Redneckjewboy Musings

(Click on photos to see the full panoramic images)

Nothing says welcome back to reality like a grocery shopping trip to WalMart.

Deep sigh….

The ride back had two recurring themes.  Rainfall and Casey Anothony.  Just as each day on the way east was bright and sunny, each day on the way west brought at least one thunderstorm, including a 45 MPH wind and horizontal rain with lightening….but I will get there.  First I want to talk about Casey Anthony.  Well, actually, I want to talk about the total absence of Casey Anthony.

I took interstates the majority of the time as they are faster, have fewer stops and were the most direct.  They also, like everything else good, have been taken over by corporate America.  Try to find a roadside cafe…its hard!  Try to find a subway or pizza hut and you don’t have to look far.  State roads still offer the traveler the delight of the small town cafe, but the interstate makes it tough.  Which is why Plankington, South Dakota was so unusual.

I do my best to ignore the world.  Casey Anthony isn’t the first bad person the world has seen and this is not the first time the Democrats and Republicans have demonized one another rather than get the job done.  I’ve heard it before and I am just happier not to subject myself to a daily diatribe of angry talking heads who don’t believe I am smart enough to form an opinion without them.  On the road every restaurant and truck stop  had so many TV’s blaring I had to hide from them.  Until I got to Plankington, South Dakota.

At this cafe, people walked from table to table, greeting one another, talked about their crops, one asked another “what are you gonna do about that crazy horse of yours?”.  It was heaven.  Actual conversation, people asked about my bike and my trip, old ladies asked what old ladies always do: “don’t you get hit in the face by bugs?”.  The answer is of course, but only the slower ones who can’t get out of my way.  It was wonderful to remember that this still exists.  That lunch doesn’t have to be yet another opportunity for Subway to sell me advertising with my lunch along with a side order of anger and hostility.

Speaking of hostility, I rode into a wall of hostility just outside Wall, South Dakota in the form of a black wall of rain that made me reconsider this whole “the earth is round thing”. It sure as hell looked to me like there was simply a black curtain at the end of the earth and I had found it.  I saw it ahead of me, couldn’t quite determine the distance or direction it was moving but I knew it was bad.  I switched my radio to the weather band and heard about a severe thunderstorm moving at 35 MPH with winds up to 45MH along with lightening and what they repeatedly referred to as torrential rain.  Didn’t sound good.  They told me what counties this was in and that didn’t make any difference to me cause I didn’t know where the hell I was, then they said the storm was moving East on highway 90 and was at its strongest between mile markers 93 and 110.  I just passed mile marker 118 and was heading into it at 80 MPH while it approached at 35.  I didn’t have rain gear on and saw no point in stopping to put it on, I knew that Wall Drug was in 8 miles so how hard could it be to ride 8 miles?  Holy shit.  Temperature dropped 15 degrees in seconds, the sky grew dark as night as the wall of horizontal rain descended.  45MPH cross winds tried to knock me down, wind and hail tried to blind me and the lightening….I didn’t even want to think about the lightening.  I slowed…concentrated on keeping the hydroplaning to a minimum and hoped nobody rear ended me as it was now a no visibility storm.  After about two miles of this I saw an overpass in front of me….I think…I hope….yes….wow, an overpass, how lucky.  I and another rider watched the storm, talked about bikes, and were glad to be alive.  He is a dentist from Indiana riding his 1997 BMW that already has 85,000 miles on it to Alaska.  In your face all you Harley riders with all the look and tattoos and leather gear and 1,500 miles on your 5 year old bikes….

So the rest of the ride home was wonderful and full of storms, but nothing compared to this bad boy….  I thumbed my nose at the rain the others dumped on me.  Small cloudbursts that came and went, just making the adventure a little wetter and more interesting.  I saw bison face to face on the road in Custer National Park, Antelope too.  I stayed at the Hotel Nevada, a historic building where bikers get a discount and private street parking.  But every day brought me closer and closer to the dreaded reality…home….where I had to go grocery shopping, and nothing says welcome back to reality like a grocery shopping trip to WalMart.

When you start at sea level in California and wind your way, with wind in your face, a couple thousand miles over mountains, plains and prairies you have time to consider rocks.  And the wind.  I just rode through rocks of all colors, brown, red, grey, black, gold, and every mixture possible.  I can’t help but wonder why we all find these so beautiful, it is after all, kind of a broken toy.  The earth got all busted up and lifted up and the insides stuck up in the sky for us to walk on, climb and ride through.  I kept wondering is this some innate visceral emotion we feel, or is it conditioned/learned?   Would space guys find our mountains as beautiful as we do or do you have to be born here?  I should have done an experiment and taught my son that mountains are ugly and then see if it took.

