Why I ride

When I was thirteen my father bought me a motorbike. It wasn’t legal for a thirteen year old to ride on the roads, but when my Dad saw the 14year old son of the chief of police riding his motorbike, he bought me one within a week.

The bike was brand new from Sears, and it cost $179, a lot of money in 1958. It was red, always started, and it did 35 MPH flat out in third gear. My best friend at the time had an old Whizzer brand motorbike. Every thing on it was either bent or scratched. Most of the time it wouldn’t start, but sometimes you could get it running by pushing it down a steep hill and jumping on. When the engine ran, it could do almost 50 MPH on the straightaway, fifteen MPH more than my bike. I was jealous.

Forty-five years passed, and I bought a new Honda motorcycle. Cruiser style, looks great, lots of leather and bright red in color. I had it up to 101MPH on a ride to the west coast with a good friend. He rode a new BMW touring cycle, and he had his bike up to 112MPH. Eleven MPH faster than my bike. I was jealous.

Some would say I am older but not wiser, and in this case they would be right.

But a trip on a motorcycle to the west coast isn’t just about how fast you can go; it’s about what you see, what you feel, and what you smell. It’s about living in the moment, about not worrying about tomorrow, or dwelling on the past where mistakes were made and wrongs were done. Over a period of 21 days, traveling through 19 states, I got to see and experience things planned and unplanned that made me realize what a gift we all have been given with our lives.

In September 2004 the rain from the remnants of Hurricane Ivan was predicted to start in northern Virginia at 8AM so I left for Pennsylvania at 7:30 planning to meet my friend Jim at a rest stop on the Pennsylvania turnpike. We had a cup of coffee and looked out the window to see the rain begin. A few minutes later, heading west towards Pittsburgh we both understood how heavy it can rain. The word "torrential" took on a new meaning; it was like having a pressure washer aimed at your entire body. My riding suit started out waterproof, but it couldn’t live up to Ivan's wrath, and it’s amazing just how much water leather boots can hold. Once soaked all the way through to our underwear we thought, “why stop,” so we rode on to Cleveland to meet an old college friend who bought us dinner and played a solo on his clarinet.

Our riding clothes were almost half dry by morning, and so on a warm cloudless day we headed up to the Michigan peninsula to see the scenery around the Great lakes.
Charlevoix is a beautiful little town located on the edge of lake Michigan at the 45th parallel. The kind of place you could vacation for a week or two and still not want to leave, that is if you are wealthy, actually very wealthy, so we stayed just an hour enjoying the espresso at the local coffee house.

My friend Jim looked a little like big bird in his yellow riding suit, and I looked like the Michelin man spray- painted black, but surprisingly people just came over to talk with us. It happened everywhere, and it’s one of the reasons to ride a motorcycle. People are really friendly to an old grey beard on a two-wheeler. Being a little silly looking, and certainly not intimidating, people seemed to want to share some of their life experiences with the old guys on the bikes.

We traveled north across the Mackinaw bridge from which you can see an absolutely beautiful view out over the great lakes: then headed west skirting the southern edge of lake Superior, constantly in awe of the size and beauty of that lake.
Over the next few days we rode across Michigan, Minnesota, North Dakota and then into Montana.

In Montana we pulled in at the first rest stop on Interstate-94, and it was a bright sunny day with a view that really makes you understand why they call it "Big Sky country". Horizon to horizon views with no smog, just blue sky. Me, I just kept spontaneously smiling, while my friend, Jim, unpacked one saddlebag on his cycle and brought out a portable espresso maker, and a hand grinder for the coffee beans. He made my espresso in a tin cup, and he had his in a china cup on a saucer. My bike is a Honda, he has a BMW, so I guess that makes sense.

Montana is endless, and even big sky views get monotonous after twelve or thirteen hours, so at the end of the second day in Montana I was ready for Idaho, actually any other state, but we didn't make it by dusk, so we stopped in the town of Missoula, Montana.

Cold, misty weather greeted us the next morning as we made our way through the pass that Lewis and Clark took westward in 1805. It was cold, and my helmet kept fogging up, often obscuring some of my view of the road, but as the sun climbed high enough to illuminate the low clouds between the mountain ridges, the views in those mountains made any discomfort seem trivial. For over an hour we viewed the same landscape Lewis and Clark, walked, rode their horses and portaged their boats through. Humbled by the deeds of our ancestors are the only words to describe my feelings during that hour.

Finally we reached Idaho, and pulled into a small town called Wallace for gas and a cup of coffee. More correctly, my friend Jim was looking for an espresso. He denies it, but he is an espresso addict. Me, I admit to being a donut-holic. Jim denies his addiction, but he can smell an espresso shop a mile off the road while going 85 MPH on the interstate. We found a great coffee shop in that small town and went in for our caffeine fix. The woman running the place indicated she saw us coming down the street on the bikes and knew we would stop. She wore a Harley Davidson T-Shirt so I mentioned we were not riding Harleys. Her response was classic. She said: " I know, I said I saw you coming into town. I didn't say I heard you." We slinked out of town on quiet bikes with just a little "Harley" envy.

In Idaho we stopped at the Columbia River gorge. During the last Ice Age, the Western part of Montana and Idaho were covered with Glacial Ice and large lakes that at places were over 900 feet deep. Fifteen thousand years ago the Ice Dams at the end of the lake broke and over 500 cubic miles of water came rushing down this gorge in less than 3 days. The view of the river gorge by itself is worth a trip to Idaho.

