Monday, September 23, 2013

The sun comes through

We awoke with frost on our motorcycles, mixed information on whether the pass out of Yellowstone was for cars with snow tires only and temperatures in the twenties. The easy route would be out of the park on the west side and then travel south to Victor, Idaho and across to Jackson. But it was crystal clear (our first day of good weather) and to miss Yosemite and the Tetons was really out of the question. So we headed out, with the thought that we might have to retrace our steps in the event we hit icy or snowy hardpack.
Time was of course a factor. Friday was the release date for the “new” iphone and George had located a store in Jackson Hole that had this new model. As avid readers will know, George will not miss an updated iphone and this one sounded particularly interesting, what with fingerprint technology that could log you in – instead of having to type in those pesky numbers. So off we went.
Within thirty minutes, traffic ground to a halt. I immediately suspected an animal. For those of you who have not been to National Parks, the unwritten rule is that if you see a bison, goat, bear or other four legged creature, you are entitled to immediately stop – in the middle of the roadway to take the obligatory picture. You are not required to get out of the car or even pull over to let others who may have seen animals before go by. No, it is your right to hog the road and bring traffic to a complete stop. The picture can be taken from the passenger side window so as to minimize physical movement of the occupants.
And that was it! Forty five minutes later (after a crawl that was no faster than a brisk walk) we arrived to see two elk grazing on the side of the road. Each car would dutifully pull up, stop, crank down the window and take a picture of the beasts before resuming travel. I wanted to ride down the median strip, but the unpredictably of the drivers ahead prevented me (they are apt to turn left while signaling right or even make a sudden u turn). Enraging.
As we headed south out of the park, we saw meadows filled with numerous warm springs. It was cold so the hot air from the springs created smoke when it hit the cold air. It was magnificent and worthy of a picture, but we were on a schedule.
Let me stop right here, because there are some things about George, apart from his love of technology, that are quite endearing and worthy of mention. I simply forgot to write about them earlier.
When you go out to dinner with George, he will often select french fries as opposed to rice or a baked potato. I have seen him order french fries close to a hundred times. And when he asks for fries, he will always say: “Could you make them extra crispy?”
This request is interesting for several reasons. First, the request is made earnestly, almost with a child like anticipation of the treat ahead. Yet when the food arrives, I always ask George if the fries are extra crispy. “No, not this time,” is the usual response. Yet this never deters George from making the same request at the next meal. It takes real courage to put yourself out like this, hoping that maybe this one time, the fries will be so crispy and crunchy that you can hear them crack as you eat them. It just never happens.
Second, does George really think that, in response to his request, the fry chef at the diner/roadhouse cafe where we are eating is going to depart from his or her usual regimen, and just rustle up a batch of extra crispies for one customer? I don't know what might be involved in making fries extra crispier than the presumably normal crispy ones served to other customers, but I imagine that it might involve some departure from the normal frying regime. What leads George to conclude that such an effort would be expended on an item that is, well, pretty ordinary? We are not talking about filet mignon or ahi tuna; this plate of fries is about the least expensive item the restaurant cooks. George, my friend, I am in complete admiration of your search for a perfect fry and I hope to be there when the server arrives with your plate and says: “We made them extra crispy. Just for you.”
There is another part of George’s routine/schtick that I admire. He always introduces himself on the phone. When Pam at the Jackson Hole AT & T store answers the phone: “AT & T, Pam speaking,” the response is never: “Hi, did you get the new iphones in today?” It is always: “Hi, Pam, this is George Gardner.” There is sometimes a pause, as if Pam should recognize the name. Then: “How are you today?” Then: “I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you had a fresh delivery of the new iphones and if I could reserve one?”
I am not sure that this approach creates a greater likelihood that Pam will in fact reserve the iphone, but I am convinced this is the polite way to navigate customer service. Pam is not just the person who can provide the iphone, but a human being. Once Pam has introduced herself, we should do the same. And what is wrong with taking an extra moment, in the midst of what is always a frenetic day (the day the new iphone comes out), to ask this human being how she is actually doing? We can all learn something from this approach and I am determined to follow it in the future. Amazingly, this dialogue occurs even when George has been on hold for ten minutes or when he has spent fifteen minutes navigating the voice mail maze.
To return to the trip, we skipped Old Faithful and headed down to the Tetons. The ride from the north to the Tetons is something no one should miss. As I believe I mentioned, I used to do some mountaineering during college summers in the Tetons. (Never very successfully.) What is so magnificent about this range is what we call “local relief.” Not only are the mountains high, but they rise to 14,000 feet from a perfectly flat floor that is at about 7,000 feet. They just go straight up from what I believe is called an alluevian plain. It’s very rare and make these mountains truly magnificent. George and I resolved that next summer, we will return, hire a guide and get to the top of the Grand.
Thankfully, we arrived in Jackson Hole with plenty of time to effectuate the iphone purchase. I dropped George off at his hotel and looked at the time. It was 4.15 pm and I was 483 miles from our townhouse in Dillon, Colorado. I took the roof panels off the Jeep and decided to go for it. There were really not a lot of options. After Rock Springs, Wyoming, a truly dreadful place, there is a stretch of about 200 plus miles where there is literally nothing. Only occasional small towns, oil (shale) extractors that do not require human beings, no hotels and desert. I was stuck behind the same truck for about 100 miles at one point. Too risky to pass and the Jeep, while new and very comfortable, lacks the pick up of Honda Civic. I got home at 2 a.m., almost seven hundred miles in one day.
I enjoyed this trip. I always like the times I spend with my friend, and I missed the fact that we did not have working intercoms and could not talk on the bikes. Despite that I give him a fair amount of grief (and receive a health amount back in kind), George is simply one hilarious person to be around and someone I care about him very much. I look forward to future adventures. On this trip, I particularly liked the day we arrived in West Yellowstone, when we both came close to freezing. I cannot explain why I liked that day, but it picked me up. This trip was not relaxing; too much tension about the weather – this was no one’s fault. The weather was, quite simply, miserable. So where next? I really like Colorado and there is still a lot there we have not explored, but I am not sure I can convince George. We need to do more hiking on these trips and to plan better for hiking. The hiking days are almost always the best days.
Thanks for reading this, faithful reader(s). Until next year! And thank you, George.

P.s. A couple of photos of the bikes and of us.






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Eric's home in New Hampshire

Friday, September 20, 2013

Until next year

A magnificent last day of riding. The temperatures got up to the mid 60's with bright blue skies and negligible wind. We could have ridden forever. Instead, we went from West Yellowstone, past a series of geysers (including Old Faithful, which we didn't have the patience to wait to erupt), over Craig's Pass, through the Grand Tetons, past Jenny Lake and into Jackson where we returned the bikes without a hitch at 3 p.m. We did encounter two half hour traffic jams along the way. The first one was because every car ahead of us, 50-60 of them, had to stop for 30 seconds to take photos of the family of elk that was grazing next to the road. The second one was because of a nasty accident involving a big camper trailer and a small Japanese sedan. I doubt everyone made it out of that one unscathed.
At the bike dealer Eric did his paperwork and readied his Jeep while I headed a few blocks over to the AT&T store to buy the new iPhone 5s. No lines, no fuss. The salesman did try to hit me up for the insurance and a bunch of ad-on's. I didn't nibble and was out of there within 20 minutes. Not bad.
After finishing up at the bike dealer, Eric dropped me and my gear off at the Alpine Motel and then headed for his 500 mile jaunt to Dillon, Colorado where he and Celia own a second home. He needed to scoot back to ensure that he could drop off his Jeep and make his Sunday a.m. flight from Denver back to New Hampshire. The thought of driving so far tonight is beyond my sensibility. I just can't imagine. I think I will call him later to see how he is doing.
I am sitting at a small table in the Million Dollar Cowboy bar. I just finished by gargantuan beef burger (I opted out of the elk and the buffalo meat), potato chips and pickle. They don't sell French fries :(. I am now nursing my Bitch Creek Extra Special Brown Ale and attempting to create this final entry for the Fall '13 blog. It's challenging. The place is packed. The band is warming up (Check one two, check, check, check one two three). Alright already. The women at the adjacent table are laughing like rabid hyenas (It's nice to see people having such a grand time). The cowboys, all of them at the four pool tables are hammered. It would be a perfect time for this city slicker to hustle them for a few bucks. College football (Boise State vs Fresno State) is on every TV. The bar stools are actually leather horse saddles sitting on posts. I was going to eat at the bar but the saddles are too uncomfortable. I could never be a cowboy.
I explained to the the waitress how I returned this afternoon from an amazing motorcycle trip through Idaho, Montana and Wyoming and how it was part of an annual passage for my friend and me . She seemed as interested as an atheist in church. That's fine. I'm feeling contented and melancholy and don't need her validation. I could sit here all night soaking in the warm feelings and fond memories. In fact, I just might.
Thank your Eric for the belly laughs, camaraderie, big heart, good cheer and for always having my back. You're one of a kind. Thank you!
Until next years.
p.s. A few more photos;





YouTube Video




YouTube Video



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone 5c

Location:Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, Jackson, Wyoming

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Hallelujah, The Rice Worked

30 hours of sitting in a bag of long grain brown rice and my iPhone is working again. Nine missed texts and three missed calls later and I'm up and running. Hallelujah!




