Day 4 & 5 - Catching Up & Falling Down

Although I'm not on a schedule, I seem to be waking up, packing up, and heading out pretty much the same time every day.  I've been on the road by 9:00am consistently.  Whatever.  There will be schedules to meet and other riders' itineraries when I get to Lake Tahoe.

I pulled out of Lost Creek National Forest and headed back down the mountain northward to the bustling city of Encampment, Wyoming.  I was greeted at the edge of town by a local police officer.  Ok, the local police officer.  He informed me that the city's annual Woodcutter's Day parade was about to commence and I could wait there with him, or ride over to an intersection that would give me a perfect view of the festivities.  The old in a hurry Shrug would have gotten agitated by the delay, but not on this day.  A local hometown parade would be delightfully quaint.  It totally measured up.  From the Grand Marshalls, to the antique tractors, the local theater company, the "floats" throwing candy to the kids, and the beautiful horses, it was the quintessential representation of Americana.  The entire parade lasted about twenty minutes.  Honestly, they could have easily just parked all the participants in the street and let the crowd walk by on each side.  Hester, Pearl, and the old guy in black drew a considerable crowd as  I was the only person there that nobody knew.  There was a pile of candy at my feet that none of the kids dared grab.  Finally, a little diaper-butt girl wandered over to me and very slowly reached down feeling around for the candy, never taking her eyes off of me.  The other nearby kids were watching, so I waited till she scooped most of it up to step back.  Only then did the other kids come over to scavenge for the remainders.  As I was suiting up, the officer drove up and thanked me for my patience.  I thanked him for the invitation and headed out of town.

 

 

I topped off Hester's tank at the next gas station and settled in for what would be a long day of flat terrain in high winds.  I was thankful it was cool in the morning.  It had rained recently and although the road surface was dry, I could smell the moist air as I rode.  Then the sun came out...twith a vengeance.  I was one of those days where you ride at a 15-degree angle leaning into the wind and pushing against the handlebars to maintain your lane.  Bikers know this well.  It's certainly not anyone's favorite part of any trip, but it's to be expected when you ride thousands of miles.  I had Ken Follett's "Pillars of the Earth" blasting in my helmet to keep me company.

Casper, Wyoming was to be my next gas stop.  I did the math on the distance, the remaining fuel, and even carried the one.  I suppose I shouldn't have divided by zero.  Casper was still twenty miles away and I was running on fumes.  I knew I had my spare gallon of gas and I wasn't worried, but I knew I would come up short.  And come up short I did...about five miles short.  I rode much faster than I had been over the previous days and failed to account for the wind.  At times, I felt like I was pulling a parachute.  So, for the second time on this trip, I found myself on the side of the road pouring emergency gas into Hester's tank.

I rolled into Red Lodge, Montana around 5:00 and found a campsite.  In another example of serendipity, the couple camped nearest me had just moved to Texas from San Jose and she worked for IBM.  He quickly added that they were not bringing California to Texas.  We sat for a few hours discussing guns, politics, motorcycles, and dogs before I finally bailed to catch up on this blog and to check in at home.  I slept like a log and once again, awakened at 7:00am on the nose.

 

Sunday, June 20. 

I broke camp, said goodbye to my new fellow Texans and began riding south back through the town of Red Lodge and made my way to the beginning of the iconic Beartooth Highway.  If you're a biker and you haven't ridden the Beartooth, you're not a biker.  If you have, you understand.  If you haven't you'll understand when you do. It's that good.  This was my second trip there, but I rode it from the opposite direction after finishing Chief Joseph Highway ten years ago when I returned from Alaska.  Yea, I made sure Hester was topped off before I left.  There isn't much room for error up there and honestly, adding fuel on the side of the road is impossible when the road has no side.

I ascended to the peak at 11,000 feet and pulled over to rest my hands and to take in the scenery.  It's the summer solstice and yet in several spots, there are still twenty-foot snow walls on each side of the road.  In fact, the pass only recently opened after being cleared by Montana road crews.  At the top, I parked next to five guys on Harleys with New York plates.  They saw my Texas flag and expressed how much they hated the Dallas Cowboys. I told them I did too, but that I despised the entire NFL, adding that If I wanted to see a bunch of overbuilt, self-entitled drama queens in tights, I'd watch wrestling.  We had a good laugh (I suspect me more than them) and I managed to slip out before them and started my descent.  I noticed a sigh that read "Leaving Montana".  Where the hell was I; space?  I never saw a Welcome to Wyoming sign (or welcome to outer space, for that matter). but I assume the road tracks in and out of Wyoming.

