Eight Great States

 The starting mileage on the bike, in my driveway, as I prepared to pull out. (If you are familiar with my bike, you might recall that I broke the glass out of the original speedometer when the bike had 2461 miles on it, I replaced the original speedo with this unit. So, my mileage shows low.)

On Saturday, I got started a little later than I had planned. I set an alarm on my phone, in order to get up at 4:30, but I neglected to specify that it ring on Saturday morning. So, I ended up waking up with the sun at 5:30. Not a big deal, being vacation and all...

I took off from the house right at 6:30, took I-225 around to I-70 and headed east to Byers, about 45 miles from my house. There, I picked up US-36, which is my favorite route across Kansas and Missouri.

Oddly, the wind was pretty calm, not even noticeable, as I rode across the eastern half of Colorado. I figured it would pick up, as usual, when I crossed into the Central Time Zone, at the Kansas border. Fortunately, I was wrong. This trip is the first time I have ridden across both Kansas and Missouri without encountering a noticeable cross-wind on the highway.

The temperature was hovering around 63 degrees in Denver, when I left, so I had on a fleece vest over a base layer, t-shirt and arm warmers. Pretty normal, for early mornings in June, at the mile-high elevation of Denver. I rode until about 10:30 CST before it got warm enough for me to remove the vest.

I couldn't manage to get it in my overstuffed tank bag without rearranging things, so I just wadded it in between the headlamp shell and the flyscreen, where it rode all day with no problem.

Gas stops in Kansas, particularly, and also in Missouri are entertaining. I'll repeat my assertion that if you are lonely, all you have to do is buy a retro-style motorcycle of some kind (Harley, Triumph, Moto Guzzi, whatever), and ride 36 across Kansas. At every stop, someone will approach you to talk about the bike, and end up talking to you for 10 minutes or more. At the stop in the picture above, I talked to a gal from Ridgway, Colorado, for about 15 minutes (she was visiting her niece in a town about 20 miles away, in Nebraska, and came down to Norton, Ks, to visit her elderly aunt with whom she would spend a few weeks in the summer as a girl ... her dad picked her up on his motorbike and rode her back to Ridgway when she was 9 or 10, and scandalized the 4 aunts who lived there at the time, but she enjoyed the ride and remembered napping on the back of the bike as they rode...)

I also talked to an elderly gent from the area who was heading home from his sons house in the Denver area for about 10 minutes. Eventually, I just had to excuse myself so I could get back on the road.

This was the pattern at every gas stop west of the Mississippi, on the trip east.

As the day went by, and my normal 600 mile destination came and went, I started thinking hard about how far I was going to try to ride on that day. I wanted to get to Columbus, Ohio, and spend the evening with my old friends there, and I wanted to get as close to Columbus as possible.

So, I ended up rolling into Hannibal, Mo, at about 9:00 pm, just as the last daylight was fading. I had covered half of Colorado, all of Kansas and all of Missouri except for the last half-mile to the river, all in one day. My previous longest day on the Scram was 702 miles. On Saturday, I ended up with 776.

 End mileage on Saturday

I checked into an EconoLodge, just off of the highway, dropped my bag in the room and then went in search of dinner. I brought a KFC sandwich and potato wedges back, and grabbed a Diet Pepsi from the machine in the motel lobby. Just as I was opening the door of my second-floor room, a group of four riders pulled in on big Harleys. There were two guys and two gals, and they were having some trouble figuring where to park, as I had gotten the last open parking space in the lot.

I called down to them and told them to feel free to park one of their bikes in the space with mine. It was the last in the row, and they could then pull the other three bikes in close to the spot, on the edge of the drive, and everything would be cool. They thanked me, and I went into my room, ate, and fell into bed.

The next morning, after a very enjoyable shower (lots of water pressure, and plenty of hot water), I started over to the lobby area for the free breakfast. As I came down the stairs, the four Harley riders were packing up. We started talking and they told me they had been to the motorcycle museum in Animosa, Iowa, which I visited last summer. They were members of the Christian Motorcycle Club (not sure if that's the exact name), and asked if they could pray for me and bless my bike.

