Passes & Canyons Blog

The one participant on this RMMRC Great River Road ride who I have not mentioned previously was Phil, Tom’s cousin from Ohio who rode out and met us in St. Charles, Missouri, and rode with us a few days. The reason I bring him up now is that at one point he spoke about how a group he rides with back home have a rule that if you’re going on a group ride you ride with the group, you eat with the group, and you stay at the group hotel.

I’m not normally the sort who takes to demands of conformity like that but I see their point. And I see it a lot more clearly now after this ride.

The part about riding with the group is the one place where I diverge. This ride was set up to be a ride-your-own-ride kind of thing, with people going their own ways as long as you know where to end up at the end of the day. In reality only a couple of us did that at all but I like doing it that way.

As for lodging and eating, I get it a lot more. Because I was slow in signing up for this ride I was stuck trying to find someone to room with. I ended up tying in with Tom for most of the trip but for the nights when Phil would be with us I ended up rooming with Charley. Not a problem.

Except that Tom, originally not having a roommate, had opted to make his reservations at different motels that were less expensive than the group motel. With me to split the cost it would not have made a lot of difference but alone it would have amounted to some significant cash.

The result of this, though, was that we’d ride all day and then they’d go to their motel and we’d go to ours. And they usually were not particularly close to each other. So we frequently did not eat dinner with those guys.

What that meant was that we ended up missing out on any end-of-day camaraderie that is a big part of doing a group ride.

And then the last night out, in McCook, Nebraska, we did have the same hotel because the one the group had intended on staying at was being remodeled and they had had to change their plans. So what happened?

Well, first, we couldn’t agree on where to eat. Tom and I aren’t keen on chain places if there are one-off local places available. And fast food is OK for lunch but not dinner. And there was a nice local place not far but it was hard to persuade the others to go there rather than the Wendy’s across the street. And once they agreed another voice spoke up saying Wendy’s was his destination. So they all went there while Tom and I went elsewhere.

We all got back to the motel at the same time but what happened? Everyone just went to their rooms and that was that. No hanging out in someone’s room, in the lobby, or at a nearby bar. Just good-night.

What I’m accustomed to with the OFMC is that even if we split up for dinner we still get together afterward and have some beers. Out by the pool, in someone’s room, in the parking lot–somewhere.

Is this what we had been missing all those nights? Nothing? Except for dinner, of course.

So yeah, I get it with Phil’s group saying the group stays together. I can see I’m going to need to have some conversations with some people before I go on another long ride with the RMMRC. Surely there are at least some other guys who are in tune with my inclinations.

Biker Quote for Today

Why motorcycles are better than women: You can ride a motorcycle as long as you want and it won’t get sore.

The penultimate day on this Great River Road ride we were just planning to head south out of Yankton, South Dakota, and then zig-zag our way across Nebraska to McCook. The skies had other plans, however.

We got up and there was no question one heck of a storm was passing by to the south of us. A quick check of the weather apps confirmed that we did not want to go into that. So we ran about five miles south to get to NE 12 and then turned west. That turned out to be serendipity. The country we went through was really, really pretty and then we reached the Missouri River and it was hilly and gorgeous in all its spring green. We came to the town of Niobrara.

Here we turned south and the time and distance put us behind the storm now–mostly. The terrain soon became the flatter, less beautiful sort that you typically think of when you think of Nebraska.

Starting off that morning it had been pretty cool and was stormy so I had put on my rain pants. Per our arrangement the day before I rode in the two spot and when I felt it was time for a stop I pulled ahead and pulled over. By now I was too hot so I took the rain pants off. We headed out and soon we were headed right into rain. Now I was faced with the age-old choice of stopping to put my rain gear back on or trying to ride through it. I chose the latter and it turned out to be the right choice, though there were a couple points where it looked like the wrong choice for just a few minutes. Yes I got a bit wet but not enough to matter.

We stopped for lunch south of Grand Island and talked about getting gas there and riding 160 miles non-stop to McCook, or stopping for gas along the way and thus having a break. Tim, Mike, and I spoke in favor of the break. But others said get gas here and just go. I pushed back–there were three of us who specifically said we did not want to do that long ride. Bob said anyone who wants to break off from the group at any time can do so. Very true.

So I did. At Minden I wanted to check out Pioneer Village. Pioneer Village is a sprawling museum spread across about 23 buildings with a vast collection of cars, farm equipment, and lots more. I had never been there but I’d known about it most of my life. I had no plans to go in–you’ll want to spend an entire day there–but I wanted to see about days and hours of operation, admission fee, and get an idea of the place. I was also hot and wanted to shed layers, I was drowsy, and I had a buggy visor I wanted to clean. Plus, I just wanted to get off the bike.