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Yellowstone, MT

West Yellowstone


It was a lazy day today. We are sort of snowed in here West Yellowstone; the passes down to Jackson are either closed or covered with snow and ice. We did manage to make our way over to Yellowstone Falls and back; a distance of about 80 miles. The idea was to hike there, but when we arrived we realized that there was no safe place to put our motorcycle jackets, helmets and pants as they would not fit in our saddlebags. All of this could have been determined earlier before we left -- another example of my lack of attention to detail that has resulted in a total loss of necessary technology (intercoms for constant banter; GPS for directions; converters to charge cell phones, etc), making this a very different type of trip.
George's cell phone was saturated yesterday and did not survive. He has managed this well and we are fortunate that a new one will be there for him in Jackson Hole when we arrive there tomorrow. I am impressed with just how well he is handling this interruption of services; however, this is truly an emergency situation so it looks like we will have to miss Old Faithful and the Grand Tetons to take the most direct route to the AT and T store. No big deal. Just a collection of large rocks and spitting hot water.
I must say that the National Park Service does an excellent job of providing accessibility to the major tourist attractions to the major parks. The Park Service lets you park really really close and has helpful signs telling how many yards to the great view (and how many for an even better one but few get that far). And it is a good thing too, judging by the girth of most Americans. It is striking and each trip it becomes even more apparent. I know my body is far from perfect, but this is really scary, particularly when the Surgeon General says that obesity will be far worse for the next generation. Today I was observing the people walking by at Yellowstone Falls, looking for a fit senior citizen. I eventually saw a health looking couple walking toward me. My spirits sank as I heard them speak French.
Spend a little time at the "free breakfast" of a Best Western or Holiday Inn sometime and when you are not trying to fight your way to the sausage gravy dispenser, just observe the amount of "free" food that Americans are eating. It is quite striking.
We stopped at a small hot spring today and met two very nice Chinese men from Beijing. They wanted me to tell them where they were and were impressed with my four word Chinese vocabulary. As our conversation was coming to an end, one of them noticed a small cut on finger. He said "medicine in car" and I said it was not necessary. He ran to his car and insisted in not only giving me a bandaid but in wrapping it around my finger. Very nice. There are many Chinese tourists here and I have to think that is a good thing -- our countries are completely dependent on each other.
I have tried to avoid e mail and news but have not been totally successful. It's great to be coming back home with news of the impending government shutdown over the debt ceiling and Obamacare (Didn't that law pass?). The same tired, lame arguments -- it's truly pathetic. It's time for my 28th Amendment which would eliminate the influence of special interests, (or at least their money), get the extremists out by banning gerrymandering and impose reasonable term limits so that politics and the federal government would not be a career goal for those choosing to go to Washington. Could you imagine never seeing John Boehner or Nancy Pelosi on TV again? If you have any doubt about the above, please read the hilarious new book about Washington called "This Town" -- which so effectively captures the money grubbing, ego maniacal suck ups that make DC "their town." A great read.
Uh-oh. I better go. A massive tour bus just pulled up to the outside of the motel. The exhaust pipe is conveniently pointing to exactly where I am sitting. This is another pet peeve and such a simple issue to solve. Why do empty buses (or in this case emptying) have to sit there idling with the motor going? It's an issue for George as well; buses and trucks that just spew out needless hydrocarbons for no reason -- because the driver does not want to join his passengers in viewing Yellowstone Falls or won't exit the bus to watch the team he transported play their game.
Too much ranting, I know. I should be kinder. But I increasingly find myself agreeing with that thug Vladmir Putin that we are not an exceptional nation. I think we used to be, but I am not so sure any more.
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Location:Madison Ave,West Yellowstone, MT

Pistols and Holsters

An uneventful day today. Once Eric finally woke up, we spend awhile discussing the pros and cons of our options for the day. We could wait awhile and see if the roads through Yellowstone to the Grant Titons opened up. We could exit the park and drive the extra 75 miles to get there or we could stay in West Yellowstone for another day and explore the area. We chose option number three. I'm glad we did.
We took a leisurely 80 mile drive up to the South Rim (yes, they have one here too) and back. The low 40's temperature with no rain make the trip seem tropical compared to yesterday. Lots of wildlife along the way; bison, elk, and a moose, I think, off in the horizon. We've yet to see a bear. Hopefully tomorrow.
My iPhone has still not come back to life. I've been handling it quite well if I don't say so myself. Having my ipad has made it a bit easier. I called the AT&T store in Jackson. They have a few new iPhone 5s' in stock for tomorrow's debut. It's doubtful, but possible that they will still have them in stock when we arrive late afternoon.
We got back to West Yellowstone around 3 p.m. and went to the local taqueria for lunch. I had two veggie tacos. Eric had a fish burrito. We chatted for awhile with the owner who relocated from Orange County seven years ago. She lives here with her husband and three kids. Her 13 year old son plays on the local football team. They can only field enough for 6v6 and travel up to four hours away for away games. I guess that is the way it is out here. Huge distances between everything.
After having dinner at Madison Crossing, the same place we went to last night, we went to the Wild West for a beer (a ginger ale for Eric). There was a big turn out for the Thursday Night Football game. A decidedly pro Kansas City crowd. An interesting slice of the place; the men's room door had a sign that said "Pistols" on it. The women's room said "Holsters". A western spin on life.
Below are a sampling of photos and a video from today. Enjoy!

YouTube Video






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Location:Wild West Saloon, West Yellowstone, MT

Make smart decisions

Click here to hear today's road conditions report
Unfortunately snow tires are suggested for the route south through the park. The only alternative is to exit Yellowstone and drive an extra 75 miles. As Margot would say, mostly to the girls, occasionally to me; "Make good choices". We will, I think.


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Location:Trapped at the Best Western, Yellowstone National Park

There is frost on the bikes this morning

It reached the 20's overnight. There is a gorgeous full moon outside, frost on the bikes and ice on the roads. It might be late morning before we pull out of here.


Once we do, we will have to be thoughtful about our trajectory down to the Grand Titons and Jackson Hole. You can see snow up in the mountains and some of the roads have been closed. Disappointingly we won't be able to get over to the Beartooth Highway on the east side of the park. Wikipedia says that Charles Kurolt referred to Beartooth as the "most beautiful drive in America." All the more reason to return some day with Margot and the girls.

Unfortunately I don't have the early morning breakfast time to myself today. There is a large tourist group next to me making quite a racket.

A random thought while eating my oatmeal; "Why do people who know the least know it the loudest?"

Have a great day!



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:West Yellowstone Best Western Desert Inn

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Not even my iPhone could withstand these conditions

Today's ride was as challenging as any we've ever had. Heavy rains, high 30's temperatures and moderate winds made the riding very uncomfortable. Unfortunately, my gear, except for my pants, is not water proof. My gloves, boots and jacket were water logged early on. On top of that the hand warmers on the bike were defective. I could barely feel my fingers. The final hour was a mental challenge as I tried to convince myself that I wasn't cold. It worked for a little while but the final 10 miles was beyond my toughest resolve. I was shivering and could ignore it no longer. We limped into West Yellowstone and pulled into the Best Western (unfortunately not the one where we had a reservation). The very kind desk clerk handed us towels, brought us hot chocolate and called the other two Best Western's to see where we belonged. I am indebted to this kind sole. He is an angel.

My iPhone broke down from the elements. I had kept it in a plastic sandwich bag inside my jacket naively thinking that it would be protected. The second I took it out I knew I was wrong. It felt like an icicle and was waterlogged. It would not even boot up. After a hot shower and a long nap, I went to the local grocery store and bought a $2 plastic bag of Western Family long grain brown rice and dropped the phone in it. We'll see if it is an old wives tale or whether the rice will really dry out the phone. If it doesn't, oh well, I'll have to buy the new 5S.

