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    The following ride report was written in September of 1998 after I subscribed to the Iron Butt
Association's mail list.  I began to see many ride reports, but they all put my ride to shame.  Up until
that time, I thought my ride was pretty impressive.  That's when I realized that I still had done
something that many motorcyclists have only dreamed of doing.
   So, I decided to sit down with my photo album, and log book, and detail the ride my
friend and I took from Joliet, Illinois to the West coast and back.  I affectionately call it:


Cross Country Vulcan

(Click on the underlined links to see a related photo - click your browser's BACK button to return)


     I love to ride my bike, a 90' Kawasaki Vulcan 750, as much as
possible, but unfortunately I don't seem to have enough time.  Since
I only live four miles from my place of work, the engine barely warms
up before I have to climb off.  In mid 1994, a co-worker and I began
talking about how we both have always wanted to ride cross country.
Tim, who used to be an MSF Instructor while in the Air Force, is a bit
wilder than I am behind the bars, but we both decided that some day
soon we were going to make the trip.
     Tim has gone through a lot of different motorcycles.  Presently,
he has a Honda Pacific Coast 800.  In 1977, when I was 10, I started
riding a HondaCT-70 in the woods West of Como, WI.  I moved up to
a new 79' Kawasaki KX-80 when I was 12, and also did a lot of riding
on my younger brother's 80' Honda CR-80.  I became quite a daredevil,
but that went away when I got too big for the KX-80 and passed it on
to my brothers.  I didn't do anymore serious riding until I took an MRC
class in 1986 so I could drive my father's 1975 Honda CB360T.  I was
officially hooked when I bought my own bike, and my only one so far,
in October of 1989.
     While passing the time during a lull in our workload, Tim and I
sat down with a road atlas and decided what places we definitely
wanted to see if we were to ride from our homes in Joliet, IL to the
West coast and back.  We were curious as to what kind of places we
could see if we were to take a Northern route to the coast, travel
down 101 and the PCH, and take a Southern route home.  We decided
that the places we definitely had to see were Badlands National Park,
Mount Rushmore, Devil's Tower, Yellowstone National Park, the
Pacific Coast Highway, the Golden Gate Bridge, Yosemite National Park,
Las Vegas, and the Grand Canyon.
     It seemed like quite a task to figure out a route, but I had a
very old copy of Automap, and began to work on it.  That didn't work
too well, so I bought a copy of Rand McNally's Tripmaker.  We agreed
that we probably wouldn't see much from the interstates, so I set the
preferences to take the shortest routes, which mostly gave us U.S. and
State Highways, with some Interstates thrown in where we couldn't
avoid them.  As it got closer to the Summer of 1995, we decided on an
11 day window from June 24th to July 4th so we could take advantage
of the four day holiday weekend and only use five vacation days.  The
trip calculated out to 5,716 miles, so we knew we had to make at least
520 miles per day, which everyone else thought was nuts.  We enjoyed
the whole idea.
     For months before the trip, we were obtaining many of the things
we thought we'd need, such as tank bags, saddle bags, bungee cords,
cycle covers, tire repair kit, new hand grips, first aid kit, a new
windshield for my bike, throttle locks, and with funds dwindling, we
also put a pair of 49 Mhz headset walkie talkies in our helmets so we
could talk without having to pull over.  The radios worked excellent
at speeds below 55 mph, but anything higher and it was hard to hear
each other through the wind noise.  We also had to keep our distance
within 1/8th mile to hear each other clearly, but overall, they were a
great idea and saved us a lot of time on the road.
     All the way up until the week before the planned trip, we looked
at it as a tentative plan.  We didn't want to get our hopes up too
high, or get too excited because, as we all know, the best laid plans
can be changed at a moments notice.  Our vacation days were already
scheduled, but who knew what would actually happen.
     A couple days before we were to leave, we looked at each other
and asked the same question, "Well, are we gonna go?"  I had a little
money left over from a loan I just got, and Tim had just sold his
house, so he had a bit of cash laying around.  We decided at that
moment that if we didn't do it then, we probably never would.  We got
off work on Friday the 23rd, and went home to do some final packing
and get some sleep for the 5:00am departure.
     Knowing we'd be hitting the road in less than six hours, I had
a hard time sleeping.  I finally got a few hours in, but when I woke,
I was ready to go.  Tim showed up earlier than planned, and with the
idea in mind that the trip would relieve a lot of stress, he gave the
last of his cigarettes to my wife, as she made us a good bye
breakfast.  At 5:30am, we looked one last time at our check list, I
kissed my wife good bye, and we mounted our machines for the first day
of eleven, toward the unknown.
     The very beginning was pretty uneventful since we'd already seen
a lot of this stuff before.  Up until this day, I'd never been further
West than Freeport, IL.  I'd spent 20+ hours in the car to and from
Florida, with my parents, a couple times, and even spent three days
riding my bike back home, in the rain, from Ocala, FL.  To make a
long story short, we loaded my bike in the back of a U-Haul truck
when my parents moved to Florida in 4/94.  After my dad, his friend,
and I cruised from Ocala to Daytona Beach and back, I started back
for Joliet the next day.  Now this was going to be an entirely new
experience.  One I was not soon going to forget!  I still look back
on it, after all this time, and think how much I enjoyed it and want to
do it again.

