THE BOOK HAS BEEN PUBLISHED!

Just announcing that 8 years from the day I started walking (April 1, 2012) I have finally released my book. It’s so new it doesn’t come up in the search results yet, but this link:

The Argonaut Moon on Amazon

will take you to the paperback book’s page on Amazon. There will be an ebook as well; it just needs some formatting so should be up in a day or two.

I started the book when I finished the walk… there’s even a version in my computer in which the story actually ends on a rather dismal note, in August of 2012. But then, as any follower of my blog would know, I subsequently crossed the country on my motorcycle. That gave me an ending to the book, so I continued it. It took me a l-o-n-g time to write, re-write, edit, change. update, delete, rewrite, edit, edit and re-edit the book. My brilliant daughter, who is a digital designer, artist and typographer, designed the look of the book (fonts, cover art, layout, etc) and she helped me edit the text, AND we made the deadline, which I’d set as April 1. The book was uploaded March 31.

When I set the deadline (which was also 4/1/2019, 4/1/2018, etc) I didn’t know it would end up in the middle of this COVID-19 quarantine. That’s both good and bad. Bad, as books are not being given priority shipping by Amazon (food, toilet paper and other essentials for home-sequestered customers are) and bad because I can’t set up any local promotional events like a book signing, a talk, whatever… but good because there’s millions of people stuck at home, and what better way to pass the time than by reading a nice fat adventure story?

The Argonaut Moon is 422 pages long. (the paperback edition) A digital version is forthcoming within the week. I’m also having a limited number of hardback editions published, at my expense, which, once I approve the proof copy, will print within a couple weeks. Those are the ‘gift and thank you’ editions which I will sign and mail to the wonderful people who helped me, befriended me, let me sleep at their house, and of course family and close friends.

In writing the book, I used my blog, my photos, my GPS tracks, my Facebook posts and my crappy memory to recreate the story. I also did some research, so here and there are bits of interesting history about a town or area, the people who lived in the town, about the geography and weather I passed through, some science about motorcycling, some thoughts about walking, about life, about change, and about dreams.

I didn’t write the book thinking I’d have a best-seller. I wrote the book to preserve the story, and for something of me that my kids can have. It not only is a record of the walk and bike trip, but I put a lot of myself, my feelings, MY story in the book as well.

I hope if anyone still looks in on this, or used to, that they might like the book for themselves. It has FINALLY been published and is ready to buy! Enjoy!

The Argonaut Moon on Amazon

I’m Still Here

I took my ill-fated walk seven years ago, and my cross country motorcycle ride three years ago. Probably the only people who will read this post are the people who forgot to unsubscribe from my blog. Surprise!

Ever since I returned from my walk, I have been slowly pecking away at a book about my adventures. I scrapped it partway through, after I was diagnosed with severe adult attention deficit disorder, because once on medication, I read what I’d written and it bounced all over the place. So I started over, and over, and it finally started making some sense and the story began taking shape.

Having never written a book before (not for adults anyway) I had no idea how to structure it, what the most successful methods were, (like writing an outline? Roughing out chapters first?) or how to integrate relevant stories from my past into the tale. I learned as I went along, which is why it has taken so long.

Finally, though, I am down to collaborating on the editing with my daughter and my best friend, to make sure I haven’t missed anything like typos, punctuation, clumsy sentences, whatever, in what is essentially the final draft. The more eyes on it, the more mistakes get caught. I discovered that listening to the book helped greatly, because, besides the fact that I know the story and write the book, many people missed the same errors because, like mine, their brains knew what should be there. For example:

“We went the store and bought more bandages.”

There word ‘to’ is missing, but our brains fill that in, and you know what the sentence means. And with easily recognizable words, we don’t really READ them, we can scarcely glance at them and know what they are, so the above sample sentence can be read in a flash, the omitted word overlooked. But using an app in my phone, “she” (the voice) read it aloud, and then awkward sentences like that become glaring obvious errors. I was surprised how many people had read the book and missed then same ones, as I found many many little mistakes like that.

Originally I wanted illustrations, maps, all kinds of extra stuff, but since just the writing of it alone has taken so long, I decided to just get the story done. As slow and picky as I am, it would have ended up getting published posthumously, if at all.

So hopefully, the book will be done before Christmas, if not, early 2019. My intention is to publish it as an ebook, on Amazon I suppose, and out-of-pocket publish 50-100 hardbound copies of the book, for friends and family, and the people who were kind to me on my journeys.

Perhaps soon I will post again about what I have been up to since my bike trek, and I will as well when the book is available online, but for now, I’m just checking in, and letting you know I’m still at it. Thanks, if anyone is still out there.

Last Day, Year 54

Tomorrow is my 54th birthday.

I read an entry from this day, in 2011. I was 49-turning-50; the “big one”. I was in Los Angeles, and in the following Spring I was embarking on my walk.    On that date, I was looking forward.

This evening I am looking back as well.

At 50, I was anxious, doubtful.  I didn’t see a lot of promise in my future, although I was elated that my dyscrasy seemed to have cleared up on its own, and was looking forward to my upcomng walk.

At 54, I am content. After three years, I finished what I started. I made a compromise, the motorcycle instead of my feet. But my trip was about the journey, and journey I did. I made my dream come true.

At 54, I feel complete.  Inside my head is much quieter now, the constant cartographical ponderings, the planning and plotting and  mental assembling of gear is gone. What my cranium lacks in ‘brain chatter’, it makes up for, now, in copius amounts of happy memories.

At 54, my heart is full.  Full of love for my wonderful boyfriend Mike, and for my children. It is full of love for the amazing people I have met, from the New Jersey cop to the Washington musician, who helped me or befriended me.  It is full of love for the landscapes of this country. I rode through the suburbs of New Jersey, over the Pocono, Appalachian, Allegheny, Rocky and Cascade mountains. Trigger carried me across great expanses of golden wheatfields and through the dense cool forests of Minnesota and Washington. I ferried across the Straits of Mackinac and Puget Sound. I stood in both oceans.

And with the love and the memories there is a peace. An enlightenment. I “get it” now. I learned who I was and I learned, for the first time, to like her.  Me. I never knew me before.  My impressions of myself were way off.

I earned a PhD on the road. I learned about people and geography and how to ride in mud and in crosswinds, and about trust, and friendship and connecting and family and friends, and love.

Most of all, I learned about me. And she ain’t so bad, for an old lady.

____

Some people dread turning older. I guess if I had nothing to look forward to, or no love or no wonder about life, I imagine I’d have some reluctance facing another year.  But at 54, I am whole and happy and very much in love, and I am looking forward to each day,. I spend them with my One, Mike, and with my chickens and garden.  The cooler weather will be arriving soon, and I intend to spend my Autumn and Winter working on the book I am writing about my adventures.

A very Happy Birthday to me. It already is, just :18 minutes into it. I am home with my lover. And I am happy. For the first time in my life, I am truly, deeply happy.

Photos 3: Wisconsin and Minnesota

This slideshow could not be started. Try refreshing the page or viewing it in another browser.

PHOTOS * PHOTOS * PHOTOS

I took a lot of pictures, these are just some of them.  I have made seperate pages to accomodate them. Just click on the first picture and it will open up a slide show.

Here are the links: (I will add links as I add pages)

New Jersey/Pennsylvania

Photo Page 1: New Jersey and Pennsylvania

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ohio and Michigan

Photo Page: Ohio and Michigan

Wisconsin and Minnesota

Photos 3: Wisconsin and Minnesota

HOME!

I left off in the little cabin in Ashton, Idaho.

We still had 215 miles to go, so after breakfast in Ashton, we loaded up and stopped for gas. My cigarette lighter wasn’t working, so Mike went looking for a fuse.  I took that time to walk up the road and take a few photos of the Frostop soda and ice cream shop.

I originally read it as “Fro stop”, like one was trying to get their afro from getting any bigger. Mike laughed and corrected me, it’s FROST-TOP. Oops.

We headed east on 20, to West Yellowstone, and then into Yellowstone National Park.  We both have park passes, so it doesn’t cost us each $25.

It was cooler in the park, downright chilly on the higher mountain passes.  We didn’t have to stop for any animal jams, although we did see a few cars parked haphazardly on the shoulder, the people standing and pointing at and photographing a few buffalo.

We exited the park and had nearly fifty miles to go before we reached Cody.  It’s such a beautiful drive, it made time go faster.  The wind is nearly always blowing on the Northfork highway, and it zigzags as it deflected off rocks and mountainsides.

Soon we came to Cody, and I stopped and got my mail from my UPS box, stashed it, and continued towards home.

I felt triumphant. I had accomplished what I had set out to do, crazy as it was on that bike, with no major problems, accidents, or much rain. It was my private victory, as it was done not for recognition, not for anything other than to finish my trek from three years ago, and to quell the gnawing in my brain about it.

I lost track of what day it was, I thought it was Thursday, so when we got to the pub we met at, we stopped for “Thursty Thursday”, two for one drinks. Turned out it was Friday, and a guy I used to date was in there, and congratulated me, and bought our drinks. I had a double shot of whisky because I had a cold, which I still have.

After our drink, we headed HOME.  It was so good to be back.  I held my cat a bit, unloaded the motorcycle, and went to see my chickens.  They had all gotten even bigger, and all had combs now.  It made them hard to identify now, but I’ll figure them out.  They started laying eggs while I was away.

Mike didn’t mess with the garden much, it was weedy but the plants were big, there were tomatoes all over the vines, and green peppers, carrots, squash and calypso beans.

Despite my cold, I was happy and glad to have completed my trip, glad to be with Mike now, everyday, glad to be able to get on with my life again. It was nice to sleep in my own bed, in my own house, and not have to eat every meal out.

The whole trip hasn’t “sunk in” yet. I didn’t acquire a lot of my benefit from my walk right away.  But inside my head is a lot quieter. I’m not planning, I’m not measuring miles and distances and writing down gear lists.  I have more peace in my brain than I’ve had in years.

