Started out when I saw an advertisement on the Internet for a GL1800A Gold Wing, with a Kwik Kamper. It was 546 miles away and I had talked myself out of going to see it. Susie urged me to make the trip, as the GL1800A was just the bike I’d been dreaming of owning. Dave’s Wing was better than “show room condition” and after a couple hours, I was the new owner of MY Wing! Dave drove it over to my house a couple weeks later. See, it’s Susie’s fault! If she would not have encouraged me to go look at the Wing, “The Trip” would never have happened! That was in October and the first leg of “The Trip” was in May, so there was a lot of preparation to be done! The most important thing was…..learning how to handle an 850 pound motorcycle pulling a 500 pound trailer! The Wing is a very forgiving motorcycle and with so much of the weight down low, it is easier to handle than my Vulcan Nomad. Then “The Trip” planning started in earnest! Shopping on e-Bay, Bass Pro Shop, and even Wal-Mart…..Reading all kinds of camping books……then buying MORE “stuff”! I had not been camping in 18 years, and that was in my Mom’s Class C camper! I can’t remember “real” camping since I was a boy!! The first leg of the trip was to be to Washington DC for “Rolling Thunder”, Memorial Day week end.

The First Leg

I did not know it, but, that was the same week end the WW2 Memorial was to be dedicated. Reservations were made at the KOA in Fredricksburg, Virginia and I was committed to “The Trip”….at least the first leg. They gave me a great site, close to the bathrooms and right where everyone stopped to register! The Wing/camper combo was a “people magnate”. I had my picnic table out in front and LOTS of folks would stop and chat and look at the Wing! What a great way to meet people!!! There were about 20 “bikers” in camp. Every type from “hard core” to a guy who pulled his 5th wheel camper with his Harley trike loaded in the “garage” of the camper. Since the word “Harley”, let me get this off my chest. I think a person should ride what ever they want (or can afford) and all bikers from Scooters to Boss Hogs deserve respect for their choice of rides. That said, I met a few Harley riders on “The Trip” who have a real attitude problem. They seem to think they ride the “only real motorcycle” on the highway. I went into a Harley dealership to purchase some windshield treatment (to make the rain sheet off my windshield) and was treated with contempt because I did not ride a Harley.

I did notice that most bikes being tailored were Harleys and the majority of bikes broken down on the road, had the Harley Davidson logo emblazoned on their gas tanks! We all share the road out there and should treat one and other with dignity and respect, regardless of our choice of “rides”. We had a diverse group of bikers in camp. I chatted with one guy (BMW) who said he drops his bike about once a month! Heck, if I did drop mine, I sure would not have told anyone. He said it was unstable below 10 MPH and “top heavy”, but he loved the bike because it was a GREAT touring bike and had ridden it from Virginia to Colorado several times! When he drops his bike, it just lays down on the crash bars and does not do any damage. He just looks helpless and someone always comes over and helps pick it up! Bikers in black leathers and riding chaps…..Bikers in Joe Rocket and First Gear riding jackets……Bikers in Black T-shirts and Levis……joined by the love of the open road and wind in our face.

The day of “Rolling Thunder” we left the camp at different times, with many different plans. Some were going to meet with the 60,000 bikers who would meet at the Pentagon and ride in the “Parade” into Washington DC. Some were going to ride straight into down town and find a place to park. I didn’t have a clue!! Never been there, never done that and riding all alone. As I was riding up I-95 (50 miles) into DC, the heavens open up and it started to pour! Managed to get off the freeway and put on my rain gear at a gas station. As I entered back onto I-95 I became immersed into a deeply religious experience! 4 lanes wide…..bumper to bumper traffic….pouring rain…..standing water in the slow lanes….semi’s roaring by, covering me with spray………..and me praying, “Dear God, please don’t let me go down!!” The rain only lasted another 15 minutes and the standing water was soon blown off I-95, and “life was good!” When the rain quite, I edged over into the “fast lane” where I felt safer and “grouped up” with 5 other bikes. The closer to DC we got, the faster we went…..almost as if we were being drawn there by a powerful force.

About 10 miles out, groups of folks started gathering on the overpasses, waving flags and cheering. CHEERING-----for Us, for our Cause, for our Troops, for our Flag, and for the USA! The closer we got, the more people, until entire overpasses were jammed with people! The exit to the Pentagon was a “motorcycle only” exit and thousands of bikes were lined up waiting to get into the pentagon. We saw the repairs after the terrorist’s attack and once more relived that attack. After waiting in the line for a while, I eased to the left and headed for downtown. The DC police and “Rolling Thunder” did an excellent job of having parking for the thousands of bikes. “Rolling Thunder” had some simple rules: No drugs, No alcohol, No attitudes, and wear a helmet. This was primarily a “V-Twin” event, but there were bikes from every brand I have ever seen! Acts of kindness were everywhere! Here is just one example: We were waiting in line to use the bathroom. A WW2 veteran was waiting with his daughter. She, of course, could not go into the Men’s room with him and he was having trouble walking. Right away, one of the bikers said, “Are you concerned about slipping on the wet floor?” When the older veteran said he was, a biker took each arm and the guys in the rest room all stepped back to give him plenty of room. They helped him to a stall and waited until he was done, then assisted him to the sink, then out side to his awaiting daughter. Her face just lit up with relief to see her Dad had the help he desperately needed. He graciously looked up and tried to thank them for their help. The bearded tattooed biker went to attention and replied, “Oh no sir, thank you for your service and sacrifice.”