At the bottom of the pass, I found myself at the front of a line of vehicles waiting to roll out of a construction area where only one direction of traffic at a time could flow.  I was staring at my GPS trying to find my bearings when I heard what sounded like Harleys approaching.  I looked up to see two good friends from Kentucky who are also meandering their way to Shark Week.  They had just finished the Chief Joseph run and were about to ride Beartooth in the opposite direction I had just done.  There were no tearful hugs or high fives; just a wave and an acknowledgement that we would see each other soon in Lake Tahoe.

At this point, I had no connectivity and was riding blind, trying to rely on my memory and using the paper route cards I had prepared for just this situation.  Still, I got it wrong and before I knew it, I was rolling up to the northeast entrance to Yellowstone National Park.  I had not planned on riding Yellowstone this year, but there I was and they weren't requiring reservations like many other National Parks these days.  Better yet, as a veteran, I got in free.  So, I decided to make the most of it and ride the loop south to Canyon Village up to Mammoth Springs and then make my exit at the north gate.  This would put me back on track for my ride towards Lolo Pass.

One reason I didn't want to ride Yellowstone again is the traffic.  It's one lane each direction and the park is literally crawling with rental campers driven by tourists who drive as if the largest vehicle they've ever owned is a Prius.

 

Another reason is the wildlife.  I know the wildlife is the essence of Yellowstone, but beyond chipmunks, deer, and buffalo, there really isn't much more to see and I can see deer and buffalo in Texas.  The wildlife has the right-of-way at Yellowstone and it's common to come up on a line of vehicles sitting - engines off - waiting for a procession of buffalo to get off the road.  If you're lucky, they quickly cross, perpendicular to the road.  But more often than not, they meander along, repeatedly stepping off and back on the road and all you can do is sit like you're in a Walmart parking lot waiting for some clueless shopper with two kids on leashes and a cell phone screwed to her ear babbling while taking the absolute longest path to cross in front of your car while you're trying to park.  But I digress.

I found myself in just such a line today.  Only this time, it wasn't a woman with kids on a leash.  It was a herd of mama buffals and their calves and they were taking a considerately short path across the road.  The new not-in-a-hurry Shrug sat patiently watching the procession. People were getting out of their cars with cameras and that was making me nervous.  I would rather blast by a clueless driver blindly texting.  At least they're predictable.  These behemoths were anything but.  I was sitting with my motor off listening to "Ronin" by Sturgill Simpson when the noise outside my helmet exceeded the noise within.  One of the calves had separated from its mother and wandered behind my trailer.  I watched in my mirror as the people in the car behind me opened their doors and started recording.  One second, I'm marveling at the fact that baby buffalo look like regular calves (without the big hairy head) and the next, I'm on the ground pinned under Hester on my left side.  According to the driver behind me, the calve's mama freaked out and took the shortcut to get to it...and I was the shortcut.  I was literally seeing the world sideways as more buffalo slowly walk by me.  When I couldn't free myself, I just curled up as close to Hester as I could and hoped I wouldn't get trampled.  Simson's "Ronin" instrumental faded into "Remember to breathe" and the lyrics "just lay back, let it happen, and remember to breathe" suddenly had a whole new level of profundity to me.  Yes, this is the kind of shit that goes through my mind as I'm pinned under an 800 pound motorcycle next to a herd of 1,500 pound buffalo.  Most peoples' lives flash before their eyes.  Lyrics flashed before mine.  Again I digress.

I laid there for what seemed like a lifetime and nobody helped me.  Actually in retrospect, they did the right thing and waited out the herd before gathering to help me out from under and up to me feet.  I was grateful and humbled at the outpouring of sincere concern.  A driver said he caught it on video and I gave him my email address.  I hope to hear from him. One little boy in a Thundercats shirt remarked that he though the buffalo was going to eat me.  My son LOVED the Thundercats cartoon as a kid and I wondered for a second if my life was flashing before me, albeit a bit late. Honestly, I doubt the beast even really noticed me and it just plowed into me to get to its baby.  I was fortunate that it hit me on the right side or I would have been pinned under my exhaust.  Other than a bruised ego, I was not hurt.  My left saddle bag is toast and will have to be replaced.  Duct tape will hold it together until I can replace it.  I know I'll have to repeat the story a thousand times at Shark Week.  While unpacking at my campsite near Bearmouth, Montana, I noticed a big blob of dried buffalo snot on my seat.  Yes, I verified it was not my own shit.  As it turns out, if a visitor has an "encounter" with the wildlife in Yellowstone, there are forms to be filled out.  How the Ranger got to me so quickly in all that traffic was beyond me, but I had barely ridden a mile from the scene when he pulled me over to investigate.  I told my side o the story and joked that it was my word versus the buffalo's.  It s funny to me; not so much for the Ranger.  Fortunately, the guy with the video camera rolled up, recognized Hester, and showed the video to the Ranger.  Then the Ranger laughed.  I finally got yo see what happened.  I was looking to my left when I was knocked over and never saw it coming.  That was probably for the best, otherwise that dried snot might have been a shit stain after all.