This was totally a good decision. I spoke with a woman at the ticket booth who seemed thrilled to have someone to talk to and who told me all kinds of interesting things about the museum’s history. And then I left rested and refreshed and ready to ride the rest of the way to McCook.

I did have one bit of adventure on this last leg. As is not uncommon in Nebraska I found myself behind a line of cars following a couple huge pieces of farm equipment that really put the “wide” in wide-load. Cars coming the other direction were pulling off to let them pass. But I was on a motorcycle; I could easily pass them with room to spare.

So I took off. I quickly passed the cars and then as I was going past the machinery a pick-up that had pulled onto the shoulder decided to get back on the highway. Um, dude, do you not see me? Yes what I’m doing is a bit bogus but I am doing it. Can’t you just wait another 15 seconds for me to get past? He did stop and let me go by.

When I reached McCook the other guys had only just gotten checked in and were heading to their rooms. And Tom said it was a mistake not to take a break. They were overheated and fagged out. So my rest stop had been just enough to save me from twiddling my thumbs at the destination and didn’t cost me one minute of useful time. That’s what I keep saying: what does it matter if we get somewhere half an hour or an hour later? We don’t exactly have appointments to keep. But I also know getting seven guys rolling again takes longer than one person taking off again.

Biker Quote for Today

More headroom than any car in any class.

Having been to the headwaters of the Mississippi and then spent the night in Detroit Lakes, our RMMRC group of Great River Road riders were now turning toward home. We had a lot of miles to cover in just a few days.

Before I go any further I want to make a point to applaud the guys who organized and were leading this ride. Without them it wouldn’t have happened and it was indeed well planned and we all had a great time. Thanks guys.

That said, the main leaders, Bob and Dave, are both Iron Butt guys and for some of us that style of riding just simply is not fun. We had grumbled a little bit up to this point but now I decided we needed to have a talk. At breakfast I suggested to Bob (Dave, you may recall, was no longer with us due to a stator problem) that we stop more often than every 150-180 miles. What I didn’t know before this was that Bob was not in a particularly good mood because of some disagreement he had had that morning with the motel people. He did not seem pleased to have me bring this up.

But I told him that especially on the first leg of the day it would be good to stop sooner because, for one, people drink coffee with breakfast and coffee is like beer, you don’t buy it, you rent it. You need to stop and pee. Roy was there and he chimed in that if we stop too often we’ll never get anywhere. I understand Roy’s thinking. He rides sweep and every group has one or two guys who are always the last to be ready to roll. And Roy is the one who’s always nudging that person along because as sweep he can’t leave until they do. But I persisted.

Then I went out to the bikes and Mike was there. I knew Mike backed me on this, and I told him I had spoken to Bob and it would probably be a good thing if he did, too. He said he would and went in. A little later he came back out telling me he had spoken to Bob and Bob did not receive it well. But our point was made. And Tim was in agreement with us as well.

With everyone out at the bikes we discussed it some more. We considered making a planned stop at a town about 60 miles down the way, but finally I just said I would ride in the number two spot and when I felt it was time for a stop I would pull into the lead and pull over. Bob was not in a good mood and didn’t want to deal with it all so Charley agreed he would lead. Great, let’s roll.

Our route was down US 59 then over to Waterton, South Dakota, and then US 81 down to Yankton, our stop for the night. After awhile I was congratulating Charley to myself for having actually heard what I was saying about letting me take the lead on stopping. Then he pulled into a gas station, thinking maybe he ought to. All the pumps were busy, with people waiting, so I was reluctant to stop for a pee break without getting gas so I motioned him to keep going. Awhile later I did think the time was right so as we came to a town I pulled ahead and stopped at a station. Mike said he was definitely ready for a stop because he was drowsing off.

We were planning on stopping at Waterton for lunch and now it was my turn to start drowsing. I did my usual snapping of my head to jolt myself awake, and also closing my eyes all but a hair but then I had an instant when it seemed like—for who knows, half a second?—I went to sleep. I came back with a start and man was I awake! I knew what had happened and it scared me awake. It was just eight miles then to Waterton so I stayed awake.

Again, that’s why I really like riding alone. It’s dangerous to ride in that state and when I’m by myself I’ll just stop.

