"Man Journey" Cleveland, OH to San Francisco, CA

As promised, here is my ride report. I started in Cleveland, OH and made my way to San Francisco, CA with my buddy Misha. I would like to extend a special thanks to Rick, Jim (minturn) and everyone else on this forum who has offered advice, guidance, suggestions and words of encouragement. I would also like to dedicate this report to Cycle Analysis in Brookpark, OH. When I brought my bike in and told them what I intended to do, I was mocked and laughed at and told I would never make it on such an old machine. Needless to say, I've made it (and without spending the $380 they wanted to "fix everything" without me ever telling them the problem) and I would like to extend my middle finger to the shop owner. For anyone in the area, I recommend staying away from this shop.

I will update this as time allows as I am on the hunt for a job and that eats up the majority of my energy.
Without further adieu...


“Man Journey”
Let me start this ride report with a little introduction as to the how and the why. Graduating from college into this economic climate is not fun. Graduating from college early into this economic climate is even less fun. As I graduated from the RIT with no job prospects lined up, I did what any other college student would do: I went home to live with mom. All in all, this is a lot better than it sounds. What makes this situation terrible is that home is in Cleveland, OH. Definitely not the cultural center of the USA by any stretch of the word. I picked up a job as a warehouse manager and after the first week of work, I knew I could not survive for much longer in Cleveland. And so, a plan was formed: pursue the dream I had since youth, live in San Francisco!
I started putting the majority of my earnings into savings and started thinking of how I was to get out there. Right around this time, someone on the XJBikes board posted a link to the “NY to SF on a $50 bike” ride report on ADVRider. After I read the first page, I knew exactly how I was going to get to San Francisco: motorcycle! I had just recently, in December of 08, purchased a 1985 XJ700N with a little over 10,000 miles. It was cosmetically perfect, but needed a lot of work on the mechanical aspects. I bought the bike for the sole reason that the majority of the operation relies on mechanical aspects so I would be able to fix just about anything that went wrong myself, without relying on a shop. This being my first bike, I set to tearing it apart with the goal of taking my first ride by March 1st. Many cold evenings in my (unheated) garage and my bike was running! First ride was freezing and I ended up doing a 270 degree turn on a patch of black ice. I knew that if I could survive this, I could survive a trip to CA.
I spoke to my friend Misha several times and told him about my upcoming trip, and as he had no job prospects either, decided to make the migration to the West coast with me. Unfortunately, after looking at several bikes, all of the good deals (read: those he could afford and those that would make the trip) either fell through or were snatched up before we got a chance to look at them. So what do we do now that Misha has no ride? We venture to his backyard and find two perfect examples of German engineering ready to handle anything that comes their way: matching (1984 and 1985) Porsche 944s... in less than desirable condition (you will learn why later). With only 1.5 weeks to go, the 1984 is sold to pay for the trip, and the 1985 is fixed up just enough to survive (or is is just enough that the occupant survives?) the trip.


What's missing in the above picture? (This will give you a hint at some of the problems we faced with the Porsche along the way.)

A few days before departure, I was talking to an older Russian friend of mine. As I was describing the trip to her, she was in shock that instead of taking a plane I was going to ride a motorcycle the whole way. As I tried to explain to her, she just shook her head and said, “Man journey, I understand.”

Day 1


At the gas station, waiting to depart.

