Where's Bender

Epilogue

2007-11-28T12:04:00.000-08:00

Many of you were introduced to my sister Mary, "the pretty one" in her comment postings, and her husband Ken as they joined me on the ride from their home in Redmond, Washington to Blaine and back to Redmond. A couple of months ago Ken and Mary were badly injured when their Harley high-sided on Washington state road 20. Both were hospitalized with significant injuries. Fortunately I am able to report that both are on the mend. Ken is back at work performing magic in metal with cars that have been banged, scraped and dented. Mary's recovery has been slower, but she has been able to resume her bookkeeping business from home. It was frustrating being on the other side of the country and unable to provide any assistance, but the kids all pitched in to help manage the home front.

Ken is a committed rider, and with his father is enclosing the carport so that they will have a place out of the weather to begin making repairs to the bike. I hope they soon will be,as my friend Gary Galloway says, "In the wind."

Mary and Ken help provide a framework for responding to the question asked in a recent comment about what sort of gear to wear. Ken and Mary were wearing helmets and leathers, without which I am confident this posting would have been about a much sadder subject. So, wear a helmet, full-face is better. I used to wear leathers, having worn them when I raced, but I think for touring you are much better off with a breathable, synthetic riding suit with protective padding. The advantage of wearing a waterproof riding suit beyond the protection is that you don't have to stop to put on rain gear when a storm threatens. Or worse, try to stop beside the highway to get into a rain suit as the storm arrives. You'll get wet and might get clipped by a car or truck whose driver's vision is obscured by the weather.

Mary and Ken were planning to ride from Washington to New Mexico next summer for a Bender family reunion in celebration of Mary's numerically significant (divisible by five) birthday. I hope that will happen. I Mary, Ken and I would rather ride a motorcycle across the country through rain, fog or heat than stand in line barefooted to go through airport screening. There are risks on the road, but the annoyance factor is much lower. Did I tell you that Mary and Ken had several hundred dollars worth of Harley shirts and gadgets stolen out of their suitcase when traveling from Austin to Seattle. The Transportation Security Administration said, "It couldn't have been our people." The airline said, "It couldn't have been our people." Right.

Home

2007-06-08T08:15:00.001-07:00

The question most frequently asked of me during and after the trip, "Did you go with anyone, or were you alone?"

With the exception of the times I rode with Mary and Ken from Seattle to Blaine and back and with Todd through the mountains west of the Hudson Valley, I didn't ride with anyone else on a motorcycle. I wasn't alone, though.

When I was getting ready to take my Alaska trip Jack Wiggers, one of my grandchildren, made a pet rock for me. We mounted the rock to the tachometer glass with hook and loop closure material (you and I call it Velcro, a trademarked brand). With the exception of the roughest sections of the Dalton Highway between Cold Foot and Prudhoe Bay, the pet rock rode on the tach. On those rough sections it rode in the tank bag.

On this trip the rock rode the entire distance on the tach. So, I wasn't alone because I always had my pet rock with me.

And even though my family and friends weren't along on the ride most of the time, I knew of their interest and attention. Todd and Mary worked harder on the blog than I did, and Ray monitored the AeroAstro tracking site closely when he wasn't on the golf course. Kim Irving of AeroAstro sent me a note yesterday to let me know that the tracking site had more than 2,000 hits from more than 200 discrete computers over the course of the ride. Ray could only account for two or three computers and no more than half the hits, so I had lots of eyes on my progress. Thank you. I knew you were with me.

The one person who was most involved with me on the trip was my wife Anne who is shown in our kitchen. Anne has ridden on a couple of cross country motorcycle trips, and met me for an Alaska Ferry cruise on the way back from Prudhoe Bay. We've talked about a trike conversion of a Gold Wing or a BMW cruiser to increase her comfort level on future rides. Anne says most of what she has seen on these trips has been the back of my helmet. I've suggested a sidecar to improve the view, but that idea doesn't have any traction.

My route didn't take me through Atlanta this trip so I don't have any new pictures of my stepdaughter Liz, her husband John Mark Wiggers and their two boys Jack (creator of the pet rock) and Elliott, who was born after the Alaska trip. All but Elliott are pictured in the Alaska blog.

I have included photos of the rest of the Columbia cast. My daughter Sumner is shown on the evening we celebrated a numerically significant birthday (divisible by five). Sumner is shown with her friend Adam Wamer, who, like Sumner, is in the final stages of his undergraduate studies at the University of South Carolina.

My younger son, Edward, is shown with his wife Tracy. Edward is in his first year of law practice with Nexsen Pruet LLC in Columbia assigned to the firm's health care team. Tracy is public relations director for the innovative and successful charity Souper Bowl of Caring. Souper Bowl organizes churches around the country to get youth groups involved on the Sunday the National Football League plays its Super Bowl. The youth groups raise money for charities in their communities. One distinguishing characteristic of Souper Bowl is that none of the money raised in the communities goes to support the national organization, but is put to use in the communities where it is raised for purposes chosen by local participants.

Tracy's parents, Gary and Dottie Bonds, are in the construction equipment rental business north of Atlanta, but still find time to get out and about on Gary's Harley. Gary has completed some Iron Butt adventures and ridden to Alaska.

Friends, colleagues and clients have all said they're glad I'm home. I appreciate their thoughts and expressions. I'm also glad to be back home.

I'm glad you were along for the ride. I'll think of another adventure down the road, and invite you to come along. That way I won't have to travel alone.

High finance in the high desert

2007-06-06T08:12:00.001-07:00

For generations natives living on reservations in New Mexico and Arizona have come to Richardson's Trading Post in Gallup, New Mexico to do business.

Much of the business is borrowing money. For collateral the natives pawn their jewelry, their saddles, their rugs, their baskets, their pottery and their rifles. When the pawn is not redeemed, it becomes "dead pawn," and the goods are sold.

I delayed posting a report on my visit to Richardson's because I purchased a necklace for Anne, and I wanted it to be a surprise. I asked for a Navajo hishi necklace only to learn that what I wanted was not hishi. What I was looking for was a necklace made from strands of thin silver. For years I have described such necklaces as hishi. But, it turns out I was wrong. Hishi refers to a beaded necklace. The necklace I was wanting is called liquid silver because the fine strands of silver appear to flow around the neck of the wearer.

Richardson's, on historic Route 66, has been in business since 1913. The few photos I have posted here cannot do justice to the thousands of magnificent rugs, baskets and pots on display. For a better feel of the place, go to www.richardsontrading.com. Most of what is for sale at Richardson's is not dead pawn. Mark King, a retired banker now working at Richardson's, who is shown explaining a "Storm" design rug told me that 95 percent of the jewelry pawn is redeemed and overall only two percent of the pawn becomes dead pawn.

For years I have collected Navajo rugs and pottery from the pueblos of New Mexico and Arizona. I was greatly tempted to detour from my westward journey to go to Crown Point on the Navajo Reservation for the monthly rug auction that was being held the evening of the day I was in Gallup.

The Navajo rug in my den at home came from a Crown Point auction several years ago. On the way to the auction Ray and I met one of our literary heroes, Tony Hillerman, in a Navajo co-op in Thoreau, New Mexico. Tony was waiting for us at Crown Point and gave us tips on how to deal with the prospect of bidding on hundreds of rugs from all parts of the vast Navajo nation.

