MOTORCYCLING ACROSS AMERICA

 A story by my nephew Luca about his 2005 ride, including visiting us!

 

 Motorcycling Across America

by Luca Lund  

     Early in 2005, I made the decision that I was going to buy a new motorcycle. After a couple months of research, I decided that the Suzuki C50 Boulevard was the bike I wanted. It was actually the shopping process that ended up developing into one of my most memorable vacations, a solo motorcycle trip across the USA. My hope is that the words that follow will help you enjoy the trip as much as I did and maybe, just maybe, spark that desire for adventure in someone else.
     Some of you are surely wondering how buying a new motorcycle turns into a cross-country trip? The answer is quite simple, the internet. I started by going to my local dealership in my hometown of Everett, Washington and asked them for a quote. There were multiple problems from the beginning. The one that they had wasn't exactly what I wanted; with the added accessories it was going to cost quite a bit more than I had anticipated (about $9,800). Shortly thereafter, I decided I'd check other dealerships in the area to see if I could find a better deal. An internet search revealed something very interesting; as I looked further east, the bikes were getting cheaper, much cheaper. From that moment on, I was on a quest for the best price. When the dust finally cleared, it was Honda East, in Toledo, Ohio that had won my business. For $6,700, I had purchased the motorcycle, accessorized exactly as I wanted it. Not only were they the cheapest, but they are a top notch, service oriented dealership. Scott, my salesman, even arranged to have somebody pick me up at the airport and run me to the shop to finalize the sale and pick up the bike. By about 4:30 PM on that warm June day, my gear was loaded and the ride was about to begin.
     As I rode out of the parking lot all I could think about was how big and heavy this new bike seemed when compared with my old bike (an '81 Yamaha Maxim 550). Was I going to like riding something so big and heavy? Had I made the right decision? These questions were answered in short order as soon as I made my turn off the arterial and on to the Ohio Turnpike. The bike felt so solid and smooth. The next thing I remember noticing is how you didn't even notice the wind blast from the trucks as I passed them. Additionally, it was nice not to have to shift under normal highway conditions; a simple twist of the wrist gave me all the torque you needed to pass.
     Incidentally, I was headed east on the turnpike, toward Pennsylvania. I have a dear friend who had moved to Mechanicsburg about a year before. I certainly couldn't see being only 300 miles away, and not paying a visit. By the time it was dark, the flatlands around Toledo had given way to a decidedly more beautiful Appalachian landscape. The problem was that by around 10:00PM, I was starting to feel tired. I had been up for two days and the excitement of the new bike that had kept me energized, vanished with the darkness. One thing I've noticed that distinguishes turnpikes from the freeways, other than the tolls, is the frequency of the exits. I ended up missing the exit that I would have been much more comfortable taking, and following tail lights to Somerset, PA where I spent a comfortable night at a Budget Host Inn. 
     When morning came, I felt well rested and was ready to ride. The ride to Mechanicsburg from Somerset was absolutely gorgeous. The mountains and valley farms made it just about as picturesque as a person could imagine. After a couple hours I arrived at Mo's house and received such a warm welcome from her and her folks that I almost felt like family.
     Her dad took us to Gettysburg and treated us to lunch at The Dobbin House. The building is of historical significance because it was an Underground Railroad stop for slaves who had entered Pennsylvania and were migrating into Free states. After lunch, we took a bus tour of the various sites that were significant during the three day battle. I was most surprised by the size of the battlefield. I had thought that it covered a fairly small area, instead it was quite large. Although it's a bit touristy, I highly recommend visiting Gettysburg, especially if you like history. That evening, Mo and I went to a restaurant that she really likes in Carlisle called Rillo's. Their food is fantastic, albeit a bit pricey. After dinner, we went to New Cumberland where we tipped up a few drinks and sang at a bar that had karaoke. I was sad to have to leave Barney's home after only a day, but will always remember the warm kindness they showed me. I was, however, in Pennsylvania and had to start thinking about heading west. The next morning, after hugs and handshakes, I was back on the road.
     I had planned on a fairly short day and had called F&S Suzuki in Dayton and had arranged to have the bike serviced early in the afternoon. A vehicle's first service is always very important because the fluid changes flush the metal chips and any other impurities out, ensuring longer engine life. This location was important to me for another reason too. I had a friend who lived in the greater Dayton area. She was going to meet me at the dealership and we would go to lunch while the bike was being serviced. As it turned out, all of this great planning didn't go quite so smoothly. I ended up in a 3 hour traffic jam near Washington, Pennsylvania. It was my worst motorcycling experience. It was in the 90's and humid; the traffic wouldn't stay stopped long enough to let me get my coat off. When I finally got to an exit I put my coat away, grabbed a Coke, and found an arterial that I stayed on until I was well past the traffic jam. The biggest problem with this unpleasant snag was that I missed my appointment and my friend who had waited for me. It was late afternoon by the time I arrived in Dayton and I grabbed a room at the local Motel 6. I called the dealership and arranged to be there when they opened the following morning. Then, of course, it was time to call my friend, Marilyn.