I did it. 🙂

Craters of the Moon

My last blog entry ended in Bellevue, Idaho, at the High Country Motel, with Mike.

In the morning, we had breakfast and packed up our gear, and headed east.

The next stop was Craters of the Moon National Monument near Arco, Idaho. I had only seen it in Winter, which defeated the purpose, as the lava flows and weird landforms were all under a blanket of snow.

We cruised the park slowly, stopping a couple of times for short walks to see volcanic formations, photos, and we talked to a man who had ridden up from North Carolina on his bike.

Then we continued on to Ashton, where Mike had reserved an adorable little cabin for us. It has been owned by the same family for generations.

It was so nice to be in his arms.  That, combined with having finally made it to the west coast, made me feel whole and happy.

Eastbound to Idaho

My last entry ended at the Crane Hot Springs.

In the morning, I was going to take another dip in the pond, so I put my bathing suit on. But first I needed to use the bathroom.  The building that housed the bathroom and showers also had private hot mineral baths. A lady was filling them (beyond overflowing) and getting them ready for the day. I peeked in, and it wasn’t hard for her to twist my arm to use one.

So I closed the door, and sank into the very hot bath for awhile, even though I needed to hit the road, nothing like a hot soak to get the day started.

I showered and dressed and packed up Trigger and headed to the town of Crane for breakfast. I filled the tank there, too, before heading north to hook up with highway 20 again. There wasn’t much along the road, just small towns here and there, open land, and short craggy mountains.

That soon turned into the metropolis of Ontario. I then picked up Highway 30 for awhile, as 26 and 20 blended with Interstate 84. Highway 30 crossed the river, and I immediately pulled over and took my helmet off! Yay!

I continued on 30 for a ways, and then was forced onto I-85 for a bit.  I was making bad time, so Interstate wasn’t a problem.

I have always avoided them, with my small motorcycle which blows around easily, but with nearly 5000 miles ridden in the last month, through rain, strong cross and headwinds, over mountains, trough cities and forests, my confidence was up. I got this.

I took the exit for  Highway 20 and was glad to be off the interstate, despite its speed limit. 20 was the route that would take me home, but first take me to where my boyfriend awaited me, in Bellevue, Idaho.

Mike was at a motel there, and by now it was getting dark.  I followed signs for Bellevue, I didn’t realize it was still 12 miles off 20.  But I made it just at dark, so happy to be with my Love again.

I unloaded the bike, and we went to find some dinner.  It felt weird to ride on the back of his Harley, instead of driving a bike…

With nearly 400 miles left to go, I still wasn’t home, but now I had my sweetheart to ride in with me.  Couldn’t ask for a better companion to ride with!

Eastbound Oregon

I left off at a Howard Johnson’s Hotel east of Portland.

I studied the map, and realized I was in Oregon Trail territory. I posted a question on my OCTA list (Oregon-California Trail Association) asking if there was anything neat to see in the area.

Stafford Hazelett responded with very good directions to a pioneer woman’s grave.  It only a half mile detour, so I planned for that.

In the same parking lot with the hotel was a restaurant called Elmer’s.  I walked over and had very good French Toast and some coffee, before packing my bike back up.

I checked out and climbed on Trigger. The area was still suburban for a while, but as I got further out, it became forest again.  Highway 26 curved under Mt. Hood.  I could see glimpses of it here and there, its snowy peak rising above the trees.

Soon I came to the exit for the pioneer grave. I followed the signs, and Stafford’s directions, and pulled the bike off the roadway to park.  I removed my helmet and walked back to read the plaques and signs posted.  It told a sad story of a woman who died there; her grieving husband buried her in a wagon box.  No one knows her name, it’s a “tomb of the unknown pioneer”.  Stafford had told me how to find a trail there in the woods.  He said, “Once you cross over the fork of the river,…” ..I saw a sign for the river, but no water, so I wasn’t exactly sure where to look.  I could see some clearings in the forest, but I needed to get moving, so I hopped back on the bike and rode east.

I had called a campground outside of Burns, Oregon, to inquire about prices and tent camping. They had room, and it was $20 a night.  Burns was pretty far, nearly 300 miles from the hotel I’d stayed at, so I needed to not linger.

When I arrived in Burns, I bought a Subway sandwich and a couple Cokes and a cookie, and went outside to my bike, thinking… “where the hell are you going to PUT this?” I managed to bungee the sandwich and drinks down on the big bag.

The camp was not on the main highway.  I had to ride 25 miles down the 78 to get to it. When I arrived I saw a few tents sitting in the grass, no campsites, just a tenting area.  That would have been fine, if there had been trees.

I knew my back couldn’t take another night on the ground.  I walked in and asked if there was a place to hang a hammock…. there wasn’t. So, since I had a sandwich getting cold, it was getting late and I was tired, I asked what other accommodations they had.  I ended up in a small cabin sitting right along the pond.  Several motorcycles were parked outside the other cabins.  The bikers walked over and greeted me, aghast that I just rode across the country on that little 400.

The pond was hot spring fed, and open all night for the campers.  Day use people had to leave by nine.

I checked into my cabin and ate, talked to Mike on the phone, and, since I ended up paying more than twice what I had intended to pay, I was going to take advantage of what it had to offer.

I unzipped my pack and pulled out the ten gallon Ziplock bag full of clothes, and pulled my swimsuit out. I walked out to the pond, draped my towel over some round metal pipe, kicked my moccasins off, and gingerly walked to the edge.  I didn’t see a particular place for entering, so I just walked in.

The water was pleasantly warm. I carefully walked on the stone-covered bottom, towards the pump house, where the hottest water was coming out of pipes. Aaaah, a hot tub. I floated on my back and watched the stars overhead. A shooting star, which looked just like it started from the bottom left star of the Big Dipper, streaked across the black sky.  Nice.  I was the only person in the pond.  I floated around, but mainly stayed where the hottest water was. I thought, “This would be a good place for stargazing and setting up a telescope, if they’d just shut those two light off… and if that town out there wasn’t so bright.

After a few minutes, I realized that it wasn’t a town making the glow beyond the hills, it was the moon.  Just the top edge of it showed, and I paddled out to watch it rise.

Slowly the golden moon rose, bathing the ground in copper light.  Higher, and now I could see it all. It wasn’t full, but it was more than half. It reflected onto the dark pond as golden ripples and shimmers.  Beautiful, absolutely beautiful to watch and experience.  Such a lovely evening.

As I floated, I thought of how wonderful my life turned out. Just a few years ago I was practically suicidal, and was seeing a therapist three times a week for bad depression.  I was drinking too much, I was lost.

And then I took the walk, and it changed me.  I became very happy, but the unfinished trek was eating away at me.

Finally, now, I was done.  I had completed my coast to coast journey, I had met up with friends I’d made on that journey, I’d walked in the waters of Ocean City, Washington, at long last.

And here I was, content and happy and in love and fulfilled and at peace, drifting about in a mineral pool, watching the stars twinkle and the moon glow.  Life doesn’t get better.

After a bit, a young couple walked into the pond.  I moved and sat along the edge, still watching the moon.  From hearing the moans and groans, I’m pretty sure they had sex out there, standing in the pond, under the golden moonlight.

Even that was beautiful. I wrapped my towel around me and walked back to my cabin. I gave them the solitude they wanted, I’m sure, out there under the stars.

Next Stop…

I left my story at the post office in Ocean Shores, Washington.

Although I had ridden 4300 miles, I still had 1200 to go, so even though I was “done”, I wasn’t done.

From the post office, I began heading towards Portland, where I was to meet my daughter in a couple of days.

I got back on the 101 and rode till I hit the Motel 6 in Kelso, Washington.

The motel had “no marijuana allowed” signs in the lobby, at the desk.  It made me a little pissed, because the rest of the sign made reference to it as if it were criminal, and only criminals used it, and threatened with expulsion and police intervention.

Excuse me, it’s LEGAL in Washington.  And it’s not criminals using it.

The place was really crowded and I was lucky to get a parking spot out back. I only got one because someone else was bad at parking, and parked over the line enough that even a smart car wouldn’t dare squeeze into the spot, but it wasn’t a problem for a bike.

Signs touting their “pet friendliness” were about, as were the pets.  People near my room had set up a portable fenced area and puppies and small dogs were taking turns getting play time, or poop time, in it.

The motel sat on an interstate intersection, so restaurants and convenience stores were all within walking distance. I didn’t want to move the bike, I’d lose my parking spot, possibly. And I’d spent enough time on it, ya think?

Once I unloaded and turned the air conditioner on, I walked over and got really bad fast food dinner. Didn’t matter.. I did it.  Noting bothered me now.

When I’d get even the least bit irritated, or cross, I’d just say, I just rode across the country!” in my head, and I’d remember what it was all about, and had been about, and all the ill feelings fell away. I’d remember how happy I am. (I’m not used to being so happy, I forget!)

I stayed there two nights, because I was a mere fifty miles from Portland. My daughter had said to come any time after noon on Sunday.

The second day I didn’t do much, but I did walk up to get a few items at a drug store.  One of them was a card for Rodee’s Repair Shop in Michigan, the other a condolence card for someone.

Rodee’s Repair Shop was the place that, when Panda broke in half on my walk, they fixed him up for free, saying instead of payment, to send them a card from Washington when I made it.  I’m sure they weren’t expecting it to be three years later….

The second morning I packed up and headed for Portland.  It rained, then would stop, then would rain.  I texted Brooklyn when I was close, and when I pulled up, a dirty biker chick on a dirty bike, in front of the fancy hotel, she was outside.

The bellmen looked a bit awkward, I’m sure I didn’t look like their usual clientele.

