New Years Day, Lansing MI

Great day for a ride.

Members of the gl1800riders.com group that made the lunch were:
Sid Moen, CJS, MichiganMike, Cakeman48, Mainmouse, 5Ross, ZAT111, Bob VanNess, HiYoSilver, BlueWing & Holly, David & Jan Smith, Rich & Becky, and Radar 52. I probably missed somone but I chalk it up to exhaust fumes and the Chile Deluxe. (Not necessarily related).

Weather was cloudy, light intermittent rain, 36 degrees, damp roads.

VTX

Pam finally gets the bike she has wanted. VTX 1300R with lots of extras. 

A Rainy Visit

I have a son in the Navy. He flys helicopters in Fallon Nevada. Last winter he decided to outbid everyone on E-bay for a 400 KLX with 1800 miles on it. The problem was it was located in Bloomington Indiana. His solution was to have a friend of a friend who lived in Bloomington Illinois go pick it up and store it til spring arrived. The plan was to come out for a visit and we would ride back crosscountry together in May.

The usual complications set in. There was leave to be arranged, schedule conflicts, his friend got transferred to another state and had to clear the garage suddenly. One thing led to another and Sunday I got a call saying he was in Illinois with the bike in the back of a truck he borrowed in Colorado on his way to Michigan.

His friend Marcus was going to visit friends in Lansing and would drop John in Marshall Michigan so he could continue on the Kawasaki the last 75 or so miles to my house. With a rainstorm circling the area for the past week, I told John I would meet him halfway and escort him back to town.

The first part of the plan went like clockwork. I spotted the bright green Kawasaki just before the rest area we had picked for a meeting place. A quick photo and greeting and we were off, heading east toward a black wall of clouds. It didn't take long for the first sprinkles to start. I pulled under an overpass and offered rain clothes and heavy gloves. A couple of exits later, now in a downpour with lightning flashing, he took me up on the offer.

The open bike at freeway speeds was draining off body heat faster than John could generate it. We took a side road to lower the impact of the rain. I was pretty toasty on the Gold Wing but John was starting to turn a light shade of blue. After what seemed like hours, we finally pulled in to a tiny gas station in Manchester. John was soaked and frozen. A few sips of cocoa and on the road again.

By the time we made it home, another 15 miles away, the last of John's resolve was beginning to fade. I offered him a cold beer or a hot shower and he chose the latter. About half an hour later his estimated core temperature had returned to slightly less than that of an Eskimo Pie.

Monday was more rain so we decided against any long bike trips. An even better decision was to have Marcus bring the truck down and load the bike at our house for the trip west.

Tuesday morning we left early for work just as Marcus pulled in. When we got home the boys and the bike were gone.

I'm glad my son has followed in my footsteps as far as spontaneous travel goes. His visit also gave me a chance to reflect on my own youth in Alaska when my father used to take me on forced marches in the rain, only to kill a moose and commit us to a days worth of misery, cleaning and packing through the dense wet brush of the Chugach Range. This trip finally gave me a chance to pass on this family tradition of torturing sons with the elements.

It was a great visit and Ihope we have more (and warmer days).

Tennessee Lunch Run III

It was a beautiful April morning. The sun was bright in the east, casting long shadows of our bikes as Frank Carpenter and I pulled out onto Michigan Avenue near US23.

With 200 miles to the first planned stop, we settled in to a fairly innocent pace, just faster than the average traffic speed and allowing an occasional local commuter to draw out radar traps.

I saw the first coyote I’ve ever seen in Michigan about 4 miles after we started. He was on the west side of the freeway, squinting into the sun. 196 miles to go.

Our plan was originally to meet up with Polecat on the south side of Dayton and ride down to Lake City Tennessee. Then on to Falls Creek Falls the next morning. The Cat had bowed out due to family responsibilities so it was up to us to carry on. The ride through Ohio was the same as always – boring. There are great roads in Ohio but I-75 isn’t one of them, at least until you hit Cincinnati.

My low gas indicator lit up just north of Dayton and I decided to go for it. We made it to the Waffle House on the south side of town and topped off the tanks at the gas station on the corner. We hung around the WH for a while, kind of hoping Polecat would drop by but no luck. We pressed on, this time heading for the Bushtec facility just north of Lake City. Frank is toying with the idea of adding more storage capacity. He already has a hitch-mounted storage tray in back. He carries enough tools and food to outfit a Dakar run.

The Bushtec factory is hidden back in the foothills east of I-75 and is stocked with lots of trailers, ready to roll. We got the grand tour and I did my best to talk Frank into adding to his collection of rolling stock.