There have been some interesting road signs over the past two days. I can't remember them all but here are a some examples;
-"45th parallel, halfway between the equator and the north pole"
- "Game crossing ahead"
- A homeowner; "Get rid of corruption"
- A motel "Catch your views, fresh daily"
- A town; "Slow up so our kids can grow up"
- A contented person; "Another day in paradise"
- Another contented person; "Every day is a day of grace"
Some positive spirits live up in these woods.

I'm looking forward to exploring the park tomorrow. So much to see and so little time to see it.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Yellowstone National Park

I knew that we would make it, but then a minute or two later, I was not quite sure.

I enjoy our trips for many reasons; not the least of which is that we sometimes find ourselves in challenging situations. And it is usually only because we are on motorcycles; if we were in one of the those nice RV's in West Yellowstone (we just toured the "hook up" park), it would be very different. Today was one of those challenging days.

We have been plagued by weather problems since the very first day of this trip. Planning our traverse across flat, barren and desert like areas (this is the Rockies, but many of the spaces in between the mountains are made of sand) based on the radar report of thunderstorms. We have seen far too many lightning strikes, including one that George witnessed this morning "like a firework show in the sky."

I was reluctant to leave where we were this morning -- Dillon, Mountain. Met some fellow bikers, including my very first elder retired Silicon Valley type who had sold his company to Siemens (a company that I had some significant litigation against many years ago -- a great story but which will not be repeated here). We had taken in the annual Dillon-Butte freshman football game (or half of it) and I had unwisely stuffed some prime rib in last night and watched the Red Sox at -- what else -- a sports bar. There was a movie theater nearby and this part of the world is littered with venues where you can go and shoot a machine gun. The weather and the radar looked awful again; thunderstorms everywhere and I have to admit I was pretty depressed. Another night in Dillon sounded good.

But George rallied me and we set out, with little plan other than to maybe go to Virginia City if the weather looked bad or maybe even to Bozeman, where we have people that we know (barely). George valiantly agreed to go on Interstate 90 (this very same road goes through Greater Natick), riding the preferred cruising bike, the BMW R1200RT, while I took the smaller bike.

We ended up in a truck plaza in Bozeman by noon, ducking the storms but pelted with rain. We have not come well equipped on this trip and I blame myself for this sloppiness. Our intercoms don't work, we have no GPS, George has nothing warm and poor rain gear and I left behind a critical connector so I can't charge anything on the bike, such as a GPS (moot point) or an iphone (with a useless "GPS" that is dependent on non-existent cell phone towers). The server in the truck plaza was perfect, helping us to remove our soaked jackets and then bringing us hot chocolate (although we figured out later that her story about the recovery of her terminally ill child and her pursuit of a Ph.D. in nursing may have contained some exaggerations).

In any event, after an hour of social networking at the plaza, the booths were starting to fill up and our welcome had worn out, so it was time to leave. The sign said 90 miles to West Yellowstone and that did not seem far; the speed limit on even the back alleys out here is almost always at least 70. So we went off in the drizzle.

Several hours later, including a 15 minute wait for road construction, the picture was not so pretty. The temperature was in the high thirties (the low was 36.9 degrees according to the bike thermometers) and the rain had a hale like quality to it. We had switched back and forth between the bikes and I had generously agreed to go the final ten miles on the bike without the windshield and hand warmers (it also seems to be missing a rear brake). I was uncomfortable and scared, but probably more comfortable than George, who decided not to make the upgrade to waterproof boots that I did last year.

This little bike has a teeny windshield and the only way I could stop involuntary chattering of my teeth was to put my chest on the gas tank so that I had some protection from the rain. I knew that we would make it, but then a minute or two later, I was not quite sure. I thought that the best course might be to ditch the little bike and ride two up on the big bike, which not only has hand warmers but two stage but warmers, but that might have precipitated an argument over whose bags would be abandoned and how would be in the rear seat. So I stopped watching the mile markers which end up at zero when you reach West Yellowstone.

It's very interesting to see the look on the faces of motel clerks when you walk in with your motorcycle helmet on and don't take it off during the check in process. I wanted to say: "I hope you're not offended; I am simply too f--- cold to do anything other than hand you my frozen credit card" but that was too much information.

George's iphone is at least temporarily caput, but that has not caused the crisis you might anticipate. I talked to Celia who believes that the machine has been disabled due to George's rebuke from the bartender at the Redfish Lodge who took exception to the use of George's machines "in my bar." In fact, I would say that this is the only trip I have been on with George where his charm has not been highly effective with the locals. He had a very passive aggressive check in experience yesterday at the last Best Western in Dillon with a woman named Laura. "Hi Laura, how are you today?" Laura: "Credit card for incidentals, please." George: "What's your favorite restaurant, Laura?" Laura: "Steak house down the road." George: "Thanks so much, Laura; I hope you have a good evening."

Whether intentional or not, George's attempt to pay for dinner tonight by giving the server his room key card for the Best Western was not well received. "Nice try," Michelle said, bringing the "credit card" back to the table. George: "I wasn't trying to be forward." Michelle: "Right." But it was an incredible dinner and if you ever have the misfortune to find yourself in West Yellowstone and want to take a break from souvenir hunting, please go to the Madison Crossing restaurant. Just don't use George's name.

My knees have been hurting lately so we took a look at the RV park. Hard to decide. The temptation is to go big, with a rock star bus, but I still have this yearn for the back roads so the idea of 4 by 4 pick up trick with the camper on top. I think I will leave this one up to Celia, who will sensibly opt for a tent that we can put in the back of the jeep.

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Location:US-20,West Yellowstone,United States

High School freshman football in Dillon, Montana

Wednesday a.m., Dillon, Montana

For you "Friday Night Lights" fans, It wasn't as good as Dillon, Texas Panthers high school football. However, the freshman game between Butte and the Dillon, Montana Beavers, was an entertaining way to spend the late afternoon. This is serious football country. Dillon was allowed to play sophomores in the game. The kids on its front lines were every bit as big the varsity players back in Newton. Butte's varsity squad won the state championships last year. It's freshman squad, while lacking in size, was more skilled and better coached than Dillon and carried the action on both sides of the ball. If Northeastern still had NCAA football I would be referring our coaches to this western football hotbed.

It is Wednesday a.m. and I am waiting for Helen, the chatty front door clerk to finish setting up the 6 a.m. complimentary Best Western breakfast. Its going to be a good one. She has already brought out the hard boil eggs, canned fruit, frozen bagels, dark brown bananas and a box of fruit loops. With great pride she said the sausage gravy would be out shortly. Hallelujah!

The lighting is back and the thunder is rocking the town with a vengeance. A front page headline in the Wednesday Montana Standard reads "Hard freeze expected tonight". It continues; "A cold-air mass over the region will keep the clouds in the area and drive temperatures into the 20's. Snow is expected in the hills." It's going to be a gripping 200 miles down to Yellowstone (See the attached radar screen. The blue dot is where we are). I have to remind myself, as a fellow rider said to me last night, "The worst day of riding is better than the best day of work".



Eric and I seemingly had divine assistance yesterday guiding us through the 230 miles from the Redfish Lodge to Dillon. The skies were threatening the whole time but only opened up twice; once while we were on the library stoop in Salmon and the other moments after we landed at the Best Western. We had our rain gear on but it was unnecessary. We never felt a drop.

The stretch after turning east on rte. 43 down to Wisdom, Montana was likely the most stunning ride I have ever experienced. There was this huge expanse, maybe 30 miles long, in front of us and to the east and west. Across the entire landscape the sky had darkened to a dark gray, streaked, brushed and spackled with various sized strokes of white and black and every shade in between. The clouds were swirling and blowing from left to right. Lightning flashed in the distance, mostly to the west. Cows littered the plain and had no place to take cover. It was a painter's dream. I worried aloud about how the cows. "Be careful fellas" I kept saying.

Whenever the weather turns, Eric's riding speed increases significantly. My inclination is to do the opposite. I like to soak in god's masterpieces, rather than race to avoid them. Coming down rte. 43 Eric sped up to 90+ mph. Though I didn't match his speed, I too accelerated so as not to get separated. I am kicking myself now. I should have stopped to take pictures. I probably will never see such cloud formations and awesome landscapes again.

