Cape Elizabeth, Maine

Greetings From Maine!

 Getting familiar with the greater Portland area has been fabulous!  No clam has gone uneaten, no lobster is safe, no farm stand went unvisited,   and what picturesque vistas seen while cruising around the area and the beautiful Maine coastline.

  Jordan’s Farm Stand, Cape Elizabeth, Maine.

Portland is a wonderful small city, it has just about everything you need for a full and healthy life.

  About ten days ago I received word that an old and very dear friend, Charlie Mutch, age 86, had had a heart attack following the very recent  passing of his wife, the incredible, indomitable, wonderful, Murial Mutch.

That’s Charlie and Muriel’s last garden of Dahlia’s…grown together this summer.  They were married 67 years.

Charlie Has had a Dahlia named after him…The Charlie Mutch!

I went to Prince Edward Island, Canada, to see Charlie, and be with him during a tough time..    For about ten  summers of my youth I worked on  Charlie’s family farm, and fell in love with PEI,  adopted Charlie’s family as my  own, worked like hell on the  farm,  and dove head first into all  the coming of age experiences one has in the then  unspoiled countryside of PEI.

I hold this fine gentleman in the highest regard, and love him like a father…he is one of the very f  few true  mentors I have ever had. Thank God he’s going  to be OK, and is now back at home.

 Here’s Bill Gilson, age 92, and spry as hell!  A joker, Bill still drives, and is a real piece of work.

 While on PEI I had the pleasure of visiting my dear brother Tony and his wife Pat.  They have a lovely summer home on PEI and it’s one  of the most tranquil places you can imagine.

 He keeps telling me that some day he’ll install an indoor toilet!

 Clockwise from left to right…Merilyn Mutch, Cathy, a friend of Merilyn’s, Bill Mutch, and YVT. We had the most delicious seafood at

The Clam  Digger Restaurant, in Georgetown, and caught the best damned sunset I’ve seen in a good while.

 The beautiful Harbor in Montegue, PEI.   Montegue was voted one of the best places to live in Canada!

 The lighthouse on Panmure Island.

 The Montegue river.

 The old family farm days are sadly over on PEI, but some of the buildings are still intact…here’s a typical old time farm owned by Alfred  Mckenzie, of Montegue, PEI.  A beautiful sight!

 When on PEI I always have the greatest real estate fantasies, and here are a couple of homes in which I wouldn’t mind spending a summer or  two.  These are typical Island cottages with harbor views. About $145,000 each.

 PEI is ground zero for me…the natural beauty of the Island, the honor of working on a small real deal, family farm, the first shy arm put  around a girls shoulders, being chased by the Mounties for various infractions, learning to swim, eating  monster farmhouse breakfasts  in the house to the left before spending the morning  in the fields, (I’d turn  Muriel’s homemade toasted bread yellow with butter).

I’ve moved about 40 times, but PEI has always given me  a sense of place that  has  never left me.

Off to New Orleans in the morning for a week or so, then back to Portland, to fetch my new Subaru Outback, the perfect car for Maine winters.

XO

Middie

What To Take With You To Stay On The Road…Forever!

September 3, 2011

Prince Edward Island, Canada

 A good ride, even if you just want to follow your nose, requires some element of planning.  This article, while a bit on the dry side, is  offered to help you have the best time possible.  After a recent ride of almost 8,000 miles, from New Orleans to Seattle, Seattle to New  Brunswick, and then down to Portland, Maine, (resting up for the ride back to N’Awlins), I wrote a few notes to share regarding  equipment, clothes, safety issues, and personal health maintenance. The road can go on forever, so long as you are well prepared. Bon  Voyage!  To the left, my friend Deb Macci, who rode her BMW from Massachusetts, to Tierra Del Fuego!  What a woman!

Here’s what I took on my trip.

Bulb kit – Spots, head, tail, break, signal.  One eac

One qt. oil

Fuse set

Small essential tool kit

Heavy Duty combo lock and strong assed security chain/cable

Tubeless Tire repair kit. (if you have them) Basic punctures can be plugged

Tire inflator, (Slime Brand) with digital pressure read out

You must have an accessory plug on your bike to recharge a cell phone or run a tire inflator…plus, operating a heated jacket, etc. Easily installed.

Folding knife.

Maps

Business or personal cards

Passport – Canada likes Americans to have a Passport to get in the country.

Drivers license

Copy of bike registration

Bike insurance card + proof of insurance from your insurance agency

Health insurance card

Cash card & credit card

3 blank checks  (so far, I’ve used two of ‘em)

Sufficient cash  (I usually carry 150-200 in cash)

Tell bank (card company) to expect out of state card charges.

Finances: Put as many vendors on auto pay as possible.  Set up for on-line banking for bill pay & funds transfers. You can stop in at a computer kiosk and log on to your account.  If you bring a computer, I recommend using Quicken, & link it directly to your bank account for on-line updates.

All meds. Bring a 90-day supply.  Hey, you never know.

Good first aid kit

A good book, and because you’re smart, a French phrase book for Quebec.

Micro polish rag, medium towel, oil rag, and sponge. A clean bike is good.

Bug remover spray (for windshield, lights, and helmet visor)

Wash bike using motel room plastic trash can filled with warm water

 AT&T iPhone 4 – plus an accessory plug charger.

This is your phone/camera/GPS/eMail/contact list/weather link/txt msg/Google, and plenty more). I had no problems save when in the middle of  absolutely nowhere. (Verizon back-up ph. had no signal either).

Buy a low-end Verizon back-up phone and use a cheap Month-to-Month Plan. (Emer. use only)

Jawbone “Jambox” speaker…Bluetooth linked to iPhone with Lots & Lots of music in iTunes.  (Big advantage over Droid)

 Computer  – 13” 128G Apple MacBook Air is near perfect, and the solid-state hard drive can take the big bumps in the road.

Chargers: Phone, computer, and Jambox. (Standard iPhone charger offers ability to pull the USB out of the pronged wall plug so you can   plug the USB into your computer to upload photos)

  Ballistic Mesh-Tex riding jacket with zip out wind proof lining with CE armored elbows, back, and shoulders.   (I use First Gear)

Full face helmet, + head sock. (best quality helmet for a best quality brain)

Fingerless gloves, plus gauntlet gloves for colder temps.

Ear plugs. Change ‘em occasionally because they get disgusting looking!)

Sunglasses & regular glasses

Rain gear (light weight jacket, pants, & booties)

One long sleeve “Under Armor” brand T-shirt

One mock turtle neck zip up base layer worn over Under Armor

3 pair quick dry undies

3 T shirts (the coolest/most shocking one’s you have) Ex: I See Only Dead People!

3 pair quick dry socks  (one a white half-sock for sneakers)

2 light long sleeve shirts.  Roll up the sleeves.

1 early fall weight shirt jacket

2 pair jeans (make sure they aren’t too tight)

1 belt (make it the coolest/flashiest one you own)

2 hankies

2 red neckerchiefs (soak ‘em in water to put around your neck when hot)

Bathing suit   (Bought good one at a thrift store in Dubois, Wyoming, for a buck!)

Sweat shirt.  Make sure it’s heavy duty.