By 4:00 we were checked in at the Day’s Inn so we took a little trip up to Norris Dam. The weather had warmed from the 43 degrees in Michigan to 69 in Tennessee. We took a few photos and headed down to the old Grist Mill, arriving just as they locked the doors to the museum. We got out some rags and washed the motorcycles in the stream that used to provide energy for grinding grist (whatever that is). After removing several ounces of bug guts we headed back to the Cracker Barrel for some catfish, and then turned in.

The next morning we were up early for free coffee in the lobby. We were to meet RonBien and some of his riding buddies at a café in front of the Lamb’s Inn. The problem was the café had been turned into a Mexican restaurant sometime since my last visit. At 7:30 on the nose Ron’s group appeared. They spotted us in the gas station. Greetings all around, filled tanks, and we were off – to the McDonald’s across the street.

We met Iwing, Ronbien, Jay and Steve on 1500s and Don on a HD. Ron’s group had come up from Pigeon Forge where there was a gold wing Spring Fling rally of some kind. Coincidentally, that’s where John from Bushtec was when we stopped at his store.

We headed out with me in the lead looking for Route 116. I failed to mention to the group to expect a few hairpin uphill turns at the beginning of the ride. We hadn’t gone far when I noticed I was alone. RonBien pulled up and reported one of the 1500s had bailed after getting into the tricky parts. We continued at a leisurely pace all the way to Brushy Mountain Prison. The southern part of 116 is the best, new pavement, a variety of corners. Most of the whole route is 2nd through 4th gear stuff. Once in a while you can use 5th.

From Brushy Mountain Ron took over with his GPS leading the way. Thanks to some tips from Wimpy Honda, Ron had programmed in a route going down Highway 62, 298, and some numbers I can’t remember. It was a great mix of roads, light traffic, and an enjoyable pace.

We got to Falls Creek Falls early and I led the pack to Cane Falls where we stopped for pictures. That was when the great debate about what time it was started. After a while, we agreed we were an hour ahead of schedule and had time to loaf around the park like tourists for a while.

We ran into lots of others milling about smartly as if they really did know what time it was. Anyway, after a while we wound up at the actual Falls Creek Waterfall. Very scenic; the kind of place where time stands still. At least until some fellow travelers told us it was really an hour later than we thought. They were positive because they had the same argument yesterday and were assured by somebody who knows… etc, etc. So It was back to the parking lots – double time – and off the buffet.

As our intrepid group of time travelers arrived at the parking lot it was apparent we had been duped by people with less knowledge of the earth’s rotation than we had. There were dozens of gold wing riders hanging around telling stories in the cool morning sunshine. I couldn’t resist one arcing peg-grind as I pulled in. This got the attention of Yellow Wolf who seemed relieved someone else was willing to risk the wrath of less flamboyant riders.

The parking lot was a Who’s Who of GL1800riders.com members. According to Galute there were 74 gold wings in attendance, by actual count. In addition, there was a bunch of different brands ridden in by friends of invitees.

While meeting and greeting and speculating about the whereabouts of Closet Chef, a low murmuring could be detected, having to do with the buffet being open. In the interest of avoiding being fashionably late, I staked out a chair close to the dessert bar. By now the group I rode in with was scattered all over the place and new acquaintances were the standard.

Stop everything here: I’ve been trying to write this up for a week now and keep getting interrupted by things like near death experiences in the family, actual paying work to do, and the demands of a 9 month old Labrador dog. Here’s what I mean: The dog just got done dragging me away from the keyboard for an emergency round of toy throwing in the back yard. All was going well and Maggie was prancing across the yard with her favorite toy in her mouth when suddenly, she remembered she had to pee. She dropped the toy, took a couple more steps and squatted directly over her new Cabela’s Training Dummy. She turned and looked at the mess, looked at me, and returned to me without the toy. Together we returned to the scene of the crime. We looked at the toy and then looked at each other. Next we looked around at the clear skies and considered the odds of rain. Since my wife was not there to decide what to do, we gave up and I returned to work on the blog while Maggie took up stalking robins.

Keep in mind this is only an example of why this is late – not an excuse.

Anyway, the buffet was a great success. The waitresses kept busy refilling glasses, the cooks kept busy re-supplying the buffet, and the rest of us kept busy telling tall stories about what great adventures we had encountered en route to the Lunch.

In the middle of everything, Closet Chef himself showed up. I don’t know if he even got to eat because he was busy greeting everybody and handing out chances to win door prizes, all the while enduring a steady invocation of “Girly-Man” remarks. (For those who don’t know, CC is behind this get-together and last year wussed out because of cold weather).

As the lunch wound down, attendees gradually migrated back out to the parking lot and laid hasty plans about which way to go next. Lots of different groups headed in all directions. Before the meeting broke up, Closet Chef put all the entries in a bag and held a drawing for fabulous prizes.

