Merry Christmas!

 

Harrison Arkansas Gathering

Besides the obvious(1), there are a couple of major differences between the upper Midwest and Arkansas. In Michohindiainois, there are vast cultivated lands with an occasional tree. In Arkansas, there are vast forests of trees and occasional cultivated field.

(1)Armadillos

More importantly, there are few if any straight roads in the Harrison area. This presents an ideal environment for motorcyclists and apparently quite a challenge for our four-wheeled friends. On the way out of town on Sunday, we saw two overturned cars (along with loaded ambulances) within the first 30 miles.

This is not to say we are immune from mishap. When Frank Carpenter and I pulled in after an 800+ mile ride from Detroit, we spotted one of our own wrapped up like a mummy. Frank hoped out loud there had been a terrible ladder accident, but no such luck. It seems a boulder somehow sucked a perfectly good GL1800 out of a corner on Route 7 and destroyed the machine and part of our intrepid board member. At least he was ambulatory and could laugh about it. (I suspect morphine).

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It all started in the usual way. I had been following the plans to meet in Harrison, AR on the gl1800riders board for the better part of a year. A few days before the event, my calendar looked clear so I decided to broach the subject with my wife. In spite of several major projects coming due in the following week, she insisted I go. What a woman!

My old riding buddy, Frank Carpenter (HiYoSilver), had emailed wanting to know if I was going. We arranged to meet at the Zeeb Road exit off I-94 near Ann Arbor and run straight through to Harrison on Friday. The weather was in the 80s during the week, so naturally by the time we hooked up at 0700 Friday morning, the temp gauge was showing a solid 38 degrees. We paused at the gas station to put on all the extra clothes we could find and headed west.

Traffic was light in the going away lanes and we made good time in spite of the unfriendly temperatures. Eventually the darkness had to give way to morning light. Then in the rearview mirror the bright orange edge of the sun appeared somewhere east of Detroit. Soon the center of our solar system was casting long shadows on the highway ahead of us. As we passed stands of trees, the new sunlight struck deep into the woods, lighting parts of the earth usually unnoticed under the thick canopy of leaves.

Next to the feeling of powering through a perfect sweeper, I think nature’s splendor is the second most important reason to ride.

The sun warmed our backs, and then our left sides as we turned south toward Indianapolis. The few extra degrees were appreciated. And we were headed southwest in the general direction of Mexico and eternal summer. The rest of the trip down was uneventful. The only close call was when I was ahead of Frank (and his GPS) in St. Louis, snapping pictures of the Gateway Arch, and almost missed an exit. Luckily, I heard his horn in time to cut back across the paint and onto highway 55.


With 12 hours of superslab behind us, we arrived at Springfield Missouri and turned south once more for the last leg into Harrison. Highway 65 is a secondary road, but it's built on the roadbed of a future freeway. It runs straight as an arrow toward the Antarctica for a good 40 miles before dissolving into a series of excellent high speed sweepers leading to Arkansas.

Having collected a time zone on the way out, it was approaching 7:00 PM by the time we snuck across the last state line of the day. We were treated to a beautiful sunset to the west and wispy golden clouds hung high above our destination, urging us toward well earned rest.

Frank had been leading the way most of the way down and as darkness finally arrived, he motioned for me to pass as we approached some ess turns. The pavement was smooth and there was a certain feeling of lightness in anticipation of getting off the bike. Perfect conditions for exercising the suspension and new set of Metzlers I had installed the day before.

A few minutes later we were in downtown Harrison (if there is a downtown) and Frank was pointing to a “Catfish restaurant” as we searched for the Holiday Inn. The GPS led us home and it was good to see a parking lot filled with GL1800s and a number bench riders trying out their latest stories. Stiff and cold, I still couldn’t resist an attempt at a grand entrance. I put on all my blue LED lights and with rock and roll station 6 on the XM, executed a neat u-turn up and into the covered hotel entrance. I figured it would draw attention if I made it or if I tipped over like that guy on Laugh-In. Either way, I was glad to be done for the day.


As Frank and I disembarked, several riders greeted us. I felt exactly like I did forty years ago when my ship pulled into port after a long deployment (except there were no hippies spitting at me and yelling about killing babies).

After checking in and heading back up the road for some “catfish,” I started to get my land legs back and the buzzing in my head started to die down. Maybe I should get headsets.

From Friday night to Sunday morning, we met up with a lot of folks from the board, some of whom had been to CatsCade last spring or various other informal gatherings.

Saturday morning, Frank and I joined a small group headed south. We visited roads numbered 65, 74, 123, 16, and 23. Each of the sections has its own attractions. 123 was especially interesting with its narrow lanes and steep drop-offs. We hit a short stretch of construction where flagmen stopped us on freshly graded dirt that fell away into a wooded abyss that was probably several hundred feet down. I could imagine the skeleton of a hapless traveler still behind the wheel of his ’28 Buick, never discovered in the thick jungle that covered decades of roadside relics and litter.

Traffic was light and we saw a number of other riders on the way up 23 where we stopped for gas. I mentioned to Frank that his brake lights were stuck in the on mode. Beating on the brake light switches with metal instruments didn’t seem to help, so we opted to drop out of the pack and head back to Harrison for repairs. Naturally, the Honda shop was about to close as we arrived and the mechanic wasn’t sure what the problem was, so we were on our own.


After several hours of dissecting various hydraulic, electrical, and mechanical systems, we resorted to the unthinkable and asked for advice. Luckily, Tom Finch was there with his cell phone. Surrounded by tire kickers and a sprinkling of exotic beverages, the analysis was joined by Fred Harmon via long distance. Before long the source of the annoyance was traced to a bad connection under the rear fender. An aftermarket brake/running light switch for the spoiler was the culprit. Wires were separated and all was well.

About 5:30, all the shade tree mechanics took a break to attend the only organized portion of the get-together. Dinner at a nearby steak house was well attended with the banquet room filled and some attendees seated out in the main hall. Our hosts, John McCaskill and Randy Brown made everyone welcome and handed out more door prizes than I’ve ever seen. The handful who did not win one of the prizes were given a kickstand pad provided by Anpac Insurance, one of the event sponsors.