Continuing south to Yankton we went through Madison, SD, and this is where some fierce winds we heard about a few days ago had hit. I have never in my life seen so many broken and totally uprooted trees, plus demolished and damaged buildings. We went past more than a few windrows where maybe one tree in ten was not blown down or broken off. We stopped for gas and I heard the clerk telling someone she nearly had her husband blown away but he did manage to make it to the house. Basically it had been like a tornado minus the tornado–just powerful, powerful winds.

The rest of the ride to Yankton was uneventful. And after a few days of cool we were definitely back in the heat–a lot of heat.

Biker Quote for Today

Nothing is scarier than being trapped in a cage.

At my request the RMMRC group riding the Great River Road made a stop on the outskirts of Cass Lake, Minnesota, so I could get a picture.

“What is the significance of this to you?” Tom asked.

Oh, a lot. This is where it all began.

When I was a teenager my family came up to Cass Lake every summer on vacation, to Camp Unistar out on Star Island in the middle of Cass Lake. (Both the lake and the town are called Cass Lake.) As regulars we got to know the folks running the camp and it was common for the kids of regulars to work as low-paid help in the summers. Spend the whole summer at camp and get paid for it? Sign me up.

I got my turn the summer between my junior and senior years in high school, and when I got there I found that Terry, my bunk-mate for the summer, had come up from his home in Minneapolis on his brand new Honda 305 Scrambler. Totally cool.

What was even cooler is that he hung the bike’s key on a nail in our quarters and told me any time I wanted to ride the bike to just go ahead. Of course, we were out on the island, so we only got in to the mainland now and then, and that was usually on work errands, like going to the grocery store.

Now, I actually had ridden a motorcycle one time previously. Back in those days you could rent a Honda 90 from 7-Eleven for three dollars an hour. That was big money for me so I only did it one time, when one of my friends prodded me to go ahead and pony up the big bucks.

So here I was with a summer to ride for free anytime I wanted (and could get away to do so). Can you say Yahoo!?

And I did. The bike was very torquey and I had no experience driving so I did my best to manage the clutch and throttle but ended up doing any number of wheelies totally without intent. Not a problem, I knew I’d figure it out eventually.

There’s not much of anywhere to go around Cass Lake but I’d just get on the bike and go ride–I didn’t care where. And then it all came to a screeching halt.

One week a family we knew, from Bismarck, North Dakota, came to camp with their two gorgeous daughters, Randi and Sheri. And one day I was taking the boat in to the marina to go pick up a few things at the grocery store. Randi and Sheri asked if they could ride along and I told them sure, and I’ll even take you for rides on Terry’s motorcycle. Of course they were up for that.

As I was getting ready to go I mentioned to Terry that I was going to town and the girls were going along. To my surprise, and to this day I’m not sure why, Terry told me not to take the girls riding. I said OK and left.

So we got to the marina and I fired up the bike and Randi got on and we rode into town. We got the groceries (I don’t remember what but it couldn’t have been much, right?) and went back to the bike. We got on, I fired it up, and just then some local kids came along and called out “Look at the girl on the motorcycle!” She was a beauty and I was understandably pleased to be seen with her on this motorcycle. And then, totally unintentionally, I wheelied away from the curb with her hanging on tightly. Was I a cool dude or what!

We went back to the marina and I left Randi with the groceries and Sheri and I took off on the bike. We rode out of town but there was nothing out there so we just went a little ways and turned around. Then back to the boat and back to camp.

On the way I told the girls that if Terry asked if I took them for rides to say no, and they agreed they would. But when we got back Terry asked me and I’ve always hated lying so I told him yes, I had. He didn’t say a word, but that key was never on that nail ever again and I never rode that motorcycle again.

But for me, that was the beginning. And now here I was on a motorcycle at Cass Lake and I had to stop and get the picture. That, Tom, is the significance.

Biker Quote for Today

She told me to whisper something sexy in her ear, so I whispered “BRAAAPP.”

By the time we were ready to head out from the cabin on the lake Dave had made his decision as to what he was going to do–sort of. He dismissed the idea of trading the bike and also was not inclined to push his luck by riding it back to Denver and counting on keeping the battery charged. Which meant he would not be going on with us.

He decided he would take the bike to a dealer in the Twin Cities and fly home. Whether to fly back and ride home or drive out and trailer it home was still up in the air, dependent on his wife’s inclination to make a trip out to visit the family. But the rest of us were pushing on. And first we had to get up that driveway.

As with going down, we let one rider go at a time, making sure he was clear before the next hit it. And you know what? Nobody had even the slightest problem. A lot of fretting for nothing. And the Great River Road ride was on once again.

