Summer Tour, 2002
C. Michael Wingfield
I’d never
gone on any extended trips on a motorcycle.
Prior to February, 2002, the longest travel I’d ever done on a
motorcycle was probably 20 miles, which included a stop in the middle at the
grocery store. When I was a college
student, I used to ride my little Honda to school and back, and occasionally
I’d take a short trip to a nearby river, but nothing more than twenty
miles. When I purchased my Kawasaki KLR
650 in February 2002, I wasn’t prepared for the technological changes that had
occurred since I’d sold my last bike over twenty years before. I’d read on the internet about lots of
motorcycles, and given the amount of money I had and what I envisioned as what
I wanted to do, the KLR seemed to meet my needs, so I bought a new one. It didn’t have a mile on the odometer. I paid cash for the bike, and since it was
raining and cold the day I bought it, I asked the dealer if he could store it
for a few days. I told the dealer that I’d get my brother to help me, and we’d
come pick it up in his pickup truck, since the weather was so bad. To be honest, I was scared to death of the
bike. KLR’s are tall, and I’m not, so
touching the ground with both feet was a stretch when I sat on the bike in the
showroom. But I wanted the horsepower,
so my bike was stored until I could connect up with my brother and his truck,
and in the mean time, garner up some courage.
When we went to get the bike in the pickup, a twenty-something young man rode the bike into the back of the truck. He made it look easy. We strapped it down, and drove the few miles to my house, where we had one hell of a time getting it out of the truck! When we finally got it parked on my patio, I suspended a big, blue tarp over the bike with some rope trusses. That night it snowed, and the weight of the wet snow collapsed the tarp so that in the morning, when I got up and wanted to look at my new bike, I couldn’t see it as it was a big white and blue hump next to the house! I cleared the bike of the snow and reestablished the cover, making a mental note that I needed to come up with another strategy regarding covering the bike. The snow quickly melted, but the weather was pretty raw for a week after getting the bike home, so I had an excuse for not riding it. I sat and looked at the bike everyday. Looking back on that experience, I think it had a lot of value. Staring at a parked bike for days leads one to realize that a motorcycle is the sum of it’s parts, and I became intimate with the parts. I also think that the fear factor had a lot of value. Religious people say that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. I don’t know about that, but I do believe that a good dose of controlled fear about a motorcycle helps one avoid a multitude of motorcycle mistakes.
Just as in
all Arkansas winters, there are a few February days that feel like spring. I took the KLR out for the first time on one
of those days, and as I recall, I rode 100 miles, being careful not to exceed
any of the recommendations regarding the break-in period. All during the ride my hands kept cramping,
and I realized that I was squeezing the handgrips so hard I was cutting off the
circulation. When I got home, I felt a
sense of accomplishment, and I was psyched!
Every day that the weather allowed, I tried to put some miles in on the
bike. I made contact with a few people
via a Dual Sport website, and I happened to meet on line a guy from Memphis,
who told me about a BMW club in Arkansas that had some upcoming rallies and
that they didn’t mind if a non-Beemer owner showed up. The first rally I attended was the Doo Dah
Tax Revolt Rally, held at Village Creek State Park, near Wynne, Arkansas. I met some nice people and saw some
good-looking sidecar bikes, and I was initiated into the BMW world. The second rally I attended was the
Wilderness Rally on the Buffalo River, where I met some more nice folks and got
to see some GS 1100’s and 1150’s and a new Adventure with a little over 300
miles on it. Hershel introduced me to the world of counter-steering, and Fred
cooked up a mean pot of GS Chili.
Finally, I attended the Natural State Rally in May, where my head really
started spinning. I’m not sure of the
exact number of BMW bikes that were represented, but it seemed like a zillion,
and with the aid of a couple of people I started to understand the difference
between a K bike and an R bike, what an airhead was versus an oilhead, and the
advanced technology that goes into the manufacture of a Kermit chair!
I liked the
culture, and the practicality of the BMW world. I’ve got some Harley Davidson friends, who define HOG rallies as
a remote place to get a new tattoo. At
the Natural State Rally, I won a Battery Tender at an afternoon drawing. Honestly, I’ll get a lot more use out of a
trickle charger than an expletive written across my knuckles, and Hey, I’m
fifty. I understand trickle……!
I paid off
my charge cards long ago and haven’t had to make a monthly payment on a vehicle
in seven years, but I decided at the Natural State rally that I was gonna go
into debt on a BMW motorcycle. When I
was younger, my strategy would have been to immediately go to the dealership
and buy the bike. Now that I’m older,
there’s a voice in my head that tries to talk me out of things, or at least I
encourage myself to SLOW DOWN. So I
started asking myself questions, with the primary question being, “hey, the
greatest distance you’ve ridden is 150 miles, and you’re gonna go out and spend
$16,000.00 on a fantastic piece of machinery that might sit in a garage nine
months out of the year”? So I decided
to go on a trip to see if traveling by motorcycle over some longer distances
might temper my zeal for a new BMW motorcycle.