Tony Hillerman's novels are set in the Navajo nation and have as their central characters two tribal police officers. Tony is not a native, in fact he is a transplanted Okie, but he captures the landscape and the people to give a rich texture to his suspense stories. If you haven't read a Tony Hillerman novel, you have missed a wonderful opportunity to be entertained and educated. I'd recommend "Thief of Time," but that is probably because I like its setting in Chaco Canyon and its connection to pottery.

There are several traditional designs for rugs. Some designs, such as "Two Grey Hills" and "Teec Nos Pos", are named for the trading posts in the areas where the rugs are made. The rugs are made from thread spun from the wool sheared from sheep on the reservation. In antique rugs the colors came from dyes made from plants, but some commercially prepared dyes may be in use now. The looms on which the rugs are woven by hand are made from logs and are most often outside the hogans in which the weavers live.

In the storm design rug being shown by Mark King each of the Dine's (the name the Navajo call themselves) four sacred mountains is depicted. Lightening is portrayed in the center of the rug to represent the storm. The border of almost all of the designs has a break where the spirit is able to leave the rug.

Mark King told me there were about 2500 saddles on pawn, and a small section of the storage room for saddles is shown in one of the photos above. And, in case you ever have a desire to purchase a buffalo hide, as the sign says, you can purchase one at Richardson's.

The temptation to stay at Richardson's or go to Crown Point was great. For the sake of my budget and my schedule, I shipped a small gift home, rode a short section of old 66, returned to I-40 and headed west.

Yes, it is rocket science

2007-06-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

"It's not rocket science" is a common expression to indicate that some activity is not difficult. Well, at AeroAstro, it is rocket science. And space science.

If you haven't taken a look at the history of AeroAstro when clicking over to check out the tracking map, I urge you to do so. You might find it interesting, especially if you, like me, haven't given much thought to private space activity.

At one point in its evolution AeroAstro built its own rocket engines, and the top picture in this series is a rocket engine that decorates the hallway in the AeroAstro offices. Models of satellites launched by AeroAstro are suspended from the ceiling joists. Pictures of rocket tests are on the wall. Even if you didn't know you were dealing with rocket science there, you could tell pretty quickly you were dealing with rockets.

I got to the AeroAstro offices in Ashburn, Virginia about mid-afternoon Friday. Todd had led me out of Hyde Park on some very interesting and scenic back roads. The kind of back roads people on motorcycles live to ride. I know that I'm heading back to Hyde Park on the bike some day so Todd can show me some more of those roads. I can remember when Todd was very young, pre-teen even, I talked about how it would be fun to take a cross country motorcycle trip with him. The response of several of my friends then was that I'd be too old to ride that far when he was old enough to go. They were wrong. I'm not too old, but it does take me longer to recover than it used to.

At AeroAstro the communications team members were sporting their trip t-shirts, and took a break from their activities to give me a tour of the place. There are no offices. Even the CEO, Dr. Rick Fleeter, occupies a space defined by the same low partitions that identify the work areas for the different teams. Outside each area is a white board so that ideas, phone numbers, names and other important information can be communicated to anyone walking by the board.

Aside from the restrooms, the only rooms in the place that were closed were the clean rooms where electronic devices are assembled. Kim told me that each of the workers in the clean rooms wore grounding devices. I asked if that were to prevent the workers from being zapped, but it is the other way around. The grounding devices keep the workers from zapping electronic circuits by conducting static electricity.

The communications team came out to the bike for a team picture. From left to right they are Pia Miranda (savior of two trips), Kim Irving (public relations director), Santiago Ferrer (the most patient customer service rep who tried to talk me through the restart of the original tracker by phone while I was in a rest area off I-10) and David Goldstein (General Manager). They have their hands on the tracker that is mounted on the bike. I appreciate the effort of the AeroAstro folks, and hope that you have enjoyed the tracking link. And, if you have a need for tracking, make your first call to AeroAstro.

Kim arranged for a local newspaper reporter to come interview the communications team and me about the effort. And, demonstrating once more that we inhabit a very small world, the reporter, Megan Kuhn of Leesburg Today is from Columbia. Her journalism teacher at Spring Valley High School was Chris McDonald who recently earned both a journalism masters degree and law degree from USC. Megan's father, Chuck Kuhn, is an adjunct professor in the USC Social Work School.

The final photo is of Santiago trying the bike on for size. The red bag behind him is the dry bag used for storing my cold weather riding gear. Fortunately, by the time I got to the Washington area I was able to return some of the cold weather gear to the bag.

Leaving AeroAstro I managed to get caught in Washington area Friday afternoon escape traffic. It took me two hours to go about 11 miles. Once I was on I-95 I was in bumper-to-bumper traffic almost all the way to Richmond. I figured that at the pace I was moving, I wasn't much faster than the armies that had moved through the area several times between 1861 and 1865. Starting with the exit sign for Gettysburg in Pennsylvania and continuing through Petersburg in Virgina, almost every exit led to the site of a Civil War battle.

When I left Hyde Park it had been my plan to make it home Friday. Darkness, procrastination and old age caught up with me in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. I called it quits for the night, lamenting that I had enhanced Todd and Sharon's liquor cabinet by leaving the gin and vermouth behind figuring I'd have my Friday night martini at home. The bar in the cheap motel where I stopped had karaoke which was enough to persuade me to skip the martini.

I rode home Saturday morning, arriving about noon. I had predicted that my arrival would cure the drought in the Southeast, and, thanks to a tropical depression that crossed Florida and moved up the coast, the rain and I arrived in South Carolina at the same time.

Even though I have made it home, I have a couple more posts if you will bear with me. The delay in getting this post up is due to inertia (a body at rest tends to remain at rest) and a malfunction in my wi-fi portal at home.

A day of rest and repair

2007-05-31T16:26:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-30T19:36:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-29T19:36:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-29T18:55:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-29T08:59:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-28T20:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-28T20:36:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-28T20:07:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-27T21:27:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-05-27T20:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-26T09:01:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-26T08:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-24T21:28:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-23T23:07:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-23T22:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-05-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-22T00:37:00.000-07:00

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.

The land of fruit and nuts

2007-05-21T23:24:00.000-07:00

Comedians referring to California as the land of fruit and nuts always gets a laugh, particularly when the reference is political, e.g., the Guvenator.

But, it is true. California is the land of fruit and nuts and veggies, beef, milk, seafood, and timber. Everything that can be grown, caught or harvested is produced in quantity in California.

Leaving the Los Angeles area I rode through the San Jaquin Valley where irrigation has transformed the natural brown grasslands of southern California into a garden of incredible scale. Water is the key, and the farmers and ranchers are engaged in a public relations campaign to build support for legislation protecting their access to water. All along I-5 farm wagons supported signs with the message, "Water feeds America." My USC PR colleagues can evaluate the effectiveness of the message, but from a practical, political perspective it seems clear that the farm coalition is trying to gain support from people who may not have ever given any thought to a link between water rights and food.