 

All things considered, it was a great day.  I had Father's Day greetings from home and friends and am staring at majestic trees and hills as I type this.  Lolo Pass in Montana and Idaho tomorrow. 

Day 3 – Ouray, CO to Medicine Bow Nat'l Forest

Today was another stellar day of twists and turns with practically no traffic. I rolled out of the Ouray KOA about 9am. Camping solo, a KOA is generally my last choice. They are always clean, well staffed, and the amenities are consistent at any KOA in the country. The drawback is that they are generally packed and expensive for tent camping with no electricity or water. When I rolled through Ouray, I was tired and didn't want another camp hunting experience like the night before. So the KOA it was and it turned out to be a great night. There were a dozen or so bikes there from all over the country and I stayed up after midnight chatting it up with guys on BMWs, Hondas, KTMs, and Indians. I really enjoy engaging conversation and it's especially nice when the (insert brand name here) snobs don't denigrate every bike that isn't theirs. I was so relaxed I even drank two beers!

Today's itinerary was north. I would like to get more specific than that, but I really had no concrete plans. Red Lodge, Montana was more than a day's ride away (for the new relaxed Shrug; not that older in-a-hurry guy). My goal was to find a place to camp somewhere in Wyoming and hit Red Lodge on Saturday. In that pursuit, I only spent about twenty miles on interstate 70 connecting from one small road to another. Other than that, I've managed to stay true to my plan of riding fewer miles at slower speeds.

Irrespective of my diligent planning, I still forgot to pack a pair of shorts. I was looking for a place to sit a while and nurse a drink, check maps, road conditions, and generally cool off. I settled into an Arby's in Rifle, Colorado because their dining room was open. So many chain restaurants are open for drive-thru only because nobody wants to work these days. I get mad enough to spit when I take the time to park Hester and Pearl, dismount, and secure my electronics only to find the dining room closed with a notice on the door written on a Post-it note. I've learned to look inside before I even bother to park. A couple of people walked out as I pulled in, so Arby's it was. We all need reminders in life. I was reminded today why I don't eat at Arby's. But I digress. Arby's shared a parking lot with – you guessed it – Walmart! I picked up some cheap shorts and a few other nicnacs and was reminded also why I don't like Walmart.

While enjoying the Arby's air conditioning, I got online, looked-up, and called a few places in Red Lodge Montana to assess the viability of riding there and subsequently westward on the Beartooth Highway towards Idaho. The forest fires have been contained and those still burning were east of Red Lodge. The two campsites I called (one of which is a KOA) were both open.

I pulled out of Rifle and headed north towards Medicine Bow, Wyoming. At the outer edge of Colorado, I rode past a few kids running a lemonade stand. Of course I had to make a U-turn and stop. My back teeth were practically floating from all the tea I drank at Arby's, but these kids were sitting in the summer heat trying to earn a buck. I pulled up, had a couple of glasses, expressed my appreciation for their embracing capitalism, and rode on.

 

Wyoming has some amazing mountain passes and some depressingly flat stretches of road that seem to all be under construction. I was cruising through the Medicine Bow National Forest and saw a turnout for the Lost Creek Campground. A quick U-turn later I found myself backed in to some secluded woods with a running stream behind me. There were multiple campsites, but all were very well secluded from each other. I enjoyed a great conversation with a guy named Ken who frequents the camping area. Ken had a killer camper trailer setup with a 250cc Honda dirt bike that he rides up into the woods to fish. He had a roaring fire and lots of great stories. I want to retire like Ken someday.

