Passes & Canyons Blog

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 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.

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.

A different kind of long day today on this Great River Road ride with the RMMRC. We left St. Charles in the cool of the morning, with mist over everything. Very magical. We rode to the river at Alton, where we crossed on a new bridge very unlike the old one I drove over tripping on acid 50 years ago. That’s a story but it doesn’t bear telling here.

Then we turned north on the road that runs right along the river—very nice. This is MO 100. There were high bluffs for miles and I was kicking myself for not having my camera at the ready. Another negative of riding with a group; on my own I would have stopped and gotten my camera out. We passed through Grafton, which looks touristy but interesting. Then on to Pere Marquette State Park where we stopped and checked out the rustic old lodge. This would be a nice place to bring your wife to if you’re into these sorts of things. It’s definitely on my list of places to visit with Judy.

We rode up to a viewpoint and that was where we lost Tom. When we were ready to go, he went along on the road we were on, while the rest of us backtracked. He expected it to come back to the lodge but in fact it comes out to the river about three miles further down. We never saw him the rest of the day. I don’t know if he doesn’t read maps well, didn’t know what the planned route was, or what. Reaching him later by phone we found that he was many miles away from where we were and he had just decided to head straight to Davenport, our night’s stop.

The rest of us rode on to Hannibal and had lunch. We came through some nice country, rode along the river at times, but didn’t see the river at all for much of the time. From Louisiana, Missouri, to Hannibal was the nicest part.

In Hannibal, after lunch, the plan had been to visit the Mark Twain Boyhood Home & Museum, which comprises several sites around the town but it was blazing hot and everyone wanted to just go on. Except me. I said I’ll see you later but the main site was swarming with school kids so I said forget this and headed out. I stopped at a former Suzuki dealer a little later and bought a new helmet because the one I had worn was literally falling to pieces.

I took what turned out to be a side trip over into Quincy but then crossed back into Illinois to follow US 61. A little further on I took the business route through La Grange and Canton, both right on the river and then followed the highways up to Keokuk. From Keokuk, on the Illinois side following IL 96 it was a nice road right along the river, going through some historic areas. I stopped in Nauvoo for an ice cream break. This was another of the questions I had asked the day before: Don’t you guys ever make a stop for ice cream? Heck the OFMC makes it a point to have an ice cream break pretty much every day. Ice cream is synonymous with motorcycle riding isn’t it?

Some of the group had talked about wanting to stop and see a lock and dam along the river. I have to admit, as much of my life as I lived along or near the Mississippi River I had no real idea that there were dams on this mighty river. That’s totally illogical because my uncle, who lived in Granite City, Illinois, worked at a lock there. But there are dams, a lot of them, on the Mississippi. I made it a point to sit on the shady side of the street in Nauvoo eating my ice cream in case I had passed the other guys and they should just happen to come along at that time. It didn’t happen, at least in part because they never did stop at a lock, though we came past several of them.

From Nauvoo I mostly followed signs for the Great River Road and some of it was very nice but some not worth it. I was really glad to reach the hotel and get a shower. And good to relax and have a beer. This was not a 450-mile day again but it was darn near a 400-mile day by the time it was over. That’s a lot of riding and I was just glad to have taken the second part of the day at my own pace.

Biker Quote for Today

Knock knock! Who’s there? Iona. Iona who? Iona brand new motorcycle, wanna go for a ride?