     Most of the first day was planned as an all out banzai run to
make as many miles as we could, since we didn't have any planned stops
for that day.  The most notable thing was that at our first gas stop, in
Rock Falls, IL, 103 miles into the ride, Tim bought a new pack of
cigarettes and decided he wasn't going to quit this week.  Oh yeah,
and there was also the  warning  for speeding we got from Trooper T.D.
King, badge 56, of the  Iowa  State Police.  I have to admit, he was a
very nice guy, and was very interested in our ride.  I was actually
sorry for speeding after meeting him.  We went through Northeastern
Nebraska and our first days ride ended about 9:00pm in Burke,  SD .  I
left a message at home for my wife so she would know where I was, we got
a bite to eat, and off to our motel rooms for a shower and a good nights
sleep.  My wife says she called me back that night and I was talking some
gibberish to her, but I don't remember any of it.  We traveled 656 miles.

     Day 2, I woke to the alarm and watched the weather channel while
I got dressed.  I immediately realized that I had forgotten to pack
something.  I went to Tim's room and asked him if he had a spare
T-shirt I could borrow for the day until I bought some.  He got quite
a chuckle out of that.  So, when I see a few of our many photos, I'm
wearing a shirt that doesn't belong to me, and I'm reminded of my
forgetfulness in leaving all my shirts sitting on top of my dresser
at home.  We visited  Badlands National Park , where I was sure to buy
some shirts, and I was able to pick up some more, real cheap, at a
shop in Keystone, SD, on the way to  Mount Rushmore .  We headed
North-West through the black hills on 385, and through Deadwood and
Lead.  Unfortunately, we didn't make it as far as we had hoped, but we
spent the night in a KOA Campground at the foot of  Devils Tower,
where you can see an outdoor showing of Close Encounters Of The
Third Kind every night!  The tower looks very eerie at night.  Tim
brought his tent so we could try to rough it a bit.  It rolls up pretty small,
and when strapped on his bike, it isn't any wider than his turn signals.  We
traveled only 391 miles, due to excessive sightseeing, totaling 1,047 miles.

