 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| Map of Travels |
| 2005 - Journal 11 |
| Ohio to Canada . . . The long way. It’s a long way from Mentor, Ohio to Vancouver Island, British Columbia and not a journey to be done all at once. Even if possible, what would be the point? This led me to muse about long distance riders chasing a clock; men and woman who find their jollies riding fast, sleeping in small snatches and eating power bars until they return to the start/finish line grinding out 11,000 plus miles in eleven days. Oh my, I get a migraine and a twitchy butt just thinking about it. Needless to say, I split my travel miles into manageable legs. Some legs are sizzling hot requiring numerous quick stops to untwist sweaty jeans and twisted shorts and most importantly, re-hydrate. While other stops often last two weeks or more visiting family and friends. * * * * At a fuel stop in Boonville, Missouri, hard by I-70, I met Robert Dickson, a truck driver from Huntington Beach, California. Short, stocky and talkative he spoke at length about is life on the road. I’d parked Sunshine in a restaurant parking lot along the grass strip verge that offered an unobstructed view of the slab’s heavy traffic, trying to decide about going into the gas station restaurant for a lunch salad. In all probability I thought, the salad would consist of iceberg lettuce and a juiceless tomato. No, I don’t think so. Not for this new vegetarian. That’s when Robert Dickson walked over to look at Sunshine and chat me up. I think drivers, piloting big rigs for endless hours, need a bit of companionship now and then. Sunshine broke the ice for Robert and for the next half hour I just listened. He drives by himself and described the hundreds of lonely hours behind the wheel. He found that he could eliminate some of the loneliness by listening to books on tape. He explained that he’s been driving for 18 years, almost all that time for the Crete Carrier Corp located in Lincoln, Nebraska. “I drive about 2,800 miles a week, 140,000 miles a year and in eight years I’ve driven more than a million miles,” he said with a grin. “I like driving I-90, “since there are fewer trucks, nicer scenery and friendlier people.” I couldn’t disagree. It is a nicer road. He doesn’t have a home like so many of his brethren, having his mail sent to a PO Box. I realized there are a lot of us out there with no homes. He finally looked at his watch, said goodbye and walked back to his truck. I decided to leave as well and find another place to eat my greens. * * * * I pointed Sunshine north, leaving I-90 for I-294, navigating carefully in heavy traffic as the slab cut through the western boundaries of Chicago, to call on my brother Guy and his wife Sylvia. I was in the neighborhood so I had to stop. We had a grand visit, as always, including a trip downtown to visit Chicago’s Millennium Park, a must see experience. Guy and I had hours of conversation on almost any topic and of course we took time to fuel-up at several exceptional restaurants. I finally made time to visit my cousin Karen Tolman (only hour from my brother), in her comfortable home in Glen Ellyn. I’ve known Karen since she was an infant and her bubbly personality and ready laugh has made her one of my favorites. Unfortunately I didn’t meet Brett, her husband. That’s the difficulty when family members move away from the family circle. Children fly the nest. We know that’s what they do, but it’s never easy for parents. After a pleasant catch-up visit with my cuz, I rode I-355 to I-55 South. Interstate 55 by-passes Joliet and then runs southwest forty miles, passing Pontiac. Signs for Normal and Bloomington appeared thirty miles later. Interstates have been designed to move around cities rather than through them as was the custom in those early years. I can remember as a child traveling with my parents to visit my grandmother in her home in Orleans, Cape Cod, from our home on Long Island. We spent hours on the road and at least one of those hours took us through the narrow city streets of Providence, Rhode Island. It was a time consuming, arduous journey. My dad was not a complaining man, but he had a few choice words about the making the trip in the first place. Not so today and I’m sure all drivers are eternally grateful. My daughter Valerie flew into Kansas City on an early flight from Jacksonville to join me on my yearly visit to Sumner, Iowa. This was her first long ride in a sidecar and from her comments and relaxed attitude found it exciting, exhilarating, sublime, and even transcendent (it is my belief that if more people rode in sidecars, especially a Hannigan style wrap-around chair, road travel would once again be pure unadulterated fun!). That said, a little more than seven hours later, we were happy to drive into Kyle and Jim’s driveway. Temperatures were much