Two-Wheeled Adventures, Chapter Three, 2011, 2013 


In 2011 I headed west again, titling my travel journal “Chasing the Sun.” The title could actually have been named “Chasing the SON” because my youngest son, Brian, had been challenged to run across Nevada on trails, and to set a record doing so. It was 500 miles across the state and climbed fifteen mountain ranges. The State Parks of Nevada, for promotion purposes, challenged Brian to do it in ten days, running 50 miles a day. Riding my motorcycle, I was going to rendezvous with Brian at the start of his run and then connect whenever—or if—he crossed highways. Brian is an ultra-marathon runner, not only competing in 50-mile running competitions, but having run across the United States in 1998. Five-hundred miles on trails and ascending 34,000 feet of mountain range elevation in just ten days was going to be a challenge.

My itinerary for this trip, covering 7,000 miles, in addition to my rendezvous with Brian, included visiting Dodge City, Kansas; Royal Gorge Suspension Bridge, CO; Arches National Park, Utah; Grand Teton National Park, NV; Yellowstone National Park, WY; Craters of the Moon National Monument, Idaho; Shoshone Indian Ice Cave, Idaho; Virginia City, Nevada; Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah; Aspen, CO; and Mark Twain’s Boyhood Home in Missouri. Whew, and that is just a partial list.

Dodge City, known for the legends of Wyatt Erupt, Bat Masterson, and Miss Kitty has a sad history. Right after the Civil War there were sixty-million buffalo roaming the western plans. Buffalo were the means of sustenance for Native Americans who used the meat for food, the skins for clothing, and the bones for weaponry. Our government, in its infinite wisdom, decided the way to solve the “Indian problem”—the problem being the White man wanted to settle on the Indian’s land—was to kill off the buffalo.

The government offered buffalo hunters $2 per hide. Dodge City used to be named Buffalo City because that’s where the hunters started their hunt. The hunters did very well and could kill 150 buffalo a day. By 1880, 15-years later, barely 1,000 buffalo remained in all of the northwest. So sad.

 

After meeting Brian on the eastern edge of Nevada in Baker, NV, where he started his run, I then went north into Wyoming to camp for a few days between Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone. The majestic beauty of those parks is almost beyond my ability to describe. The mountain ranges, crystal clear lakes, and rolling plains were spellbinding.

While exploring Teton Park, I added another chapter to my favorite “Small World” story. Bear with me.

Some years ago, when meeting Brian’s girlfriend and future wife for the first time, I asked Lydia about her background: Duke University grad, currently living in Arizona, but once lived in California. “Oh,” she added, “I had grandparents that lived in Elkhart, Indiana.”

“What were their names, Lydia?”

“Koehler.”

“Lydia, was your grandfather’s name Paul, and did he use to sell Electrolux vacuum cleaners?” Lydia was speechless with astonishment.

“Lydia and Brian, your grandparents, Paul and Jane Koehler and Brian’s grandparents, Jim and Marian Stark, were best friends in Elkhart, double dated to the high school prom, and were in each other’s weddings.”

So now here’s the next chapter. Brian had been forwarding my travel journals to his mother-in-law, Marti Manthey, daughter of Jane Koehler. She sent me an email telling me her mother, Jane, had taken a trip to the Grand Tetons in 1935 in a Model A Ford and climbed the tallest Teton mountain led by a famous guide.

At the Grand Teton’s visitor center, I learned Paul Exum was a famous guide who first climbed the tallest Teton Mountain in 1931. On the wall was a photo of a climber with ropes around his/her waist climbing a vertical wall that looked like a woman. Could that be Jane Koehler? The answer is not known but others seeing that photo claim the climber had hairy arms and traces of a beard. So it might not be Jane but I’m going to stick to that hope because it makes a great story.

Riding across Idaho on my way back to Lake Tahoe to meet Brian at his finish line, I stopped to get gas. While standing beside my Goldwing heaped with its camping gear and bundles, a young man approached. He said, “I’ll give you two kids and a wife for that trip you are now on.”