The Tennessee Lunch Run III was finally over. Everybody there had a great time. There were no injuries and no arrests. Thanks CC!

The end of the lunch get-together was the beginning of another adventure. About 18 of us decided to run down the Cherahola Skyway on the way to Deals Gap, then back to Madisonville for the night. Yellow Wolf and Galute set the pace and showed us the way to our destination. The Cherahola is made for gl1800s. Great curves with lots of Dogwood and Wisteria decorating the course. At one point we came up behind 5 riders on cruisers. They rode very deliberately and seemed consumed by uniformity. The speed never varied. Neither did their relative position. They all wore black helmets, black clothes, and dark expressions. After a few miles it became apparent they either didn’t notice the herd of gold wings behind them or didn’t care, so we made our way around them. I was struck by the contrast between these serious souls and our merry group of bikers on responsive, brightly colored scoots, laughing and waving as we listened to Steppenwolf on our xm radios and enjoyed the ride at a different pace.

Once again, the road became a motorcycle road. Swooping into the corners and powering out the other side, setting up for the next corner and the next. Motorcycling the way it was intended. Along the way we stopped at a turnout and took some pictures. It was here one of our group smoked his rear tire for about 40 feet while waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. The sight of that many touring bikes lined up on the Skyway would make a good ad for Honda.

Back on the road, it didn’t take long for another adventure to occur. This one wasn’t quite as upbeat as the rest of the trip. With Yellow Wolf in the lead, TonyB took up the next position and I fell into the number three slot. Suffice to say those other two can ride. I soon found myself exceeding the suspension limits of my bike. As usual, I was running with my suspension set on soft. I love the smell of grinding engine guards and melting boot sole as much as the next guy but decided discretion was the better part of staying right side up. It turned out to be a good call. My plan called for charging the corners and using lots of brake prior to committing to the curve. This put me about 40 feet behind TonyB when the pavement rose up in a sharp right-hander and pulled him to the ground.

Tony put on a spectacular show. He stayed on the bike all the way to guard rail where the laws of physics required him to launch over the bars and windshield. The steel on the right side of the Honda left a shower of sparks that would make the Gruccis proud. I saw him stand as I stopped downstream of the debris fan. With Tony on his feet, I hurried back to the uphill side of the corner to flag down approaching traffic. Yellow Wolf Was back in seconds and other riders set up traffic control downhill from the wreck and others lent moral support and assistance. Tony’s bike was un-drivable with the engine puking hot oil all over the place. Apparently a highway peg mount made its way into the right side case.

(Safety tip: When those little acorn nuts on the bottoms of the stock pegs are gone along with half of the metal part of the peg itself it might be a good time to replace them so you’ll have some early warning of critical lean angle).

In typical supportive fashion, as soon as it was determined Tony would survive, the bidding started for his I-way GPS. When all the dust settled, the ride went on. Snoppy stayed behind to wait for the tow truck (and police) and the rest of us beat it for Deals Gap.

We got to the store just after it closed. Luckily Yellow Wolf is in cahoots with the owners and conned the proprietor into switching on the pump long enough to gas up the one cruiser that was in our party.

It was dusk as we pulled out onto the Dragon. Yellow Wolf in the lead as usual, and this time it was me in the unlucky #2 position. It took about 3 turns for YW to disappear into the shadows. With Dice Pilot and Galute pushing me, I did the best I could to set a respectable pace on my first run of the famous road. All I can say is we survived and it was a fun ride. (At least for me). Once we came out near the lake I noticed it was getting pretty dark, my fuel gauge was showing about one click above empty and I had no idea which way or how far the nearest town was. I motioned for Dice Pilot to take the lead and felt reassured that we were all getting the same mileage. Then I remembered I had skipped topping off my tank at the last gas stop. Oh well, Galute was still behind me. Until he passed. There were still a dozen or so wings behind us somewhere – unless they took a different route after the Gap.

About half an hour later we could see occasional lights. We were soon pulling up to the pumps of a well-lit gas station on the outskirts of Madisonville Tennessee. From there it was a short ride to our hotel. Except for Dice Pilot. He had a couple hundred more miles to do that night so he could be home in time for an event his son was involved in the next morning.

At the hotel, we took stock of the survivors. Frank Carpenter had bailed out before the Cherahola with a cramped hand and headed straight for the hotel. TonyB we know about. Snoppy was waiting out in the boondocks with Tony. Dice Pilot had beat feet back to his house. So 13 of us loitered around the hotel parking lot spinning yarns about past rides and today’s events. After a while Snoppy arrived on is ’06 with Tony on the back seat. Just to make sure Tony wouldn’t be traumatized by his earlier dismount; Snoppy rode peg to peg through the Gap in the pitch dark to restore his confidence. You know, “Get back on the horse” and all that rot. Riders gradually disappeared into motel rooms without any concrete plans for the next day and that was fine.