 Good riding shoes/boots  (I used custom made MacRostie’s)  http://www.bigfoottrail.com/article_6.html

Sneakers

1 pair flip flops

1 ball cap (make sure it says or shows something fun or exotic)

1 sun hat  (all of ‘em look idiotic)

Sun block spray (Use 70)

Bathroom kit – including small stainless scissors (to clip your nose hairs!)

This list is a bit luxurious for some riders and probably could be reduced by 25%.  But, I was travelling alone, and it suited me fine. I never wound up wanting more, or less.  Remember, think about where you want to go and build your clothing inventory accordingly.

Recommended Bikes: (I ride an ’09 Harley Road King Custom)

 Harley-Davidson Road King, Road Glide, or Ultra-Classic.

Honda Goldwing

BMW K1300GT, BMW R1300GS

Ducati Multistrada

Make sure your ride is well serviced before you leave, and reliable! Breakdowns in middle of nowhere are NFG.

Make sure you are comfortable on whatever you ride.

Hints for the road…

Temperature control

 It’s about layers, easily removed as it gets warmer, or vice versa.

Keep cool in heat, warm when colder.  Guard your core.

Extreme heat or cold will take you out…Beware.

Socks

Must fit well and stay in place.  There’s nothing more maddening than to feel your socks slipping down inside your riding shoes/boots.

Stay Hydrated

Drink plenty of water.  In summer, drink as much as you want but one pint every 150 miles worked well for me.

Food

Do not eat crap.  Eat the best food you can afford.  Carry good quality energy bars. (I use Clif Bars). Eat as soon as you feel any energy drop.  Hunger messes with decision-making ability.

Staying Power  (Guard against fatigue)

Ride longer daily distances and feel lots better when you stop and rest more frequently.  Because your fuel range is 200 miles doesn’t mean you have to go 200 miles before resting. I recommend 125 mile intervals, or whenever you feel fatigue.  You’ll gauge your own tolerance for distance.

 Exercise

Sitting on your ass for long distances isn’t good for your health.

Swim when you can. Most motels have a pool.

Do a daily morning exercise routine with plenty of upper and lower body stretching, a modest amount (25-30) push-ups, sit-ups, and knee bends, and practice standing on each foot for 30-40 seconds to improve balance.

Fuel

If you have any doubt about the availability of fuel in an area into which you are riding, fuel up!

Accommodations

 Areas of big interest, like national parks, require reservations to be made well in advance.  Otherwise make them at least a few days in  advance.  Google your destination motels, call around.

Bike Maintenance

Check your tire pressure frequently

Check oil level, all lights, and gauge function, daily, before hitting the road

Check over-all appearance and controls daily

Need scheduled maintenance?  Get it done at a dealer. Call ahead for appt.

Luggage (differs from bike to bike)

I used…

Harley side cases

 Harley’s large Roller Bag that sits on quick a disconnect tour rack.

 Topsail Canvas out of New Brunswick, Canada, made the outstanding zip up multi-pocket bag to store bike cover, rain gear, and water. I  secured it on    the passenger seat, and used it as a backrest, and a day bag for short trips like this one in Glacier National Park.   http://www.harrybryan.com/tsc/index.html

Harley inside the windshield leather bag for incidentals.

Inventory Creep  (Keeping inventory under control)

 As you roll along, the temptation to collect mementos is big. I have bought at least ten T-shirts on this trip!  Avoid it as much as possible,  or occasionally UPS stuff back to the ranch.

Safety

There are times when conditions permit and the chance of harming anyone else isn’t evident, that it’s absolutely impossible, when under the flush of freedom’s ineffable euphoria, to ride with any sanity or sense of self-preservation what-so-ever.  I say, go for it! Life without risk is a bore.

But here are a few, and I think essential, points about every day safety.

Competent cornering is the essence of riding.  Be very alert to the possibility of riding into a decreasing radius corner and act accordingly.

Send predictable messages of behavior to vehicles that are around you.  Erratic riding around vehicles = a trip to the hospital.

Drinking alcohol and riding.  Unless suicidal, don’t. Ever.

Avoid interaction with members of known outlaw M/C gangs.

If you feel uncomfortable at high speeds, reduce your speed.

Never attempt to keep up with other riders who may be beyond your level of riding ability.  Sit back and enjoy yourself at a speed that suits you.

Never get into an adversarial situation with any vehicle…they always win.

Listen to your body…if you are thirsty or fatigued, address that asap.

Concentrate on your riding like your life depends on it…because it does.

If it’s your first bike, take a Riders Ed. course. Avoid buying a bike that’s too much for you.  Get the road rocket you really want after you learn to ride, and ride well.

 Are you a rider?  I urge you to subscribe to Motorcycle Consumer News. It’s 100% subscriber funded and thus very objective when  evaluating products and bikes. Plus, it has a tremendous section covering safety and improving your riding skills in each issue.  http://www.mcnews.com/mcn/

Just a few thoughts tohelp you have a great time on your next ride!

More from Maine, and Prince Edward Island, soon!

XO

Middie

Cape Elizabeth, Maine

Hiya Neighbahs!

Montreal is a magnificent city set on an island in the middle of the St. Lawrence River.  I love it, and if you can’t afford to go to Europe, go to Montreal.  Hell, go to  Montreal anyway!  In addition to a delightfully French experience complete with superior architecture, fabulous markets, a cool foreign  language, and superb cuisine, Montreal will capture your heart forever.  Furthermore, it sports one of the largest  cemeteries in North America,  Notre Dame Des Neiges.  It’s so damned beautiful you may also  desire to leave your  entire body in Montreal for all eternity.  Reserve  now!

 That’s my 1^st cousin Ariel on the right.  Two of my father’s sisters married Frenchmen, so I have a load of wonderful French 1^st cousins, most  of whom live in France.  Ariel moved from France to Montreal a few years ago and now enjoys the combined benefits of a  civilized French  lifestyle, except it’s in North America.  A most powerful combination!

 Once you leave Montreal’s magical island, heading eastbound, you enter into an unexceptional landscape.  Boring suburbs followed by a  plains-like agricultural region, and finally, a heavily forested area on lowish hills that sit like a heavy green beard on an unfortunate  face.  That goes on until you cross the border and slide into Vermont, at Derby Line.

 Once in Vermont, the scenery instantly changes to a front page of Yankee magazine, bucolic beauty that reminded me why I might return to New  England.  Gliding down Route 5, I passed through several quintessentially New England villages before arriving in  Saint Johnsbury, Vermont,  locally known as St. “J”.  It reminds me a bit of Whitefish, Montana.    outdoorsy,  pretty, there’s great skiing, beautiful  mountains, and four  seasons.

  I then hit the  slab (Rte 93) for a few more miles  before arriving in  Littleton, New Hampshire, the scene of many  delightful crimes of my    youth.  All of these eye- popping vistas, green mountains, pretty farms,  streams, and  villages, sang the same song to me…  Yankee, Come  Home!

  Lunch at the Littleton Diner, and fuel for Harvey,  energized us for our trip on route 302 to Jackson, New Hampshire, home to dear friends,  Greg, and  Chris Laffey. 

 This is their bed…Moose fever!  Need I say more about Greg and Chris?  I love them!