I decided I’d go to Montana, camping along the way.
As a total novice, I thought readers might
prefer the views of a beginner rather than describe day by day my eleven days
on the road, so I’ll try and offer an overview illustrating the before, during,
and after phases of the trip.
BEFORE:
I purchased
the KLR 650 and soon realized that I had to have some new stuff for the
bike. Somehow, it seems, the mark of
the best purchase of a new bike should be one that requires the least new
stuff. The KLR needed, (or I wanted)
some new additions.
First, I
bought a tall windscreen. I got it from
Clearview in Colorado. When I ordered
it, the guy on the phone asked me questions regarding my body type, then they
built the shield for me. It took about
a month to get it, but it performed really well over the 4000 miles I’ve ridden
since buying the shield. Only the
biggest bugs with the greatest mass were able to smack me in the helmet shield,
while most of the smaller bugs just slip right over my head. There was a pheasant in Wyoming that didn’t
see the windscreen coming. But the aerodynamics
of the screen allowed the pheasant to whack the screen gently, and in a puff of
feathers continue on his colorful journey.
Scared me silly, and didn’t do much good for the pheasant I’d guess, but
he kept on flying, and so did I.
Next, I
bought a new skidplate from Dual Star, and an engine guard and highway pegs
from Happy Trails. While I haven’t
needed the skid plate for protection as I’ve ridden mostly highway miles, it
looks a lot better than that plastic skid plate that comes stock, and you know
it’s down there, just in case. The
highway pegs really make a difference.
The stock seat on the KLR is torture during a 400+ mile day, and the
highway pegs gave another position that you could move to so as to extend the
mileage. Next trip on the KLR will
require some rethinking regarding the seating.
I acquired
a tank bag, some soft side bags, a top case, a number plate bag and a fender
bag. The tank bag was from Kawasaki,
made for the KLR, while the soft side bags and top case were purchased from
J.C. Whitney. One day in Wal-Mart, I
saw a couple of nine-quart Igloo coolers, which fit perfectly in the soft side
bags. Actually, they worked great,
although small, and I’m able to use one side for my cooking stuff, (Coleman
multi fuel stove with pot and lid that the stove fits in, lexan plate, folding
handle frying pan, utensils, etc), while the other side serves as the cooler,
where I put perishables and in the evening I can ice down a pack of beer, soda,
etc. The top case works really well,
although next camping trip I think I’ll strap stuff down in waterproof stuff
sacks on the luggage rack, which I think will give me more room. The number plate bag is good for extra items
like spare gloves, additional sunglasses, (I broke two pair on the trip) and
camera stuff. The fender bag stayed on
the bike and contained a spare tube, tire irons and CO 2 cartridges and tire
inflator. I bought a single person
Kelty tent, and a Kelty Noah 9 tarp. I
put the tent, tarp and my sleeping bag, with Camp Rest pad in a bag strapped in
front of the top case. This acts as a
pretty good backrest, but makes getting on and off the bike look hard. Once, while getting off the bike to get some
gas, I was picking up my leg by grabbing the hem of my pants, all the while
hopping backwards to slip off the bike, when this older man came up behind me
and asked me if I needed help!
Some people
just don’t understand that dismounting is an art!
I bought a
set of Avon Distanzia tires the week prior to my trip. After over four thousand miles, they
honestly don’t look like they have any wear on them. They made a big difference and they are quite sticky in the
turns.
I purchased
a Wrist Rocker, and frankly it is one of the best eight bucks I’ve ever spent.
I don’t
think I could have ridden as far without it, although going through Rocky
Mountain National Park, it is hard to counter steer through curves to the right
with the wrist rocker.
I purchased a Kermit chair! After attending the Natural State rally, I decided
to buy one after sitting on the ground while everyone else sat comfortably in
their Kermit chairs around the campfire.
On Monday after the rally, I went to the Internet looking for the Kermit
chair website. It didn’t exist. I found pictures of people with Kermit
chairs, but no place to purchase one. I
sent Rod Kilduff an e-mail, and he promptly sent the information on how to
contact Mr. Kermit. I sent the money
and he sent the chair. Everyone that
has seen the chair since says it’s awesome.
I agree.
I had seen
on a website an ABS plastic tool holder that a person had built, using plastic
drainpipe 16 inches long and 5 inches in diameter, with fittings glued to each
end to make it accessible but watertight, and the whole thing is then secured by
clamps in front of the skidplate. What
should have cost around six dollars cost me more like forty, since I had to buy
everything in the LARGE size and then cut it down. It makes a good place to carry a lot of extra tools, and since
the KLR has a toolkit space the size of a pack of gum, the addition gives me
space for a full metric socket set with breakover bar, a can of chain lube, and
the ever important set of long barbeque tongs for flipping that ribeye!
Finally, I
sprung for a riding jacket and pants.