The new WW2 Memorial had been dedicated the previous day and many of the WW2 veterans were on the mall to see the Memorial. Everywhere I looked, I saw bikers thanking these veterans for their service. I thanked a few myself, and it felt mighty good to render the honors to these men who had sacrificed so much for our nation! The traffic trying to get out of downtown was totally gridlocked , so I just headed down a street that was still moving. When I saw a freeway sign, I went THAT WAY! I really did not care what freeway, I just wanted out of town! OK, I was heading west and the campground was south! Once on the freeway system, I turned around and headed back toward downtown. NO ONE was heading that direction and I was able to pick up 395 South and make my way back to the campground! The next day, in camp, I was talking with a bearded, tattooed biker about my trip into DC on I-95. Seeing all the people cheering and flags waving had brought tears to my eyes. Roaring down the freeway and tears streaming down my cheeks….I must have been a sight to behold! The biker just looked at me, eyes filling with tears. All he could say was, “Me too.” The day I “broke camp”, folks kept stopping to chat and say, “Good bye”. What should have been a 20 minute job turned into a 2 hour job. It was misting rain and since I was in my rain gear, I was soaked, from the inside out! With it raining and more forecast, I headed for Richmond, Virginia via US 1 with the thought of riding the freeways (I-64 and the West Virginia Turnpike) back home. Ain’t nothing like dragging a camper behind a motorcycle, in the rain, to keep you on your toes! I made it to the “New River Gorge” and stopped in a motel for the evening. All that pretty “2 lane” country, and I’m riding the freeways! I swore, all the way home, I was not dragging that “darn camper” all over the USA!!!

Back home, safe and sound, I relived the experience with Susie until she was sick of hearing about the trip and especially motorcycles! Heck, during the Parade, I had called her, just so she could hear the roar of the motorcycles (and to remind me where I’d parked the Gold Wing!) Susie supported me through all the planning and buying “stuff” (which in most cases I did not use!!!). I considered all the options about the camper. I knew I would need it at the Buckeye GWRRA rally in Xenia, Ohio, the Honda Hoot in Knoxville, and the EAA rally in Oshkosh, Wis. We even considered shipping it from Knoxville to a friend’s house near Oshkosh, but in the end I hooked to it and drug it all over the USA!

THE SECOND LEG...

June 16th, my scheduled departure date, came and I just could not bear to leave. First, I did not want to leave Susie. I didn’t have to leave until June 17th. Maybe more important, I was scared! By nature, I’m a “loner” and had planned the entire trip without a co-rider. What if something happened to me? To the bike? The darn camper? Could I really ride all around the USA? What if I dropped the bike….how could I get it up by my self? For the DC trip, I had reservations at a KOA…..how could I camp at a fairgrounds in Xenia? Where would I stay for the next 7 weeks I would be on the road? I was not a “happy camper” when I pulled out of the driveway and headed for Xenia. Would I ever see Susie again? My kids? My grandkids? My friends? I got to the head of the driveway, looked up and down the road…….and the Second Leg of my adventure began. Stopped and saw my Aunt Barbara on the way to Xenia. Since Uncle Alvin died, I know she has been lonely, but also, I was stalling! After a nice visit, back on the road! No need to stall any longer, I got to US 35 and was on my way. At the GWRRA (Gold Wing Road Riders Association) Rally I started to relax. The folks who greeted me at the gate gave me directions to “registration”. The lady who registered me (and took my money) answered all my questions and sent me to the field to find a camping spot. Heck, I just picked a spot (close to the porta-potty, but not to close) and started to set up! “Set-up” went smooth enough, so I got out my lawn chair and just relaxed. “Ah!” God does take care of little children and bikers without a clue! I was set up next to some of the nicest folks I met on the entire trip….a Black Chapter from the Cleveland area. They made me feel welcome and a real part of the GWRRA community! Ron gave me his phone number and ask me to call him when I got back to tell him all about “The Trip”. I lost his phone number in Las Vegas, but hope to be able to find it through the “Gold Book”. They also invited me to the “National Rally”, held in Wisconsin this year. That’s the “Black Nation Motorcycle Rally”! One of the guys ask how I would be able to find them. I replied, “You all don’t look alike to me, I’ll find you.” To which he replied, “Hell, We’ll find you…..you’ll be the only White Mf’er there!” I wish I would have had the energy to have gone, but it started on August 2nd and I was already back home. It was a good rally and an excellent start to the trip! Visited all the vendors at least twice and enjoyed visiting with folks and learning more about Gold Wings and motorcycling. The GWRRA is just full of great people! They are unselfish in their sharing of information and are willing to help a “newbee” learn. Actually, no one ever treated me like a “newbee”, just one of the group! I was real apprehensive to be a part of the “parade”. Something I’d never done and “group riding” takes both skill and concentration. It was a real “kick” to be a part of 400 Gold Wings winding through Xenia “on parade”. Bikes ride 2 abreast, staggered, and most speeds were only about 30-35 MPH. The city of Xenia went all out to make it a successful Parade. They must have had 10 Police to stop traffic, and had some of the side streets blocked off, so we did not have to stop at any “Stop” signs or traffic signals! The residents of Xenia must not have “Cable” TV, because they were all out in their yards, waving!