too high (90’s) and the sun too strong. It was a treat to have two of my three daughters within arm’s reach. Unfortunately Armen, daughter # 2, couldn’t join us, mores the pity. The next morning as a rising sun absorbed Friday’s night shadows, runners and walkers gathered to begin a 5km run/walk through the tree lined streets, green flagging the start of a three day Fourth of July celebration. This is big stuff for this small community. It was also the first time in five years that our family didn’t participate. I don’t know what the rest of my family accomplished early that morning but I grabbed a bit more sack time (oh, I do love my bed. As I sit here writing I must admit that movement, action and achievement are important aspects of my traveling life, but I must attend to the other half as well, for balance you see, and that includes a tiny bit of sloth, inactivity and sluggishness). It was a fun weekend and over too soon. We left Kyle, Jim and the grand kids tearfully waving bye as Val and I rode Sunshine over their lawn to the driveway (it should be noted that the tire impressions will eventually disappear). Actually Jim, on his way to work, led us through miles of country roads to Des Moines, shorting our journey by many minutes. We hugged and thanked him for guiding us safely to the interstate. Another tearful goodbye and off we rode to KC. We arrived early afternoon and had a nice visit with Armen. Val’s flight back to Jacksonville was scheduled for the crack of dawn the next morning, much too early for this sleepy JG (Jr.Geezer). I hugged her goodbye with more hidden tears. I’m sentimental about saying goodbye. I think age contributes to our emotional comings and goings. For a parent it’s a leaving the nest thing, all over again. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the feeling. Riding away from the airline’s passenger drop off gate I realized that Val, like all my daughters, is really sump’in else and I’m so grateful for having she and her sisters in my life. Oh, how they make my senior years so much sweeter. * * * * Missouri I-29 led me to St. Joe, one of my favorite cities in Missouri. I decided to explore the downtown city streets; I love the fact that’s it’s a river town built on a hill. I spent some time there years ago when Armen and Ben first moved to Missouri. Wasn’t much to see or do as I rode up and down St. Joe’s deserted early morning streets, so it was back to the super slab and north to Council Bluffs, skirting the muddy Missouri. Eighty miles later I left Iowa at Sioux City for South Dakota, still on the east side of the Missouri River. Another eighty miles and I was in Sioux Falls where I picked up I-90 west. An hour later I reached the small city of Mitchell, making a lengthy stop to see the Corn Palace and have Sunshine serviced. Now the Corn Palace is something I had to see and half a million folks a year think so as well. There have been three Corn Palaces since 1892. The present building is used by the community for basketball games, stage shows, proms, graduations and trade shows. Every year the outside of the Corn Palace is redecorated with native corn, grasses and grains from South Dakota in geometric designs. In late summer as the corn matures the mural pictures are replaced with 275,000 new ears, in a corn-by-the-numbers manner. Each ear is cut in half, length wise, and nailed to the building. Local residents are hired during summer to redecorate at a yearly cost of $100,000. All this and more is described in a brochure published by the Mitchell Area Chamber of Commerce. Next stop, after directions, was Mitchell’s Honda shop where Mike Thome, service manager, graciously slipped Sunshine into his busy schedule for an oil and filter change. So far I’ve ridden 70,650 trouble free miles. I marvel at the engineering and construction of my Wing that asks only for a bit of TLC every 4000 miles and consistently gives great service. Yessirrebob! I look forward to another 70,000 trouble free miles and if I’m not stretching things too much, another 70,000 after that. In Mitchell, quite by accident, I discovered a tiny eatery that offered fresh fruit salad; a heaping bowel of cantaloupe, pineapple, strawberries, blueberries and watermelon. I sat outside at a picnic table under a big shade tree and blessed my good fortune. What pleasure small things offer. So good. Sandy Sajner, my vegan guru in Ohio gave me a book listing, state by state, cities and towns offering natural food co-ops, markets, deli and restaurant food for vegetarian and vegan lifestyles. It’s been a boon companion. Published and revised in the late 90’s I was concerned that some of the stores might have left town or gone out of business but such was not the case. Three hundred and fifty miles later I reached Rapid City and with Sandie’s book Healthy Highways by Nikki and David