Bob was in the lead now. We picked up the river again at St. Cloud and continued north. We rode well over 100 miles this first leg so by the time we stopped I really needed a restroom. When I came out Bob told me the proprietor of the station had asked that we move the bikes to clear the drive–which was about 40 feet wide. Bob was annoyed so I figured I’d not do the station the honor of buying their gas. I looked at my gauge and figured I could make it all the way to Detroit Lakes–our stop for the night–without more gas.

I heard Bob talking about our route taking us through Bemidji, and a quick look at the map confirmed that that would take us right through Cass Lake (the town), where I have history, so I told him I wanted to stop there to get a picture by the city limit sign. Bob said you lead. I did.

We got to Cass Lake, I stopped and got my picture, then we went looking for lunch. There’s not much in Cass Lake any more but we did find an Indian casino that was new since I had last been here, and they had a restaurant. After lunch Bob checked the route and said we actually hadn’t needed to go to Bemidji (and thus not to Cass Lake, either) so we backtracked about 10 miles and took a different road. No matter, we got to Itasca State Park, home of Lake Itasca and the headwaters of the Mississippi River.

How is it that this lake is the headwaters, you might ask. Aren’t there streams running into the lake, and couldn’t you follow one of them (which one?) to its own origin and call that the headwaters? Well, apparently, there are not streams running into the lake, it is spring-fed. And the 15-foot-wide, 1-foot-deep stream that flows out is the very beginning of the Mississippi. Cool. I find it hard to believe that my family didn’t come here at one point but none of it looked familiar. Bad memory; more than 50 years ago.

This was what we had come for, so now was the beginning of the ride home. Detroit Lakes was still some ways away and my fuel was running uncomfortably low. I mentioned to Bob that if we came on a gas station we should stop. Nobody else was needing gas and this is someone who doesn’t like to stop so there was discussion and it was suggested that I go ahead and top off now from one of the cans that several people carry with them. I wasn’t keen on that so I said no, let’s just go–I’m pretty sure I can make it all the way.

Good thing because we didn’t pass any gas stations. I did make it to Detroit Lakes, though I probably didn’t have more than another 15 or 20 miles in the tank when we got there. But I got there.

Biker Quote for Today

Whenever I tell motorcycle jokes, people laugh out loud. It feels like a Triumph every time.

We eight RMMRC riders left Red Wing the morning of Day 5 of this Great River Road ride and turned away from the river, headed for a house on a lake that was owned and rented out by Dave’s sister and her husband, in South Haven. I think it was at about this time that I decided to completely bag the idea I had started out with of doing a story for Rider magazine about this ride. For the kind of story they want you need to stop at interesting places, shoot a lot of pictures, and generally do more than just ride through without stopping. Which was not the way this group was traveling. Plus, now we were leaving the river entirely for the next 80 miles of its route. Nope, not going to happen.

The river goes right through Minneapolis/St. Paul and our route was south and west of the cities and then north to South Haven. Only about a 140-mile day. But first there was the question of Dave’s bike. Did buying a new battery make everything better? Or was the problem deeper? He had a full charge when we started out but it didn’t take long for him to see that the problem was not solved. We got southwest of Minneapolis and stopped, he looked to see where the nearest BMW dealer was, and we turned in that direction.

We got there and over the course of the next couple hours the shop did a diagnosis that showed the problem was the stator. A big deal. First off, the part would cost about $1,000; second, labor would be about $1,500; and third, they didn’t have one in stock. Big problem. As long as Dave kept charging his battery he could keep running. But what to do?

We headed on out to the lake with the only thing eventful about that being the driveway down to this house. Dave had warned us that it was extremely steep. My parents lived their retirement years on a lake like this in South Carolina and while their driveway was not excessive, there were plenty in the area where you might have a 150-foot driveway that drops 50 feet. Like this one. The difference being that my parents were in South Carolina where it rarely snows and this was in Minnesota. It snows in Minnesota. Frequently. A lot.

“How do you get to this place in winter?”

“We don’t.”

So we got there and one by one rode down, making sure each bike was out of the way of the others yet to come. This was uneventful until Charley dropped his bike at the bottom, the second time in two days he had dumped it. Unlike the day before, however, this was more of an event. I winced as I saw and heard his helmet crack sharply on the asphalt. Not good. But he was up quickly and later had no recollection that he had hit the ground like that. That’s why you wear a helmet. He also got his shin bloodied a bit by his highway peg. But basically not hurt.