I have been awake almost all night due to nervousness and anxiety. All of my stuff was packed in to one duffel bag weighing in at 60 pounds. Everything else I either sold or gave away to friends. Getting out of bed, I check that everything is strapped on nice and tight and have one last (most delicious) breakfast with my mom. Misha arrives at my house around 11:40 (an hour and a half late) and we already start changing the ride plan. Instead of heading out to Indiana, I decide it would be best to push to Chicago, IL and sleep in a bed at our friends place. Much discussion later, we agree to head to Chicago and are on our way at noon.
We fill up with gas a mile from my house and I mark the mileage on my odometer. The plan is to do the scenic drive along Route 2 to Toledo, OH to see the glass museum and eat some lunch. Two minutes out, I already feel the rain drops. As soon as I hit the highway, pouring rain commences to come down on me for the next one and a half hours, almost the entire way to Toledo. I am glad I made the investment in waterproof armor and continue to brave the elements. Well, 20 minutes of braving the elements and I am chilled to say the least. Riding with my t-shirt untucked and without the liner on my jacket has allowed for rain to seep in. Not to mention that I'm wearing canvas shoes. Riding in 64 degree weather is nice, riding in 64 degree weather when you are soaking wet and battling highway winds is not nice. I change shirts, shoes and socks right outside of Toledo and we make the last half hour to the museum with the sun shining over our heads.


MostoftheGATT. Who can spot what gear I am missing? Notice the rain clouds behind me as we approach Toledo.

Toledo is a strange city in that the debilitated neighborhoods almost instantly become nice and then before you have a chance to blink again, you're back in a run down portion of the city. Despite this, I would recommend taking a visit to the glass museum if you are in town.


Misha is in the white shirt, on the other side of the glass museum!

We spend almost two hours browsing the displays and watching a live glass blowing demonstration.




This sculpture was really interesting. There was an entire glass body underneath the glass dress.

Afterwards we walk to the art museum and feast on a lunch of boiled eggs, bread and tomatoes (Thanks to Misha's mom for sending along food! It saved us on numerous occasions) and head out to Chicago. As soon as we hit the highway, the clouds rush in and the rain begins to pour again. The rest of the way to Chicago the weather alternated between rain and mist. To make matters worse, the exit we needed to take to get to our friend's apartment was blocked off for construction and the next best way to get there (according to the Garmin Nuvi (worst GPS ever)) was for us to use an exit in Gary, Indiana. Wow. Talk about urban decay. Factories were spilling out waste right in to the side streets, toxic smells permeated the air and the only people I saw out on the streets were homeless. After taking a roundabout (and somewhat scary) drive through Gary, we make it to the Illinois border and get going on the final stretch to Chicago. When we hit city limits, traffic comes to a grinding halt. It would have been faster for me to walk the remaining mile than wait in traffic. We managed to get in to Chicago right as the baseball game was letting out and we also managed to get ourselves on to the Inner Loop which, as I am told, is the worst place to be after a baseball game lets out. Frustrated, cold, and wet I arrive at our friend Alyssa's apartment at 10:30, over an hour behind schedule due to all of the detours and traffic.
A warm shower and a hot plate of food later (Thank you, Alyssa!) we do what any exhausted travelers would do: head to the liquor store (Thank you Chicago for allowing your liquor stores to stay open late!) and purchase some vodka as a house warming present. The long, hard day catches up to me two shots later and I proceed to go to bed.

Until the next update, ENJOY!

 

that is awesome!! cant wait for the updates!

 

Chicago traffic is terrible, and your right after a ball game (or any event) you were in the mid fun-ville! KEEP THE TALE COMING!!

 

haha, i didnt catch the missing door handle on that Porsche at first.

 

schooter - the missing door handle(s) were just some of the things missing from that car. I was more worried about the car surviving the trip rather than the bike.

Day 2

I wake up at 6 AM. This is quite a surprise to me considering how exhausted I felt yesterday and how exhausted I still felt as I lay in there in bed. I force myself to doze on and off for the next hour or so until I finally decide that it is time to get up and be useful. A hearty breakfast, with extremely strong coffee (thanks again, Alyssa!), and I feel like a new person despite the overall lack of sleep. I spend the next two hours hyped up on caffeine and planning the route for the next few days. The original route I had spent 2 months researching and planning was no longer good as we had already pushed an entire hour further on the first day and our schedule would be off-set for the rest of the trip. Next stop: Cedar Rapids, IA and then Waterloo, IA to camp for the night.