I unloaded the bags onto a luggage cart.  The valet told me they didn’t “do” motorcycles, and to go to the parking lot over there, behind the church.  Portland has a lot of one way streets. I circled around and kept going to parking lots that were for monthly parkers, so I’d have had to move my bike by 5 AM.  I finally found one in a lot encircled by food carts, and paid $19 for 24 hours.  The whole ordeal took nearly an hour.

Brooklyn had told me what room we were in, so I walked back to The Sentinel and rode up the elevator to the fourth floor, and knocked on the door.

The room was beautiful and elegant, it was two rooms, actually. Each room had a flat screen TV, and a minibar separated them. A thick white terry robe embroidered with an S (for Sentinel) hung above a pair of cello-wrapped white terry slippers in the bathroom. A globe sat on the desk.

After I changed and cleaned up a bit, Brooklyn and I went out to eat, and walked around shopping and seeing Portland’s sights. She generously bought me a beautiful compass and a chicken pin and some coasters with the moon on them. She would type on her phone in the Uber app, and within a minute or two, a car would pull up and give us a ride. No money or tips exchanged hands; it was all done through the app.

At night, she called the desk and asked for someone to come set my bed up.  It was a fold-out couch that became a queen bed.  An older black man with a nice accent arrived and he put sheets and blankets and pillows on the bed for me.

In the morning we went out and had gourmet doughnuts and coffee, because she had a phone call interview she needed to be in the room for; brunch could wait.  I walked across the street to Target and bought a couple t-shirts and a pair of blue jeans.  I have lost about 20 pounds so my pants kept slipping down.

We packed the room up and checked out, and the hotel put our luggage on a cart and rolled it into a closet or small room, so we could enjoy Portland without lugging our bags around. Nice!

We walked to the paring lot Trigger was in, to buy a few more hours of time.  The man in the booth told me it’d be $12 more, but his boss, a lady, told him, “No, it’s only $6 for motorcycles, for all day.”  I wish she’d been there yesterday when I paid the nineteen…

We shopped and ate and went sightseeing some more.  We walked over a bridge, found the “Keep Portland Weird” sign, a sculpture, and visited some other sites.

Too soon and it was time for her to head to the airport. I waited until her Uber ride arrived, and  hugged her good bye with tears in my eyes. Once her car was out of sight, I told the bellman I was going to get my bike and pack it up.

I pulled Trigger up to the loading zone, and put all the bags and gear back on him, bungeed it down, put my helmet on, earbuds in, and followed directions from my GPS to get me out of Portland.

I had called about a hotel outside of town, it had availability and was cheap, but when I saw it, I just couldn’t pull in. All the houses around there had chain link fenced yards. Trash blew in the streets. The motel had a fence too, and run down cars that looked like they never moved. I passed.  Instead I found a Howard Johnson’s in the next town west, and checked in.

After I unpacked the bike, I walked to a fast food place for dinner.

I talked to Mike on the phone, and we discussed our plans for meeting in a couple of days, and I fell asleep.

Photos from Ocean City Washington

Pictures from on the beach in Ocean City, Washington, the last few moments of my more than three year quest to reach Ocean City.

The End

I left off at the campground, in the morning, heading for Ocean City Beach.

Ocean City proper was north of the campground, Ocean Shores south. I drove up to the main road from the camp, and north.

A sign said “Ocean City Beach Access” and pointed to the left, so I turned, as it was exactly what I was looking for.

The road literally ended at the beach, ON the beach. The crumbly asphalt roadway disappeared into the sand. Way cool. It was a wonderful surprise ending to me.  To actually ride to the coast, right to the sand, almost to the sea.

I rode Trigger cautiously down the road, avoiding the sandy spots of drifted sand, and stopped when I could see no more asphalt. A Ducati motorcycle was parked, facing away from the beach. I shut the engine off and just sat, trying to hold back my tears.

Yeah I know, I cry a lot. Seldom from sadness, usually from joy.  This was joy.

Once I managed to compose myself, I dismounted the bike and attempted a selfie.  The man with the Ducati offered to take pictures of me for me. I told him why I was there, and we talked a bit.  He said he had to take a more southerly route due to the closure of many roads north of there, the same ones I had just come out on were now closed for fire control.

He took a few shots of me, and I thanked him and climbed on Trigger for a seat while I unlaced my boots and peeled off my socks. I stepped down and rolled the bottom of my pants up, and walked into the soft, fine sand of Ocean City Beach.

It was an endless beach, stretching north and south to infinity, and the sea and the sky and the sand became one on three sides of me.

I walked slowly, down to the where the sand was dark and wet, and started looking for a person to take my picture.  A middle aged lady walking two small dogs was nearing me, so I approached her. I explained that I had just ridden my bike across the continent, and that the real ending to the trip was the walk in the water, and would she mind…?

She looped the dogs’ leashes over her wrist and I walked out in shallow water to my ankles, and turned around. Just as she held the camera up and started taking pictures, a wave came in and hit me from behind.  Even my rolled up pants were wet, I had to wade back in 18″ deep water… I guess the tide comes in all at once.

I thanked her and we talked another minute, and she wished me well, and walked off with her dogs.

I took some more photos, as I walked back to the bike. I opened the pack and pulled my pipe out, time for a celebratory smoke.. I sat on Trigger and toked a bit, again, choking back tears of relief and joy and closure.

This was my moment.  I didn’t do the trip, either one, for anybody but me.  It was a compulsion from the beginning, a thing I had to do. When I was unable to finish the walk, although I had resigned to my fate, my drive hadn’t.  It had been eating away at me, I felt incomplete, it wasn’t done.

But now, as I sat feeling incredible and accomplished, on my old Honda on the sands of Ocean City beach, it was.

It was like a loud radio, scanning AM stations, crackling, and all kinds of noise, suddenly falling silent. The noise in my head, the compulsion to do this, the planning, the shattered hopes from my bad back, all the effort and logistics and what-ifs and everything, just stopped.

All of the sudden, I didn’t know what I would be dreaming about. I had been planning the walk a while, and then this ride, … But I think the hole that I had was filled, and the last oddly shaped jigsaw puzzle piece of my soul was just pressed perfectly into place; I was complete.

* * *

I finished my bowl and put the pipe away, and carefully dusted the sand off my feet. While I was rubbing the sand off, I remembered how diligently I cleaned my feet the first morning of my walk, in Ocean City, New jersey, after walking in the water to start the trip, making sure no sand would be left to rub and cause a blister as I walked. It has been a long road.

I fastened my boots and studied the GPS in my phone, as I needed to find the closest post office.  Ocean Shores, back by the campground.

I never saw the town of Ocean City.  It was actually kind of strange. I had originally planned to stay in the area a couple of days, but once I had made it to the water, I was done.

Just like that.

Done.

I fastened my helmet and carefully turned Trigger around, and we slowly rode back to the main road.

A car was entering the beach; the driver put her hand out as if to stop me.  I thought perhaps she had a question about my travels (as it was apparent I had been) or about the beach, but instead she asked me if I was voting for Donald Trump. I sat, engine idling… brain idling…

“Here’s why you should,” she continued. And she started talking about workers and immigration and I don’t know what, all I could think was, seriously?  My brain spun, looking for logic or reason in the moment. I couldn’t comprehend that that was why she flagged me down.

I interrupted her, “I am having the most AWESOME day of my life, and you stop me to talk politics?!?!  I don’t want to talk fucking politics!! Holy shit!” and I rode away.  What an odd encounter.

I followed the directions to the post office in Ocean Shores, pulled in and parked. I rummaged around the back bag till I found the little pack that had the Zippo lighter in it.  A scratched, old, gold-tone Zippo lighter. I then scrolled my contact list in my phone for Jeff’s address. Inside, I dropped the lighter into a padded mailer and addressed it. On the outside of the envelope I wrote “Mailed from Washington!” with an arrow pointing towards where the postmark would go, and mailed it.

That small, simple act was of great importance to me. That lighter had been loaned to me by The Man That Started It All, Jeff.  I had seen him last in Los Angeles, right before I left on my walk.  He told me to return it when I reached Ocean City.

When I quit my walk back in 2012, I told him on the phone I was going to send it back, but he said, “No, I said send it back when you reach Ocean City.”

I had.  Finally.

I was done.

Ocean City

I left off camping near the ocean, in my tent, in the rain.

I woke cold and damp, and early. I was restless, I had to walk a little.  I was going to walk down  a path to the ocean, but it turned out to be further than I wanted to walk, so I went back and hopped on Trigger to go grab breakfast.  I came back and while eating, started taking my wet tent down.  I had a headache and a backache, and although my tent doesn’t leak from the top, water soaked in through the floor. Everything was damp. Sleeping on the ground never used to bother me (I mean on an air mattress on the ground) but I was sore and stiff.  Just not a good way to start the coolest day of my life.

But the rain had ceased and I packed the bike, rode up to the office to get shower tokens (why the token machine isn’t by the showers is beyond me…) and took a nice hot shower, dressed, dried, stuffed my laundry and towel into the bag, and headed for my Mecca, Ocean City beach.

The Coast

I left off at Scott’s house, sleeping on a couch.

I am sorry, if anyone is reading this, that I am so behind. I have to write it all down so I don’t forget it.  My brain is like swiss cheese, full of holes.

So in the morning I threw a load of laundry in and tried to got back to sleep, with no success.  And then they went in the dryer, and I showered. I was super careful about the locks.  I made sure I was looking at or holding a key before I locked anything, so I didn’t lock myself out. I hauled my gear to the garage and opened the big door for light, and packed Trigger up.  I made one more check, locked it up, pushed the bike out, hit the garage door clicker and chucked it under the electric ray as the door slowly rumbled shut.

I found a McDonald’s (yuck, but fast and cheap) and ate, and then drove south to Mukilteo to catch the first ferry. I had done my homework, and knew that motorcycles were handled a little different before I left. I was able to pass the line of cars and cut in line, as bikes are first on, first off on the ferries. The tollbooth lady said to go into lane two, which was way off on the left. Another bike was parked there.