While the rest of us relaxed and settled in for two nights Dave was on the phone and trying to figure out what to do. Should he try to ride home, counting on keeping the battery charged? Should he take the bike to a shop in the Twin Cities and wait for it to be fixed? Or leave it with them and fly home? And then fly back to get it and ride home or drive out with his wife in his truck with the trailer and trailer it home? Or maybe just trade it for a new bike right here. Decisions.

After four hard days of riding we were ready to be off the bikes. We went out on the lake in the boat, made a grocery run and got a lot of stuff for some good eating, and took it easy.

One issue lurked on our minds, though. Getting back up that hill. I was on my V-Strom, which has a ton of low-down torque, so I knew I’d be fine. I wasn’t so sure about Tom’s Vulcan in particular, and all of them considering there was no room to get a run at it. This would be start rolling and hit the hill in about five feet, then climb. The next day we moved the bikes around to get them all set up to just go at the hill.

Meanwhile, relax.

Biker Quote for Today

Speed costs money. How fast do you want to go?

Along with pretty much all other aspects of our lives, electronics have infiltrated motorcycling, and it was very evident in this recent Great River Road ride I did with the RMMRC.

Right from the start we headed out with three people linked via helmet communicators. One, Dave, was in the lead, and Bob and Charley spaced themselves out throughout the group. This way Dave, up in front, was relieved of the age old concern of the leader to make sure everyone got through a light or saw we were turning. It was remarked that ideally, Roy, who always rides sweep, would be connected as well but Roy is pretty tech-phobic. So Charley stayed close to the back and reported to the front.

Several people had GPS units on their bikes, including Bob and Dave. As we were gearing up to take off from Patty Ann’s in Kiowa, Tom was fumbling with his GPS unit but unlike other times he had used it he could not get the suction cup to hold onto the inside of his windscreen. He finally gave it up rather than continue to delay because we were all just sitting there waiting for him. I don’t think he ever tried using it again the rest of the trip.

This trip had been planned as one in which each person would go their own way, either alone or with a few others, following their own preferred itinerary, with the only constant being that at the end of the day we would all end up in the same place. Roy had distributed maps showing the general route and everyone had a sheet listing the stops each day. Plus, everyone now has a cellphone and with Google Maps and other tools there should be no one who can’t find their way.

It didn’t work out exactly like that. On the third day Tom got separated from the rest of us and I don’t know if he hadn’t looked at the general route, didn’t want to bother checking his phone for location and route, or what, but while the rest of us were headed to Hannibal, Missouri, he ended up heading away from the river, up through central Illinois in a direct route to Davenport, Iowa, our stop for the night.

Then, in Hannibal, we were talking at lunch and I said I intended to head off on my own. Bob was concerned:
But you don’t have GPS, do you?
No, but I can find my way.
Can you find your way to the motel in Davenport?
Yes.

Yes, of course I can, and I did. I have paper maps and I have my phone. What more do I need? But Bob said he has depended totally on GPS for years now. Does he mean he has forgotten how we got around before GPS? I haven’t.

And the GPS didn’t always do us such a good job. Entering Dubuque Dave was leading and I don’t know what difficulties he may have been having with GPS but we went every which way, turning around, retracing our steps, back and forth till we finally found our way out of town. That’s what I see as a weakness of GPS: if you miss one instruction you have to recalculate and go through contortions to get back on the route. When I travel I look at the roads before I get there and I know what I’m looking for and generally where I’m going so if I miss a turn it’s not hard to correct. And besides, maybe I want to take a different route than what GPS selects. With GPS as your only guide, if you just follow that arrow you don’t really know where you’re headed, you’re just following the arrow.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to technology. For one thing, with your phone you can zoom in on an area and see roads that even the best maps don’t show you. I love that. And being in voice contact with other riders is terrific. At least it is when someone gets separated from the group, or when you’re leading and can’t see the end of the group. I would not want to be one of those who are in constant touch the whole ride because I like living in my head all by myself when I’m riding. But it’s sure good to have at least a few people staying connected.

Regardless of whether you yourself use it or not, technology is here to stay and has changed motorcycle riding just as it has changed so many other aspects of our lives. I’d say on the whole it’s a positive. Just let’s not be totally dependent on it.

Biker Quote for Today

Run the race of life at your own pace.

Day 4 of this ride along the Great River Road and we headed north out of Davenport, Iowa, to I-80, which we jumped on just long enough to reach the Mississippi at LeClaire. From there US 67 follows the west bank of the river.

