely scenic roads, not exactly twisties to be pushing hard on.

After 16A was finished, I rode Needles Highway back down towards Custer. No slouch of it's own, Needles is a fantastic road. The tunnel was simply spectacular.



From there through Custer and up US 385 to Lead and 14 Alt. This was a most spectacular route, winding through Spearfish Canyon with plenty of smooth 30 mph corners and wide shoulders with fantastic scenery and a lower temperature to boot.

I stopped when I saw a sign for Roughlock Falls. The catch? It was back a gravel road. Vanessa reminded me of the promise I made earlier in the day about no more gravel, but I told her that I have no place in my driveway for a bike that can't handle a tiny bit of gravel so that I can pursue my dreams and passions and go see a little waterfall, for crying out loud.

I won, what can I say, I'm a sucker for waterfalls. I was a little pressed for time and I didn't have time to set up a tripod, so I'm disappointed in the waterfall photo, but here it is anyways.



The view on the way back to civilization was much more worth it.



I stayed at Bell's Motor Lounge in Spearfish, SD. I highly recommend it. It was the only reasonably priced place in the area, plus the guy there turned me onto a place in town where I got a great supper, the Bay Leaf Cafe.



Monterey Jack chicken sandwich and sweet potato fries which would make you slap a squirell (no, wait...)

Todays Takeaway: There is darkness before dawn, gravel and rain before dry and giggle inducing roads.

Bonus car I saw in Lead:

 

Now that's a great write up, love it, ya gota good eye for photos ops, which makes it even more the fun. I do the same thing, some get it, some are scratching their head. This gets the blood running for next year. Thanks for sharing, look forward to the rest of the adventure.

 

Wyomin(gore)

This is going to be a two for one report, from Spearfish, SD to Powell, WY and from Powell to Columbus, MT.
After leaving Bell's Motor Inn, I made tracks for Devil's Tower in Wyoming. The first thing I noticed is how much wildfire smoke hung in the air, hiding the mountains from sight. From my rough calculations, I would say that visibility was right at a mile and a half, basically really bad out West. Once I got into the mountains, the smoke persisted and visibility worsened. To help you understand this, picture a mountain. Now picture that mountain half hidden in smoke. Did that clear things up? No?

Well, neither did the smoke.



Devil's Tower was pretty neat, but it really was one of those things that can be admired from the parking lot, so that's what I did. I had a conversation with a guy parked next to me that was waiting on family to come back from a hike. This seemed to spark a chain of events down the road, but more on that later.

I stopped to watch the prairie dogs for a while, and when I was about to leave, the vehicle in front of me ran over one of the prairie dogs. They didn't notice, but when they walked back to their car, that dog must have went and hidden underneath. As its spleen was receiving a little more sunlight than it was used to, it lay gasping for breath and dying shortly. It kind of made me think that sometimes the actions we take to avoid something we fear can become more detrimental to us than just facing the fear itself.

I stopped for lunch about an hour down the road from Devil's Tower at Donna's Diner. As I was eating, Donna (I presume) and another customer were talking. The other woman mentioned that her brother was in trouble because he mowed down 18 cows with his semi because he wasn't paying attention. I didn't put too much stock into it, chalking it up to idle gossip and small town exaggeration, when who through the front door should walk, but the guy I had been talking to at Devil's Tower. Small world.

Back on the road, I-90, I was almost to Gillette when I passed two very distinctive vehicles; a black Chevy conversion van with green airbrushing and a Toyota Highlander pulling a neat little homemade travel trailer.



Oh, the wonders of Interstate travel


From I90, I peeled off onto 14W and then onto 14A through the Bighorn National Forest. A simply wonderful ride. It cooled down from 93F to about 62F at the top. It was quite refreshing.



Vanessa wanted to see, too...


All sorts of wildlife were out, unfortunately all of them were insects. What's the last thing to go through a bug's mind when it hits a VFR? It's butt.



My parents were both teachers, so I developed the habit of picking out typos in signs at 70 MPH.



Exhibit 1: Keep it classy, Wyoming



Coming down the mountain was equally thrilling.