“Let me see a picture of your wife,” I replied.

Only kidding, Michele.

I’ve had very few mishaps and injuries on my cross-country adventures, except one perhaps.

My last campground on the 2011 trip was at a KOA in Springfield, Illinois. I had set up my tent and was just catching my breath when a young, very cute, black girl, maybe eight-years-old, approached and asked, “Will you push me on the merry-go-round, mister?”

“Sure. What’s your name young lady?”

“Theriol.”
“Wow, what a pretty name. How do you spell it?”

“I don’t know.”

I gave Theriol a spin on the Merry-go-round and it looked like such fun I attempted to jump on the spinning device. Unfortunately, one of the grab bars smacked the side of my leg opening a three-inch flap of skin. My first Aid kit bound the wound, but I suspected needle and thread would have been more appropriate.

I completed my trip successfully, but that leg wound became infected and took several weeks to heal. Hey, what’s an adventure without some blood and gore included.

– 2013 –

My ride in 2013 was toward the northwest with a goal of camping in Glacier National Park in Montana, just below the Canadian border. My 6,000 mile ride included travels through Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota, to get to Montana. My secondary goal for this trip was to loop back to the Midwest and connect with my son Brian, a couple weeks later while he was running across the state of Wisconsin.

Brian crossed a number of States when running across the U.S. in 1998. He subsequently decided it would be cool to run across all fifty states and as of this writing has run across thirty-six of them. Brian doesn’t just run a straight line from one border to another but runs trails and hiking paths that make each crossing 500 or 600 miles. After camping at Glacier, my return to Wisconsin had me passing through Wyoming and South Dakota.

As mentioned earlier, I made a pledge to myself that when speeding down the highway, any potential story I see appearing along the roadside, I’ to stop and investigate. That happened in Wisconsin on my western leg when passing Greg Koeppel’s property. Across a couple acres of lawn were totems and statues of the most unique creation. Eight- and ten-foot bizarre animals were mixed in with Picasso-looking characters and sculptures. Turned out Mr. Koeppel was mowing the lawn around these objects when I stopped. He was a 50-year-old art teacher at the local high school. Greg was a fascinating fellow and we visited for 45-minutes.

Another interesting visit occurred in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, when escaping a thunderstorm by ducking into Hogan’s General Store. I had parked the motorcycle under a canopy by its gas pumps. Entering the store, I saw a dozen local neighbors gathered in a corner on folding chairs for coffee and conversation.

I apologized to the proprietor and hoped I wasn’t blocking her gas pumps. “Oh, pshaw,” she said, “You just stay as long as you want. Sit, have a cup of coffee, and wait out this rain.” She then introduced me to the gathered neighbors. “This is Jim. He’s riding that wet motorcycle out there and heading to Montana. Make room for him in the circle.”

I met all the fellow gentry and was seated next to George. “Where you from?” George asked.

“Bloomington, Indiana.”

“Well, I be darned. I got my Masters at Indiana University in Bloomington. I was an Eagle Scout by the way.”

“Interesting. Two of my three sons are Eagles, and I spent many years in scouting myself.”

George said, “Yep, I became a Cub Scout when I was eight-years-old and spent the next 70 years in scouting.”

“So you were a scout executive.” I then told George about my youngest son, Brian, running across the United States.

George said, “I bet he could do that because of scouting.”

I next told George about my son Eric’s career as the Indianapolis Symphonic Choral conductor.

George said, “I bet he could do that because of scouting.”

We then talked about my cross-country motorcycle ride. Yeah, right. I didn’t realize I owed it all to scouting. In truth, what I remember most about scouting was learning to smoke cigarettes.