For the final 10 mile stretch into Wisdom, riding at approx. 80 mph, a black SUV was on my ass choosing not to pass. When we pulled into Wisdom for gas, the SUN stopped at tavern across the street. The driver exited his car, took one last chug of his tall beer, set it on the ground vertically and crushed it with his cowboy boot. He then flipped the can into his car, slammed the door and headed into the bar. Yikes. I intend to block that experience out of memory.

We left Redfish Lodge earlier in the day, maybe 8 a.m. and drove for an hour before stopping at the Y-Inn cafe in Chalis, ID for breakfast. The roads in and out of Chalis were gorgeous with the Salmon River hugging the shoulder and the road surrounded by mountains on both sides.

Last night, after the football game, we went to the Lion's Den for dinner. I had an 8oz bacon wrapped sirloin and a local IPA. Eric had the prime rib and a Utah lager. A nice relaxing way to end a tiring, yet exhilarating day.

Today's random thought while riding; I wonder where forest rangers go to "get away from it all?"


Have a good day!

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Location:Laknar Ln,Dillon,United States

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Salmon, ID Lightning Break

A little excitement so we pulled over for a few minutes. Click here.





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Location:Salmon, ID

A lovely hike into the mountains

I only have time for a short post. We want to get any early start so that we can get to Elkhorn Springs (250 miles away) before the afternoon thunderstorms roll in.
I'm currently sitting on a lounge chair in front of the Redfish Lodge. It is about 40 degrees and slightly drizzling. At daybreak I will head back to the cabin. The sun is my agreed upon queue to wake up Eric. Since we will be heading northeast, I don't think I will mention to him the lightning that is currently lighting up the sky over the mountains to the west. It's an incredible sight. I can't help but worry about our Swiss camper friends that are up there right now. Be safe guys.
Yesterday Eric and I went for a seven mile hike into those western mountains in search of Saddleback Lake. It's supposed to be a spectacular spot nestled in the Sawtooth's overlooking Redfish Lake. Unfortunately the cutoff was unmarked so we went right past it. By the time we realized our mistake, it was time for our descent. We needed to get back down to the base by 3 p.m. to catch the small boat back to the Lodge.
It was a fairly easy hike, ascending no more than a thousand feet or so. We were a bit worried about encountering a bear, especially when we took out our ham and cheese sandwiches. Other than some noises off in the woods, there was no evidence of the furry fellas.
It is a good thing I had my EpiPen with me. We did encounter a smattering of bees along the way. One even landed on my iPhone when I snapped a picture from the trail (see photo). Freaky.




We got back in time for a quick ride on the bikes into Stanley (the locals call it the coldest place in the U.S. each winter. Our waitress told us last night that she remembers one night last January when it reached 38 degrees below. I can't imagine what that feels like.). It was a quick ride because there was virtually nothing to it; a post office, four taverns, a library, a small real estate development and a smattering of other buildings. That's it.
We came back for a swim. The mountain water was chilly but refreshing. Just what we needed to get perked up for dinner. To eat, I again had the short ribs (yum) and Eric the halibut. Unfortunately, it was the last piece of halibut disappointing the four vacationing women from Boise sitting at the next table. We had met them on Sunday. Eric struck up a conversation about politics while I buried my head into my iPad writing that day's blog post. We were going to have a drink with them last night but Eric was wiped and worried about waking up early to pack the bikes. I almost stayed but decided against it. We politely begged off after dinner and headed back to the cabin. Our lights were off by 9.
We did share our blog URL with the women. In the event that they decided to check it out; greetings ladies. Keep fighting the liberal fight here in this bastion of social conservatism. The people of your fine state need your help, whether they know it or not.
Over and out.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Sawtooth Mountains

Monday, September 16, 2013

Eric's casual observations

1. The less crowded a restaurant or gas station the more likely you will find the bathroom door locked.

2. Idaho is 48th in the country in education. One out of ten children will graduate from college.

3. The Aryan Nation has been largely run out of Idaho but the state is extremely conservative with a heavy tea party presence. However, there is an active progressive enclave in Boise and we met all four members.

4. Redfish lake lodge is unspoiled and spectacular. Ideal for a family vacation.

5. Out west, the people who ride BMW bikes generally have green safety vests and full face helmets with visors. Giant bugs feel like concrete pellets when they hit the visor. Harley riders never have green vests and rarely have helmets. I can't imagine how they stay conscious while bugs hit their helmet at 70 mph.

6. My knees are feeling better so we are staying at Redfish and hiking. Lots of Advil.








Location:Redfish Lake Lodge

Redfish Lake Lodge

If heaven is anything like this place then I better clean up my act fast. I want in.
When on these trips I am often challenged with coming up with suitable superlatives to describe the scenery. This time is no different. I am awed by the Sawtooth mountain range and its jagged, wild and striking peaks. They are not the biggest or tallest mountains around but you can't gaze at them without feeling a grand sense of wonder. I am just blown away. I want to return some day for a family vacation.
Redfish Lake Lodge, our home until tomorrow, sits right on the lake facing the mountains. 6,500 feet. We arrived around 3 p.m. yesterday (Sunday), secured one of the last available cabins and then hopped a shuttle boat





to the far end of the lake. Also on the boat was a couple from Switzerland. They had been in the U.S. for a few months, camping, hiking and climbing the largest peaks in our country. While we were going for an easy 30 minute walk up to a elevated lily pond





, they were hiking up four miles to a base camp where they were going to spend the next few days rock climbing the steep faces of Grand Mogul, Decker Peak and the Elephant's perch. Humbling!
Similarly humbling was the experience of passing dozens of bicycle riders on our way from Sun Valley. While we were descending a 30+ miles stretch of steep downhill switchbacks, these riders, men and women, some our age, were coming in the opposite direction , with determined and anguished faces, as if they were on the final stages of the Tour de France. I was so impressed with their fitness and their fortitude. Oh how I would like to be able to do that.
We had a terrific dinner at the lodge; the baby ribs for me and the lake trout for Eric. Sandy, our server, described how she lost her college softball scholarship last year after "shattering" her leg in a snowboarding accident. With a stiff upper lip she suggested that it must have happened for a reason and that for now she was just going to enjoy her time up in the mountains. I really admired her positive spirit.
After dinner I went into the bar for a beer while Eric went outside to call Celia. I ordered the local porter and the bartender delivered it to my table a minute later. When he arrive he said " Is that an ipad?" I replied "yes". He forcefully countered; "Put that away. I don't allow computers in my bar." What? His bar? In the following couple of seconds I pondered my alternatives. Should I politely comply. Should I stake my ground? Should I commence negotiations? There is no doubt that the other patrons were on his side and I didn't want to make a scene. So, I closed the case and timidly put it back in my backpack.
I know that the Redfish Lodge is supposed to be a place to turn your back on civilization and enjoy the serenity of this far away spot. However, I couldn't help but sit there and quietly pout. My professional career has been based on the premise that the customer's voice rules. Where does he get off imposing his personal views and scolding me like that. Butthead!
Eric and I love this place so we've decided to stay another day.





We are going to rent mountain bikes, do some hiking, maybe fly fish a bit and otherwise relax around the lake. Montana and Yellowstone can wait.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Stanley, ID

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Running from the storm

It's 6 a.m. Sunday morning. I'm at Pickles Place

having breakfast (The Low Carb breakfast is "Ham, bacon or sausage with two scrambled eggs and cheese and orange slices") just down the road from our motel ( Pickle Place view) The two guys next to me are talking about the heavy rains in Colorado. One asked "Why are they deserving of such misery?". The other responded; "Because they're all liberals. The good lord is taking them out and all their marijuana plants too". What a way to start the day. If they strike up a conversation I doubt I will tell them of my Cambridge roots.
We didn't make it very far yesterday, maybe 150 miles. I wanted to keep going but Eric's astraphobia left little room for compromise. So here we are, staying at the DK Motel
in Arco, Utah (pop. 972), 80 miles short of Sun Valley.
We pulled in at 2:30 p.m., shed our gear and headed into town to explore. We toured the Family Dollar and the hardware store. We commiserated with a failed shop owner (he said "What recovery" and "I can't even give my building away"). We admired the mountain face where every high school graduating class for the last 90 years

has painted its class year. A sign above the Rec Center proudly read "The First City in the World Lit by Atomic Power."