The scale of California agriculture is illustrated by the Tejon Ranch, California's oldest ranch. The ranch, started in 1843 with Mexican land grants, Tejon has 6,750 acres devoted ot orchards, vinyards and row and grain crops. The ranch is 426 square miles, about 40 per cent of the size of Rhode Island.

Orchards and vinyards stretch for miles. Cattle feed lots the size of Manhattan announce their presence pungently more than a mile downwind. A lot of burgers on the hoof.

When you consider that many of the crops are labor intensive, you can understand the political conflict in a state with a need for immigrant labor and an increasingly xenophobic electorate.

California has inspection stations at its borders and throughout the state to guard against the transfer of crop threatening pests. As an example, oranges from Florida can't be shipped to California, and home grown fruits and vegetables from other states can't be brought into the state even by the folks who grew them.

In contrast to the verdant irrigated farmland the unirrigated grasslands were tinder for wind whipped wildfires. Leaving Santa Clarita I rode to thick smoke caused by a grass fire that had drawn the attention of a couple dozen fire trucks and three or four times that many firefighters. The firefighters were setting backfires along the frontage road of the Interstate to deprive the fire of fuel to spread. At the rear of the burned area power and phone company workers were replacing felled lines and poles. In the northern part of the state fire crews were working to clear vegetation along the roadway to reduce the fire risk.

If you think California is Hollywood glitz, Los Angeles congestion or San Francisco sophistication, take a ride up the central valleys of the state, and you will learn that California agriculture feeds us all. And, if you like wine like my friends Holly and Andy Beeson, California is your wine cellar.

Two down, where to go?

2007-05-20T06:10:00.000-07:00

San Ysidro's identifiable landmark lacks to panache of Key West's southernmost point monument. Nothing says San Ysidro like the post office sign, so that's where the photo proof was gathered.

I arrived Saturday afternoon about 5:30 EDT, 3:30 local time. San Ysidro was bustling with traffic lined up in both directions to cross the U.S.-Mexico border. The man who took my photo said he lived in Mexico and commuted to San Ysidro daily on his motor scooter to work.

The Arco gas station where I got my official receipt to include in the document package for the Southern California Motorcycle Association had a line of cars waiting for the pumps. There isn't a gas shortage in San Ysidro, but shaving a few cents a gallon off the price draws customers.

With the current political focus on border security coupled with proximity to Mexico the Border Patrol was very much in evidence from Yuma to San Ysidro. In several places you could see observation posts used by the patrol as it surveyed the border. On I-8 through the mountains all vehicles were stopped at a checkpoint, and one vehicle in line ahead of me was directed to pull to the side of the road. The checkpoint resembled a standard DUI checkpoint with a couple of major differences. This checkpoint was on an Interstate highway and there was a portable observation post with a camera pointed at the line of traffic.

The observation post had an outhouse sized compartment attached to arms to elevate the compartment 15 to 20 feet above the trailer on which it was towed. There were windows on all four sides of the compartment and the glass was darkly tinted. There were at least five agents working the checkpoint. Their paddy wagon was parked beside the highway, and for some reason made me think of the kind of truck used by animal control officers rather than a vehicle for transportation of human cargo.

The patrol agents wear uniforms that are olive drab similar to the uniform worn by Forest Service employees, but without the Smokey Bear hats. The whole scene made me uneasy. No wonder foreign tourist traffic is diminished.

Where to next. I'm heading north to meet Mary and her husband Ken in Redmond, Washington so we can ride together to Blaine for corner three. Mary and Ken are expecting me Monday afternoon.

Some years ago Mary gave me a guidebook for the Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to Seattle. I think I might head over to the coast for a change of pace. I did get a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean riding north near Camp Pendleton Marine Base, but I'm game for trading rocketing along the Interstate for a leisurely trip through seaside villages.

The Coolest Thing

2007-05-19T21:42:00.001-07:00

The great Sonoran Desert stretches from the Mexican state of Sonora into parts of Arizona and New Mexico. The Arizona part lay directly in my path.

Desert is a geologic description based principally on the amount of precipitation that falls in a given period. Some deserts are cold. Some are hot.

The Sonoran Desert in the United States is hot.

Several years ago I rode across West Texas on my way to Roswell, N.M. When I stopped in the shade of Judge Roy Bean's office in Pecos, Texas, the temperature was 120 degrees. Riding through heat like that must be what a convection oven feels like to a baked chicken.

After giving some thought to how to keep cool in a hot environment I remembered that stock car race drivers wore personal air conditioning to keep them cool enough to race.

I thought a water cooled jacket would work on a bike so I went looking for one on the Internet. I found a couple of manufacturers of cool suits. I could have bought one of several had I been willing to part with several hundred dollars for the I jacket. I was confident I could build one cheaper than I could buy one.

The first hurdle to overcome was how to get power to a pump. I tried to convert an old telephone cell phone charger to power a sump pump, but I never could get the thing to work. Back to the Internet where I found a submersible sump pump that operates on D cell batteries.

Once the pump was delivered I had to convert a summer riding jacket to a cool jacket. Refrigerators transfer heat by circulating a cooling medium through tubing inside the refrigerator. The jacket could serve as the refrigerator, all I had to do was run the tubing.

I purchased about 20 feet of tubing for the project. I also purchased connectors and valves so the water flow could be controlled both at the pump and at the jacket. Were it that I had more patience, I would have opted to sew the tubing to the inside of the jacket. Lacking patience I secured the tubing to the jacket with nylon Zip ties. The ties have some sharp edges, and that may account for the strange scratches on my arms.

When I connected the tubing to the outlet hose on the pump, I was ready to test. The first test involved dunking the pump in a filled kitchen sink. With a little tweaking the connections were made watertight. I put the jacket on and dumped ice into the water. The cold water gave me a jolt as it started circulating through the jacket.

Since I couldn't ride around with a kitchen sink, I use a soft-sided, insulated cooler to carry the ice and water. To test the portability of the rig I walked around the house carrying the cooler. I felt like the astronauts on their way to the rocket carrying their personal airconditioning systems.

After devoting time and effort to the project I was a little disappointed that both south Florida and west Texas were too cool to break out the jacket. When I started for Phoenix Saturday morning I was wearing the jacket, but hadn't hooked it to the cooling system.

At Gila Bend, Arizona I was turning west and heading through the desert. I filled the cooler with ice and water and turned on the pump. I felt the cold water rushing around my torso. I was ready to take on the heat.

I was expecting temperatures above 100. If it made it that high it did so just barely. Residents in Yuma were probably thinking about putting on winter jackets because it was only 100. I was going to wear that cool jacket no matter what.

I got to wear it with the pump running all the way from Gila Bend to just past El Centro, California where the desert gives way suddenly to mountains. I bet I wore it all of two hours because it was cold in the mountains. So my development to use time is about 10 to one so far, and it doesn't look to get any warmer along the route any time soon. And I need to work on a watertight cooler because when I put the bike on the side stand the water runs out. Something else to think about while tooling down the road.

Sitting in the library in Winslow, Arizona

2007-05-19T05:15:00.000-07:00

Long before the Eagles sang about standing on the corner on Winslow, Arizona with seven women on their mind women were being used to attract men to Winslow. In the 1950s and 60s along highways all over the west (and maybe in other parts of the country) one could see a small wooden image of a cowgirl leaning against a post. Each sign said, "For Men, Winslow, Ariz. ______ miles."