The Aerostich stuff was too expensive for me at $700.00+ dollars, but I
found a deal on a Joe Rocket Ballistic Jacket and matching pants, with body
armor and Kevlar. While sitting still,
the protective wear will cause you to stew in your juices, but at highway
speed, the jacket has four vents in the front and two in the back, and this
allows a lot of air to circulate around your torso and it’s surprisingly
cool. The pants have full-length
zippers, and with a little unzipping, this allows air to circulate around the
legs without compromising the armor.
I’ve decided that regardless of temperature, I’m not gonna ride without
the riding gear. It might be a false
sense of security, but thinking about sliding along the pavement without the
armor seems kinda stupid somehow. I’ll
take the heat in an attempt to eliminate road rash anyday.
I read that
the Iron Butt Association riders wore regular bicycle tights with a gel insert
under their riding wear to relieve some of the pressure associated with sitting
in the saddle all day. I have a pair
from my bicycling days, so I wore them for the entire trip, and I do believe
they added maybe a hundred miles a day to my trip. They got pretty funky after about five days, but I think a bonus
from the sixth day on was that mosquito’s left me alone, thinking I was
something dead……………..
DURING:
I’d planned
on leaving after work on Friday, on June 14th. I get off work at 5:00pm, but around 1:00pm
I was so antsy I decided to go home and pack the motorcycle. Looking back, I realize that I was
rationalizing, as I’d packed and unpacked the motorcycle about fifty times
during the weeks before the trip.
Rationalization won out and I went home, got my stuff secured and took
off to meet some friends to camp at the Buffalo River at the Hwy. 14
bridge. Riding up Hwy. 65 toward
Harrison felt a little funny, as I knew that rather than the usual couple of
days then return home type trip, I was gonna keep right on going past Harrison
into some places I’ve never seen. The
new Avon tires were quite different than the stock knobby tires that originally
came with the bike, and after about fifty miles to scuff off that slippery
stuff that comes on new tires, I began to pick up speed in the curves. The Avon’s were a lot stickier, and at
speeds that the knobbys felt like they were going to break in the turns, the
Avon’s held a tight line. I arrived at
the camping area at the Highway 14 Bridge.
My friends were already there as they live in Yellville, about 20 miles
away. For those reading this that
frequent the Buffalo River, after January 2003, there will be no more camping
at the Highway 14 bridge access point.
It is going to be designated as a day use area only, to accommodate the
drive in crowds. Usually, anytime I
hear that the Park Service is closing something it makes me cringe. This time however, given the miserable night
I had camping at the highway 14 bridge, I’m almost inclined to support the park
service, which means I should probably go for some counseling…..College age
loudmouths partying into the morning, coupled with an exhaust fan on the
restroom that sounded something like a C-130 cargo plane taking off made for a
less than stellar repose. I’ve decided
that anytime your camping, and you see people carrying a “real” mattress over
to their camp, it would probably be in your best interest to pack up and
leave. Nothing good can come from
camping next to people that are sporting a Sealy Posturepedic……
Early
Saturday morning I packed up the bike and took off, glad to be rid of the 14
Bridge crowd. Traffic was light until I
reached Branson, where I stopped for some gas and a cup of coffee, as I’d beat
feet out of the campground so early that I hadn’t been compelled to fire up the
Coleman stove. Talking to a guy that worked
for the gas station, I confirmed that I was going to ride all the way through
Missouri, south to north on Hwy. 65. He said it was a good highway all the way
up, and after Springfield, Mo. It was actual a nice ride, with limited traffic. He was right, and I made good time, stopping
Sedalia, Mo. I ate at Sonic, which is my lunch spot of preference. Maybe it’s the Frankie Avalon thing, but I
like being able park the bike and eat outside on the picnic tables. Plus, the Supersonic Cheeseburger Number Two
is a killer with some tater tots and a limeade. It’s obvious I’m into healthy eating. Sonic Rules. It also seems that other motorcycle riders
like Sonic, as there always seem to be other bikes parked there. In Sedalia there was a couple that were
riding that invited me to sit with them and eat lunch. It turned out that they were brother and
sister. He was riding a Goldwing and
she was on a Honda Shadow. They were
locals, and since I had been stationed in the military not far from Sedalia in
the early seventies, we had some things in common other than riding bikes. They were nice people, and it seems that
Sedalia is a motorcycle town, with every type of dealership, except BMW. The BMW dealership is in Kansas City,
according to the couple.
Leaving Sedalia,
the countryside became rolling hills and there was very little traffic on
highway 65. I crossed into Iowa around
4pm, stopping for some gas at a little town right across the Missouri/Iowa
border. I inquired about a state park
I’d seen on the map called, “Nine Eagles State Park”. The locals weren’t sure about the road numbers, having lived
there all their lives, but they told me to go to the edge of town, until, “the
houses run out”, and then I should look for a road on the left. If I followed that road, I’d find the
park. Following their instructions, the
houses did in fact run out and bingo, there was the road on the left! I rode for about 10 miles and I saw the sign
for Nine Eagles State Park. The park is
located approximately two miles off the main road, and as I pulled into the
park, there were quite a few trucks parked on the side of the road, with a big
sign that read, “Pig Roast Tonight”, in bold letters. I parked the bike, and found a guy in a Ranger shirt, who
instructed me to just find a place in the campground and then I should come
back up to the pig roast. The
campground was nice, with lots of big trees, and it had quite a few people
camping there. There was plenty of
room, so I set up camp, took a shower, and proceeded to the pig roast, which
consisted of a whole roasted pig with all the trimmings, and all the beer one
could drink for five dollars. Everyone there was a local, and there were four
or five horse drawn wagons and buggys that kept up a constant circle, taking
pig roast participants for free rides around the large park, which had two
pretty large lakes and lots of trees.