I had to wait maybe ten minutes, and the ferry pulled up.  First walking people and then motorcycles and then cars rolled off and dispersed at the intersection. The gate lifted and I followed the first-in-line bikers onto the ferry, directed by ferry traffic guys. We parked at the back, now to become the front nose, of the ferry.

The ferryboat was huge.  It had bathrooms and lots of chairs, and different level decks to walk on.  The bikers ahead of me talked a bit then went upstairs, and another man approached me and asked questions about my loaded bike with Wyoming plates. We talked a few minutes, and I took a couple of photos and walked, but headed back to Trigger so I could be ready to go when the ferry docked.

It always takes me a couple of minutes, I put my earphones in, my sunglasses or goggles on, a bandana across my hair, and since it was Washington, I had to fasten the helmet back on as well.  I choose an appropriate music playlist on my iPod or iPhone; it has to be the right mood.  If I am wearing it, then the jacket is zipped and buckled and the iPod or phone goes into the pocket, and then plugged in to the car lighter. The headphone wires are snapped behind the collar to keep them from whipping around. I do it so I can have a good, undistracted ride. I love to have loud music when I drive a car or a motorcycle. I can hear what I need to hear, like sirens, and if I am in a busy town, I shut the music off so I can hear everything.

So I got dressed and mounted Trigger and waited for the traffic dude to wave us off the ferry.  We rolled up the ramp and onto Whidbey Island.

I’m sure it was a lovely island, as tourists go to it, but I stopped only for gas, and then rode up to catch the second ferry to Port Townsend.

Same as before, I parked behind another bike in our own lane. Cars lined up in the others.

I was early, so I walked around a bit, had a smoke, took some pictures. I had no problem with time, as I could see the ferry approaching when it did, and worked my way back to Trigger, to put my helmet on and the whole routine again.

This time we bikers were directed down a side “alley” or hallway on the ferry, a dark, long hallway with smooth floors, that came out right at the front again.  Pretty fun, like riding it in a school or a mall.

From Port Townsend, I followed signs for Washington State Highway 20 (not the US 20 I took later) and then for the 101. I enjoyed a beautiful ride from there, skimming the coast, seeing signs that indicated I was in Olympic Park.  There were signs that gave the distance to towns ahead.. or rainforests.

A bee got up my sleeve, and I’m sure the car behind me, that passed me, wondered what all the shaking was about.  There was no safe place to pull over, so while holding my left hand on the throttle, I shook my right arm violently, trying to get the bee to fall out.  I finally HAD to pull over, so I found a straightaway and skid to a halt and took my jacket off.  The stinger was still in my arm, but I never found the bee.  I shook out the liner and my sleeve and shirt, until I was satisfied said bee was gone, and pulled back onto the road.

Huge tall green trees, wet with rain and moss,  lined the roadway, shading it and cooling it.  The air smelled fresh and cool. The road had beautiful sweeping curves and some hills, as it cut through the dark forest and traced the coast. I could smell ocean at times, but it took awhile before I saw it.

And when I did, I pulled off the road onto a pullout, and sat, bawling, looking at the Pacific. The coast.  I had finally ridden to the coast.

But it didn’t count yet. I had to be my original destination of Ocean City, Washington, which I was closing in on.

So the afternoon wore on as I drove south, and when I saw them, I followed signs to Ocean City State Park, where I planned to camp.  It was too late to do the whole walk in the water thing, and the sky was getting dark, not only from the sun setting, but from cloud cover.

I checked into the park, and paid the $30 which I thought was high for a state park.  The lady told me that these four, she circled on the campground map, were walk in sites, if I was planning on two nights, I’d have to stay in one of these.  I wasn’t sure of my plans yet, so to be safe I agreed.  She said go pick one and come back. One was right next to the bathroom. Nope. The one next to it was vacant, but barely.  The party in the third one (that apparently the park aide didn’t know was occupied) was rather spread out and nearly encroached on it, so I took the last in line. I wasn’t worried about hanging a hammock, so tree spacing didn’t matter. It was going to rain.

I went back and informed her that only three of the sites were actually available, and I’d taken number eighteen. I rode back and immediately unpacked the bike, and pulled the tent from the duffel bag. I unrolled it and got the thin metal stakes out, but could NOT push them into the ground. Under the grass was about a half inch of dirt, and under that, rock I guess. The stakes wouldn’t go in.  Once the tent is fully erected, it doesn’t really need the stakes, but it makes setting it up much faster.

So needless to say, it took longer than usual to get it set up, after which I threw my stuff inside it and went out to find dinner.

Ocean Shores, the town I was closest to, goes to bed early. Everything was closing at nine, and it was close to nine. I tried a place that sounded like it’d be open later, but left as soon as I saw it, they were sweeping and such. I ran up on a place that looked lively for closing in ten minutes, and it turns out it was probably the only place that stayed open.  Even the McDonald’s closed at nine.

It was a large bar/restaurant combination. I sat at a picnic table and ordered my meal, but then moved to a table by an electric socket to charge up my phone.  There are seldom many choices for a vegetarian, and I didn’t have much appetite as usual, but they had a veggie burger on the menu, and Heineken.

To my dismay, some frizzy haired ponytailed late-twenty-something-but-lives-with-his-parents guy got up and sang Beatles and other music, too loud, too Vegas-y. Ugh.

I had been watching the weather report, and it said, “Rain expected to start around 9:45 PM”

At 9:40 PM, I went outside to leave, and as I was mounting the bike, it started to rain lightly.

I raced back and parked and crawled into my tent for the night.

I was at the coast. Other than the ocean view I passed on the 101, I made a point not to go to the beach or try to see the ocean much, because that was for tomorrow.  Tomorrow I would be, at last, in Ocean City, Washington, and planning to take my shoes off and walk in to the cold salt water, the official end to a coast to coast trip.

The rain fell steadily for a while, tapping on the tent, which made beautiful rhythm with the sound of the ocean waves breaking in the distance. It lulled me to sleep.

Western Washington and More Repairs

I left off sleeping in the forest at Beckler River Campground, under the bright moon.

In the morning, I woke early, anxious to get rolling. I packed up the bike and washed up with wet wipes I carry, brushed my teeth and turned Trigger’s key to get him running and warmed up.  The motor turned over once, but made meager wimpy chugging noises… and then nothing.  I gave it a few minutes, as the bike had done this before, back in Michigan.

Again, the bike tried to crank, but just wouldn’t. The man in the campsite next to me walked over and asked the “do you really think I’m that dumb?” question, “Is there gas in the tank?

No, I thought the bike ran on wishes.

He offered to push start it, a maneuver I was unfamiliar with.  He instructed me on what to do, but I couldn’t seem to time it right.  The bike would try, but when I released the clutch, it would jump forward and die.

I thought I would try asking the camp host if he (she?) had a jump starter or battery charger or something, but the place looked as it did last night, unoccupied.

On my walk back to the bike, I saw two couples around their campfire, making breakfast.  I asked if anyone was a biker, or knew how to ride.  One of the two men said he used to ride, but quit after wrecking and breaking his neck. (“Thanks for telling me that”, I said.)

He and his friend walked with me to the motorcycle, where I had left it with the camp neighbor. The ex-rider got on Trigger and familiarized himself with where the clutch and brake and such was, and then instructed the other two guys to push him.  He got it started right away, so it was something I was doing wrong.  He recommended I let it idle and to ride around the campground a bit while the battery charged up some before heading west.

I thanked them and their wives, who came over to see what I was up to, and after letting the bike warm up awhile, I rode past them again and waved thanks.

As I drove to the next town for breakfast, I noticed a vibration which was new.  The front end felt out of line; I wondered if it was the dip I’d hit the night before.

In about fifteen minutes or so I arrived in Skykomish, a small, quiet pretty town.  I ate a quick breakfast and then held my breath as I cranked the bike.. and he started.

Continuing on route 2, I went through a town called appropriately enough, Startup.  I told Trigger nice joke.

I tried adjusting my speed, changing gears, changing my position, but I still felt a vibration. And since the bike wouldn’t start that morning, I’d better get it looked at.

US 2 ends without fanfare, or even a sign, in Everett, Washington. I rode it to the end, and then pulled over and looked up motorcycle repair shops.  Everett has over 100,000 people, so I figured they had to have shops.  I chose one that had good user reviews and was close to where I was, and called.  After asking my issues, the lady who answered the phone told me to come one in, they’d take a look. I was instructed to leave the bike there in a no-parking zone.

The mechanic popped the side cover off the bike, and checked the battery.. it registered less than 50% charge; it was spent.

He then looked at the front tire and said right away it was old.  I told him it had just been put on in the winter. He read the date stamp on the side, which I didn’t know tires had, and he said it was manufactured in spring of 2012.  And then he pointed out dry rot between the treads, and told me that could cause vibration.

He called around and located a tire, as it is an odd size and he didn’t have it in stock, and a battery.  I sat on a couch in there a bit, talking to a tall ponytailed fellow.  It was apparent I was going to be there awhile, as someone had to go across town and retrieve the tire and battery, and then it needed to be installed.  I inquired about places to eat within walking distance.  The ponytailed man said he was going to lunch anyway, he’d buy.  We walked a few blocks to a small Italian restaurant.  Although he offered to pay, I just wasn’t hungry, I really just wanted a beer.  He ate a sandwich and I sipped a Peroni draft.

Back at the shop, I waited and walked around and sat and waited some more.  Occasionally some mechanic would come and tell me it was nearly done.  And then another said my brake fluid was black and bad and needed to be changed and the lines flushed, so I agreed.  I was too close to let a bike problem stop me again.

By then, it was too late to go to Whidbey Island and hope to catch ferries I needed, so I started looking up motels in my GPS.

It was a busy shop, bikes parked along the front of the shop, people ame and went, picked up  or dropped off motorcycles, and customers walked about the shop.