I came to Winslow to look at the "Standing on the Corner" statue, and to try to find out what was behind the roadside signs of my youth. The mystery of the roadside signs was solved in the Chamber of Commerce where I learned that an enterprising owner of a men's clothing store put the signs up all over the country. They worked. People came to find out what the signs were about, and perhaps to buy clothes.

Two men at the Chamber recalled that the cowgirl in the sign was wearing only boots and a hat. My memory of the signs doesn't include a clothes or no clothes recollection. The source of the signs was confirmed by a couple of very helpful librarians at the Winslow Public Library. Alas, the librarians also confirmed that the business was gone.

I suppose I risk ruining my image of a biker road runner by mentioning the library, but my compulsion to post these entries keeps me on the lookout for Internet access. In Winslow there is a coffee shop, but it doesn't have wi-fi. The wi-fi connection is in the library. This morning I am posting from a truck stop next to Cordes Junction Motel-RV Park where I spent the night.

The motel was a perfect road trip motel. Park the bike at the door, sleep on clean sheets, shower with plenty of hot water and pay only $41 for the room. I did wonder if I had made a mistake when three Arizona Highway Patrol cruisers came rushing into the parking lot as I was unpacking the bike. They weren't looking for me, and, as far as I could tell, the person they were looking for wasn't there because they left after a half hour.

I did have a police officer come looking for me yesterday in Winslow. I'm glad he did.

My plan was to travel from Winslow to Phoenix on Arizona Highway 87 through an area known as the Mogollon Rim, an area of interesting geologic formations and a rich connection to the earliest inhabitants of North America. Rolling out of town the road was newly paved and empty. Perfect. There was a chill in the air and the thunderstorm clouds were far enough away that they didn't pose a threat.

I was zipping along when I saw something that slowed me down more effectively than police radar. There was a sign that warned of elk for the next 50 miles. I worry about a deer darting in front of the bike. I'm not willing to think of the consequences of smacking an elk at highway speed.

Not far from town I passed Winslow's new industry which has replaced the railroad and supplements tourist income, the new state prison.

About 35 miles down highway 87 a series of signs announced that the road was under repair and that the pavement ended. The speed limit went from 65 to 25, and, indeed, the pavement ended. No problem. I had ridden this bike on the Dalton Highway in Alaska, 400 miles of dirt and gravel in each direction from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay. What was there to worry about?

In a word: traction. I thought the haul road was the slickest surface I had been on outside of an ice rink when the dust suppression chemical and water were freshly applied. I have a new slick road hall of fame member. It had either rained or the dirt had been watered shortly before I arrived because the surface was rutted, slick mud. It would have been fun on an off-road bike. On a fully loaded adventure touring bike, there was more adventure than I was willing to take on then and there. I turned tail and high-tailed it back to Winslow.

I was sitting in a parking lot trying to figure out the best way to get to Yuma down in the southwest corner of Arizona. The options were to take I-40 west to I-17 at Flagstaff and head south through Phoenix or go to the California line before turning south. That's when officer George Gould came looking for me.

"Are you having a problem?" he asked.

George wasn't wearing a uniform, and he was riding a very sharp Suzuki V-strom, the Japanese version of the bike I was riding. But he had that self-assured manner of cops. When I explained what had happened down on 87 George said it was a good thing I turned around there because several miles down the road from the construction the road was closed because of a forest fire. I guess when you're busy fighting fires and closing roads there isn't time to put up a sign to tell folks not to use that road.

George is a long distance rider who has covered Arizona on his bike. His advice: go to Flag and turn left. When you get to Phoenix take the by-pass around to I-10 and then cut down to I-8. I took that advice, and that is how I ended up in Cordes Junction.

At the motel I ran into Doug Schmale of Lethbridge, Alberta. Doug and a friend wee taking advantage of a long weekend in Canada to ride to Nogales, Mexico for a taco. They were then turning around to ride home. That is a three flags ride. I'm tempted, but going to Mexico from southern California is an invitation for a very long delay at the border coming back. If you tell the border agent that you went to Mexico for 15 minutes just so you could go to Mexico you're probably inviting a body cavity search. I think four corners is enough for me. Doug has completed a couple of the Iron Butt Association time and distance rides, but hasn't received his certificate. He wonders if the organization really exists. I told him I solved the problem on the Alaska run by not turning in the paperwork.

There is a BMW rally somewhere around here this weekend as I have seen many of the brand's bikes on the road. Two BMW riders, Loren Sederquist and Lambert Williams of central California, were getting gas in Holbrook when I stopped for gas. They told me I could put away my electric jacket when I got to California. I'm going to put it on this morning because it is chilly here high above the Valley of the Sun.

I'm off for corner two.

Family

2007-05-18T15:15:00.001-07:00

My brother Jack was in my father's first set of children. He was the younger brother to our sister Alberta. Jack and Alberta's mother died when they were young, and our father married my mother. There were three of us in the second set, Mary, Ray and me.

Jack is retired from the Air Force. He hadn't started out to be a career military man, but joined the Army at age 19 in 1942. He ended up in the Army Air Corps and was shipped to Columbia in 1944 for training before being assigned to the CBI (China, Burma, India) Theatre where he was a gunner on a B-25.

While on a pass to Myrtle Beach from Columbia Jack met an attractive young woman named Sarah from Greensboro, North Carolina. They got married and after WWII Jack moved to Greensboro. Along came the Korean War, and Jack was called back to active duty. He served in Korea and Viet Nam. Along the way Jack and Sally (our father insisted that she be called that because there was another Sarah in the family) had two children, Patricia and Mike. Pat and Mike grew up military brats and lived in England, Alaska, Michigan, Ohio, New Mexico and South Carolina. There were probably other places that I don't recall.

Pat is the office manager and accountant for a group of physicians in Albuquerque and Mike flys for an airline on the west coast. I still think of them as kids, but Pat is talking about retiring as she is only three years younger than me.

If Jack and Sally mind me popping in on them on my cross-country motorcycle trips they don't let on. I think this is the third or fourth trip across the country where I have managed to go through Albuquerque.

I wanted some photos of the two of them, so I took pictures that represent typical family activity. Sally, being of southern stock, was featured making hand-rolled biscuits, and Jack, being a Bender man, was featured in his recliner. He said it wasn't a typical picture because he was awake.

I've always thought it was interesting having a brother who was old enough to be my father and a father old enough to have been my great grandfather. I don't know how the concept of "half-brother" was conceived, no doubt it is a legal issue having to do with the descent and distribution of estates, but from my perspective there was never anything half about Jack. He also married very well.

Energy: fossil and future

2007-05-18T14:37:00.000-07:00

West Texas is part of the "Oil Patch" where a good bit of American domestic production of crude comes out of the ground. (I know you have heard things about Texans, but I'm talking about crude oil here.) As I was taking back roads from Austin to Albuquerque I came upon an amazing site demonstrating how energy production is changing technology, but not necessarily geographic location.