It seems that during the summer, they have a pig roast at the park every
Saturday night! I really started to
like Iowa. After the Highway 14 bridge
fiasco, the camping at Nine Eagles was heavenly. There wasn’t a sound made all night and I slept with the angels.
Sunday
morning, and I awakened with thoughts about the scene from the movie “Field of
Dreams”, where Kevin Kostner was asked by Shoeless Joe Jackson, “Is this
heaven?”, to which Kostner replied, “No, this is Iowa!”. I got up and pulled out the single burner
Coleman stove and made some coffee. As
I was thinking about the days ride, the guy in the camp site next to me brought
over a plate of thick cut bacon and some sausage links. For some reason people seem to want to take
care of me when I’m out riding the bike.
The guy was camping with his Grandson, and they made extra breakfast so
“the motorcycle guy” could eat. I ate
the breakfast, which was really good, (Iowa’s known for it’s pork products),
packed the bike, and I was off by 9:00am.
Riding through rural Iowa on a cool Sunday morning was a treat. Absolutely no traffic, with the exception of
the occasional church going family.
Rolling hills, filled with knee high corn, and the rhythmic sound of a
single cylinder motorcycle purring along, punctuated by the frequent popping of
big bugs off my windscreen and the top of my helmet! The southwestern to west central portion of Iowa seems to have a
lot of honey production, and bees are pretty dense projectiles when you’re
rolling along at 70 miles an hour.
I’d made
reservations to camp at Lewis and Clark State Park, close to Yankton, South
Dakota for Sunday night, so I rode across Iowa on a mission, since I’d paid
$20.00 in advance for what was described as a “Primo” site on Lewis and Clark
Lake. The closer I got to South Dakota,
the hotter the weather. Also, the
closer I got to South Dakota, the flatter the countryside got. I crossed over into South Dakota, and made a
turn to the west
After
hitting the interstate at Souix City.
It was late afternoon and the temperature was in the low nineties, so in
my riding gear it was pretty hot. The
road toward the Lewis and Clark State Park was straight with little traffic
until I arrived at the park. At the
park, it became congested with campers and cars. I took a wrong turn into one of the entrances to the park, and
found myself following a line of large campers into Nebraska! I found a place to turn around and quickly
exited Nebraska and then found the camping area for which I’d made the
reservation for the campsite. The site
was right on the waters edge at Lewis and Clark Lake, and I set up my tent among
the big camper trailers. The site had
electricity, and the only thing I had that was electrical was the converter for
my cell phone, so I plugged it in to charge the battery and since it was
Fathers Day, I called all the fathers that I know to wish them a happy day. I met some nice people from North Dakota in
an adjacent campsite, and sat with them at their campfire and had a few beers
and conversation. When I went to bed
there was a big thunderstorm shooting out lightning to the southwest, and I heard
a few drops of rain on the rainfly during the night, but it never really
rained, which is a good thing, since I had forgotten I had left the cellphone
charging on the electrical pedestal.
When I woke
up I made some coffee and ate a pastry I’d bought the day before, then started
packing the bike. I headed west toward
the Badlands National Park on some desolate two-lane blacktop. All day I rolled along at 70 miles an hour,
and it seemed that I only met a couple of farm trucks during the ride. Southern South Dakota is pretty desolate,
but it made for some great riding and it offered a good place to practice some
countersteering techniques since I had the road to myself. I pulled in to a one-pump gas station to get
some gas in the afternoon, and the guy inside said that I was the only paying customer
that he’d had that day! As I rode, I
saw quite a few pheasants running through what looked like sagebrush, and I saw
some other large game birds that I believe were grouse. There were lots of antelope and deer were
everywhere. As I got closer to the
Badlands, I began to understand why it had the name. The scenery reminded me of pictures I’d seen of the moon. I pulled into the park entrance, gave the
ranger the five-dollar entry fee and asked her about camping. She pointed to the campground that was
located not far from the entrance. Not
a tree to be seen. There was no shade,
but it did have electrical hookups so you could run your air-conditioner. Since my cell phone was fully charged, I
didn’t see any need to stop there, so I asked her about the only other camping
area within the park, which is a remote site that is located toward the middle
of the park called Sage Creek. I decided to motor to that site, which entailed
driving through the park on blacktop for 15 miles, then going on gravel for 24
miles into the heart of the park. The
pavement was smooth as silk, but when I hit the gravel it was over twenty miles
of washboard. At first I tried to ease
along, but it was really rough so I found if I took the bike up to around 40
mph it flattened out the washboards and skipped along the top. When I got to Sage Creek Camp, there were a
few campers there, and the campsite was spotted with grazing wild buffalo. I’d read in a brochure that you should avoid
the buffalo, as they will stomp a mudhole in you if you annoy them, so setting
up my tent as they stood twenty feet away made for an interesting
experience. There were a lot of them
that dotted the landscape, and I kept thinking that I was probably going to get
stepped on in the night. I stayed up
watching the stars, which were almost close enough to touch, but I think I
stayed up mostly so I could keep track of the buffalo herd, which all gathered
on a hill just away from the campground.