We concluded (I thought) our ride in a school parking lot, where we were served hot pizza and cold soft drinks! When we pulled in, there were volunteers who directed us to park in orderly rows. I certainly had not planned on being part of the “night” lighted parade, but since I could not get the bike out of line…..I did that also! Once again, the City of Xenia had things well in hand. They had opened the school, so we could use the rest rooms! By the time we had finished our food it was about dark and time to head back through the city with all our lights on. Some of the Gold Wings have lights everywhere…I just have a couple strips of blue neon, but I certainly turned them on and enjoyed the ride back to the fairgrounds. After we got back, it was time for the “light show” competition. There were several highly decorated Gold Wings, but one stands out in my mind. Each Wing came into an arena and did a complete circle, so all the crowd could see the lights, then stopped in the middle for the judges to examine the bike. Most came in with all their lights on, and a few even had music playing, as well. A Red Wing came in, and seemed to quit, in the middle of the arena. No lights…..no sound…..just dead! The rider seemed to be “messing with” his bike, but nothing was working. The crowd was really quiet, then folks started to whisper. The fellow next to me said, “If that was me, I’d just push that thing out of the arena”. After an eternity (well, maybe 90 seconds), the bike seemed to erupt with sounds….”2001” started blasting out of his speakers and with every dramatic pause in the music, more lights…..and more lights would come on! By the time the song was over, the entire bike was ablaze with lights and CO2 “smoke” was rolling from under the bike! I still don’t know if he was really having trouble with his Wing, or if it was all staged, but the performance certainly won him First Prize!

Saturday Morning we had the Flag “dropped in” by five sky divers, before watching a demonstration of how to handle an accident scene. This was not only a demonstration for us, but a drill for the local Fire and EMS Departments. We could listen to all the “Official”radio traffic about the accident and observe the various departments at work. The demonstration was concluded with “Life Flight” arriving and being open for our inspection and questions. After Sunday Morning Closing Ceremony, it was time to pack up and head out! The same “fear” was not there, like I had when I left Susie and Circleville. I had survived, and more importantly, enjoyed the Rally! Now it was time for my next challenge, the Honda Hoot. I gave Robyn a call and stopped to see her and Daryl in Middletown. Then it was down to Bass Pro Shop for a light weight, warm sleeping bag. One night in Xenia, it had gotten down to 45 degrees and I knew I did not have the correct sleeping equipment for comfort in the Rocky Mountains! Then it was I-75 down to Cumberland College, where I went to college and served on the alumni Board of Directors. JoAnn had joked that my camper would be seen sitting infront of a lot of motels…..she was correct! After visiting with Rick, at the College, I spent the night in the comfort of the Cumberland Inn. In my 3 years at Cumberland College, I had never gone down 25W any farther than Jellico, TN. Always before, I had gotten on I-75 and climbed over Jellico Mountain….but not this time! 25W is a wonderful, winding 2 lane highway from Williamsburg, KY to Caryville, TN. Gentle sweeping curves with a creek running through the tree shaded hollow (down there, it’s a holler). I was just relaxing and enjoying the scenery when I heard a train rumbling down near the creek. When the engineer saw me, he let out a long wail on his air horn, followed by a big wave….just to be “neighborly”. I had not had an engineer do that since I was a kid!! I stopped in La Follette, Tennessee at a Good Will store to pick up a book. Reading in the evening is relaxing and in the stress of leaving I had forgotten to pick up one of my westerns. Well, no westerns, but they did have a bunch of Reader’s Digest Condensed books….$.50 each! I picked out one and browsed through the jeans and jacket section. Hanging there, with the tag still on it was a Frog Tog Raincoat! Now, you gotta’ understand…..I love a “deal” and these are $60 in the catalogs, so I ask the clerk how much it was, as I did not understand their “coding” on the price tag. “$3.50”, was her reply…..then after a pause she said, “but its got a white tag and all white tags are only $.99 today”! I know she was pleased to convince that darn Yankee to take that paper thin raincoat…and I was equally pleased to get it! WIN-WIN.

Now it was back on I-75 and head to the KOA just east of Knoxville. 14 miles east of Knoxville….actually, it was the exit we take to Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. The driveway from the “main road” to the campground is gravel (and red clay) with a pond (swamp) at the bottom of the hill with a sign that says “goose it”. (This is another way of saying: “stomp on it”…..”lay the coal to her”…..”get on it”…..in “southern speak”.) So I did! Gravel was flying and I did not stop until I was well past the registration area on a fairly level section of gravel! After I get registered they gave me a map with my site clearly marked…..so of course, I got lost in the camp ground! After wandering like Moses in the wilderness, I stumbled upon my site and went to “figuring” how I was going to “get level”! When all the “leveling blocks” had been used up, and rocks used to chock the wheels, it was almost level. “Ah, close enough.” Over the course of the next 4 days I met several of my neighbors. That’s the nice thing about camping…..folks just naturally like to “visit”. Mark had the smallest camper I’d ever seen! He had to set up his camper, just to load and unload it, but he sure knew how to camp! He had a tarp rigged that covered his entire camper, became a dining fly, and provided a place to park his Gold Wing out of the rain (more about rain later!). Mark cooked all his own meals and was quite frugal! He was also between jobs, so it was a good time to take a motorcycle trip and come to the Honda Hoot! He was from New Jersey, or one of those “Tiny East Coast States” and we had some delightful visits. Paul was a bit of a “blow hard”…..not a horse or woman he couldn’t ride. He’d purchased an older Class A camper, just for the trip and was trailering his Gold Wing in an enclosed trailer. Paul said he road 40,000 miles a year, but it must not ever rain in Tulsa, because he and his wife didn’t have any rain gear or even “motorcycle” jackets. Also, every time it sprinkled, they came racing back to camp.