Sunday dawned with clouds to the west and reports of potential bad weather on the television. Frank and I conferred with experts and decided to head for the Blue Ridge Parkway via the Tail of the Dragon. We said goodbye to Closet Chef and a bunch of other riders and set out with Snoppy (and Tony), and Yellow Wolf toward Fontana Dam. There had been high winds during the night and the Tail of the Dragon was littered with green leaves, twigs and bits of limbs. Still, riding in daylight was even more fun than the previous night’s experience.

We said goodbye to YW, Snoppy, and TonyB at the Gap Store. After buying the mandatory souvenirs, Frank and I took off down highway 28, an excellent road toward Tellico Plains and Cherokee, North Carolina. The southern entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway is littered with the detritus of failed entrepreneurs. Blocks of rusty lawn tractors followed by blocks of what appear to be permanent yard sales welcome visitors to the area.

A small town just inside the Cherokee Reservation was littered with faux Indian names on all the businesses. The Wig-Wam motel, the Tomahawk Pawn Shop, The Running Brave Car Wash come to mind. (11,000 years worth of deceased Cherokees must be quietly spinning in their graves). I wish I had the foresight to open the “Medicine Man Tattoo Emporium” since there was some sort of Harley Davidson rally going on. There were about a thousand black motorcycles in attendance, each rider eager to race his engine as Frank and I rode by. I made it a point to smile and nod a lot but got little response form the bleach blond passengers and no eye contact from the riders. I just know these guys were having a ball, but you would never know it from the looks on their faces.

Once we got through the traffic jam, we were only a few minutes from the Parkway. The traffic was sparse and the weather and road were perfect. Each turnout was more spectacular than the last. We stopped briefly and often to look down into the valleys and enjoy the blue skies clear air. Diving into the blackness of the countless tunnels gave the headlights a real test. If it hadn’t been for reflectors on the centerline, navigation would have been real iffy. The time slipped away too quickly and we were soon at Ashville, once again in search of a gas station.

From Asheville we set our sights on a semi-direct route back to Detroit Metro. US-23 was the route. We headed north, again in light traffic, from North Carolina, through Virginia and into southern Ohio. US-23 is built to Interstate standards with 4 lane divided highways, high speed ramps, good signage and for some reason a 55 mph speed limit. Away from the small towns we rarely saw another car. We made good time on the 23 until after a right hand sweeper over a bridge. The bridge was striped with dozens of tar snakes which I barely noticed on my relatively new Metzlers. Frank on the other hand wanted to pull in at the next exit to check his tire pressure. He experienced enough slip to make him think he had a flat. We chalked it up to worn tread and continued on to Portsmouth Ohio for the night.

The ride across Ohio Monday was uneventful and we got home in the early afternoon. All in all, it was another outstanding ride. Something over 1600 miles, much of which was through the best motorcycle roads in the country. Having the company of people who knew the area like Galute, Snoppy, Yellow Wolf, and others made for excellent use of time. Closet Chef started something that has become a real event. It was good seeing so many familiar faces. Be careful out there.

New Year's Ride in Michigan

Frank Carpenter (middle of picture) decided January 1st would be a good time to go for a motorcycle ride. So he invited everyone on the bulletin board to meet at Whitmore Lake Tavern in SE Michigan at 1:00 pm.
The attendance was more than I expected and nobody (with the possible exception of CJS) seemed any worse for wear from the previous night's events.
All together there were about 15 attendees. Among the brave souls were Frank, Kathy, and Jacob (HiYoSilver), ZAT111 and Mrs. ZAT111, 5Ross, YellowYolk, Tam6, Rich and Becky, CJS, Betthe, and others.
The weather was a balmy 37 degrees and the highways were damp but not slippery. The only wheel spin was leaving the scene of the obligatory snow picture above.
It was good to see a bunch of like-minded bikers in the off season. It was also good to communicate by voice for a change as opposed to the usual keyboard method.
I actually heard a discussion of oil. Along with a lot of opinions on various GPS units, and even some haphazard planning to attend CatsCade and the Tennessee Lunch Run. The 5Ross clan from Logansport Indiana got the furtherst to attend award (free ketchup for the fries). Closet Chef and Bulldog got honorable mention in the "Too much of a wuss to ride in the snow" category.
All in all everyone seemed to have a good time and a chance to put some new faces with names. Now the trick will be to see how many are remembered by the next meeting.
It was good to see everyone. Happy New Year!

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.