The next
morning I was up at the crack of dawn, loaded up the bike and headed back out
the same rugged gravel road I’d ridden on the day before. All night I’d dreamed of bison stampeding,
so I was kind of glad to get out of the Sage Creek camp. Not far up the gravel, I came up on a big
bull buffalo standing right in the middle of the road. He had two companion trouble makers standing
there with him, and no amount of hornblowing from me was going to get them to
get out of the way. I hadn’t considered sitting in the middle of South Dakota
nowhere all morning, so I decided to roll toward the buffalo, then gun it into
a flat ditch area on the side of the road.
When I put on the gas the buffalo scattered with their tails high up in
the air. Obviously they’d not heard a
thumper motorcycle throttle up, so I got the best of the buffalo roadhogs and I
didn’t even have to get in the ditch!
The ride
out somehow seemed shorter than the day before. The morning was cool and cloudy and looked like rain. I hit the pavement and in quick time I
pulled in to Wall, South Dakota, home of “Wall Drugstore”. Of course I had to stop and look the place
over, with my only purchase being fingernail clippers for eighty-nine
cents. I did pull in the carwash and
sprayed all the Sage Creek dust off my bike, with the primary purpose being to
try and get rid of the grit on my chain.
I re-lubed the chain, stopped into a grocery store and bought a resupply
of foodstuff and ice, some beer for that night and a big, buffalo sirloin to
grill for supper. That’ll teach em for
blocking the road!
It was a
short ride to Mount Rushmore, and since I was there I felt compelled to go look
at it. The ride to Rushmore from Rapid
City was beautiful. There was a lot of
traffic, but the road was four wide and smooth sailing. Rushmore wasn’t my favorite place. The ride was the best part, as the monument
was swarming with people taking pictures, people driving cars leaking oil and
smoking, and people trying to run over you on the parking lot, all for the sake
of looking at four faces chipped in rock.
Frankly, I preferred dueling with the buffalo on the gravel road, so I
quickly departed Rushmore and headed for Spearfish and then on to Wyoming. On the way to Spearfish is the town of
Sturgis. I don’t know what I had in
mind, but I’d listened for years about all the Sturgis hype. Not to offend any Clark County folks, but
Sturgis reminded me of Arkadelphia with few trees. You look over at it as you roll past on the interstate. There
were a lot of motorcycles on the highway just around Sturgis and most of them
were “Trailerglides”, but ten miles on either side of the town I had the
highway to myself. Past Spearfish South
Dakota I entered Wyoming. I used to go
to Wyoming when I was a kid, and I have very pleasant memories of the
place. I’d never been to the
northeastern corner of Wyoming before, and it is beautiful. As I write this, it seems there’s a theme
emerging for me. Places that I consider
beautiful are the places that don’t have many people. When there are no people there’s no reason to put up ugly signs,
and with no ugly signs, you can just go wherever you want cause no one’s
telling you what to do. Such is
Wyoming.
I motored
on I-90 for a couple of hours, and took the Buffalo exit. (There seems to be another theme emerging
here, particularly with the big Buffalo Sirloin I had in my ice chest!). In Buffalo, I asked a guy if there was any
camping on highway 16 going toward Worland.
He said, “just take any road off the highway and you’ll find a
spot”. I could tell that I liked it
there. It was getting toward late
afternoon, so I rode toward Worland into some of the most beautiful mountains
I’ve ever seen. It’s called the Bighorn
National Park, and it is gorgeous.
After around thirty miles, I decided to go down a gravel road on the
right, and after about a half-mile, I came upon one of the prettiest camping
places you could ever hope to find. A
snow fed stream rushed past against the base of a mountain, with campsites
nestled along the steam. There was a
sparkling new toilet, and there was a pump for drinking water. The camp was too small for big campers, but
it was perfect for the tent camper. The
camp was empty except for me and a cab-over camper on a big four-wheel drive
truck. I was sitting up camp when a guy
and a young lady walked up and started talking to me about the cycle and
camping. I found out they were
newlyweds and were on their honeymoon and were traveling around Wyoming and
Montana for two weeks in the four-wheel drive pickup. We talked for a while and they walked away and I finished sitting
up my camp. It started to get dark, so
I built a campfire and with the coals grilled the buffalo sirloin, sliced it
thin and fried up some sliced green peppers and onions, and with some cheddar
cheese, salsa and flour tortilla’s I made some buffalo fajita’s that could
compete with the campground for excellence.