Other vendors/sponsors included:

Gene's Gallery Goldwing accessories and more
ProCycle Springfield Missouri Honda Dealer
Escapade Trailers Motorcycle Trailers
Honda Direct Line Great parts and motorcycle dealer-great site.
Cycle Care Great products to keep your ride clean
Electrical Connection Lights, parts, and accessories for your bike
Bushtec Trailers Motorcycle trailers
Garmin Maker of GPS systems
Shirtznthingz Joe's shirts for any occasion


After a great day of exploring back roads and camaraderie, we decided to take a leisurely two day trip back to Detroit using parts of State Route 66 and other colorful roads until we were forced back onto the freeways for the final run. It was a good plan and we enjoyed some great riding across the northern tier of Bill Clinton’s home state. We went north a little and took 160 east through Missouri.

Some of these roads qualify as “must see” in my opinion. A lot of them are well cleared, allowing for sport riding. Much of the area is older but well maintained road edged by old growth hardwoods whose limbs sometimes cover the entire road. Scenic river access and pullouts are available too. It seems like people down there don’t like to get rid of their old cars. There’s plenty of interesting iron mixed in with the small herds of cattle along the roads.








We bypassed St. Louis and took 57 north to Effingham, Illinois for a layover. Monday morning greeted us with clouds and drizzle and stayed that way the rest of the day. By now, home was calling loudly. It felt good to be back and to recall the good times and good friends from another motorcycle tour through the Midwest.

No vests!

Not Your Daddy's Goldwing

Here's some links to short videos of "FUSE" and "Yellow Wolf" riding Deals Gap. http://media.putfile.com/Riding-the-Dragon-Part-One
http://media.putfile.com/Riding-the-Dragon-Part-Two Don't forget to turn up the sound... Wings are pretty quiet til the corners touch down.

I had the pleasure of following Yellow Wolf through Route 116 in Eastern Tennessee this summer.

The picture shows FUSE following YW. If you like roller coasters and acceleration, you'd love riding with these characters.

Rising cost of gas

Well, the cost of gas finally got our attention. The transmission was slipping on the Trailblazer and this one looked like it would do what we want, so...

In case you don't recognizize it, its a Chev, HHR, 2LT. Supposed to get 30mpg highway. We have our fingers crossed. Sure has a cool sound system and quiet smooth ride.

Michigan's "Tunnel of Trees" Rte. 119

They call this a road but I think "lane" might be a more appropriate term. A ride down this lane brings you in close proximity to every type of tree that grows in NW Michigan. You also get treated to beautiful views of Lake Michigan, sand dunes, beaches and a very interesting paved trail with little other traffic, even on a Sunday.

This picture gives you an idea of how wide the lane is. Its 20 or so miles of narrow, unmarked track with lots of blind corners and hidden driveways. I'l post a couple more pictures later. I wish I would have snapped some of the hairpin (Yes Michiganders, I said hairpin) turns.

Thanks CJS for the recommendation of this ride.

I'm back with the rest of the story:

There’s a mostly invisible line that wraps around Earth, halfway between the equator and the North Pole. I crossed the 45th parallel twice yesterday while traveling to and from the top of Lower Michigan.

Sunday morning was crystal clear and pretty comfortable as far as temperature goes. It was about 4:00 a.m. when I decided to take a little spin on the Goldwing. I figured it would get warmer as daylight approached so I took off with just a t-shirt and armored jacket with liner. I did wear my chaps, which turned out to be a good call.

I started from the southeast part of the state, heading for the opposite corner. Since it was dark out and I couldn’t see anything anyway, I decided to stay on the freeway at least for a while. I headed more or less north. The moon was a sliver over my right shoulder, surrounded by bright stars. I knew the weather would hold since the bottom part of the moon was showing, holding in all the rain. (At least that was what my father told me when I was a little kid).

As a late sleeper, I had forgotten how long the darkness lingered this time of year. As the first hour eroded away, I was starting to wonder.

The traffic was light and I decided it would be a good time to rack up a few quick miles since I intended to meander around slowly later in the day. I noticed some weird signs in the construction zones and stopped for a picture. Back on the road, I set the cruise well inside my headlight range and just low enough to make a warning more likely than a ticket if I busted somebody’s radar.

When US-23 turned into I-75 Flint came into view and just as quickly faded into the darkness behind me. I did pass a tow truck with a lot of extra running lights on it. I flipped on by blue LEDs and he flashed all his lights in response. I imagined he was going to pick up the remains of somebody’s Saturday night.

As I passed Bay City (remember the Bay City Rollers?) the temp dropped from 61 to 52 in the space of about ¼ mile. I was already wearing all the clothes I brought so it was time to shiver for a while. The tension was causing pain in my shoulders and I had to concentrate on relaxing, if such a thing is possible. Saginaw Bay was a couple of miles off to my right and I knew the temperature might drop, but I hadn’t anticipated how much.

Eventually, the sun decided to slowly peel back one edge of the night sky. The change was visible to the east as the horizon let in the slightest hint of daylight. Then the sky turned a different shade almost every minute with purple, pink, and finally every shade of blue imaginable, then at last the bright yellow sun with its warmth which I anxiously anticipated.

Now, in the daylight, my anxiety about stray deer began to subside and I started thinking about sleep. About then, I crossed the mythical 45th parallel for the first time today. As soon as I saw the sign, I was hit with the aroma of fresh sawdust. There must be a lumber mill nearby. It reminded me of my youth in Alaska. I was raised on a homestead in the woods and my father was constantly building, repairing, or creating something made of wood. He left piles of wood scraps and sawdust in his wake and it usually fell to me to sweep it up. I hated sawdust at the time but now it seems like an old friend I haven’t seen for a while.

I stuck to the freeway all the way to Mackinaw City and rode directly down to the Straits below the fabled “Mighty Mac,” bridge to the Upper Peninsula. I took a few snapshots while a seagull took the opportunity to leave his calling card on my back seat. If that was an intentional shot, we could use him on our side.