So the mountains finally ended somewhere east of denver and the Great Plains began.  Now, first I must say, I have ridden my Harley and my KLR through rain, snow, sand, deep sand, dirt, gravel, rocks, sharp rocks, mud, and damn near anything else in front of me, and none of it bugs me as much as wind.  Gusty wind.  Some unseen hand that wants to kill you.  Push you over, move you.  Now, back to the Plains, Nebraska in particular.  Nebraska is where wind goes on vacation.  It is long, flat, devoid of pretty rocks, the earths colors are all underground and it is windy.  I don’t think I need to say anything else about Nebraska.

Iowa is really pretty, as a matter a fact it was odd how once you cross the Missouri River the land starts getting hilly, the wind died down, it even looks like Wisconsin – that is lush an hilly and pretty.  I like Iowa.  As a matter of fact, based on some of the locals I met in Nebraska, I am pretty sure evolution ended there,  The wind scared it off.

Tomorrow I have a mere 425 miles and I am on my sisters doorstep.  A wonderful ride through rolling hills and happy cows.  Sounds good to me, and the first tavern I see with a Point sign and I am stopping!

I am in Grand Junction Colorado and fixing to cross the Rockies after I finish my fruit bowl and yoghurt.  Hard core biker food.  Before you think I have gone soft keep in mind I had bisquits and gravy yesterday in a little café on Highway 89 at 7600 feet in Utah.  Speakng of yesterday, and crossing mountains, lets revisit wonderful Sister Gardner from yesterday.  I was out for a walk and happned upon the Brigham Young Winter House Museum.  Well, I am a sucker for historical sites and love western history so in I went.  I forgot I was in Utah and everything is a conversion opportunity.  So once Sister G finds out I am Jewish she assures me how much the Mormons love the jewish people.  Thank you, I say, after all everybody wants to be loved.  Then she continues, how interesting it will be what happens in the Middle East with the Jewish People as we approach the second coming.  Smiling, I remind her and the room of Mormon tourists (WTF what I thinking??) that from my perspective that would be the FIRST coming.  A few uncomfortable giggles, confused faces on children,  but my soul is at stake, so she went on….It will be so wonderful someday when the chosen people come home to jesus and convert.  HHmmm.,..I do have some experience in this area.  Sister, says I, I am quite certain that the members of my synagogue would NOT consider that to be a good thing and might even take offense at the idea.  Dave, the turd in the non-spiked, non-caffeinated Mormon punch bowl.   Now, had I been in a mood, or had she not been so damned sweet I would have gone on the remind her that she was asking me to turn my back on a basic premise of Judaism, one which millions of my people have been murdered for at the hands of Christians, and that she shouldn’t hold her fucking breath for it to happen….but all that isn’t her fault and she is so sweet and I needed to ask directions.  Which is really the point of this blog entry.

I had seen a few small squiggles on the map that went in the same basic direction I was going and asked her about them.  Well, she says, I don’t really know about those things but Brother Gardner is just outside with another tour.  So off we go to meet Brother G and he says, oh yes, Highway 14 will get you there and is quite scenic and would be wonderful on a motorbike.  He was so right, but I wish he also would have said “but that road goes up over 11,000 feet and it snowed a few days ago.”  It was the most incredible ride, mountain lakes, meadows, clear skies, switchbacks, and HOLY SHIT COLD.  I am wearing my mesh summer gear!  Now I have leathers with me, but I keep thinking – oh it will warm up around the next bend…yes, I am an idiot.

Anyway, when In Utah drive Highway 14 E to 89 N.  It is the most fantastic scenery and you can even get biscuits and gravy.

So today I am crossing the Rockies and put on my leathers.  It will probably be 90.

I also went to the Colorado National Monument.  I took lots of pictures that the hotel firewall won’t let me ftp to my webserver, so I am not gonna say anything more about it – when I upload the pics they will speak for themselves.

For some reason red rocks always make me feel comfortable, relaxed, at peace – does that mean I belong on Mars?  It could mean I belong in St. George Utah, but then Sister Gardner who conducted the tour of the Brigham Young Winter House tried to convert me and I realized that no, I don’t belong in Utah.

Now, onto the topic I have spent the day riding and considering.  I brought up the topic of the zen of riding last night, and Julie Manis, who I have never met, hit the nail on the head.  She said when she was into speed skating in NYC she applied two rules – 1) There are no rocks, skate hard and 2) Always be ready for rocks. (I paraphrase).  Thats exactly how I view my long rides.  Enter that state where you can be comfortable living only with your own thoughts…no conversation, no napping while the other guy drives, none of this “where did the last ten miles go” business.  Enter the zone – observe, meditate, think, but always have that background thread running that can take immediate control of the system, in this case: me.  I passed a big rig today in a windy and hot (103) section of the Nevada desert.  My peripheral vision caught circular movement in the air ahead of the truck.  Indeed, as I passed the truck I was in the middle of very large dust devil that pushed the bike several feet.  Its that background thread that caught the movement and prepared for the wind while I was no doubt daydreaming about something else – this is what I was describing.

