A day of rest and repair

I started the trip on a Saturday, and took the following Wednesday off to play golf while the bike was being serviced in Austin. I have ridden every day since. Today, I didn't ride anywhere.

Todd drives a very large dump truck, and had to go to Pennsylvania early this morning to pick up several tons of red stone. I would have liked to ride in the truck with him, but insurance companies restrict visitors in cabs of working trucks. At Todd's urging I stayed at his house and took the day off.

It was very pleasant. I slept late. Walked down to the corner deli for a breakfast sandwich, a cup of coffee and the New York Times, and came back to sit in the shade of a tree to eat, drink and read the paper.

By the time I got up the humans in the house were gone. Todd to Pennsylvania and Sharon to her teaching. If ever I think it is difficult teaching law to undergraduates and law students, all I have to do is think of Sharon to put my job in perspective. Sharon teaches five classes each day of math and statistics to high school students.

Sharon and Todd have a dog and a cat. The dog, Tegan, has won ribbons in competitions, and has been trained to assist in animal therapy for folks in hospitals and nursing homes. Tegan is shown with Sharon engaging in one of Tegan's favorite activities, trying to bite water coming from the hose. The cat is considering acknowledging my presence.

Todd rides a Harley. That explains his comments about the machines in response to my snide remarks rgarding the brand. Todd and Sharon are shown sitting on the bike in their front yard. Obviously this is a posed photo because hardly anyone rides a motorcycle sidesaddle these days.

After I finished reading the Times I took a nap. You ask, what is new? You've told us about the naps you've taken beside stores, on rest area tables and under trees this whole trip. This one was different. I was on one of Ryan and Megan's bunk beds. As convenient as the other napping places have been on the trip, this was better.

After the nap I performed some minor maintenance on the bike. At a point on the trip around Montana or North Dakaota the bracket holding the left side fog light broke allowing the light to flop in the wind. I used by most reliable emergency maintenance product, duct tape, to hold the light in place. Today I determined that it could not be repaired, so it was removed and stuck in the tool kit for the rest of the ride.

To my great unease the right side driving light had functioned on its own schedule. Generally it wasn't working in those areas, like the coast road in California and the road to the Maine border, when I really needed it. Today I dismantled it, determined that the bulb was still sound, reassembled it, and tested it. The light works like it is supposed to in the driveway. It probably won't work Friday when I most need it.

If my memory serves, I took a second nap once Todd came in from Pennsylvania. I'm doing this post about 7:45 p.m. eastern daylight time. I think I can make it to bed time without another nap.

My goal is to get a 6:00 a.m. start Friday for home. Todd is going to ride with me as far as Port Jervis, New York, an old port shipping town inland on the Delaware River. He'll head back to Hyde Park from there and I continue south.

Yesterday I left a voicemail for Kim Irving at AeroAstroSens to say that I could choose a route home that would take me by the company's offices in Ashburn, Virginia if they had any interest in seeing the guy they had helped track around the country. Kim, a gracious public relations professional said, "of course, we'd like to see you."

So, I'm heading to AeroAstroSens tomorrow so they will have an opportunity to answer in person the question the company has carried on it webside the last several weeks. Where is Bender? (He's in our offices, and we wish he would go home.) Fortunately I did a load of laundry when I got to Todd and Sharon's house, so I can wear a clean trip shirt when I get to AeroAstroSens.

At some point when this trip is over I hope to be able to discuss in a candid fashion why one would do such a thing. Was it worth the time, the money, the pain? I think so, even when my left rotator cuff wakes me up in the night or my left hip hurts or my left hamstring needs stretching. The ring finger on my left hand has lost feeling because it has swelled making my wedding ring tight. Of course, my butt hurts and there are blisters on my throttle hand.

And, if I were think these were problems, all I would have to do is recall one young man, David Able, who graduated from the Journalism School earlier this month. David was a student at Dreher High School in Columbia with two of my children, Edward and Sumner. David had severe birth defects that kept his limbs from developing. Nothing kept David's mind or spirit from developing. David earned a degree in electronic journalism, and at commencement drove his motorised chair up the ramp to accept his diploma. David is an inspiration to everyone who has ever met him.

Or, I could think about the USC School of Nursing professor who is climbing Mt. Everest to achieve the Seven Summits. If he summits Everest, he will have climbed the highest mountain on each of the Earth's seven continents. You don't make those climbs without pain and risk.

In context, Four Corners is a piece of cake.

On the Alaska trip there was a time prior to my reaching Fairbanks on the way north that I wondered if I would have time to make it to Prudhoe Bay and back to Haines in time to catch the Alaska Ferry. The endpoint of the trip was in jeopardy. I was having serious doubts about my ability to pull it off. I was running out of time, and I hadn't even reached the most difficult part of the trip, the Dalton Highway.

There was no point on the Four Corners ride when the outcome seemed in doubt. My anxiety level had been raised several times by weather, road conditions and wildlife, but barring accident or bike failure, I was confident I would make each corner. I've wondered if the Prudhoe Bay trip would have been easier psychologically had I done Four Corners first. I think Four Corners was easier having done Prudhoe Bay first.

I'm looking forward to having the blue dot at the AeroAstroSens headquarters tomorrow. More importantly, I'm looking forward to meeting Pia Miranda and Kim Irving and all the others there who helped with the tracking. Without AeroAstroSens, there would be no easy answer to life's persistent question: Where is Bender?

Father and grandfather

I had a date Wednesday afternoon in Hyde Park, New York.

My granddaughter Megan had a softball game, and I wanted to see it. Her brother Ryan agreed to come to the game on the promise of food.

Ryan and Megan are the children of my older son, Todd, who has had such great fun with his lively comments to the blog. You might wonder why I put in photos that didn't show anyone's face. No, they are not in the witness protection program. The kids couldn't be persuaded to stand still long enough to pose, and who takes picgtures of their kids when their grandkids are around?

The ride to Hyde Park was perfect. For the first time since Los Angeles I didn't have to wear my electric jacket. In fact, I took out the fleece liner to my riding jacket and changed into my lightweight gloves. When I napped in the shade of a tree in a service plaza on the turnpike I was comfortable without any jacket at all. A vast improvement over the weather I faced on most of the trip.

As I left Rob and Karen Gips they mentioned that two people had recently been killed in the Portland area after colliding with moose. I didn't see any moose heading south and the moose warning signs were replaced by deer warning signs. On the Massachusetts Turnpike I passed an area where that had been a serious accident involving one now dead deer and several vehicles. I'm guessing that someone swerved after hitting the deer and that set off a chain reaction that in the grand style of a NASCAR race "collected" several cars. Something serious had happened because there was a wheel with tire in the middle of the road just before the gathering of vehicles on the right side of the highway. From the position of people standing by the road, one vehicle may have left the road gone into a deep ditch.

Most of the deer signs warn of deer over the next several miles. Going to Megan's softball game I noticed deer warning signs that were much narrower in their scope warning of deer in the next 1/4 mile. Was the deer someone's pet not allowed to roam too far from home?