That reminded me of an old joke about the bald guy who had a seagull take a dump on his head. His buddy asked “Do you want me to get you some toilet paper?” the bald guy replies “Nah, that seagull will be long gone before you could get back.”

I decided to let it air dry and remove it later. As it turned out, I didn’t have to. I forgot and laid my jacket on it when I stopped at the Big Boy for coffee and that pretty much took care of it.

Prior to stopping for coffee, I took a turn around the town and ran across a group of travelers on Goldwings getting ready to hit the road. They were from New York or New Jersey and were heading to the Badlands. Some of them were members of gl1800riders.com but I didn’t get their handles. I couldn’t quite make out what they said due to several hours of XM set at 20 on the way up.

I got general directions for Route 119 from the waitress at the little restaurant and headed west. I should have brought a map. I considered crossing the Mac but figured – been there, done that.
The directions took me into a snooty neighborhood with lots of signs saying “local traffic only.” I decided to follow my infallible instincts and was soon at the end of a dirt road somewhere along the east shore of Lake Michigan. The water puddles and greasy mud from the previous night’s rain made for an interesting turn-around.

After finding pavement again, I kept taking right turns until I found a sign that said 119. This is the road CJS mentioned a while back. He found it on his way back from the Midnight Ride to St. Ignore. His description of the area intrigued me. It turned out to be just as he had described.

I expected to see tons of bikes since it was a beautiful Sunday. Not a single one. I did see a bunch parked at a little inn called Legs which features genuine Polish fare. See http://www.legsinn.com/news_hunts1.html for some interesting background on this place.

I forgot to mention there were Corvettes all over the place in Mackinaw City. Must have been some kind of car show or swap meet. When I got there, Corvettes were heading out in all directions. I came across a blue one while traveling south on 119 and we swapped positions several times, as I stopped often to take pictures.

I don’t know if there is an official start to 119 but if there is, it is probably Cross Village. As soon as you leave town, the road narrows and trees form a canopy over miles of winding road. I use the term road loosely. The trail is wider than most bike paths, but not much. Large and small trees line both sides of the lane, some dangerously close to the pavement. There is no paint on the centerline, or shoulders. Approaching cars slow and pull to the right. I doubt if some portions of the road are wider than 18 feet.

All along the way, you are treated to views of the deep blue Lake Michigan waters. Where the water is shallow, a green color takes over. The road winds in and out along bluffs, maybe 100 feet above the water line. Most of the way is buffered from the cliff by an assortment of trees. There are many varieties of firs as well as birch, poplar, willow, various oaks, maples and others too numerous to mention. There are many places to pull onto the grass unless you’re in a car. In a car, your best bet is to stop along one of the short straight-aways for photos.

When riding the trail, watch for debris on the corners. Just when you think you have the rhythm figured out, a tight corner appears that is covered in sand. The whole area is sand just beneath a thin layer of topsoil. The other surprise is the couple of creeks you encounter. With the tunnel effect and the constant turns, it’s hard to see very far ahead. Entering one left-hander, I found a tighter than anticipated rising, then falling turn. Of course the apex contained an oncoming nine passenger van. The road suddenly dropped away to the bottom of a little draw with a hairpin turn at the bottom and a series of quick twists up the other side.

The encounter with the van was exciting, given the width of the road and fact that a hard turning Goldwing takes up a lot of width already. I’d estimate my windshield and left grip were well within two feet of the van. At the time it felt like two inches. I got a chance to practice changing my line, mid-turn. The divot I took out of the macadam was rivaled by the one left in the seat. Back to acting my age I guess.

The road is fun to ride but should be considered a scenic ride as opposed to “spirited.” Too many driveways, bicycles, and blind corners to get carried away.

Once you think you have seen all the beautiful vistas you can stand, you arrive at Harbor Springs with its stately old houses, church steeples and its port, filled with sailboats and other yachts.

A little farther south, you pass through Petosky with its lakefront park and more grand old houses. Route 119 is gone and a modern but still scenic stretch of road leads south past countless little stands where locals sell cherries and all manner of fresh produce. Charlevoix, Eastport, and Elk Rapids all display attractive roadside conveniences designed to separate the traveler from his funds. I managed the trip without purchasing a single piece of driftwood.

The scenic drive ended in Traverse City and it was time to slog back through oceans of corn and soy bean fields. I was back in the Michigan I know. I angled southeast on 115 for a while, then cut south. I was tempted to stop at the casino in Mt. Pleasant, but soldiered on. I made good time all the way to Lansing, in spite of heavy traffic. I-96 was a piece of cake until everything came to a stop. A couple of miles at a crawl and I got to look at a SUV and its upside down trailer in a ditch. Nothing obstructing anything on the roadway, but my fellow travelers couldn’t bear to miss the free show. Back under way, I took a shortcut through Pinckney and Hell and snuck back into the garage before 5:00 pm with an extra 837 miles on the clock.

I sure wish Route 119 was a little closer. Don’t miss it if you’re ever in the neighborhood.

17 minute wait for U.S. Customs

Forest, Ontario

It was a great day to be riding in Ontario. Eight of us on 7 bikes got through Customs at the Blue Water Bridge with very little delay. Pete took the lead since he: A-is a transplanted Canadian, and B-seemed to know which way to go to get to Stefanik's house. This turned out to be not entirely accurate, as he homed in on the wrong address when we were within a few blocks of our goal.

The confusion was short-lived as Mike L. came to the rescue. He and his wife zoomed ahead with the rest of us following. Mike turned confidently into Don's yard and around some silos where he parked. A while later we found out he was just looking for a wide spot to turn around when he spotted Don's Amsoil sign.

I have come to expect this sort of behavior among bikers. It used to be called falling in it and coming up smelling like a rose. Any way you look at it, we looked good thanks to Mike, and that's all that counts.

Don came out to greet us and one by one, his family joined us. I got out my note pad and dutifully wrote down everyone's name as they arrived, along with their screen name and home town. I maintained this log through out the day since I have been so bad at remembering names in previous blog entries. Needless to say, I made it to my garage before realizing I had left the note pad on one of the picnic tables.