Now, I will tell you, that my beliefs probably don't line up exactly with theirs, but I cheerfully accepted their offer and received a prayer for my safekeeping, my mom's health and the blessing of my bike. I don't want to be a hypocrite and try to seem that I am a good church-going man, but I feel that any positive vibes you can send out are beneficial. So, I was happy to receive theirs.

On the road, every little bit helps!

The day had dawned sunny and bright. My luck was holding with the weather, as the forecast along my route showed little to no chance of precipitation along the way. So, I had my free breakfast (home-made biscuits and country sausage!), packed up and was on my way. 

After gassing up, I pulled back onto 36 and headed toward the bridge over the Mississippi River, thence onto Interstate 72, which overlays old US-36 at that point. As I accelerated onto 36, it quickly became foggy ... foggy London-town foggy ... foggy like you can see 40 or 50 feet in front of you foggy... It was a bit disconcerting.

Having grown up around rivers in the South, I knew what was going on. The Big Muddy was creating this fog bank in the cool morning air, and I knew that I would ride out of it pretty soon after I cleared the bridge. But, the 3 or 4 miles I rode in that blind fog lasted a seeming eternity, and I was just waiting for a stopped or nearly-stopped car to materialize out of the fog in my lane.

Luckily, I was the only one on the road, at that point, and I broke free of the fog about a mile east of the river, to once again enjoy a beautiful, strangely cool, midwestern summer morning.

I rode I-72 for about 145 miles to Decatur, Illinois, where I picked up old US-36, again. While I prefer to ride the older US highways, west of the Mississippi, I am beginning to think it is not such a great idea in the more densely populated states on the east side of the river. I saw some cool local stuff, as I rode, but the towns I went through were all pretty good sized, and really slowed me down. The holiday traffic around the reservoir along the way was atrocious, and the last 50 miles to Indianapolis took me and hour and a half.

I definitely have to find another route for the trip home.

A "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" moment in Indiana, as I lubed and adjusted my chain at a gas/snack stop...

At Indy, I jumped on the Interstate and hauled ass toward Columbus. I will tell you that I was appalled at how bad the road conditions are on I-70 from Indy to Columbus. The respective DOTs of Indiana and Ohio should be ashamed to have let the pavement deteriorate to the point that I-70 has deteriorated. It is awful, dangerous to everyone but, particularly motorcyclists, and I will definitely avoid it in the future.

I got to Columbus in the early evening and spent a really enjoyable night with old friends. Chicken was grilled, beers were consumed, and the talk never slowed down. I often think that the only thing I will ever regret about moving to Denver is leaving the Robertsons (and the Muraths, now, since Hadley married Jim) behind.

On Monday morning, I met Petey and Jennifer for a quick coffee and sandwich at Starbucks, then headed east, again on I-70 (which is a whole different road east of Columbus). I went through Wheeling, West Virginia, turned north and picked up I-79 past Pittsburgh to I-80 and then to Joy's house in Mercer.

No long conversations at the gas pumps, on this leg. At one point, I walked up to the cashier at the gas station/convenience store I stopped at in W-Va.

"Hey! How ya doing?" I asked, smile on my face, purchase in hand.

"All right." muttered as she looked at something very interesting on the floor. "Two nineteen."

Entire conversation.

Back on the road, I actually enjoyed the Interstate riding. The road was smooth, there are some nice curves, here and there, and the terrain is interesting.

I arrived in Mercer at about 1:30 in the afternoon. My brother in law, Steve, was outside puttering about. I got off the bike, Steve brought me a beer, and the visit began...

Joy and Steve's garage. Front row, from left to right, Kyle's Triumph Adventure, my Scrambler 900. In the background, the GS 500 Suzuki I brought to Kyle when he was 16, and Joy's Kawasaki Eliminator 600 ... plus, a few bicycles

My copy editor, Rosen, in my lap being a big help as I type...

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