I'm surprised the Business Development Center around the corner hasn't convinced them to take it down. Maybe it's just me but I don't think that's going to convince tourists and new business owners to settle here.
The Sawtooth Tavern was the only place with any action. I peeked my head in and was hit by a billow of smoke and the sound of a 50 year old juke box playing country rock. A couple of guys at the pool table looked up. A cigarette hanging from their lips, longneck Budweiser (no craft beer out this way) bottles in one hand and pool cues in the other, they said nothing but still made me feel as welcome as a rattlesnake in an occupied sleeping bag. I turned and left. Two Harley's sat outside. I wondered how shit-faced those pool players would be when they hopped back on those things.
Back at the motel I asked the desk clerk what the complex of buildings was a mile or so outside of town. She paused, sized me up and reluctantly muttered "INL". I should have just let it go but I couldn't help myself. I said "What's that?" The clerk in a near whisper: "Idaho National Labs". Me: "What do they do?" Silence and then: "Just don't go driving out there" and then she turned away. Conversation over.
Yesterday started early, as it often does for me on these trips. I awoke at 5:30. Unfortunately it was 5:30 Eastern time, 3:30 our time.
I laid there for an hour trying to get back sleep. To no avail. So I grabbed what few clothes I could find in the dark room and tip-toed out the door for a stroll into Jackson Hole.
I don't like Jackson Hole, the town that is. It reminds me of some of the fake western towns of our previous trips; Crested Butte, Telluride, Aspen...
The town green is perfectly manicured. There is no dust, no rolling brush, no cowboys, just a bunch of fancy shops and galleries catering to the ultra rich. Before dawn it was deserted. I passed a Starbucks, a Great Harvest Bread store, an Eddie Bauer's, a few banks, some art galleries, oriental rug stores and boutiques selling high end leather goods, cowboy hats and boots. Sotheby's had nothing but multimillion dollar homes advertised in its window.
I asked a security guard where I could get some breakfast. He said Bubba's might be open. Bubba's had a nice ring to it. So I walked the half-mile south of town. It was closed. Just as well, it looked more like a barbecue fast food chain, not quite what I was looking for.
The first thing to open was the Pearl St Market. The cashier's name was Joy. She was any thing but. Pearl St. offered a $12 full buffet. I asked whether I could have just yogurt and fruit. She said "Buy the buffet and take whatever you want." Thanks Joy.
I returned to the Alpine Motel after a few hours and woke Eric from his slumber. I knew he had wanted to make an early getaway in order to beat the projected storms. We got to Eaglerider shortly before 9 a.m.. After some unpleasant nickel and diming by the dealer, we ventured out on to Rte. 22 towards Idaho Falls. Riding through Titon Village and then out of Jackson lived up to its billing. The mountains were stunningly beautiful and the adjacent river glistened in the early day sun.
We stopped in Idaho Falls for lunch and a Harley Davidson rally. A different slice of life. Check Eric's post for more details.
I hope we make it to Red Fish Lake today. It's in the Sawtooth Mountains and comes high recommended.
I hope to post later tonight.
Happy Sunday!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Arco, Utah

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Jackson to Arco

George has always wanted to visit Jackson Hole and we departed 15 hours after arriving. I drove up from our townhouse in Dillon, Colorado, some 500 miles away. I stopped in Pinedale, Wyoming the first night, the base town for the Wind River Mountains. These mountains don't get as much press as the Tetons, but they are familiar stomping grounds for me; I came here in 1983 with my good friend Bob Hoffman and (with the help of a guide) spent ten days climbing all of the high peaks here (actually the highest mountains in Wyoming).

It was 30 years ago on that trip that I first developed my distaste for lightning. We were climbing Mt. Fremont on a crystal clear day and the a wall of black came in from the west. If you're up high in the mountains and there is lightning, you have to do everything that is counterintuitive. We had to ditch our metal climbing gear and go to the most exposed pinnacle around, so the strikes that hit the mountain (there were many that day) don't head directly toward you, as they might if you "hid" in a cave.

The storms did not stop so we eventually had to rappel down in the storm. It continued into the night. It was striking all around us, and we could feel the current under the pads of our sleeping bags. At one point, Bob yelled out for his mother, which was ironic since they had not spoken in years.

While not as hard hit as the front range in Colorado, this area has been mired for the past week with unusual amounts of rain and storms. I assiduously look at the radar on the weather channel, concerned about riding motorcycles into lightning. The storms out here are strong and you are extremely exposed when crossing the dessert or the flats (like we just did for 65 miles).

We decided to leave our camping equipment at home, which turned out to be a blessing. On the second day of my drive to Jackson in my Jeep, I vetured off road and stopped briefly for a picnic in the middle of Forest Road 600 somewhere near Union Pass. As I sat on the bumper of the jeep, a forest ranger came over to me and asked me if I would be staying long. I asked why. He told me that there was a grizzly bear less than 200 yards who had just had a cow for dinner. It was not clear whether the bear, that the ranger was going to try to trap in a cage, wanted dessert, so he suggested I enjoy the food and scenery inside the jeep.

Headline of the Jackson Hole morning news today. " Grizzly attacks hunter."
Good that we left the gear at home.

We left the motorcycle rental place around ten. George had lost his wallet for the second time in less than 24 hours. The first loss occurred at a restaurant in Jackson Hole last night. Usually, our loss of keys, cameras, phones and wallets are false alarms; the item is invariably located after a frenetic search within ten feet of our location, most often in a pocket. But George really left his wallet under a napkin at the table and we almost did not return to find it, figuring it would "turn up" somewhere.

George has probably already described in detail the unpleasantness at the rental place; this has not been our usual experience in renting motorcycles from this company. It was made clear that if we bring the bikes back one minute after 9 am, there will be surcharges. The bikes are pretty "tired" and each has more than 35k in miles on them. I was very reluctant to take mine; it was to low and my knees were cramped and I was worried about pain. I was not receiving the reassurance I was seeking from George that we might be able to trade off on his clearly superior machine. But the only option was a Harley and that's not what we do.

We headed out of Jackson and over to Idaho falls. Notwithstanding the awkward seating position, I love the bike I had and remembered that I had once actually owned this same model. George did not fare as well on his machine -- too light and poor steering and when we stopped in Idaho Falls, he asked to "try" mine. Idaho Falls was nice, highlighted by a picnic at the local Harley Davidson dealer, where we arrived with our green safety vests, helmets and German motorcycles, attracting unwanted attention. We passed on the free burger, but it was reassuring to know that you can in fact purchase an AK 47 at an HD dealer in Idaho, one of which was on display near a brand new Harley Electra Glice (I think they were offering a bundle on the bike and the gun).

We headed out to the dessert, the refuge of mountains and the next town some 65 miles away. (We could see it). I did not like George's bike, but he loved "mine." I don't intend to stand on the fact that I did in fact rent the preferred machine, as followers of this blog are aware that on other occasions, such as when George somehow lost a glove while sitting on a motorcycle in southern Utah (a one half hour search that still boggles me) there was never an issue about sharing. I simply gave him my gloves. But I am feeling a little more tired these days, so it will have to be some sharing arrangement.

Because the iphones showed thunderstorms ahead, we stopped in Arco (was this the acronym for a defunct chain of gas stations?) at a small motel and walked around town. Very sad. Businesses boarded up and we had a chat with the owner of a gun shop who had closed his business three years ago, because "the Mormons would not do business with Christians." Apart from its apparent history of religious bigotry, Arco holds the distinction (in 1955) of being the first place in America which was "lit up" by nuclear energy. (We passed the old reactor in the desert). As it turned out this "lighting up" involved the illumination of one bulb for about an hour and the nuclear energy was never used again. But the town still holds a three day "atomic" festival in July, no doubt drawing thousands.

The other nice feature of Arco is that there is this sandy mountain right off the main drag with various rock faces. Each graduating class of the high school goes up to the mountain and paints its graduation year on the rock. We counted back to 1923.

Well, we are off tomorrow to Ketchum and Sun Valley (where Ernest Hemingway had breakfast with this wife in 1961 and then went home and blew his brains out). I suspect we won't stay long in Sun Valley; we have never enjoyed the upscale towns and with income inequality in the press again this week (the one percent now reaping in over 20 percent of the income), we would not like to sanction or support the elite's watering hole.

We are off to a good start and I suspect that we may not cover the mileage we have in the past, but who knows? These Odysseys are rarely well planned and the five guide books in our saddlebags have not been touched. Hopefully, my knee will be a little better so that we can do some light hiking.

