An aside: Uploading pictures from my iPad Pro to Google’s Blogger has given me troubles in the past, but for three or four days on this trip it became almost impossible. From my motel in Des Moines I was able to upload this one picture of a Voisin and also the Citroen before the uploads stopped working: “Sorry, we could not copy your photos to your blog.” Not a very informative message, but I Googled it and found many others had had the problem over the years and that there didn’t seem to be a definitive solution, although the problem may be related to the bandwidth of the Internet connection. The frustrating thing is that I might try 10 uploads with no result, just the useless message, and then for no reason a picture would upload successfully. Three or four days later in the motel in Salina, Utah, I was suddenly able to upload pictures, so I did a dozen or so before leaving for the day. Now, in Fallon, NV the uploads are working fine.
(July 17, Thursday - riding day) Today was my visit to the St. Louis Art Museum to view their special exhibit; Roaring; French Automobiles and Fashion 1918-1939. My Google Maps app said it would take four and a quarter hours for 215 miles, so after breakfast at the Best Western I left a little after 8 giving myself plenty of time. It had rained hard during the night and the news stories on the TV in the motel breakfast room were all about flooding in the areas I was in the afternoon before when I was trying to get around Kansas City. However, the rain had mostly stopped by 8 AM although I was prepared for wet weather with my rain gloves, closed jacket and pants vents, maps in plastic bags, etc. Since the GPS would want to route me to I-70, which I wanted to avoid, I told it to take me to Jefferson City (on US 50) where I got gas and then told the GPS to take me to the art museum. US 50 was still four lanes divided at that point and there was a short section where US 50 and US 54 were the same road. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice when the GPS directed me to the US 54 split and towards I-70, so I missed what looked on the map to be a nice 100 miles of two-lane and instead mixed it up with the trucks on I-70. (Must learn how to use Waypoints on my Garmin.) I did manage to find the St. Louis Art Museum and parked in their underground garage for a very reasonable $5. The free parking lots outside were full and I didn’t want to wait for someone to leave and it was also about 95 degrees and I didn’t want to spend 15 minutes in the sun locking my gear to the bike, if I did get a parking space. I was still about a half hour early but showed my e-ticket and went in without a problem.
The show was small but comprehensive with a dozen or so cars, mannequins showing French fashion of the era, and paintings and sculptures from the era. The explanatory placards were informative but there seemed to be gaps - not much mention was made of the Art Deco movement that was in bloom at the time and that the automobiles were part of that design aesthetic, unless I missed it. I kind of rushed through and took pictures, since I’d seen most of the cars on display at other museums.
Above is a Citroen from the 1920s - obviously a non-stock paint job. The Citroen was a somewhat affordable car at the time, unlike the Alfa-Romeo below (Italian car - must have snuck that in).
Below is an elegant 1925 Hispano-Suiza, which is a French car despite the name.
A Bugatti Type 35. Introduced in 1924 it was one of the most successful race cars ever.
Below is a mid-1930s Delage 135M, which was produced in very small numbers. Josephine Baker, the famous dancer originally from St. Louis, found great success in France and owned at least two Delage automobiles.
Below is a poster for the Voisin automobile, which was made by Avions Voisin, a successful airplane company whose products served with distinction in the First World War, also known at The Great War ad the War to End Wars.
Gabriel Voisin was eccentric and used many aircraft materials and design cues in his cars, which had sleeve-valve engines. This is the Aerodyne model and only six were made. The company ended production of automobiles in 1939.
This Delahaye in front of a large poster for the V8 powered 1932 Ford, has bodywork by Figoni et Falaschi. In 1938 the interior was renovated in red leather by Hermes.
The Talbot-Lago below also has coach work by Figoni.
This Bugatti Royale (Type 41) is one of only six made. Others I’ve seen have a closed cabin and four doors. The proportions are so good that you don’t realize how huge it is until you are standing next to it. It is over 21 feet long and the engine is a straight eight derived from an aircraft engine with a capacity of 12.7 liters. For comparison American V8 engines of the muscle car era (1965-1970) typically had engines of 6 to 7 liters.