I mentioned the Stefanik family's hospitality in an earlier entry but I'll say thanks again here in case they are reading this. They have a lot of good friends, but with a family like theirs the friends are just a bonus.

As the day wore on, more and more people arrived. At about 3:00 or so Bulldog and Meesh rolled in along with Wild Bill Moore and his wife (whose name is on the note pad - sorry). Before them, Doug Holman who goes by Tenpinarm came in from Rochester. We had one attendee from Dallas; Peter who goes by Slovak on the boards. Peter didn't ride as far as it seems. He has been working in Lansing and had a fairly short jaunt to meet us. Interestingly, he couldn't stay for dinner, as he is leaving for Anchorage on Sunday. The guy gets around.

The motorcycle group and the non-cyclists were cordial and even friendly. There were even a few worthwhile conversations. But inevitably, the groups sort of settled in among their peers and enjoyed the company and conversations unique to their experience.

Polecat and I planned ahead and started putting a dent in the beer supply early in the day. I was at a disadvantage, planning to return home that evening. Steve was better prepared than I. He took over the LaBatt duties since he intended to camp out on the farm.

Everybody had a great time. Don was spread pretty thin with so many guests to attend to. But now he is retired, maybe he can make more of the events. Accessories were assessed, tires were critiqued, lies were told, tentative plans for the next meet were laid. In short, it was a perfect Saturday. To top it all off, two catering trucks full of goodies arrived and everyone had a feast that rivaled a Thanksgiving dinner at the in-laws.

All good things must come to a middle, then end. CJS was the first to voice what we all knew had to happen. It was time to go. One by one others saddled up. Like a dustbunny, our little group grew until five bikes were ready to head west into the sunset.

Now I like Canadians, usually better than U.S. people. But I have to wonder about some of their traffic engineers. On the way back, we took a side road south. As we approached 402, there was a sign directing us to turn left before we reached the highway in order to head west. Huh? I always thought the "Michigan U-turns" were inspired by Satan. This is the craziest way to enter a highway I've seen yet. To quote my old friend Bill Dennis: "I been to 14 axle greasins, four goat ropes, and a County Fair, but I ain't never seen nuthin like that!"

The rest of the trip to Sarnia was uneventful. It cost us 50 cents more to leave Canada than to get in. We waited in line 17 minutes for the privelege. Orange Crush was still leading and paid for everybody when he went through. So all we had to do was convince the guard we weren't terrorists or carrying any Bing cherries. That reminds me. I owe Pete $2.00. Pete, if you're reading this, remind me when you see me!

Once back in the States, the trip was almost over. Frank and I kept going south on 94 while Orange Crush, CJS, and Mike L. headed west on 69. Frank and I kicked it up a notch on the way south. 80 to 85 and still getting passed from time to time. We took 696 west and Frank dropped off at I-75 to head back north to his place. I ratcheted it up a little more to play tag with a Porsche Carrera and later, some type of sport bike whose rider gave me a thumbs up when I broke off for my exit to M-14.

After skirting a the edges of a few rain clouds I made it home and began searching for my carefully compiled name list. When that was over, I was welcomed home by my beautiful wife. the end to a perfect day for a Gold Wing rider.

Don Stefanik's BBQ

Friday the 13th came on a Saturday this month. It was also the date chosen to celebrate Don Stefanik’s retirement.

Don and his wife Carole invited friends, family, business associates and members of the motorcycle community to join them in Forest, Ontario to kick off the next career move.

Don is a guy who prepares for the future. All this time, while growing food in Canada’s banana belt, he was building an Amsoil business on the side. Like Bulldog, his southern neighbor, Don plans to run a business from home and let others pick up the stresses of cultivating the land.

From my perspective, Don’s transition from farming gave me an opportunity to explore some new roads on the Goldwing, meet up with fellow riders, including Don, and let’s not forget – free food!

The farm on Fuller Road is a modern operation with acres of Soy Beans maturing in the fields along with the associated equipment and storage facilities. I’m agriculturally challenged, but to me this year’s crop looked healthy and substantial.

In speaking with Don’s son-in-law I learned a little about how much land it takes to produce a load of soy beans. When you add in fickle weather and other variables I am amazed anyone is willing to grow crops for a living. The Stefanik family seems to have mastered the technique and I’m sure will be sorely missed in the market.

Speaking of the Stefanik family, a nicer group of folks would be hard to find. I had the privilege of meeting three generations and they all were gracious and hospitable. Even little Joshua (maybe 1 year old?) did his part by smiling through the entire event. He didn’t have much to add by way of conversation, but contributed to the spirits of all he encountered.

On the way up to Forest I caught up with six other riders at the McDonalds in Port Huron. After the usual road construction and detours in downtown Detroit I was running a little late and was glad to see Polecat arrive about five minutes after me. Come to think of it he was running late the last time I met up with him in Dayton Ohio en route to Tennessee.

The Michigan contingent consisted of Mike L. and his wife Sherry, Orange Crush, HiYoSilver, Slovak, CJS, and me. With Polecat in tow, we headed for the border.

I managed to snap a few other pictures and will post a few more here when I have time.

Goodbye Columbus!

Ohio curves...who knew?

The last weekend of July was the Honda Homecoming near Marysville. The hotel rooms in the immediate area were spoken for and as a notorious last minute planner, I wound up staying on the west side of Columbus.

When I checked in to the Fairfield Inn, I met Bernie Keller, a H-D dealer from Gaithersburg, MD. He had athe biker's tan that I recongnized when I saw him in the lobby. He was on his way home from a business trip that had taken him to the Black Hills area. He had put in some long hours crossing the country on his Harley the last few days. He invited me to visit Rockville Harley-Davidson if I was in the area. Nice guy. I'll keep his card in case I get over that way.

The Marysville factory turns into Mecca for Honda motorcycles for a few days, accompanied by the red carpet treatment from surrounding towns. The crowds and organized events are great. Meeting old friends and making new ones is always fun too. The part I have passed up in previous years is exploring the countryside nearby.