Location:Arco, Utah

Friday, September 13, 2013

"I Told You Never to Ask for that Again"

After stressing through a seven mile back up on the Mass Pike, an airport security line that seemed nearly as long and an hour delay on the Logan tarmac, I am now on United Flight 195 heading to Jackson Hole via Denver. Despite the delays, I am so happy to be on my way. I've been looking forward to this trip for a long time. No matter the weather, the next week will be a needed respite for me, and I know for Eric too.
Before telling you about our change of plans, I must mention one of the stranger coincidences I have experienced in a long while. The flight attendant who just served me coffee asked how I would like it. I asked if she had soy milk. She responded "Huh, what are you from LA or somethin"? The male flight attendant at the back of her drink cart looked up and said with unbridled delight and in full volume, "You're the guy who asked me for soy on the flight to LA a few weeks ago. I told you never to ask for that again." In fact, I was that guy and he did tell me that. Unbelievable! Can't a middle-aged lactose intolerant man catch a break?
And another thing; there is a fly buzzing around my $4 hummus and pita chips. I've never encountered a fly on an airplane before. It seems to me that a bug on a plane cruising at 34k feet violates the laws of science, if not the laws of the FAA. I want my $4 back.
Now the important news. From a national weather website;
"Heavy rains sent walls of water crashing down mountainsides on Thursday in Colorado, killing at least three people, forcing the state’s largest university to close, and isolating remote towns across a rugged landscape that included areas blackened by recent wildfires.
After a rainy week, up to eight more inches fell in an area from the Wyoming border south to the foothills west of Denver. Flooding extended along the Front Range mountains and into many cities. Numerous roads and highways were washed out or made impassable by floods. Floodwaters poured into homes, and at least a few buildings collapsed in the torrent. The deluge is moving north and is expected to continue throughout the weekend." Moreover, Eric reports that due to plummeting nighttime temperatures, people traveling through the mountain passes are being warned to keep chains in their vehicles.
Now Eric and I are not ones to overreact to weather reports. As our longtime readers know, we've tackled severe storms multiple times on previous trips. However, this time is different. People have died. We've decided to alter our plans and head west into Idaho, rather than north into the above described front that has stalled over Wyoming. Hopefully things will clear next week and we can loop back towards Montana for few days.
I am disappointed. I was looking forward to sleeping in the Grand Tetons' mountain air, dancing with black bears in Yellowstone Park, cliff jumping in Glacier National Park and trying my spanking new camping gear. Maybe next time.
Instead of riding his new Honda NC700 from his digs in Colorado, Eric set out yesterday in his Jeep to meet me in Jackson Hole tonight. It was a smart decision. 500 miles through mountain passes and unprotected desert plains on a motorcycle would be too risky. If the rain, wind or icy roads didn't get him, the lightning surely would've.
Now Eric is going to rent the last BMW that Jackson Hole Adventure Riders has left, a 2012 R1200RT. Unfortunately, unlike my 800GS, the RT is a touring bike that is unsuitable for our off-road antics. It's too bad. Riding remote mountain paths on powerful hybrid motorcycles is a life-changing experience. I'm wondering whether we can make it down to Salt Lake City where Eric could swap his RT for a GS. It's worth investigating.
No matter what bikes we have, or which direction we head, this trip is sure to be a blast. Tonight we will explore Jackson Hole's night life. Early tomorrow we will pick up the bikes and head out. From there, who knows. I can't wait.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Jackson Hole, WY

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Day 9; Solo in Vegas

Sat., April 6, 7:55 p.m., PST
I'm here again in the Caesar's Palace Sports Book. There are nine minutes left in the second semi-final NCAA March Madness game. Amongst the din and the cigarette smoke, the pressure is building. Michigan is up by three but Syracuse is making run. The decidedly pro Michigan crowd is getting jittery.
See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya_-aKharaE
The tipsy woman next to me is making small talk; do you come to Vegas often, are you here on vacation, are you staying at this hotel, isn't this cigarette smoke unbearable? Come on lady. Aren't my one-word responses enough of a clue. How about the fact that I am typing on this iPad and not looking at you while you're talking? This is the Final Four for god's sake. Leave me alone. For the first game, Louisville vs Wichita State, I nursed a lemonade (free refills) and a chicken salad at the Mirage Sports Book. Thankfully, there were no such interruptions. The Mirage attracts a more




discriminating clientele of boozed up basketball fanatics.
Eric and I returned the bikes this morning after watching Margot and her soccer team play in an 8 a.m. tournament game in nearby Henderson. Her team didn't fair very well, dropping the contents 5-0 to a powerhouse squad from California.




Thankfully they later rebounded, winning the second game 2-0 and tying the third one 1-1. They play again tomorrow morning before driving back to LA for a red eye flight back to Boston. It was great to see her and to meet some of the teammates she has been talking about for so many years.
Our final stretch yesterday, as Eric suggested in his previous post, was scary, exhilarating, depleting, fun and more than anything, stupid. Next time we take a turn off of a main road and encounter a "Road Closed" sign, I, and I hope Eric, will think more carefully before proceeding.
Our intent was to shave off 27 miles and 30 minutes by cutting the angle down Route 317 (see photo of map).




Route 317 for 14 miles was spectacular, hugging Kershaw Ryan State Park with stunning mountain vistas in every direction.
That however, came to an abrupt stop. With no forewarning, 317 ended, the road changed to dirt and soon thereafter, to deep gravel and sand. Yikes! We had to cut our speed significantly. (See; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpDRXKWuIvs ) Our tires were sliding left and right, the wobble like nothing I had ever experienced while riding. Thinking these conditions would be short lived, we mushed on. A big mistake. What resulted was 40 miles and three hours of hair raising skidding, wheel spinning and near wipeouts. (See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmnqErDRZgc ). White knuckled the whole way, we struggled to control 650 pounds of bike and luggage. It's amazing we made it out unscathed.
The remainder of the ride was uneventful, except for the trucks passing at 80 mph on route 93. Not fun, especially when the resulting air flow attempted to suck us underneath as they flew by.
What a remarkable trip this was. The bikes, the scenery, the many interesting people along the way and of course the camaraderie with Eric... I enjoyed it immensely. So much fun.




We arrived at the Best Western Plus where we caught a cheap meal and then hit the sack. A wild, exhausting and rewarding day.
I'll be staying here in Vegas until Tuesday. I'm attending the National Association of Broadcasters show, learning the latest and greatest about video production, equipment, trends and best practices. Tomorrow night I might attend the Country Music Awards. It depends on how I feel after a six hour conference session called "Second Screen Summit". Sounds fascinating, I know. Not! What an abrupt re-entry into the world.
Until the next time.. thanks for following.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Saturday, April 6, 2013

"Hey Eric, let's take a shortcut."


These words have haunted us before but this one seemed to make eminent sense. We could cut the hypotenuse and save 40 miles. It was the second recommended route on the infamous "AppleMaps," which, perversely, suggested to us that it was the preferred route. The scenery looked gorgeous, cutting between two mountain ranges east of Nowhere, Nevada. And this was really nowhere. Besides it was only thirty two miles according to AppleMaps.
Four hours later, George and I slumped on our bikes and we reentered the world of paved roads on Route 93 south toward Las Vegas. We had covered over 40 miles of graveled dirt roads but these were not our friendly gravel roads that we have ventured on so often. Lots of loose gravel. First gear gravel and wobbling front wheels about to go down kind of gravel.
We saw two cars on the dirt today. Neither was friendly and the white pick up almost took me out coming over a blind rise. It was challenging and even fun. For the first twenty miles or so. And then we concluded we were really lost. The voice over the microphone sounded concerned. How much water was left in my camelback (almost none)? If we have to stay out, how cold could it get? (George never gets cold). Could I find the spare batteries for my handheld GPS? No cell phone signals out here.
The GPS showed the two mountain ranges coming together but that looked a long long way away. Off to our right, a mile or so off the main dirt road was a large semi truck and what appeared to be a 14 foot rental van. There was a meeting. What's going on over there, I asked George. Should we take a look? It seemed like a potential major drug exchange. "What are you thinking?" asked George.
You can't appreciate the remoteness of this place if you are from the east. We haven't seen a police car in four days. No one ever comes to these places. Off in the distance, you often see a collection of trailers or small homes made out of what appear to be scrap metals. We went up a few dirt roads to see these settlements but turned around quickly. BMW's are not welcome vehicles in these parts.
Fortunately, the winds were calm today and there were no tumbleweeds. We first encountered these devils in Arizona. It was amusing at first as I tried to avoid the small ones and you could see them coming from across the scrub. But as the winds picked up, these weeds became small monsters and they came into the road fast, sometimes lingering and swirling in front of us. What if I hit one? Not clear. The wheel and spokes might just chew it up but it was just not clear. So we just went slow and played dodgeball.
So we are safe in Las Vegas and the dangers that we conjure up are largely illusory. Probably the most dangerous place we visited was the bathroom at the Best Western. A very fun, challenging trip that we both enjoyed tremendously. Initial orthopedic issues that somehow got resolved with harder riding and more adventures. Lots of envious admiration of our bikes and, by extension, us. We looked the part; dusty rugged adventurers in black motorcycle suits and body armor strapped to our t shirts which we always enjoy showing off. Never ever a plan or a reservation. It will somehow work out, even if we have to sleep under a bridge. The road will take us where it takes us.
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Location:N Boulder Hwy,Henderson,United States

Friday, April 5, 2013

Day 8; Fear and Loathing in Cedar City

Friday, 6:20 a.m., Cedar Falls, 43 degrees
There are not a lot of early risers in Cedar City. I just got back to the Best Western after a 20 minute walk. I headed down Main Street and then cut south on University.




