Monday 7.27.15
My friend, George, has a little cabin by a lake in
northeastern South Dakota. Every summer
he goes there for 2-3 weeks. For the
past three years I have told him that someday I would plan a long ride so I can
stop and visit him at the cabin. Since I
have already used two weeks for rides this summer, I was torn about whether or
not I would visit this year.
I went back and forth for days until finally on Sunday
afternoon Kelley and I decided that there’s no time like the present. So I got home from the Sunday night worship
service, gathered my stuff (except for my camera which I forgot at church…and
my air compressor which I left in the V-Strom), and tried to get some sleep. I hit the road Monday morning at 4:30 AM.
Since I grew up in North Dakota, went to college and
seminary in Minnesota, and have lived in Houston since 1988, I am no stranger
to just about every route from here to there.
And since I was in a hurry to get there, I took the fastest route. Interstate all the way. I-45 to I-35 to I-435 to I-29. I figured there would be no surprises.
I was wrong. This was
the first time in my memory that there was no road construction on I-45 between
Houston and Dallas. The road was
beautiful! Until I got to Dallas. OMG, Dallas you stink! Fix your roads!!! Jerry Jones must own the road construction
company because it is taking as long to rebuild the highways as to rebuild the
Cowboys.
Dallas – bad roads and traffic – now lasts past Denton!
On through Oklahoma, better known as the “Casino
Trail.” Kansas, where the toll road
keeps getting shorter and shorter. On to
Kansas City, and the longest road in the Western Hemisphere, I-435, but you
have to take it to get to I-29. I can’t
tell you how many times I have driven on those roads….so how come it took the
helmet law for me to realize that I-29 stays in Missouri and Iowa, completely
missing Nebraska?
I stopped to get a picture of the sign for Mondamin,
IA. There’s a story there but only those
who know will get it. So I won’t tell it
but I did capture the sign.
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| Capturing the Mondamin sign...but leaving it there.... |
Before I knew it (actually it was a pretty long day) I had
crossed the South Dakota border. The
math told me that I would get to George’s place well after midnight if I just
kept riding but that meant strange roads in the dark. No fun.
So I got a room in Sioux Falls and immediately hit the hay.
Day One – 1,195 miles (in an easy
18 ½ hours…another SS1000)
Tuesday 7.28.15
George had warned me that his cabin was pretty rustic so I
took my time getting ready to leave on Tuesday morning. (In other words, I enjoyed the last shower I
would take for a couple of days.) Then I
headed north on I-29.
Have I ever mentioned that I love roads where the speed
limit is 80 MPH? I do. I even back off of my normal speed limit +4
to more like speed limit +3. 83 MPH is
fast enough. My bike purrs like a kitten
and with the South Dakota winds, drinks gas like a country dog. With only 150 miles to ride, I left Sioux
Falls without getting gas. Mistake! I forgot I was in the land of few and far
between. But my streak of never running
out of gas continued. (I would test that again in a few days.)
I took a left on US 12 for 12 miles, turned right for 12
miles, and then turned right again. You
just have to love those directions.
George met me on the gravel road at the turn to his cabin and led me to
Casa Del Jorge y Terry. It was adorable.
It was perfect!
George has been going to his cabin for just over 40 years
now and the place is amazing. It has
things that were there when they first bought it plus lots of little memory
touches that families who love each other create. My favorite feature was the
large poster in the kitchen of 101 examples of how parents can praise their
kids. Very fitting for Terry and George.
George had lunch ready and thus began two days of boy
stuff. We ate, drank beer, drove around
so George could show me the sights, drank beer, talked, drank beer, ate again,
drank some beer, George caught two fish at once from his dock, drank some more
beer, and went to bed.
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| George's setup that resulted in two bullheads on the line at the same time. |
Perfect day,
perfect weather, no mosquitoes!
Day Two – 152 miles
Trip Total – 1347 miles
Wednesday 7.29.15
After George cooked a great breakfast, marred only by my
carelessness with my camp coffee making, we headed to the golf course in Webster, SD. For two boys from Texas, used to playing on
hard packed dirt with occasional tufts of grass, the Webster Golf Club was
Shangri La-La-Land. Beautiful grass, the
kind we both remember from our childhoods, tiny but gorgeous greens, and WINDY
WINDY WIND WIND.