As I was riding through one of the many rainstorms of the day heading northwest toward Lubbock I saw off to the southwest of the highway a mesa, a flat-topped geologic formation left when the land around it was washed or blown away, studded with a forest of windmills. These aren't the windmills of western movie fame, wooden towers topped with a multi-bladed fan, but steel towers topped with three bladed propellers. The mesas were probably 300 feet higher than the surrounding area, and the towers were another 100 feet high. The mesa stretched for 10 miles along the highway with rows of windmills every 200 or so yards. I don't know how far the rows extended to the south, but that wind farm was impressive.

The title for this entry was provoked by the sight of oil pump jacks operating at the base of the mesa. Had it not been raining I would have stopped to get a photo of the windmills as a backdrop for the pump jacks, but I didn't think I could get a shot that would have shown the windmills against the clouds and rain. At least that was what I told myself was the reason for not standing beside the road in the rain to take the photo.

As I was riding along thinking how to compose a piece about the juxtaposition of these two types of energy production it crossed my mind that some folks might not know what a pump jack was. With roots in Oklahoma and New Mexico, I think I have always known what an oilfield pump, a pump jack, looked like. They look like the perpetual motion woodpecker toys that used to be popular among children. You'd put the toy bird on the rim of a glass of water, tap the head of the bird to get it to lean into the glass, and the thing would bob up and down for hours. If I ever knew how it did that, I don't remember now.

I took several photos of a pump jack, but without anything to show scale, the picture could be of an object two feet or 200 feet high. To remedy the problem, I offer a photo of the pump jack with the bike in the foreground. The seat of the bike is about 33 inches high. How tall is the pump jack?

The sound of the pump working is a combination of creaks, groans and grinds. There is an alternating grinding of the metal gears working and the hollow groan and creak as if someone were saying something at the bottom of a barrel. I can imagine that on a dark night in the middle of the high plains someone stumbling on an oilfied without knowing what was there might assume it was a torture chamber.

It isn't hard to figure out the price of crude oil is up. All the pump jacks I saw, and I saw hundreds, were pumping, and a drill rig was being set up in the field near where I took the photo above. I also paid $3.49 per gallon for gasoline. My next bike might be a hybrid. Thankfully I'm getting 40 miles to the gallon.

When I left Columbia I had all of my cold weather gear stashed in a dry bag. A dry bag is used by kayakers and rafters to keep their gear dry, and I am happy to report that it does the same on a motorcycle. With the liner to my riding suit and my electric jacket in the bag the bag is almost three feet long even after it has been compressed and all of the air has been forced out. By the time I got to Albuquerque the bag look like a small lunch pail because I was wearing all of that gear.

East of Albuquerque lie the Sandia Mountains. From the east there is a gradual uplift to the land, but on the west side the mountain drops several thousand feet rapidly into the Rio Grande valley. As I was riding in on I-40, in the middle of May, the clouds above me looked like snow clouds. I had my electric grips on and my electric jacket on high. Since the waterproofing spray I put on the outer jacket doesn't seem to be working I was wondering if I could get electrocuted by 12 volt current running through a wet jacket. Apparently not as I got to Albuquerque.

Life is Uncertain. Eat dessert first.

2007-05-18T14:30:00.000-07:00

I mentioned the notion of eating dessert first in the context of the uncertainty of life in one of the early posts from this trip. Anne told me that a long-time friend, TV newsman Joe Loy, was killed when struck by a car while shooting footage for a news story for his Spartanburg television station. Joe had tragedy in his life, and it seems his life ended far too soon with a tragedy. Joe was a good person who will be missed by his many friends and colleagues. I'll eat dessert first with dinner this evening in his honor.

Twin golf, motorcycle maintenance and other Texas things

2007-05-16T19:52:00.000-07:00

Siblings often compete. Brothers compete. Twin brothers compete at everything. The Bender twins compete most vigorously at golf.

Wednesday was a rest day in Austin so the bike could get a new set of tires and a routine periodic maintenance. So Ray and I played golf with his friend Jim Furman (also a twin) and one of Jim's law partners, Robbie Alden.

Robbie is a good golfer. The rest of us are hackers. We played at the Lost Creek Country Club. The creek wasn't lost today. I found it several times, sometimes several times on the same hole. In fact, the creek was so much in evidence that the back nine was closed as access to a couple of holes under water from runoff from a heavy rain Wednesday morning. We played the front nine twice.

I won the first nine. Ray won the second nine. We tied for the 18. Perfect twin golf to set up the rematch.

While Ray and I were torturing ourselves and the course the bike was being serviced at Lone Star BMW. New oil, new spark plugs, new fuel filter, new tires. The two guys in blue uniforms standing behind the bike are Mike, the mechanic who did the work and Ralph, the service manager at Lone Star. I had scheduled the maintenance appointment a couple of weeks ago, and explained that I need the bike back by closing time Wednesday so I could get back on the road. The Lone Star crew got the job done, and I'm ready to roll to Albuquerque Thursday. Completing the maintenance Ray and I installed the new tracker so that the blue dot and I can move around the country together.

Ray's wife, Peg Neuhauser, is pictured along with the spectacular chocolate cake she baked form my arrival. Peg is an author of business books and a business consultant in addition to being an accomplished baker. Peg's best known title is "Tribal Warfare in Business Organizations." The chocolate cake ritual traces back to our youth when Ray and I would on many occasions eat chocolate cake in milk for breakfast. We still do when we get together for a visit.

One of our golfing partners, Jim Furman, is pictured with his wife Susan at dinner at Trudy's. I recommend the stuffed avocado. The margaritas weren't bad either.

The funky building pictured is one of Austin's best known dining spots, Chuy's. Chuy's is a shrine to Elvis, decorative fish, car parts on the wall, clever t-shirts and Tex-Mex. It also has a twin connection. One of the Bush twins was busted there for underage drinking. I try to eat there every time I'm in town.

Boudin? Bo Dan?

2007-05-15T19:54:00.000-07:00

"Yeah, you need to have that," said the guy in line behind me in the checkout line at a gas station off I-10 near Lafayette, Louisiana in response to my question about what a boudin was because a sign was offering three for $1.89.

A boudin, pronounced bo dan, is a Cajun dish consisting of dirty rice either fried (as in the photo) or in a sausage casing. The things seem to be a snack staple of Cajun country. Across the street from the gas station where I first encountered the delicacy there was a shack resembling a traditional South Carolina barbeque joint, and the sign on the building read "boudin to go." At the Roanoke One Stop in Roanoke, LA, where I parked my bike under a shed waiting out a thunderstorm, I was introduced to a boudin that resembled a link sausage. And, after eating a boudin in a link sausage format (I couldn't tell whether I was to eat the casing or not) I waited out the storm by taking a nap leaning against a stack of old car tires. Long distance motorcycling requires the ability to sleep for short periods of time in any circumstance.

The encased boudin reminded me of white sausages that are popular morning coffee break fare among blue collar workers in Munich. I think I like the fried ball better, but that may be on account of their resemblance to hush puppies.

Not knowing whether to eat the casing got me thinking about my friend and recently retired journalism professor Kent Sidel. Some years ago Kent, Erik Collins of the J-School, Bill Rogers of the S.C. Press Association and I went with then journalism dean Judy Turk to Hong Kong to conduct a series of discussions on the shape of the press after the territory reverted to the People's Republic of China. On our first day in Hong Kong Kent and I went to brunch at our hotel (the YMCA). We selected an item that looked to us to be stuffed grape leaves, a Greek traditional dish. We ate the things leaves and all even though in texture and taste the leaves reminded us of Kudzu. We found out later that most people didn't eat the leaves as they tended to cause indigestion.