 After a most pleasant day with the Laffey’s, it was off to Saint George, New Brunswick, with a night spent in Bangor, Maine.  Bangor has come  a very  long way in the past 20+ years and is now a desirable location in which to live.  Its economic history was all   about logging, but these  days it’s  all about tourism, and light industry.  The photo of me was     taken on the porch of  The Muddy Rudder restaurant in Brewer, Maine.               (I  highly  recommend  the haddock chowder).  Behind me is  Bangor, which   is  just across the Penobscot River.

 Brewer, has always been Bangor’s poor stepsister.  But  brewer has one amenity that sets it way apart from anywhere else.  Just a few miles  down Route 9, the road to Calais, Maine, (and Saint George, New Brunswick), you will find The Eagles Nest Restaurant, home of the Best  Yankee Food in New England.  Fried haddock?  There’s none better!  It’s the Doe’s of the Northeast.  I just couldn’t stop  ordering!  Yes, that is  my food on the table; I must have been expecting a date to arrive.  As you can see, some of the locals  appear to be repeat customers.

 The ride over Route 9 to Calais has changed over the years from a rough logging road to a well-paved yet still sometimes dangerous  highway that provides any biker with all the thrills they want, including the sudden appearance of large wildlife.  My fastest ride over  Route 9 was done on a BMW K bike, a few years back; a lot of 90 mph.  But Harvey and I chilled out at 75 and took in  the scenery, albeit  ya have to pay close attention or your ass will wind up in the woods. Hence no photos save this  one, which gives you some idea of the  beauty of Maine’s wilderness.  As for no other photos, well, all you have to do  is envision a very curvy 90 mile stretch of two-lane road  with lots of hills that cuts through a dense wilderness.  Voila!  Route 9.

 About 20 miles from Calais, I turned right on Route 192 and cut down toward Machias, through some of Maine’s best wild blueberry  fields.  At Machias, I turned north onto Route 1, the old primary north/south road.  Goddamnit, I couldn’t make it  outta freekin’ Machias  without a stop at one of my favorite Restaurants, The Bluebird  Ranch Family Restaurant, for  a bowl of wicked good lobstah stew,  and a  fresh piece of  wild blueberry pie.  After lunch, I hit the road for  Eastport.    Why I don’t weight 800  pounds is totally beyond me.

Down East Maine at its best…the Machias River…and the Congo Church in East Machias.

Though on my way to Saint George, to visit friends, Eastport, the easternmost city in the USA, and a once very affluent town, (the money came   from fish and lumber and is reflected in the quality of it’s once grand homes), was the real goal.  I figured that going from  Seattle, in the  extreme Northwest, to Eastport, in the extreme Northeast, would make for a pleasant  motorcycle journey.  And by God, it did!  I started with a  ferryboat ride across the waters of Puget Sound,  and ended with my arrival in Eastport,  where I stuck my right index finger into the  Passamaquoddy  Bay, right there in that inlet to the left, to complete the  Journey.

 I’ve always had a fantasy about living in Eastport where I think 50% of the population is in the Federal Witness Protection Program, because  Eastport is a good place to write.  The gentleman in the photo, propped up against his 1947 Dodge “woodie” bus, (his  summer ride), is Jim  Blanton, a major piece of work.  Jim is a years long acquaintance from whom I  used  to buy smoked fish,  until some governmental idiot shut him  down for not complying with a  ridiculous  regulation.  Since then, Jim has gone on to other things, like making what appeared to be  high end  surfboards with fancy wheels to ride down the hilly streets of  this small town, beers and  shouts of glee  required.  Most recently he completed a  casket for a well deserving, albeit now ex client.

 The ferry from Eastport goes to Deer Island, New Brunswick.  Uh Oh, more bureaucratic annoyance, this time at a Podunk border crossing.  I  made the mistake of speaking French to the Border Guard.  I mean, hey, he said Bon Jour!  But an American speaking  French?  Warning!  I was directed to the Guard Shack where  one of the border guards went through my  entire kit, and the  other ran a background check!  After determining that I was bomb free and no  threat  to humanity I was waved on to my  destination with great flourish!

 Deer Island is wicked old timey, and a feast for the eyes.  The biggest industry these days, aside from lobstering, is salmon farming.     (Ever eat Duck Trap Smoked Salmon? This is where it comes from).  The salmon farms have brought an   element of real affluence to a few  folks in the area, but it hasn’t done much to  change Deer Island’s natural  beauty.  I might want to  spend a summer on Deer  Island some  day…but I’d prefer  to do so with a friend, one  with boobies.

 On the other side of Deer Island is the ferry to Saint George.  It is a soulful voyage through a bay and channels, with islands passing by in  unspoiled serenity.  The natural beauty of this 20 minute ride provides a lifetime of  daydreams.

 I accidentally came to know Saint George in 1990 while on a motorcycle ride from Cape Cod to Prince Edward Island, with my wife  Dorinda. We stayed at a B&B in Saint George run by a retired headmaster, Dan Gillmor, and his wife Pat.  Well, we  got rained in and  spent a few delightful days with them, and the friendship has never stopped.  While I was in St.   George, Dan, who is now 85, his son  Daniel, (left), and my fine self, went to a  spectacular  breakfast at the St. George  Presbyterian Kirk hall.  The  parishioners claim  that the  Church  building has been in continuous  use as a  place of  worship longer than  any other  chantry in North  America!  This may be an  obscure claim to fame, but it is  vastly  superior  to that made by the townspeople of  Greensburg, Kansas, who  braggadociosly claimed to be home of the                                                                                                                                                                                     Worlds Largest Hand Dug  Well!

 That’s the famous tag team wrestlers, Charlie, (l) and Don (r).  Both life-long residents of St. George.

After Saint George, save the perfunctory stolen vehicle check at the Calais, Maine Border crossing, I rode non-stop to Cape Elizabeth, Maine, where I’ve been hiding out with a friend for the past week and sifting through a few thoughts.

 A few comments about the ride…while certainly not complete, and my personal ruminations staying that way for now, off the top of my  head I came away from this trip with a renewed love of The United States of America, and its wonderful citizens.  We hear and see tons  of news generated by the east and west coasts, and big cities in between, much of it not good.  But there is an America out there filled  with wonderful people and beautiful scenery that would make any country on earth very proud. There were times when riding down  deserted western highways that the picturesque visions were so exquisite that I couldn’t stop myself from singing America, The Beautiful.  I recall one instance quite vividly, the joy of it all made me instinctively slam fifth at 75 and lay on Harvey, hard, making me feel the full power of limitless freedom surrounded by boundless beauty. And there were other times after meeting straight forward, down to earth, funny, kind, and smart, American brothers and sisters, that I was so very deeply touched by their wonderful humanity.  What a country!

 A mention about Harvey The Harley, my 2009, 96 cubic inch, fuel injected, Harley-Davidson Road King:  No better beast lives with four hoves.  From atop 12,000 foot mountains,  down into the valleys, roaring across burning hot mid-western plains, gliding along roads in the eastern  green mountains, through big city  traffic jams, and over roads that scared the living hell outta me, not a burp, not a peep…he was all pure  grunt,  and mechanical loyalty.  What a  great bike!