Today was really a good day. I think I'm getting my adventure legs. My mood is changing and I'm embracing the new slower-paced, less-structured Shrug. I'm pretty beat; sleep will come easy tonight. The plan is to ride to Red Lodge, Montana on Saturday.

 

 

A Man Without a Plan

It's always strange waking up in a tent after the first night camping.  I slept intermittently through the night, being randomly awakened by a couple of owls carrying on a loud conversation and by the bovine procession that continued through the night.  The movement wasn't loud.  It was the occasional calf that found itself separated from the herd and then proceeded to call mama with a genuinely sad MOOOOO!.  Mama cow would mooo back in the distance and the calf would trot off towards the sound of her voice.

I actually managed to sleep in till around 7am and then laid there a while listening to the cacophony of birds up for the early worms.  I crawled out of the tent to take a few photos and figure out how I was going to get out of this place.  Pulling in was not difficult.  It was dirt, but downhill and I managed to pull Hester into a good spot for parking.  As I surveyed my surroundings, it was clear that I would have to fight my way up the hill and out.  Speed and momentum would be key, but you don't just throw around an 850 pound motorcycle towing a 330 pound trailer.  Turns out you actually do and I made it out, remaining vertical.

My camp spot was near the top of a mountain pass that separates Angel Fire and Taos.  I rode the rest of the winding mountain road down and meandered into Taos for gas and a small nut and bolt.  The rough roads have taken a toll and a few minor repairs were needed.  53 cents later (thanks Ace Hardware), my tour pack was secured and I was off to Durango.  While stopped at the Colorado state line sign, I noticed my center stand was dangling loose underneath Hester's frame.  It had been there eleven years.  I suppose i should have checked it at least once in all that time.  I was able to remove the bolt without tools and stashed the assembly for installation later.

I stopped at the Durango Harley-Davidson dealership that sponsored Shark Week VIII in 2018.  The manager actually remembered me; well Hester.  Our group left a positive impression with that dealership and it was cool to reminisce with the staff about our week there.  From Durango, I headed north to Silverton and Ouray.  The ride to Silverton is great, but the ride from Silverton to Ouray is nothing short of epic.  It is extremely technical and challenging with a bike alone, much less tugging a trailer.  My clutch, brakes, and arms got a real workout.

I took the easy way out and set up camp at a KOA campground outside Ouray.  It's crowded, but I feel too lazy to search for something else and I really need a shower.  I need to decide where I'm going on Friday.  Red Lodge is on my list, but they've had forest fires and the status of the Beartooth Highway is still in flux.  I have an overnight stop planned somewhere between Ouray and Red Lodge.  Perhaps an extra day will allow them to get the fires under control.

Hitting the Road

The alarm was set for 4am. Of course I was wide awake staring at the clock at 3:30. Still not excited. Perhaps it's the apprehension I described yesterday. Nevertheless, I was up and moving with plenty of time to spare for a 5:00am KSU.

I hit the road on time and managed to get across the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex before rush hour. Once I hit 287 west towards Wichita Falls and Amarillo, it's a mind (and butt) numbing straight, flat ride to Interstate 40. I experienced my first heart pounding drama before I hit Wichita Falls. I'm breaking new ground on this trip. Pulling the trailer and Hester's rear tire is a Yokohama car tire. There are many reasons for using car tires in the rear; too many to go into here, but it's safe to say, with the right tire running the proper air pressure, the ride is smooth and far less susceptible to road hazards. But I digress. The new tire and the trailer combined to throw my gas mileage off. I usually get 42-44 miles per gallon, but on my shakedown camping trip in April, the trailer yielded about a ten per cent fuel hit. I can live with that; I just want to know. I was cruising on 287 marveling at the fact that I was 230 miles into the current tank of gas and the miles-left countdown alert had not triggered. That alert was usually good for another thirty miles. I was stoked! Then, as fast as I did the math in my head, Hester's motor started sputtering and died. I managed to coast to the shoulder and realized that the alert had gone off. I apparently missed it. Fortunately, I keep a spare gallon of gas in my saddle bag. Five minutes later, I was back on the road feeling like a doofus for missing the alert, yet simultaneously clever for having the spare gas on hand. So now I know. Roughly 38 miles per gallon pulling a 330 pound trailer. Current gas prices notwithstanding, it's a small price to pay for the hauling convenience.