Riding through Louisiana provided a contrast to the panhandle of Florida. There were still signs of Katrina devastation and recovery. Downed trees and billboards. FEMA trailer parks, closed businesses and camp grounds for contractors and their work crews in trailers and recreational vehicles. And, as good as I-10 was in Florida it was just as bad in Louisiana. Much of the highway was undergoing resurfacing and widening. At one point traffic in both westbound lanes came to a near standstill because two miles ahead the lanes had to merge to a single lane through a construction site. Rather than drive to the merge point and alternate lanes sending a car forward traffic stopped while people tried to merge two miles early.

I sat in the stalled traffic until my engine began to get hot, a problem with an air-cooled motorcycle standing still, and then decided that the prudent thing was to ride to the front of the line so I could keep moving. I tried not to be obnoxious about the move, and was careful to ride at a sedate pace so as not to incite someone waiting in line who happened to be armed and angry. Once I got within a half mile of the merge point the right lane was completely open because everyone was fighting for a position in line earlier. I got the bike moving, I wasn't any longer stuck in traffic, and I didn't get shot. Success on several fronts.

While in the traffic I did notice that a great many cars in Louisiana have cracked windshields. I'm guessing the damage is a consequence of a hurricane, but figured they hadn't been repaired because replacing a cracked but intact windshield has a much lower priority after a hurricane than it might have if your windshield were cracked because a rock fell from the truck ahead of you on the road.

I made it to Austin this afternoon, but not in time to get my bike to Lone Star BMW-Triumph for service. Thunderstorms west of Lafayette, LA and in Beaumont forced me off the road to wait out the storms, and traffic at the construction site in Louisiana and around the Houston beltway slowed my progress. I'll take the bike in the morning for routine service and new tires. I could probably ride as far as Seattle on the tires I have on the bike, but neither my sister Mary nor her husband Ken plays golf. Ray plays golf. So, the bike gets serviced Wednesday and Ray and I play golf.

Many of the people I meet on the trip want to talk about my motorcycle or motorcycles in general. Most ask what I am up to, and when I tell them, they say, "Gosh, I've always wanted to do something like that."

Well, life lesson number one: If you've always wanted to do it, and can figure out a way to do it, go do it. During the Vietnam war Ray was an airborne ranger, pathfinder, Green Beret and decorated helicopter pilot. He frequently says, "Life is uncertain, eat dessert first." Good advice.

While stopped for gas and a cold drink between Houston and Austin (on A.J. Foyt Boulevard, no less) I met Mark Hooper who owns Hydro Services. Mark's company uses high pressure water to clean sewers and drains. Mark has a son moving back to Texas from the west coast, so Mark is going to ride his 1300 c.c. (a big honker) Honda cruiser to California to help his son get moved. Mark will come back with the household furnishings and ship his bike back. To me it looks like Mark is making the most of a slice of opportunity affiliated with a helping hand for a child to do something he has been wanting to do. Have a good ride, Mark.

Driving in Florida

2007-05-15T02:48:00.000-07:00

I can write this piece from the relative safety of Mobile, Alabama. Once again I've lived through driving (or riding) in Florida.

Florida drivers are different.

The polyglot society there means that you have drivers from all over the world with different driving traditions, training and experience. Around Miami people like to tell of retirees who move from New York City, never having had a car or a driver's license, and whose drivers' education model is a New York City taxi driver. Their first purchase after the condo is a car.

The Latin drivers are thought to be saving their brakes by using their horns.

Then there are the tourists. Like me. Old, uncertain of how to get where I want to go, and trying to drive while reading a map or GPS and looking for road signs made for people with better eyesight.

And traffic. Always traffic. And road repair. In the cold country people say there are two seasons, "Winter and Road Repair." In Florida it is always Road Repair season. The tourism department arranged that so that the people who moved from the cold country would know it is always not winter in Florida.

After years of driving in Florida I have become convinced that many drivers there consider it a noble challenge to be the slowest driver in the left lane of the Interstate and the Turnpike. There are signs that read, "Slower traffic keep right," but in Florida the people in the left lane are certain that that sign applies to someone else. And, those signs are always posted on the right hand side of the road and the people driving slowly in the left hand lane never look to their right because they don't ever want to see the cars, trucks, motorcycles, bicycles and skateboards passing them on the right and waving a friendly, universally understood sign.

Yesterday in Florida I passed pickup pulling a trailer. It was in the left lane. The rig passed me when I decided to obey the speed limit in a construction zone near the Alabama line. When we crossed into Alabama where the slower traffic keep right signs are posted on both sides of the highway, he pulled into the right hand lane. Do you think Florida could cure its problem by posting that sign on the left hand side of the highway?

Monday's ride was both more interesting and more challenging because of a very large wild fire burning on both sides of the border between Florida and Georgia. The smoke from the fire reduced visibility so greatly in the Lake City area that the Florida Department of Transportation closed sections of I-75 and I-10. Naturally my route for the day was to take the Turnpike from West Palm north to I-75 and then take I-75 north to its intersection with I-10 where I would turn left.

A little work with my road atlas and my GPS let me plot a course along the bend in the Gulf Coast of Florida through Dunnellon to Gulf Hammock, Chiefland, Fanning Springs, Pineland, Perry, Hampton Springs and Eridu. One sign identified the area as "Florida's Highlands." It was certainly different from south Florida. There were some palm trees, but they were accompanied by pines. Judging by the aroma I'd say that cattle raising is high on the list of business activity in the region.

The winds that had been blowing the smoke south changed to blow from the east during the day so that when I got to Perry I put on a dust mask I had tossed in my tank bag knowing that where there's fire there's smoke. The smoke cleared as I headed toward Tallahassee.

The road repair worked on I-10. The road from Tallahassee to Mobile was the best on the trip so far. And if your vision of Florida is south Florida with its crowds, beaches and palm trees, you'd be surprised by the rolling hills and piney woods of the panhandle.

Just east of Pensacola, where the Navy trains its pilots, there was a fighter jet displayed beside the highway. Most static displays of old airplanes look about as exciting as the displays of old cannons, but this one was different. The plane was 40 feet off the ground and banked with one wing low as if it were in a hard turn. The support for the plane was a curved steel tube painted white to resemble the condensation trail a jet leaves when flying at altitude. The designer of the display had a strong sense of the drama of flight, and translated that drama into the structure.

My friend and J-school colleague Dick Moore is off flying around the country and blogging about it. He would appreciate the Pensacola jet display, and I'm sure you would appreciate his blog which can be reached through a link from the website of the School of Journalism and Mass Communications of the University of South Carolina at www.jour.sc.edu.

Really, it was a hoax

2007-05-15T02:10:00.000-07:00

You know, of course, that the TV footage of the moon landings was shot in a sound studio in Hollywood and the space walks were faked in swimming pools.

I thought I could fake my trip around the country by moving a blue dot on a map that you would see on your computer. Everybody knows you can believe anything you see on the Internet.

