However, when I rode the bike to the gas station Wednesday evening, I felt something dragging. John took it for a short ride and discovered that the chain was dragging in some spots and slapping loosely in others. Closer inspection revealed that the chain was much wider than it should have been for the sprockets. Not the right chain for the bike!
The Thursday morning departure was delayed. The bike went into a shop in town for a new chain. It was supposed to be ready by Thursday afternoon; it wasn't. Next, it was supposed to be ready by 9 a.m. Friday; it wasn't. Finally, by 3:30 p.m., I had the bike back at the ranch and could start packing.
A few hours later, my bike was once again fully loaded--minus a box full of stuff that I opted to have shipped instead. (If I'd had a crystal ball, I'd have shipped more!!)
In every difficult parting, there comes a time when you can delay no longer--when the only thing left to do is to turn away and go. That time came, and with very deep regret and a whispered private message to Pico, I wiped a persistent tear, forced a smile, put on my helmet, joined John in one last hug, straddled the Roadster and headed for the road. Just as I reached the first curve, without turning around, I waved a final salute to John, Pico and the World Atop the Bluffs.
I was on my way, accompanied by a friend who happened to be heading the same general direction and would ride with me for awhile. The sun was setting, we had a long way to go, but we were on our way. First, we missed the turn for the road to I-90. Then I missed the west-bound entrance to I-90. From then on, my companion asked me which direction was west everytime we started out. I pointed east each time. So he led; I followed.
Two fuel stops later--only about 150 miles from John's--we had our first real adventure of the trip. It included, among other things, two identical cars left running, one confused driver, one stranded driver, a reunion, Red Pierce--a rather unique character riding a Harley, Red's garage, a few hours of entertaining stories about Red's family, a windshield, buckhorn bars, battery caps and a glass doornob. When we finally left Red's, the Roadster was sportin' the windshield, the buckhorn bars were strapped in with the rest of my load and the battery caps were in my tool pouch. Alas, Red was pretty fond of that doornob and wouldn't part with it.
Back at the gas station to clean the windshield and along comes another biker. My companion was telling him about our meeting with Red; I was getting restless and took a walk around the stranger's bike to check it out. My friend told the guy to watch out, that I was looking for new parts. I spied a trailer hitch and pointed it out. Be damned if this guy doesn't offer to give me the hitch--said he could make another one. I told him I was just kidding. He tried to talk me into taking the hitch. I told him I didn't have a trailer. He said he had one at his house just down the road....
Now, there's one passion that this friend and I share. We both totally enjoy pulling off a good, honest, mutually-beneficial scam. But this was getting too darned easy! I assured the guy that I really *didn't* want to take posession of his trailer and hitch. Then he offered to let us crash out at his place for some sleep.
We thanked him but said that we really did need to get on down the road. We'd already been "traveling" for about 10 hours and hadn't gone more than 150 miles!!!!
Back on the road, we did manage to pass a few exits before pulling off again--this time at an exit with no service--in fact, no buildings in sight. The sun was just rising, my eyes were burning. We sat down on the edge of the entrance ramp, behind a parked semi, to smoke our cigarettes--planning to continue after a few minutes. Exhaustion took over and we slept--never even heard the semi leave, but I wonder what that driver thought when he saw the two bikes parked behind him and the two sleeping bikers sprawled on the asphalt!
We did much better on the next leg of the trip--70 mph and keeping the fuel stops brief. We stopped in Sioux Falls, SD, to eat and decided to try to make it to the Sioux Falls HD shop before it closed. I would buy new grips, and my friend would put the buckhorns on the Roadster.
That decision put up right in the middle of a Harley celebration. The parking lot was packed, police on hand to escort hundreds of bikers on a procession to the main street which had been closed off for a street fair. No, we didn't join the party. We did make our way into the shop and picked up the grips (and, while I'm here, I should pick up an oil filter...and one of these...and one of those...).