 I crossed the New Mexico state line and headed north off the beaten path, following routes I had selected for their curves and remoteness. Little did I know when I exited Interstate 40 just how off-beaten the path would get. I rolled into the thriving metropolis of Roy, New Mexico and stopped for gas and to collect my thoughts. I had not planned to ride more than 500 miles a day and I was blowing that. I decided to head into the mountains towards Angel Fire and Taos and seek out a place to camp. Riding NM SR120 was great. From Roy, it climbs and descends several mountain passes. I was surprised how easily the additional 330 pounds behind me handled in the twisties and elevation changes. Admittedly, I had stopped earlier to adjust the load when I noticed the trailer behaving a bit wobbly. It was pulling great now.

 

 

 

SR120 had a lot of warning signs dissuading truckers from following it. After the third, the warning gotmore severe and mentioned nine miles of unpaved surface. The road was an amazing twelve miles of super tight, off-camber turns and climbs and drops. About three miles past the unpaved warning, I decided the warning was a ruse to keep truckers away. At four miles past I realized they meant it as the smooth pavement gave way to somewhat packed gravel that lasted for what seemed like an hour. I now found myself calling into question all that good feeling about Hester handling the trailer so well. Eventually the gravel gave way to pavement that carried me all the way into Angel Fire.

The hunt for a campsite was on. There were plenty of RV parks, but none for tents. One guy in an RV recommended a spot on the mountain road 64 between Angel Fire and Taos. I was heading to Taos anyway, so it made sense. Finding the spot was a bit tricky, but it was absolutely worth it. I drove about three miles along a gravel road that paralleled a small flowing creek and settled on a spot that might give me grief when I pull out in the morning. Within minutes, I had my tent up, my air mattress filled, and my sleeping bag unrolled. I kicked back in my chair to take in the scenery and do a little writing. The dirt road and the grassy path where I'm camped has seen a steady stream of cattle passing by; hundreds of cows of all shapes, sizes and ages. This must be a routine for them because they barely flinched when I rode by them as I was seeking out a campsite. It' dusk and the parade seems to be over. The temperature has dropped steadily and I'm actually wearing my jacket. Between the birds chirping and the breeze whisping through the trees, I should sleep like a log tonight. The plan is to get deep into Colorado tomorrow. I hay have to alter my itinerary if the fires in Red Lodge, Montana remain out of control. I read this morning that Beartooth Pass was closed. Hoping for the best.

 

Bovine Procession

A Rider's GPS Wet Dream

Bird's Eye View of My Camp

Bob Wills Mural in Roy, NM

 

'Twas The Night Before...

I leave tomorrow morning, KSU 5:00am central time.  If you're tracking, it should go live a short while after I depart and I'll appear on a map somewhere west of Dallas.  But I digress.

Admittedly, I'm typing this with mixed emotions.  When I left for Alaska ten years ago almost to the day, I was wired to the hilt and laser focused on touching that sign at the Arctic Circle and knew where I would be stopping each night in order to reach the Circle on schedule.  It's different this trip.  First and foremost, there's no Alaska and irrespective of the cool scenic routes I've created, the excitement factor is fractional by comparison.  Second, with no Alaska, there's no real need for a schedule.  From the beginning, I centered this trip around the 11th annual Road Glide Shark Week with a plan to arrive in Lake Tahoe on June 27th.  I'm still going to Shark Week, as that gathering is my absolute favorite trip each year.

So why I am I not excited?  I think it's a case of apprehension.  When I rode to Alaska, Denver was my first night's stop with Great Falls, Montana on the itinerary for night number two. I knew it for months before I left and I could envision myself riding into town...as planned.  For this trip, there is no plan.  I don't have to be anywhere by any date except for Lake Tahoe, twelve days from tomorrow. I can stop where I want, whenever I want  And that is where I believe the problem lies.  I suppose I need some direction, even on vacation.  Who knew?  I'll go to sleep tonight with full knowledge of when I'm rolling out, but with no idea where I'll go to sleep tomorrow.  I suppose there's a degree of adventure in that, but maybe I subconsciously crave a bit more structure.  These last few sentences sum up my whole dilemma.

My last long ride was to Shark Week X in Gettysburg.  I rode from Texas with my friend "Longway" and we stopped in Louisville, KY before meeting a group of Shark Week X riders in Pittsburgh where we hung out and toured the sights for a night before riding on to Gettysburg the next day. We enjoyed the week in PA with 150 fellow riders, despite the Governor's draconian China virus lockdown measures.  Then on Friday, I headed 1,400 miles back to Texas...in one day; just to see if I could do it. The solo ride back took me 20.5 hours to complete and included the most intense rain storms I've ever seen, much less ridden through.  I had an agenda. I had an itinerary. I had a goal and it was done!