We were second in line to pay to play. Ahead of us were two guys who we learned were
brothers-in-law. I learned that because
I just had to ask them how it was that they were wearing the exact same clothes
– striped pink golf shirts, matching blue cargo shorts, and matching little
white sox. They were so cute. The outfits were birthday presents from their
wives.
I wondered why one of them made such a big deal about only
getting one cart. Soon I learned it was
because they had invited one of their wives to tag along. You should have seen them riding three to the
front seat of the cart.
George was good to go since he had brought his clubs with
him from Texas. I rented a set there at
the course. Rag tag comes to mind. So I played with untied running shoes, no
golf glove, rented antique clubs, and borrowed balls/tees from George, on a
strange course with tiny sloping fast greens…and I shot the exact same score I
would have shot in Houston. And that is
why I am no longer much of a golfer.
Since it was a 9 hole course, we elected to play it twice…to
get in our 18 for the math challenged reading this. The highlight of the round was when we caught
up to our pink shirted brothers-in-law at the 7th hole. Yes, at that point we had played 15 holes and
they had played 7. We waited for them at
the par 3 8th and then they waited for us to let us play through on
the 9th (our 18th.)
Golfers like us are known to wilt under the pressure of
teeing off when allowed to play through. But George and I were undaunted! I went first and hit a monster sky ball that
landed in the fairway about 15 yards short of the green. The brothers-in-law hooted in appreciation
and I felt far more relief than pride.
Then it was George’s turn.
I had hit driver.
George went with his 3 iron. The
boys in pink were shocked… ”You’re using an iron??? What number?!” And then George absolutely blasted a rocket
that ended up next to the green, pin high.
Of course, neither George nor I showed much reaction to our
shots. We acted like we do that sort of
thing every day. Off we went to finish
up our golfing and then we resumed our beer drinking in the sun on a perfect
day on the upper deck patio of the Webster Golf Club.
On the way home we stopped by the Longbranch
Saloon in Grenville, SD, which really IS on the way to George’s cabin if
you choose to go that way. We had lunch,
our very own best of five pool tournament, and got to talk to Leon, an old
friend of George’s who is soon to be inducted into the South Dakota Football
Coaches Hall of Fame. I don’t care where
you live…THAT is a big deal. Leon was a
great guy, soft spoken, and bright eyed.
I would have loved to play for him.
Then back to the cabin for more guy stuff. Talking, beer drinking, eating, and fishing
from the dock. This time it was my turn
to catch a whopper. We stayed up until
way past both of our bedtimes and called it a night. Another perfect day. Perfect weather and NO MOSQUITOES…OK, a few
just before we called it a night but nothing like we expected.
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| Small mouth bass before we released him back to his day care center. |
Day Three –
O miles, George killed me at golf but I nipped him at pool. YES!
Thursday 7.30.15
One of the highlights from Tuesday that I forgot to mention
is that my friend, Blair from Boulder, surprised me with a phone call when
George and I were sitting by the lake, drinking beer, and talking. I had been thinking about calling Blair to
see if he might be home on Friday so I could stop by for a visit. We made a date and thereby that set the
parameters for the remainder of my ride.
I got up when I woke up (no alarms on vacation) and made
some camp coffee. George got up and
started making breakfast as I sat by the lake and planned my day. We were both done at the same time and sat
down to another good old fashioned American breakfast of toast, sausage, and
eggs. Yum. I did the dishes (appreciating how we landed
at that division of labor) and then it was time to pack the bike and head out. What a great visit and what a beautiful day
to ride.
Cool, little wind, not a cloud in the blue South Dakota
sky. I made my way back through
Grenville and picked up US 12 in Webster.
I stopped at Walmart in Aberdeen, SD, to get an air compressor because it
was driving me crazy to ride without one on board, and then turned south on 281. I was excited because I realized I would be
driving through 3 noteworthy towns.