If I was doing this trip with Judy in the car I would seriously consider skipping the more southern portion of this ride and just blasting out to LeClaire and heading north from there. This was where the river road started getting really consistently pretty. I would hate to miss the bluffs, the town of Grafton, and Pere Marquette State Park, just north of Alton, Illinois. But if you were strapped for time this would be a good starting point. Either way, LeClaire is a very attractive little town hugging the river, and would be worth a stop.

Of course, this is the RMMRC, and we don’t do stops. So we ran right on through.

I have to say here, this trip was originally conceived of as something where we would not ride together, where everyone would pick their agenda for the day with the only certainty that we would all end up in the same place that evening. For the most part that didn’t happen. For those like me who wanted a different agenda, we really have no one but ourselves to blame. I did do that a few times but not this day, which I regret because there were stretches later on where I really wanted to go a different route but didn’t. Tim did go off on his own pretty much this entire day but I’m not sure he’s glad he did. More on that later.

So US 67 pretty much sticks to the river, although for much of the time it drifts away from the shore, only offering you views of the water occasionally. It terminated and we picked us US 52, which took us across the river into Illinois and we turned north on IL 84. Again, after awhile alongside the river the road turned more inland and there wasn’t much to see. We connected to US 20 and took it through Galena and then on into Dubuque, back on the Iowa side.

I’ve been to Dubuque a few times and was looking forward perhaps to stopping for lunch and spending some time there. But that was apparently not the plan, so after some missed turns and confusion we continued on out of town on IA 3, headed northwest. Now the river was not even close by but we were passing through some really pretty countryside. We hadn’t stopped in a long time so as we rode along a ridge line I was pleased to see a scenic viewpoint and desperately hoped Dave, who was leading, would stop. He didn’t. Man, I really needed to get off that bike for a bit!

We got back on US 52 and turned north, eventually rejoining the river at last. Finally we stopped in Gutenberg for lunch.

At that point we learned that Dave’s bike was not running well. His indicators were telling him the battery was not charging. It was decided that after lunch he and Charley would ride on straight to La Crosse, Wisconsin, where there was a battery shop that had just the battery his bike needed. We were all hoping that was all it would take. At lunch the first grumbling began to be voiced from those of us who are not inclined to the Iron Butt style of riding. It would continue to percolate.

From Gutenberg we followed what is actually called the Great River Road north to Marquette. The Great River Road continues, on up to Lansing, at which point we crossed into Wisconsin and picked up WI 35. This runs right along the river but we came to a construction zone. Bob was leading now and he rode right up to the blockade and asked the guys working if we could just scoot past and keep going. They said no, there were others areas where the road was unpassable, but if we took the marked detour but turned left at County Road K we could skip much of the detour and get back to the river much quicker. So we did, and that was actually kind of a fun ride through the hills.

After that it wasn’t far to La Crosse, where we found Dave and Charley at the battery shop, getting a charge put in Dave’s new battery. It was at this point that I made my mistake in not following my own lead. It was going to be another hour and a half till the battery was charged enough and I should have taken off. I would have gone on to Winona and then crossed to the other side and ridden along the east bank of the river pretty much all the way up to Red Wing, which was our destination for the night. But I didn’t.

So when we left we stuck to US 61 all the way, on the west bank. All along the way I could see the road on the east bank and it sure looked like the much prettier, less busy highway. I kept thinking we would cross the river and take that road but we never did.

What did happen was we got into Lake City and a construction zone. Along the way we lost half the group so Bob pulled over to wait. They didn’t show up so Bob went back to look for them. He didn’t find them so we rode on, not hurrying. We pulled over at one point to get gas and Charley, after gassing up, was pulling his bike around to the shady side of the building and dropped it. Dang. No harm done. Then we saw the other guys pass by on the road so we knew they were OK. We pushed on into Red Wing, found our motel, and met up with the others.

It turned out that going through the construction zone someone had stopped suddenly in front of Mike, he had braked quickly, and Roy plowed into him. Again, no injuries, but some damage to Mike’s side bag. We were just glad to get to Red Wing, and Dave put his battery on a charger overnight, with everyone crossing their fingers.

Except Tim wasn’t there. I was out in the parking lot at 10 that night talking to Judy on the phone when I heard a bike and there was Tim, finally arriving. I didn’t talk to him then but the next day he told me he didn’t even get out of Davenport the previous morning when he wiped out on some gravel. With that and a few other issues he had had a very long day.

Biker Quote for Today

When you arise in the morning think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive, to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love, to ride a motorcycle.