The sky was blue, the wind and the traffic were light, and the GPS routed me along some back roads that had enough hills and curves to make the ride interesting. Riding from the Berkshires region of Massachusetts into New York's Hudson Valley the terrain features rolling hills and hardwood forests. The New York part of the journey goes through many small villages with names like Clinton's Corner and Crum Elbow. The roads are narrow and the woods thick, but every now and then you can catch a glimpse of mountains in the distance.

This part of the world has many stone walls left from an earlier time when the Europeans who displaced the natives here were Dutch. Hundreds of years later, the walls, usually about two to three feet high and built without masonry, are still standing. The Town of Hyde Park has a wall preservation program to make sure that this unique feature of the region doesn't disappear. Had the Scots come along after the Dutch they might have taken the stones to construct their houses. I'm told that the Scots in Scotland dismantled the Roman wall, Hadrian's wall, and used it to build houses. A similar fate befell sections of China's Great Wall although it wasn't the Scots to took the stones. It was an inside job.

The softball game was exciting with Megan's team holding off a last inning rally to win by two runs. Megan caught this game, and on other days pitches. The pitcher in today's game was very good, and with Megan I suspect the team has more pitching talent than other teams in the league. Going to a softball game with teams of pre-teen girls is to get a reminder that these games are played for fun. The girls play hard, but they have practiced cheers when on offense, and there is a great deal of giggling. And nobody yelled at the umpire.

Ryan has a baseball doubleheader this weekend, but I don't think I'll be able to stay to see it. I think this experiment in multimedia, transient journalism is about at the end. I have certainly gained a new perspective on blogger as journalist, and now the trick is to figure out how to work the problems I see into the courses I teach. Convergence has been a buzz word in journalism circles for more than 10 years now, and for the most part means the combining of traditional forms of journalism so that there is not necessarily a divide between print and electronic journalism. Of course the Internet is playing a significant role in convergence.

I worry that journalists diminish the value of their product when they allow blogs by volunteers to be treated on an equal footing with the stories reported, written and edited by trained professionals. The most readily identifiable shortcoming that I see in bloggers as reporters is the absence of editing. Editing to make the story more focused as well as to catch the grammatical and spelling errors that pop up in blogs, e.g., my blog. Along with those issues, there is the question of how media law, libel, invasion of privacy and similar concepts, will be adapted to the new forms of communications. That is what people like me who teach media law around the country are trying to figure out.

Coffee by the seaside

Even if the hour is late, if you have friends in a place, give them a call.

I navigated Moose Alley and got to Portland, Maine around 9:00 p.m. I found another classic road trip motel, the Admiral Inn, on U.S. 1 in South Portland. Once I got the stuff off the bike and into the room I called Rob Gips. I knew Rob had daughters, and wasn't surprised that the line was busy the first several times I called.

I persisted, and I'm glad I did. Rob invited me to come over to his house early Wednesday for coffee. The company and the house alone would have been worth the visit, but there was coffee and just out of the oven pop-overs.

Rob is a highly regarded attorney for Indian tribes, particularly in the area of tribal gaming rights. With a practice like that Rob is on the road a great deal, but I was lucky to catch him at home. Rob's wife Karen, on almost no notice and with few ingredients in the house baked the pop-overs. I'm not sure I had ever had them before, but they were tasty.

My impromptu visit came at the end of a hectic weekend with one daughter graduating from college and the other coming home for the summer. In addition there was a cousin in town. None of that bothered Karen or Rob, or if it did, they are superb actors.

We sat on the porch looking out over a rocky cliff at the Atlantic. The lobstermen in their small white boats were pulling their traps at the base of the cliff while out on the horizon oil tankers waited to unload their cargo. Since 9/11 the tankers remain off shore until their time to unload. No more waiting in port with a volitile and potentially dangerous cargo.

The house is set in Cape Elizabeth which is a planned community established in the late 1800s. The house, known as Overledge because it is built directly on a granite ledge, was designed by noted architect John Calvin Stevens. In its early years the house was a summer cottage, but it is now home year round for the Gips. Overledge was built in 1885, and has weathered many an Atlantic storm. Rob showed me a photo taken of a wave crashing against the cliff in front of a house 250 yards away. The spray from the wave was 75 feet high and towered over the house.

I put in the picture of Rob and me sitting in the purple chairs to offer proof that after almost 10,000 miles on the bike, I can still sit still. Aspirin.

Fortunately I had a GPS on the bike or I might never have found the house. For some reason Portland and Cape Elizabeth don't label all of their streets. The GPS would instruct turn on Cottage Lane in 200 feet. At the appointed spot I would turn having faith that the GPS knew that the unmarked street was Cottage Lane. It working getting from the motel to the house and from the house to the Interstate to head toward Hyde Park.

As pleasant as the visit was, I hit the road. I was glad I called and doubly glad that Rob and Karen were up for a drop-in early morning guest. I hope they call me if they come near Columbia.

Moose Alley and more

The most effective speed control device in Quebec, New Brunswick and Maine is the moose warning sign. I've shown just one example, but there were several variations on the theme.

And, in Madawaska, everyone who discussed my route south told me to watch out for moose.

I rode to Fort Kent, Maine because, as the sign says, it is the northern end of U.S. Highway 1. Mile 0, the southern end is in Key West. You can see a photo of me at that point in the Alaska trip blog.

From Fort Kent I took Maine Highway 11 south. The road wasn't identified as such, but to me it was "Moose Alley." The photo of the animal drinking from water in a roadside ditch shows the first and smallest moose I saw on the Alley. If you click on the photo you might get a better feel for the bulk of these animals. This small one was the size of a horse. In about 100 miles of Highway 11 I slowed for five moose, four of which were crossing the road in front of me.

The bike has antilock brakes, and can slow without skidding quite well. In fact, I practiced stopping from 60 miles per hour to make certain that I could do it if one of these "swamp mules" bolted out of the woods in my path.

Several folks in Madawaska mentioned that there had been some fatalities this year from car-moose encounters. I was not interested in there being a motorcycle-moose encounter.

At lunch I picked up a copy of the St. John Valley Times and read that the paper was protesting a closed meeting of a local governing body. Since I have the opportunity to fight those fights for South Carolina's newspapers and broadcasters, I stopped by the paper to applaud the effort to achieve open government. Don Levesque, the publisher/editor of the paper, explained that there is a constant effort to achieve open government. We have the same problem in South Carolina.

When I got to the intersection of Highway 11 and I-95 I stopped for a cup of coffee and a snack. I would have preferred to take a nap, but the black flies are so aggressive in Maine that I was worried there wouldn't have been enough of me left to fill out my riding suit had I been exposed to them for 15 minutes.

While drinking my coffee I had the good fortune to meet Merrill Stiles. Merrill is 64 years old, looks 54, and has been a logger for 50 years.

I grew up ojn the legends of the loggers of the north woods, and on this trip have passed through several timber regions where there have been statues of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox Babe.

Merrill explained that modern logging is a capital intensive business, and machines have replaced lumberjacks. Merrill said when he started logging the trees were cut by hand and the logs were dragged from the woods by horses.

