Sunday, August 2, 2015

Should I Stay or Should I Go? 8.2.15

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.
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.  

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.

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.

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.

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




1 comment:

robert said...

Man I love your post!!! Make want to get of my butt and get on the bike!!! Someday