Below is The Blue Mandolin (1930) by the cubist painter Georges Braque, who was famously a devotee of Alfa Romeo cars and supposedly designed the coachwork for his own Grand Sport. One of his friends, the painter Rene Bazaine, said: “Like everyone else, I would refuse only, politely, to join him in his little sports car, which he drove, at seventy years of age, like a madman.”
One last look at that beautiful Alfa.
I managed to limit myself to an hour maybe an hour and a half at the museum. I’d hoped to get a picture of the exterior of the building, which looks very impressive when you enter to drive to the parking lots, but walking outside I couldn’t easily get far enough away, so I just returned to the garage, unlocked everything (small padlocks on the tail and tank bags, long cables with locks for the jacket and helmet) and followed the GPS out of town.
I exited I-70 at O’Fallon and state highway 79, a scenic road that goes along (or not far from) the Mississippi River. There was a lot of traffic at first, but then it just went away and I had the road mostly to myself. I saw an eagle perched in a tree where the road went near the river - probably looking for dinner. In Clarksville I stopped to take a picture of a large “Clarksville” sign with the river in the background. I sent the picture to Clark, but he later said that there are dozens of Clarksvilles throughout the country and there’s even one just up the road from where he lives in Maryland.
It was a one-way street to get to the river, and my GPS directed me north on a small, gravel road for a half mile or so back to MO 79. I almost ran over a snake that was slithering across the road and, no, I didn’t stop to ask what kind it was. I continued on 79 through the prosperous looking town of Louisiana to Hannibal, birthplace of Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) and then followed the GPS west on MO 110/US 36 to Brookfield, where I spent the night at a Best Western. (450 miles - a long day considering I spent an hour and a half at the museum, but it was worth it)
(Friday, July 18 - riding day) I wasn’t meeting Clark in Des Moines only 180 miles away until two, so I left after 9. I spent a fruitless hour in the morning attempting to upload pictures (see the top of this post) without success. The breakfast was OK with eggs, sausage, and biscuits and gravy and back on the road I followed US 36 west for a few miles and then turned north on MO 5, which is a small black line on the map, which usually indicates a minor road, but turned out to be delightful - mostly in good shape, although the first 60 miles or so was patched and had no shoulder, but with little traffic, small towns, rolling farmland, woods, and creeks. Some of the towns are very small and have abandoned buildings, remnants perhaps of more prosperous times.
Along the way at a gas stop in Unionville, MO I met a couple of guys on bikes - Dave on a Can-Am Spyder, a three-wheeler, and Mike on a Gold Wing. They were from Ames, Iowa and were just out for a ride in the country. I asked them about Schoop Powersports (BMWs among other brands) in Bondourant, IA, where I was getting a rear tire on Saturday, and they said it was a good shop. MO 5 becomes IA 5 across the border, and it continued north until Albia where it crosses US 34 and angles northwest to Des Moines. In Knoxville it becomes a four-lane divided road and I followed the GPS to the Nut Pob Thai restaurant in Des Moines. I was 15 minutes early for our two o’clock lunch, but Clark had beaten me there and was sitting in his Audi in the parking lot. We went inside and without bothering to look at the menu ordered the Angry Catfish, which is a whole, breaded catfish with a bowl of spicy sauce on the side and a bowl of rice.
After lunch and a lot of catching up we split up - Clark to his hotel near the airport, and me 15 miles south to Indianola where I’m staying at a Quality Inn. We had agreed to meet at my QI at 5:15 and after I checked in and unloaded the bike I took a shower and attempted again, without success, to upload pictures. The clerk at the front desk had been apologetic that they were unable to honor my request for a first floor room, but the one they gave me on the second floor was right at the top of the stairs and was a suite, so it worked out just fine.
