Home again

Total mileage on the trip, 5443 miles. I got home after 11:00 last night. We woke up late, made breakfast and then I went back to bed and took a long nap. 🙂

I love riding, getting many states’ dirt on me, smelling the country, even tasting it as you see it. Most of all I enjoy meeting people along the way. Doing this all on a bike puts you out in it. If it rains or shines, you are involved with the weather and the country around you. You are effectively part of it. When you show up on people’s doorsteps and tables they can see from the bugs on your face what you are doing. In many ways doing that solo offers no physical or emotional protection and I like the feeling of putting interactions on the line.

Almost every two years I do a “walkabout” like this and ask questions about my general direction. Am I doing the right thing, are my priorities right? Each time I have done it reinforces the feeling that I have great friendships and that the Pacific Northwest is the place for me.  Maybe Montana too, at least in the summer.

LOL Blasting at the Pass

Sitting still on I90 waiting for them to blow something up.

High tailin it…

I’m on I90, Tokio Washington, gonna see my baby tonight.

I will miss you my sweet Montana

You have such dreamy curves, all signs encouraged me to go fast, but sometimes I had to go slow to enjoy the view. I can still smell your musky mountain meadow and spruce perfume on my shirt. I’m a little verklempt, discuss among yourselves…

For Mr. Trouble and other map geeks: Road to the Sun, hwy 206, 35, 82, 93, 28!, 200, 135, 90.

Sun road

Even the road to the road to the sin was nice. Had to stop for some cows and later a hirse in the middle of the road however.

There was lots of construction going up, but I didn’t mind at all. Coming down the west side smooth roads and more jaw dropping scenery beckoned.

If you find endless curves boring or if you yearn for Wyoming flatlands don’t come here.

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Camping in the rain

The first thought I had when opening my little tent was, “Where the hell is the fly?”. Oh well, I have what I have.

The ride to the park was stupendous highway 15 to 89 did not disappoint. 89 took 100 miles to skirt the edge of a nasty thunderstorm, and I figured that hotels near the park would be booked or expensive. So I camped at the Aspenwood Resort for 20$ which includes showers. They have cabins too but they were booked. After dinner with two guests who were a husband and wife, she is in the Foreign Service, and he is a Federal agent in protective Services, I made camp and hung out with three guys from Kalispell who were here crushing gravel for a nearby farmer. At the campground they were tuning their bows for elk season. I hung out while they shot from 20 and 30 yards occasionally asking a question and comparing notes on the weather in Montana and Washington.

After tucking into my tent flashes of lighting and deep rumblings of thunder bounced off the mountains. I quickly fell asleep as the rain began to sprinkle the tent. Morning found me dry and warm…. Glad I brought my down sleeping bag. It was nippy and with numb fingers I broke camp, made coffee and headed into the cold mountain air to find “The Road to the Sun”.

Shout it from the mountain tops

I LOVE MONTANA!
Highway 15… I went slower than the speed limit because of all the rubber necking I was doing. This pic doesn’t do it justice.

Change of plans

Like I had any plans anyway. I have been told by a reliable informant that I MUST ride Sun Road in Glacier National Park. Ok by me. Thanks Mr. Herring.

I can tell I am in the home stretch now. It takes longer each morning to get going. I might need a vacation after my vacation. 😉 , …….. NAHHHH!

“You can’t stop here man, this is bat country!”

As I rode the last 100 miles from Boulder to Livingston Montana it began to rain. I thought it was rain anyway, but unlike the showers in Wyoming the rain didn’t wipe away, it smeared. I was traveling through clouds of midges. Not only did Montana have trees and water but it also had all the living things that require trees and water. I was pondering this and watching my windscreen slowly become opaque when a big bat swooped across my path. I like bats, I think they are amazing and didn’t want to collide with one. Then another appeared, and another. They were aware of me moving through their space at 85 mph, and gracefully avoided me by doing lighting fast flips and turns, thankfully unfazed by my headlights.

The other Wyoming

Just when Wyoming was testing my open mindedness it exploded in color and form. Add a river and surreal rock cliffs a thousand feet high and Wyoming became interesting in a hurry. Long sweeping curves and three tunnels blasted through mountains of stone greeted me. On the other side of the gorge train tracks and tunnels were reinforced with timbers that harken back tho miner construction techniques.