Until last week, my picture of Ohio has been one of cornfields and more cornfields. Roads laid out along ancient section lines. Roads with as much character as oatmeal. On this trip though, I actually consulted the handout material from Honda and set out to see what was there.

I had the best intentions of getting up early Saturday and going on the Ride For Kids but that didn't quite work out. I did see Bernie again. He and his girlfriend were heading across the parking to to the Cracker Barrel. We wished each other good riding and parted ways.

I dug the map out of the trunk and found the route with the most wiggly lines. The route was marked in gold highlighter and was located about 45 mile east of me, straight across Columbus.

Saturday morning, the traffic was light and the weather was in the mid 70s. I headed east on 70 and was admiring the dozen or so skyscrapers off to my left when someone in the exit lane changed his mind. He suddenly crossed the solid white line into my lane. Discretion being the better part of valor, I nailed the gas and swerved left, then back right, using all the power and handling the Wing is known for to avoid a shoving match with a Ford Explorer. Then I resumed the speed limit (or just a little over) and watched my mirrors as the careless driver slunk farther back to avoid my gaze.

I had skipped coffee this morning, but now, fully awake, I began to more fully appreciate my surroundings.

About the time I started thinking I had missed my exit, the turnoff for Thornville appeared. As soon as I started south past Buckeye Lake, the road actually dipped down into a swale. I was so suprised, I stopped for a picture. The road curved down around to the right, then straightened and flattened again. "That didn't last long" I thought.

I got to the first turn at 204, and instead of going east, turned west to visit the little town of Thornville. Very picturesque. A quiet little town on a hill surrounded by rich green farmland.

After retracing my track, I headed east on 204. Another suprise. The road was like a roller coaster. I could feel the suspension stretching to the limits at each crest. I also learned to approach these hills with caution because of the immediate turn on the other side. Another interesting observation is how much undercarriage on an approaching pickup is visible when you both arrive on top at about the same time.

My third surprise followed quickly. Just as I rounded off a hard right hand corner, I noticed an old lady walking a dog in a field to my left. She raised her hand and waved a friendly greeting. It wasn't the only wave of the day. I was amazed at the friendliness of the people in the area.

I followed the backroads, generally east through tiny towns, past farms and woodlands, even to an Industrial Sand mine probably from the Paleozoic Period. (The sand, not the mine). I had just cleared a series of twisties and headed for a straight stretch when I noticed big rusty buckets traveling back and forth on cables above the road. I made a turn into a driveway which was covered with powdery sand. Very slick. After wallowing back to pavement I snapped a picture of the operation and what passes for a town in the background.

Back on track, I passed several interesting sideroads that beckoned with tree tunnels and sharply rising turns. I figured with my E-Trex for a guide, and none of the roads showing, I should keep following the signposts and stay on the gold highlighted trail.

I am lucky in that all my life I have wanted to know what lies around the next corner. The course laid out by Honda didn't dissappoint. Dozens of blind hills and turns kept me guessing and kept my speed in check as well.

Finally I reached a crossroads somewhere south of Zanesville and stopped to refer to the map. A fellow who had been sitting on his porch came trotting up to make sure I found the right road. I was starting to get used to Buckeye hospitality. After assurances the unmarked road heading north was highway 22, I was off again.

Zanesville got in my way for a while. I was looking for 146 east and after a few tries, returned south to where I had passed a couple of hundred bikers milling around a blocked off street. I drove the only Honda in sight into the middle of the event and asked what was up. It turned out to be a Viet Nam Veteran's ride. I fit the participation requirements, but didn't feel like my current "uniform" fit in. There were enough "do-rags" present to build a weeks worth of RoseAnne Barr's drawers.

I finally found someone who knew the area and headed out once again. Up to this point, the only bikes I had seen were Harleys and a couple of sports bikes of undetermined origin. I kind of thought I'd be wagging my clutch hand at Wingers all day. As it turned out, a little over 300 miles and the only Wings I saw were westbound on I-70 near Columbus.

Anyway, I headed east on 146, then 313, then angled up toward Plainfield on 83 and 93. These little backroads were fun and almost totally traffic free. It was a good thing too, due to the sneaky corners and blind hillcrests. A couple of times, I turned around for a second run at a chicane once I had it sorted out.

Stopping frequently to make sure I was still on the "gold route," I meanderedup to Coshocton and finally headed west on 541. This section of road was still curvy but obviously was designed for something faster than an Amish buggy. You could actually see into the corners and the hillcrests were not backloaded with switchbacks.














I made good time heading down to Newark and found my way to west 16. I wanted to get back to Marysville in time to claim the free motorcycle they were giving away, so I pulled over one more time to consult my trusty souvenier map.

I was on 16 near 37, stopped alongside a road sign. A guy on a Harley pulled up along side me facing against traffic and asked if I needed help. We had a nice conversation about area roads and the relative merits of various bikes. Randy Kinzel is a K-9 officer with Columbus PD. He noticed my Blue Knights windshield sticker and we exchanged thoughts on retirement and how the world changes after you hang up your "shootin' irons." After pointing me in the right direction, we went on our ways; me west, Randy east. You meet the nicest people on a Har... I mean Honda.

About this time, Ohio started looking like it used to and I started remembering I hadn't had breakfast yet. The Tumbleweed in Bellefontaine was good. Why not? I made a bee-line for the dining room. It was about 3:00 pm and I had been listening to '60s music on the XM for 6 hours. Time for a snack and a little down time before the big Gold Wing give-away.

The chimichanga hit the spot and I returned to the Honda factory to join thousands of bikers holding our collective breath so as not to miss the magic moment. The announcer strung us along for a while with "important announcements" then finally said something about Michigan. Then I really started paying attention. "The winner of the brand new GL1800 Gold Wing is... David Palmer of Berien, Michigan!"

Bummer - maybe next year. If not the free bike, I have a feeling I'll at least go for the red route. I hope a few folks will read this and decide to tag along.

Honda Homecoming Rally - 2005

Heading for Homecoming


Honda of America puts on a pretty good show every year and invites the public to inspect their motorcycle factory near Marysville, Ohio. The open house is only part of the event. The whole area puts out the welcome mat for thousands of pilgrims who come to see the birthplace of Gold Wing and VTX motorcycles.