Clark picked me up at 5:15 and we got to the opera house a few minutes later. I did not have a ticket to the performance that evening (Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress, libretto by W. H. Auden) and had planned to check the box office for a turned in ticket and, if none was available, to hang around outside to see if anyone was selling a ticket. At the box office the young lady did not have any tickets for that evening, and I was about to purchase a standing seat (actually a stool in the back) when she suddenly said that a ticket had just popped up on her screen - someone was unable to attend. I quickly purchased it - only $25 since it had already been sold, but then since I was paying cash it was only $20. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, intending to have dinner and walk back to my motel after Clark went into the opera house, so I purchased a cookie to get me through the performance without getting cranky. We attended a lecture before the opera which lasted a half hour and was very informative. The company artistic director, Michael Egel, spoke for a few minutes before and made a pitch for donations - only 15% of their annual budget comes from ticket sales. He was followed by the company dramaturg, Joshua Borths, who spoke about the history of Rake's and what to look for in the opera. The performance itself was excellent, and the theater is a gem. It is a semi-circle and less than 500 seats (the San Francisco Opera house seats over 3000). The supertitles (the opera is in English, but supertitles are a big help) are on four black LED screens hanging where the proscenium would be in a traditional theater. Easy to read and not obtrusive. After the show we left quickly to avoid the rush and crush getting out of the parking lot and Clark dropped me off at the motel. (200 miles)
(Saturday, July 19. Not much riding today - just to Bondourant for a tire, then to Des Moines for lunch, then back to Indianola for the evening opera.)
It had rained overnight and the rain was supposed to continue until 9, so I was prepared for wet weather when I left the QI at 8:15, but aside from a sprinkle or two it was a dry ride the 30 miles to the bike shop where I found two other customers in line. When the shop opened at 9 we moved our bikes in and the guy at the service desk checked us in and said he call when the bikes were ready, probably no more than two hours. One of the people was from Ames and he was getting his Gold Wing ready for a trip to Wyoming to ride the Beartooth Highway - Nikki and I rode on that back in 2019 after riding through Yellowstone on our way to Denver. He and his friends were staying outside Yellowstone in Cooke City, where Nikki and I stayed, and I told him what a great little town it is. As promised, the bike was ready by 10:30 and I rode into Des Moines to meet Clark at the Hessen Haus, a German bierhaus right downtown. Unfortunately, right downtown was where there was a street fair going on and several streets were blocked off. The GPS kept directing me to closed streets, so I finally just parked and walked the few blocks to Hessen Haus where Clark was at the bar with a beer. I asked if they had non-alcoholic beer, and the young woman behind the bar said they had four German NA beers. I ordered something eat as well, remembering my "meal" at the opera house the previous evening. We would have stayed longer, but a large number of very loud people (probably the street fair was closing down) came in the bar and it became impossible to hear, so we left agreeing to meet at my motel at ten to five.
Back at the motel I showered - it was a hot day and I walked a lot in downtown Des Moines - and attempted again without success to upload pictures to my blog. Clark picked me up and we drove to downtown Indianola and the West Hill Brewing Company - Clark had never been there and wanted to check out their beer. I asked about NA beer and was given one I'd never heard of from Wisconsin and it was excellent. They didn't have any food options but the obliging bartender suggest a sandwich/coffee/soda fountain around the corner on the square so I got a sandwich there and ate back at the bar.