We chit chat, recharge and load our iPods with new songs and head out in to Chicago traffic some time after 11 AM. I am unsure of what's worse, waiting 30 minutes in a traffic jam to move a tenth of a mile, or being exposed to Chicago drivers during rush hour. I'll let you decide for yourself, but I must say that I've never been quite as alert as I was when leaving Chicago as I was being cut off left and right by SUVs and trucks going well over the speed limit. And then finally, we enter Iowa!


Iowa!

The transition from Illinois to Iowa is quite smooth. We are exposed to what seems like endless rolling plains... and the smell of manure. Strangely enough, this is also when my iPod dies and continues to stay dead for the rest of the trip. Undaunted, we push onward to Cedar Rapids. As we get closer I become increasingly anxious to get off of my bike and stroll around as the past day and a half of riding is getting to me. Oh, I should have added this to the preface, the longest ride I took prior to this trip was only 70 miles. We'd already covered 5 times more than that on the first day and my butt was asking for a brake from the saddle. As we entered Cedar Rapids, I instantly forgot about my aches and pains when I was greeted by a completely dead city. It was startling, there were hundreds of cars everywhere (and a church every 100 or so yards) but the streets were completely empty as we drove through downtown. Some of the buildings even had boards over the doors and windows. And these weren't house sized buildings either, but large, multi-story office buildings.

We stop by a random intersection (3rd and 10th?) and attempt to find a bar. As we explore the (dead) city we stumble across this brilliant feat of architecture:


I really like the thinking behind this building.

A little ways down the street from this building, we find our target: a dive Irish pub! As we enter through the door, I realize we have found the place where all hope goes to die. The contents of the bar include a less than enthusiastic bartender, two middle-aged (and extremely drunk) couple, one Harley rider, and, most surprising, one student doing work on his laptop. Less than thrilled with where we are, but too tired to care, we plop ourselves down at the bar and attempt to order two local brews. Once we find out that all this bar serves is Miller Lite, Coors Light, Bud Light and Fat Tire. We order the only beer that isn't as watered down as the rest: Fat Tire.



The beer is served to us in glasses fresh out of the freezer, coated in a fine layer of ice. Just what I needed after sweating pools in my armor for the majority of the morning and mid-day. The first few sips of beer hit my stomach and it starts to grumble, begging to be fed something other than a liquid diet. Glancing over the menu, I am less than enthused and decide to go with a (somewhat) safe bet and order a taco. The food arrives and I am pleasantly surprised; The taco is a good size, tastes great and comes with free chips and salsa! I am even more surprised when we receive the bill. $2.25 for each beer and $1.50 for each taco! At $3.75 each (plus tip!) this is the cheapest meal we eat all trip. Satiated and with some time to spare we decide to walk off the alcohol and proceed to meander around Cedar Rapids. With the exception of the bridges, only one other thing caught my eye: pasta by the gallon!



Having experienced enough local culture, we head back to our rides and proceed on our way to Waterloo, IA where we plan to camp at George Wyth Memorial State Park. The ride is rather uneventful and as the sun begins to set all I really want to do is set up our tent and sleep. We arrive a little after 8, behind schedule again, and get a non-electric site for $11. Tired from the road, it takes us a while to unpack and we end up having to set up the tent by the light of the moon (and an LED flashlight). We also quickly realize that our plan to scavenge for firewood is a no-go as there are no downed trees to be found anywhere. Thankfully an extremely nice couple shares some of their firewood with us. (read: gives us a huge bundle).


Eating and planning the next days route.


We proceed to build a small cooking fire and cook some of the best potatoes I've had in a long time while also brewing a kettle of tea. Satisfied with the meal, the rest of the wood is used to create a roaring blaze which we watch from our tent as we doze off to sleep.

 

haha, vodka and potatoes, sounds like what my diet would be like if i didnt have dorm food.