Today a cutting machine can cut in one week what it used to take 10 men to cut. The 10 men would have been using $500 chainsaws, but the cutting machine costs $350,000. To recover the cost of the machine Merrill's employer, M. Daigle & Sons Logging, runs the cutting machine 24 hours a day five days a week. The machine grasps the trunk of the tree and holds it while a blade cuts it. The felled trees are then bunched by a machine and then the bunches of trees are hauled to the road by a grapple skidder.

I saw a grapple skidder at the gas station where I met Merrill. It had a bulldozer blade on the front and arms on the back that looked like very sturdy spider legs. Unlike a bulldozer the skidder had rubber tires about two feet wide and five feet high. The tires on the skidder I saw had chains to keep them from getting stuck in the muck.

Once the logs are hauled to the roadside another machine strips the limbs from the trees and cuts the trunk to the desired length. The cut timber is then loaded on a truck for transport to the sawmill or paper mill.

Merrill estimated that a contemporary logging company would have at least $1 million invested in equipment before the first tree is felled.

I asked about the lumberjack competitions that are shown on television, and Merrill explained that the chainsaw and axe competitions shown are just hobbies now. The skills extolled in the stories of the woods and celebrated in these competitions aren't need now.

More Madawaska

I know, you've already seen my picture in front of the Madawaska Post Office.

But, like a NASCAR driver, I have supporters to please. You might notice that I am wearing a different shirt than the official trip shirt worn in the earlier post. This shirt is from Chuy's, Ray and my favorite Tex-Mex joint in Austin, Texas. Ray gave me the shirt, and has extracted a pledge from Chuy's that if I send a photo of me wearing a shirt in an exotic location, Chuy's will post it in the restaurant along with the Elvis memorabilia and car parts. Oh, and the fish. The Madawaska Post Office probably doesn't qualify as exotic in a lot of schemes, but I figure it is about as far away from Austin as one can get and still be in the lower 48.

There is a trend here with the shirt. My friend Glenn Tucker and I climbed Mt. Ranier in Washington several (lots) years ago, and I took along a shirt from my favorite Columbia spot, Yesterday's, and had my photo taken on the summit with the shirt displayed on my ice axe. I am happy to say that the photo is displayed in Yesterday's in Five Points in Columbia. In my dotage I didn't think to go get one of the shirts to take on this trip.

I mentioned that Madawaska is planning a Four Corners park with a monument. The photo shows that the monument exists, but the fund raising is for the plaza to lead to the monument.

If you click on the photo of the monument you should be able to enlarge it enough to read the inscription. Madawaska was founded in the mid 1800s by the Acadians. The Acadians are the folks made famous in the epic poem Evangeline. I think the Acadians were French Hugenots, many of whom settled in South Carolina. My long time friend and law partner Cravens Ravenel is a Hugenot, so when next I see him I will quiz him on the Acadian-Hugenot connection. As I recall the story, the Acadians were on the lam from the Inquisition. Cravens will know because he remembers stuff like that. I remember stuff like the 1961 baseball season when Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle were battling to surpass Babe Ruth's single season home run record.

Travelling to Madewaska there was an interesting change in geology, topography and industry. As I reported earlier, eastern Quebec seemed to be the dairy capital of the province. Besides dairy, there were large cleared field, hay I'm guessing, and little timber. The landscape was flat and seemed to be a classic valley created by a mature river system.

Turning to the south, there was an industrial corridor along the highway, nestled among forested hillsides. The valley flood plain gave way to uplifted shale hills. If my recollection of geography is accurate, the area to the south of the current river valley was at one time a lake bed or river delta, the soil of which was compressed into shale over time. Then, some tectonic plate shift turned the shale on edge and created hills.

Stopping for gas on the way to Madawaska I met three members of one of New Brunswick's First Nations. In the states we call our original people Native Americans or Indians. In Canada, they are the First Nations in recognition of the sovereignty they enjoyed prior to the arrival of the Europeans. Natives in Canada are fighting the same battle for preservation of their land and their heritage as tribes are fighting in the states.

Edmundston, New Brunswick has a paper mill. I knew that before I saw the place because of the aroma. Madawaska also has a paper mill. The Madawaska mill produces coated paper for publications such as Time Magazine. I never did identify the source of the aroma of slightly burned toast.

As you can tell, one notices aromas on a motorcycle. Two of my favorites have been the coffee roasting at some point along I-10, and the honeysuckle in Quebec.

I liked Madawaska, and probably would have liked it even if it hadn't been the final corner. Now, it is on to home.

I talked with my sister this afternoon, and she wisely suggested that I stay focused on the ride. I am reminded that most fatalities on Everest are on the way down.

Northern hospitality

Southern hospitality has nothing on northern hospitality as practiced at Madawaska, Maine.

I rolled across the bridge from New Brunswick into the U.S. of A. about a quarter after nine Tuesday morning. By 9:30 I had my gas receipt, a phone number and was standing in front of the Madawaska post office posing for my official arrival photo.

As I was wrapping up my photo session Ed Bennett of Mesa, Arizona pulled up on his BMW long distance touring bike. Ed is a truck driver, a local driver, who has been riding for 50 years. Ed said he was doing the Four Corners ride because he wasn't getting any younger.

Madawaska was Ed's third corner and he was off to Key West to finish the quest. Ed had come east from Blaine, Washington through the U.S., and had encountered hail and thunderstorms as well as fog. We're both hoping for better weather headed down the coast.

But, back to hospitality. While Ed and I were chatting about our experiences on the road we were joined by Christina Therrien, the Madawaska town manager. Christina had a small stuffed bear outfitted in motorcycle riding gear for each of us as a welcome gift from the town.

Madawaska pays more attention to the Four Corners ride than do the other stops on the circuit. In fact, the town is planning a monument to the ride. To raise money for the monumbent the town is selling paving stones. Financial contributors will have stone of one color while financial contributors who have completed the ride will have pavers of a different color. I have a form to send back with my check.

Christina was joined by the town's police chief who stayed to chat briefly before going off on his morning rounds. I would have included his picture in the shots above, but I couldn't figure out how to clear enough memory in the camera to take the shot. (I have now learned how to delete photos after they have been stored on the memory card.) Several post office patrons asked if we were doing the Four Corners. They all said thanks for coming here.

The Executive Director of the Madawaska Chamber of Commerce, Barbara Deschaine, came by and invited Ed and me to stop in at the Chamber before leaving town. Barbara and her assistant Karen Lavoie are picture beneath a Chamber banner on a street lamp.

Barbara gave each of us a Certificate of Award to certify that we had been to Madawaska, "the most northeastern town of the Nation."

From the Chamber I walked to the Madawaska Public Library to take advantage of the wireless connection to file this report. The USC journalism and library schools were merged several years ago, and I think the common technological element making the merger feasible is the Internet. Librarians and journalists are in the information collection and dissemination business, and today that work is done by computer. All of my students at the USC Law School bring laptops to class. In theory they're taking notes, but I have some notion that on some days what is appearing on those screens has nothing to do with my lecture.

For the record it took 16 days to travel the 9,267 miles to get from Columbia around to Madawaska. I might have been able to do it faster, but it might have been riskier, and probably not as much fun.