At the opera house we again listened to a lecture by Joshua Borths, this time about that evening's production of Janacek's The Cunning Little Vixen. It is a simple, bucolic story about a games keeper, a young vixen, a poacher, and various forest animals and a few frustrated humans. Janacek was 70 and in poor health when he wrote the opera, but in spite of that the work is very life-affirming. There are no big arias, just the music, recitative, and interludes of dance and the forest animals interacting. After the performance was over and the applause died down the director announced that there would be a short lecture about the lighting, followed by a Q&A session. I'd say that a fifth of the audience stayed and I thought that it was very interesting. The lighting director was a guy in his forties, but the two women who did the actual work looked to be in their twenties. The rear part of the stage had about a dozen 16 foot columns and there are a total of over 700 12" X 12" LED screens which display the exteriors of the games keeper's house and farmyard, a tavern, and the forest scenes. The forest scenes were the most interesting and featured butterflies, birds, a fox or two, and other animals, all of which gave the audience something to look at while the music was playing with no dialogue. Clark dropped me off at my motel and we said our goodbyes.
(Sunday, July 20) In the motel breakfast room I spoke with two older (my age) gentlemen at the next table who were in town for the operas. Both had seen the previous evening's performance of Vixen, and the one guy who did most of the talking was not a fan of either the opera itself or the production, especially the "light show" that I thought was so interesting. They were seeing Dutchman that afternoon and hoped that it would not feature such gimmickry. After breakfast at the motel I followed the GPS out of town and onto state route 92, which is about 20 miles south of and parallels I-80 towards Omaha, NE. It is a pleasant road with farmland and some hills and forests. The small towns every 15-20 miles provide a break, but in most of them the town business center is a short distance away from the road. As I neared Omaha I went south to US 34, which I attempted to follow into Nebraska, although my map, the road signs, and the GPS seemed to have a difference of opinion as to how that could be accomplished. Eventually, I was in the country again and all was well until I neared Lincoln, the state capital, where there was more jogging around before I was safely on US 34/US 6 heading west. Many years ago I stumbled across the Harold Warp Pioneer Village in Minden, NE about 15 miles south of Kearney, NE. Founded (in the 1950's?) by Harold Warp, a businessman who had made his fortune in Plastics in Chicago, it is a history in artifacts of the late pioneer era through the 1950s. The main building is air-conditioned and contains the primary, currated exhibits - cars, airplanes, everyday home items, etc. There are a half-dozen or so outlying buildings - a schoolhouse, train station, a building with hobbies, and three or four two story buildings crammed with cars, motorcycles, and farm equipment. These buildings (with the exception, I think, of the "hobbies" building) are not air-condidioned. One building has rooms with typical living rooms and kitchens from the 1930s to the 1950s. There used to be a merrygoround and an ice cream shop, but they have long been closed, as is the restaurant outside the main building. There is an abandoned motel near the highway and another motel behind, which looks to be functioning although there were no cars in the lot. I actually stayed there once with John P. and I think there were two other people at the motel - two women who were headed to the west coast. I peeked in the lobby and there were several people in the gift shop and a couple who were, presumably, buying tickets. I visited there another time with daughter, Vanya, and son, Andrew on our way back to California. They were not as enamored of the museum as I was and after about a half hour were ready to go.
(Monday, July 21) My room turned out to be a bit shabby but quite comfortable and spacious. I had set my alarm for early because Fresh Seven Coffee Shop in St. Francis closes at 11 on Mondays. After a quick coffee from the room coffee maker (not terrible) and a couple of cookies from my stash I was on the road before 8 for the 90 mile ride to St. Francis. McCook, at least along US 34, is an unlovely town but I could see a downtown area off the highway that looked more interesting. Perhaps next time I'm through there I will check it out. It was just about 70 when I left the motel, but gradually warmed to 80. At Benkelman I turned south on NE 61 which turned into KS 161 a few miles later. After 20 miles in Bird City I went west on US 36 and 15 miles later I was in St. Francis. I once stayed in the Dusty Farmer motel but it looks like it may have fallen on hard times, although the bar and motel still seem to be open.
The Fresh Seven Coffee Shop (so-called because they roast their coffee and sell it within 7 days so it is fresh) is on the west end of the four block downtown commercial street (Washington) of St. Francis. It features over a dozen kinds of coffee along with healthy and vegetarian eating options. The interior is decorated in industrial/steampunk style and I read later that a lot of the interior is from the trailer that they used as a shop before they bought the building.