A cold beer and I was literally in heaven. I’ll trade you three Rushmore’s for one buffalo fajita anyday……
I slept
great. The weather was cool, and when I
woke up the sun was shining bright.
After coffee, I packed the bike and started it up. It didn’t want to start at first and I had
to choke it and let it run. Later on I
realized I had camped at around 7500 feet and the altitude was starving the
carburetor a little. I started rolling
toward Worland, which took me over a couple of 10,000-foot passes, which put me
quite a bit higher than the snowline.
By the time I’d ridden over the mountains, I was frozen! And in a short time, back on the other side
of the mountain range, It was hot again.
I headed north from Worland toward Lovell, and then crossed into Montana
going toward Billings. I decided that I
was going to loop around toward Yellowstone and try and spend the night
there. The closer I got to Yellowstone,
the more it felt like Rushmore. Cars
and campers and trucks were backed up on roadways. It was bumper to bumper traffic, and after having the wonderful
day that I’d had the day before, I decided I wasn’t going to enjoy Yellowstone,
so I headed by toward the Buffalo National Park and stayed in another little
campground near a little town called Tensleep.
The scenery was beautiful and I can imagine that Yellowstone is a
wonderful place. Maybe I’ll go back
there in the winter…
I’ve got
electric clothes…….
I woke up
early and headed toward Thermopolis, Wyoming.
It’s claim to fame is it’s hot springs and the discovery of dinosaur
remains. What I like best about it, is
it is the start of a beautiful motorcycle ride through the Wind River Canyon,
which goes from Thermopolis to Shoshoni.
The Wind River runs along the highway for 66 miles. The canyon walls grow steeper with every
mile, and the scenery is spectacular.
There are a couple of long tunnels that run through the mountains and
having never been through a long tunnel on a motorcycle I really wasn’t
prepared for the feeling. I’ve gone
through tunnels in cars, but in cars you’re insulated from the tunnel, the
smell, the temperature, etc. On the
bike, you feel the real tunnel, and it is awesome. When you start to emerge from the canyon, on the right you can
see the Tetons in the distance, and between you and the Tetons is a surreal
scene of a desert lake that you have to see to believe.
In Shoshoni
I took highway 20 to Casper. There is a
lot of construction on highway twenty, so much so that it took the better part
of three hours to drive the 98 miles. I
decided it was time for a hot shower and a bed, so I checked in to a Holiday
Inn in Casper. Taking all my stuff off
the bike and taking it into a hotel room felt kind of odd, and I felt like I
was abandoning the bike. It was like I
was leaving a friend outside. To make
myself feel better, I chained the bike to a huge metal trashcan, which was on
the sidewalk at the hotel.
I was glad
to see that the bike hadn’t been touched in the night. I packed my gear, and headed toward
Cheyenne. I decided I’d hook up my
radio and listen to some music as I rode down the interstate. I’ve got a portable CD player that is really
pretty pathetic, but I don’t listen to it often and sometimes the earpiece
hurts my ears, so I rarely listen, preferring instead to hear the
motorcycle. I do have a tendency to
sing songs to myself as I ride, and since I don’t know all the words to any
song, with the exception of the National Anthem, I come up with some pretty
sick songs. So occasionally I’ll hook
up the radio. I was riding into a
headwind of around forty miles and hour, headed toward Cheyenne, listening to a
Cheyenne radio station. The radio kept
shutting itself off. I had it in my
tank bag, so I’d fiddle with it, whack it a little and it would come back
on. I did this for about twenty miles,
when it finally stopped completely. I
pulled over on the side of the highway, took the radio out of the tank bag, and
began to shake it and whack it with my hand, when I felt something approach me
on the left side. I looked over quickly
to my left, just as I was giving the radio a good solid whack, and there sat a
guy on K bike, looking at me. I flipped
up my visor and he asked me if everything was alright. I smiled and told him I was giving my CD
player a good thrashing for being a piece of junk. He laughed, gave me a thumbs up, and off he went into the
wind. BMW folks are good for helping
you out. I wish I’d let him hit that CD
player a couple of times
(To be continued next time…)
123, You, Annie & Me
by Fred & Carolyn Counts
This is a
story about Annie Wise. Back in the Big War, World War I, the War to end all
wars, Annie was engaged to her childhood sweetheart, Aaron. Aaron was called
away to be a soldier, to fight for his country. His job was to deliver messages
from command post to command post riding a Harley motorcycle. They planned to
marry when he returned from the war. But fate was not kind and Aaron was killed
by enemy fire.
Annie was
heart-broken and grieved for years. She would sit and re-read his letters,
telling her how much he loved her and how much he loved riding that Harley. One
day she was reading the Springfield Newspaper and saw an ad for an Army Surplus
Sale on the Harleys used in the war. Annie used the money she and Aaron had
saved for the wedding to buy one of those bikes. Who knows?! Its possible Aaron
had ridden on that very bike. She learned to ride and riding became her
passion. She never loved another. She could feel his presence and guidance as
she rode.