My ride began at 0600 and 50 degrees over the Tehachapi Mountains (about 4000 ft).  I was cool n my summer gear, even cold.  I tried as hard as I could to remember the sensation of cold.  I focused on how it felt on my skin, what muscles were part of a shiver.  I really tried to fill up some memory with this data.  Four hours later I was in 100 degrees, sweating like a pig and trying to replay that memory.  I flew through the desert considering which is stronger, my nerve endings ability to collect and transmit data or my minds ability to tell the nerves to shut the fuck up and remember what cool felt like.  I made myself shiver once, but that was probably just a bug hitting me in the face.  But it is an interesting question, why can’t we replay sensation, I know the data is stored somewhere , oh well, a yogi I am not.  I goto yoga cause I like the workout and the cameltoes, maybe I should focus on sensory control?  Naw….

All I have to do now is sleep…and then its GO!!

Tire pressure.  Check.  Fuel.  Check.  Tools…tire repair kit…first aid kit….handgun with carry permit and plenty of ammo – check and check!  (Glock 23 for those wondering).

Those who know me know that my goal is to retire early and spend the remainder of my active life riding central and south america on my other bike, the Kawasaki KLR 650.  This trip is more than just a ride to me but a trial run, a test of how days of solitude and travel will suit me.  Motorcycle travel has a zenlike quality to it….a cross between the meditative state similar to shivastina period following yoga and the required concentration on the road and your surroundings required to, well, stay alive.  What the firearms guru Jeff Cooper defined as color codes yellow and orange,  you are alert.  You are aware that today, that NOW may be the moment you have to protect yourself, you are prepared for complete focus but are still aware of everything around you.

While this is going to be 5 days alone, I am quite certain that my bike will be full.  Mike Blackwood who died of AIDS in the early days of the epidemic, Mikey Glaab who went down fishing outside Sitka, Barry, my uncle and role model and of course mom and dad will all be taking turns sitting behind me as I fly across the country – eyes open wide and sending images of what I see to them.  Sending visions of being alive to the people I miss the most who aren’t.

OK, time for one more shot of tequilla and off to dream land.  I’m up at 5:30 and on the road at 6:30 – first stop, lunch in vegas at the Harley Davidson cafe on the strip, a quick stop at my favorite cigar factory on Freemont Street and then to St. George.  I’m quite certain I’ll skip the temple tour.  Good night.

Trip prep – the foreplay of adventure.

I have heard it said that adventures is the past tense of misery and discomfort.  That adventure is primarily found by going to places where you simply don’t belong.  I accept these definitions but what can be said about trip prep?  I could just throw all my shit in a bag and go – but instead I pack and unpack the motorcycle and the bags in it, find smaller stuff sacks, a better gadget…as if somehow these hours of organization and control will impose order and control into the chaos that is adventure.

My plan – and no good plan goes unpunished – is to ride an average 418 miles a day, cover about 2300 on the way there and 2500 on the way back, avoid rain and potholes and rediscover the joy of cross country travel.

Thirty years ago I hitchhiked to Alaska from Milwaukee in late March with $200.00 in my pocket, the minimum amount required by Canadian Customs to get into the country.  I slept in fields and under bridges and ate my first chips and malt.  Next Friday I will launch myself across the country on a 2007 Harley Davidson Road Glide.  I will stay in hotels with hot tubs and I spent $125 today on a doo-dad that will trick the computer on my motorcycle into thinking the fuel mixture is too lean, thus push a little more fuel into the combustion chamber….worse mileage, more power.  That $125 would have been a small fortune 30 years ago.  Times have changed, so have I, but my passion for travel and adventure has not changed one iota.  Onward!

Maps:

View CALI to MILW in a larger map

View Milw to Bakersfield, CA in a larger map

Be strong and Couragous!

This phrase occurs several times toward the end of torah (Duet. 31), the first collectively said to the Israelites by Moses when he tells them he is not crossing the Jordan River and going into Israel with them. The next two times are more personal exaltations to Joshua, Mose’s successor who was no doubt reconsidering this new job. It is often used in the Books of Prophets, as it is in modern time, to inspire soldiers going into battle.

I first paid attention to this phrase when I was in Tel Aviv with my mom and saw a stack of bumper stickers with this phrase on them in a little t-shirt shop. I bought every one of them for a friend’s temple sunday school class, and of course for myself and friends. I reflect on this phrase often. I have seen strength and courage in the actions of others. I reflected on this phrase as I watched my mother face and goto her death. I don’t know if I am strong and courageous but I wear it on my skin as I reminder that I would like to be and as a reminder thay many who went before me were. So this will be a place to express myself, confuse you, leave messages as I travel and try to live a strong and couragous life. Living strong and couragous is a far cry from only the soldiers definition. It means to me the courage to live your life on your own terms, believe what you choose, reject what you will, and not apologize for the result.