Mathew McConaughey’s book, Greenlights, tells me there is no such word as “unbelievable.” Instead, if the moment or a sight is amazing, incredible, great, fantastic, unreal, mindboggling or extraordinary, those are better words. That’s what the sights in Glacier National Parks are. Unbelieve … errr … all those other words. The big difference between it and Yellowstone with its equally …incredible vistas, is that Yellowstone has 100s of miles of roads to drive to see the sights, but Glacier has one, a fifty-two-mile-long road called “Going to the Sun.” The sights are mindboggling to be sure, but with all touring traffic using that one road, it’s a two-to-three-hour trip.  Hiking trails depart off the road and I did several of them, but found my senior age was no match for the 7,000-foot altitude. Huff and puff.

On one of the hikes, while panting like a Saint Bernard, I was passed by Julia and Jonathan. Julia, the mom had two-year-old, Jenny, in her backpack and Johnathan, the dad, had Jeffery, his five-year-old son on his shoulders. They passed me like I was standing still. Actually, I WAS standing still catching my breath. Okay, Julia and Johnnathan, enjoy your youth now because in the blink of an eye you too will be 75-years-old.

I think of my motorcycle as my steed, like cowboys of old riding Trigger, Silver, and Champion. I needed a name for my companion and asked my VIPs (Virtual Invisible Passengers) to submit suggestions. I got great recommendations: Bonaventure, Stepandahalf, Warrior, Scoot, Victory, and Risky were some of the suggestions. However, Paul Arnold suggested Rocinante which was the name of Don Quixote’s stallion. He suggested I could call it Rosey, like Rosey Grier, the fearsome NFL football player. I loved it, Rosey it is.

I departed Glacier after three days in a tent, early in the morning. I love riding in the morning. It feels good being back in the saddle. I love the smell of the fresh morning air filling my lungs. I love the sight of the morning sky giving clues to the day ahead. And I love the sound of my powerful engine, murmuring its throaty but muffled growl, ready at the slightest twist of my right hand to charge up a hill or fly by a laboring truck.

On my way back to Wisconsin, I stopped to visit Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, Wall Drug, and camped in the Badlands. Believably awesome.

I met Brian in Wisconsin and arranged a motel for two nights. At the end of each of his day’s runs, I’d pick him up, ride back to the motel for the night, then take him to the place he stopped the day before. He’s incredible, running nearly two marathons every day.

Michele tracks my travels on her iPhone using an app called Find My Phone. On my last day she watched the green blip on her phone’s screen as I came across town on Route 46, turned onto our street, and then there she stood waiting as I pulled into our driveway.

It was a great eighteen-day ride, but it’s always good to be home, safe and all in one piece.

 

6 thoughts on “Two-Wheeled Adventures, Chapter Three, 2011, 2013 

  1. As always, I get a kick out of your reporting. Stay well.
    Jim

  2. Great fun following you along on these trips… even if a few merry-go-rounds prove dangerous. Nice to do is from a lounge chair in my condo — such is the life with the covid pandemic. I doubt I will have the chance ride again (Elaine took my bike away after a little tumble), so it is nice reading of your times on the bike.

  3. Once again I truly enjoyed your stories. Thanks for sharing and keep us up to date on anything new.

  4. Wow. A doosie of a report! And to think, all that running I was doing was but a tiny piece of that grand adventure you were on as well! What fun to be alive!

  5. Jimmy, so refreshing to read about your trip to the sun. Maria and I did that a few years ago on our trip from Alaska. It’s quite a ride with the icicles hanging over the road and meeting people up there. We were walking around one of the red vehicles that they take tours of the mountain and Maria ran into two of her students from her school in Naples. We did 14,000 miles on that trip from Naples to Fairbanks Alaska. I wish I could get a better diary so I could recall any of the wonderful details like you do. Anyway my friend, happy trails, and thanks for sharing yours Bill

  6. Another great adventure(s). I envy the trips you take. I too ride (trike HD) but stay closer to home base due to age of the mc and the rider. Thanks for the memories Jim.

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