If you've been reading, I am making this trip with Pearl, a trailer loaded with camping gear and creature comforts.  The whole idea of a trailer is to be able to stop where I want when I want and build my camp.  I've spent the better part of the last year preparing the trailer and Hester for a return trip to Alaska with full knowledge that my hopes could be dashed. I've known since March that Alaska was beyond my reach and have had three months to accept it and make alternate plans.  But plans involve detailed itineraries with scheduled stops and I don't have any of that.  I know. Poor me.  I have to take three weeks off work, get on my custom Harley, and ride around the country with no agenda.  Honestly, I know how fortunate I am and I don't take it for granted.

I've realized that at 58 years old, I'm entering a new phase of my life and it's a phase that includes something I've never really had erfore; chill.  I just need to chill out and ride till I'm done and then seek out a place to camp.  Then I need to wake up whenever I feel like it, pack up camp, and ride to the next chill spot.  Rinse and repeat.  I know people who would kill to have this opportunity and I'm pretty sure I will embrace it after I get a few days of it under my belt.  All I can say now - the night before - is I'm uneasy about it, but I'm outta here at 5:00am.  Stay tuned to see where I wind up.

Where's Shrug Quick Link

By request, I've made it easier to cyber stalk me on my ride. Look on the right column below the Alaskapade 2011 video link where it says "WHERE'S SHRUG?". Clicking "Live Feed Map" will take you to a dedicated map page that should be automagically updated by my Garmin satellite tracker. This page can be bookmarked for quicker access and/or printed and pinned to the ceiling above your bed for more intimate viewing. Let's be real. It's time to replace that Scott Baio or Farah Fawcett poster you've had up there for decades anyway. If your ceiling has mirrors, remember that objects are larger than they appear.

The auto posting thing is dynamite on paper. We'll see how it shakes out when I'm on the road.

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Our Departure is Delayed

Three hundred miles a day?  For fifteen days?  I just can't.  I typically do 300 miles before lunch.  So, I've backed up my departure to Wednesday, June 16th.  It only adds a ~1,000 mile average to the entire twelve-day span, but I can ride a little longer each day with the option to stick around if I like a particular spot, but without the prospect of getting to Tahoe "too soon" and having to kill time.

Look for the GPS map updates to start populating sometime Wednesday morning.  As a reminder, you can follow and message me through this link.

North by Northwest - Finally, A Routing Tool I Trust!

I've discovered MotoWhere; a cool page with a companion app that allows me to click waypoints along a path I want to take and then generates an easy-to-follow route on my phone.  After a bit of trial and error, I used it to generate several routes for this trip and I am very happy with the results.

Everyone asks me why with me being the tech toy geek that I am, why I don't have a cool new GPS.  Actually, I do.  OK, it's cool, but not new.  In fact, it's eleven years old, but the manufacturer still offers firmware and map updates.  The reality is it's just another thing to take up real estate on my handlebars, to keep powered on, and to remove and secure when I'm off the bike.  My phone does it all with a slightly smaller display and I can download the routes for when I'm out of the service area.  Of course, I have paper backups for contingencies.

If I stick to my plan (and really, what are the odds of that?) I'm staring at 5,200 circuitous miles to get to Lake Tahoe and fifteen riding days to do it.  Honestly, I've never ridden such a slow pace.  I'm hoping my matured demeanor will kick in and allow me to stop and smell the roses. If you're tracking me, you'll know.  I rode 5,000 miles from Texas to Fairbanks, Alaska in only six days and even though I was ten years younger, that pace took its toll on me. There were a couple of days where I was so tired when I finally stopped, I didn't even set up a tent. I just unrolled my sleeping bag next to the bike and covered up with a tarp. I had transcended tired and was existing on brain frequencies beyond sleep. At that instant, I think I understood L. Ron Hubbard.  But I digress.

From Lake Tahoe I'll have another 1,700 to 1,900 miles to ride to get back home to Texas, depending on the route I take and where I stop along the way.

While the segments illustrated below are in order, they do not represent a day's travel, or any amount of travel time for that matter.  It was just easier to create bite-sized routes.  The red markers were are waypoints I added to ensure the app uses the twisty backroads routes I want instead of the super slabs I usually take.