I scrolled the choices of motels in the area from the listing in Google Maps.  There were severall in my price range (cheap!) and a few high dollar ones along the water. The cheap ones all had unsettling reviews: “Looks like a meth lab”, “The police kept coming through and there were people hanging around the parking lot..” “noisy neighbors, dirty rooms..”

I asked the lady at the desk if there were any decent cheap motels.  She said not really, not in downtown Everett.  A tall man holding his helmet blurted out, “I have a spare room!”

“You don’t even know me!” I said.

“Scott,” he said and extended his hand.

“Shawnee,” I said, as I shook his. He then said again, “I have a spare room, it has a couch that unfolds into a bed.  You are more than welcome to stay with me.”

The lady at the desk said she knew him and would vouch for him, and go ahead, not to worry.

So I agreed to stay at his place. It saved money, and always makes for an interesting evening, meeting someone new.

As we put helmets on and got ready to ride our bikes off the sidewalk, another man came over and asked if he could photograph me. “Oh, you’re the lady riding across the country! I want your picture!” So I agreed, and continued buckling the helmet on.  He saw the stickers on the helmet and wanted pictures of them too.  They say’ Helmet laws suck” and “Let those who ride decide”.  It is Mike’s helmet, he and some other bikers fought the law and won, and Wyoming no longer has a mandatory helmet law.

I followed Scott up a few rather steep hills to his condo.  He directed me to park behind his Jeep Wrangler in the garage; he parked his Suzuki hybrid bike on the other side.

Scott gave me a tour, and showed me where the keys were hidden, how to come in and go out and lock it, etc. He said he would be getting up and leaving at like ;30 in the morning.

He gave me a beer and I sat on the couch.  His living room was full of instruments.  Bongo drums, digital drums, various percussion instruments, harps, guitars, a keyboard, a mandolin, a ukulele and even a musical saw he plays with a fiddle bow.

Scott played the funny plastic tubes and other percussion noisemakers, and then played some drums for me.  I filmed a bit of it.

A friend of his showed up, and before he got out of the car, Scott said “go get some Heineken!” so the guy left and came back with a twelve pack. His friend was also a musician, and Scott showed him his brand new Rickenbacker as they talked about practice dates and upcoming gigs they had lined up.

Before he went to bed, Scott showed me some photos he’d taken, invited me to eat whatever I wanted, as he was vegetarian and found out I was, and then he went off to his room.

I sat out on his porch and smoked and talked to MIke on the phone. I got tired and made up the couch with the blankets and pillows Scott left for me, and went to sleep.

It is nice to have the trust of both a complete stranger, who indeed left at 4 something, leaving me alone with his possessions, and of Mike, who didn’t flinch when I stayed at various people’s houses along the trip, especially that of a complete stranger.

I had an interesting day coming up, so I made sure I got some sleep.

Central Washington

I left off sleeping at the strange Black bear Motel in Davenport, Washington, a small town in the middle of a giant wheat field.

The motel had a small cafe, so I ordered an omelette to go, to eat in my room.  The handsome young man at the desk, who took my order, was also apparently the cook. Really sweet kid.

The omelette was surprisingly good, for such an odd place. I packed up and gassed up and rode back out into the infinite wheat fields.

I think they are beautiful, but they do leave one wanting for some kind of visual stimulation. I love the trees, and the cool and shade and oxygen they release, but they block the view. I mean, I don’t really know what Minnesota looks like, because it was all trees.  Solid, dense forest. All I could see was what was right along US 2, and about five yards on either side of it, for miles.   An endless field of grass, or wheat or anything like that, that vanishes into the horizon, is much like looking at the ocean; it goes on forever from your point of view.  It is as open and vast and exhilarating as being by the ocean, ir makes you feel free. And, like the ocean, it waves and ripples in the breeze. I think they are breathtaking.

Route 2 runs through the middle of many towns.  The speed limit drops from 70 down to 25 at times, and sometimes it turns and dog-legs and changes names, but in the smaller towns, it just slows down and runs rights through, and in less than a mile, you’re back up to 70.  (Well not me personally… Triggers speedometer only goes to 80.  I cruised along at 50-60.)  So I got to see glimpses of towns.  Some I’d stop in if I happened to run out of Gatorade, or I just needed to stretch, but most times I just looked at the store fronts and the businesses and homes.  Some of the towns, you wonder what the hell they DO all day.

And then the terrain again changed, I was entering the Cascade Range. The wheat fields became forests and the straight road curved and climbed. Passing lanes, truck lanes, scenic and slow car pull outs. Trees and shade and green and cool and damp.

I remembered to eat dinner BEFORE I went to camp this time.  I stopped in Leavenworth, which was very “touristy” and touted wineries and lots of shops and restaurants.  I chose some place called Kristalls.  It was nearly empty, but it was okay.  I guess it was an odd time of day.  I asked the staff about camping up the road.  I got a few suggestions, studied my GPS maps, and traveled on up 2.

The shade is a bit more than shade. When there is a mountain between you and the sun, the sun “goes down” a lot earlier.  WHen I got up into the mountains, I figured I’d better find a camping spot.

I had thought about Glacier View campground, although it was a lot further off 2, but the nice campground was on miles of gravel. And I hate gravel. And it would have been a bit early to stop there anyway, so I drove on till nearly dusk. I was headed for one campground up the road, but saw a sign for Beckler River campground, a National Forest camp, so I took it. The road was rippled and rough and had dips in it that I couldn’t see. I hit one so hard something made a weird noise. I think my weighted bike came down and inside the fender hit the back wheel, since I have heard it since.

I chose a site that had trees spaced for my hammock, as it was a nice clear evening. I had run out of cash, so I used the few bills I had, and some quarters, and paid my fees for the camp.  Because I have an access pass, camping in nation anythings is half price.

I never could find the camp host, so I couldn’t get firewood.  When the sun was down, it was dark. Mike called me, and we talked quite a while. And while we were talking, I interrupted with “WOW!” The moon was not quite full, but was rising behind the tall tall pine trees. I walked around a bit to try to get a better view, but no matter which way, trees obscured most of the moon. What did show through was the brightest moon I have ever seen.  I found a spot where a good deal of it showed, and it was so bright I had to squint. I don’t know if it was from smoke haze or what, but it was an amazing moon.

And it was my nightlight as I fell asleep in the rain forest.

Musings, and Eastern Washington

I left off in Bonners Ferry, Idaho, at the Kootenai Valley Motel.

Route 2 turns south just north of Bonners Ferry there, after coming to a “T” intersection, and merges with 95 for awhile. I thought crossing Idaho would be faster; it would have been had the highway gone straight. Highway two seems to suffer from the same ailment I have: a bad case of ADD. Sometimes it’s straight as a ruler, sometimes it’s a curvy road, sometimes it’s European and has little roundabout intersections, It’s northbound, southbound, two lane, four lane, 70 miles an hour, or 25 miles an hour. But it is a beautiful road.

Although at a much faster pace, just like on my walk, it is fascinating to see the terrain change right under your feet, or wheels, as in my case. In New Jersey, from the coast at Ocean City on, it was congested and had a lot of traffic, the land was pine trees and vegetable gardens, and a few hills up north… Crossing Pennsylvania requires crossing three mountain ranges, the Poconos, the Appalachians and the Alleghenies. They aren’t tall mountains, but they are steep, and the roads were built to go over them, not around them. I would climb a hill but not be able to see the other side until I started down it… that’s spooky in a place with a huge deer population. Lots of the parts of Pennsylvania that I crossed were wooded and designated as State Game Land. The farms were old and green and beautiful, like postcards each one.

And then you come out of the mountains into the foothills, which rapidly level off, except small spots here and there of an out of place hill, and all the land is planted. Corn, everywhere. Big squares of land, each one adorned with a neat red barn, mile after mile. Huge silos and backyard corn cribs, occasional wheat crops, but mainly corn, all through Ohio. But still a lot of people fit in there, and the traffic was heavier and one town ran into the next, Out west it seems there are miles between towns; in the east, they all seem to blend together.

Southern Michigan is also flat, with straight north-south roads intersecting at perfect 90 degree angles with the east-west roads, mile after mile. Until Clare. At Clare, Michigan, the roads begins to ascend, and it becomes long rolling hills, and the Northwoods begins. Instead of the farmed fields of corn, and the huge dairy farms, pine trees and lakes lined Old 127. Denser and denser it seemed the forest became, the further north you go. And suddenly you are surrounded by aquamarine blue water, everywhere, gleaming white lighthouses on green grassy knolls sit along the shoreline. The sky was deep pure blue accented with puffy white fair-weather clouds. It is picture book pretty. Boats and ferries and tourist stuff,, but without losing it’s charm, Mackinac City and it’s across-the-strait sister port St. Ignace both have quaint buildings and the waterfronts are accessible. by that I mean they are not just ports, they are enjoyed, with riverfront walkways, public marinas, and lots of places to view the lakes from,.

Mackinac Island is very hilly, steep and wooded. The town sits on the southern rim of the small island, a bike path, walking roadway encircles the island, I think it is a mere eight miles around. I doubt there is a prettier town in America than Mackinac.

The Upper Peninsula of Michigan is where the population density finally thins out. Once past the eastern tip of the U.P. the towns are farther apart, in between, just trees. Lots and lots of trees.