They offerred usual breakfast fare, which I'm sure was quite good, but I went for a Midwest speciality made by a local woman - Bierocks. This is a yeast pastry shell with ground meat, cabbage, and onions - like the pasties you find in Michigan. It was quite good, especially with the mustard in the small, plastic dish.
It turns out that the owners, Kale (who is originally from St. Francis) and Heidi are selling Fresh Seven and also High Plains Moto next door, where Kale repairs motorcycles and makes custom parts for radio controlled cars. Heidi is in the process of publishing a book about healthy eating and just started a job with a company in Phoenix, AZ that focuses on same. Kale will move back to Phoenix (where he and Heidi met when he was working in information technology) and probably do IT consulting work. Fresh Seven is a great place and there were several other customers besides myself, but I'm not sure that the business is sustainable in a such a small (about 1300 people) town. The couple has a fascinating history; if you Google Kale Dankenbring and Heidi Plumb you will find a transcription of an oral history that they did for Now That's Rural from Kansas State University.
I rode the bike up the street a couple of blocks to the motorcycle museum. It had warmed up to the mid 80s so I was glad to go inside to the air conditioning. No one else was in the museum except the lady behind the counter, who was quite talkative - I think that I spent as much time talking with her as I did looking at the bikes. I'd been to the museum before, so I just did a quick look around for new additions and revisited bikes I'd seen before.
A BMW R90/6 like the one I used to have.
The back room houses the cream of the collection - the rare and valuable bikes.
A couple of 1960s BMWs - a single and a twin.
The four-cylinder Cleveland was a luxury ride in its time.
As was this Indian.
Harley-Davidson also made scooters back in the early 1960s after the scooter boom of the 50s was fading. This is a Harley Topper.
And of course every good motorcycle museum has a Flying Merkel, this being a road model and not one of the board track racers for which the company was famous.
After 20 miles on US 36 I crossed into Colorado and gained an hour and after another 75 miles came to the crossroads of CO 71 and the town of Last Chance. There are a couple of charred and abandoned houses near the intersection and a boarded up Dairy Queen, but otherwise I could see no sign of habitaion except for the Last Chance Community Church. I read on Wikipedia that the town has a population (2021) of 23 and that in 2012 most of the town burned in a wildfire caused by sparks from a passing car with a flat tire. I first heard of Last Chance when I was in the Willa Cather center in Red Cloud, Nebraska. The upstairs of the old opera house, which houses the Willa Cather center, had a special exhibit of photographs and text from the book, West of Last Chance, by writer Kent Haruf and photographer Peter Brown. (I purchased the book when I returned home.)
Back on the road it was a pleasant, warm day, but eastern Colorado, like western Kansas, is high plains bleak. About 20 miles from the intersection with I-70 I passed by the High Plains Raceway (cars and motorcycles) in Deer Trail, CO and soon stopped for gas in Byers, where I also had an iced tea and a celophane-wrapped sandwich from the cooler. I joined I-70 towards Denver and except for some heavy traffic west of the airport it was an uneventful ride to Golden where I followed the GPS to my daughter, Vanya's, house. Just before I turned onto her street I saw the building pictured below. Dave Uhl is an artist who specializes in nostalgic (some might say kitschy) scenes of cars, airplanes, and motorcycles from the 1930s to the 1950s. Almost all of his paintings also feature a beautiful young woman motorcycle rider, pilot, or driver. I immediately made a U-turn and parked and went inside, where the man who does the picture framing spent some time with me on a tour of the gallery and explained about Uhl's work; he runs a limited edition of 50-180 prints of his original work in a couple of different sizes and then hand tints and highlights each print. He said that Dave Uhl was currently at Sturgis with a trailer full of his prints (and originals?) which he would display at the Sturgis motorcyle rally in early August. I'd first seen his work at the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum a couple of years ago, and when I returned home I purchased his excellent book, Art of the Ride. (If you go back in my blog to the July, 2023 posts and click on Anamosa - Part 2 you will see several pictures of Dave Uhl paintings taken at the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum.) The framer (never got his name) said that Dave also displayed his work at the Daytona motorcycle rally and races in March, but that he was thinking about stepping back from, as he said, "hot chicks on bikes" and doing more landscapes and other scenes. His work sells well for good money but I guess after almost 25 years of doing mostly the same thing and artist might want to try something different.