Redfield, SD, is the hometown of my freshman roommate in
college. It was also the scene of one of
the strangest long bike ride moments I have ever had. Years ago, in 2006 to be exact, my buddy Mark
and I had made our first trip to Bike Week in Sturgis. After I preached on Sunday morning in Rapid
City I got the crazy idea to call my Mom in Fergus Falls, MN and invite her to
dinner that night. I didn’t realize that
Fergus was about 500 miles away.
So Mark and I headed across South Dakota, eventually passing
through Redfield where we stopped for gas.
While I was filling my bike, and Mark was in the station doing the
opposite, two teenaged girls drove up in a car and stopped next to me. They greeted me (which I thought was very
weird given that I was a full grown man dressed up in my biker costume next to
my Harley Davidson) and then it got worse when they help up a Mason jar of clear
liquid and asked if I wanted a drink of the moonshine one of them (turns out
they were cousins, only one was from Redfield) had brought from wherever she
lived.
“NO thank you and what are you doing offering something like
that to adults you don’t know?” I said as Mark appeared around the corner of
their car. He introduced himself to the
teenagers and the next thing I know he’s taking a big gulp of whatever it was
that they had stolen from one of their fathers.
He got bit of a White Lightning look on his face and I laid down the
law. “Mark, let’s get out of here!”
We got to Mom’s at 10:00 PM.
She took her one and only ride on my motorcycle to make the trip to eat
large at Perkin’s. We slept in her
living room for a couple of hours and headed back to Sturgis via central North
Dakota. We were back to the Broken Spoke
by 1:00 PM. That was over 1100 miles in
less than 24 hours too.
You never know what you will run into on a bike trip. This year, I just rode right through town
without stopping.
I turned right on US 212 with plans of spending most of the
rest of the day on that very road. But
first I needed to stop in to the little communities of Orient and
Faulkton. My partner at church, Pastor
Junfeng Tan, had served congregations in those two communities when he was
fresh out of the seminary. I wanted to
see where he came from and thought he might like a surprise picture from a
familiar place.
I couldn’t find the Lutheran church in Orient (after riding
down every one of their streets) but I did find what had obviously once been a
church that was now a bar. I took a
picture as that is something that you don’t see every day and you don’t expect
to see in a community of 65 people in rural South Dakota.
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| Re-purposing an old church building. You don't see that everyday. |
I stopped in to the gas station to ask if I was missing
something only to learn that the Lutheran church in Orient had burned to the
ground. Ouch. And then I asked if the guy I was talking to
remembered Pastor Junfeng Tan. Turns out
he DID…and not only that, he was the owner of the Steeple Bar and had been for
the past 25 years. No moonshine but another
great story.
I headed from Orient to Faulkton and found the Lutheran
church after asking an old woman who was out mowing her lawn in the heat of the
day. Turns out I was only a few blocks
from it, which wouldn’t surprise you if you were to visit Faulkton.
Then off to more US 212.
A favorite part of any road that crosses north central South Dakota is
crossing the Missouri River and Lake Oahe.
I was having a grand old time roaring down the road, looking forward to
that moment. But then I drove through
some dust kicked up by the combines harvesting wheat and I got something in my
right eye. I had a flashback to the same
thing happening on my last trip in the California desert. What helped then was washing my eyes out at
the next gas station. I was thinking
about that, riding with one eye closed as I crossed the river, pretty much not
enjoying the sights.
A couple more miles down the road, thinking again about
washing my eyes out at the next gas station, which fortunately caused me to
look down and see that my reserve light was already on and I needed gas right
then. Since I was REALLY in the land of
few and far between, the heart of the Cheyenne River
Reservation, I did a quick u-turn and headed back to the side of the river
that actually had a gas station. Good
thing. Putting 5.6 gallons in a 6 gallon tank is cutting it a bit close.
US 212 runs all across South Dakota but I was only going as
far as Newell, the hometown of a member of my previous congregation. Yes Myron, I waved at town for you. I would
turn left on 79 in Newell and head directly to my favorite bar outside of
Sturgis, the Broken Spoke Saloon. But
first I needed to create some more drama for myself.