The small piece of Wisconsin that I crossed, was treed and had rolling hills and rivers, the towns sat about 8 to 10 miles apart. Back up on two, I crossed or passed a lot of water, and after the busyness of Duluth, Minnesota, the road ascended it seemed endlessly, rising and falling and rising again, and the forest became eerily dense. I scarcely remember the towns. It is cool and darker (the road shaded by the tall trees that line it) and sparsely populated up there. Occasionally I’d go through a small town, but it was often not even much to stop for; a bait shop, a couple small businesses, a few homes. Lumber, firewood, paper mills, giant log trucks. And then, a bit west of Bemidji, Minnesota, between clumps of trees, I could finally see open land… and I’ve never seen such open land. As you go west into North Dakota, the land flattens. Completely flat. Highway 2 became straight, there was no steering, there was no leaning or changing speeds.. there was just driving, straight. Huge expanses of wheat or other grain, or corn; only, unlike Ohio’s farms, up in North Dakota I didn’t even have barns and buildings to look at. The crops went on for miles, and only occasionally could I see the farm’s hub, the barn, the home, the equipment. Most of the streets that crossed 2 up there were unpaved. I wanted to take a side road, just to be off the highway, but it seemed nothing was paved.

It stayed flat like that all the way to the middle of Montana. Endless fields, and no trees, except along water sources, occasionally, or those planted around the rare homesite.

And then the terrain again changed, returning to rolling hills, and the trees returned, taller this time, and >bam< there is the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. Just juts up from the ground, craggy and majestic, and the view every direction you look could be framed as art. Waterfalls and scenic overlooks and dizzying drop offs, rivers, lakes, cooler temperatures and more fun riding. Several times the road made curves so long in one direction you’re sure you’re making circles.

Highway 2 enters Washington State after crossing the Pend Oreille River at the town of Newport. It was a busy area, traffic and lights and businesses. A sign over the highway greeted me with a colorful “Welcome to Washington” sign, and below it, a sign that said “State Law: Motorcyclists MUST wear helmets”.

I pulled over immediately and grumbled as I unbuckled the helmet from the sissy bar top, where it had been riding since the Delaware River. I fastened it and continued on. The highway turns south shortly after entering Washington, and headed into Spokane.

Because I am not following interstate, US 2 runs right through towns, constantly changing its name. “WEST 2” is easy to follow, but when it becomes West Lincoln, 34th street, Main Street, Highway 95, etc, it gets a bit harder.

You can see where this is going.

I must have been in the wrong lane or something, but instead of staying on 2, I was on a side road, but it said Spokane Falls Viewpoint, so I figured I’d take a look.

It was a busy area in Spokane, shopping and bridges and one way streets and a park.  I backed Trigger up to the curb and put some quarters in the meter, and walked to the park area across the street.

Aerial tramway cars swung overhead, taking people across the Spokane River.  As much as I hate going up stairs, I had to go take a closer look at the falls and the park. Several sets of stairs in different levels took me down to an overlook area with rails and benches and interpretive signs. I walked along and enjoyed the falls, and the lovely rushing sound they make. It is a pretty park, right in the middle of downtown.  I trudged back up the stairs and cranked up Trigger. A sat, studying the map in my GPS program in my phone. “Where did I go wrong…?”

Following signs for US 2 West, I kept getting turned around and it seemed it took me forever to get out of the city.  The problem was lack of signage.  For instance, a sign would say, “left two lanes, Highway 2 west, Highway 95 South” So I’d go left, and drive a bit and then there’s a fork, and… no sign,  So I apparently guessed wrong.  I had that problems a few times in Washington.  I felt like the signs were aimed at the residents, as once on that section, they didn’t need signs.  I’ve never been to Spokane, let alone Washington, and since the highway doesn’t exactly go east and west, I get turned around.

Anyway, I had called about some campgrounds outside of town.  On my GPS they appeared to be on or right off 2.  Once I finally got back on Route 2, I was so glad to be getting out of the congested city and back to driving, that I drove and rove.. and realized I was seeing nothing but wheat fields, and no signs for campgrounds or anything.  I pulled over and studied the map again. I typed in the camp’s name, and it was 30 miles east of me, and south.  Apparently I hadn’t zoomed in enough the first time, as I thought the campgrounds were along 2.  They were all southwest of Spokane, and I had blown right past the exits for them.  I wasn’t going to go east, so I continued a bit.. into more wheat.

I thought the fields in Montana and North Dakota were big, these seemed even more expansive. The horizon blended with the sky, way, way off, in a blurry line of mirage and heat distortion.  Obviously not an area, now, where anyone would want to camp. There were no trees, no lakes, nothing but enormous farms.

I searched motels now.  The town of Davenport, still miles ahead, had two motels. O called The Black Bear Motel, and inquired. They had rooms, I didn’t want to spend the money.  I asked if there were any campgrounds in the area, she said there wasn’t and mentioned some way out, but it was dusk, so Davenport it was.  I was still twenty miles or so from the town. I hung up and called the other motel, but all I got was an answering machine., so I headed for the Black Bear Motel.

What a weird place.  It reminded me of the awful “Fort Cody” on the west strip in Cody, Wyoming.  Supposed to look like a little western town. Life size fake horses, benches, fences, wagons, etc. Cheesy.

But available, so I checked in and got my key.  I parked Trigger right out front and started unfastening the bungees and nets.

Doing that, the packing and unpacking, has become so routine.  Everything has a spot, everything is bungeed the same way every day, because it works. And it goes on and comes off in the same order. Boing, off comes the cargo net, which holds down any number of things; my jacket, my fleece shirt, an extra bottle of Gatorade, whatever I stashed. Click click,  I circled the bike, popping bungee straps off here and there. The Thermarest got thrown in, then the big green bag.which I lugged into the room and thumped it down.  Then I unbuckled the saddle bags and pulled the big Ziplock bags out and set them in. The last bag is on back, it’s another Ziplock to pull out.  Then I get all the straps and netting, shut off and remove the GPS, the GoPro if attached to the front, I take the spare quart of oil and finally it’s unpacked.

The room was different to say the least.  I will be posting photos here, I will definitely include a few shots of it. One wall was painted in a huge mural of flowers.  It was eclectic, lots of antiques and off items as decor, but a modern glass sink in the bathroom.

There weren’t a lot of choices for dinner, and it was getting late, so I locked up the room and went to Subway. I brought it back to the room to eat.  I was fairly annoyed at myself for not camping, I messed up and ended up at dusk where there weren’t places to camp. I told myself I’d plan better tomorrow.  It was a nice evening, so I opened the windows and went to sleep in Davenport, Washington.

Idaho

I am very behind on this blog, but I am in a motel room today, and going to try to get it all caught up.

I last entered writing about the crappy camping spot I got in Columbia Falls, Montana, after riding through smokey Glacier Park. And I had mentioned the lovely riding all the way to Idaho.

Great motorcycle roads up there, long sweeping curves, left, right, left, as the roads snaked down the mountainsides.  Highway 2 doesn’t take a direct route, it weaves and goes north or south, and brims the edges of lakes, and it crosses river after river.

I crossed into Idaho,  and continued through tall pines and rolling hills.  I stopped near the border and had a sandwich and a beer, and kept moving west.  I arrived at Bonner’s Ferry around dusk, and I don’t recall why I didn’t camp, but I got a room at the Koonenai Valley Motel on the south part of town, right on Highway 2.  The lady who answered the phone and who was at the front desk, sounded like a stoner from the seventies.  Cute little place, well kept.  I like a motel where you can park right outside the door. Right across the street was a laundromat, so in the morning I threw my clothes in, went back to the room, ate breakfast, threw them in the dryer,  showered, and took off west.

Smoke

The winds that blew through Shelby, Montana rode a cold front in, like a surfer on a wave. The morning was chilly, in the low 50’s.  Nice for walking… but cold for riding.

I showered and ate breakfast in my room, food I had bought the night before. I hadn’t used them until then, but was glad I had brought my base layer riding wear, and long sleeves and a balaclava. I pulled the tight underclothes on, fleece socks, jeans, a long sleeved shirt, my favorite fleece pullover, my leather chaps, leather jacket and pulled the black balaclava over my head, exposing only my eyes.  Then the big “bug” goggles over that. I looked like an alien from a fifties sci-fi movie.

I was glad to be wearing it all.  It was cold at 5–60 miles an hour!  I hate gloves, but I even succumbed to wearing a pair for awhile.

When I got to Browning, Montana, I checked once again to make sure the fire conditions and road closures hadn’t changed, as in that town I had to choose my route.  US 2 heads south, looping under the park, and highway 89 heads north to St. Mary, and then into Glacier Park.

Route 2 was still closed as far as I could tell, or only open for locals, and the park is a beautiful drive, so I followed signs for 89.

I wasn’t on it 100 yards when a big orange sign declared “PAVEMENT ENDS”.

I used to love to see those signs, when I drove a four wheel drive Jeep…  I was on a loaded street bike…

There was no sign indicating for how long there would be no road surface. There weren’t even any signs at all.  After a couple miles of rutted, muddy, tracked up gravelly road, I pulled over and double checked that I was indeed on the highway to Glacier.  I was.  Occasionally someone would be heading east from it, including a few motorcyclists, so I continued on at a slow pace, like 10 miles an hour. There was about six miles of this crap.  Because it had rained the night before, there were muddy spots.  Tires had made ruts so I tried to follow the highest, driest tracks I could.  I was glad to see pavement again.  That slowed me down quite a bit.

Unless one is hiking or camping, a visit to Glacier National Park consists mainly of driving the Going To The Sun Road, a spectacular mountain road that curves around edges of mountains, through valleys, climbing higher and higher to Logan Pass, which is  6647 feet… not high by my standards but it must have been low ground around it.  Parts of the climb up were pretty steep.

I took my time, often using pullouts to either let fast people go by, or to give the slow tour busses some distance before me, as they go *too* slow on the curves. I found a few places to sit and look out over the mountain, or listen to water rushing over rocks.  I took a few breaks to take pictures and have a smoke as well.

The scenery would have been nicer if it wasn’t shrouded in blue and brown smoky haze from the fires. I had to stop and put Visine in my eyes as they burned, and the smoke sure hasn’t helped my cough.

The rest of the ride, all the way to Idaho, felt like one continuous descent. The park road reconnected with US 2 by Whitefish, Montana. 2 then turns south.