I mentioned in an earlier blog that I might not be able to get back into the country. I didn't really have any belief that I couldn't get in, but I did have to park the bike and come into the station with my passport. I suppose the problem was that when I was asked by the agent at the crossing what my destination was for the night I replied, "As far as I can get before dark." Had I said Hyde Park, New York, I probably would have been waved through. Oh, well. I'm back in the country, and I think I should celebrate by going to McDonald's.

Appropriately enough the Four Corners monument model in Madawaska is standing beside the McDonald's. I say appropriately because I suspect that many folks on this ride eat a lot of fast food. The fellow rinning the gas station told me that the highest number of Four Corners riders passing through Madawaska was 300 in one year. He said, "Of course, not all of them finish it." I thought to myself, I did.

Now, it southbound and down. I'm heading for my son Todd's house in Hyde Park. If I get a chance, I'll try to call my friend Rob Gips as I go through Portland, Maine. Rob represents Indian tribes, and has provided sage counsel and advice to the Catawba Indian Nation.

I have some more photos to share, including a series on Indian finance in the high desert. And I have a picture of one of the moose warning signs I've been describing.

Almost to the border

My visit with David Wilkins followed by lunch kept me in Ottawa until noon. As I rode east toward Montreal and Quebec I was optimistic that I could get to Madawaska, Maine by dark. As has been the case with many of my efforts at predicting a schedule, I didn't make it.

Traffic through Montreal was at a near standstill, but aside from the delay the traverse was uneventful. I don't speak or read French, so it is an adventure to try to decipher the highway warning signs that are almost always exclusively in French. In Ontario the signs were bilingual.

The wind was as strong as it has been at any point of the trip and was roaring out of the north. I spent much of the day leaning left, but some of you may have noticed that I have a natural inclination in that direction.

The clouds were thick and gray, but because they were high, they didn't seem to be threatening rain. East of Quebec the gray clouds were being chased by some white fluffy clouds and blue sky. To the north shafts of sunlight made the St. Laurent Strait glisten while off to the south the sunlight alternated with the gloom to give the farming country a hackneyed landscape painting look. It is much more attractive in life than it is on canvas.

From the frequency with which I passed dairy farms, I would suspect that the eastern end of Quebec is the milk producer for the province. Even those farms I didn't see I could smell.

I mentioned in an earlier post that a warning sign for elk would slow me down. Dramatic and repeated warning signs for moose really apply the brakes. I didn't see any moose, but I didn't mind. My experience with moose during my Alaska trip lead me to believe that moose are large, surprisingly fast and not very bright. I have no interest in getting close to one while I'm riding.

At Riviere-su-Loup I turned south to head for the border. Guess what happened? It started to rain, the clouds got lower, and it got dark. On top of that, one of my driving lights has been working only when the mood strikes. The mood didn't strike after a late afternoon bathroom break even though it had worked all day.

Rolling south it got darker and the moose signs seemed to appear more frequently. I decided Madawaska could wait until morning. Besides, there needs to be light for the photos, right?

I bailed out, and found another classic road trip motel. I'm in Motel Claude in Deglis, Quebec. The room is clean, comfortable and connected. As a plus, there is a restaurant in a truck stop a short walk away. The desk clerk invited me to park my bike under the roof overhang outside my room. I took him up on the offer even though anything on the bike that can get wet is already wet.

Did I mention that I was close to the border? To my surprise, upon closer examination of my map, I learned that I won't be going from Quebec to Maine. There is a little swatch of New Brunswick between Quebec and Maine. I've never been to New Brunswick, so I'm looking forward to the opportunity. There isn't much English being spoken here in rural Quebec. I wonder how much French is being spoken in New Brunswick.

I think I can make a prediction on schedule. I will be in Madawaska Tuesday unless a moose gets me first.

A charming capital

Montreal, Quebec, Vancouver and Toronto probably come first to mind when one thinks of a visit to a Canadian city.

But, after roaming around the capital district Monday, I'd like to come back for a longer visit. The parliment building resembles the London original, and there is probably a great deal of North American history that we haven't been exposed to in the United States.

The market stalls in the Byway Market were colorful with fruits, vegetables, flowers and trinkets for sale. The tomato stand display features a replica of the Stanley Cup, the trophy given to the winner of the National Hockey League's playoffs. Ottawa is playing in its first finals in many years, and hasn't won the cup since before World War II. Hockey fever is high in Ottawa.

In addition to the capital area and the market, another attraction is an extended paved path along the Ottawa River, and it draws walkers, runner and skateboarders.

While I didn't spend much time in Ottawa, and my visit was limited geographically, I liked the scale of the place. It felt as if it had enough to see and do over a four or five day visit.

Best ambassador ever

A columnist in Monday's Ottawa newspaper ranked David Wilkins as the best U.S. ambassador to Canada ever.

One of David's characteristic that drew praise from the columnist was that he was a good listener, and he didn't act as if he had all of the answers to the problems facing the U.S. and Canada.

David has always managed to get along with people, even those with different political affiliations and outlooks than his. David was the first Republican House member to be elected chairman of a legislative committee since Reconstruction, and he did it when Democrats were in the majority. As Speaker David presided over the compromise that removed the confederate flag from the legislative chambers and from the dome of the Statehouse even though there were many members of his party who opposed the moves.

In addition to David's posting in Canada, South Carolina has had a number of ambassadors in recent years, John West to Saudi Arabia, Phil Lader to the the Court of St. James and Weston Adams to Malawi. The tenure of each has been characterized by an ability to be persuasive and effective without being overbearing.

When Phil Lader was ambassador to Great Britain he walked from one end of England to the other. David would have to serve several terms to be able to walk across Canada. This place is big.

David and I met outside the embassy Monday morning since it was a holiday and the embassy was closed. David invited me back for a tour of the place, and I'd like to take him up on the offer.

I had parked the bike a block or so away from the embassy so David and his Royal Canadian Mounted Police security staff walked down for a look. Since David is a politician and I'm a former lobbyist, we had our picture taken together.

While we were visiting at the bike one of David's sons, James came strolling down the street with his wife, Marnie Record. I persuaded them to pose with David and the bike. James works at Furman University in Greenville, S.C., and his focus is on making the campus more environmentally sustainable.

Our visit was short as David and his wife, Susan, had some errands to run, and in the afternoon they were taking some visiting relatives on a tour boat. On top of that, they were getting ready for a visit from the governor of California. Arnold's visit is creating quite a stir in the embassy and official Ottawa.

David and the security staff hopped in their official vehicle, a minivan, and I wandered off to look at the Byway market that has been a feature of the capital district since the 1800s. After a pub lunch of fish and chips, I headed out of town on the wind. Actually it was in a significant crosswind, but you get the idea.

A slow go in northern Ontario

I don't have photographs from Sunday, but you can easily recreate the scenery. Go to your closet, get some gray flannel and hold it about an arm's length from your nose. After looking at that gray view for a few minutes, go stand in your shower with it and turn on the cold water. That was the day.

My twin left me a voicemail to let me know that there were typos in the blog. He figured it was because I was tired. He was right.