I arrived in Powell and set up my tent, and then in a risky maneuver, left it there and went into Cody to see what was up. Again, it seemed a bit too touristy and I headed back to Powell. What's crazy is that I saw those two exact vehicles that I had noticed earlier in Cody. I wouldn't have even seen the one, but I happened to go by right as they were pulling out of a lodge. A little coincidental?



The city of Powell, WY has a very cool park arrangement. It is a combination rest stop, RV dumping station, city park and pool, has a designated free tent camping area, and to top it all off, WiFi. The tent camping area was spotless and had a picnic table and grill.

Second Day.

I packed up camp and headed for some breakfast. I had spotted the Skyline Cafe the night before and it looked just down my alley. I walk inside, typical small town diner. I perused the menu, noting all the typical breakfast fare, when something out of the ordinary for this South Carolinian caught my eye. Under the Omelet section, they had an Apple and Sausage omelet smothered with cheddar cheese. I waffled a bit, not sure if that was what I was looking for, but then decided, I'm on a trip, I'll take the risk. When it came out, I bit into it hesistantly, but it was not bad at all. I would have used a bit more cinnamon in the apples and maybe a different kind of sausage, but overall, not bad at all.



What I love the most about small town diners is just sitting back and people watching, both the tourists and the regulars. Partway through my unusually fruit laden omelet, a man walked that could have summed up small town America. Blue jeans, boots, button down shirt, trucker hat. He was greeted with a chorus of “Hey, Glen” from the wait staff and sat down at his usual spot as they fixed him the regular. He and another local started talking and my ears perked up when I heard that the topic involved cattle being mowed down by a semi. The other guy talking to Glen was saying that he was second on the scene of a semi mowing down a whole herd of cows and hitting the car of one of those “terrist” girls. The woman at Donna's Diner, hundreds of miles away was right, and here I was listening to these locals talk about the incident when me, some random guy from out of many states, had just happened to meet the guilty party's sister the day before. Crazy stuff. It turned out to be 16 cattle dead at the time of writing, and they had to bring the plowtrucks out to scrape off the cow guts and feces enough to open one lane. I'm including the article here:



Glen and I talked a while, then I headed off towards Cody where I hit up a Tractor Supply and found some bolts and washers to temporarily replace the ones that were taken by the South Dakota gravel road tax. Leaving Cody, I headed up Chief Joseph Highway. Man, what an incredible ride up! At the top, I met two gentlemen travelling from Georgia. We left within a day of eachother and have some similar destinations, so who knows, we might meet again. They were riding an unusual coupling of a Victory bagger and a Kawi C14.



Coming down Chief Joseph was another story. Soooo much loose gravel. I've never seen a road that bad. I was descending at under 20 MPH and still had quite a few times when the front wheel slipped out quite a bit more than I would have preferred it to. Thankfully, halfway down, it cleared up and things were all downhill (which is good) from there.

Cuttting right onto 212, or Beartooth Highway, I gained some serious elevation in a short amount of time, topping out at 10,974 ft and a temperature drop from 91F to 51F. The wind was pretty crazy at the top, and I parked and went climbing on some rock piles for a good picture. 15 minutes of making my way through and up the rocks, I pulled out my camera only to see the low battery light come on, and it immediately going comatose. Luckily, I had my phone on me, but the picture quality just isn't justice.



The smoke from the day before had pretty much been driven away with northerly winds and I could see for miles. There's still some ice up there in the mountains, but I didn't plan on getting closer to ice than I absolutely had to. I rode down in a hurry since it was beginning to rain and with the high winds, the rain felt much worse. One really cool thing is that I got behind a camper from Switzerland. It was like a Toyota Prado, a manual diesel Land Cruiser sort of deal with a snorkel, just like the ones in Nicaragua. Color me jealous.

After a quick bite to eat in Red Lodge. I headed north, but didn't make it very far before the rain hit. With the rain, came the wind. I was having to hold my bike from coming off the kickstand, the wind was so heavy. When I finally got all suited up, the rain quit a quarter mile down the road, as rain is a fickle thing and only takes pleasure in making riders suffer. Or something like that.

I'm now staying at Itch-kep-pe Park in Columbus, Montana. Heading for Glacier tomorrow.

Todays Takeaway: You really should look out for cows.