Then there was the “young couple” who were tent camping. Their last child had just graduated and they were learning how to live again. Sold the boat and bought a Gold Wing…..as they explained to me, kids come home and take out a boat (costs lots of money), but only the two of them could go on the Gold Wing! It certainly rained while I was there! The gravel in the driveway washed out, leaving huge ruts. Even when they filled them, it was just that much loose gravel to be washed out with the next rain! Before I had left, four motorcycles had gone down in the driveway! Mark was one of them and he was a very experienced rider. One couple was pretty skinned up and bruised, but no broken bones. When I was riding out, I saw two women walking down the driveway. At the bottom of the hill sat two guys on motorcycles. Their wives had decided to walk down the driveway in the rain and mud, rather than ride on the back of their bikes. I’m certainly not an “experienced” rain rider and don’t know many riders who truly enjoy riding in the rain. But, I put on my Frog Togs and went out every day, to face the challenge and to learn. Don’t get me wrong, it did not rain all the time…..just when I was riding without my rain suit on!! One day at the Hoot, it was really pretty and just partly cloudy. Wandering from one vendor to another, I did not keep my eyes on the sky. The heavens just opened up and vendor’s tents were packed with bikers, just trying to get out of the rain. I was in Honda-Direct’s tent, which was really three tents, all hooked together. One of the employees was trying to get the water out of the seam where two of the tents were joined together, when the seam let loose and covered him with at least 5 gallons of water! Merchandise was getting soaked and product was literally falling out of the packaging, as the cardboard just melted in the downpour. Of course, my rain gear was in the bike! When it finally stopped, I headed for the Wing, vowing never to be caught without my rain gear again! With only a minor soaking I got into my rain jacket, but I was going to be walking and standing up, so I did not need my rain pants. I must admit, I felt pretty smug walking back into the vendor’s area….me in my rain jacket and lots of other bikers soaked. I had beat the rain…..I had my rain jacket on…then it really started to pour sideways! Sometimes God sure has a way of making me humble. Didn’t feel so smug, as I sloshed there the rain in my soaked jeans. None of us were made out of sugar and none of us melted. We all did acquire a new degree of humility.

Spent 2 days at The Honda Hoot. Not much of a “partier” , so I did not attend the various parties. Did not go on any of the “organized” rides or go white water rafting. I spent 2 days in the Vendor’s area where I got an oil change and got new grips installed on the Wing. Also, I did lots of riding, and not all of it was in the rain! The Smokies were so green and clean, after all the rain. One time I road to Newfound Gap and was able to look down on the rain clouds. Up there the sky was bright blue and the humidity was really low. While at the Gap, I met a couple on their honeymoon who were really aw’ing over The Wing. Finally the girl said, “Do you mind if I sit on it? I’d like to see how comfortable the passenger seat is.” Hey, no problem…..so, up she climbed. Hubby was not looking very happy at this point! He had a Harley in their garage with a “50 mile passenger seat”. The she says, “Would you mind taking me a ride?” Hubby was way beyond “unhappy” at this point in our conversation! “Sorry gal, since my wife doesn’t ride, I’m just not experienced at 2 up riding…… Just wouldn’t be safe.” Then I had to ride off the mountain…..back into the rain and the humidity, I thought. But, since I had all my rain gear on, it did not rain until I got back to camp! The next morning it was raining (again), but I’d planned to leave, so I packed up my camper in the rain and got ready to head out…..ah, reminded me of the KOA in Virginia, left there in the rain, as well! “OK, you can do this…..just slow and easy, down the rain-soaked gravel, across the mud puddles, down the friggen’ steep ass slippery hill…..and ease out onto the road.” I definitely was white knuckled when I finally got my rig out to pavement! I put the kickstand down and took stock: Helmet cinched down tight-“check”. Armored jacket, heavy duty riding boots, heavy gloves, bandana…..OK, stop stalling! One more wipe to get the rain off by glasses and I was off! There was an accident at the cross roads before the freeway entrance, so I maneuvered around the broken glass and hit the freeway. Ah, that wasn’t so bad, then the rain really started coming down by the buckets full. After about eight miles, I saw the McDonald’s sign and decided to get off and let the rain slack up a bit. The semi on my tail is a strong motivation to keep up my speed until I hit the exit. The exit ramp had been freshly patched (didn’t see that coming) and the patched area, with a couple inches of water running down it, was slippery as greased snot. I’m braking…..the ABS is working……I’m downshifting…..and the Wing is sliding and being pushed down the exit ramp by that darn camper….and I’m running out of room! Scared s----less does not come close to describing my emotions at that particular moment in time. When I finally get stopped, only half the Wing is sticking out in traffic, so I gun her and head for the McDonald’s.