The nearby town of Marysville closes off downtown streets and makes space available for vendors, bands, a light parade, and other events.

About 20 miles to the west, Bellefontaine hosts another large vendor area where you can find almost any accessory for a Honda and lots of stuff for other makes as well.

As usual, my attendance was a last minute decision. I had been following a bulletin board thread on the internet about a get-together on Friday and decided that was plenty of reason to run 150 miles down the road.

Luckily for me, the first hotel I called had a room available and the price was right. The Fairfield Inn was at exit 91 off I-70, just west of Columbus. That put me about 20 miles south of Marysville. A little off the beaten path, but considering there were 16,000 visitors at last year's Homecoming, finding a hotel anywhere in the area at the last minute is a little iffy.

Since Marysville is so close to home, I have managed to sneak down there for the last 3 years. I always head down I-75 to Findley where I take 15 east to 68. Route 68 runs almost straight the whole way to Bellefontaine. It is a quick route but boring. Along the way you encounter elevation changes of maybe 15 feet total. The highway is a tribute to the efforts of lumberjacks. There are few places on earth with a greater fondness for telephone poles. One redeeming feature of the road is the neat lawns that line the west side of the road. I passed lot after lot of freshly mowed lawn with the accompanying green aroma. Several scenes were repeated as I noticed thin old men wearing thin, sun-bleached shirts, atop lawn tractors, their backs slightly bent from decades of tending the land.

The east side of the road contains fewer houses but more corn fields. This section of road is so boring the non-domesticated animals run, leap, mosey, slither, and otherwise fling themselves in front of traffic to escape the monotony. The poor sad cattle watch in envy from their enclosures.

The upside is 68 leads directly south to civilization and a motorcycle rally. Like Elwood and Jake, I was on a mission. I hit 33 and headed straight to the factory. There were thousands of bikes in the lot and just as I pulled in, a space opened next to the demonstation pad. No, not protesters, riding demonstations. There was a guy doing donuts on a dirt bike and he was just finishing up his act. As I got my stuff put away, the "Ride Like a Pro" guy was starting his program. He was doing his confidence course and has added some pretty good dialogue through his mobile P.A. system if you listen closely. But I was on a mission.

I headed directly for the registration desk where I signed up to win a brand new Gold Wing. I was confident this year would be my year. My confidence was only equaled by the ten thousand or so other seekers of the holy grail. Still, the odds favored me since this is the third time I have entered to win. So I deposited my ticket in the drum, picked up a few freebies and confidently strode out into the sunshine to await the anouncement.

With a whole day to kill until they called my name, I headed to downtown Marysville. I had a secondary mission. I wanted a cradle for my GPS.

I dodged around a barricade and located an empty space on the street which was reserved for motorcycles only. After carefully shoehorning my 800 pound bike into a slot, I set out in search of the elusive E-Trex GPS holder.

I ran into Bill Morph who makes/sells mike-mutes. He and his family were enjoying the sunny weather and answering questions about the product line.

After surveying the vendor area and inspecting the ribs and chicken stand, I notice a few more displays on the next block. There I located the object of my search. After about 15 minutes of labor and $40.00 lighter, my GPS was installed. No more dangling from the strap wrapped around the clutch reservoir. It may be cheap, but it's nice to know how far the next town is when you're travelling and low on fuel.

While making the transaction, Polecat from the gl1800riders board wandered up. He too was in the market for some RAM mounts. When I was done with my install I found Polecat about a block away, poking at his clutch mounts with some odd tools. I dug around in my trunk and found the right size hex wrench and assisted with his install by giving helpful suggestions.
Partway through this exercise, RRIXX showed up and announced he was off to the same vendor, Cycle Gadgets, for some similar gear.

There was some talk of riding up to the Bellefontaine vendor area before the 4:00 dinner at Tumbleweeds. Time slipped away and we left Marysville with just enough time to make it to the restaurant on time. Along the way, I took the lead out of town and headed for the closest freeway access. Polecat and RRIXX turned off at a downtown intersection and headed for a different access. I caught them again on Route 33 but I'm still not sure if they thought I was lost or were just trying to shake me. Either way, we arrived at Tumbleweeds intact and were greeted by about twenty other riders from the gl1800riders board.

Dinner at the Tumbleweeds

With the precise skills of surgeons, a dinner was sheduled at the Tumbleweed Restaurant by CJS, Polecat and RRIXX. A gregarious lot, the dinner was open to anybody who showed up. Someone had tipped off the waitstaff and an area was hollowed out in the middle of the dining room to accomodate our little group.

I took a seat accross from Tourit and Alabama Ironbutt and his wife who had recently experienced a flash of minor celebrity. To my right was Natalie and her beau from Milwaukee. Others in attendance included Iwing, Hedoman, Bash, Mrgl02, Toyo and his bride, and a bunch of others. I think I'm the only one without an AKA. Not an original thinker, I guess.

The dinner was a great success. Lots of old aquaintances renewed, new aquaintances made, war stories spun and re-spun, time/distance records remarked upon and the usual touring rider conversations. When it was all over, the entire readership of gl1800riders.com was invited to Natalie and Chuck's wedding next August. Details to follow. All in all the festivities resulted in a good time for everyone. I'm pretty sure there was no damage to any of the facilities and no other guests were harmed or insulted during our stay.

Outside in the parking lot there was time for more conversation and pictures before the riders headed off in different directions. Hedoman and CJS invited me to stop by the Drury for a pop but I didn't make it. Polecat and RRIXX were headed for Dayton for the night, I think. Being the "King and Princess of CatsCade" you never know.

In a matter of minutes the parking lot emptied of Gold Wings and another get-together was history. This is the third time I have made an effort to meet up with members of the bulletin board, and each time I am impressed with the cross section of Americana represented. At each event, more people show up whose names or nicknames I have seen on the internet. More often than not, the people look different than I had expected (in a good way, mostly). I hope more who follow the BBS posts will take the time to stop by future meetings.