Once again, I tested the “I’ve never run out of gas before”
thing. I had been riding about 76 MPH
all day, ignoring my +4 rule since the speed limit was 65 MPH, as I was
virtually alone and out in the middle of nowhere. But the wind was killing my gas mileage and
my plan of waiting until Newell for gas began to look a little iffy.
When the yellow reserve warning light came on…and Newell was
still far off in a distant land…I backed it down to 62 MPH and prayed a foolish
prayer. Actually lots of prayers. Which was foolish in that I had passed
several opportunities to get gas along the way just to be safe.
I knew I was running on fumes when I got to Newell but I’m
thinking there is still something a little fishy going on at the 212-79 Service
Center. The pump didn’t have a card
reader so I just filled up the bike and went in to pay. They gave me my receipt but they didn’t have
a good answer as to how I could squeeze 7.119 gallons of gas into a 6 gallon
tank. I knew I needed gas but
seriously! The pump itself said that I
took 5.7 gallons.
It really irks me to think that station will be ripping off
hundreds of bikers for the next couple of weeks, by ½ gallon at a time. That is over $1.40 per biker and I think it
really stinks. But enough of that, it
was off to the Broken Spoke Saloon.
I have way too many stories to tell about the Broken Spoke
Saloon so I won’t tell any. The original
Broken Spoke was the last bar in town on Lazelle St. It was the spot that always marked our
arrival in Sturgis because there was a nice bike parking lot right across the
street and they had a map where everyone put a pin to mark where they rode
from.
My first time to Sturgis we discovered, about six miles or
so out in the country, standing all by itself, the NEW Broken Spoke Saloon. That immediately became my favorite place to
end the day. The last time I was at Bike
Week in 2012 I rode up to do a wedding on the stage at the Broken Spoke. Happy Anniversary Ken and Liz!
After the wedding, the Broken Spoke surprised us with free
tickets to the VIP balcony for dinner and a bird’s eye view of the Kentucky
Headhunters concert. It was a great
night, marred only by an accidental tip I gave to the guy who was serving us. He was very nice all night long so, at the
end of the night, I reached into the back of my wallet where I keep my
$20’s. I thought I’d be generous so I
gave him $40. In the morning I woke up
to the realization that, at that particular moment, a $50 and a $100 had found
their way to my $20 place. I tipped him
$150!
I immediately called Kelley to confess to my stupidity. She talked me off the ledge and helped me
feel better about it. Sort of. It still bugs me. So imagine my surprise when I land at the
Broken Spoke Saloon, just outside of beautiful Sturgis, SD, in 2015, and walk
up to the bar to see my old friend now working behind the bar.
I sat there for a minute or two and then called him
over. “Do I look familiar to you?” I
asked him. He looked at me for a minute
and then said, “Have you ever been to the VIP balcony?” He remembered me AND he remembered the tip
and THAT is why God calls certain people to make their living as bartenders.
I had a great idea to send picture postcards from Sturgis to
some of my friends back home. The
bartenders posed in front of the drinks my friends prefer. Here’s the picture I sent to Kelley of the drink she would have ordered and the recipient of my accidental generosity.
After less than an hour at the Broken Spoke I rode into
Sturgis. I stopped at the first gas
station to get the required patch certifying that I had indeed ridden my bike
to Sturgis in 2015. Quick trip through
town, grateful to be there before the tidal wave hits this weekend, and I
headed west on I-90. I called Kelley and
asked her to get me a room in Gillette.
I just love me some Best Western!
Day Four – 556
miles
Trip Total
– 1,903 miles
Friday 7.31.15
Here’s why I decided to spend the night in Gillette,
WY. Years ago, 1986-87, I did my
internship year in Cheyenne, WY. One
time during that year my pastor and I picked up another pastor in Wheatland,
WY, and headed to Montana for a theological conference. The night before we left to come home, said
pastors stayed up too late doing who knows what and therefore asked me to drive
home.
If you look at a map, I-90 comes out of Montana and then
comes to a Y. I-90 heads east and I-25
continues south through Casper and on to Cheyenne. Well, I missed that trivial little
detail. The boys woke up as we rode into
what I expected to be Casper only it turned out to be Gillette. A quick map check and we took WY 59 down to
Douglas to get back on track. I spent
the rest of the year living that down. I
plan today to revisit the scene of the crime on my way to Blair’s house in
Boulder.