 

oh man.... i noticed u tried to get some highway pegs, but didnt, that musta sucked

 

I'm really getting into this - keep us posted!!

 

agreed!

 

Cool story. Reminds me of when I moved from Alabama to Colorado with only $1,000 bucks saved up. My friends thought I was nuts.

 

schooter - the highway pegs were just a "want." What really killed me on the long days was the crappy stock seat.

Ternk - Colorado was the highlight of my trip! I was overwhelmed with how beautiful it was. I'll post my full impressions soon.

Everyone else, thank you for the positivity!

DAY 3


George Wyth State Park, complete with proximity to major highway.

We wake up at... Wait, that's the wrong way to start Day 3. We have been awake for most of the night, each sleeping for roughly an hour. The cold, hard packed dirt underneath the tent has been most uncomfortable as a mattress, and the armor in my pants has not exactly been the best pillow, either. We lay on the ground for as long as possible, doing our best in an attempt to rest up any way possible. Tired from trying to sleep, we finally get up to eat. As soon as I take the first bite out of my hearty breakfast of cold, left over potatoes, banana, spoonful of peanut butter and water that I realize my throat is sore. Ten minutes later all possible flu symptoms set in. So far, it's been an excellent start to an adventure. We finish off the breakfast water, pack up and set out by 9 AM.

Things only become worse the further we head towards Minnesota. The wind picks up in intensity with each passing mile that by the time we reach Minnesota I have to drive with a hard lean to my left in order to keep riding in a straight line. I've encountered strong winds, but this is something altogether new to me. To top it off, my bike starts to act up and, as Misha informs me at a too frequent gas stop, is shooting black smoke out of my left exhaust when I accelerate. Great. I'm sick, I'm back in my armor, cooking in the heat as we ride along exposed fields all day, fighting heavy wind and my bike is devouring gas at an increasing rate (I averaged 26 MPG for the entire day.).


Maybe my bike was drunk?

Finally, another major milestone. The Minnesota border.


This is the most elaborate border marker. It sits upon a base, roughly 40' x 40' of raised concrete and surrounded by freshly planted vegetation. Try as we may, we were unable to get a picture of both of us on it as the timer on the camera ran out before we could climb it.

Finally, another major milestone. The South Dakota border!


Failed jump picture.

By this point, the endless fields and pastures split up by straight road I first encountered as we left Chicago had lost all appeal to me. As my odometer racked up miles, the landscape stayed the same. Before I left, I really wanted to see what it was like to see green fields and open space all around. Now, my brain had had enough of the monotony. When I was younger, my dad told me stories of merchants in far away lands who had to cross long stretches of desert on camels alone. He told me that to prevent from going crazy and losing their ability to talk, the merchants would start to sing songs about anything they encountered so as to pass the time and practice speaking. I tried my best to make up songs about the sun, the grass and the pavement, but was feeling particularly uninspired that day. My body ached and so did my mind. All I wanted is to reach the mountains of Colorado.

As we approach Chamberlain, SD, our camping destination for Night 3, exhaustion has really set in. As we are about to enter Chamberlain, which is situated right next to a bridge crossing the Missouri river, something inside me is moved. I look over the bridge to the other side, and I am filled with a feeling of elation and I become more at ease. We pull in to camp at American Campground(?), a place right on the river run by an extremely energetic, funny and outgoing older gentleman. We chat with him for a few minutes about our adventure and finishing college. Hearing our story, he reduces our camping fee to the minimum and tells us “You just finished college, you need the money more than I do,” and hands us a map marking our designated camp site. It's a really heart warming feeling when a total stranger, especially in times like this, helps another total stranger. After this, I started to notice that the farther West we went, the nicer all of the people became.

