Passes & Canyons Blog

I’ve spoken a lot in my narrative of the RMMRC‘s Great River Road ride about the conflicting preferences of different riders. Some of our guys want to just get out there and burn up the miles. They don’t want to stop until it’s time for gas.

Others of us, and I am definitely in this group, prefer to take a more relaxed approach, with more frequent stops just to stretch our legs, rest our butts, and maybe stop to spend some time at a few points of interest.

The answer here seems obvious to me: we need to break into two groups so everyone can ride the sort of ride they prefer.

We had originally planned to do this ride in two groups simply because there were going to be enough of us it made sense not to ride in one large pack. But then as the departure date drew near several people had cause to drop out, so the morning of the ride the decision was made to go as one group.

I submit that even if we were looking at one group of three and another of five, that is what we should have done. And on any future multi-day ride I do with the RMMRC I will strongly argue for just that.

As it was, on this ride there were three of us who made our desires known to stop more frequently. Probably we should have just informed the others that we were going to be our own separate group and just do it. But we hadn’t really had the discussions and thought it through that far.

Yes, at one point Bob replied to our calls for a shorter leg by saying that anyone who wanted to peel off from the group at any time is free to do so, and I did. But I really think that’s a bit disingenuous. One aspect of riding in a group is the feeling of safety in numbers. If you break down, you have someone there to help you out. If one person just takes off on their own and then that person has problems, there’s no one to assist.

Now, in my case, that was not an issue. I’m accustomed to riding alone. I like riding alone, and I feel that I’m prepared to deal with issues if they arise. But not everyone is like me. Some people who might wish to have a different ride could easily be reluctant to venture out all by themselves.

Two groups makes sense to me. Or, I’ve thought that maybe I ought to set up a ride that caters to my style of riding. Rather than blast across eastern Colorado and all of Kansas and Missouri in just two days, do it in three. A number of years ago I rode Friggs’s bike out to St. Louis for him and I know I took at least three days, maybe four. I had a fun, relaxing ride. I’ve ridden several 500-mile days and fun and relaxing are two adjectives I would not use to describe them. And if it’s not fun, why are you doing it?

And yes, if I do set up this sort of ride I’ll make a point of suggesting to anyone who is more in the Iron Butt mindset that they should go ahead, we’ll see them at the end of the day.

Biker Quote for Today

Bikers are the happiest people when they have their boots on the pegs, their ass in the seat, and nothing but the rumble of pipes in their ears.

When I split off from the rest of the RMMRC group doing the Great River Road ride, on our final day headed for home, to check out the St. Francis Motorcycle Museum in St. Francis, Kansas, I didn’t expect to get to go in. But I got lucky–Kent was already in for the morning and he saw me and opened the door.

After Kent showed me some of the highlights of the museum I spotted one thing in particular I was looking for and led him to that. This was just a couple sheets of paper tacked on a bulletin board and hanging on the wall, telling about the “famed” motorcycle racer Roy Blakeney. Of course, this is the Roy who had been riding sweep on our whole trip. He said oh yes, they know Roy well, was that who I was with, too bad he didn’t stop in, too.

Then he showed me the “vault,” a room in the center of the building where the most valuable bikes are kept locked in when they’re not open. These, he said, are mainly one-of-a-kind bikes that you won’t see anywhere else. So here’s a bunch of photos of some of the bikes the museum has on display.

So there you go. If you’re ever in the vicinity of St. Francis, Kansas, I’d recommend you stop in. You can’t go wrong.

Biker Quote for Today

Yes I’m addicted to my bike because it’s way better than being addicted to fake love.

From McCook, Nebraska, on to Denver was the last leg of our Great River Road ride. It’s about 260 miles and most of the folks were just ready to get home.

There was some discussion of stopping in St. Francis, Kansas, at the St. Francis Motorcycle Museum. It was right on our route and I for one had never been there, though I had heard about it and was interested.

Not gonna happen, was what Tom said. He pointed out that we had on several occasions on this trip discussed stopping at various points of interest but nothing ever came of it. For instance, we had discussed spending some time in Hannibal, Missouri, visiting sites related to Mark Twain. Didn’t happen. Stopping along the Mississippi River at a dam and lock to see the lock in action. Didn’t happen. There may have been others, I don’t remember.

Then someone else pointed out that as early as we were hitting the road, by the time we reached St. Francis the museum would not yet be open. So that was settled, presumably.

We left our motel singly and in groups with the idea to stop at the nearby gas station and fill up. Pulling out from the motel there were two exits and while one had a free shot to go left on the road, the other required you to do a U-turn around the median. I ran over to the straight shot exit but Roy went out the other. Then, as I got ready to pull out after he made the U-turn, he went into the turn and dropped the bike right onto the very end of the median structure. Oh crap.

I quickly shifted to neutral and put the side stand down and ran out to offer assistance. Roy was unhurt, and the bike was undamaged so we got him back upright and he took off, with me close behind. So that was the fourth time on this trip that someone had had a mishap. We’re not doing so good here guys.

We got gas and headed out. Nothing much in the way of scenery along here, this is just Kansas and Nebraska.

But by the time we got to St. Francis, about 87 miles, I was ready to take a break. Plus, I wanted to at least check out the museum as much as I could even if it wasn’t open. So when I saw a sign pointing to downtown announcing the museum I waved toodle-oo to the group and turned.

From what I hear, their ride on home was uneventful, although Roy told me that he got home, moved his car out of the garage so he could get his bike in, and the coil on the bike failed. Right there at home. The most convenient inconvenience you can ask for.

I pulled up in front of the museum and parked, noticing the “Closed” sign on the door. I took a quick look up and down the street at the town, and when I turned to the museum again there was a guy in the window waving to attract my attention and when he saw that I saw him he took the “Closed” sign and flipped it over to say “Open.” This was Kent.

Kent and Scott are the two guys who mostly run the museum and he told me they always try to accommodate riders who come through and want to see the museum, even outside of regular hours. He pointed out that the sign on the door has their phone numbers so you can call and if they’re able to do so they will come open the place for you. They figure that if you’re traveling and you want to stop it may not always be those regular hours but they want to accommodate you. Nice people. I’ll do my whole next post on the museum.

So I got the break I wanted, used the rest room, saw the museum, and had a nice visit. And then I was ready to ride again.

I’m sure the other guys stopped at least once to get gas on their way home but I was now riding alone. And I made three stops. One was for gas but the other two were because I was getting drowsy and just plain wanted to stretch my legs a bit. This is the way I like to travel.

Altogether, my odometer showed I had ridden 3,150 miles on this trip. On a ten day trip, with one day off from riding, that comes out to exactly 350 miles a day. Sure was nice to have that one day off in the middle of it. And it was nice to be home, too.

Biker Quote for Today

100 reasons not to date a biker: 11. We drive the same way we ride.

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.

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.