See you on the road.

Norris Dam, TN

When it comes to hobbies, motorcycle touring is hard to beat. The only down sides that comes to mind are initial cost, and arranging for time away from the normal routine.
My last adventure was a two day event which started on a Friday morning and ended late the following night. In between was about 1200 miles of good times.
Never a long-term planner, I waited until the annual week long Honda Hoot was half over before deciding to attend. My real goal was a side event hosted by Honda Direct Line, an online Honda dealer. Several vendors had set up a breakfast get-together for GL1800 riders at the Days Inn just north of Knoxville.
Part of the draw was a much publicized showdown between two riders who had taunted each other for months about their respective skills on a road course. The rest of the Bulletin Board community followed the postings, even encouraging a match that was finally scheduled to follow the breakfast.
The time was chosen to coincide with the Hoot and at first the route seemed to be leaning toward the infamous “Dragon.” At some point the location was changed to Route 116, a lesser known twisty road that snaked between Lake City and Brushy Mountain Penitentiary about 20 miles north of Knoxville. The selected road starts with a yellow sign and posting that says curves next 25 miles.
I’ll come back to the actual road course. With all the hype preceding and surrounding the breakfast ride, I really wanted to attend. Even if only to meet in person Rodehard and Yellow Wolf, the two antagonists who got this whole thing started.
Scheduling conflicts kept me from signing up for the actual breakfast gathering. The organizers had posted a cutoff date that I could not meet. On Thursday I got clearance to attend and posted my intent on the gl1800riders.com BBS. A short time later I got a private message from Polecat saying he would ride down with me if I wanted to meet him in Dayton. Some brief messages were exchanged and the following morning we met at the Waffle house on Dayton’s south side.
There is something about the anticipation of a long ride that keeps me awake the night before. This one was no exception. I got to bed promptly at midnight and soon after 0400 I fell soundly asleep. At 0500 the alarm went off. By 0530 I had gathered some clean socks, my E-Trex GPS, a camera and was ready to hit the road. I said goodbye to my beautiful wife and the chipmunk who lives under my front porch and was in the wind.
The bike was gassed up the night before and the 200 miles to Dayton was no problem on one tank. Polecat was to meet me at 0930 unless I contacted him with an updated time. At about 0730 I called to warn Polecat I would arrive closer to 0830. The trip between Ann Arbor and Dayton was uneventful. I lit up my blue LED lights a few times as I passed some of the big rigs which had their own fancy running lights. That got a few flashes of headlights in response. The air was amazingly still, the bugs were few, and there was not a drop of rain. In other words, everything was the exact opposite of the conditions I had expected.
At exactly 0830 I pulled into the Waffle House lot and looked for a parked Gold Wing. By roughly 0900 it started to dawn on me that Polecat was not a morning person. In the meantime I had time to fill the gas tank and gag down a few cups of weak coffee. Polecat arrived and after breakfast and topping off his gas tank we headed for Knoxville. We chose different degrees of riding attire. I had on my leather chaps and gloves, leather boots, and a Joe Rocket armored mesh jacket. My riding buddy on the other hand suited up in his tennis shoes, bare hands, and cotton pants and shirt.
Operating on one hour’s sleep, I sort of lost rack of much of the trip down. I remember traffic was light in Cincinnati, and I remember the weather was hot and getting hotter. We somehow managed to be going at an inconspicuous speed every time we went by the occasional police car. The only real scare came as I noticed a Crown Vic coming up behind Polecat somewhere in Tennessee. We were both in the fast lane and were easing past the other traffic. I pulled into the middle lane and watched Polecat follow, expecting the Vic to join us. Now slowing to the posted speed, we watched the officer continue south, obviously on a mission more important than traffic enforcement.
By 2:30 we had covered the 300 miles from Dayton and were looking for a hotel near exit 108. The Clarion was full but the staff directed us to a nearby Econo-Lodge. I am just guessing here but I think the staff took a look at us and figured a less expensive venue might suit us better. We got Polecat a room and then he and I headed downtown to investigate the HOOT.
We found our way to the rally with only one slight “shortcut” inserted into the trip. Once in the parking lot, I headed straight for the Dunlop booth for my semi-annual tire pressure check. Front 38, back 41. Right on the money.
In the meantime, Polecat had parked in the shade and was patiently waiting by the entrance. We got to the registration desk and were informed it would cost us $15.00 each to attend the remaining two hours of the exhibits. We headed north. Polecat dropped off at his hotel and I continued back to exit 129 where I had a room reserved at the inexpensive but partially clean Lamb’s Inn.
After checking in I headed out one last time to look over an interesting road I had noticed one exit south of me. It turned out to be the road to Norris Dam and some scenic back roads. I was tired but started to get a second wind as I slalomed back up into the hills above Lake City. It was peaceful and relatively cool on the narrow tree lined roads. I stopped for photos here and there and found a State Park with paved trails through the woods. I circled back out to Route 441 and found my way down to the base of Norris Dam. A few more snapshots and back on my way.
A little farther down the road I found an old grist mill. It had been preserved for tourists and was an interesting stop. The mill had a little stream between it and the dirt road. It was a short walk to a nearby barn where I found a huge scalding tub used for rendering hogs in days long past. Inside the barn there was a section of log which was on edge against one wall. The marker said it was taken from the world’s largest Ash tree which was lost when the TVA flooded its home back in the ‘30s. The section stood at least 7 feet high. It must have been a magnificent old man in its day.
After walking around the grist mill area I decided to follow the stream farther back away from the paved road. The trusty Gold Wing was steady on the dirt road but I paused when I came to a place where the stream crossed the road. I knew depth wouldn’t be a problem. It looked like maybe 6 inches deep at the worst. My concern was with the coefficient of friction beneath the water. I briefly considered speeding up and coasting across but opted to park and check the traction on foot. Another photo op and it seemed safe enough. Off I went and nary a slip. On the other side the road narrowed even more and rose quickly up the next grade. Along the way there was a number of challenging blind corners, most of which had a good line where a biker could avoid most of the loose gravel. After a while I came to wider road, then pavement, then houses and figured a main road must lie somewhere ahead. As the sun started to go down, along with my gas gauge I started to wonder if I should retrace my route. I stopped and consulted my handy E-Trex and discovered even though I was not on a listed road, my heading was indeed pointed toward a secondary road. A few more miles and I was back on 441.