But the blue dot wouldn't buy it. The blue dot went on strike and said it wasn't moving until I did. That's why the blue dot has been stuck on Columbia since Saturday while I've be regaling you of stories of my travels to exotic places like Coconut Grove and Key West in Florida.

Actually, the trip is real and so is the problem with the tracking.

In "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" the tools were wrenches and screwdrivers. As the photo shows, maintenance on this trip involves a laptop. The blue dot wasn't moving because there was a driver problem with the sending unit. The tracker is the white box on top of the black tool box on the back of the bike, and in the photo it is hooked to my laptop with a special cable.

When Santiago Ferrer of AeroAstro described the problem he called it a "driver error," but he was being polite. I think he was too kind to say it was a "rider error," as in "motorcycle rider error." The tracker was sending signals after I was led through the start-up procedure as reported in the first entry on this blog. The tracker sent signals from the back of my truck during the test period before the trip.

Then, because I was concerned that the battery life might be shortened by my desire to have signals sent every hour rather than one or twice a day, I put the unit to sleep. It now seems that when I did that, or when I tried to wake it up for the trip I did something to the computer coding that couldn't be fixed in a rest area on I-10 West in the panhandle of Florida. We tried. Santiago hooked his computer to a tracker of the same model as mine and tried to replicate the computer screens I was seeing on my laptop. We probably could have fixed the problem had I had with me the CD with the programming data that came with the unit, but that CD is on my desk in the J-school. I remember holding it when I stopped by the office after commencement exercises and thinking, I won't be needing that. Hey, I brought the special cable didn't I?

Santiago was probably thinking, "Where did we find this guy?"

Once again Pia Miranda rides to the rescue. A new "hot", as in ready to send signals, tracker has been dispatched to my twin in Austin. I was planning to spend Wednesday in Austin while the bike received its 36,000 mile service, so the tracker, and its little blue dot, will have time to catch up with me.

The blue dot hasn't moved, but I have. I'll tell you about riding through Florida in the next post.

Late and early

2007-05-13T16:07:00.000-07:00

I had wanted to get on the road at 6:00 a.m. Saturday, but that didn't happen. I was running about an hour behind my planned departure when Anne snapped these photos. I was late, but it was still early.

People always ask me if I carry a weapon when I travel, and then when I say no they ask if I'm afraid. Looking at that mug shot with the shades and helmet, do you think there is anything that should scare me?

Not your typical wedding photo.

2007-05-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

This photo of Paula Ellis and Gary Galloway in their home in Coconut Grove features the first photo I took of them, shortly after I performed their wedding ceremony. The wedding photo includes their Harley, but I was never able to determine if the bike was best man or maid of honor.

One down, three to go

2007-05-13T08:48:00.000-07:00

Things are going better in Florida this trip. On the Corner to Corner trip I lost my wallet on the first day, was rained on repeatedly, was wearing my electric jacket in the Keys, and got 12 hours behind schedule the first day. Aside from a little fog this morning leaving Coconut Grove, the weather has been perfect.

Tomorrow may be a challenge as the wildfires in south Georgia and northern Florida have caused the closing of Interstates 75 and 10, my route to the west. Maybe it'll rain up there tonight and the fires will be extinguished so the roads can be opened. But, that is tomorrow.

Today, I'm in the capital of the Conch Republic. As the photo shows, I'm in one of the most famous tourist spots in town, the southernmost point in the U.S. There wasn't any trouble getting someone to take my picture. A family of four visiting from West Palm traded my labor for theirs. I had two photos taken, the digital photo above and a Polaroid to mail off to the Southern California Motorcycle Association. The envelope also contains a form with my name, today's date and the phone number of Denny's, and a receipt for a gasoline purchase showing that I really was in town. On the Alaska trip I got bored with the paperwork for the Iron Butt Association. This seems much more in keeping with a California mindset.

The ride down the Keys was low key and unhurried without much traffic. It has to be unhurried because the speed limit is low and vigorously enforced. My friend Jessica Norton Ratliff at Norton's Stereo equipped me with a radar detector which I mounted on the bike. I have mixed feelings about the device. On one hand it might save some points and money. But, on the other, it is institutionalizing unlawful behavior. On those times when the alarm sounded I was moving close enough to the speed limit that corrective action was unnecessary, but it was a reminder that the police are out there.

Now that I was successful downloading the photo from today, I will try again to put up the pictures from yesterday.

It didn't look like the tracker was working properly last night. My twin called to ask why I was still in Columbia under the blue dot on the map. I was really in Miami. I left a voicemail for Kim Irving at AeroAstro in hopes that the technical glitches can be overcome.

One final thought on technology. Wireless communication is easier than ever before. Last trip I tried to blog on my cell phone until it drowned in a storm in the Brooks Range. Today I'm pounding this out while sipping a Cafe Americano in the Crossroads Internet Cafe at the intersection of U.S. 1 and Duval St. Ah, progress.

Enough, I'm back on the road for West Palm Beach and a stay with Sharon and Allen Cushman.

On the road

2007-05-12T18:38:00.000-07:00

I am typing this entry on Gary Galloway's computer in the home he shares with his wife Paula Ellis in Coconut Grove, Florida. Coconut Grove is part of Miami, but has a funkier, Venice Beach feel to it when compared to the popular latin influenced image of Miami. As soon as I can figure out why I can't get a photo downloaded from my camera to the site, I'll show you the second photo I took of Paula and Gary. The first photo I took was years ago, shortly after I had performed their wedding beside their Harley outside the American Legion hut in Columbia. For those of you wondering how I was able to perform the ceremony, notaries public can perform marriages in South Carolina.

The weather and road condition forecast was bleak at 5:00 a.m. Saturday. Fog in South Carolina and Georgia and fog and smoke in Florida. Indeed there was fog leaving Columbia, but it lifted by the time I got to I-95 to head south. At my first gas stop of the day I met a trio of bicycle riders from Columbia who were heading to Key West to bike the length of the keys (about 100 miles). I promise that if I run into them Sunday I will get their names and maybe a photo to share. We started talking when one of the group commented that I had more stuff on the bike than they had in their mini-van. I must have been feeling testy because my reply was, "I'm probably going farther." I will attribute my snideness to lack of sleep. It was after midnight before I got my stuff packed and got to sleep. Anne was up even longer baking chocolate chip cookies for me -- a travel tradition going back almost 25 years.

I listened to Bo Diddley sing "I'm a Roadrunner," and began to wonder what it is that makes some of us roadrunners. I had thought of taking a long bicycle ride several times over the years, but I think I like the speed of motorcycle travel as much as I like the travel itself. I'll ask the next long distance bicyclist I see what motivates them to grind it out a speeds below 20 miles per hour.

There may be a statistical analysis of the accuracy of weather forecasts, but for once I was glad that the Weather Channel didn't have everything about the forecast right. The forecast rain was about four raindrops south of Daytona, and the smoke didn't become noticable until West Palm Beach. If there hadn't been an aroma of burning vegatation in the air, the haze could have been a typical July afternoon humidity haze.