We roll in to our designated camp site, which ends up being prime lake front property, set up the tent in a matter of seconds and set out to do some serious work. Misha goes to get firewood, which we end up having to purchase, to start dinner. I call up Rick and we start trying to diagnose why my bike suddenly started running rich on the #1 and #2 cylinders. Rick suggested that the jets may have rattled loose in carbs #1 and #2. With tools in hand, I fight the waning daylight to tear down the bike.



Carbs off, I start to probe around. Working against time, I check that all jets are still in place, that all butterflies open and then I check the diaphragm assembly. The brass piston on carb #1 is stuck halfway up, and the piston on #3 does not seat properly. I polished the slide bores before the trip, so I'm guessing something got sucked in through the air box and wedged itself in there. I do a quick field polish, using WD-40 as a lubricant, and make sure that all piston's clunk close. I put the carbs back on the bike, resorting to a tiny LED flashlight to light the work area. Swatting away the mosquitoes (which happened to be particularly vicious) I head back to camp and am delighted at the sight that greets me.


Culinary masterpiece

Misha took the initiative and created another fine meal for our dining pleasure. Fire roasted potatoes seasoned with cayenne pepper and salt as well as pork something or another. After this point I am unable to recall much of anything except that the food was very filling. After I had put the carbs back on the bike, I took NyQuill to soothe all of my cold symptoms as I had been suffering the entire day. To give you an idea of my mood, here is my last journal entry for the day, in NyQuill induced chicken scratch, “Really want to reach Co. / Spirits are low & / I am exhausted.” I close my eyes and sleep comes fast.

 

dude, I really want the next update NOW!!! NOW I say!!!

fan-freakin-tastic!

 

Great travel log!
Keep the updates coming!

There's nothing quite like the feeling you get when you can diagnose and fix a real mechanical problem on the side of the road(or at the campsite)!

 

So, as your location has changed to SF you have clearly made it. Where do you live in the city?

 

OK my friend, you can only spend so many hours a day looking for a job! You need to start writing as we are all sitting at our computers waitong for the next installment of your trip across the country.

Loren

 

mestnii, we want more, now, as helmet said!

Can't wait till the next installment!

I like ride reports.

minturn (Jim)

 

dawsoner - I'm in Bernal Heights, soon to be moving to a nicer place near Dolores Park.

Everyone - Thank you for the kind words! I am still trying to find a job and it's proving to be a major drag as all I want to do is keep riding/traveling and posting up my updates. The next section(s) are in the works.

I plan to do a day trip up Highway 1 this weekend, so maybe I'll add that part up to. I have some other ideas on what I want to add to this ride report towards the end.

 

If you ever make it up to Sacramento, look me up, maybe we could plan a day trip somewhere or something.

 

XJDriver - I PMed you.

Enjoy!

DAY 4

The alarm on my phone rings. It is 6:00 in the AM. Both of us get straight up, as if we were automatons, clear the tent, and pack everything in a matter of minutes. Breakfast is a different story. I treat myself to a banana which I dip in peanut butter, bread and water. For some strange reason, this combination fills me with more energy than I had imagined it would. The sun is shining on my face from the East. Turning my head to the West, a bridge crossing the Missouri awaits. Misha and I take our time with breakfast and enjoy the serenity of the early morning. A first for the trip, a grueling 8 hour ride awaits us.

I saddle up and Misha settles in. We crank our respective rides in unison, and without word roll out of campground. I took lead and went on a more scenic (Misha: longer) ride through Chamberlain. I had never seen “small town America” and was always curious to see it firsthand. The scenic route, which takes us an extra 2 minutes, quickly comes to an end and we are greeted by the on-ramp to the bridge.



As soon as we crossed that bridge, it was as if we had crossed through some sort of portal. The scenery became captivating and every rise and fall of the road would draw me in.



The sun rising over my back enveloped me in a blanket of heat and radiance that was just enough to combat the early morning chill. The NyQuill had done it's job. My stomach was full. An excellent start to an early morning!


Vastly improved mood.