fter nursing a cup of coffee in the dry, I head out to the bike and it seems like the rain has almost quite. Wipe the rain off the windshield, clean my glasses again. At this point, I really did not care if they were water free, just so I could see out of them. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I remember thinking there sure was a lot of water running down the curbs….but, it really was not raining to hard, so “on the road again”. When I hit the on ramp, I noticed it had been freshly patched (just like the exit ramp), and it was just as slippery! I was up to about 30 MPH in second gear, when I lost traction and the Bike started it’s imitation of a catfish swimming up stream! Third gear looked more promising and with limited traction, coaxed her up to about 45 MPH by the time I was on the freeway…..right into a construction zone, with ruts at least 4 inches deep, in the temporary blacktop and full to the brim with liquid sunshine. I have now become a traffic hazard for the semis to dodge around, each one leaving me in a liquid white out. Sorta’ like riding a bicycle, balancing on a 2” X 4”, in the rain, with someone spraying you in the face with a garden hose and a Doberman snapping at your heels! I’ve mentioned that riding the Wing was a religious experience….Never in all my life have I been more fervent in trying to get God’s attention! Please God, don’t let me die!!! I must say, the truck drivers knew I was having a rough time of it and certainly did not pull right in on me. But, that was no place for me! As soon as I cleared the construction zone, I saw a sign advertising a motel at the next exit, and I took that exit! I had no idea what kind of motel…..and did not care! Any place that was off the freeway and out of the rain was just fine. About a mile down the road was this motel, which was probably a nice place 15 years ago, but I did not care….they had the “Vacancy” sign on! I parked the bike and stumbled into the office and rang the buzzer. Water is streaming down on their floor and I ask the desk clerk how much rooms are. The Honda Hoot is in town, rooms were at a premium, and I just did not care…..they had a blessed “Vacancy”!! “$39.95, plus tax”. Just could not believe my ears! The clerk didn’t take advantage of the situation, just charged me the normal rate. Then he said, “But, we don’t have any rooms cleaned yet.” No Problem! I’m standing right beside the room door until it’s cleaned. I just stood under the porch and chatted with a “good ol’ boy” construction worker, who had been rained out for another day, until they had the sheets changed and let me go inside. Called Susie about noon and told her where I was…..watched the rain and a little TV, then took a well deserved nap! This was not the oldest or nastiest place I stayed on this trip…..but, someone had stolen some of the light bulbs and their was no way I was going to soak in that bathtub! The sheets were clean and the ceiling did not leak----all was right with the world!

The next morning, it was not raining and most of the water had finally drained out of the parking lot, so it was back “on the road again”. With all the clouds, I certainly didn’t need my sun glasses. With a fond “ado” to the “Towel Head Hilton”, back to the Interstate! With only 12 miles the day before, I’d given up all thoughts about riding 2 lane roads and just wanted to make some miles. I-40 was dry and I was finally able to make some “time”, when I became aware of a sharp stinging sensation on the right side of my neck! I’ve got an allergy to bees and I’d just been hit in the neck by a bee (I thought). It was right where my helmet and the collar of my riding jacket meet…..a half an inch either way and it would have just bounced off! I could feel my neck starting to swell, so pulled off and tried to see it in my mirror---no luck! So I road down to a fuel station and ask the attendant to look at it for me. I know he thought I was either stupid or gay….or at least that was the way he acted! He could see no sign of a “sting”, but said it was red and swollen.

Back on I-40 and within five miles, my sinuses had totally plugged up! I was drinking and having a hard time swallowing, so stopped at the next rest area and took a couple Benydril. Spent an hour visiting with an old guy on the rattiest Harley I have ever seen! He was just “out for a ride”, from Canada, and had camped there the previous evening. His sleeping bag had been sheltered by his tiny tarp, tied to the “No Camping” sign and staked down with a couple screwdrivers! I figured the Benydril had time to work, so it was back to I-40 again. Within 20 miles, I was having a hard time breathing, my pulse was racing, and I kept thinking, “What would Susie tell me to do?” “Get my ass to an Emergency Room” was the only answer I could come up with! ‘Bout then, I made up my mind, took the next exit, and stopped at the first gas station and ask directions to the hospital. “Five miles straight down that road.” Hello, Crossville, Tennessee! After going through a screening process with a nurse, I was led back to see the Doctor. He had been a Navy Corpsman for 13 years, then got out and went to medical school. There was no indication that I’d been stung, but something had certainly hit me in the neck. He said he was going to give me a shot of steroid in my butt, so I ask, “Why?” Like a father to a child he replied, “cause it will make you feel better”. So, I got my shot in my butt…..a caution to ride careful…..and I was back on the freeway! Did 215 miles that day! 239 miles in two days…..at that rate it was going to be a long trip! Pressure was now building for me to make miles! Pressure from within…..not from any external source. The only “drop dead” date I had was July 5-11th, the time Mark was scheduled for leave. No time for “2 lane’ing” it! Just get on I-40 and ride! So that is just what I did…..no time for Nashville or Memphis…..no time for Clinton’s library in Arkansas (like I’d go there anyway!!). I fought the “scattered showers”…..nearly got drowned a few times! Once the rain drove me off the freeway and into the “Route 66 Museum”. This was a real treat and a much needed rest. When I saw the sign for the Museum, I was grateful for anyplace dry! The receptionist allowed me to spread out my rain suit in her office, to dry and gave me the “nickel pitch” on why I should purchase tickets for all the different museums! Sure, why not…..earlier that day, I’d spent 45 minutes huddling under an overpass, while semis power washed the Wing and camper. If they weren’t careful, they might find me crashed out in one of the old motel beds on display! This was the only “Tourist” thing I did between Knoxville and Oklahoma. I-40 follows the old Route 66 path all along that stretch of highway, but there is not a very good job of promoting “Historic Route 66”. Part of the time, I could tell it was “Route 66” when it was marked “Business 40” and occasionally there would be a sign which said “Historic Route 66”. This is an area where the Federal Government could help local economies and tourism in general. By making a “Big Deal” about “Historic Route 66”, for it’s entire route, more tourists (and their dollars) would get off the interstate and see what America was (and is) really like. Even from the freeway, I could see abandoned garages, with dozens of cars still in their lots. Wrecks? Broke down? Trips gone array? There were even old cars, left to rust on some of the frontage roads, that had been Route 66. I often tried to fuel in these small towns along Route 66, just to get a feel for them. Little “Mom and Pop” motels and gas stations still struggle to exist. I stopped at a Texaco in one of these little towns. A huge, hand printed sign said, “Pay before pumping” was duct taped to the pump. What greeted me was either the ugliest woman in the world…..or the world’s worst cross dresser! Long blond hair in a 60’s teased style was held on her head with a huge red bow! Remember when girls had “padded bras”…..and everyone could tell? Bright red lipstick, smeared. Wrinkled, stained white silk blouse and a red plaid skirt that barely covered her butt! OOPS, I almost forgot----Red heels!! When I tried to pay her ahead of time she said, “Ah, that’s all right honey, we’ll take care of it when you’re done”. Usually, I get a drink and even chat for a while at my fuel stops. Not there! I fueled, paid the bill and didn’t even stop to light a cigarette! As I was shifting into gear, she was leaning against the door frame, sighing breathlessly , “You come back real soon…you hear?” I wasn’t sure if she wanted to screw me or mug me, nor which would have been worse!