North by Northwest - Another Tracking Method

The routes I've selected are primarily remote, twisty roads far from the interstate super slabs.  As such, I expect less than stellar cellular service most of the time I'm riding and perhaps where I camp nightly.  Since the primary tracking method I described in the previous entry is cellular based, I decided to give myself another option for tracking and for emergency communication.

Garmin InReach in the Outback

When I crossed the Outback in 2016, I took with me a satellite tracking device that not only provided extremely granular GPS tracking, but also offered two-way messaging in the most remote parts of the world.  Granted, my North by Northwest routes are remote, but they are by no means as remote as was the Outback.  Still, in the interest of safety and a desire for the ability to call for help irrespective of where I may wander, I blew the dust off the old Garmin InReach SE GPS transponder and activated it for a month.  The InReach will collect more granular GPS location information than my phone and will send those updates at two-to-ten-minute intervals.  I used to know how to embed the interactive map directly into my blog, but I've slept since then and can't remember how I did it.  If I have time to figure it out before I go, the maps will magically appear in the menu on the right side of the page.   If not, they can be directly viewed  at https://share.garmin.com/Shrug.  If prompted for a password, try shrug&hester.  You should be linked to a page that looks something like the image below where you can click and drag, zoom in/out, and change map layers.

 

North by Northwest - Wanna Follow Along?

I've been asked if I will have my ride tracked while I'm on the road, so I decided to configure a following/mapping tool for readers.  It's not perfect, but when it works, it works well.

You can follow this link and enter shrug&hester if prompted for a password.  The interactive map allows for satellite, roads, or hybrid views and can be zoomed in/out as needed.  The app draws a straight line between coordinate updates from my phone, so if it appears I'm bisecting curves, it's just the update interval.  This is usually most visible when zoomed in tight.  Point hover or click on the tracking dots to see details at that instant.  If I travel out of cellular service (which is the plan) then the updates will pause until I re-enter coverage, upon which the cached data in my phone should be added to the map.  The image below is an example from my 2020 trip to Gettysburg.  The app have been completely rewritten, so I expect better representation of mapping.

Decision Made - Staying South of the Border

Sometimes decisions are easy when they're essentially made for you because your options are severely limited.  I as much as I loathe being told where I can and cannot go, I'm even more averse to unnecessary risks.  One such decision has been the topic of a few recent blog entries.

I have been debating attempting to cross the border into Canada and heading up the ALCAN for a ten-year reunion with Alaska.  Prime Minister Trudeau is a bigger idiot than Joe Biden and the restrictions he's imposed are not only crushing Canadians' vacations, they're crushing the Canadian economy as well.  Despite the restrictions, I feel confident I have verifiable documentation for justifiable means to cross in order to "provide an essential service in Alaska".  All I would need is a 72-hour negative China virus test result.  Returning home would be allowed under the provision that I am returning through Canada from essential work, back to my home state.  Again, another virus test would be needed.  Even with my ducks in as much of a row as ducks might get, the final decision is completely subjective and would be up to the Border Agent in duty when I arrive there.  If I get the wrong guy having a bad day, I'm I'm heading south.  I decided that was more risk than I want to take.

I will stay in America where things are increasingly opening up as citizens stand up and demand to reclaim their freedoms.  As such, I've selected some interesting routes that will take me WAY off the beaten path and force me to ride slower, fewer hours per day, and to actually breathe.  While on the Alaskapade in 2011, I rode crazy 900-mile long segments for days on end. I think I'll slow my roll a bit on this trip.  My motivations are very different a decade later.

North by Northwest

I plan to meander my way through New Mexico and  the most iconic northbound routes in Colorado, making my to Red Lodge Montana - the start of the Beartooth Highway.  I'll camp wherever between home and Montana and get there when I get there.

From Red Lodge, I'll ride the Beartooth Highway westward and make my way up to Whidey Island, to which I last rode in 2010 with my mom.  I'll take the Keystone Ferry to Port Townsend/Coupeville and make my east to La Push, WA.  From La Push, I'll start hugging the pacific coastline and ride 101south into Oregon.  I'll have a short tourist stop/photo op in Bend, OR before heading back to the coast and riding south into California.  Once in California, I'll make my way to PC101 and ride the iconic Pacific Coast Highway down to San Luis Obispo.  I'm considering a run all the way south to San Diego, just to say I did it, but will decide based on the time I have left in my schedule.