Dale called in the morning and said he had hit the wind.  He was in South Dakota and said he was getting terrible gas mileage , trucks had pulled over, motorbikers had pulled over. I told him to do what I did, just sit it out. I assured him beautiful weather followed the front; that it was typical western weather, just wait it out.

He sent a couple of texts during the day, and even though he’d gone nearly 2000 miles and was near Rapid City, South Dakota, he turned around.  I think he thought about pulling an expensive sailboat through the mountains and through the wind, and decided he’d shop for a boat closer to home. I tried to talk him into continuing, but he’d already gotten to Missouri…

After Kalispell, I enjoyed beautiful scenery for miles and miles. Lakes, tall pine trees, and perfect motorcycle roads with huge sweeping curves. I stopped and removed my fleece, then my jacket, as it was in the 80’s.

I had hoped the smoke was blowing east of the Divide, but it and the several other fires burning up here in the northwest kept pumping their soot and smoke into the valleys.

I stopped in the town of Columbia Falls, as I was tired and ready to quit for the day.  I called a few campgrounds.  A nearby one had tent spots for $23, so I went. After I registered and paid, I discovered that the tenting spots were hideous little pea-graveled parking spots. They sat two together, then a six  foot tall by six foot long wooden fence, then two more.  The trees were almost too close together (there was only two) to hang my hammock, but I managed.  It was right on the road exiting the campground, so every RV leaving cruised past my spot. I was also close to 2 and could hear the cars and trucks along the highway.  Next time, I’ll check the spot out before I pay…

I hung my hammock, rode out to find a place for dinner, and came back at dark.  I climbed into my cozy down cocoon, and slept under a clear sky.

Montana

I left off in Malta, with Mike.

The morning broke sunny and warm, a welcome change from our ride TO Malta. We reluctantly packed the bikes up and checked out, and went to the hotel café for breakfast.

Afterwards, we gassed up at the service station and hugged and kissed and said our tearful good-byes. We both waited for a break in traffic; he darted across the road and on to *( south, under an overpass.. and out of sight. WIth tears in my eyes, I turned right on to US 2 and headed west.

The sunny, warm day made my mood some better, but leaving him, again, was heart wrenching, again.

It is odd to voluntarily be away from the man I love madly, but this unfinished trek has been eating away at me for three years. I can finally put it to rest, settle down with my love, and finish my book. Having it behind me will make me better able to concentrate on the rest of my life.  And I have a wonderful life to concentrate ON.

I enjoyed beautiful riding weather, less wind, and I new drive inside to really get moving and finish this and get home to my love.

Although Mike had recommended I see the underground town in Havre, Montana, I was on a roll, pardon the pun, and wanted to keep moving.  Some days I don’t want to get off the bike at all, some days I find myself stopping for every little thing. So I blew on through to the town of Shelby, where I decided to stop.  It was late afternoon or early evening, and I don’t see well at night, so I figured it’d be best to stop.

As iI do, I pulled over at a gas station and shut Trigger off. Sitting on my bike, I opened Google Maps on my phone, and searched “campgrounds”. Just a couple showed up.. really awful looking ones.  One was basically a parking lot, no trees, right along the highway. Another didn’t have set-ups for tent campers.. it had no bathroom. Another up the road, I called, but there was no answer.  It was west of town, and I didn’t like the idea of driving out there, and finding out they were full, closed or whatever, and then having to either return to Shelby in the dark. So I started calling motels.

The man who answered the phone at the Totem Motel said he was on his way back to the motel, he’d hurry if I was wanting a room.  I called a couple of places and decided, sight unseen, to choose the Totem Motel.  It was very inexpensive. The kind man said he’d cut me a deal if I took two nights.   Not wanting to be stuck, if the weather or my mind changed, I just registered for one night.

The motel was old, decorated oddly, and some of the guests seemed to be monthly rentals, I surmised, just by the way they came and went. But it was fairly quiet, save for the heavy rail traffic, and close to town. The room had a small fridge and a microwave, which I am finding most hotels do now, a feature I like.

I unloaded Trigger and asked the man, Jim is his name, for suggestions for dinner.  He recommended The Montana Club, as he called it a “biker bar”.  Sounded okay to me.

The Montana Club was rather empty but the barkeep, a lovely 28 year old gal, was a talkative and friendly host.  She said she’d been tending bar and waiting a long time, but that that was the first time she had to explain to the cook to make a burger and hold the meat.

She asked about my trip, and we talked a bit.  A few young men came and went, one bought me a beer, so I ended up staying a bit longer than I’d planned. I think I was working on catching my blog up, as I have been running days behind.

I returned to my room and kept checking the weather on the programs in my iPhone… Friday still had high winds and rain forecast for west of me.

And because of the fires burning in Glacier National Park, and many other places out west, I had to keep an eye on what was passable. As I went to bed, Highway 2 was closed all along where it follows the southern border of the park.

Friday morning was partly cloudy and didn’t look too bad.  I studied the weather in the towns along my westbound route.  Highway 2 was still closed. Glacier Park’s “Going To The Sun” road was open, despite some restrictions. But St Mary and Browning, to towns just east of the park, were expecting rain and high wind. The forecast said 30-40 mile an hour winds, with gusts even higher.

I decided that navigating a mountain road through smoke, wind and fire wasn’t my cup of tea, so I got the room for another night.  I didn’t really want to hit the park on a weekend day, and try to find campsites on a weekend night either, but I certainly wasn’t going to ride in it. Jim, the owner, gave me the deal anyway, and took $20 off the price of my second night.  Nice guy!

Now, a few days back I had gotten a few phone calls from Dale.  All he had said was he was “on the road.” I finally got to where I could answer his call, and it turned out he was headed to Kalispell to look at a boat he was interested in buying. It was on Flathead Lake. He was expecting to arrive Sunday.

I found that very odd, because several times I have taken trips to California to see my kids, and he had just happened to be there working on his properties and/or camping on the coast. It seems we always run into each other, and he lives in south Florida and I live in northern Wyoming.

So we kept in touch on our locations. On Friday, when the winds hit, I was in the motel. The trees bent over and the winds howled.  Not a lot of rain, but enough to spoil a party. Dale was still driving west in his 3/4 ton Dodge diesel pickup.

I didn’t feel much like going out, and waited a bit too long to run to the store.  I only had a couple blocks to drive, but I was nearly blown over by the stiff and relentless wind on my way to Albertson’s grocery.  I bought a frozen dinner and an ear of corn, and some drinks and stuff for the morning, and headed back, fighting the wind again.

I ate dinner in my room and packed, and charged up cameras and my phone and such, ready for the next day’s drive into the park.

I climbed into bed, listening to the wind howl and the trains clank-clank along the tracks.

North Dakota and Eastern Montana.. and a Rendezvous

I left off sleeping in my hammock at Graham’s Island State Park near Devil’s Lake, North Dakota.

I woke at dawn and walked to the water and took a few photos and had a smoke. I tried to go back to sleep, I lay around a bit, but ended up packing the campsite up and driving up to the showers.

Then I headed west again.

I have about gotten used to the wind. Since I have been following 2 I have fought a north west wind. But it was still a nice day and I wanted to make some miles.

I wish I could photograph North Dakota and capture it.. but it’s the enormity of it that’s awesome, and that can’t be captured on a photograph. Seas of wheat, some patterned with green grass, spread to the horizon and rippled like waves in the wind.

Mike kind of warned me about Williston, which is close to North Dakota’s western border. A few other people did too, “Watch out for all the trucks”, “Watch where you camp..”  Highway 2 hits a “T” north of Williston, then drops due south into the bustling city of Williston. The highway was crawling with huge trucks, noisy, coughing black diesel smoke. Hotels competed for drivers’ attention with taller-than-theirs signs; new apartment complexes sat along the noisy thoroughfare.

I stopped for gas and was again warned I probably shouldn’t try to camp anywhere around there, as there was too much theft and trouble from the reservation and the oil field workers who populate the boom-town.

So I blew on through, having chosen a motel a few towns west of Williston in Montana. Culbertson, Montana. The hotel had good reviews, and was an older less expensive one.. and I didn’t have a lot of choices.

The room smelled strongly of… something, but I don’t know of what.  I kicked off my boots and turned the TV on.  I couldn’t get it to work, so I walked back up and the lady from the desk came and set it correctly.

The desk clerk (owner I presume) also said that the campgrounds were to be avoided, same reason.  Apparently I didn’t get far enough away from Williston…

I didn’t have much choice for dinner, so pizza it was.  And it was actually pretty good.

It was a pleasant evening and I wanted a smoke, so I walked around behind the motel. Oddly enough, at the end of the side street on which the motel sat, there was a campground.  Or city park… or both.  It had a “camping limit 5 days sign” and there were two RV vans parked in the lot.  People sat in lawn chairs behind one of them.  I cannot imagine why anyone would want to hang out in Culbertson for more than a day.  I walked all over the area, discovering small planes in hangars by the county fairgrounds, local cops cruising the street, no zoning regulations, and despite all my walking, the only quiet place I could enjoy a smoke was back at the campground/city park.

I went back the my strange-smelling room for bed.  I was excited about tomorrow: Mike was riding up to meet me in Malta, Montana.  I only had about 175 miles to ride, so it seemed like it would be an easy day.

I should have known what was to come by the light rain that dampened me as I packed the bike. But by the time I was done and checked out, it had stopped.  I rode about 2 blocks up to top off my tank at the gas station.  I shut off Trigger’s engine and fished my wallet out of my pack.  I opened it and my license and both credit cards were gone. Crap, I wqonder if they were in the room… My mind raced as I raced back to the motel. The housekeeper was already cleaning it, .. my cards weren’t there.