 

Mon(ton'a) Problems

It all started so innocent, so bright, such an unassuming day. The wind rustled through the trees, Yellowstone River a stone's throw away (if you can throw 900 ft) was gurgling contentedly and fellow campers dropping by to shoot the breeze. My mood had lifted from the windy, tiring day before and things were looking good. I warmed up some breakfast (Campbell's chicken and dumplings if you must know) and went down to the river just to sit, think, and take a few photos.



Leaving Columbus, I90 was pretty much the only thing on the schedule that day. My rear tire was getting pretty worn down, so I figured Missoula was my best option for finding a replacement for said tire. Around the time I hit Bozeman, I too was hit. Hit with the realization that I didn't remember pulling the keys out of the side case when I left Columbus. I searched everything on the bike and myself. No dice. Which was a bummer, because now I can't play Yahtzee. Also, I found no keys.

Luckily I had one spare key for my clothing case, so the only case I couldn't get into was the one holding all my bedding stuff; air mattress, pillow, sleeping bag, stack of reading material and so on. In other words, I needed in there, but as I was getting a motel in Missoula, it wasn't critically urgent. More about that motel later.

I stopped for lunch in Bozeman at Clark's Fork. Pretty neat place, its a cafe decorated with excerpts from Lewis and Clark's journals taken out of context to advertise their menu items. Novel idea. I had the Southwest breakfast burrito (yes, breakfast for lunch. I love breakfast. I will not apologize for that. If I ever decide to run for President, my platform will be on breakfast menus being served all day long).
The burrito was good, the freshly fried chips were even better.



Grinding down I90 once again, things were going well. Well, until Butte, that is. After riding through Butte, the wind got crazy. If you've never ridden in high winds, especially crosswinds, allow me to give you an example. Say you're sitting in an office chair. Now imagine a midget standing behind you, or a regular height person crouching if you'd rather. Now whichever person you chose grabs your head and shakes it up and down, side to side with varying force and intensity for 3 hours. Got that? Good, now imagine that your office chair suddenly gets jerked 4 feet to the side randomly. That is how high winds do.

There were several times I was blown a lane over, despite steering into the wind. You have to stay alert, looking for trees bent over, etc to point out the really windy spots so that you can take early action. After about 3 hours of this, I was sick and tired of the wind. What could make things better? How about some rain? How about the bike sputters, coughs and shuts off? How about all of the above?

Out of gas. At 180 miles, I usually have between .75 to 1 gal of gas remaining. Fighting the winds must really have sucked some fuel down. The fuel gauge that had been showing 3 bars jumped straight to empty.

I called my insurance company for roadside assistance, and I figured it'd take a while, being Montana. Boy, was I right. The initial text said an ETA of 75 minutes. The closest available truck was in Ronan, while I was 11 miles east of Missoula. I was 11 miles away. 11 miles away from my warm, dry motel, that long hot shower I longed for, and the laundry service that I also direly needed.






It ended up being over 2 hours of sitting in the rain, 50 degree temps and high winds before help arrived. And then came the cops. Apparently as I sat propped up against the mile marker sign, trying to stay dry and eating beef jerky, someone phoned 911 and said I was slumped over my bike, so a Missoula County Sheriff came out to check on me. When he realized that I was fine and that the truck had just shown up to bring me fuel, we talked for a while, he wished me luck on my trip and left. One of the flyest cops I've ever met.

It turns out that the service truck had been in Polson when he got dispatched to me. That explained the longer wait, but I was glad to be finally going again, thanking myself for paying that $5 a year for roadside coverage. When I pulled into my motel, I had two things on my mind. Bed and a hot shower. But first, I needed to get my laundry going. I had selected this particular establishment based on their advertisal of having a 24hr coin op laundry. Well, in keeping with the day, it was out of order despite the LED billboard out front loudly boasting it's existence. I rode around town trying to find a 24 hour laundromat, but all the laundromats closed at 9PM. Ridiculous. I ate McDonalds out of spite and went to bed in my nonsmoking room that reeked of smoke. So goes it.

Today's Takeaway: That light at the end of the tunnel? It's a train.

 

Nice trip and pics with story.