From either San Diego or San Luis Obispo, I will make my way to Yosemite National Park and then up to Lake Tahoe to a attend a gathering riders that we've had for the last ten years.  While in Tahoe,  I will park the trailer and actually spend five nights in a hotel, which will be a welcome change after two weeks in a tent.  I plan to head back home the following Friday, with a stop somewhere along the way.  It would be nice to be home for Independence Day.

That's it folks.  It ain't Alaska, but I'm going to make the best of it and capture some drone and surface level footage and lots of photos.

Trailer Trash

I wrote previously about building a trailer to pull behind Hester for motorcycle camping.  I picked up a shell of a trailer built by a friend of a friend.  It had good bones and I set out to realize my vision of the perfect motorcycle travel rig.  The eight-inch wheels and bias ply tires were replaced with twelve-inch mags and radials.  Larger wheels spin slower and less and therefore inflict less wear and tear on wheel bearings. Of course, this meant I had to install larger fenders to accommodate the larger wheels. I added a pair of twenty-pound hydraulic strut lifts to hold the clamshell open while I’m loading, unloading, or just digging around in there.  I added surface level D rings in the base of the clamshell, to which I can attach bungee cords that serve to secure cargo while I'm on the move.  I extended the tongue eighteen inches, which moves the clamshell back more from the motorcycle to provide a more stable towing experience and to make load distribution more forgiving.  Load distribution is paramount when pulling a trailer, especially with a motorcycle. The elongated tongue bar gave me room to mount an ice chest holder in front of the clamshell.  Finally, I added a removable 100-watt solar panel to the roof.  This panel charges a small integrated inverter/generator that stores inside the clamshell.  The panel and generator combined weigh less than 25 pounds!  With this rig, I can charge the generator while I ride all day and have multiple 110VAC power outlets and high-speed USB ports for charging my electronics at night.  I had already outfitted Hester with a trailer hitch and wiring for the LED trailer lighting.  Although I haven’t weighed the finished product yet, the entire fully packed and properly balanced rig can be led around and dropped on the trailer hitch ball with just one hand.  It’s everything I envisioned when I set out to create a capable motorcycle trailer rig.

As with any motorcycle maintenance, the trailer needed a shakedown run to prove its road worthiness.  There’s a loop near my home that I like to ride after I work on Hester that offers a a good mix of roughly forty-five miles of curves, pavement, and gravel roads.  I decided to forego this loop and just winged it on my first trailer trip out; riding three hundred miles to the Arkansas National Forest for a weekend camping trip.  While I knew the trailer design and ergonomics were solid, I was still a bit apprehensive about the first trip and I kept my speed down to 60mph for the first thirty or so miles.  The trailer pulled like a dream.  Honestly, it’s easy to forget it’s back there, which would be a nightmare in the wrong circumstances.  It’s most important to account for the additional space needed at gas stations, tight 90-degree corners, and while backing into parking spaces.  Within an hour on the road, I was confidently cruising at 80mph and the trip to Hot Springs was uneventful.  I did notice a hit on gas mileage to the tune of about ten percent, which is only slightly more than riding with an adult passenger.  That's a cost and time factor I will have to consider as I plan trips.

While on the road, I got a lot of odd stares from people not only unaccustomed to seeing a motorcycle pulling a trailer, but a trailer with a solar panel on its roof.  It made for interesting conversations at gas stops, with most people wondering where the equipment the panel charged was and how I interconnected everything.  I think I’ll make a YouTube video.

I learned an interesting aspect of trailering that I had not previously considered.  If I spot an object in my path riding on two wheels, I can usually dodge it.  If I’m in a car, I can usually straddle it.  This is not the case when pulling a trailer with a motorcycle. If there’s an object on the road and insufficient time or distance away to change lanes, something is going to hit it.  Trike riders know this but I’ve never ridden a trike, so it was an epiphany for me.  I’ll do some research on the best tactics, but I suspect letting one of the radial tires take the impact is more practical than the motorcycle.  For one, motorcycle tires are inline, so if one hits it the other follows and they could both be damaged.  The trailer wheels are separated by an axle and the radial tires are more forgiving (and far less expensive) than motorcycle tires.  Trailer wheels are also much easier to change than motorcycle wheels and I carry a spare and lug wrench in the trailer.

All in all, Hester’s first outing with her tag along was an uneventful success.  All the trailer needs is a name.  I decided to call her Pearl as that was the name of Hester Prynne’s illegitimate daughter in The Scarlett Letter.  It seemed only fitting.