 After 7,730 miles, my left hip finally said “No More”!  So, I’ve parked Harvey, made an appointment with a first rate orthopedic surgeon, rented  a car, and tomorrow I leave for Prince Edward Island, Canada.  There, I shall visit a recently widowed 86 year old retired family farmer who is  like a second father to me, and one of the scant few hero’s I’ve ever had.  I worked on his farm for ten summers of my youth and consider the  experience to be one of the greatest honors of my life.

I give thanks to God for a safe trip, to Patti Faulder for covering my business, and to The Harley-Davidson Motor Company for building one hell of a bike.

More from P.E.I. later.

XO

Middie

Montreal, Quebec

 I now know why so many mass murderers come from the mid-west.  Have you ever driven across  Kansas, the Dakotas, or Nebraska?  The food alone is enough to make any self -respecting foodie  go postal.  Forgive me for saying so but although there is a certain beauty to be found in the  Plains, enough already!  Save for my stop at J&L Harley-Davidson, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota,  my brain went to sleep until I crossed the Mississippi river, and entered Wisconsin, a state with  rolling hills, and a pastoral feeling that made me feel more engaged with the scenery.

 I will say that a couple of people I saw in the Mid-West caused me concern.  After I noticed her watching  me dismount from my bike through the restaurant window, I think this lady was talking about me in  unflattering terms.

 This is Terri Nelson who runs the lovely, Sweet Autumn B&B, in a beautiful small, lakeside town named  Lake Mills, Wisconsin. Terri is a great Inn Keeper and a ball of fire who also holds a  full time job at a l  local micro brewery named, Tyranena.  This first rate brewery  produces one of the better IPA’s I’ve ever  downed called, Bitter Woman, which Terri  certainly is not.

 My one-day stay in Milwaukee centered on a tour of the old Harley-Davidson factory that is now  used for their administrative offices, and a visit to the HD museum.    Both proved to be a  motorheads delight  because of the  significant  history  of the  Motor  Company, and  getting a look at    virtually every  Harley’s made since day one  in 1903, to the present, as well as every  incarnation of  the motors  used in these various bikes. Many thanks to  Sue Grzeca, (Gret-za), a 20 year  Harley  employee,  and Harley’s Manager of Customer Experience and Program  Operations, for her time showing me  around, and insight into one of America’s  great manufacturers.

You never know who you’ll run into on the road!  That’s Evel O’Malley!

 …this guy had on some Cheap Sunglasses.  Yes, that’s Billy Gibbons, having a chat  outside the Harley  Museum.

After a day at Harley-Davidson I took my leave of Milwaukee, (skyline left), and jumped on the  high-speed ferry  across Lake Michigan, to Muskegon.  I love ferryboat  rides and this one cuts out  having to go through Chicago and all of that  nightmare.

 Sue Grzeca suggested I stay at the Shoreline  Inn, in Muskegon,  and what a fabulous hotel it was  indeed!  Luxury, was the byword. Check out the view from my room!

 Having become used to riding across giant states like Montana, and South Dakota, the ride across  Michigan, a scant 219 miles to the Canadian border at Sarnia, was a breeze.  Then it was onward  to London, Ontario, to stay the night, and visit Rocky’s Harley-Davidson, to  have the front wheel  balance checked out.

 All the way back in Rapid City, South Dakota, a guy I was chatting with while washing Harvey in  front of my motel room said, “Hey look, someone’s lost their wheel weight.”  Idiot me never thought  it might be mine since I’d just changed and balanced the tires in Sturgis.  So I rode 1,200 miles, all  the Goddamned way from Rapid City, SD, to London, Ontario, thinking the roads were really  shitty, when in fact it was MY bloody wheel weight that was spotted on the ground.  A quick front wheel balance and a re-torque of the wheels and break calipers, and Harvey was as good as new.  Idiot of the week?  Me!

 Yesterday, when I arrived in Montreal, a real feeling of home came over me.  It’s a place I’ve visited  many times, I get to speak French,the food is magnificent, the city itself is  lovely, it’s but a few  hours from where I once lived in  Sugar Hill, NH, and  most importantly, I get to visit with    my first  cousin, Ariel Labrouche, a  transplanted French  woman, and  hellaciously funny pal.  I have  missed  her,  my many other friends, and the  rest of my family in the  Northeast, and  it’s time  to make a change to remedy  that  little problem.

 I’ll be on the road again in a day or two, headed for Jackson, NH, and a visit with Greg & Chris  Laffey, two more great friends I left behind when I moved to New Orleans.  And after that visit it  will be on to Prince Edward Island, Canada, seeing more friends and family in almost every stop  along the way.  With over 7,000 miles on the clock, I’ve seen the most wonderful vistas, stood  back and watched some completely crazy things, had a delightful visit with my daughter, met  numerous Americans for whom I had the highest regard and admiration, and regenerated a great feeling of pride and love of this great and beautiful country.  But there is nothing like coming home.  In another 2,000 miles or so, I’ll arrive in Portland, Maine.

More from the road in a few days.

XO

Middie

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

 Real men are not in short supply in Montana, how about this Cowboy from Butte?!  But leaving friendly  Butte, and then Hardin the following day, both  layover  towns, caused no particular disappointment.  They are difficult enough to tolerate in summer’s heat, but  really hard to  imagine in a wintertime setting; the word desolation  comes to  mind.  They  are the  kind of places that someone is better off being  born into.    Love of the  home team comes easier that way. But a very large  percentage of  the worlds  coal resources are found under these two locations.  The  word is,  while it’s  there; it ain’t easy to bring to the surface.

 Hardin’s greatest tourist asset is its close proximity,  (about 20 miles), from The Little Bighorn  Battlefield, and National Monument.  This  memorial is also a National  cemetery for soldiers  (shown on left), from  various wars dating back to  the Spanish American War.  All of The Little  Bighorn Memorial exists within the confines of a Crow Indian Reservation.

The sense of history at Little Bighorn (left) is palpable, and since the battle  occurred in the  relatively  recent past history, it  remains fresh in the  minds of most Americans over 50.  To the  left, I’m  standing in front of the  mamorial to nameless US  soldiers who fell  in the battle.  There are other  graves of soldiers, native  warriors, and  civilians  who were identified .  Custer lost two  brothers in  the battle.

The reason the battle  occurred is fairly  simple.  The Indians and the US  Government signed a treaty in  1868 in  which  the  Government set aside a  large  section of what was then the  eastern Wyoming Territory,    as a permanent  Indian reservation. A typical  teepee of the time is  shown at left. In 1874, Gold  was  discovered in the Black Hills, and  thousands  of  gold  mad fortune seekers illegally  violated the  treaty  by entering Indian  lands.  The  Indians  defended their turf, the  Government ordered them  to stop, but they  did not.  In  1875, a  military  force was sent  out to enforce the  order.   The Indians were  successful in many encounters with the  military, and in June of  1876, combined forces of the Lakota, Arapaho, and Cheyenne  through the vision of Chief Sitting Bull, (left), and the leadership of Crazy Horse, claimed  a decisive victory at Little Bighorn.

 After the battle, the Indians scattered to several different locations with most of  them coming back  to the reservation, and surrendering.  But after such a  success, one wonders why they didn’t keep  up the pressure, so to speak.  It  wasn’t until the early 1990’s that the US Government included  Native  Americans in the Little Bighorn memorial. (shown left)  Another  oversight by  a  government  that has and continues to do a poor    job for  those individuals from whom this country    was flat ass  stolen.