WY 59 heads south out of Gillette. It is a four lane for a few miles due to the
vision of the town mothers and fathers for the explosion of future
expansion. But that ends and you are on
a rural Wyoming two lane. I like how
Wyoming takes care of its roads. Every
once in awhile there is a much welcomed passing lane. Between such lanes you get the fun of passing
and the terror of the fool in front of you over estimating their ability to get
past the truck that is obviously ruining their day and making them late to
Grandma’s house.
There isn’t much to see other than wide open spaces,
interesting geological features, occasional herds of cattle and oil pump
jacks. I looked forward to seeing the
deer and antelope play but was disappointed.
I did see an antelope but if he was playing it was “Captain May I?” and his
other antelope friends ditched him. He
was just standing there.
It is about 106 miles to Douglas from Gillette. The only action between the two is Reno
Corner, an intersection between two highways with a few services. Leaving there you see the sign “No Gas For
The Next 75 Miles.” Beautiful cloudless
blue sky and Wyoming wind.
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| And that would be riding in Eastern Wyoming |
In Douglas I got on I-25 south to head to Cheyenne for a
stop before finishing up the day at Blair’s in Boulder. Immediately I saw the ominous cloud bank
hovering over where I was heading. Given
the puny annual precipitation this area sees (Houston has more rain on a
Tuesday afternoon than Wyoming has all year) it is amazing the number of times
that I have driven into Cheyenne in a gully washer. Today was looking like another one.
The only sure fire way I know to prevent riding a motorcycle
through a rainstorm is to stop well in advance and put my rain gear on. I pulled into a trucker’s rest area and
changed from my jeans to my rain pants.
I decided to let my top self get wet as my LDComfort shirt dries quickly. I put my full face headenvelope on and got
back on the road.
Sure enough, it started spitting, only getting really bad as
I pulled into Cheyenne. I took the exit
that allowed me to ride by my old church building and then looked for a place
to eat and write. My first vote was
Denny’s followed by IHOP…then I found a Perkins by Frontier Mall and I was in
hog heaven.
I took a shot in the dark and looked up my old internship
supervisor’s telephone number. I caught
him at home and he, Karen, and their son Matt came up to Perkins so we could
kill some time catching up. It has been,
gulp, 28 years now since he was my supervising pastor. Matt was in high school when I was
there. Now he has been working in China
for 16 years and I just happened to catch him home on a visit. Time flies!
From Cheyenne it was back on I-25 to head south to Boulder,
CO. I don’t understand weather and all
of that but it is absolutely amazing what happens over the 48 miles from
Cheyenne, WY, to Fort Collins, CO. It
instantly, all year long, gets prettier and warmer. I knew that but experiencing it on a bike
emphasized it. I would love to live in
Fort Collins.
I-25 through Colorado will test your mettle. It is a racetrack punctuated by unexplained
sudden screeching stops. You go from
dodging the crazies at 80 MPH to sitting at a dead stop in the sun behind a
diesel belching pickup over and over and over again. I was glad when the GPS told me to take the
exit to Blair’s house.
I’ve known Blair since we were in college. We are polar opposites in just about every
way – except for the part where we dig deeply into life. In that we are soul mates. I love checking in with him. My visits are always last minute notice brief
overnights as this one would be.
Blair and his wife have a new little baby boy so my visit
became the occasion for the baptism of Grant Lloyd Randall McNea. Rachael’s dad and Blair’s mom were there as
was a little vial of water from the Jordan River than Mrs. McNea brought home
back in 1995. Yes, this was a different
sort of baptism but perfect for this family.
We talked on into the night and then it was time for
bed. Great visit. I look forward to the next one, either there
or in Houston.
Day Five –
354 miles
Trip Total
– 2,257 miles
Saturday 8.1.15
All good things, including all long rides, come to an
end. So it was that I woke up Saturday
morning in Boulder, CO, knowing that the next bed that I would sleep in would
be ours. I checked in with Kelley and
told her I wasn’t sure if I would make the trip in one day or two (actually I
WAS sure but you never know what might happen.)