     Day 3, we left  Devils Tower  and Tim led the way toward Moorcroft
to get on I-90.  On one stretch of Hwy 14, I could see something in
the road ahead of Tim.  As he approached it, I could tell it was a
bird, but what kind, I don't know.  All I do know is that when it
took off over his head, as he went under it, it's wingspan dwarfed
Tim and his bike.  Luckily, he didn't hit it, because I'm sure it
would have taken him off the bike.  We had a blast riding through
the mountains of Wyoming.  The day went pretty smooth until we got
to Yellowstone National Park.  There was no traffic, but the road
construction on the East entrance road to the park made for a lot
of gravel and pot holes.  We had to drive about 10 mph for about 5
miles or more.  Being from Illinois, it amazed me to see snow in June,
so I got a few pictures of us on our bikes in front of the snow.
Of course, we had to have a snow-ball fight first!  Thanks to the
seemingly abandoned car on the side of the road, I was able to place
my camera on it for a time delay photo.  My wife's Mom had bought us
a 35mm Minolta for Christmas, and it was getting a workout on this
trip.  Although I found, after the trip was over, that the camera's
clock was off by 12 hours, so some of our photo's have the wrong
date on them.  As we were approaching our turn to head South around
the park, we noticed a lot of backed up traffic, Police cars with
their lights on, and a large crowd of people.  We immediately thought
there was a bad accident.  As we sat in traffic, I stopped a woman
and asked her what had happened.  She pointed to our right and said
there was a bear.  That's when I told Tim to hold on a second as I put
the bike in neutral, grabbed the camera, zoomed in, and waited for a
break in the moving crowd.  You would never think the picture was
taken from the saddle.  We finally made it to Old Faithful by 7:30pm.
The geyser had erupted just before we got there, so we had about 70
to 90 minutes to wait before it happened again.  Our problem was that
the park gates were going to be locked at 9:00pm for construction
crews to work on the roads.  Everything in the park was booked, so
we had to get back on the roads before 9:00pm so we could get out
of the park.  To make a long story short, all I have is a post card
of the geyser and a photo of it idly steaming.  We made it to West
Yellowstone, MT and got a room at the Madison Hotel, which looks
like it was a saloon many years ago.  We only traveled 460 miles,
again due to sightseeing, for a total of 1,507 miles.

     Day 4, we started off by uncovering and wiping off our bikes due
to the rain we got during the night.  We figured we could try to make
up some time across South central Idaho.  There were a few small towns
we stopped at, but mostly open road and lots of scenery.  We eventually
had to hop on the interstate to go through Boise and into Oregon,
where everything opened up again, so we could again try to make up
more time.  We ran across another biker while heading West out of
Ontario.  He, like Tim, seemed to like pushing the envelope a bit.
Until we all stopped together for gas, we pretty much played a game
of who's passing who for a while.  Marty seemed to be a pretty nice
guy.  He rode a Honda V65 Sabre, which has quite a large gas tank!
I don't know about the rest of Oregon, but the Southeastern part of
the state we rode through didn't offer very many gas stops.  Marty
stopped in Drewsey, and they were out of gas, we stopped at 6:55pm at
a small filling station, about 30 miles East of Burns, that appeared
to be closed.  There was a sign on the door that said we had to pay
$5.00 extra for gas after 7:00pm.  Needless to say, as we were pulling
away at 7:05pm, the front door magically opened, even though I saw no
one inside when we got there.  Poor Marty was more desperate for gas
than we were and paid about $12.00 to fill his tank.  I opted not to
be scammed out of $5.00, and therefore ended up coasting into Burns
on fumes and pumping 3.35 gallons into my 3.57 gallon tank.  It's
amazing how small this world is.  Marty turned out to be from Madison,
WI, and was heading to Klamath Falls, OR.  He continued South on 395
with us, and except for the Free Range hamburgers we almost made, it
was pretty uneventful until we parted ways in Lakeview.  We ended our
day there, again riding on fumes, and not one open gas station to be
found.  Unfortunately, we were both ready to keep going, but had to
get a room at a Best Western, where a spooky little East Indian guy
popped out of nowhere, scared the hell out of Tim, and asked if we
needed a room.  We had to settle for traveling 679 miles for a total
of 2,186 miles.

     Day 5, we filled our tanks and got out of Lakeview as quickly as
possible.  It was evident this town had quite a scam going on.  People
drive into town after hours, needing gas, and can't get any.  The only
thing you can do is stay the night in Achnad & Punjab's motel, and pay
the piper for your gas in the morning.  I may be very wrong, but this
little town could make a killing off travelers.  Just find it on a map,
and you'll get the picture.  We went on to Alturas, where a nice gas
station attendant allowed us to change our oil behind the station.  We
bought our oil and gas there, and we had spare oil filters with us.  We
turned in our old oil to him for recycling and we were on our way again,
but not before I noticed a coolant leak at the base of my front cylinder.
It must have been due to the 'reduced time' run on 395 the evening
before.  The afternoon was spent twisting and turning on very scenic
Hwy 299.  We had a little scare at one point, when Tim leaned into a turn
and a gust of wind stood him back up.  It wouldn't have been so bad if
he didn't end up in the left lane heading at the grill of a logging truck.
He recovered his turn pretty quickly, and immediately shouted a slew
of colorful words over the radio.  It was probably the scariest moment
of our whole trip.  I noticed later, while entering a turn, that I was only
going 0 mph.  I had obviously broken my speedometer cable.  Tim
mentioned later, that I rode much faster after the cable broke.  Luckily,
I was able to pick one up at O&E Cycle in Eureka, CA.  We decided
early to call it a day, since we had some laundry to do.  Tim found a
KOA Campground in Fortuna, where we made camp and relaxed for the
night.  There, we met a gentleman who had his Harley Davidson loaded
like a pack mule.  He told us how he had gone through Yosemite N.P.
three days earlier, and it was snowed in up in the mountains.  We could
only hope that was not the case when we got there.  We traveled only
372 miles this day, for a total of 2,558 miles.