     Marilyn, an old workmate of mine, actually lives south of Dayton, near a suburb called Centerville. After finding her place, we went out for dinner and beers at a local sports bar. She speaks often about wanting to come back to Washington State and I think she really appreciated seeing a familiar face that reminded her of home. After seeing much of Ohio, I understand her point. For the most part it is a very flat expanse of farmland. This could really be a problem to a person from Western Washington who is used to seeing bays and islands in one direction, then turning around and seeing mountains. We had a really nice time, then went and visited her mom for a while. They asked me to stay at their place, which I would have done, except that I already had rented a room.
     The next morning I went to F&S to get the bike serviced. What Ohio lacks in beauty, they make up for in motorcycle shops. These guys were great. One of the neatest things was that they had a waiting area in the shop. You could actually watch and talk to the mechanic as he serviced your bike. In addition to the regular service, he noticed that a cable had been routed wrong and corrected it without additional charge. After about an hour in the shop, it was time to head for the highway.
     It was a long day of riding in which I saw four states. Three of those states, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois were virtually identical, consisting of flat farmland. A relative of mine from Illinois tells me that as a kid he swore that if he looked hard enough, he could see the back of his own head. Impossible of course, but it gives you an idea of just how flat it is. As I approached Missouri, changes happened in both the landscape and the weather that made things much more interesting.
     For days, I had been riding in warm humid weather that was perfect for riding but not much else. As I approached St. Louis I saw the dark skies ahead and had an idea that I might run in to some weather. Closer to the dark skies, there was an almost instantaneous change from warm and humid to nearly cold. Once that cold zone was hit, it wasn't long before the sky opened up into one of the most beautiful storms I had ever seen. Unfortunately, the beauty of it was diminished since I found myself being pelted with dime-sized hail. The hail turned into torrential rain and I finally pulled over to the shoulder under a St. Louis overpass to get out of the weather. A relatively short period of time passed and the weather improved enough that I could start riding again. Interestingly, all of the subsequent storms I encountered followed the same pattern; the hot/humid to cold, cold to violent storming which was followed by a gradual easing up of the weather and a return to normal temperature. I am sure that it was due partially to the fact that I kept heading generally west but that is best left to the meteorologists.
     A pleasant change that happened in Missouri was the return of hills to the landscape. The rolling hills coupled with the farms and deciduous trees made it very inviting, particularly after leaving the flat states. I had planned on going to Branson that day, to visit my aunt, uncle and cousins, but had only made it as far as Springfield by nightfall. If I would have known how good the highway was to Branson, I'd probably have made the extra journey. That evening I stayed in a cheap motel and had convenience store food for dinner. I'm glad that I chose not to ride to Branson that evening. If I had, I'd have missed the beautiful morning ride through the Ozarks to Branson. 
     On arriving in Branson, I had to ask for directions to my uncle's house. I had e-mailed my uncle prior to leaving on my trip. Little did I know that I e-mailed an address that he no longer used. Luckily, it was fairly early on Sunday morning and they were home when I arrived. As a surprise visit, it worked out nearly perfectly, albeit not intentionally. The cousin who answered the door was not yet born when they had moved to the Ozarks from Washington. Being a good kid, she shut the door and said that there was a man at the door who had a motorcycle. This was followed by her older brother opening the door, who recognized me but stood in surprise with the door open. It was then that my aunt Micki looked at the door and realized who was there. She let out a happy squeal of delight and came right over to hug me. Uncle Dale, who had been eating his morning cereal, finally realized that something was going on out there that maybe he had better look into. It was great. 
     That day, we went to church in the morning. I took them to lunch at a local all-you-can-eat pizza place. After that, Dale hopped on his bike, a Condor, and we took a scenic ride through the Ozarks into Arkansas. All of this fun, and we still hadn't reached the high point of the day. While we were on our ride, my aunt had arranged for us to go to a show. We all went to see Yakov Smirnoff that evening. His show was great. It combined the comedy that he is famous for with an inspirational message that would make any American proud to be here. I left their house the next morning, happy to have spent time with those that I knew, and even happier to have met cousins who were born after they had moved to Missouri.