As I made my way from Boulder to I-25 my phone rang. I saw the caller’s name and pulled off the
road to call him back. His wife had died the night before. It wasn’t unexpected as she had terminal
cancer but still a deep loss. I
explained that I would be home as soon as possible. He completely understood but I still felt guilty
that I wasn’t there for him. Time to get
home.
I stopped at a gas station along I-25 and wasn’t surprised
to see it full of bikes and trucks and trailers and RV’s. I was on a major “we are on our way to
STURGIS” route and I would see bikes passing in the other direction all day. Thousands of them. I felt like the reluctant salmon floating
with the current, shouting out, “Sorry guys but I changed my mind.”
Getting home from Boulder isn’t complicated. I-25 south to Raton, NM, US 87 to Dalhart, TX
and then Dumas, TX. US 287 through
Amarillo and all the way to Fort Worth.
South on I-35 to Waco, then TX 6 to 290 to home. I have done the same ride many times
before…thus this day was simply about getting home.
Raton Pass is interesting the first time you ride over it
but it only lasts a couple of miles and it is nothing compared to what you run
into in actual mountains. Every time I
go through Amarillo I end up thinking, “Seriously? THIS is how I am supposed to go?” as the
highway exits you down into a little jaunt through downtown before jumping back
up on a freeway again. Either I make the
same mistake every time or all of that is on purpose. Maybe some day I’ll take the time to check.
US 287 is a great road for getting from here to there. When I get discouraged downshifting to get to
35 MPH because of the next dusty town I pass through I just remember the map of
Texas I have stored in my brain and I realize that US 287 ANGLES down to Fort
Worth. Then it feels like one long short
cut instead of just one very very long road.
Evidently the nightmare highway virus that attacked Dallas
is contagious because Fort Worth clearly got it too. FIX YOUR STUPID ROADS ALREADY! I have lived in Texas for 28 years. The first
time I took I-35 to Fort Worth to US 287 was over 20 years ago and even then it
was a dangerous confusing construction zone.
When you ride a long way in a day, nighttime gets to be a
little bit more intense. Especially riding through Texas. My fears?
Road debris and deer. I have a
theory that the most stupid of the more stupid deer are those you find
alongside Texas highways. The really
smart deer have figured out to be places with ample food and water where
hunters can never find them. The stupid
deer are right out there in plain sight.
And the most stupid of those deer are those one who dare one another to
dart out in front of vehicles.
It occurred to me that it would be really easy for an 18
wheeler to hit a deer. They are big,
wide, and slow to change lanes. A car is
a smaller target and a motorcycle smaller still. So I figured I would be OK and just rode on
through the night.
I hate dusk on long rides.
That time before it is dark when your headlights seem like they aren’t
working. Next time I’m going to stop for
dinner when that time rolls around. This
trip, the only land food I ate was an Arby roast beef sandwich that I bought
inside and then ate at the bike as I filled with gas in Childress, TX. The rest of the time was sunflower seeds,
apples, and breakfast bars on the bike.
Which reminds me – one highlight of this trip was the perfect solution
to getting seeds into your mouth at 80 MPH.
Thank you, Walmart of Aberdeen, SD!
I left my gas stop along I-25 at 10:16 AM Houston time. I rolled into the gas station by our
townhouse at 3:38 AM. That is 17:22 for
another SS1000. You have to love a 6 day
long ride that begins and ends with a mongo SS1000. No wonder I take my trips alone.
Blair had asked me what I think about when I’m riding. I tried but I couldn’t explain it. I just know that it is a never ending and
never boring stream of consciousness experience that I wouldn’t trade for
anything. I rode 1,101 miles to get home
in roughly 17 hours and never listened to a moment of music. I didn’t stop for anything but gas. I never stopped at one rest area all
week. I just watched the world pass me
by, punctuated by conversations with people that matter, the whole time feeling
the hand of God on my life, the golden cord of love as the only possible explanation
for what ties it all together.
It felt great to get home.
Kelley was sleeping on the couch, waiting up for me. Of course she was. I am blessed.
Day Six –
1,101 miles
Trip Total
– 3,358 miles