My next goal was to see Edwin L. Thomas, SF3. Ed and I served on the USS Tortuga and the USS Juneau together and I felt he was my closest “Navy buddy”. I’d called him before I left on “The Trip” to make sure he wanted to see me. We had not seen each other since 1975, and that meeting was a little “cool”. Ed is the only Navy Buddy I ever contacted after leaving active duty. You see, Ed saved my life in Japan. Ah, not my physical life…..well, you decide: The "Tortuga" was docked in Youkuska, Japan and I wanted to go over on the beach and have a few drinks…..so I drug my buddy with me. After a “few drinks” the rest is a little fuzzy, but I sure remember the little girl in the yellow dress! She was sitting on my lap, telling me all I had to do was go see Mamason and we could go to her house for the evening! After I would not listen to reason, Ed picked me up and drug me out of the bar! That is a true friend! Ed and I had talked (a lot!) and he knew I loved my wife and wanted to be faithful to her. He saved me….he saved my life. I pulled into a motel in Chickasha, Oklahoma and gave Ed a call to see if we could get together the next day, in his town of Fletcher. We decided to meet at his work, then go out to supper to catch up on the past 30 years. I tried to sleep in late, but that sure did not work, so got up and did my laundry at the motel “guest laundry”. Guess I was excited to see Ed after all those years! I got on US 277, a nice 2 lane highway and enjoyed the country side. Stopped at a small print shop and made a sales call….and got a recommendation for a good restaurant! Nice little place with plenty of pick up trucks in the parking lot. Figured that was a good sign! The food was really good, just to darn much! The cook (sitting in the next booth to me, having a smoke) saw I was sending back a plate with lots of food left. She turned around and ask me if she had done something wrong! When I told her there was nothing wrong, just to much food, she said, “honey, you’re out west, you gotta learn to eat!” This restaurant also taught me the “code” about who was who. Folks who “work for a living” all had on ball caps. The “bosses” all wore white cowboy hats and shined cowboy boots! Oil drilling crews, ranch hands, and assorted men…..but, not a female customer in the place! I was running real early, but was anxious to see Ed, so I headed into Fletcher. Fletcher is…..well, small. I don’t remember the population, but guess it is about 1,500, if you include Dogs and Cats! I took a picture of downtown Fletcher. Flashing red light in the middle of town, but I almost blew through the four way stop, because there are no stop signs, just the flashing light. A quick stop at the post office, to get some stamps, was insightful. Very pleasant clerk with no waiting! Went to the “Fletcher Grocery”, right down town, for Charmin, but they did not carry that brand of toilet paper, but I did get my Ivory bar soap! Heck, one out of two ain’t bad. Although I was still a couple hours early, I could not stall any longer and headed over to Ed’s work. I followed his directions and had no problem, at all, finding the feed store where he works. Sure enough, around back was a red Ford F-250 with a pair of legs sticking out. There was Ed, working on the starter! He certainly had not changed much----ah, a little less hair and a little more weight….but the same Ed. Bib overalls, white T-shirt, ball cap and work boots. Exchange the bibs for a pair of dungarees and we’re right back in the Navy! There never was much of that “awkward time”, we just started talking. As different customers and coworkers came into his shop, I was introduced and made to feel right at home. It started raining and I was relieved to be standing in the overhead door, looking out, instead of riding it the rain. After the rain, I borrowed Ed’s tools and readjusted my riding pegs. The situation, that Ed works in, left me a little confused. He makes a good living as a mechanic, but there is no sign that says this is a “Garage”. Just signs advertising farm seed and services! He has a couple bays, in the back of the feed store, where he has all his hand tools, power tools, welder, cutting torch, and equipment he’d need to fix most vehicles. Maybe everyone in the county knows Ed’s there, but sure seems illogical to not have some sort of sign out front! I’m sure folks go down US 277 who do not know there is a repair shop in the back of the feedstore! Guess the owner of the business is not interested in having his “repair” business grow! Guess word of my arrival had spread, because several of his family stopped at the shop to visit. Then when Ed got off work, I followed him around the corner and down a couple blocks, to his house. After the “grand tour”, and seeing several of his started, but not quite done, home improvement projects, I relaxed on the porch while he “washed up”. Although I’d invited the entire family out to supper, they chose to allow Ed and I to spend time together alone. Dressed for dinner (white T-shirt, bib overalls, and boots) we headed out to Lawton, the closest town with any selection of restaurants. I had mentioned “steak”, so Ed chose Golden Corral, as they offered lots of variety at a reasonable price. We just eat and caught up on “old times”. I hope he was having as much trouble keeping my kids straight, as I was of his!

