Big Bikes Go Big Places

Staying north of Quebec City and Montreal, we crossed the Ottawa River at Hawkesbury, Ontario. The warm and sunny conditions continued as we went west on Highway 417 and 17 until we arrived in Mattawa, where we had to don the Frogg Toggs. At North Bay, we sought rain refuge for over an hour in a coffee/doughnut outlet. We continued on in soggy conditions and as we departed Blind River we were caught in a pre-breakfast deluge. After that, the rain gear stayed stowed.
At Sault Ste Marie we entered Michigan and stopped for a night at Ironwood, at the state’s western edge. The next day we were 20 miles into Wisconsin and had pulled over to add sweaters at the 88,888.88 km point on my bike, when suddenly there was a very strong gas smell. My bike’s petcock was leaking badly. We reversed course and rode back to Ironwood, expecting at any time to see flames erupt under me. The Honda dealer ordered a new petcock to be Fed Exed, but even so we were obliged to spend another three nights in Ironwood. Bry kidded me that I should maintain my bike better; he was to find out later that he should have kept quiet.
On the go again, we traversed Wisconsin and traveled a diagonal route through Minnesota, noting the latter’s huge swath of electric-power windmills and diabolical pebble/chip sealing on some road surfaces.
We were into the heat as we neared South Dakota. The world-famous Corn Palace in Mitchell (a downtown theater decorated and encased every year with corncobs, corn husks, and cornstalks) was a sight to behold.
West on I-90, crossing the Missouri River, we encountered a very strong south crosswind that ripped the backrest pouch right off Bry’s bike. The sunward-facing sunflowers eyed us nonchalantly as we searched in vain for it near one of the Wall Drug billboards. At Cactus Flat we turned onto the Badlands Loop ($5 each) and braved the magnificent, desolate scenery, comfortable in the heat in our leathers while moving.
At Wall we guzzled free water with an ice-cream chaser. Now, with this visit, I fulfilled a dream I have had since 1998 when son Gavin and I rode through here. I adopted a jackalope. “Jack” was my backseat companion for the rest of the trip, and a fine Co-Rider he was, always there to help navigate, laugh at my jokes, take the blame for funny smells (such as feedlots), and wave at other bikers. As we turned south at Rapid City and climbed into the Black Hills, Jack was as excited as Bry and I were at seeing Mount Rushmore. Had we not been delayed back in Michigan, we would have dallied awhile in this area, but we had to press on south into Wyoming.
This had us riding into Denver’s mid-afternoon traffic on Friday of the Labor Day weekend. We survived, but were dismayed at the gridlock and then the outrageous tolls of the ring-road. Well after dark we met up with Larry, our Colorado host, in Colorado Springs and he led us uphill west to his home in Woodland Park. His wife, Teina, had pizza waiting, as was Susan, Bry’s wife who had flown out. As in El Paso the year before, we had managed to keep her waiting and worrying.
Larry is the safety director of the Anglo Gold gold mine in nearby Cripple Creek, and he gave us a marvelous, detailed tour of an open-pit, state-of-the-art gold mine. The next day his Harley and our two Hondas had a great mountain ride. We hit snow, turned around, and 50 miles south were in the 90’s F. Bry’s bike died (a bad alternator), and was low-bedded 108 miles back to Woodland Park.
On Labor Day, Bry & Susan and I took the cog railway up Pike’s Peak, and it was fantastic! We do not recommend riding up as the 14,110 feet altitude definitely affected us adversely. Garden of the Gods was well worth the visit after we descended the mountain.
Bry’s bike was trailered down into Colorado Springs on Tuesday morning to the Honda dealer where it was quickly fixed. Susan headed to Denver airport, and Jack, Bry and I were on our way east. The few clouds around Pike’s Peak were the last we saw for three days. In Kansas we smelled, then saw, the first of many feedlots filled with thousands of cattle, and paused in the town of Liberal, where Dorothy and Toto lived.
Oklahoma had more feedlots, great open roads, and the dumbest waitress on the continent. Southern Missouri had a visitor center staff member who was convinced that Bry was Russell Crowe (and I was his bodyguard). The inordinate amount of traffic was made up for in the Ozarks, where Bry had an illegal swim in Big Spring, supposedly the largest freshwater spring in North America. Kentucky was pretty, but we passed through quickly to get to Clarksville, Tennessee, in order to have a cool refreshment with supper.
We passed the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville and really started to feel the humidity by the time we got to Knoxville. We had ridden Deal’s Gap last year but wanted to do it again, so this time did it both ways, amazed and often startled at the crotch-rocketeers meeting and overtaking us. I-40 South was remarkable for an interstate for its curves and tunnels. South Carolina’s Biltmore Estate in Asheville ($39 admission + $7 for the audio) awed us; the conservative opulence of the house and furnishings and the magnificence and size of the gardens outshine any European estate.
We allowed more time for the Blue Ridge Parkway (no cost) this visit and rode all of it except for the most southerly 50 miles, which had some rainstorm and hurricane washouts. This is one of those great scenic roads, which, once ridden, you know you will come back to at every opportunity.
The Skyline Drive ($5) begins where the Blue Ridge ends. It is scenic, but with a lower speed limit and is much more heavily forested than the Blue Ridge Parkway. It is actually quite hazardous, with wildlife, especially deer, on the roadway. From Front Royal, Virginia, at the north end of the Skyline, we arced westward into West Virginia and the skinny part of Maryland on the Stonewall Jackson Highway.
As we angled northeast we found Pennsylvania’s Scranton-area interstate’s truck traffic even worse than we remembered. Twice in a 20-minute period full Valkyrie power was called on to escape dangerously deteriorating car/truck situations. Jack didn’t even bat an eyelid, although I did.
New York was less hectic and we enjoyed scenic I-88 to Albany. Across the Hudson River through Troy, we then got on Highway 2 across northern Massachusetts. This is one of our favorite scenic roads and a fine way to cross the Berkshires. As we approached Boston, the traffic thickened and I-495 and I-95 in New Hampshire and Maine were evening rush hour slow.
We enjoyed a fine late supper on board the Scotia Prince as we sailed overnight from Portland. Maine, to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia ($269CDN for two bikes, two adults, one jackalope, inside cabin, taxes and surcharges). Nelson, our last year’s waiter, was pleased to see us again and be asked for. In the morning we were through Canada’s Customs quickly (bikes before cars), performed the obligatory post-USA trip visit to the local Tim Horton’s, and rode home in Nova Scotia South Shore fog.
In four weeks we had traversed or touched four provinces and 21 states in 11,000 kms (minus 108 miles for Bry as he enjoyed the comfortable cab of the lowbed!). Another trip next year? Of course!
And Jack? He proudly presides over my basement bar with a worldly, sage expression on his biker’s face.