     The next leg of the journey took me through Oklahoma and into Kansas. After crossing into Oklahoma, I stopped at a welcome center which was near Tulsa. It was still morning and I took a break, calling my grandmother-in-law and my wife. The weather had changed a little bit and it was muggy and overcast. The landscape was changing too. Instead of the green country and beautiful forests that I encountered in Missouri, Oklahoma was home to brown grass, scrubby looking juniper type trees and red dirt. I was headed for Guthrie, north of Oklahoma City, and decided that rather than stay on the interstate, which was a toll road, I'd take highway 33 that would take me due west into Guthrie. As I rode on this rural highway, the sky was looking really weird. I felt I had made a good decision because the sky to the south was really black and I was happy to be missing the rain. I found my friend's house and nobody was home. There were a few other houses in a neighborhood of acre or two lots. I decided I'd go ahead and check with the next door neighbor to see if maybe they knew my friends. As it turned out, the house I went to was my friend's sister's. She invited me in, knowing that Erna and Don would be home from work relatively soon. Sitting down in front of the TV, it didn't take long to figure out that the weird sky I had been noticing wasn't just my imagination. The first thing I heard was the news man telling people around Tulsa, where I had been a few short hours ago, to stay tuned because tornadoes were moving through the area. 
     When Erna came home from work, we had a nice visit and she took me for a drive around the town. She showed me the sights of the city and took me to dinner. Shortly after arriving at their house, Don, her other half, came home. They showed me their house, garden, and Don's woodshop. The thing that interested me the most, however, was the storm cellar. I suppose it was of special interest to me because I had never seen one before. They explained that there is a system of loud sirens that go off when a storm approaches. Folks usually have a little bit of food and water, a radio, a flashlight and a couple chairs in the cellar so that they can sit it out. They indicated that normally you're in the cellar for less than an hour before the "all clear" is sounded. Don and Erna tried to get me to stay at their place that night. I probably should have but I wanted to try to get to Wichita and see or call an aunt that I have there.
     The ride to Wichita was uneventful and I didn't roll into town until after midnight. I didn't feel I could call at that hour of the night so I found a motel and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up early. I was feeling like I should really get some traveling in because I was only half way across the country and more than half my vacation was gone. In my haste, I decided to hit the road instead of pay my aunt a visit. Those of you who believe in karma could probably make a case for the next sequence of events being a payback for not calling on my aunt.
     As I rode out of Wichita, my plan was to head north and catch I-70 that would take me west. The previous night, I had come into Wichita on I-35. My mistake was that I hopped back on I-35 again heading north. I should have taken I-135. As a result, I was about 50 miles from Topeka before I realized my error. Fortunately, some nice troopers got me pointed in the right direction. The nice thing about Kansas is that the speed limits are fairly liberal and the drivers are even faster so you can move through the state at a good clip. I don't think I had crossed into Colorado very long when I saw something that let me know that I was on my way home. They were distant but clear enough for me to see, and beautiful. They were the Rockies. Perhaps I'm a little biased but from my perspective, proper mountains should extend skyward beyond the tree line and have peaks that are snow covered most of the year. After reaching Denver, I caught I-25 and rode north to Cheyenne, Wyoming where I spent the night.
     When I left Cheyenne, the following morning, I was headed west on I-80. The sceneries were much more enjoyable than they had been in Kansas and Oklahoma but what really stood out that day was the weather. A series of thunderstorms moved eerily toward the east. I could see them coming from many miles away. Often times, I would miss direct hits because they would pile up on mountains to either side of me, but the pass through the mountains would be clear. There was one wide open area; I think it was in Utah, where I could see three different storms, all with lightning and heavy rain from my sunny viewpoint between them. There were, of course, a few that I hit head on. One in particular was a storm that I ran into after leaving Salt Lake City. There is a very long straight stretch of highway as you head west through the Bonneville Salt Flats. The thunder, lightning and the rain were only part of the problem. The crosswind was so strong that I was riding down an insanely long straight stretch of road pitched over like I was going around a corner. I was actually starting to wonder whether my wheels would be blown out from under me. I was also trying to figure out why none of the other traffic seemed to be having any problem with this weather. It was at this time that I noticed some emergency vehicles in my rear view mirror. They were miles behind me and I wondered what they would be heading for way out here. No sooner than that thought crossed my mind, I noticed a semi that had been blown off the highway into salt up to his axles. Surely that was what the emergency vehicles were coming for, right? Wrong, another mile or so brought me to another semi that had not only blown off the road, but had rolled too.