Butte, Montana

Hi There Little Doogies!

Don’t fergit, you can make the photos BIG if you click on ‘em.

 Leaving Seattle isn’t exactly like leaving Las Vegas; I had more money left over than  when I leave Vegas. But I was very excited to get back on the road after almost five days  of sightseeing and gluttony, all of which I loved.  What I do miss  when thinking about  Seattle is my lovely daughter Kirsten for whom  I have great admiration, and affection.   What a hostess, travel  guide, and friend! And her husband Mark, what a mensch; I love  him!

 The ride from Seattle to Spokane ain’t no big deal, save for the winding road through the  mountains that surround the city.  But crossing the Columbia River gives one the feeling  of putting something behind you. Once on the other side, I felt like I was really on my  way again. And on my way means a full tilt transcontinental ride.  I intend to ride all  the way to Prince Edward Island, Canada, a full transcontinental drift, via way of the  Little Bighorn Memorial.

Since I’m on the subject…Screw Custer, he was to Native Americans what Cromwell was to the Irish.  This is actually a memorial to the Battle of The Greasy Grass, and a holy ground for the Lakota, Arapaho, and Cheyenne Warriors who defended the theft of their lands.  Do you think this is some liberal bullshit?  How would you react if the USA were attacked by another country equipped with superior arms; a serious intent to take and colonize our country, and once accomplished, to then stick our asses on a reservation?

For more information, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Little_Bighorn

  In Spokane, once again, I stayed with my Godson, Francis Luerssen, master brewmeister, and  engineer, and his great wife, Tina, a head chef, who prepared dinner.  Who needs a restaurant  when Tina’s in  the kitchen?  Answer: Nobody!  Thanks guys!

 This morning started off with a perfect send off, breakfast at Frank’s Diner, in downtown  Spokane.  Do they ever have it goin’ on in this classic diner, or  what?  Oh hell yes, and amen!   Perfect poached  eggs on homemade  corn beef hash with OJ,  Coffee, and sour dough  toast…  plus a most    interesting cast of inked up  characters behind  the  counter.  Zack, on  the left, is  the  line chef  extraordinaire,  and Tommy, on the right,  (check out his right arm),  did everything else  I could  imagine.  He’s a strong young buck who bent my thick silver  Wyoming bought bling an 8^th of an inch wider for a more comfy fit.

 Riding from Spokane, through Idaho, and on to Butte, Montana, is a paradise of swooping,  power on turns, and scenery that comes at you in waves of postcards.    Lakes, rivers,  mountains, and valleys, horses, farms,  cattle, and crops.    It’s not so much bucolic as it is  overpoweringly beautiful and a  constant  source of  temptation to  take your eyes off the road. See the  little white  specks in the photo  second from the left, that’s snow!

 Speaking about the road…you can steer a motorcycle a few different ways.  You can steer with  your handlebars, pressure from your knees against the gas tank, (like leg aids on a horse), or  by simply leaning.  And you can do any and all of these things, together, if necessary.  Adding  power can also affect a turn.  When no other vehicle is around, you can do interesting stunts  on a bike, but what I found out about myself is that I do not like to pass trailer trucks, at speed,  on the inside of a tight left turn.  The realization that one mistake equals hamburger comes at  you, hard.  But today I taught myself not to fret this fear.  I just said to myself, “Pretend it isn’t  there”. After a few times of doing this, the fear went away. I think this is a transferable skill.

Tomorrow morning, I leave for Hardin, Montana, which is close to the Battle of The Greasy  Grass Memorial.  Then, after paying my respects, it will be onward to Rapid City, SD, a staging  point for an excursion to the Bikers Mardi Gras, in Sturgis.  Observe photo on left, a rather  mundane  example of what and who will be there.  A sometimes outrageous affair  complete  with nudity,  gaudy attire, debauchery, and drunkenness, (you might ask: What’s the  downside?), it is also  a pleasant event for like minded fans of two wheel thrills who would get  together and yuk it  up!  No, I don’t think Mount Rushmore is on the docket.

More from Little Bighorn, and Sturgis in a few days.

XO

Middie

Seattle, Washington

Leaving Whitefish, Montana, a growing valley town of about 8,500, wasn’t easy. It’s a  fine settlement with many wonderful amenities, like clean air, an outwardly happy citizenry,  majestic scenery, a bustling down town, four active seasons, a very good  ski area, a railroad  station, regional airport, and a fab national park.    Plus, it has an amazingly tolerable climate  that lacks extremes, and cozy  neighborhoods with pretty homes.  If it only had the Atlantic  Ocean! If I  only just had the balls to move there.  It touched me.

 Just before leaving, I met, L-R, Phil, Marj, and Bob,  who were staying in the same motel, The Pine Lodge,  which is highly recommended.  Phil is from Ohio, and  an energetic man who turned 78 the day this photo was  taken. He rides one of the world’s fastest bikes, a  Suzuki Hyabusa, capable of  180+ mph. Bob and Marj,  were riders as well but rode  this more sedate yet very  smart  looking Harley Trike.

Just like Matt and Patsy Peyerl, the fine young couple I met from  from Bismarck, ND, Phil, Marj,  and Bob, were all great folks, and exemplifiy one of my visions of what makes a good American.

The Road to Bonners Ferry, Idaho is a fast two-lane highway of the old fashioned variety conducive to head-on collisions due to a lot of passing.  I kept the camera in my pocket, my hands on the bars, and eyes on the road.

 As you ride west the mountains become less imposing and more like the Appalachians with  beautiful valleys and rivers, and Bonners Ferry is nestled in one of these picturesque scenes.      

I  went there because I thought my mother’s last husband, a very fine  gentleman and retired Mennonite minister, named Dan Byler, was buried  there, and I wanted to pay my respects.  Sadly, I came to find out from his  son, Rudy, who lives in Bonners Ferry with his wife, Ester,  and  extended family, that Dan was buried in Missouri! But what a treasure  Bonners Ferry turned out to be.  A lovely small town of 2,500, it is the  quintessential clean and neat American small town with lots to offer.

 I stayed in a very charming B&B, the Northside School Bed & Breakfast which has been  converted  from its academic background, by Ruth Perry, and her architect husband.  They  provide a wonderfully relaxing atmosphere, and fabulous breakfasts!  I felt completely  stress-  free and spent one entire day doing nothing but writing.  http://www.northsideschoolbandb.com/

 At the B&B, I met Christine, a delightful woman from the East who was in  town to inspect a near-by private school for one of her children.  One of  the  privileges of being on the road is making the acquaintance of people  you  might not ordinarily meet.  Like Sue Funk  who prayed on my gimpy  left  leg in an auto parts store in Sheridan, Wyoming, or the Croatian  waitress Laila, in West Yellowstone, who  sweetly advised me to avoid  Serbia, or Homer Kutz, a human bouquet of  genuineness from Medicine  Lodge, Kansas; Christine, was yet another gift of the road.  Deeply metaphysical and measured, she was a feast of contrast to my ordinarily bold personality.  Our two evenings of having dinner and philosophical discussions together was a treasure of learning, amusing repartee, and mutual respect.