 

Just Wow ,talk about lousy timing. I've ate at Clark fork, decent enough, I've been on I 90 so many times I can almost know exactly where you were, well it help that you had the mile post sign too. Wow talk about a day. BTW great read, helps when one that writes has great writing skills. Just like a good book. NEXT?

 

So.. this came to me, was wondering if you have your adventure on google maps all laid out, I'm thinking it would be fun to see the course you rode on.

 

I don't actually. I might can break it into parts, but it's way too many waypoints for Google to handle.

 

Great trip writeup, looking forward to the rest of it. I've been through all this country on my VFR, albeit heading from the West, so it's jogged loose a lot of memories!

 

Subscribed!

 

Oh man. Oh man! This gives me the wander lust really bad! I too take pictures of food. That's one of the best parts of travel.

What camera are you using? The shots are nice and clear. The photographer is pretty good too with the shots well framed.

 

In Which I Spend Much Money

Upon regaining consciousness from a (not long enough) night's sleep, I spent most of the morning calling all the motorcycle shops and dealers in the Missoula area looking for a rear tire. The same story everywhere, “That's not a Harley size, we don't have anything like that.” Even the Honda dealer would have had to order the tire at a ridiculous price and it would have meant staying in Missoula for several more days which was NOT on the top, middle, or bottom of my list. I was growing a strong dislike for Missoula, and in fact, only one thing keeps it from being right up there with New Jersey on the “actively avoid” list. That one thing being the breakfast I had at a small local diner.



I had the Ham Scramble and it was pretty good. Looking around the diner, I noticed that the diner sponsored a local high school trap shooting team. My kinda place. I finally found a place that had a tire and for a reasonable price, but I had to ride 50 miles south to Hamilton, MT to get it. Thankfully, there was a laundromat there and I dropped off my clothes prior to tearing down the bike at the dealer. Strangely enough, it ended up being a Yamaha dealer, Al's Cycles that had the correct size and the tire I wanted (Michelin Pilot Road 4) and were able to balance a single sided swingarm wheel.



Finally, at 3:30 PM, the tire was on, I picked up my now clean laundry and things were looking up. I had to ride right through Missoula on the way to my campsite, ugh. Riding up to Polson, MT was pretty uneventful.



Nice view of Flathead Lake

I've been using freecampsites.net for locating free or cheap camp sites. It's worked great so far. Until today. I rode around Lake Flathead to Finley Point, a long peninsula out into the lake. Riding back in on the (terrible) pavement, I came across several deer. They were completely fearless, I even had to wait for one to mosy it's way across the road with me honking my (feeble) horn to spur it on. When I rounded one corner, there was a fawn that was either really spooked or stupid as a bag of rocks. He was facing a high fence, backing up several feet and then charging the fence head first and every time, he only made it up to his neck then got flung back by the fence. I stopped and shut the bike off to make sure that I wasn't spooking him into doing it, but he persisted. I made a wide berth around him and continued down the road looking for this mythical free campground. After a complete loop of the land, I came across Finley Point State Park, but they wanted to charge $28 for one tent site. Ridiculous!

The site had said there was a free campground. I rode around looking for it for another 15 minutes or so and finally stopped to ask a local where it was. Apparently, it had been taken over by the state park. I was faced with the choice of riding back to Polson and paying $80 for a motel room, riding 80 plus miles to the nearest free campground at dusk already, or suck it up and pay $28 for camping in a 10 acre state park. I chose to stay at the state park, but they couldn't make me be happy about it. I can see spending that kind of money to camp at a popular or majestic park like Glacier, but a 10 acre state park? Crazy. At least I saw a decent sunset over Lake Flathead.


Today's Takeaway: Sometimes, a lack of options leads to a lack of wallet thickness, but you don't have to like it.

 

Montana Redeemed

So far, Montana hadn't made the greatest of impressions, but expectations were high, because today I'd tour Glacier National Park. Glacier is one of the main reasons I wanted to make this trip, so I was really looking forward to it, and boy, it didn't let me down!