Goldbeck (subtitled The Traveler’s Guide to Healthy Eating), provided directions to the Breadroot Natural Food Co-op. I was more than pleased with the variety of deli salads, most of them vegan (meatless, fishless, egg and dairy free) choices. This worked for me. I bought enough to have for a late lunch and supper when I packed it in for the evening. I finished my day in Sheridan, Wyoming at a Motel 6 and the next day rode to Billings, Montana for an early breakfast at the Good Earth Market and then Bozeman, a 130 miles later for lunch at the Community Food Co-op where I met a gal and her husband for a brief PLI. I remember her because of her full head of long, long gray hair. Boy, what a great head of hair. Again the food was tasty so I bought enough to see me through the day. Arising early I motored to Butte, 70 miles away, for more salads and fruit. An interesting aspect of all the plant based food I was eating was a shrinking waistline with more notches in my belt. I look taller ‘cause I’m thinner and with a thinner face look more rugged . . . or was that ragged. Whatever. In all honesty I do feel better and no longer feel bloated. Thank you Sandy. I passed Missoula 118 miles later keeping my eye out for smoke jumpers. Two years ago I stopped at the smoke jumper’s school for an interesting tour. Interstate 90 directed me ever upwards through the Lolo National Forest and as I crossed into Idaho at Lookout pass, I was flanked by the Coeur d’Alene Mountains on my right and St. Joe Mountains on my left. The road passes over (on a lengthy elevated section) the old silver mining town or Wallace, just inside the eastern edge of Idaho’s panhandle. I like Wallace, having visited twice before to fill Sunshine’s tummy with 87 octane. Here are a few facts that I found on the web: Wallace is famous for being the Silver Capital of the World with more than 1.1 billion ounces of silver have been dug from the ground in Shoshone County since 1884. Wallace boasts that every downtown building is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and if that isn’t enough, readers of the Boise Weekly voted Wallace the “Best City in Idaho.” All this with a population of 960 souls. The mayor in 2004 proclaimed that Wallace was the Center of the Universe. Now that’s big time bragging rights. Okay, but then thinking about it, I figured that wherever one is . . . that’s the center of YOUR universe. Of course we must go a step further and agree that from person to person, the center moves around quite a bit. Okay, that’s quite enough; I’m getting a migraine from all this thinking. Leaving Wallace behind I passed through the town of Kellogg that not only supports winter snow sports but summer’s hiking, biking, camping and fishing and is home to Dave Smith Motors, the largest Chrysler dealer in the good old USA. Actually Dave Smith Motors also sells other major brands. Folks from far away can order a car or truck using their 800 number. If they haven’t got your model on the lot they’ll order one. The vehicle price is only several hundred dollars above cost. This is a no-haggling operation. Give‘em a call at 800-635-8000 and ask for a quote. If you fly in to Spokane they’ll send car to pick you up at the airport. Interstate 90 sweeps down the mountain at the eastern end of Lake Coeur d’Alene moving high above the lake until it reaches the lovely city of Coeur d’Alene, named by the French and translated to read “Heart of the Awl.” Whether fact or fiction the heart of an awl is the pointy end and as the Indians were tough traders (selling their furs) the French traders felt their hearts were being pierced by paying more than they thought the furs were worth. Sounds like business people everywhere, doesn’t it. I was going to Cd’A to visit my friend Joanie Dwyer who I’ve mention before in these journals. Her sister Marti, husband Gill and son Derrick of Phoenix were visiting for a week. I was five days ahead of myself (I have this nasty habit of showing up early) so what to do but continue on to British Columbia’s Vancouver Island and Victoria. My ride through Washington was uneventful, meaning no rain. I like eastern Washington with its 300 days of sunshine while the west coast region, on the western side of the Cascade Mountains has (some think nothing but rain, while I saw nothing but blue skies) less sunshine especially in the winter. Eastern Washington’s Columbia River, constrained by the Grand Coulee dam, offers sufficient irrigation water to grow apples, wheat, potatoes, wine grapes, pears and cherries in an area that was nothing but scrub. The slab climbed up through the Mount Baker Snoqualmie National Forest to the little town of North Bend. I stopped there in 2003 for lunch and met the couple who gave Sunshine her name so I felt kinship with the area. The town has a health store and bakery where I was able to