A gas attendant at the Phillips 66 station was tending to a customer. A young barista was prepping for opening at The Grind Coffeehouse. An auto repair shop converted to a make shift gym had a bunch of bulky guys, maybe Southern Utah football players, pumping iron and jumping rope. Other than that, no one.
I read Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" in high school. I don't remember much of it. I do however, recall the seething rants about American consumerism and excess. As we get close to Vegas, I sense Eric's Hunteresque tendencies kicking in. When I suggested that we spend tonight on the strip and take in a show, a diatribe ensued. Yikes. Maybe a suburban Bed and Breakfast will do.
We took the leisurely trip down rte. 12 yesterday, then cut down rte. 89 and over rte. 14 to Cedar City. See Eric's entry for a somewhat accurate recap of the day.
Last night we were trying to figure out which route to take down to Vegas today. The most direct way is 182 miles straight down Interstate 15. The safer and much more scenic route goes west through Kershaw-Ryan State Park, south through Desert National Wildlife Range, over to the Valley of Fire State Park and down into Henderson. Total mileage for this route is 299 miles. After seeing the front page headline in this morning's Cedar City Daily News (see photo)




I've solidified which way I want to go. I'm not looking forward to the debate with Eric when he wakes up in a few hours.
I'm experiencing some writer's block this morning. Rather than force it, ill upload some photos and videos for your enjoyment pleasure.
Have a good day.
-George
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-rNINaNvgg
















- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Eric's update

THURSDAY
Two days since my last entry and George is on my case.
We are nearing the end of a great trip. These periods are often characterized by a good deal of freneticism as George uses his devices to plot various side roads, filled with dangerous intersections and 25 mph hairpin turns, that we can take to avoid the dreaded safety of the American Interstate highway system. In this case, his fears are a tad magnified because it appears that the only way back from where we are is Interstate 15. Followers will no doubt recall George's experience with I-15 four and one half years ago.
It is true that he was riding a 730 pound motorcycle and his only prior experience was with a 12 horsepower moped. Still, it was hard to stick around while he travelled 20 miles an hour in the breakdown lane with his flashers on. So I elected to go ahead, flat on the tank at 90 mph safely passing the tandems trailers while George was engulfed with the whirlwinds caused by their tumultuous mass.
We are approaching 1-15 again. In fact, it is within two miles of the great college town that we highly recommend, Cedar City, home of the University of Southern Utah Nighthawks. As I write the blog, George is zooming in on various side roads that would allow us to bypass the highway. Most of them are class 3 or 4 roads reserved for four by fours. So I will likely not travel on them as we have 182 miles to Las Vegas, a very fast 2.5 hours on I-15. We will see.
The last two days have been truly spectacular. A much used term on this trip. We really recommend Capitol Reef National Park, much overlooked by its more popular and very busy cousins, Bryce and Zion. We were able to go hiking for the first time, down the Great Wash trail, aptly named because it can go from what appears to be a drive river bed to a raging river in a matter of minutes, precipitated by a thunderstorm in the Henry Mountains more than a hundred miles away. We walked down a mile or two to a slot canyon and then waddled back a mile and a quarter. Some more adventure riding on dirt roads and then a great motel (the chuck wagon in Torrey) and organic restaurant in the middle of nowhere.
We never make plans on where we are going to stay or eat. It is probably foolish but it just seems to work out. We bypassed the most highly recommended restaurant in Cedar City tonight and walked a mile to a bar that was, amazingly, even too tawdry for George. Even though it was close to 8.45 when we came back, the original restaurant was still open. It just seems to work.
Everyone is fascinated by our bikes and our story. Our bikes look adventurous and it appears that we have come a great distance. Sometimes we don't disabuse the viewers from their belief, for fear of disappointment. I had quite a spirited conversation in French today with the outdoor adventure leader of a California State University who we met at a scenic turnout on Utah Rte 12 today. His dream was to own a BMW and ride to Alaska. It was clear to everyone, including his 12 students, that he was waiting for an invitation to get on the bike and so I invited him to try George's. (His bike sports the lower suspension and this guy was about 5 foot three). Fortunately there was no mishap as George has a $1,000 damage deductible on his bike. But the point is that to many we meet, we are real adventurers, naked and exposed on the road to all the elements, and we don't want to spoil what is really an illusion. Granted it's not the easiest way to travel, but these bikes are so solid, have advanced safety equipment and are happy at 60 mph and, as I discovered on a very safe and isolated road today, equally content at 115 mph.
The intercoms are really useful. I cannot recall all the banal talk that goes on; it lacks substance but it makes the miles go by easier. We could attach the intercoms to our iphones via bluetooth and listen to our podcasts or itunes, but there is never a thought of that; George is my podcast and it's all live.
There is a great section of southwest Utah called the Cedar Breaks area and we were up there at the end of the day. You go up about 4,000 vertical feet from a dessert to a mountaintop lake (Navajo) covered by ice and snow. The temperature goes down almost 25 degrees and then 17 miles back the down side, from trees and alpine conditions back to redrock scrub and desert. You can take Utah 143 or Utah 14; it all ends up at Cedar City. We recommend both routes, and a stop at Cedar Breaks Monument at ten thousand five hundred feet. I have been in this area three times on a motorcycle; it is truly exhilarating.
So much to see and do out her. I can't wait to bring our jeep (garaged 700 miles to the east in Colorado) out here and explore the Burr trail, Moab and the thousands of miles of wilderness four by four trails; hopefully with Celia next month. My knees need work before I can come back and do the long hikes I would like, and George has back issues. We have eaten well and exercised and done our PT. Strangely and unexpectedly, our joint pain has actually lessened as these days go by and these big solid bikes purr on . . . .
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Location:W College Ave,Cedar City,United States

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Day 7, Canyon Reef. Breathtaking


It's Thursday, 6:30 a.m. and a brisk 26 degrees out. It's not the kind of cold that makes you want to take cover. It's more the kind that makes you feel hearty. inviting you to take a vigorous walk, knowing that it will be 50 by 9-10 o'clock.
Another day another breathtaking sunrise. My goodness. Even the locals take pause here in Torrey, Utah as the mountains light up across the way. Janenelle, the local storekeeper, said she's watched it every morning for 29 years. No matter what she is doing, she stops for a few minutes to soak it in.
We are staying at the Chuckwagon Inn in Torrey,




Just outside of Capital Reef National Park. God's country if there ever was any. Our longtime readers might remember that in 2009 we came within 100 miles of here. Back then our time was running short and the winds were howling so we never made it this far. I really wanted to. Matt, my cousin had raved about it. Well Matt, you were right.
Yesterday we came up rte. 24 from near Lake Powell. Once we got passed Hanksville, we weaved through canyons and over mountains that completely blew us away.