After a half hour or so I left and turned onto Vanya's street and found her house - she's renting half of a ranch style duplex. She had taken her new puppy, Starbuck, to the vet for a puppy checkup and vaccinations, but had left the door open for me, so I unloaded the bike and soon Vanya was back. Vanya's longtime companion, Rocky, a lab-mix, passed away in the Spring just before she moved from a 5th floor apartment in Denver to the house in Golden. She's been fostering dogs for several months and finally adopted Starbuck at 6 weeks old. Puppies are by their nature a lot of work but Vanya is a good trainer. We talked, watched the pup run around the backyard, and Vanya made an excellent dinner for us.
Starbuck in a rare moment of inactivity.
After dinner just as it was turning dark we took a walk around her neighborhood. There is a cemetery across the street and down the road is a trailer park, which should actually be called a pre-fab house neighborhood - there's a community center with a pool and other amenities. There is also a nearby church where, Vanya told me, about once a month a bunch of motorcyclists gather. (280 miles)
(Tuesday, July 22) Vanya was working in the morning and I left a little after 8, riding back to US 36 and following the GPS west to I-70, which I stayed on the rest of the day. After 60 miles I stopped in Frisco and went a mile to the gentrified downtown and parked right in front of Bread and Salt, where I had an excellent breakfast and excellent coffee. Refreshed, I made my way back to I-70 and continued west. This is a very scenic road for an interstate, with several places over 9000 feet, curves, and steep descents. There was road work along the Eagle River in Glenwood Canyon, but no traffic backup and the road began a gradual decline and the scenery turned from mountainous to high mesa. I stopped in Fruita near the Utah border for a break at the Colorado Welcome Center and saw the sign below on the men's room door. Not very welcoming.
Back on I-70 I was now riding at the 80 mph limit and rode through impressive scenery of bluffs, rock formations, canyons, and passes - rugged country. At the exit for Salina at US 50 I gassed up again and a mile later I checked into the High Desert Inn, where I've stayed before. After unloading the bike and takng a shower I walked around a bit and had dinner at Mom's, where I've eaten many times before. The writer, Nelson Algren, related the three rules of life in his novel, A Walk On the Wild Side: "Never play cards with a man called Doc. Never eat at a place called Mom's. Never sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own." In spite of that Mom's is OK, which is good because I was having breakfast there the next morning. (450 miles)
(Wednesday, July 23) I was up early because it would be a long day, although I would gain an hour in Nevada. I had coffee at the coffee shop next to the motel, did some stretches and exercises in the motel room, and had a relatively light breakfast at Mom's. This is a familiar route that I've ridden many times over the years - 70 miles to Delta, UT where I topped off the gas tank and switched to hot day configuration on my jacket and pants and choice of gloves. 150 miles to Ely, where I got gas again, and 75 miles to Eureka, where I stopped for coffee and pastry. The first 90 miles to the Nevada border are flat and boring, although I was happy to see that the old (1940s ?) yellow pickup truck with the Buick grill was still sitting in a field outside Hinkley. There is a nice section of curves and a couple of passes before Ely - Nikki and were once returning to San Francisco from Denver in our 1996 Honda when I hit a coyote on that section. Between Ely and Eureka the road climbs and descends a couple of 6500-7500 foot passes with entertaining curves. In Eureka I stopped at the Eureka Depot, a coffee shop that opened a few years ago and is a very nice place.