We cover the first 58 miles in what seemed like no time at all. Then we stop for gas. My bike ate through 2.3 gallons of gasoline during those wonderful first 58 miles of riding. Concerned, I pull the plugs and now discover that ALL FOUR were covered in a thick layer of black soot. Knowing I would need a greater range than 70 or so miles out of one tank, there was but one thing to be done: carb teardown. I pull my bike to the side of the gas station, grab my tool kit from my saddle back and get to pulling the tank. As I am working, a bus pulls up. As it was behind me, I payed no attention to it until sheriff's started walking in and out of the store.



We hesitated on taking this picture. That is until another curious person asked the sheriff if it would be possible to take a picture to which he cheerfully replied “Yea, go right ahead!” and strolled in to the Sinclair gas station for a cup of coffee. As soon as we snapped the picture, a smaller armored van pulled up next to the bus. Deputies with shotguns stood at both doors and a head count was followed by an exchange of prisoners. At that time, this seemed perfectly normal to me. Only now do I think back and think of how surreal it was for me to be sitting in front of a partly disassembled bike, dirty rack of carbs in hand watching this entire procession. Speaking of carbs; I take off the hats on #3 and #4 and pull the shims that I had put in there before leaving Cleveland when I was fighting a lean issue on those cylinders. Assembling everything back together, I give a healthy turn in on the #1 and #2 idle adjustment screws (no shims under the #1 and #2 needles) and wipe my hands clean.

Behind schedule due to unexpected maintenance, we ride off towards Mt. Rushmore. Pushing West on wonderful roads (except for one 21 mile section) I encounter another first. There is at least an even number of motorcycles as there are cars on the road. I had heard that people in South Dakota really love their toys, but did not expect such a huge turn out. This was spectacular, until I realized that 95% of the riders were on Harleys and would never return the salute when driving by. The other 5% seemed to be ADVrider-style folks on their BMW adventure machines, complete with farkles. I just assumed they were too busy looking at their GPS to return my salutes and the Harley riders were blinded by all of their chrome to see me and cheerfully pressed on. One pit stop to do a plug chop on the side of the highway is the only thing that interrupted the rest of my ride to Mt. Rushmore.



Arriving at Keystone several hours later, I park my bike between a row of shops on the main street and pile into Misha's car to save on parking costs by the memorial. The walkway in between the statues, plaques and flags leading up to the viewing platform and trail heads prepared me for something grand. Walking out on to the open concrete deck looking up at more than a decade worth of work by hundreds of people, I was less than enthused. Especially since Misha had hyped it up and informed me that each head was as tall as a sky scraper. Shame on me for failing to research this prior to departure (It was Misha's goal from the beginning to see Mt. Rushmore) and shame on Misha for making me believe that these heads are larger than they really are. Wandering through the museum, reading about the undertaking and seeing it in photos from start to finish really put a new perspective on things. Using the tools that were available at the time, the monument created is larger than life. I only wish that they would open the hall of records for the public to browse.



Unfortunately, due to time constraints we had to rush through the sightseeing. As I have learned from a fellow traveler, “Always leave a reason to come back.” So we did, agreeing that we would be back to find at least one of the several thousand air hammer bits that are scattered at the base of the mountain. Back in Keystone, we enjoy a light lunch of burger and a brew from Colorado. I explore the shops and pick up a trinket to send back home to my mom as a souvenir. With renewed spirit we head through Custer and the Black Hill on Route 16. This is a beautiful drive and I highly recommend that anyone in the near and not so near area take a ride through here. The rolling hills, punctuated by abrupt climbs through vast expanse of forest takes us directly to the Wyoming border.