     The periodic storms weren't the only interesting thing that happened that day. Not long after entering Nevada from Utah I passed through a small town that advised that there wouldn't be any services for 27 miles. It wasn't a big deal to me because my bike's low fuel indicator light wasn't on. I hadn't passed the exit by over a mile or two when the light did come on. This wasn't any kind of a problem either; I knew I had the reserves to get to the next gas station. The problem arose when the town after 27 miles turned out to be a ghost town with a boarded up gas station and an empty café. I got back on the freeway and the sign said it was another 21 miles to the next services. I really tried to nurse it and got within a couple miles of the next town before finally running out of gas. Fortunately, someone was smiling down on me that day. I hadn't been there five minutes when an eastbound service van (I think it was plumbing or HVAC) made a U-turn at a freeway turnaround and came to see if I needed help. He introduced himself as Bandido Dave or Dennis, I don't quite remember the name, and asked if I needed help. I told him my situation and he told me to stay with the bike and that he'd run into town and get me some gas and be back in a few minutes. Within 20 minutes I was ready to roll. I tried to pay him for the gas and his trouble but he would have no part of it. He simply told me to pay it back by helping a driver on the side of the road and that if I saw him at a bike rally sometime, I could buy him a beer. A few months later, I was able to help someone on the side of the road; the next time I saw a couple Bandidos at my local watering hole, I bought them a beer and told them the story. I stayed in Elko that evening where I ate dinner and played slots for a little while before retiring.
     The next morning I continued west on I-80 until arriving at Winnemucca. Its one of my favorite Nevada towns and I just had to eat lunch and go for a few pulls on the slots. While gassing up, I ran into three motorcyclists on BMW's who were from Canada. They were headed to a BMW bike rally. Leaving Winnemucca, I headed north on US 95 and was going to catch Highway 140, west to Lakeview, Oregon, where my dad lives. I had remembered that Highway 140 was a pretty remote stretch of highway; I didn't, however, remember that it was over 200 miles without a gas station. This was going to be a huge problem on a bike. I ended up backtracking to a gas station, filling up and buying a gas can and filling that up too. During that part of the ride there is a place where highway 140 turns. I missed the sign and ended up driving in to Denio, Nevada. Denio is almost a town that has nothing but they do have one thing, The Diamond Inn Bar. For being a business on the spur of a nearly unused highway, I'd say that business was pretty good. There were two old ranchers and myself. I stayed for one beer because I'd have felt guilty asking for directions and just leaving. Come to think of it, I even purchased a Denio hat, knowing that it could be a conversation piece. For most of this part of the trip I was really trying to nurse my gas use. There was one point, however, when I had to open it up. I could see a big dust storm headed toward the highway and I knew I didn't want to get caught up in it. It gets hard to tell how far away things are when there are no hills or anything obstructing your view. Anyway, for fifteen or twenty minutes I raced to beat the storm before it crossed the road. It ended up almost being a tie but I got only slightly dusted and missed the bulk of it. I ended up making it to within 10 or 15 miles of Lakeview when I finally ran out of gas. I used the gas in the can and wheeled into Lakeview. It's always great to see my dad. He's always been into more utilitarian types of vehicles but he did take the bike for a spin and commented on how "that thing really moves." In addition to the normal eating and catching up that goes on when I visit, we also had fun at one of his favorite pastimes, dominoes. I haven't beaten him yet but remain confident that one day, I may.
     When I left the next day, it was rather cool. I was headed for Chinook, Washington to meet my wife and son at her maternal grandmother's side's family reunion. The higher I got into the Cascades, the colder and wetter the weather got. There were even a couple places where the cold wet rain was replaced by cold wet snow. Keep in mind that this was late in June! I finally ended up wearing two coats and my rain gear in order to keep warm and stay dry. That evening, I finally arrived in Chinook much to the delight of my wife and son, but even more to the delight of my wife's grandma and uncle who are very good at worrying about things. They just found it hard to believe that I had ridden one of "those things" across the United States.
     The following day brought the final leg of the trip. My son had brought a helmet, so he and I left Chinook for Everett together. I felt blessed to have him with me during my triumphant return home.
     The whole trip was a very positive experience for me. Saving money on the bike purchase was good; still being ahead after the trip was even better. Having the chance to see loved ones who you don't often get to see is always a big plus too. But there was something even greater. The sense of freedom that you get on a motorcycle coupled with the meeting of hundreds of people and the views of this great land of ours really gave the trip meaning and made it special for me. Is it for you too? You'll never know unless you try.