More Wyoming…

In a north western run across the state I felt like a microscopic parasite crawling across the back of an an ancient, colossal snake. Its skin was peeling and not healing well. Stunted hills with small outcroppings of gray dirt or rocks became the edges of horned golden and sage colored scales. With nothing to focus on and no particular piece of the landscape drawing the eye, one becomes more aware of the sky. Even while moving at eighty miles an hour it feels like you are standing still and the world around you is just undulating.

The parts of Wyoming I traveled through were sparsely inhabited. People and animals, in fact anything taller than sage grass were very rare. I was very aware that I alone was responsible for my safety. I also became aware that there were no gas stations and the bike’s range on a tank of gasoline was also being tested. When I saw gas I always stopped and topped it off.

I had three interactions aside from anthropomorphizing the landscape. First was with some antelope. We both played a game of “no, you cross first”. Then a small posse of near suicidal prairie dogs dashed right up to the edge of the pavement as I hurtled toward them and then at the last possible moment stood up in unison as if to applaud me as I roared by. Lastly with a lonely gas attendant who admitted that the only thing to do around here was to “shoot stuff”. Evidently one must shoot antelope while they are lying down or they taste horrible. How he could get within a mile of them without being spotted in this terrain is beyond me. Note in this picture there is a rare tree. I got so excited I stopped on the shoulder, though I could have stopped in the center of the highway and not bothered anyone.

Cottonwood Pass, CO

Poaching a ride on the blog again… Maria and I rode the pass 2-up. Awesome! The ride up is paved. Leaned over enough to scrape my footpegs :). The ride down is contacted dirt and quite manageable.

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Banff bound?

Coming home by way of Canada maybe, going to find some nice roads and get back to my sweetheart. Staying with the Taylors was awesome. I stayed in a little cabin off grid and their hospitality was incredible. I felt like one of the family and met so many kindred spirits. We had long talks about history, social politics, history, motorcycles, and alternative building methods.

Kate, Andrew, Maryel, John, Carson, Cole, and “Bob the builder” will be hearing from me as often as they can stand it. I’m leaving full of love, hope, benyas and chicory coffee.

They’re hitched!

Great ceremony at 7000 feet, and I got to chauffeur the happy couple down the mountain in a massive silver land shark. Best reception ever with a wailing bluegrass band The Blue Canyon Boys.

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And back in Boulder again…

Beautiful ride back, high plains with multicolored grasses and fields of wild flowers.

I spent the night in Ogallala. Ate with some Kansas guys heading to Sturgis. Overheard at dinner, “I just need the three B’s, beer, beans, and bed.”, “Great, now he’ll be snoring outta both ends.”

They told me how much fun Sturgis is, big name bands, the Buffalo Chip, where anything goes, “I saw Styxx there, and Journey too…” This wasn’t helping me.

“I saw Wayne Newton there.” All heads turn to look at Bob. At 6’4″ and 375 lbs Bob blocks out the light from a nearby street lamp like a small black hole.

“Wayne Newton? Wayne Newton sucks!”, one of the others shouts back. There is a short but pregnant pause in conversation just the buzz of the highway and our footsteps are audible.

Bob snaps back, “Shut the f— up I like Wayne Newton!” Everyone starts laughing maybe a little nervously and then the subject changes.

Sturgis seems to have a polarizing effect on people, for some it is an opportunity for some sanctioned rowdiness and time spent with friends. For those that choose not to go it is often because of the corporate nature of the event or because it is too brand centric or because it is really attended by a bunch of posers, or that it is too rowdy.

Regardless, it generates a lot of income all over the country. Every route is covered with two wheeled pilgrims heading to a booze and music filled Mecca. Every hotel and campsite is booked. Gas stations and roadside cafés are packed with bikers who are generally good tippers and use more “pleases and thank yous” than would be expected from grubby hooligans, and the wait staff knows it. “Goin’ ta Sturgis?” is smilingly tossed off like words in song each time a likely suspect rings through the door.