 Rudy and Ester Byler generously invited me to lunch.  I had no idea what to expect; they are of  the Mennonite faith, and their home was outside of town deep in the country.  Though never  having met them before, I had a genuine feeling of being kin to them because my mom had  been married to Rudy’s father.  I found their living conditions to be enviable, to say the least.    They live in a semi-wilderness paradise, surrounded by gentle beauty, in an  exquisitely decorated, grand log home that can only be described as  tasteful western chic.  Rudy heads up  commercial building projects in the  western states.                                                                              

 His son, Dave, lives right down the  road, and owns one of the finest  custom log home and commercial  log  building manufacturing  companies in the USA,  Caribou  Creek Log Homes.The quality of the  work is  stunning, and, they deliver  nationally.

See:  http://www.cariboucreekloghomes.com/

 The sweet genuineness of Rudy and Ester’s behavior and the simplicity of their attire did not  mask the sophistication of their life.  A fascinating example of how hard work, talent, honesty  and faith, are blended together to create a bountiful existence, in a beautiful setting.  I thought  about my life in New Orleans, which by contrast has become gaudy, and sometimes pointless.    My time spent with Rudy and Ester was priceless.

 Onward to Spokane, Washington!  The ride to this largest city  between it and the  Mississippi, was a crank-it-  out grind through eastern  Washington,  which  looks a lot like Kansas, flat and plain.  But at  about 50 miles  from Spokane the lay of the land  softens and huge  amounts of fertile  rolling  acreage dotted with farms, sets the perfect  stage  for  producing potatoes, wheat, timothy, alfalfa,  and sweet  corn.  This  state also produces mass quantities of cattle, apples,  cherries, and apples.

 Did you ever wonder who collects the coins  from  parking meters?  Wonder no more!  I  finally  caught up to one of these people in  Spokane…he  looked pretty relaxed.

 I stopped in Spokane to see my Godson, Francis Luerssen, and his  lovely wife Tina.  They are both from the East, so I asked them how  in hell did they wind up in Spokane!    Tina said, “Find Your  Spot.Com”!  I said, “What the hell is that”?  “Well, she said, it’s a  website. You answer a bunch of questions about yourself, your  lifestyle, weather  preference, preferred activities, city or country preference, etc…then push the button, and  presto, names of contenders pop up”.  I couldn’t wait to try it…Uh Oh, New Orleans wasn’t on the list. The day spent with with Francis and Tina was a delight; you couldn’t meet a more lovely, hospitable, and positive young couple.

The road to Seattle was a motorcyclist’s paradise…Harvey and I loved the big sweeping turns, hills and valleys,  and more natural beauty. 

Once across the Columbia River, the big mountains surrounding Seattle begin to come into  view and they give you some idea of the natural splendor for which the area is well known.

 My lovely and talented daughter Kirsten  lives in Seattle along with her terrific  husband  Mark, have treated me to the grand  tour!

For More Information About Seattle See:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seattle

 The ferryboat ride from Bremerton to Seattle  was wonderful.  I stood on the  bow of the ship  inhaling the fresh salt air and taking in incredible views of  the  14,400 ft., snow covered  stratovalcano, Mt.  Reiner, which, if it  erupts, will remove much of  the Pacific Northwest.  Wherever we  are, we live  at  God’s mercy.

 The Seattle skyline  looks like it means  business and at the  same  time, very  welcoming.    It’s an  attractive city to be sure, and  considered to be quite literate; it is also  quite  politically liberal, not  to mention having big time traffic congestion because the  city has  expanded outward rather rapidly, but public transportation hasn’t  kept up with  the  increased demand.  See Atlanta, but, with a better climate and, according to Wikipedia, a generally smarter people. Quote: Researchers at Central Connecticut State University consistently rank Seattle and Minneapolis as the two most literate cities among America’s largest cities

My main interests in Seattle are simple: Seafood, and Seafood.

 But Pikes Market, dark  chocolate coated cherries, Molly Moon’s  Ice Cream shop where  I  had a triple  scoop cone, brunch at  Salty’s  Restaurant on  Alki  Beach, shopping  at R.E.I.,  (L.L. Bean is better), and  eating  as  much  smoked  Alaskan King  Salmon as possible, also satisfies.

When I first arrived in Seattle.

Just before leaving Seattle.

Below are a few more photos of the incredibly abundant offerings of seafood in Pikes Market. Valhalla!

That’s me and Gerry Kingen, the entreprenurial, Harley riding owner of Salty’s  Restaurant on Alki  Beach, which by the way has the most opulent and quality drenched  brunch on the planet! We bonded over our love of Harley’s, and living well.

Salty’s also has one of  the most spectacular  waterside views of  Seattle.  This is not  to  be missed.

 Salty’s manageress, Jada Wood, who has a PhD in smooth charm, and efficiency.

http://www.saltys.com/seattle/index.asp

This is an active and seemingly affluent area to be sure.  Boeing and  Microsoft, and  numerous  other large  companies provide the economic  fuel, and the areas natural beauty delivers the  drag to be  here.  The climate  is year round  useable, and there’s non- stop access to i  nteresting,  intellectual,  and active, things to do.

Speaking about Boeing, we went on the  factory tour.  There’s no  photos because that’s not allowed, but  seeing the process of  manufacturing a big assed airplane, especially  the brand new 787  Dream liner, is fascinating.  The combination of  project enormity  and the absolute dedication to system installation  perfection, is                                                                                                  fascinating to behold.

At the end of the tour you are deposited in an area that has a factory store, and a number of additional exhibits, including a flight simulator that costs eight bucks to take a spin.  Mark and I asked for details about the “ride” and we were told that several options were available, the Biplane simulator being the most gentle, and the Star Wars space fighter chase, the most violent.  We asked for the Biplane ride thinking we were going to recreate something Orville and Wilbur might have done.  So the stupid ass operator screwed up and activated the fucking Star Wars ride!  I almost hurled, Mark almost passed out, and I finally had to hit the emergency stop button, reachable only with my cane, before we were both hospitalized!

Instead of just turning around and going back to New Orleans, I used that quarter that guy in  the fishing supply store in Wyoming gave to me.  I flipped the coin and Tails, it was!  So, I am  turning right, and riding back across the continent, Northwest to Northeast, into the  Canadian  Maritime Provinces, then down the east coast.  I’m leaving tomorrow, with Sturgis,  Mt.  Rushmore, and all that hoo-ha, and then on to Milwaukee and the Harley-Davidson  factory for a tour and a lunch with one of its managers.  Though it doesn’t look like there’s  much  going on in some of the areas I’ll traverse, God only knows what will be encountered  between here and there!

Today, I’ll map out the trip, make reservations, and prep Harvey for the ride.

XO

Middie

Bonners Ferry, Idaho

Howdy, Neighbors!

 The ride from Dillon, to Missoula, MT, had to be altered due to a cold rain that saw me on the  4-lane with one thought in mind…get to Missoula, quickly, and intact.

Photo taken about four days ago just before departing Dillon, on my way to Missoula.

Don’t forget, just click on any of the photos to make them bigger.