In the Navy, Ed was always of the highest moral character, but we never talked a lot about “religion”. Now, he is deeply involved in a “fundamental” church and we discussed the struggles his (and every) church goes through. While we did not solve all the “church” problems of the world, it did make for a stimulating drive home. Back home, most of Ed’s family had gathered and I got to meet all the kids and grand kids. Ed’s wife was not only a “stay at home Mom”, but “daycared” numerous children for extra income. Ed and she live for their kids and grand children, and are rightfully proud of them! One of their married daughters lives right next door and another just a couple streets over. By the time we had visited and had coffee, it was much later than I’d planned, but it was hard for me to leave. Knowing I’d not see Ed and his family for a long time I was savoring every moment. I really don’t think Susan (Ed’s wife) was real happy to have me around. Maybe I represented Ed’s “Navy Time” and these were memories she did not wish to relive or revisit. What ever the case, there was no invitation for me to spend the night, so it was back on the road to the Day's Inn where I had stayed the night before.

I left Chickasha, Oklahoma on US 62 and passed up the “American Indian Hall of Fame” and “Indian City U.S.A., but did stop in a “Plaines Indian Museum” in Anadarko. There a Kiowa lady delighted me, with her stories of Indian Genealogy. The various Indian Tribes have no written record of genealogy, as White People do, but rely on verbal records. Here is the story she told me: A few years ago, a married Indian woman gave birth to a red headed daughter. Her husband, also Indian, was going to kill her due to her “unfaithfulness” because there was no way he could have fathered a red headed child! Calmer heads prevailed and he agreed to go to the Council of Elders and ask them to research both their family histories. They finally came to a point in the early 1800’s where a war party had attack a wagon load of white settlers, near the Mexican border. All the Whites were killed, except for a 3 year old red headed female child, who was raised in the Indian Tribe. She married an Indian Brave and bore him a daughter. After “one to many” serious beatings from her husband, she ran off with a Ute Brave, leaving her daughter behind. This daughter, with black straight hair, was the husband’s great grandmother, but still carried the genes of the little “red headed girl”, who had been taken captive on the Mexican Border!

As a footnote to this story, many different Indian tribes are now trying to get genealogical information into written form. The story above did not end with the “verbal” information given by the Council of Elders. Several of the Universities in Texas are organizing local genealogical information. The “settler’s wagon attack” story goes a step farther! Missionaries came upon the attacked wagon and discovered: Letters from family in Ireland, invoices for goods, and the family Bible. They buried the dead and saved the documents, which are now preserved at Texas A&M!!

My map showed US 281 as a “scenic route” which goes from Anadarko to I-40, so I headed up US 281! This is where I saw my only Armadillos of the trip, two dead on the side of the road! There was not much “scenic” about the ride, but did find a delightful restaurant in Bridgeport. After lunch, it was back on I-40 and “hammer down”, heading west! Rain continued to plague me as I ducked in and out of rain squalls, then the sky cleared and I saw my first clear blue skies in hundreds of miles! Off came the rain gear and riding became more of a pleasure. I passed several cattle feedlots, that stunk to the high heavens! Cattle “elbow deep” in mud and manure, certainly not the way they were meant to live, but economics takes precedence over their “comfort”. With Oklahoma behind me, I set my sights on Amarillo, Texas as a good place to spend the night. I’d been fighting a cross wind, from the South, forever and they finally blew in the “weather” I’d been watching and hearing about on the Weather Band. Far up ahead, I could see rain pouring, while I road in the sunshine. There was no way I was going to duck this rain squall, but there was an overpass in sight! All I had to do was make it to the overpass and then I could get back into my rain gear. About 600 yards from the overpass I ran into a “white out” rain storm. I could not see 40 feet in front of me and knew the trucks behind me would not be able to see me! With my 4 way flashers on, I road at about 40 MPH, praying for that overpass. Finally, gratefully, it came into view. With the Gold Wing as far into the berm as I could get her, I just sat on the bike and thanked God he had kept me safe. As I was sitting there, being thankful, a semi went by and just drowned me! Heck, I could not have gotten any wetter, but realized I was not as safe as I thought. After grabbing my rain gear from the saddle bags, I scurried up under the overpass to “drip dry” and get into my rain gear. I’m sure the semi drivers were talking to one and other, about the “Bike under the overpass”, because many of them had moved over into the “fast lane” as they went by. Those who could not, were hurling water clear over the bike, as the road was running with over 4 inches of water in the “slow lane”. Within a half hour, the rain had mostly ended and I was “back on the road again”. My the time I got to Amarillo, I really didn’t care where I stayed or how much it cost….just wanted off the bike, out of the rain, out of my wet clothes, and in something warm and dry! A sign announcing a Motel 6 at the next exit, was all I needed to get me off the freeway! That evening, I studied my map to see how I could “2 lane” all the next day. I vowed I would not ride another day in the rain, on the freeway. I figured, on “2 lane” roads, I could ride at 45-50 MPH and make some progress, even in the rain….but, I was not going to spend another day riding the freeway in the rain! The next morning, I discovered I’d parked right next to a Harley Davidson dealership. After getting all packed up, I went over to see what kind of treatment they had to sheet the rain off my windshield. Six “Harley types” were sitting around a table having coffee when I came in. Since I was not dressed like a “Harley” rider (had on my gray armored jacket), they just ignored me…..and although they could tell I was a “rider”, they certainly did not invite me to join them for coffee! When I ask them about windshield treatment, they told me to ask the “guy behind the counter”, who was in no hurry to help me either. He half listened to my request and told me there were a lot of treatments, “over there on the shelf”. When he found out I wanted it for my Gold Wing, he said, “Never ride anything but a Harley. Never have, never will”. (dumb a--!!) I put the treatment on the windshield and made my decision, “ride the freeway until the first rain drop”, then would “2 lane” for the rest of the day. I didn’t see rain again for over 2 weeks! The Wing and I did more miles this day, 546 miles, than any other day on the trip. Since I had refused to put a lighter element in my 12 volt plug, I was stopping at almost every rest stop, just to light a cigarette. This was pretty constant through the entire trip. I also discovered this was a great place to meet folks, and just “visit” and chat. The Wing is certainly a kid magnet and often brings out the “kid” in many adults. Bikers also seem to congregate together, in the rest areas….sharing stories about their trip and bikes. SHADE was a real premium in most of the rest stops and when I was pulling into any rest area, I was looking for the shade!