I had a hard time getting under way Sunday. When I awoke it was foggy and raining. I probably should have gone back to bed, but I stayed up and went to The Bobber for breakfast. Since I was in Canada I had Canadian bacon with breakfast It was good, but bore little resemblence to that which McDonald's puts on its Egg McMuffin.

I was entertained at breakfast by a Canadian woman in a group sitting several tables away from mine handicapping the Democratic presidential race. According to her Hillary Clinton has already won. I wonder what Gov. Bill Richardson of New Mexico thinks about that.

The discussion turned to the president's lack of approval rating, and someone in the group related that some American co-workers had expressed unhappiness with some action of the administration. The handicapper exclaimed, "Well, they shouldn't complain, they voted for him." I resisted the urge to explain that actually fewer than half of us voted for the Mr. Bush.

My route called for me to go to Sudbury, but my misreading of a highway sign gave me an opportunity to see the town twice as I circled around looking for a way out. From the parts of town I saw, Sudbury is not a thriving city, at least as reflected in its downtown (or city centre as the signs say). Sudbury is famous in professional hockey circles for being the home of some very tough and talented players.

As I got closer to Ottawa I saw increasing signs of Stanley Cup fever. There were signs on many of the buildings saying, "Go Sens." The local team, the Senators, is the first Canadian team to be playing in the the Stanley Cup finals in several years. The opponent is from that hockey hot spot Anaheim, California where the team is named after a Disney movie, The Mighty Ducks.

My rain suit absorbed so much water that I was worried that I might exceed the recommended gross vehicle weight. I started riding at 10:00 a.m., and rode until I reached Ottawa about 8:30. Except for an hour starting at 4:30 it rained the entire ride. The road was in rough shape for most of the way, and with the rain and fog I was considering calling it quits about 50 miles west of Ottawa. Just as I started looking for a cheap motel the rain diminished and the road improved, so I rolled on to Ottawa. I can't tell you anything about the capital of Canada yet because the rain picked up greatly as I rode into the city. I took the first motel I found.

By my calculation I am about 400 miles away from Madawaska, Maine and the fourth corner. I'm going to make an effort to catch up with Ambassador Wilkins in the morning and then head for Maine by way of Montreal and Quebec.

A sea serpent, a wolf and pasties. Such sights.

What a day for sightseeing. As I left the Ashland library I saw a sea serpent. Later in the day I saw a wolf, some pasties and even a couple of very clean hogs.

First the sea serpent. I've exaggerated slightly. I only saw the front third of the serpent. The serpent is the creation of Dave Gemszler, an Ashland artist, for the children's section of the Ashland library. The serpent was hauled to the library in a horse trailer and Dave (the large fellow without a hat) had plenty of help getting the beast into the library.

The fellow in the hat with the pink bill standing next to the serpent is another Ashland artist, Darl Wittmer. Ashland has a thriving artist colony, and Darl has a show of his drawings, entitled "Usual Suspects" at the Black Hat Coffee Shop in Ashland.

It was graduation day for the high school in Ashland and I saw more than a few happy graduates in their regalia walking down the street with proud parents.

Leaving Ashland I continued east on highway 2 until I reached Ironwood just inside the Michigan line. There I picked up Michigan 28 to run across the U.P. of the state. The folks in the U.P. take pride in their remote location and their unique position in the world. They speak with a distinct accent as reflected in a popular bumper sticker promoting the region, "Say ya to da UPA."

Rolling through the Seny National Wildlife Refuge I was riding parallel to railroad tracks to the south. The tracks were about 25 yard from the roadway and elevated slightly. I was surprised to see a wolf standing on the tracks. If the wolf was surprised by me, it didn't show it as it remained on the tracks as I rode by.

During the day I had several good looks at Lake Superior. Its size is difficult to comprehend. I rode along the south shore of the lake from Superior, Wisc. to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. The ride took longer than six hours, and I was beside the lake the entire time.

I stopped for a nap at a Michigan rest area. We need some like this. A short walk takes you to a waterfall, and there is a stream running through the picnic portion of the area. The water was bronze in color leading me to believe it was water draining a swamp where there was a lot of decaying vegetation in the water.

While I was at the rest area I met Jerry and Judy Senske of Ishpeming, Michigan and their very clean hogs. As many black flies as there were in the air in the U.P., the Senskes must work hard at keeping their Harleys sparkling.

The Canadians let me in their country with a brief examination to establish that I was an American citizen. My mistake on the Alaska trip was to select a remote border crossing with a new customs agent being trained there. If George II and his evil empire learn I'm out of the country, I may have some difficulty getting back in as those folks seem to resent those who question their integrity, ability and intelligence. Always a brief examination as there doesn't seem to be anything to disclose in any of those categories.

Once in Canada I rode east until I reached Bruce Mines, Ontario. The mines were copper mines, but in the dark I saw nothing of the mines. I spent the night in the Bavarian Inn, a natural since I was on a motorcycle made in Bavaria.

The motel didn't have an Internet connection, but it was there when the rain started, and it had a good diner, The Bobber, next door.

Oh, about those pasties. In parts of the world other than the U.P. of Michigan the word is pronounced with a long a, and means those small devices pasted on by exotic dancers to cover those portions of their exposed flesh that would get them arrested unless covered. In the U.P. the a is a short a as in past. In the U.P. the word pasties is pronounced like past. In the U.P. pasties are pies with a meat and potato filling wrapped in a baked crust. The pies were a typical lunch for the European iron ore miners who worked in the area. So, the pasties I saw were pleasant, but not related to expressive, first amendment protected activity.

Into the Wisconsin woods

Rooking east on U.S. 2 from Superior I had some views of Lake Superior, but mostly what I saw was woods.

Into these woods there are trails for all terrain vehicles, snowmobiles and cross country skiing. Out of thes woods come deer. It is because of the deer that I had time to read all of these signs. I've hit enough deer on this trip.

Breakfast was at the Rustic Roost in Iron River, Wisconsin. I think it is the summer home of retired Green Bay Packer football players. I don't think I ever been in a place with more very large old guys walking around like their knees hurt.

The special breakfast was country fried steak, hash browns, two eggs and toast. I didn't have it. My next research will be to determine the location of the grits and sweet tea line. There are no grits up here, you betcha.

As I was robing up for the resumption of the ride Wayne and Ruth Crozier came up for a chat. The are Gold Wing riders so we shared tales of the road. As I was talking with the Croizers Clarence and Kathy Osmak came up. They were wearing Harley clothing and admitted to being Harley riders. Clarence said he had ridden his Harley to Alaska a couple years ago.

I saw quite a few Harleys being ridden in Alaska, and I've seen a fair number this trip. I was figuring that since Harley was started in Milwaukee it probably wouldn't be a good place to tell my Harley joke. Do you know how to tell a guy who rides a Harley? He has a trailer hitch on his car. (For those of you who have wandered into this site without having the motorcycle disease, the point of the joke is that Harley owners seem to spend a lot of time trailering their bikes to places rather than riding to places).