 The following morning was sun drenched, and the ride to Whitefish, Montana, was  made all the better because the motel breakfast room hostess, another rider, gave me  directions for “the best route”.  Route 35 goes up the less travelled east side of Flathead  Lake, the largest body of fresh water west of the Mississippi; it’s noted for its great  fishing and cleanliness. For details take a look at this link.  http://visitmt.com/categories/moreinfo.asp?IDRRecordID=11891&siteid=1

 Route 35 also took me through a portion of the Flathead Indian Reservation, which had a hell  of a lot more charm than reservations I saw in Wyoming. The lake area is also noted for a mild  climate, abundant cherry orchards, and vineyards. It was a beautiful ride, and one that  eventually took me to a town called Big Fork.

At one time it was a waaay coool old timey town.  Then, like so many other  places, say, like  Camden, Maine, Aspen, Colorado, and the Cotswold’s, in  England, it was “discovered”.  Fancy  cars, high-end shops, and the smell  of money have soiled the atmosphere…I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of  town.  When I move, it will be to a town where there are fewer Range  Rovers.

That’s Bridgette, a charming lady who is originally  from California, she has two shops in Big Fork  catering to the rich  and famous, and a wealth of  information.  She also  has two other great looking  assets…not sure if they  were also originally from  California.

This is Dan the man, the best bar  tender in Big Fork.  You can find  him serving repeat customers at the  Garden Bar.

 The best thing I saw in Big Fork, was spotted on the way out of town…a first class old car  museum. The Flathead V8 Ford Collection, featuring period memorabilia, and over 80 Fords,  an Edsel or two, and a few Mercury’s, from the 1920’s through the 1960’s.

 The museum is run  by its owners, Lyle & Loretta Aklestad; two most  pleasant and informative people.  Being a  motorhead I had to stop  and take a look.  What a splendid collection, and Lyle and Loretta  were wonderful hosts.

 I had visions of Whitefish…someplace between seeing Sacajawea offering route and travel  information to people dressed in animal skins, and Sacajawea pole dancing.  Fortunately, I  found a modern country town surrounded by impressive mountains, a handsome  countryside, good looking buildings and homes, pleasant people, really good ice cream, and  escalating real estate prices. Sanctuary costs money, and Whitefish is a good place to live!

A very nice lady of a certain age noticed I wanted to sit  down to eat my ice cream.  She said c’mon and sit  down here, I won’t bite  you.  She gave me a sample of  her Huckleberry ice cream.  Yum!

 This what the boats look like  that are used to fish in fast  flowing mountain streams.

For More Info About Whitefish:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitefish,_Montana

 By the time I arrived in Whitefish, I’d seen so much Goddamned beautiful scenery that I  was beginning to feel a bit desensitized to the grandness of nature.  But here I was,  facing the must-do ride through the middle of Glacier National Park on the “Going To  The Sun” road that climbs up and over the mountain through Logan Pass. With a sense  of  “having to do this” because I was there, I headed out on a cool but sunny Sunday  morning to see more f-ing beautiful scenery.

 Never, ever, in my life have I seen a more powerful presence of nature, creation, physical  beauty on Planet Earth, and awe-inspiring views, all in one location.  These commanding  visuals pushed me to think about “Who Are We? Where Did We Come From? Where Are We  Going?” I found them to be humbling, and mind altering. If you are an Atheist and want to stay  that way, I strongly urge you avoid Glacier Nat’l Park at all costs.  You could stand a high risk  of feeling the sensation of ingratitude, and thus forced to ask, why?  Glacier National Park is  the trip of a lifetime, and makes Yellowstone look quite ordinary.  The magnificent Grand  Teton Nat’l Park comes in a very respectable second.

 Entering from the west side of the Park at around 3,500 feet, you are surrounded by lush  conifer forestation. Then a tranquil lake appears through the trees to your left, with  glimpses of rugged mountains beyond.  The road curves along the shoreline in lazy “S”  turns with strobes of sunlight shooting through the trees.

 Once you arrive at the end of  the lake you immediately begin to ascend and once above the  trees you are assaulted, and that is the only word to use, assaulted by beauty of unimaginable  power.  The mountains have an impassable aspect to them, something even Frodo Baggins  couldn’t conquer.

The road, such as it is, is carved out of the mountainside; most of it from  sheer rock, and all of it providing non-stop sharp turns and thrills like a  XXX ride at an amusement park.

 The guardrails, when there are guard  rails, are  but eighteen inches high. They are your  protection from high altitude drops that would  have you splash at the bottom should you be  unlucky enough to “go over”.

 When you think  you’ve seen the most  incredible view of  your life, another  lurks right around  the next corner.

 When riding this road, you must pay strict attention because if you look out and down while  riding a bike it can cause a slight dose of vertigo and a momentary loss of concentration. Not  great when you’re less than one second away from busting your best superman moves.

With a great sense of relief, and accomplishment, you finally go over  Logan Pass, which sits at about 7,000 feet.  The descending side of the  ride is far less spectacular for some time, but the road is no less  challenging.

However, once you get down a ways, here come the views  again, at which  point you start smelling smoke coming from  your optic  nerve.

At the bottom of the mountain sits the village of Saint Mary where you stop for a cheeseburger made by Chinese girls, here for the summer, flipping burgers, and making a few yuan.  There was a bit of a screw up with my order so one of the girls came out of the kitchen to apologize for the delay.  I told her that she had disgraced her village, but that I would personally forgive her.  She understood.

 The only Caucasian working in the store was an older gal who asked if I were on a bike.    When I responded “yes”, she told me not to take the main road back to Whitefish, but to make  a right turn onto Route 49 just a few miles down the road.  “Eets reel gude”, she said.  I made  the turn onto Route 49 and immediately saw a speed reduction to 35 mph.  After a few  attention-getting corners, another sign said, “Road Narrows”, yet another showed “S” turn for  the next 15 miles, and finally, another speed reduction, this time to 25 mph. By the time I had  finished with this fucking “reel gude” road, complete with unpaved sections and numerous 180  degree turns with sheer, unprotected drops, I was totally shot, and running on nothing but nervous energy all the way back to the motel. Staggering into my room, I dropped my helmet on the floor, stripped off my jacket, and went face down on the bed where I stayed for two solid hours of deep, dreamless, sleep.

 When I finally awoke feeling in the pink, as one does when you know that you’ve escaped  death, I decided to celebrate by having a Prime Rib in the Craggy Ledge restaurant.  There, I  met the charming Matt and Patsy Peyerl, from Bismarck, North Dakota.  Proud parents of  three, and a handsome young couple. They were in Whitefish for a conference.  This was only  the second time in almost nine years they had been away together, minus the kids.  I still can’t  imagine why they were at the bar.  Young, alone, and good looking.  I mean, WTF Matt, she’s  hot!

This is how that photo really ought to look!

 Harvey The Harley, Jr., taking a rest on the Going To The Sun road. A real bulldog of a  motorcycle, I’m incredibly pleased with its performance, fuel economy, (45 mpg, loaded), and  comfort.  You bond with a good  bike, and Harvey has become my esteemed travel companion,  and soul  mate.

Next blog will cover the departure from Whitefish, when I met a 78 year old man from Ohio  who rides one of the worlds fastest sport bikes, and an unexpected change in plan that ‘s swung me, and Harvey, westward toward  Spokane, and Seattle, via Bonners Ferry, Idaho, a beautiful small town in a breathtaking valley, where I’ve holed up for a couple of days.

XO

Middie

Yesterday, was a Road Trip top 10 if there ever was one!