She
devoted her life to helping the people of the hills. They loved to hear the
sound of that old Harley, cause they knew Annie was on her way with help, be it
food or medicine or just someone to talk to in time of trouble. Everyone loved
Annie.
One day
on her way to help someone, Annie lost control of the bike and ran off the
road. The hill people found her and out of respect, they buried Annie, and the
Harley right where they found her on what would become Highway 123.
I can't swear this story is true. But it was told to me by
one of the old timers who live around here. The story had been passed down by
his father, a distant relative of Annie. If you listen closely on a still
night, you can hear the sound of Annie and that old Harley, riding up and down
these hills. They say, if you leave a flower at Annie's grave, she will look
over you and me as we ride this glorious road known as 123.
YOU AND ME AND 123
By Harlan Brown
Possibly
the best road in the state for fast sweepers, tight switchbacks and beautiful
scenery with steep drop-offs and high cliffs; I’m talking about the newly paved
portion on the east side of Hwy 7. This section of 123 runs from Hwy. 7 to Mt.
Judea then on to Piercetown then take Hwy 74 west into Jasper. So much for the
description, now the campout.
Thanks to
Fred Counts or I’d never found this area. I had ridden this area four or five
years ago but it was gravel and not nearly as impressive and I’d forgotten
about it. Fred had been looking around this summer for an out-of-the-way place
to have a quiet, peaceful and no-frills campout, and by no-frills, I mean “take
your own toilet paper” HA! HA! Fred stumbled into the one and only
“OZARK DAVE” while riding around on 123. He asked him if he knew of a place
around there that a man could campout. Dave said, how about my place, and what
a beautiful view. To the west it overlooks the backside of the Buffalo River
Valley. If you were looking east from the Cliff House Restaurant on Hwy. 7,
this area would be the next valley east.
Ozark Dave’s place is small, four or five acres, but there’s not much
room for any more. There’s a steep drop-off on each side of the road. If the
Highway Dept. hadn’t added fill dirt on the side of the road, there wouldn’t be
enough room for anything but a mountain goat.
Anyway, we
had a nice little turnout, about eight or ten. Maybe I can remember everyone;
Fred Counts, Charlie Bishop, Harlan Brown, Doug Hines, Mike Winfield, Hershel
Martin, Tom Bright and Morris &
Judy Hale. Fred put out a lot of effort on this campout as usual, he made two
trips up there ahead of time, carrying up firewood and that fancy “Naturally
Beemers” burn barrel, that’s a work of
art. There were three of us who camped out Friday night and the rest came up
Saturday. I’ve been so long about getting this article going, I can’t remember
the date; I believe it was the weekend before Thanksgiving, or one weekend in
early November. Several went out riding
Saturday and some just sat around the campground and relaxed. Most went into
Jasper for meals, except Saturday night. We went to Jasper Saturday to get some
ground meat for chili Saturday night, some of that “Count’s Surprise”, really
good. It was really pretty that
weekend, a bright, full moon both nights.
Ozark Dave is going to try to develop his place a for
camping and a base for climbers; just down the road there’s some rock cliffs
where climbers go to climb, I forget the name. We’ll remember Dave’s location
for sure and he said were always welcome. I’m sure some of us will be going
back this fall, if not sooner. If any of you like nice, peaceful, no-frills
camping, and I mean carry your own picnic table and porta-pot, check this place
out. Keep your ears to the ground, we’ll be going back.
RED BARON ROLLS OUT THE RED CARPET
By Charlie Bishop
Northern
Italy features some of the best motorcycling roads in Europe. It is also home
for the Ducati, Moto Guzzi and Ferrari factories and museums.
I have
recently toured this area with Red Baron Motorcycle Tours. We visited these
factories and museums along with several others which were quite worthy of your
time. The European side of the trip began with Andreas picking us up at the
Munich airport and transporting us to a quiet and very comfortable hotel which
was within walking distance of the city transportation system and several
eating establishments.
Andreas had
our rented motorcycles ready in the hotel garage. We left each day at the
respectable hour of 0900. Andy kept us on the secondary roads unless time
became a problem. The hotels and guest houses we used were wonderful, many with
a great view from the balcony. The restaurants were first class. We had one
dinner which lasted 3 hours!
Did you
know the Swiss had set up a defense against a Nazi invasion? In the 1930's they
dug a tunnel which housed 2 large cannons and machine guns along with
provisions for over 100 soldiers. We were able to fire the cannons at left lane
slow pokes (in our dreams). Our first night on the road we stayed at a
guesthouse in a small Swiss village. The owner was also a wonderful chef. Wild
mushrooms picked that day cooked in a sauce provided the cover for fresh
venison. Yum.
The next
morning we visited a photogenic gorge carved by the Hinter Rhine River. The
view and the hike to the bottom and back were breathtaking. Our first major
pass led us into Italy and more switchbacks than a jackrabbit on espresso could
complain about. One corner was so tight I spotted my own license tag. Each of
us had our own method for tight cornering, but all involved a big smile.