On the way back to Lake City I stopped at one of the Norris Dam overlooks and rode up to within 20 feet of a deer which was grazing on the lawn. We looked at each other for a while and I made a U-turn and headed back toward my hotel.
The road between Norris Dam and Lake City is perfect for a heavy touring bike. Smooth road and long fast sweepers where you can set a foot peg down and see how long you can keep a perfect turn going.
Back the Lamb’s Inn via the local grocery for some fresh fruit and some diet Coke. (I had TV dinners in my pack). Nothing quite like dining solo on a microwave meal in a cheap hotel. Well, I wasn’t completely alone as it turns out. Tennessee grows some peculiar large bugs, one of which was attached to the wall over my headboard. I snuck an occasional look as I dined but could never quite be sure if the critter was interested in my food. He hadn’t moved far by morning (or had cleverly returned to the same spot to throw me off). I had seen enough bug guts on the windshield and there was always the chance he might elude me if I attacked and return the favor while I slept. At any rate he was quiet or I was tired and we got along fine.
The next morning was the big day. The Breakfast Get-Together was scheduled for 8:00 am with the big ride following. Earlier in the week, one of our heroes, Rodehard, had wiggled out of the big race by crashing his motorcycle in Memphis. He showed up at the breakfast anyway, complete with a fresh set of scrapes and bruises.
This didn’t dampen the spirits of the diehards who had come from around the country to meet the dynamic duo and ride the twisties with whoever was still standing. Following the required roasting of Rodehard, the 300 or so attendees broke up and headed out leaving about 15 riders to tackle the 116.
Since pretty much everybody was lost, it was decided Bob and Tom from Virginia would get us far as Brushy Mountain Prison. I didn’t get the whole story but it had to do with them either scoping out the route the night before, or (more likely) they heard from somebody, who heard from an in-law who knew somebody who said we could find the road by going “this way.” Lo and behold, we went almost directly to Prison where we stopped for what might be the last opportunity for a whole group photo.
The ground rules were simple. Yellow Wolf would lead and everybody else would ride their own ride which is GoldWingspeak for try to keep up.
Route 116 begs to be traveled by motorcycle. It’s a shame it can’t be roped off and turned into a full time road race venue. We made due without the ropes.
We pulled out in random order except for Yellow Wolf who took the lead. Robeth was next, followed by Gale, a friend of Galute’s, then me, then Polecat, then everybody else. I think the last 1800 in line might have been a yellow bike, two up pulling a trailer.
The road starts out with tight ess turns that take you uphill on what would be a scenic drive if you went slow enough to look around. On this trip, the meadows and woods could have been filled with neon glowing yetis and none of us would have noticed. The road was the reason we were there and it didn’t disappoint.
Yellow Wolf and Robeth disappeared almost immediately leaving the rest of us to flog the corners without our fearless leader. Gale set a pretty good pace and never gave me an opportunity to pass. As it turned out, this was probably for the best because I had left my suspension on a soft setting and was tripodding my way through a lot of the corners. When we stopped, Polecat mentioned he could see sparks coming off my undercarriage even in the bright sunlight. I love the smell of burning metal in the morning.
I don’t know how many corners there are between Brushy Mountain and Lake City but they never stop. Even the short stretches of dotted lines toward the end are not on straight or level road. Luckily for us there was no traffic going our direction until we overtook a group of other riders about a mile outside of town.
Stopped traffic was another matter. Coming out of sharp, uphill left hander a pickup was parked facing us, taking up the entire lane. That got my attention. Up until then the only variables were the occasional oncoming motorcycle and once in a while watching the bike ahead come close to the edge coming out of the corners. The pickup wasn’t a real challenge because at our speed, the only option was to slingshot past (across the double line) and hope nobody was coming. It worked.
For the first half of the run we were much faster than the oncoming bikes. Then a yellow blur went by followed by a red one. I knew they were GL1800s but they were going as fast as us… or faster. Then it started to sink in. YW and Robeth had turned around and headed back. We all pulled over at a wide spot and waited for a few minutes. Pretty soon our heroes returned and we were off again. This time a young fellow on a ST1100 came up and passed our string as we were motoring along at the speed limit for a few minutes. When he got around YW we picked up the pace and once again it wasn’t long before YW and the sport bike were gone. The next time I saw them was at the end of the ride. It turns out a Gold Wing can stay with an ST1100 through the mountain roads of East Tennessee.
The official ride ended as it had started, with a tire kicking session in a parking lot. As is typical of the free spirits who inhabit the GL1800 world, several riders said quick goodbyes and were on their way to various destinations. The remaining group headed out once more. This time through town to Route 441 and then a few miles up into the hills to a lookout over the Norris Dam. A few more pictures were taken, a few more tires kicked, and a few more riders peeled off for their own destinations.
The consensus was Route 116 was the highlight of the Honda Hoot. Every person in attendance was worth meeting and getting to know. I am looking forward to next year’s Yellow Wolf Ride. This one should have been videotaped from the air. What a show! See everybody next year.

The Motley Crew at the East Overlook, Norris Dam

These are most of the hardy souls who ventured beyond the end of Route 116 to explore the hills east of Lake City, TN.
Front row L to R Polecat, Tom (yellow-03), Bob (Robeth), empty space where I was, and Galute. Back row L to R is Tony B, Steve Meadows (Brobubba), Yellow Wolf, Bonnie, Eric (Hogsmemberisold), Natalie Czarnecki, Chuck Wiggins, and on the end is Gale, the guy I followed through 116.
Thanks to Steve (Brobubba) and Chuck for helping with the IDs.

First annual Yellow Wolf Ride survivors at Norris Dam

Yellow Wolf insists we make this an annual event. Some of his closest friends said he is looking forward to seeking out another "brisk ride" location for next year. (At least that's what I think I heard).