 Things got off on the right foot yesterday just as I was loading-up.  A  large basketball playing  Chinaman named Yujun Xin, from Beijing, was admiring Harvey the  Harley, big time, and  his friend was totally gaga over all the chrome, and black, and size of  the bike.  Oooo Ahhhh,  said the  Chinaman!  I knew he was thinking Bad Assed Motherfucker all the way!  I loved  Yujun, he had plenty of happiness in his eyes, and we kinda hit it off.  I had to ask him if  he  were in West yellowstone to buy the town given that the Chinese now own all of  our  dollars…  he laughed!  Hell, it won’t be too bad at all if they take over, apparently they have a  sense of  humor!

 Thanks to my brother Dave, who gave me a wonderful tips about the route to Dillon,  beautiful vistas hit me as soon as I turned onto route  287W heading to Virginia City,  the  once Capitol of this great state.

A short way into route 287 a sign said, Earthquake Area, and sure enough, an  earthquake, a serious one in 1959, caused the sides of two mountains to collapse into a  gorge shutting off the Madison river thus creating a rising  lake that  threatened to flood  the valley.  Amazingly  enough, it was the Corps of Engineers, that solved the problem  and saved  the day for the  river, the new lake, shown at left, and the people of the valley.

 The Madison Valley is beautifully scenic, has world class fishing, and shows you why  so many people are in love with Montana.  You can now add me to that list.

 After riding up and over the Madison Range you descend into the Ruby Valley, and the  town of  Virginia  City.  It’s achingly cute, and a complete blast from the Old West past.

Sheridan, was the next town, and what a sweet, livable, place it is.  While  there, I stopped at  an auto supply store to buy super glue to fix a small piece of rubber on the bike. While in the  store, a woman customer asked me why I was limping.  I told her that I  had aggravated an old  injury taking Yoga.  “God can fix that”, she emphatically said, “You want me to pray  on it”?  I  said “Sure”!  The next thing I knew she walked right over; grabbed my right arm  and began to  pray long and hard for God to fix my injury, bless my trip, and to make  sure that the super glue  would fix what needed to be fixed.  When she finally said, “Amen”, I  responded, “Amen and  Amen”!  My bursitis has been lots better ever since!  Not joking !  My faith healers name is Sue Funk.  Coming from New Orleans, I believe in the power of Funk, Sue believes in the power of God, so the math worked perfectly to make me feel a hell of a lot better.

Another gorgeous area followed…the Jefferson Valley, with still more stunning views.  All    three of these lush and fertile valleys have enormous grazing lands for cattle and sheep, and  lots of big ranches, the kind movie stars buy.  The also have world class fishing streams, the  kind you dream about.  The Madison, and Ruby Valleys also have big game, while Jefferson is  noted for pheasant.  A small town in the Jefferson Valley called Twin Bridges was most  attractive, and it had a fly fishing supply store called, Four Rivers Fishing Company.  For the  hell of it, I went in and found not only world class fly fishing tackle, but people so laid back  they dropped my blood pressure 20 points!  One of them  asked me where I  was going, I told him Glacier National Park, but that after that, I really didn’t  know.  He  reached  into his pocket, pulled out a quarter, gave it to me, and said, “Heads, turn right, Tails, turn left, it’s always worked for me”.

 Rolling into Dillon, I fueled up, and took a ride through town before checking in.  I saw a  couple of interesting looking bikes, and pulled over for a closer look.  Their owners, Dick and  Diane, soon made an appearance and we had a great old chat about bikes and their love of life  in Montana…something every resident I met echoed. These people are straight up, down to  earth folks, the Americans John Mellencamp sings about in his songs.

I had a rather interesting supper yesterday evening at the S & S restaurant in Dillon.  It advertised casual fine  dining.  While eating two world class lamb chops, the proprietor, Seth Benjamin Burris,  regaled me with non-stop stories about animal attacks on human beings, and river drowning’s  from fishing accidents while reclining a few feet away in an easy chair.

Just another day on the road.

 In Dillon, Montana, Thursday evening.

Today it was cold and rainy and my only ambition was to get into my rain gear, and get to Missoula, as quickly as possible, and in one piece…and so I did.

Tomorrow, it’s off to Whitefish, Montana, the back way through the mountains. There I shall prepare for my trip through Glacier National Park.

XO

Middie

 The road from Dubois to the Grand Teton National Park, and the mother of all national parks,  Yellowstone, was filled with classic images of the American west, intense natural beauty, a  vast feeling of space, and a huge sense of pride in this beautiful country.

Once The Grand Teton’s became visible, their eye-popping magnificence, power, and raw  beauty, bordered on being totally overpowering.

 My first stop was at the park entrance and the man in the booth had the perfect look.  He was  born to the job.

Next stop was at a bend in the Snake River in an area that had been used by  various Indian tribes for 11,000 years.  I tried not to litter.

The smaller, Grand Teton National Park, was the much better of the two.  Although Yellowstone has the reputation, and geothermal flash, Teton has BIG impact.  A feeling of raw power and intense natural beauty rolled into one.

 Yellowstone is a park of rivers, streams, creeks, forests, valleys, very visible wildlife, and  immense size.  I rode through a good deal of the park today and came away feeling as though I   gave it a good effort…but it couldn’t win me over.

 One problem with  Yellowstone is that two or  three giant fires has  seriously damaged large  sections of the park.    Visually, it’s very  noticeable.  One in 1988 was  particularly damaging.  Anyway, fire damage aside, I like Grand  Teton better.  There are areas in Yellowstone, where the funk of sulphur  drifts through the air,  and Old Faithful isn’t at all alone.   Here it is erupting at exactly 1:12  this afternoon.

There are a good  number of smaller geysers to entertain  you.  But I  wouldn’t want to  mislead…the air in both of these parks is sweet and  clean…I inhaled  deeply thinking that it might cleanse me of all those late  nights in Juke Joints.

 Tonight is my last night in West Yellowstone,  Montana.  I want to say something good about  this  place but I’m left thinking that it’s no more or less than any other small, summertime  driven economy, full of motels, stores full of crappy tourist stuff, except with pictures of  buffalos, and cowboys.  One thing that made it interesting was that just like Dubois, WY, the  summertime help in the motels and restaurants were foreign nationals.  Romanians,  Ukrainians, Croatians, and Turks.  Why?  Because American kids will not do this kind of  work.  Excuuuuuse me!  All I can say is that each one of these foreign workers who I met  couldn’t have been more efficient, and polite. That’s Layla, my waitress at  dinner this evening.  She is Croatian, and she let me know that it was OK  to visit Montenegro, and Croatia, but to stay the hell away from Serbia.  I  crossed my self, and swore to her that I shall never set foot on Serbian soil.

 Tomorrow morning, it’s off to Missoula, Montana, with a night spent in Dillon, to break up  the trip.  I’ll be taking the road less travelled to Missoula, and can’t wait to see some of the old  timey towns along the way. Great thanks to my brother David, another biker of serious  experience who has been of great help especially with his knowledge of this area, things to  see, and neat routes to take.  Thanks, Dave!

 Speaking about along the way…I’m mulling over a change in my travel plans.  Washington  and Oregon hold no special interest for me, and I thankin’ about doing something else…  something very exciting.

XO

Middie