     Day 6, we rode the Pacific Coast Highway from Leggett to San
Francisco.  On the way, we happened along a light house in Point Arena
that we felt compelled to visit.  It turned out to be the same one
filmed in the movie Forever Young.  I also found out very quickly that
if the speed sign says 15 mph on the PCH, they aren't kidding, and if
you plan to ride the PCH, plan to make a day of it.  Because of all
the slow speeds, it seemed to take forever to get to SF.  I wanted to
get some nice pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge before we crossed it,
but couldn't seem to find a good vantage point.  We ended up on some
side streets in Sausalito before deciding to get across the bridge and
look for a place to eat.  We planned to sit down there and figure out
where we were going to stop that day.  The bridge goes by in a few
blinks.  You don't have time to soak it in before you're on the other
side.  We paid our tolls, and began looking for Route 1 so we could
avoid the downtown area.  I must have missed the exit, because the
next thing I knew, I saw only two signs at a fork in the road, and one
said Downtown.  I knew I didn't want to go there, so I turned sharply
right.  The last thing I heard on the radio was, "You lost me".  I
looked over my left shoulder, and saw Tim going over an overpass.
Since our radios didn't transmit too far, I wasn't able to hear him
say, "I'll meet you on the other side of the San Mateo Bridge".  Since
I had the maps, and our trip route, I pulled over and waited for Tim
to double back and meet me where I was.  I waited about 30 minutes
before deciding to fall back on our emergency plan.  I found the
nearest gas station and called home.  I told my wife to give Tim the
phone number where I was, if he called her.  It's pretty scary being
alone in a strange city.  After about three hours, Tim finally got in
touch with me and it took another hour for me to catch up with him.
Not only did I lose him, but on the way to find him, I also passed
up the San Mateo Bridge, and ended up going across the Dumbarton
Bridge, and back North to find him.  By time I did, I was frustrated
and felt stupid for my mistakes.  For the first time ever, all I wanted
to do was get off my bike.  We headed East on 580 toward Manteca,
but somehow ended up going South toward I-5.  We got back in the
right direction, but not until we went 20 miles out of our way.  We
rode on to Manteca and got a room for the night, but not before
listening to a story about the female clerk's dysfunctional marriage
and family problems.  Sometimes you put your own problems in a
different perspective when you hear someone else's horror stories.
We couldn't do anything but go to our room feeling better about our
day.  My next mistake was that I forgot to call my wife back to let
her know we found each other.  So she sat at home, since I called her
five hours earlier, worrying about us, and I didn't get one picture
in San Francisco.  We rode 381 miles that day for a total of 2,939
miles.

     Days 7 & 8, we rode East to Yosemite NationalPark, only to find
that we could not cross the park on Tioga Rd because it was snowed in!
The only thing we could do was go South around the mountains and head
back North into Las Vegas.  This would add 124 miles to our trip, so
we prepared to ride through the night.  We went through Fresno,
Bakersfield, and Barstow and finally on to Las Vegas.  It was amazing
to see the line of traffic on I-15 at night.  The tail lights went on
forever in front of us, and the headlights did the same behind us.
Another cool thing is coming down out of the mountains and seeing the
State Line.  It's like an island of light out there in the pitch black.
We finally reached Vegas by 4:00am.  Tim had been there before, so
he showed me around a little bit.  We stopped at Westward Ho to
gamble a little and get a 52 cent breakfast before heading out to the
Grand Canyon two hours later.  Tim had been to the South Rim of
the canyon, so he enjoyed the idea of visiting the North Rim.  We had
to make camp at a State Park in Jacob Lake since everything closer to
the canyon was booked.  We got to the canyon at about 1:00pm and spent
about two hours staring and taking pictures.  The ride back to camp
wasn't as fun, since fatigue started to take hold and I found myself
nodding off.  We had been riding for over 24 hours.  I had to shake it
off and keep my head and eyes moving as much as possible, but we made
it back OK by 4:30pm.  We got something to eat and settled in for the
rest of the day so we'd be well rested for the three day trek home.
We traveled 923 miles in two days for a total of 3,862 miles.