The Third Leg

546 miles…..Sure seemed like a lot. But, on this trip I met several “Iron Butt” riders who were putting on many more miles than that. These folks are “hard core” distance riders. Just to join the Iron Butt Association (yep, that’s really their name!), a rider has to show a documented 1,000 mile ride in 24 hours. I left Amarillo that morning and had clear blue skies by the time I got to Vega, Texas. When I crossed the state line, into New Mexico, I felt like I was finally “Out West”. The Rest Areas were my first clue, with their corrals, where one could let their horses out of the trailers to exercise. Sure don’t see that in Ohio!! At one of the Rest Areas, there was a sign forbidding anyone from selling “stuff” in the rest area, but capitalism prevailed. Several Indians had built little shacks (on private property) which faced the rest area (about 6” from the fence) and showed off their wares. The travelers could reach across the fence, and with their hands on private property, and could complete the transaction! Albuquerque presented a unique challenge, when a fatal accident closed I-40. I had been listening to the “drivers”, on the CB, so I knew about the road closure miles before I got into Albuquerque. The local radio station was giving direction as to where to exit the freeway to get around the accident. The CB was full of “chatter” as various drivers were putting in their “two cents worth” about how to get around the wreck. I chose to follow the “drivers” advice and exited the freeway a couple exits before the radio had said to exit. Good thing I did, because, just beyond my exit, the freeway had turned into a parking lot! “Oh Great…Lost in Albuquerque!!” I “hollered” at a Warner Driver in front of me and ask if he knew where the heck he was going. He was a little confused, because he could not see a “big rig” behind him, but once I identified by self as the “Blue Winger”, he said, “follow me”. It took about 40 minutes to wind our way through the city, but it sure beat sitting on the freeway for hours. Once more I was reminded, “God takes care of little children and bikers”, this time in the form of a professional truck driver.

Crossing the “Continental Divide” was a little anti-climatic. I guess I was expecting a really steep, “hard pulling” mountain, but when I saw the exit announcing the Continental Divide, I got off I-40. After taking the mandatory picture of the Wing, at the Divide sign, I pulled into one of the “gift shops” and searched out the rest room. After wading my way through isles of T-shirts, Indian trinkets, and “made in China” Junk, I finally found them…..and the Men’s room was being cleaned! Maybe it was the yellow cast in my eyes, that prompted the cleaner to say, “Ah, go ahead and use the “ladies room”. OK, first time for anything…..so in I went. The first thing I noticed was, there was no lock on the door! So with an eye on the door, I tried to quickly relieve myself. It sure did not help, that the door came open a few inches and I heard yelling of “someone’s in there”! When I came out, there was a lady standing at the door with one of those “how dare you” looks in her eyes, but I did feel much better. I got a cup of coffee and headed outside to take a break. There was an Indian sitting there, with his Harley close by. After the “Nice bikes”, we got to talking. Emo had built his Harley from three other bikes, all different years. He’d been riding around the USA, but came home to bury his Grand Mother. After pointing across a huge valley to high red cliffs and said, “that’s where my people are from….about three miles beyond those cliffs.” I ask him if his people buried like “white people”, or still followed the old customs of cremation outside. “Ah, we’ve gotten ‘civilized’ and bury in the ground…..but, Grandma’s going to be horseless in the next life.” “Horseless?”, I certainly didn’t understand. He explained; it was their custom to kill the person’s horse when the owner passed, so the owner would have their horse in the next life. Then he said, “But Grandpa will have his horse.” Grandpa had died in 1994 and his horse was buried with him! Emo…..American Indian, Viet Nam Veteran, Biker…..one leg in one culture and one in another…..and one of the nicest men I met on my trip.