Back across the street to the parking lot of the military surplus store where we'd parked our bikes, I unloaded all the tools and "we" went to work. (I put my chaps down on the pavement and took a nap.) When I awoke, the bike was being put back together--with my old handlebars. (Wires didn't fit.) I decided to wander into the military surplus store to look around and came back out with more purchases I'd need to stuff somewhere. My companion was having a bit of trouble controlling his laughter; I'm sure he thought I was going to have to leave stuff behind. But I don't give up. I went back into the store and bought a huge pack bag I'd seen--at least as big as the expanded t-bag. I used it in place of the sissy bar bag I'd made for the back, and put that one in the new bag--along with all of my new purchases, and the extra helmet and the rain gear. And there was room to spare. (I said it was huge!)
Seventh lesson learned: You can pack as much into a $25 military surplus duffel bag as you can into a $125 T-bag. And with two, $1.50 military surplus rachet straps, the $25 bag rides just as well.
Somewhere along the way, between Sioux Falls and Worthington, we pulled over in a construction zone and my friend asked me to ride his bike to the next fuel stop. I was hesitant. I'd never ridden anything but the Roadster for more than a few feet. But he kept stressing that it was just until the next stop, and I let him talk me into it. We took off, and he took the lead. And drove right on by the exit with the fuel stop. And the next exit. And the next.
I guess I rode his bike for about 20 miles or so. The first few minutes were stressful, but then I was able to relax and notice the differences in handling. His runs much smoother than the Roadster does--even at higher speeds. It felt good, but I was still relieved when he finally pulled off and I was able to switch back to my own bike.
We reached Worthington, SD, by 2 a.m. and said our good byes over hot coffee. My friend headed south; I continued west--sleeping for a bit at a rest stop, and arrived back at Penny's and Skiv's house by mid-morning, Sunday. After visiting for a bit and indulging in a piece of Penny's delicious blueberry pie, I was ready for a nap. That was at about 2 p.m.
My plan was to sleep through the afternoon and be on my way by nightfall. It didn't happen that way. I remember absolutely nothing until I awoke at 4:30 a.m., totally disoriented. I read the clock and wondered if the power had gone out. Of course, no one was up and about, but still I wasn't sure if it was 4:30 in the morning or if the clock was wrong and it was really still evening. I walked outside and looked out at the interstate in the distance. The traffic looked like 4:30 a.m. traffic. I went back to sleep until 7:30 a.m. Penny and Skiv said they weren't sure I was still alive until they heard me cough when I awoke at 4:30. I don't think I ever even moved!
Penny left for work, Skiv cooked me a great breakfast--his special recipe scrambled eggs and homemade sour-dough fried toast. And, again, he topped of my oil tank for me. I re-loaded, and was off again.
(Thanks again, Penny and Skiv. You two are super and I really appreciate your opening your home to me.)
The only thing remarkable about the next leg of the journey was the gusty crosswinds all the way through Wyoming. I had to slow down considerably; so did everyone else. There were times I had to lean the wrong way in turns. I didn't much like that feeling.
Eighth lesson learned: Of all driving conditions I've encountered--snow, rain, sleet--gusty crosswinds are the worst for me.
I reached Billings by 10 p.m., spent the night again with friends and was back on the road early Tuesday morning. Almost home, I didn't feel the need to hustle, so I stopped to lunch with friends in Livingston and to get directions for a bypass of the Bozeman Pass (notorious for gusty crosswinds.) Then stopped to order the wiring harness at the Harley dealer in Belgrade.
At just about 5 p.m., I rounded the final corner, and I was home. My adventure was over--replaced rather abrubtly by the realities of dirty dishes, laundry, true (and not-so-true) confessions and a job.
Nineth lesson learned: Vacation or no vacation, adventure or no adventure, I'm still the mom.
I can't end this without again expressing my admiration for the people who *are* RMH. This is as great a bunch of people as I could ever hope to encounter in life. When I first discovered RMH last November, I was recovering from surgery and looking for an escape from the boredom of recouperation. And RMH provided that. But RMH did much much more than just that. RMH introduced me to all of you, the people of RMH--people I'd have never encountered otherwise. Without the support and encouragement of this group, I'd have never even attempted such a trip. With that support and encouragement, I did it.
Tenth, and most important lesson learned: I can.
Thanks to the many who rode with me in spirit.
Return to Carol's Home Place.
CLM -- 7/28/96; revised 4/12/98.