order a hummus/veggie sandwich for breakfast. Back on the slab I rode north past Seattle to Everett where I stopped for the evening. The next morning after consulting my book Healthy Highways I followed I-5 north to Bellingham and had a late breakfast at the Community Food Co-op, then on to the border crossing into Canada. I rode to Abbottsford to look up the son of Deirdre Gibson, a friend I met in New Zealand. It was Monday and the bike shop where he worked was closed so nothing for it but to continue on to Vancouver and the ferry to Vancouver Island. What a lovely journey with a few PLI’s to make it even more interesting. The ferry, Queen of Oak Bay, left Horseshoe Bay, crossing placid waters of the Strait of Georgia, under a hot, breezy sun, the perfect weather for a visit to North America’s largest island. Docking more than an hour and forty minutes later in Nanaimo, I was first in line to ride off the ferry. Motorbikes are allowed front row parking that allows two and three wheelers to be first off. No waiting for Uncle Oscar and Aunt Tilly to slowly make their way up the ramp and putter along to the exit. The ferry exit road leads to Canada’s Route 1&19, a two hour ride to Victoria, a hundred miles south. I stopped in Duncan at the Country Grocer super market for water where I met Kathy and Daniel. She was taken with Sunshine’s bright yellow color. I thought it might be my new thin physique but Sunshine took center stage, once more. Several hours later I reached Victoria, a wonderfully warm, flower covered, busy, interesting city, looking for the offices and printing plant of the folks who print my book. I told Maya Tibbetts, my author’s rep that if I reached Victoria I’d take her to lunch. Evening was not far off so I looked for a motel . . . a cheap motel, but Victoria is a vacationer’s city and cheap is not in the Canadian dictionary. I elected to stop at a Traveler’s Inn on Douglas Street. I won’t tell you what I paid but if the room had two beds I’d have slept in both to get my monies worth. The next morning while stuffing Sunshine’s trunk I met Don and Kathleen Smith from Santa Barbara. They were both talkative Californians and I learned that Don and his family left Scotland’s Outer Hebrides Islands when he was 12 and moved halfway across the world to Easter Island so his dad could run a sheep farm. He had an active upbringing finally deciding to become a barber so he could earn his living anywhere. Later that morning, I spent time looking for the office building of my publisher. I made a few wrong turns and ended up at the Inner Harbor, a short walk from a visitor’s center building. Just the place to point me in the right direction. I never got there. In fact I’d hardly got off the bike when Sunshine was mobbed by picture takers. Three folks approached to talk and take photos. I thought they talked funny. Yup, they were Kiwi’s from the South Island. The single woman Mary Watson wanted a ride in the sidecar. I tried politely to put her off but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m a gentleman so I agreed and off we went avoiding horse drawn carriages and hundreds of jay walking tourists. When we parted she gave me a big hug and kiss and ran off to catch up with her party. Wow . . . I do like Kiwis. I finally found the publishing house, tucked up an ally behind other buildings. I introduced myself to Maya and had a tour of the plant. Both Maya and Bill Mitchell, a pre-press technician, joined me for lunch at a funky well served vegetarian café. I found both people to be most cordial as were all the Canadians I’ve met. My return to Vancouver and Abbottsford before dark meant that I had to leave after lunch and drive 30 miles north to Swartz Bay to catch the ferry Queen of Saanich to Tsawwassen. I met and spent the entire ferry trip talking with Donald MacDonald from Maple Ridge, BC, about life, liberty and our countries politics and place in world affairs. Fascinating man. I was sorry to say goodbye. I left the ferry, first off again to follow the road east to Vancouver and within 20 miles found myself on the wrong road heading south. I stopped for a map check more than once (how easy when I have a passenger). I finally sorted it out and arrived back in Abbottsford to meet Nathan Vassella, my Kiwi friend’s son, just as the bike shop closed. I had a nice visit with Nathan and his lady Sarah Foster and accepted their offer to crash on their couch for the night. Most comfortable plus saving bucks on a motel . . . Always a good thing. I left the next morning for Seattle to see the city from the Space needle and then slowly make my way back to Coeur d’Alene and spend time with Joanie and her family. Thus ends my Canadian travelogue . . . a long way from Ohio. |
| FOLLOW THE YELLOW LINE Motorcycle Touring with Stuart Davis and His Side Car www.followtheyellowline.com |