The Croziers and Osmaks directed me to the Ashland Library for access to the Internet. The library is in an old building in the historic downtown section of Ashland. Ashland is a port on Lake Superior. There must have been a great deal of rain in this area lately because the lake is very muddy. Big, too.

Looking out the window of the library I see a mural saluting Ashland residents who have served in the Armed Forces. One of the librarians said that the people in the mural are real people from Ashland. Since this is the Memorial Day weekend, I've included a portion of the mural as a salute to all veterans. I wish we would stop creating them.

When the going gets tough

When the going gets tough, the smart stop for coffee.

When I left New Salem, North Dakota it had warmed up to 49 degrees. Good news. No snow. Just rain. Lots of rain. And a headwind.

As I was having breakfast in New Salem I noticed that the waitress was wearing a sweatshirt honoring the "world's largest cow." Anne and I had stopped to see that cow in 1994. You might think it unusual that a cow could be around that long, but this one will be around for many more years. It is made of fiberglass. As far as I can tell, the cow's only purpose is to draw tourists to New Salem.

Riding east on I-94 in the heavy rain between Bismarck and Fargo I was passed by a rider on a cruiser. No rain gear. No helmet. I knew he had to be frozen. If he hadn't been frozen the raindrops hitting his face would have hurt.

When I stopped for gas a few miles later in Jamestown I noticed the bike that had passed me in the next row of pumps. After filling the tank I went inside the station for a cup of coffee. The rider who had passed me was inside thawing out.

Brady Kensred explained that he was riding to meet friends in Fargo and they were bringing his rain gear. At my age I might have opted to stay in and drink coffee until the rain passed, but Brady pressed on. He is from Duluth, Minnesota, but is living in Bismarck while studying physical therapy.

While Brady and I were talking about rain and rotator cuff injuries we were joined by Casey Freidig of Hensler, North Dakota. Casey was riding a Honda cruiser and was headed to Valley City,N.D. for the holiday weekend to see his girlfriend.

Casey had a road story that could be a product of South Carolina's governor Mark Sanford. Sandford wanted to display his unhappiness with his party's state budget so he brought piglets to the Statehouse. As almost anyone knows, piglets aren't generally housebroken. Sure enough, the piglets produced one of the two things that pigs are famous for, and it wasn't the other white meat. Casey described passing a livestock hauler in the rain. The hauler was full of pigs doing what pigs do, and the pig waste was washing out of the truck on to poor Casey. He was fortunate, he said, to have several more miles in the rain after the pigs for his rain gear to get pressure washed.

When the rain slacked,I layered up and headed back out on the road. The gas station where I stopped this trip made a more favorable impression than the place I had stopped on an earlier trip to Jamestown. During my Prudhoe Bay run I was attempting to ride 1500 miles in 36 hours. I had started in Atlanta, and Jamestown by way of Fargo was by my calculations 1500 miles. I hit the first Jamestown exit in search of a gas station so I could make a purchase and get a receipt. The section of town where I stopped did have a gas station, but not much else to recommend. My feelings about Jamestown improved with a warm, dry place to have a good cup of coffee.

Looking at my atlas I figured I would exit I-94 in West Fargo to get on U.S. 2. If there was a sign for that exit, I missed it. When the Minnesota welcome center appeared, I turned in to get some local knowledge. The man at the information counter explained that I had been lucky to miss the exit because I would still be stuck at a traffic light in Fargo.

Heading for the bike I was stopped by Rennie Calder of Winnepeg who wanted to know about the bike. Rennie is a long haul truck driver running a route from Winnepeg to Green Bay, Wisconsin to Chicago and back to Winnepeg. I was happy to answer questions about the bike and bike touring as Rennie kicked the tires and said he wanted to get on the road on a bike when he retired in a couple of years. Sounds to me like you can't get tired of rolling down the open road.

I was struck by how quickly the landscape had changed from the high plains of North Dakota to the wooded hills of Minnesota. What few trees I had seen in North Dakota were evergreen while those in Minnesota were hardwood.

Taking backroads was a pleasant change from the Interstate. It was helpful that the trees blocked some of the headwind I had been fighting all day. The wind must have been 30 miles an hour, and it cut my mileage from 40 m.p.g. to about 35 even though I had slowed.

When I crossed the Mississippi River for the first time on this trip at Baton Rouge it was for sure "The Big Muddy." When I crossed it near its headwaters in Minnesota it wasn't as wide as the Saluda River at Columbia.

The regular appearance of deer warning signs and a dead deer beside the road reminded me that it would be a good thing to find a place for the night. I knew Minnesota and Wisconsin had a reputation for more relaxed attitudes about recreational drug usage, but I was surprised to cross a bridge from Minnesota to Wisconson named after drug paraphanalia. I am confident that the Bong Bridge must be named for a person and not an item, but it was good for a chuckle.

I found a vintage motel near the shores of Lake Superior and called it a day. Since it was Friday night, I had a martini. If I'm going to include recipies for asparagus, I might as well include a recipie for a martini. Some people think you can make a martini from vodka or other liquor. No. A martini is made of gin and vermouth. If you don't add vermouth, you're just drinking gin and who is willing to admit that? Some people think that it is sufficient to wash the inside of the glass with vermouth and then pour the vermouth out before pouring the gin in. I disagree, but ratios are matters of personal choice. I favor four or five parts gin to one part vermouth. I like mine shaken, but stirred will do. A drop of bitters adds nuance. Olives are important, too. Anne likes hers stuffed with anchovies while I like mine stuffed with jalapanos. Anne likes olive juice poured into her martini to make a "dirty martini." Not my choice. My years of research indicate that martinis are good served up or on the rocks. Again, a matter of choice.

My friend and colleague Erik Collins has been known to mix martinis with such a zest that his guests might discover ancient wisdom: one martini, two martini, three martini, floor.

Rolling through the big empty

Waltraud Krause (left) and Ingrid Adler have been touring the United States on their vacations for 10 years in an attempt to get to all of the states. They're lacking only Alaska and West Virginia.

No big deal you say? Lots of people get to all of the states.

Ingrid lives near Stutgart and Waltraud lives near Frankfurt in Germany.

I met the two of them at a gas station in Medora, North Dakota. The station was closed, but the pumps operate around the clock. Unlike most pay at the pump facilities this one has a central pay station that requires you to enter your credit card, enter the number of the pump you want to use, and then go pump your gas. I was able to help because I had run into a similar machine in California and had struggled to figure it out.

Ingrid and Waltraud asked for a tip on where to go from North Dakota. They were interested in seeing western Nebraska, so I suggested they go to Alliance to see Carhenge. Carhenge is a replica of Stonehenge made from automobiles. Anne and I went to Carhenge more than 10 years ago while touring the country in our old VW bus. If you are ever in western Nebraska, go see Carhenge.

The fellow standing by his BMW R1150 GS Adventure (same bike as mine) is Paul Weiss, a retired software engineer from Portland. Paul was on an eight day ride around the west. When I told him my timetable he opined that I was nuts. He said it would be a great trip if I took eight months to do it. Oh well. Paul seems to have adjusted well to retirement. He keeps another motorcycle in Europe for use there, and he and his wife are taking a cruise to Alaska to celebrate his birthday.