After a
visit to the Moto Guzzi museum on the west side of Lake Como we ran short of
time and took to the Italian Autostrada. No Rules on this 6 lane raceway
applied. I take that back. The only rule was getting "there" first in
one piece. That night we stayed in a small mountain village south of Marinello.
The view from our balcony was a deep valley and more curvy roads. Living in
this town would be my idea of the perfect retirement. This was our base while
be visited the Ferrari factory, race track and museum, then the Ducati factory
and museum and roads to make the Dragon seem like merely an appetizer. In the
large cities I found that urban Italian driving is not an urban legend.
Motorcycles may ride where ever they will fit. After a night near the historic
city of Venice we rode north into the Dolomites. Our hotel here had even a
better view.
If you
enjoy wearing the rubber off the sides of your tires this Italian trip is a
very good choice. Red Baron has found so many curvy mountain roads your leaning
appetite will be sated. One day we bagged 9 mountain passes over 2K meters in
elevation. Then we had a frosty pils delivered while we were in the indoor pool
of our hotel. Please let heaven (or wherever I go) be like this. Back in Munich
we visited the Intermot featuring 1 million sq ft of motorcycles, accessories
and demos. We saw bikes and gear not available in the USA.
On the last
day we enjoyed the Oktoberfest. The beer tents were much more fun than I had
imagined. The freshly brewed Oktoberfest beer is so good that I feel relieved
it is not available to me daily.
You need to
be a good rider to tour in Europe. Riding in Italian cities tested my abilities
and concentration. However the rewards are fabulous.
Red Baron
Motorcycle Tours is owned and operated by Rolf-Immo Gabbe and Andreas Oppelt.
Both have ridden the unmapped and fun roads of Europe for years. Red Baron
offers other good tours and most search engines will find their website.
Small group sizes sets Red Baron apart from the other tours.
We had 4 participants and I am told they will max out at 9 riders. Maybe I will
see you on the Beer tour.
New Years Day Ride at
Toad Suck
From the Editor’s Desk
by Rod Kilduff
2003
Dues
Here we are
and it’s next year already. It’s time
for 2003 dues. The rates are still the
same bargan at $10 per individual and $15 per family. Send to:
Jerry
Reynolds
1200
Donaghey Ave
Conway, AR
73034
Found
Newsletter Editor!!!!!
We have
found a Newsletter Editor! With only a
little bit of arm twisting, the cast should come off any time now, Mike Wingfield has volunteered to take over
the job. He will actually start with
the March issue of the newsletter but is helping me put this one together. For all future article submissions please
send them to Mike at:
Mike
Wingfield
2402 South
Taylor
Little
Rock, AR 72204
Or
e-mail: cmwingfield@ualr.edu
We are all
very grateful to Mike for volunteering.
Especially me!
Wanted
Newsletter Material: Always
We are
always soliciting for newsletter articles.
Send that article you have always intended to write. Many thanks to
those of you; who have submitted material already. You are allowed to
send in more.
New Members
John Mize, Little Rock
Welcome to the Club.
.
Rally T-shirt Designs Requested.
We have a few of the previous design left but not enough. We will need to get the ball rolling for a
new design. Please send your ideas,
sketches, and fabulous artwork to me or any other officer or bring them to be
presented at the business meeting on Mar 22nd. A final choice will be made then.
Activities
FLEA MARKET
There is no charge for the ad; we
only ask that you be honest and fair. Naturally Beemers is not responsible for
the quality of the items or any transactions made because of the ad. Ads will run for two issues of the
newsletter unless extended.
Don’t forget the 10% Club Member
Discount at Bentonville Cycle Sales
‘96 BMW,
R1100RT, 30K. miles, ABS, AM/FM/Tape, bags, throttle lock, Corbin Seat
w/backrest, engine guards, new tires, Blue in color, good shape and ready to
go, asking $8,500. Call Harlan Brown
501-666-7844
or e-mail @ htbrown@msn.com
1986
MotoGuzzi SPII(1000cc) with EML GT2 sidecar. Red. Very good condition. 40K
miles.
$7500(negotiable).
E-pics available. Jerry Reynolds, 501/327-6563. motoheadreynolds@msn.com
Naturally
Beemers
The
BMW M/C Club of Arkansas
http://www.pcfa.org/clubs/naturally_beemers/
BMWMOA
CLUB #181 Chartered 2/88
BMWRA
CLUB #74 Chartered 4/91
Steering
Committee
Otto
Ising.............................President
Barry
Phillips.................Vice President
Elmer
Sveda.........................Activities
Jerry
Reynolds......................Treasurer
Rod
Kilduff........Secretary / Newsletter
Annual
Membership Dues:
$10.00
for Solo
$15.00
for Family
Send
correspondence to:
Rod
Kilduff
822
Donaghey Ave.
Conway,
AR. 72032
rod.kilduff@conwaycorp.net
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