We knew that we had to spend an afternoon here. We stopped here in Torrey, grabbed a quick sandwich, checked into the Chuckwagon, dumped our bags and headed into the national park for an afternoon of hiking. I'm so glad we did. We hiked down a red rock canyon for a couple of miles. Above us were cliffs, domes, overhangs and canyon sandstone walls with deep alcoves, lightly streaked with a dark desert varnish. We had the place mostly to ourselves. See video clip for a first hand look ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4V6zf-BNgjM ). It was a terrific day ended by an evening at a local restaurant with a nice steak salad for me and the trout for Eric.
I'm now sitting in the back of the general store. A retired economics professor from Wyoming is talking to a local cowboy in the booth next to me. The cowboy had an injury and can't work anymore. He gets no government assistance. He doesn't want any. He doesn't believe in in. He says capitalism may be a good thing for some people but he isn't taking part in it. His form of government centers around "blue sky, the clouds, the rain, the snow and the wind." He'll let others worry about the other stuff. His one wish is that the government would play a smaller role here in America. "I've learned to be self-sufficient. Why can't others do the same. Wy do they need to turn to Uncle Sam for so much help?"
I'm not touching this conversation with a ten foot pole. Politics and gun control are off limits. I want to get out of here alive.
Harriet, the pastry chef got here at 3:30 a.m. to start her prep. The waft of her efforts hit me as I opened the door. If I had closed my eyes I would have thought I was in Paris. I don't know what she calls all of these pastries but they are different shapes and sizes and are sitting in the glass case covered with cinnamon, icing, powdered sugar, maple frosting and chocolate sauce. I'm having the French Toast. It's to die for, made out of round cinnamon roles, a recipe passed down from Harriet's grandmother. Wowser.
Today we are going to take rte. 12 down to Bryce. This is one of the most extraordinary roads in the world. Google it. You'll see what I mean. Margot, the kids and I drove it about 15 years ago. We stayed in Boulder, UT for a night. I hope to stop there for lunch at the restaurant Margot still raves about.
Have a great day everyone.
-George
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Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Day 6, Somewhere in Utah

Having gained an hour by entering the Mountain time zone yesterday, I am having to wait longer this morning for the sunrise. No worries. I have the hotel cafe to myself, or almost to myself. Matthew, the rambunctious proprietor's son, is begging me for a ride on the motorcycle while he waits for the school bus to take him the eight miles down to Bullfrog, Utah (the local Chamber of Commerce might want to tweak the name a bit).
Matthew, the poor soul. He is 11 years old but his maturity, both physically and intellectually, is stunted. I would have guessed him to be closer to five or six. He says he is bored stiff in this town; no friends, nothing to do. His mother and older sister work 24/7 running the motel. His energy is over the top. He asks more questions in a minute than I thought humanly possible (what's your name, how old are you, where you from, are you married, what's her name, is she nice (duh) do you have children, what's their names, which motorcycle is yours, did you ride from Boston, will you drive me to my Aunt Rose's in Pennsylvania...). He has no filters. We are a good match, at least for awhile. Even I, however, might eventually tire from his boundary-less curiosity. Not yet though. I feel bad for him. As gorgeous as this place is, it's not fit for a peerless child. Maybe we should take him to Rose's place.
Such a breakfast feast to choose from; a variety of dry cereals, 113 gram cups of yogurt (why just strawberry everyone) frozen waffles and bagels, little pastries (the kind you get at hotel meetings), hard boil eggs, 5.5 ounce cans of v8 juice and orange, apple and "Pass-o-Guava" juice direct from the Sunkist beverage dispenser. Yahoo! So many good choices with so little time to enjoy them.
Eric's entry captured yesterday well, for the most part. I may have described the glove incident and my original travel plans a little differently but I'll avoid the public squabble. Our readers are intelligent. They know how to dissect fiction from the truth.
I've thoroughly enjoyed the days with Eric. Having the intercoms allows us (sometimes forces us) to talk. Most of our conversation is light hearted, some of it is juvenile, and sometimes it's serious. We seek counsel on our respective work challenges. And, for the first time, we've talked about our age and the need to take full advantage of our lives while we can. Our aches, his knees and my back, are persistent reminders to keep moving. The time remaining is short.
Despite the fun times with Eric, I like having a few hours of alone time each morning (if you can call being with Matthew alone time). The sunrises, the breakfasts, the blog posts, and the people help me to settle in for the day. It's restorative and relaxing.
Below are links to some unedited footage from the helmut cam (thanks again Colin).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xROLJSMBLzQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdMccF2dg7Q
Have a great day.
-George
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Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Day 5, A Day Like no Other

Today was not unlike so many other great days; it seems like many days built into one.
It started late; as George will explain, most of breakfast time was centered around George's interview with Joey. I will let the interview speak for itself; my general feelings on this subject are well known, but I have to say that this one was interesting.
George has show a lot of internal courage this trip. His back has been bad, but he was up for




adventure. So we headed out of Mexican Hat to do a dirt road around the "Monuments" called "Valley of the Gods." It was not challenging and truly magnificent. 30 miles of dirt road past the red rock canyons and these spires




that frequently feature a larger rock on the top hanging on by what appears to be epoxy. No one there; almost total solitude; it seems amazing to see wall to wall people at the Grand Canyon and two hour table waits for dinner and absolutely no one at these spots that are a little out of the way but so worth traveling to.
Out of the Valley of the Gods and the up the dirt switchbacks of the Moki Dugway to the top of this incredible Mesa and then back on asphalt. For about 20 miles. As devoted followers will remember, our trips are frequently characterized by walls of black that are visible for miles ahead. We stopped to take a look and a jeep coming from the opposite direction stopped to tell us that the roads were covered with white (ice) ahead from the hail. We thought we saw the front moving west to east, so we stopped for a bit. George explored a nearby ditch, took more Advil for his back and then . . . disaster. He had lost his left glove.
Let me digress about the day George bought these gloves. It was the Harley dealer in Meredith, NH and because George does not believe in spending money on himself, he opted for the ten dollar vinyl pair which he thought would go well wit the rest of his gear -- the key components of which were purchased from Craigslist. But these gloves has been on a lot of great trips and they have sentimental value.
We spent a full hour looking through the clay and the scruffy bushes near the bikes, the ditch -- wherever we could remember (increasingly hard) that George might have wandered. Usually these stories end when George finds the lost item in his pocket, but, alas, no such luck; our first really lost item since I misplaced my gps in northern Quebec only to find it 500 miles later wedged in the front forks of the bike. We checked there too, but no luck.
The weather broke and it was time to leave. I dutifully fished out a sock and seamlessly handed George my new, $90 pair of BMW GS gloves (they match the bike) and put the sock on my left hand; it's about 48 degrees. George did not hesitate as he took the gloves. No words were exchanged. These things are understood.
The thing about socks on hands is that they do not accommodate thumbs. Or clutch handles. But I was able to manage.
I have to say that there is absolutely nothing between Mexican Hat and Hanksville, which is over 130 miles away. Nothing except the most




magnificent scenery I think George and I have ever
experienced. You must drive Utah route 93 when you have the chance. So many dirt roads, snowy mountains, desert plateaus, huge vistas and the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. Crossing the Colorado river was




remarkable. Yes the river goes through this area but it is not what it used to be; the lines 50 feet above the Canyon wall make it clear that this was once (before the dam) a much wider and wilder river than it is now. So around the river are these huge mud/sand flats and beyond them the canyon walls. It is so vast, so unspoiled and, again, no one is around.
We are stopping so much that progress is slow. It's 4.30; two hours of daylight and we are 28 miles from Hanksville where there may be a motel. (Reservations are not part of these trips). Rocketing through a twisty canyon and the around the last bend to blackness. This one was not
ambiguous; lightning and thunder right in front of us.
Fortunately there was one of those rare bridges as Utah 276 goes left and down to Lake Powell. (40 miles). I hate lighting and motorcycles; they don't match and I have had bad experiences with lightning and mountain climbing in Wyoming. I tell George I am ditching the bike (metal) and going under the bridge. If necessary for the night. But George is in a festive and adventurous mood and says we should head south to Lake Powell because there is a tiny town on the way (26 miles) named Ticabo. It seemed presumptuous to me that such a dot on a map might contain lodging or food and this is far far away from cell phone towers so no inquiry was possible.
I resisted. But the front was slow moving and it looked like it might mean a night under the bridge. Going south down a one 26 mile cul de sac seemed insane but when George gets upset with me, I am no match; so off we went. Besides, I got to make the decision to go north at a dicey time of year to Utah; so I owed him one. His plan had been to spend three days going 150 miles to Flagstaff and then relaxing at a spa.
I have to give him credit. We are in a motel it Ticabo and had a very nice dinner at the Chevron station. We may go to Lake Powell tomorrow; have not gotten there yet.
This trip may be the best yet. It started off slowly with little planning but has come together beautifully. The remoteness and wild beauty of where we are, exposed on these little machines, is something I don't recall experiencing. And we still manage to get along -- well, as it turns out -- and these little adventures only solidify our friendship.
The weather looks tricky; there are big mountains where we are going if we don't go boating; but I am certain tomorrow will be another adventure.
Eric
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