     Day 9, our plan was to make our way North to I-70 so we could
spend the last three days on the interstates, making up any lost time.
Hopefully we'd be back home by the evening of July 4th.  We spent some
time in the desert areas of Arizona and Utah, which prompted us to
change into shorts and put on sun-screen. It was a beautiful ride, at
about 100 degrees - but a dry heat!  We stopped in Moab, Utah to eat.
The most memorable thing of this part of the ride was watching the
people walk around the parking lot outside as if the beautiful
mountain landscape behind them didn't exist.  I guess if you see it
every day, you take it for granted.  As we continued North toward
I-70, we got some scary clouds with a bit of drizzle.  Being in an
open area,  we were able to see where it was raining ahead of us.
It was kind of a challenge timing our passes between the downpours.
We eventually found an overpass on I-70 and put on our rain gear.
The rest of the evening we rode in the rain until we got to Fruita,
CO, where we got a room for the night.  We went 454 miles that day
for a total of 3,862 miles.

     Day 10, we uncovered and dried off the bikes for what looked to
be a beautiful day of riding.  We stopped in Parachute, CO for some
breakfast, and continued on into the mountains for a 35 degree ride
through snow covered Vail.  It was a big difference from the Arizona
desert the day before.  My best recollection is of the cold air,
and we had to downshift to 3rd gear and roll the throttle wide open
to get up the hills due to the high altitude.  As we came down out
of the mountains, it was amazing to see the snow line far below us.
We went around Denver and headed Northeast toward I-80.  In a gas
station, before we hit the Nebraska border, I paused to watch the
weather report on TV.  It didn't look good.  There was a big storm
over Denver, and it was heading right for us.  We figured the best
thing to do was try to stay ahead of it, which we were able to do
for some time, but it finally caught up with us in South central
Nebraska.  We were finally forced to stop and wait it out while we
had dinner in Lexington.  After we were done, the rain showed no
sign of letting up, so we put our rain gear back on and climbed on
our soaking bikes in an attempt to make up some miles.  Wet is wet,
and we figured we couldn't get any more wet.  It was dark when we got
back on I-80, and we made it about 30 miles before driving rain
turned to pea sized hail.  Our windshields kept most of it off us, but
we decided we had to get off the road when Tim could only see one
dashed line ahead of him.  I was following his tail light, so that
didn't make it a very safe ride at all.  We stopped in Kearney for the
night, hoping the rain would stop by morning.  The weather report
mentioned a snow storm in Vail, which happened 90 minutes after we
passed through there.  We traveled 623 miles for a total of 4,939 miles.