Paula was managing editor of The State newspaper in Columbia, then publisher of The Sun News in Myrtle Beach before becoming a vice president with Knight-Ridder. In that last role Paula was involved in the sale of the K-R newspapers. A sale brought on because some of the shareholders thought they should be getting a better return on their investment. Paula has gone from running newspapers to giving away money in her role as a vice president of the Knight Foundation.

I asked Paula if she missed the newspaper business, and she replied that it was hard not to be in the daily business of deciding what is news, covering it and financing the coverage of it. While the deadline and fiscal pressures are gone, Paula is having to make adjustments. "Giving away money would be easy if you didn't expect anything to be accomplished by the people you give the money to, but if you expect results, it takes work," she said.

Gary and I swapped some motorcycle stories and some Civil War battlefield stories over a thoroughly south Florida dinner of black beans and rice and Cuban pig. Paula's mango crisp dessert topped off the meal and the evening.

Gary's back is troubling him so he may not be able to join me on the run out to Key West Sunday. If the forecast rain shows up I might accuse him of having a strategic ailment.

I will work on the photo problem tomorrow because there are a couple of other photos that need to be in the collection: my dawn departure and a Love Bug splattered windshield.

Here's the Plan

2007-05-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

It is almost 11:30 p.m. Friday. My dry bag is stuffed with cold weather gear and t-shirts for folks along the way. The tank bag is loaded with camera, note pads, baggies, gloves, mints and a flashlight. I need to add my phone and lots of aspirin.

The rules for the Southern California Motorcycle Association Four Corners Tour are simple. Start in any of the four corners of the lower 48 states. Have your photo taken with your bike at a recognizable landmark, get a gas receipt with a date and time stamp from the location, locate the phone number for one of several confirmation sites, write the number on a form provided by the organizers, and ship the receipt, the form and the photo to the SCMA in the self-addressed envelope provided. The postmark on the first envelope starts the clock. To qualify as a finisher, you have 21 days to repeat the exercise in the other three corners of the country. The postmark on the fourth letter establishes you completion date. The rules flyer suggests that if you are on the last day at the last stop it might be a good idea to get the stamp on that last envelope hand cancelled. Once you've hit the four corners, you're done (in several ways, I'm sure), and you don't have to go back to the first corner--just ride home.

My plan is to make Key West the starting point, but the choice isn't looking too sound with smoke from wildfires in south Georgia and northern Florida reducing visibility on the highway and a strange "subtropical" low pressure system hanging just off the east coast of Florida. Since it has rained on me almost every day I've been on the bike, and since two years ago I cured drought in several states and two Canadian provinces, I should be most welcome in the areas with fires.

So, here's the plan: Leave Columbia on May 12 for Miami. Spend the night with friends Paula Ellis and Gary Galloway. May 13 ride with Galloway to Key West, complete the paperwork and ride back to stay with in-laws Allen and Sharon Cushman in West Palm Beach. May 14 ride to I-10 and turn left hoping to make Louisiana. May 15 to Austin, Texas to stay with my twin brother Ray and his wife Peg Neuhauser. I'll drop the bike off at the dealer for service and new tires. While the dealer is working on the bike Ray and I will play some golf and eat Tex-Mex at Chuy's. May 17 I'll head to Albuquerque for an overnight visit with my brother Jack and his wife Sally. May 18 I'll head west on I-40, following the historical route of U.S. 66 through Gallup, New Mexico and Winslow, Arizona. At Winslow I plan to be listening to the Eagles' "Take it Easy." Hopefully I can make it down to Phoenix. May 19 I hope to be at the second corner, San Ysidro, California. From there I'll head north figuring it'll take two days to get to Seattle. In Seattle I'll spend the night with my sister Mary and her husband Ken Owens. Mary and Ken plan to accompany me to corner three at Blaine, Washington. From there we will ride together through the North Cascade Pass before splitting off. Ken and Mary will ride back to Seattle, and I'll head east. My best guess is that it will take four days to get to Madawaska, Maine.

The most direct route from Blaine to Madawaska seems to be through Canada entering from the U.P. of Michigan. If all goes well in Canada I'll have a chance to visit with the U.S. ambassador in Ottawa. The ambassador is David Wilkins, the former speaker of the South Carolina House of Representatives. David and I worked together on legislation for many years when he was a member of and then chairman of the Judiciary Committee and I was lobbying for strengthening South Carolina's open meetings and open records law.

A schedule on a trip of this nature and length is a WAG. My late friend and mentor Heyward Belser taught me about WAGS. They are "wild-ass guesses." You can see for yourself how well I make this schedule by clicking on the link to the AeroAstrosens satellite tracking site.

Now, I'm going to try to get some sleep so I don't have to stop in every rest area along I-95 to catch catnaps.

How I know where I am

2007-05-09T12:06:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the folks at AeroAstroSens you will know where I am because of the satellite tracking system that I will use. AeroAstro collects a signal sent from a sending unit on the top of my tool kit on the back of the bike and translates that signal into an image on a map. There is a link on this page to the AeroAstro page where the map is displayed. The AeroAstroSens device is used for tracking freight containers and vehicles, and I figure if it can keep track of a single motorcycle in the vast space of the United States, it can keep track of anything. Kim Irving and Pia Miranda of AeroAstro have been instrumental in setting up the tracking system for this trip. Pia was involved in the Prudhoe Bay trip. Tony Bachta of AeroAstro provided the technical support to get the tracker back in operation after a two year hibernation following the Alaska trip.

Now, back to the title of this entry. How do I know where I am? The photo is a cockpit view of my new Garmin Zumo GPS designed for motorcycle application by being easy to read and constructed so the buttons can be operated with gloves on my hands. The first screen that appears when the GPS is activated warns that you can die if you try to enter destination data into the system while riding. In fact, you can't get to a screen in the system until you agree that you won't try to ride and type at the same time. I promise.

So,this should all work out well. You'll know where I am thanks to AeroAstroSens and I'll know where I am thanks to my GPS. The first time I rode a motorcycle across the country (more than 20 years ago) I cut the pages out of an atlas for the states I planned to visit, and kept the page for the day in a freezer bag on the gas tank. The system work relatively well except the map couldn't be read while I was moving, and if I went to a state I hadn't clipped before the trip (which happened because of weather), I didn't have a map. Technology should eliminate those problems.

Now if I can get the rest of my final exams graded and the grades posted, I'll be ready to roll.

Getting started

2007-05-01T08:07:00.000-07:00

If my racing instincts hadn't outrun my judgment and ability I'd probably still be a flat track racer, but a late race crash a couple of years ago ended that foolishness. My most understanding wife, Anne Cushman, upon learning of the details of the crash while visiting me in the hospital said, "What were you thinking? It was only a heat race." My response, and the reason I was in a hospital bed, "I had to pass, he was ahead of me." I could give up racing, but I couldn't give up motorcycles. I turned to epic rides. Two years ago it was the Iron Butt Association's "Ultimate Cross Country" ride from Key West to Prudhoe Bay. This year it will be the Southern California Motorcycle Association's Four Corners Tour: Key West, FL., San Ysidro, CA, Blaine, WA and Madawaska, ME. Along the way I'll visit family and friends and try to pick out some unusual sights and encounters to share with you. I hope you'll come along for the ride. If you are interested in the Florida to Alaska trip, google "Bender's Big Adventure."