I packed up camp back on Flathead Lake, retrieved my food from the bear lockers (first time using those), and set out heading north. It was a pretty uneventful ride to Glacier. I stopped just outside the park for a drink and a snack. The gas station had a wide assortment of chips in various flavors I'd never heard of before, including Cheddar and Beer, Thai flavoring, and Bacon and Maple. I tried the Bacon and Maple chips and they were actually pretty decent!

I headed into the park from the west side on advice from the guys at the diner in Wyoming. They said the best views are had from riding from west to east, and I believe I'd have to agree with them. I was a bit underwhelmed at first, wondering when the climb started. The river was beautiful and all, but following umpteen tour buses needed more than a river to keep my attention. When the climb started, things got dramatic quick. The air was crisp, the wildfire smoke mostly gone. Other than the sometimes monotone rambling drifting out of the open top tour buses, I was left with the sounds of Nature; the wind, the birds, the river, and of course that V4 melody.

Until I rode through Glacier, I dismissed the phrase “jaw-dropping” as a figure of speech. What would compel someone's jaw to hang slack, I asked? It made no sense. Until it did. I don't really know how to describe it, other than coming around a corner and feeling like you've just been gut punched with beauty. Riding on, slack-jawed, every corner offered a new vista, each one a unique view of the majesty that lies within the park.










Leaving the park (regretfully), I headed north for Alberta. I took Chief Mountain Hwy and the difference could not have been more stark between America and Canada's sides. On America's side, crap. Crap everywhere. Free range cattle lounging on the road, defecating, and sometimes bleeding to death judging by some stains in the road. Canada side? Spotless. Numerous scenic pulloffs with restrooms and tidy parking.





This was my first time in Canada, so getting through the Border took a little longer, but very straightfoward. It wasn't long and I was at Waterton National Park. Inside the park is Waterton Village a small town of approximately 100 year round residents. There were several restaurants, shops, and so forth. I set up my campsite, then went into town for a little food.





I chose Wieners of Waterton. Best hot dog ever. It had everything and the kitchen sink on it, and then they offered to add crumbled chips on top, so why not? Not to mention the amazing sweet potato fries with chipotle mayo sauce. The workers were very friendly and welcoming. The fact that the US dollar is a little more powerful these days helped too. Canada gets my vote!



That evening, right before I bedded down, two bikes rolled into camp. I went to talk to the riders and it turns out they were from California heading for Banff NP like I was. They were riding a brand new Indian Scout and an older but good looking Honda CB900C.

Today's Takeaway: Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but being there, being silent, and soaking in your surroundings is worth unbelievably much more.

 

Oat and Aboot in Canada

Waterton has a great campground. The shower was nice and warm on a chilly morning. Actually, it wasn't too chilly, it was low 50's. I'm sure that number is lower in Celsius, but I can't be bothered right now to convert it. Actually, when I was in Canada, I had a ton of fun. I absolutely love doing math in my head, and having to do all the metric conversions on the fly was a blast, along with figuring out what prices came to in “real money.” I gave up at gas stations, though.

Packing up my tent, I was somehow hungry again, so I headed back to Wieners of Waterton for a breakfast dog. The dog consisted of sausage, egg, cheese, onions, peppers, salsa, and a bit of sriracha. Great stuff! Heading out of Waterton, the plan was Banff National Park. I decided to come in from the west side, which meant going over Crowsnest Pass.

When I stopped for gas in Crowsnest Pass, the guy behind the counter advised against going to Banff. I knew it was cold, but I didn't realize that it was already down to 41 degrees and raining in Crowsnest Pass and Banff was several hours north yet. I pulled up the forecast and I saw something I didn't exactly relish, snow. That sealed it, one of the things I had been looking forward to the most, Banff, was off. Instead of going back through Waterton, I pushed on into the storm over Crowsnest Pass. It was cold. It was rainy. I think I've suppressed the rest of the memories from that stretch.



This tree has marked the beginning of the Pass for years, but it died in 1971. Wind got the best of it later, so now its anchored with metal rods.



In what's left of the town of Frank, there was a monument to the buried town. In the middle of the night in 1903, a chunk of limestone over a kilometer wide, 425 meters long and over 100 meters deep broke loose off of the mountain and cascaded onto the sleeping mining town of Frank, burying most of it and sending 70 people to their deaths. Ironically, those working the night shift in the mines were able to tunnel out. The rocks have been unmoved since then, and in a sign of Canadian respect, I was very glad to see absolutely no graffiti on the rocks.