I'm preparing this entry in my room in the Arrowhead Inn in New Salem, N.D. The day started in Deer Lodge, Montana with a temperature of 39 degrees and rain. Some snowflakes were mixed in, but nothing was sticking. The white landscape photo shows the mountains I had ridden through on the way east. As the road neared the summit the snow line was below the road. Fortunately nothing stuck to the road.

The dark clouds were between my position and Bismark. They were more threatening in appearance than in reality. Ultimately the clouds gave way to sunshine and blue sky. The ride would have been spectacular had it not been for a strong wind from the south. With a wind you have to lean the motorcycle into the wind to keep from being blown off course. The thrill comes when you are leaned into the wind and the wind stops.

Riding through the high plains of New Mexico, Arizona, Washington and North Dakota on a motorcycle you get a real appreciation the vastness of the country. Montana bills itself as "Big Sky Country," but they don't have a sole claim to the western sky. On the plains, with neither trees nor mountains to obscure the view, the sky goes on forever.

A motorcycle adds to the experience because there is no frame for the landscape or the sky. You are part of the scene rather than a spectator. In a car you might notice that the eroded landforms in North Dakota have layers of khaki and gray rock or soil with very little red. In contrast the landscape of New Mexico and Arizona includes many more reds. All the colors are a function of the activity going on at that place in any given period of geologic history.

One of the reasons I don't like riding at night is the possibility of a close encounter with a deer or some other animal. Today, while it was still daylight, I had just such an encounter. I came upon a deer standing beside the road. As I got off the trottle to begin slowing the deer ran directly in front of me. I dodged to the right. I clipped the deer with some part of the bike, but didn't fall. I'm guessing both the deer and I survived the encounter. I immediately began looking for a motel. Bismark can wait until tomorrow.

I mentioned the Garberville Motel as being a perfect road trip hotel. The Arrowhead fits the bill too, and has the added benefit of having a restaurant and lounge (bar) next door. The room is under $50.00 for the night, and the bike is parked at the door.

I'm going to give up trying to predict a schedule because something always happens. So, here is the plan for Friday. I will leave the Interstate at Fargo to take U.S. Highway 2 across Minnesota and Wisconsin to Michigan. We'll see what happens.

One of my sons, Edward, mentioned that he liked the George, Martha and Kermit, Washington report. It got me thinking as I rode across Montana. Do you suppose there is a Joe, Montana?

Highway Wi-fi part II

The wi-fi rest area near Sprague, Washington was a great place to stop. First there was the wi-fi I told you about earlier. And then there were some interesting people. And a long-haul trucker dog.

Hoss and Kelly drive for Stewart Transport hauling kit cars for Factory Five Racing. They were on their way to Iowa to have a new crane installed inside their trailer when they pulled into the wi-fi rest area.

If you stop in a highway rest area you see trucks. Over the years I seen lots of trucks in rest areas. I've never seen one with a ramp for a dog. Hoss and Kelly take their dog Phoenix with them when they travel and the dog leaves and enters the cab of the truck via a ramp.

Phoenix is a Newfoundland, or Newfie, but he isn't as massive as most of the breed are. I guess that's why Hoss and Kelly can fit Phoenix into the cab of the truck with them. Hoss warned me to be fast with the shutter wshen taking the dog's photo because he really bounds up the ramp. You can check out the photo yourself above. I won't tell you that I was aiming to take a photo of the dog's rear end, but that was the shot I got.

After Hoss, Kelly and Phoenix got back on the road I was packing my bike when I got into a conversation with Gary Stempin and his wife Therese who were parked next to me in the lot. Gary is retiring for a second time, this time from the department of public works and utilities in Port Angeles, Washington, and returning to his family home in Montana. Therese is a librarian who hopes to land a position in Montana in a school library.

From the rest area I continued east to Deer Lodge, Washington for the evening. I was planning to test my newly adjusted headlights, but about the time the sun went down I found myself in an area with deer warnings, so I called it quits for the night. The motel where I am staying is vintage. But, it has wi-fi. The restaurant next door closed at 10, but promises to be open in the morning for my complimentary breakfast.

The goal for tomorrow is to get to Minnesota if not closer to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan where I will head into Canada. The forecast for the morning is rain and snow. Snow? It's late May. I didn't get snowed on above the Arctic Circle. How can I get snowed on just days before the recreational start of summer in the lower 48?

A dream involving cherries, purple potatoes and an old gas station

For 20 years Troy Pritchett and his wife Tony supplied fruit stands with produce. Then their youngest child went off to college.

Troy wanted to bicycle to Alaska and Tony wanted to open a produce stand.

They compromised. That's why they were in George, Washington running a produce stand in a former gas station that had been abandoned for 15 years until they cleaned it up in the last month.

I met Troy and Tony when I pulled off I-90 looking for a place to take a nap. Rule number one of long distance riding: don't ride while sleepy. I rode up to a produce stand which advertised asparagus on a large banner. Troy came out of the building to see if I was a customer. We struck up a converstion involving my trip and his dream of cycling to Alaska.

Troy acknowledged that the produce stand was Tony's dream, but he was working with her to renovate the building. The produce and other items for sale are in the service bay which still has the pneumatic lift. The front of the building is being renovated by Troy to provide an apartment so they can move out of the camper.

George is located in Grant County Washington, and according to a sign beside the highway, more potatoes are grown in the county than in any other county in the country. I wonder what they think about that claim in Maine and Idaho.

Local produce includes cherries (the first of which will be available Friday), potatoes, onion and apples galore. The purple potatoes aren't grown locally, but Tony says they are great for making mashed potatoes or potato salad. Tony said the inside of the potato is purple.

As for the asparagus advertised on the banner, Tony says the local stuff is tender and tasty this year. I asked Tony for her favorite recipie for the stuff and she offered two. Her personal favorite is fried. For one pound of asparagus sliced into one inch pieces beat one egg, dip the asparagus in the egg, coat in flour and fry in oil in a skillet until crispy.

An alternative (for the health conscious) brush olive oil on the whole stalk grill or bake in the oven and flavor with kosher salt when done.

Troy and Tony are expecting big things with their stand. The Gorge Ampitheater located nearby has a 30 concert season over the summer including Willie Nelson on the 4th of July.

And, about that nap, Troy and Tony let me sack out on the newly installed carpet in their soon to be carpet.

If you're in George, Washington, stop at the old Murphy gas station and do some business with Troy and Tony.

Highway wi-fi

This is not your typical Interstate rest area.

First, there is the view. A lake, an endless sky, a gorge and seagulls hundreds of miles from any ocean. Second, its connected.

I couldn't resist pulling in when I saw the sign that this rest area was a "wi-fi hotspot." For a mere $6.25 per day I became connected to a wireless Internet web portal offered by Road Connect America. If you did a great deal of traveling in areas where the rest stops were hotspots you might want to purchase the monthly contract for $24.95. I'm planning on being out of eastern Washington this afternoon so I bought the 24-hour service.