     Day 11, we opened the door of our room and were greeted by more
rain.  We couldn't do anything but get dressed in our rain gear and
hope we didn't have to ride in it all day.  We stopped first at a gas
station to top off our tanks.  I was putting my bike up on the center
stand so I could fill my tank as high as possible, when the wet
hand grip slipped out of my hand.  The bike fell over on its right
side.  I went into shock as I thought of the damage I might have just
done.  One year earlier, I was washing my bike, and basically the same
thing happened.  Only that time, the windshield hit the ground and it
broke in three pieces.  This time I was extremely lucky as all I did
was break about two inches off the end of my front brake lever.  We
rode about 2 hours before the rain lightened and the sky started to
break and turn blue in front of us.  For the remainder of the afternoon
we were playing tag with the storm behind us.  It would start to drizzle
as we left each fuel stop.  We were making up some serious time, and
we were staying far enough ahead of the storm to stay dry.  We had
planned on cutting down the speed considerably when we reached
Iowa, due to the warning we got there ten days earlier.  Unfortunately,
things didn't go quite our way.  I could see a white car approaching
very quickly from the rear, and warned Tim on the radio.  That didn't
help us in the least.  A Nebraska State Trooper passed me and pulled
Tim over.  I pulled over behind the squad, and he waved me around him.
When I got off my bike, I figured we were nailed, and started getting my
paperwork prepared.  I was shocked when the trooper pointed to me and
said, "You can put your stuff away, I didn't get the switches on you".
I felt very relieved, but my stomach dropped again when I realized
that didn't apply to Tim.  We figured he'd show some mercy on us when
we explained about the storm, which looked like hell approaching from
the West.  He took his time in his squad, as we stared at the ominous
clouds approaching.  He gave Tim a speeding ticket and said, "Good
luck staying ahead of the storm".  Well, you can imagine some of the
words we used as we conversed over our radios about him.  We seemed
to get pretty far ahead of the storm, and it looked like we were
going to have an uneventful ride the rest of the way home.  That was
when I saw something that concerned me quite a bit.  While passing
through Des Moines, I noticed something white on the tread of Tim's
rear tire.  I mentioned this to him over the radio, so we got off
I-80 in Altoona and headed for a gas station.  It was pretty grim.
Tim had worn his tire down to the threads in a patch about an inch
wide and ten inches long.  Since it was the Fourth of July, we were not
going to find a motorcycle shop open that could replace a tire quickly
enough, so Tim decided he would stay overnight and get a new tire put
on in the morning.  I was prepared to ride the last 300 miles myself,
after talking to my wife on the phone.  She was worried because of the
approaching storm behind us, but I assured her it'd be OK.  I took one
last look at my tire before I left, since I was showing no tread at
all.  My heart stopped when I found a spot on the tire that was very
thin, and it moved around as I pressed with my finger.  We were both
done.  We were 300 miles from home, both of us were supposed to be at
work the next day, and neither of us could go anywhere.  We scratched
our heads for a while and tried to figure out what to do.  We rode
333 miles for a total of 5,272 miles.

     Tim contacted his father, who has a friend named Mace who lives
in Clinton, Iowa.  Mace drove his new Ford pickup out to Altoona to
pick us up.  We spent another hour there, since Mace hadn't eaten yet
and needed to get a bite.  Tim and I were happy to pay for his meal.
In that hour, I learned that Mace was a very nice guy, but a pretty
crazy character.  We loaded the bikes in his truck and strapped them
in.  He said he was embarrassed to have two Jap bikes in the back of
his Harley-hauler.  About thirty minutes into our ride, the sky got
very scary and sort of green behind us.  Suddenly there was grass and
dirt flying across the interstate as Mace was trying to maintain control
of the truck.  It was over as fast as it started.  We began hearing a
lot of chatter on the CB about overturned trucks, and I thanked God we
were OK.  We pulled over in a rest stop to check the bikes and tighten
everything down.  We found a scratch in the bed of his truck, but that
didn't bother him.  What really pissed him off was that the wind took
a little plastic one-eyed guy off his bug guard that was held on by
his nose.  We made it to Mace's house by dusk and Tim's parents were
waiting there with a flat trailer to haul the bikes.  We spent the
next three hours sleeping in the back of the pickup, while riderless
motorcycles followed us on the trailer in the rain.  We dropped off
Tim's parents and Tim took me home so I could unload my bike before
he went home.  It was 1:30am on July 5th as I shook his hand and told
him, "Great ride Tim.  Let's do it again".  We were home safe, with
over 300 pictures to help us tell the story of the two nuts who love
to ride.
     We laugh as we look back at the ride now, but that was over three
years ago.  We got new tires on our bikes within a week, I got a new
brake lever, and I have since replaced all the head gaskets on both
front and back cylinders of my bike.  It was a lot of work which
included removal of the engine from the frame, but it finally got done,
with Tim's help.  It took me way too long, and I hope my presence is
welcome at the Mc Keller household again after my bike's excessively
long stay in their garage.

      The need for another ride is tugging at my seat.  I feel it every
time I turn the throttle and feel the power, the freedom, and the love
of the open road.  I've already gotten a thousand mile route around
Lake Michigan in mind, but that might have to wait until next year.
Hopefully, Tim, and a few other friends, will be able to accompany
me, but only time will tell.

Ralph Allas Jr -  jrallas@yahoo.com
September 1998


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