I asked the guys at the table outside if they would mind if I took a picture of the building with them in it, and they said they didn't. Then we got to talking. Jeff, from Grass Valley, CA, and his friend Jim, from Waukesha, Wisconsin, had been on the road awhile and were headed to Jeff's house in Grass Valley. The dog is a sweet Ridgeback/Lab mix named Zelia and is from Puerto Rico.
After Eureka it is 70 miles to Austin, where I enjoyed the hills and curves leading up to the Austin Summit, and then more curves descending into Austin. Outside Austin there was a fair amount of traffic in the opposite direction, including two Nevada State Patrol cars. In Austin I noticed three more State Patrol cars parked on the road - training day? I got gas at Champ's and then it was a couple of small passes in the 110 miles to Fallon, where I checked into my Best Western at about 5 and where it was 95 degrees at the lower elevation. The desk clerk recommended Los Gallos (the roosters) Mexican restaurant a half mile away, and after a shower I walked there and stuffed myself with a taco salad, which was excellent. Aside from a few blocks of an old downtown off US 50 at the east end of town, Fallon appears to be one long strip mall along 50. (485 miles)
(Thursday, July 24) I was meeting an old friend in Roseville, CA at 1 PM, so I after breakfast at the motel I didn't leave until 9. The previous evening I discovered that I could upload pictures from my phone to my blog without problems, so I had done that after dinner.
It was a warm day, but about 10 degrees cooler than 12 days before so not unpleasant. About 10 miles from the California border in East Verdi I stopped for gas - last chance to use a gas nozzle without the obnoxious vapor recovery accordian mandated in California that makes it difficult to fill up a motorcycle. These nozzles are such good ideas that no other state requires them.
Traffic was light on I-80, and even the minor construction zone went by quickly and I soon descended into the Sacramento Valley. Since I was running early, I stopped at A&S Motorcycles in Roseville just to kill time and look around the shop. The place is very large and sells Triumph, Ducati, and Royal Enfield as well as BMW. They have a large accessory and clothing section that has what looks to be every product that Klim makes - I'm a fan of their clothing and was wearing Klim pants and a Klim jacket on this trip.
I followed the GPS to the assisted living facility a few miles away where John C. lives. I first met him at a party at his house when Carol worked for Visa and John worked there. Later I joined Visa and John, who is a few years older, and I became friends. He was an avid motorcyclist and camper until he developed Parkinson's and was forced to give up riding. For an hour or so we talked about long rides we had taken together and with others - to a BMW rally in Spokane, WA with my son, Andrew; to the Peace River area of northern Alberta, Canada; to Alaska; to a BMW rally in Salem, Oregon via Colorado and along the Columbia River; and on a motorcycle camping trip after a BMW rally in Quincy, CA along with my daughter, Vanya. He had a doctor's appointment that afternoon, so I left a little after two and followed the GPS back to I-80 and home. Aside from the perpetual jam-up west of Sacramento where the Interstate goes from four to three to two and finally one lane through a construction zone that has been ongoing for 20 years, it was a fast ride over the Richmond Bridge, south through Marin County, and over the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. It was the middle of the evening weekday rush, but I was home by 5:30 where Carol and Walter greeted me with enthusiasm.
(305 miles)
I've discovered over the years that the clearest memories of my travels have been of the people I met along the way. On this trip is was the waitress in Ness City, KS who, when I asked her if she knew if any of the gas stations in town had premium, called them to find the one that did. There were Kathi and Manuel in Lyons, KS, the guy at the motorcycle shop in Iowa who was heading to Montana and the Beartooth Pass, the woman in the motorcycle museum in St. Francis who talked about her life, most of which was spent right in St. Francis, and the two guys at the Eureka Depot coffee shop, and of course a few other motorcyclists I met along the way. I spent 13 days on the road and covered 4900 miles, saw a couple of old friends, my daughter, and attended two excellent opera productions. A good trip.