As we stop to take a picture, I use the opportunity to check my plugs as Misha reports that I am still shooting smoke from one of my exhausts. A quick check reveals that I am still fouling out plug #1 and #2, while #3 and #4 are in the “just right/slightly rich” neighborhood. Still averaging roughly 26 miles per gallon, I decide to ride it out until Colorado and deal with the more frequent fuel stops. Riding on, I see landscape that right away makes me think of the “Wild West” as it was described to me in history lessons back in middle school. Everyone we talk to all through Wyoming is nice, sincere and extra friendly. Even the Harley riders salute! The drive down Route 85, a 200 mile stretch of mostly straight, flat road, shows me a completely different meaning of “in the middle of nowhere.” Passing through Iowa and Minnesota, even parts of South Dakota, I saw signs selling acreage in the high hundreds. Here, I was passing signs that read “3,873 acres for sale,” with dirt roads stretching across the landscape and disappearing off beyond the horizon.



Halfway between Newcastle and Lusk I honk to 2 ragged looking bicyclists as we pass by them. Deciding to ask if they need any help seeing as the next town was over 40 miles out, I pull over a couple of hundred feet down the road and get a few apples out of Misha's car. As they ride up to us, we exchange greetings and get to talking. Turns out these two guys, Joel (thanks to the business card!) and sorry I forgot your friend's name, are doing a Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine ride and then back.
We met them five and a half months in and on the second half of their journey. We chatted and got to hear a little bit about their adventure as well as sharing some of ours. If you're interested, you should check out Joel's site at www.honestexpression.com and read about his travels. Parting ways, we venture forward toward Hawk Springs “State Recreation Area” as Joel and his friend pedal towards Lusk.

The rest of the drive up til Torrington was a joy. If I had wanted to, I could have closed my eyes and rode for miles on end without fearing for my safety as we saw only a small handful of cars, and all within close proximity to city limits. The smooth, straight road took us farther down south through Wyoming. In my mind, I was eagerly awaiting Colorado and using this portion of the drive to rest mentally and physically as I had to keep only a slight grip on the throttle to keep the bike sailing along. We get to Torrington right as a rainstorm had passed. As we hit city limits, the sun begins to set and I start to develop an uneasy feeling in the depths of my stomach. I had put my camera away and could not reach it, but wish I could have snapped a photo of this bar's sign: “Bitch's Bar & Drive Thru Liquor.” It had the take out window right on the side, too.

I ride out of Torrington alongside a freight rain. As the sun sets, the temperature seemed to instantly drop from the comfortable upper 60's and into the low 50's over the span of a mile. Suddenly the splashes from my front tire as I rode through the puddles became a nuisance as the cool night air started to evaporate the water from my gloves, shoes and pants. I had already used up all of my spare gas earlier (gas stations all closed by the time we rode through Torrington) and I was slowly starting to freeze. I pushed my bike to the absolute edge, riding 77 miles on one tank with the red fuel light glaring directly at me. The cool night air had drained all of my remaining energy from me and I knew that I needed to stop, both for fear of running out of gas and for my own safety. I pull over next to the first house I see, ask the gruff owner where we could set up a tent for the night and am directed down the “driveway” (a mile long stretch of trail covered in gravel) and am told to set up camp by the clearing used as a staging area for duck hunting. Expert at setting up our nightly accommodations, the tent goes up in a minute and we pack it with all of the necessities for the night:
-2 cans of condensed soup purchased in Lusk
-Left over bread slices
-Cheese we forgot about since Iowa
-Large canteen of water
-Small bottle of vodka

Exhausted, without fire, we crack the soup open and proceed to eat it straight out of the can without even bothering to mix it with water. Cold, salty, and overly condensed, the soup still goes down fast and the bread / cheese combo offers an excellent filler. I hang my headphones from the the top of the tent, turn my malfunctioning iPod up as loud as it can go, and we share drinks in our newly created bar.

 

Thanks for the installment. I tipped over a boat full of people last weekend while crabbing in a bay and the story isn't half as interesting and entertaining.

GREAT job telling the story of your journey!

One last thought. The BMW riders who didn't wave back must have been from the outlaw side. I ride a Beemer and always wave back. Sorry!