I stopped in Sparwood, BC for lunch. Because I just needed to eat and run and hopefully have WiFi, I chose the local A&W. The Canadians have a fascination with maple flavoring, with which I am totally on board. I had the Maple Chipotle Bacon burger which was really good, and guess what? They offered sweet potato fries with chipotle mayo sauce. I'm digging it.



Sparwood advertised having the “World's Largest Truck.” I don't know about the World's Largest, but it was big! What blew my mind was the engine took 287 gallons of oil.

Dropping down through Fernie back into these United States, I passed through the border once more. The American side was quite a bit more thorough in their interrogation. Nothing like making you feel irrationally guilty for having done nothing wrong.

Once in the US of A again, I was riding down 37, when I decided to be a little adventurous and cross Lake Koocanusa (terribly unoriginal name, by the way) and ride the length of it on National Forest Service Road 228. This was awesome. I had the road to myself for the best part of 42 miles.



I passed one or two Forestry trucks in that time, but other than that, the road was my personal playground. It was on this road that I saw the most American scene that I've personally witnessed.

I'm on a extended motorcycle trip across America, camping along the way, riding a forest service road above a beautiful lake. Sheer rock wall to my right, freight train chugging along on the other side of the lake, when a bald eagle swooped down into the lake and had takeout sushi. Amazing stuff.

Moments like this have been branded “Kodak moments” for a little older age or GoPro moments for today, but I argue that it's a memory moment. I'm glad that I wasn't distracted by a camera, trying to capture the scene, but instead was able to view it unimpeded by a need to capture and share it with others. I'm the only one who saw that scene, and while I can try to describe it to you, there's a certain romantic notion in the fact that it will live in my memory only. I feel that so much of today's world is being captured to share with others that we miss out on the moments ourselves or that we allow what we think would be a great shareable media (picture, video, Vine, etc) to force our hand into doing something that we think would be popular rather than just enjoying and living in that moment. In the end, I'd rather have a vivid memory of a scene than a hasty photograph. Despite that, I feel that ride reports are a vital part of travel. I find it's a great time for reflection on the past days and can help prolong memories.

I had to cut a U turn when I saw a swinging bridge. I went for a short quick hike back to Kootenai Falls and the swinging bridge.






Just incredibly beautiful. I rode on until it got dark and I realized I wouldn't make it to the campground, so I grabbed a room in Trout Creek, Montana.

Today's Takeaway: Live for the moment, not to capture it.

 

Things looked pretty good, if a little chilly, leaving Trout Creek. I rode with a mission, a passion, if you will, called breakfast. The lady at the motel had recommended Minnie's Cafe in Thompson Falls, so that's where I headed. She had warned that the omelets were great, but were almost bigger than the plate. She didn't lie.



What she didn't say was that the plates were also larger than normal. I ain't even mad. The omelet was great and the home fries even better. A great start to a mediocre day.

I headed down 200 to Missoula (again) and then south to Lolo. Somewhere between Thompson Falls and Missoula, a steady rain began. The clouds hung low all day, although on the mountains, I don't mind.



There's really not a whole lot to report on this stretch. When I got to Lolo, I obviously took the Lolo Pass into Idaho.



Wet, wet, wet. I'm sure this road can be a lot of fun when it's dry, I mean I had some fun when it was really wet. I'm just really grateful for the exceptional wet grip of the PR3/PR4 tires.



It was beautiful, especially with the low clouds/fog.



After the Pass, I started looking for a place to camp, but because of wildfire activity, all of the National Forest campgrounds were closed. I did something I promised myself I wouldn't do on this trip. I camped at a KOA in Kamiah, ID. This one wasn't bad as far as KOAs go, pretty quiet because they had just opened back up after having been evac'd for the fire.

I rode into Kamiah for some grub and ended up at a Mexican restaurant whose name I cannot remember. I had the Taquitos Fritos, which were decent, but hey, Idaho is pretty far removed from Mexico.

Today's Takeaway: I could just start wearing my rain suit by default.