My next post will tell the story of a dream in George, Washington involving cherries, onions, asparagus, purple potatoes and an old gas station.

Don't you appreciate the sense of humor of the folks who named their town George, Washington? I wonder if there is a Martha? Or a Kermit?

Plan. What plan?

One of my high school English teachers, Dr. Ian Naismith, a scot, tried valiently to teach an appreciation of Robert Burns in his native tongue. One of Burns' most famous lines concerns plans. In the original version the plans of mice and men "gang affak allay." We know it as the plan "goes oft astray." This photo is of a sculpture in the gardens surrounding the peace arch on the border between Canada and the United States in Blaine, Washington. The model for the sculpture was a man who believed he could plan a precise schedule for an epic coast to coast, border to border and back in a flash motorcycle trip.

My plan had been to be in Seattle on Sunday evening, May 20 for a run up to Blaine on Monday. As reported earlier, my excusion to the coast highway both scared and delayed me.

My next plan was to be in Seattle Monday evening for a run to Blaine on Tuesday to precede my turn to the east along Washington highway 20. I didn't get to Seattle Monday evening because I stopped in Portland to have dinner with my nephew Mike Bender. We hadn't visited in a few years, and it was nice to catch up with him. Mike is a pilot for a regional airline flying in the western states and Canada. We had a great time catching up on family, analyzing the failures of the administration with respect to airport security and theorizing that the Transportation Security Administration employees supplement their income by stealing from bags that can no longer be locked.

Mary and Ken had a large volume of souvenirs taken from their luggage when flying back to Seattle from a family reunion in Albuquerque two years ago. The theft could not possibly have been the responsibility of either airline they flew or the Transportation Security Administration they were told by representatives of each. If you believe that, you believe that personal security has been improved by hiring former Wal-Mart greeters to make you take your shoes off at the airport and keep the food vendors there in business.

Where was I? After dinner with Mike I tried to ride from Portland to Seattle, but nightfall and fatigue overcame me. I stopped for the night about 100 miles south of Seattle. After producing two blog entries I got to bed about 1:00 a.m. I was up at 5:00 and on the road after breakfast, about 6:30.

When I got to the home of Mary and Ken (Mary is my sister who identifies herself in her comments as "The Pretty One" and Ken is her husband) they suggested that rather than riding together to Blaine and then splitting up, we should ride to Blaine Tuesday and then back to their house. I could head east from their house on Wednesday morning. It didn't take much persuasion to amend the plan. Besides had I been in Seattle to ride to Blaine on Monday, it would have been a wet ride. As it was, Tuesday was chilly but otherwise a beautiful day.

As the photo shows, we made it to Blaine, got the requisite gas receipt, took a photo filled out my form and mailed it. At the gas station I had to go inside to get a receipt because the one from the pump failed to menition that the station was located in Blaine. Inside a man who I took to be the owener asked if I were participating in four corners. When I answered yes, he wanted to know which corners and where I was headed next. I was happy to answer that Blaine was third, and next I was going to Madawaska, Maine.

While in Blaine we visited the International Peace Garden and peace arch commerating 100 years of an open border between Canada and the United States. The start of the 100-year period was 1814 which coincides with the defeat of the British in the War of 1812.

The Canadian border had a much different feel than the Mexican border at San Ysidro. I saw only one member of the Border Patrol and he seemed to be guarding the parking lot of the peace garden. There were cameras mounted on poles providing an eye on the folks going about their business in the park. I didn't see any paddy wagons or traffic checkpoints. The only folks being questioned were those who trying to leave or trying to enter the country.

The peace arch and garden were beautiful. The vegetation was accompanied by sculptures. You've seen my favorite. The salmon carved in the redwood stump were subtle. At first you didn't see the fish. The sea horse was made out of horse shoes and other pieces of metal including fan blades and a truck wheel.

After our visit in the peace garden we headed back to Seattle on a back road that ran parallel to the border. No fence. No guard tower. No patrols. Just a small ditch and some cameras mounted on tall poles. It made an interesting contrast to our border with Mexico.

One final change of plan. I was going to ride east on U.S. highway 2, but I have learned that much of it is either in disrepair or under repair. My best option appears to be I-90. I had been complaining to Ken that I never could get the lights on the bike aimed so that they were useful on the highway after dark. Ken figured out where the adjustment screws were, and now I might be able to see on the road at night. I don't want to ride much at night, but my experience should be better than the last outing down on the coast road.

I warned Ambassador David Wilkins that I'm on the way to see him. If I have trouble getting into Canada I'm going to blame him.

Coasting

This trip started with the Atlantic on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. If it was going to be truly coast to coast, I had to get to the Pacific.

I was ready to get off I-5. I was planning to wait for an exit, but an inattentive jerk (substitue some of my traditional, technical legal language) driving a black pickup with decals saying, "Full Speed Ahead" chased me into the median when he changed lanes without bothering to look in his fancy, chrome-plated side mirror. Thanks to the Motorcycle Safety Foundation rider course I took at Midlands TEC several years ago, I was prepared to deal with driver stupidity.

Trading the frenzy of I-5 for California highway 20 I headed west into the Clearlake region. California's most famous mountain lake is Tahoe on the Nevada border, but Clearlake had a Lake Lure feel to it. No flash, just lots of lake and vacations homes that looked as if they were owned by real people.

From I-5 in the northern part of California there is no fast way to get to the coast. That is probably why the coast is largely undeveloped and uncrowded.
Unlike the South Carolina coast the Mendocino Coast has seaside cliffs and Redwoods. It also has very little beach. The water is cold too, but the scenery is spectacular.

I got to the coast at Fort Bragg and rode north on highway 1. Each time I thought I had seen the most spectacular ocean view ever, the next corner revealed an even more glorious view.

The Coast Highway would be a spectacular drive in the daylight. Unfortunately it got dark before I got to a place for the night. The combination of tight, twisting road, dark and the presence of elk slowed my progress to 10 m.p.h. at some points. On many turns I had to downshift to first gear to negotiate the turn. One of the problems with tight turns on a motorcycle at night is that the lights don't turn around the corner, and to turn a bike you lean into the turn and look where you want the bike to go. That means that the lights are shining off the road while you're trying to look into the turn.

I had seen the aftermath of a collision between a car and an elk earlier in the afternoon. The elk didn't survive, and the car was waiting to be towed. I wasn't interested in an elk encounter. Monday afternoon in Oregon I saw a dozen elk resting in a field. Within a half mile I saw six more elk grazing in someone's front yard. It must be tough to have a garden in this part of the country.

Did I mention that my slow traverse of the coast road was made even more nervewracking by the thought I might run out of gas? I was so taken by the scenery in the early stage of the trip that I neglected the fuel guage. On the latter stage of the trip I didn't see any gas stations. Then, the fuel warning light came on. Usually I have about 30 miles once the light comes on. Just short of the 30 mile mark I rolled into a station that has 24 hour pay at the pump.

I did finally walk on the beach. Take a look at the picture I took at a beach in Oregon. I put the bike in the photo so you'd know it wasn't a postcard.

Tuesday I will meet Mary and Ken, and we'll head off for Blaine, corner number three.