Our goal for the first part of the trip was to ride to the northern most point on the West Coast in a Town called Blaine Washington. A very picturesque town located on the water along the Straights of Georgia. They had a combined bakery and coffee shop. With an espresso in one hand, and a freshly made crème-puff in the other, you had two happy riders.

Most days we stayed in a Comfort Inn or a Motel Six, hearing Tom Bodett's voice on the wake up phone call each morning, and a four dollar discount on each of our $36 rooms for being over age 55. In Seattle, however, we spent two nights downtown at a $200 per night hotel. At a Motel Six or a Days Inn you get a coffee maker and a free pack of coffee. At a $200/night hotel they charged $3.75 for the pack of coffee.

There is a coffee shop in Seattle that some people call “the best in the country.” Cafe D'Arte lived up to its reputation. Before visiting that place, an espresso was just a good strong cup of coffee to me. After Cafe D'Arte, regular coffee will never be the same. I am not suggesting you drive 3000 miles for a cup of espresso, but if you are ever in Seattle visit Cafe D"Arte. Ask for a "Restretto" (The first 17 seconds of an espresso brew). I think you will become a believer that even making a cup of coffee can be art.

For the next two days we just rode the interstate and stopped for the night in a small town called Button Willow, near Bakersfield CA on September 28th. By accident, luck, or divine providence, we found ourselves 90 miles from the town of Mojave the night before the first flight of Spaceship one for the X-Prize! With an altered plan, we left for Mojave in the dark, at five thirty in the morning. Riding at high speeds over the mountains when it's cold and dark is not enjoyable. Watching the sunrise over mountains covered with hundreds of windmills was.

We reached Mojave Airport and found ourselves in a place directly facing the end of the runway that the White Knight Aircraft with Spaceship one attached was planning its takeoff. A small digital camera view does not recreate the feeling watching that ship takeoff or later seeing Spaceship one land on the runway in front of us after its successful flight.

San Ysidro is the southernmost town on the west coast of the continental US. where we took our pictures at the post office and left quickly.

Truth be told, by this time I was getting homesick for my wife, and I wanted to motor as fast as possible towards home, so we left the San Diego area heading east on Interstate 8. Over 4500 miles traveled, and almost 3000 left to go.

The mountain passes are not high that far south in California. Maybe 4000 feet or so but the crosswinds can be intense. The road sign said "Severe Crosswinds Next 75 miles," but that was a lie! I think they died down after no more than 72 miles. My brain at times felt like it was in a milkshake maker, and clear thinking, hell even just thinking was difficult. This became obvious as we proceeded to cross, the Anza Borrego Desert.

By mid afternoon it was very hot with swirling dust storms peppered throughout the valley when I noticed a large dust devil meandering along the side of the road 1/2 mile ahead. For the next 15-20 seconds I was in awe of this miniature tornado about 30 feet wide and several hundred feet tall tearing up the brush and shrubs about 50 feet off the side of the road. Enough dust and small debris had been picked up to show clearly the swirling winds on the outside of the funnel. It was neat until it turned.

As I came within several hundred feet of it, it made an abrupt, ninety-degree turn and came straight into the road in front of me. I am not sure I had much of a choice but I made a conscious (probably stupid) decision to ride directly through the center of it. The winds at the outer wall forced the bike to lean over farther than I have ever dared to ride, my boot scraping the ground. After passing through the outer wall the inside was calm and, for an instant I tried to bring the bike upright before hitting the other side. Winds at the far side going in the other direction forced the bike upright, and I was riding down the road as if nothing happened.

The first moment, I just thanked God I was alive. The second moment, I chastised myself for being so stupid, but the third moment, I thanked God for letting me ride through a small Tornado. It was great!

Some would say I am older, but not wiser, and they would be right.

In Phoenix we stayed at the home of a friend. He was an early employee of a company called Intel. You may have heard of it. His home is nestled into the side of Camelback Mountain located in a place called Paradise Valley in Phoenix. Intel! Paradise Valley! Those two facts should give you a clear vision of the view from the patio balcony of their home. Treated like kings with good food, good wine, and friendship we left the next morning ready to start the trek home.

My wife Marilyn and I love Sedona Arizona. Some of you may love the Grand Canyon, but in Sedona, however, there is a saying: " God created the Grand Canyon but she lives in Sedona. I get that feeling every time I go there.

From Phoenix, We took the road to Sedona, and drove up Oak Creek Canyon road to Flagstaff. This ride was the last major diversion from Interstate highways on our way home. With a stop in Winslow Arizona we made it to Amarillo Texas that night.

For those of you that survived reading this far I am just about done.

Across Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, and then into southern Virginia on day 20 of the trip, and that night we stopped in Radford Virginia, where my daughter went to college. We rode home the next day, and my friend Jim sped past me as I turned of at the Winchester VA exit, and he headed home to Harrisburg. You all have had moments like that in your life. It's a keeper!

Given the bike envy I described above, and given the stupidity of riding through a small tornado, it is obvious that I have not completely grown up. But after that trip I realized what a beautiful country we live in, and I want to see more of it.

Some would say I am older, and some would say I am now wiser, and they would be right.

And that’s why I ride