I remembered that I had worn a light jacket when I went out the night before, trying to find an open convenience store (with no success).  So I proceeded to unpack the motorcycle I had just packed.  I popped off bungees and pulled off the thermarest and the big green bag.  I unzipped it and pulled out the bag that had the jacket.. the cards were not in the pocket.. While I was racking my brain trying to remember where I put them, a man with a southern accent who was sitting on a bench outside the front of the motel kept asking me questions about the bike and my trip and which way I was going.  I tried not to be rude, but I wasn’t in the mood to small talk.  I pulled item after item out of the bag, and finally found all three cards loose on the bottom of the duffel bag.  I don’t know why they were there, but I was glad they were.  I put everything back on the bike and returned to the gas station, and then on to US 2.

My irritated feelings vanished when I got on the road: I was on my way to meet Mike!

He was on his way up, he had twice as far to travel as I did, so he was already on the road before I got up.

Once away from the town, the winds picked up.  They quickly became the worst winds I have ever encountered.  Twice I was blown across the double yellow; I was lucky no one was coming.  I tried different methods of leaning the bike leaning on the handlebar, leaning the bike by standing harder on the foot peg, you name it.  I rode with the bike at an angle for several miles… and then the rain hit.  I rode in cold, stinging rain for several miles.  I zipped my jacket up and shrugged my head down into my jacket’s collar like a turtle, and rode on.  It cleared up, the wind died down, and happy, I rode on faster than usual.  Mike called and said he was at the hotel in Malta, so then I really wanted to pick up speed.

Ahead I could see another patch of rain, slanting to the south from the wind.  I gauged my speed and the approximate distance of the storm, and slowed to fifty.  I figured it would blow on over and across highway 2 before I reached it, if I stayed at fifty miles an hour.  Pleased with my plan, I cruised along thinking I had outsmarted the weather… and then the highway turned north… right into the rain.  Again I zipped up and covered what I could of my face and rode into Malta.

I found the hotel no problem, and smiled when I saw a Harley parked outside a room.  Mike!

He opened the door and stood there, wearing his pajamas.  I started to unlatch the GPS and the GoPro, and then caught myself, turned around and fell into his arms, kissing him.  It had been too long. Unpacking could wait!

Once Trigger was unloaded, we sat on the bed and he told me how he had ridden in rain the while time, and hail. His leathers were damp, he had been cold and wet and shivering all day.  When he arrived he’d taken a hot shower and hung his leathers up to dry out.

We enjoyed a wonderful evening together, and I convinced him to get the room for another night, since I discovered after talking to my daughter, that I was 3 days AHEAD of schedule, not behind.  I had my date for Portland off.  The Maltana Hotel, however, didn’t have a spot for us, and sent us across the street to the Great Northern Hotel. We packed up the room hastily, rode a block, then unpacked again. We stayed in the room most of the day, save for a short trip to the city park for a smoke and so Mike could tinker on his bike.

I fell asleep.. or tried to, in his arms.  Another bad night of insomnia.  I took a second sleeping pill at like two or three in the morning and finally slept a bit. It felt so good, and so right, to be next to Mike again.. I wasn’t looking forward to morning, to saying good bye to my sweetheart again..

Minnesota

I am at a restaurant in Grand Rapids, Minnesota.  I had a grueling day, and when I finally stopped here I looked at the mileage between Prentice Wisconsin and here… and it was just 250 miles.  I added a few miles by driving to see the water, but that wasn’t very far.  I don’t get it.. I don’t know why it takes so long to do what a person could do in a car in 4 hours.

It was about 100 degrees today. I drank warm Gatorade all day. (I’d buy it cold, but a few minutes in the drink holder in these temperatures, and…) I drank and drank, but just like on the van ride out to New Jersey, I didn’t stop to pee very often. I sweat all day.  It wasn’t too bad when moving but any break I took was futile, I would just be hotter.

I am not sure what to do about tomorrow. It is forecast to be 100 again, right where I’m going, and then it will drop off to the eighties and then the seventies..  If it weren’t so expensive, I’d just try to get a room tomorrow ands stay put. I sat a day out on my walk as well, I don’t do well in high heat. I’ll have to ponder this.

I gassed up and left Prentice around 11:00 this morning. It already seems like days ago. The hotel I was at sits on the intersection of 8, which I was following through Wisconsin, and 13, which took me north to highway 2. So besides being a poignant place to stop, it was also practical.

I followed 13 till it hit US 2 right by Lake Superior.  In the town of Superior, which is right across the St. Louis River from Duluth, Minnesota, I took a side road that went to Wisconsin Point, the very southwestern edge of the great lake, to Wisconsin Point. It was just too hot to enjoy much, but I parked and walked over a sandy rise and to a beach.  People played in the water and sunned on the sand.

I crossed the St. Louis River into Minnesota, and once out of the Duluth area, I was back in the north woods.  Trees, just trees for mile after mile.  The towns were few and far between.. and small.  I pondered how I would have done that on foot.. it would have been two days walking between towns, with nowhere to get water, no people, no convenience stores, no campgrounds, no motels, no restaurants.  Just trees. I found Minnesota, although beautiful, to be almost a bit eerie. There’s just *nothing* up there.  Unless you like trees.

A giant paper mill sits in town, smelling of wet pulp. I passed giant yards of logs and numerous log trucks along US 2. Just about every house and small business sold firewood.

When I hit Grand Rapids, I started calling around the cheap motels, and there were no rooms. I called a few, and finally found what may have been the last room under a hundred bucks in the area, and I told her hold it please!

I was red and hot and wet with sweat, so when I checked in I immediately took a cool shower.

The next day was forecast to be 100, and very windy, and humid, so I decided, because of my history of not getting along with heat, to stay put a day.

It was worth it.

I explored a little of Grand Rapids, rode over to Veteran’s Park, through which the Mississippi River coursed.  I used to live on the Mississippi, when I lived in downtown Memphis, Tennessee. There, riverboats with paddlewheels gave tours, and barges pushing huge flatbed loads of containers chugged up and down it.  Three bridges crossed the river there, two for cars, one for the railroad.  You could scarcely see the other side.

But there in Grand Rapids, I crossed it on a foot bridge. Kids played in the shallow water, looking for crawdads and other muddy treasures in the quiet river.

I took care of the bike, hung around the room and stayed air conditioned, and hoped the weather forecast was correct for the next day.

In the morning the pavement was wet and puddles sat in the low spots. As predicted, the cold front came through with a storm, and pushed the wretched hot weather east. I had a beautiful day for riding.

I ate a quick breakfast and headed west on 2 again. For quite a while I was still in the woods, but here and there, a farm broke up the forest, and then more and more…

The landscape became incredibly flat. The trees disappeared. Ah, the Great Plains.

Huge expansive fields of wheat ran to the horizon; to me it was like looking at the ocean, complete with waves.  Except it was a sea of wheat. The tall grasses would sway in unison from the winds. Areas of green grass, I am assuming by streams or low areas not suitable for wheat growing, made interesting patterns and broke up the “sea” of wheat. To many, the landscape is boring… to me, it’s breathtaking. There’s no real way to photograph it, as every place to me was beautiful, but one photograph can’t capture the enormity of it.

Still no towns, and so, as I predicted, I was making good time, buzzing along at 60 miles an hour on the four lane highway. Mile after mile of wheat and rolled hay, corn, more wheat.  I would like to have taken a parallel road, but every cross road was unpaved.  I don’t like gravel and dirt.

I came to the booming metropolis (written in jest) of East Grand Forks and it’s adjacent Grand Forks.  The Red River divides the city and provides a border for the two states.  In arched metal bridge bore a blue sign welcoming me to North Dakota.

Once into the city, I found a place to pull off and figured I ought to find something to eat, as there aren’t a lot of choices on the highway. I chose a place called “Brick and Barley” and had a veggie burger and a Heineken.

I GPS’ed my way back to the US 2 West, and the directions took me back into Minnesota and again across the bridge welcoming me, again, to North Dakota.. a bit confusing till I looked at the map later.  I had already driven a full day, but I had daylight and good weather, so I pushed on to Devil’s Lake.  I called first, and asked if there were campsites available at Graham’s Island State Park, which looked like a lovely place to camp.  The park aide assured me there’d be plenty, so I rode on.

North Dakota might be the prettiest state I have been in on this trip, but it’s hard to say.  Each one is beautiful in its own right.. save for New Jersey, which doesn’t really have much open land to appreciate… I love the vast plains and huge farms.  Threshers crawled along, dust riding like smoke from the giant machines, as they harvested the wheat crop. Waving, curved rows of cur green grass lay waiting to be baled.  Endless grass fields dotted with great round rolls of hay spread from highway to horizon.

Like Minnesota, and Wisconsin… and Michigan, North Dakota had hundreds of small lakes and ponds. They had no banks, they just sat in fields of grass.  The bluest water in the greenest grass. It certainly brings the word “fertile” to mind. I appreciated the giant fields, and the people who worked them. I have probably eaten bread made from the wheat in those expansive fields.  Occasionally grain mills with several grain silos, loading chutes and other such things, broke the flat landscape.

As I rode west, I started seeing signs for resorts, fishing camps, bait shops, and marinas as I approached Devil’s Lake. The highway skirts the north shore of the huge lake. The town of Devil’s Lake seemed to exist just because of the tourism and visitors the lake draws.  Just beyond it was the road running south to the state park.

It was a beautiful road, and no one was on it. Water was on both sides of it for a good deal of the time.  Graham’s Island was connected by a land bridge, a strip of land that had only the road on it.  I followed roads for about 15 miles, and parked at the bait shop.

A young lady in a state park uniform checking people in, selling flies and other lures, and answering the phone.  I asked about my options for camping.  Electric, non electric, primitive, etc. Although I needed to charge things, I chose primitive.  She said, “Do you trust me to choose a site for you?” I figured she knew the park better than I, and I said, “I sleep in a hammock, so I just need trees on the site..”  She handed me tags and a sticker for the windshield for site 65, and I rode off following the map with a highlighted line on it.

Site 65 was probably one of the few sites that had no trees.  Well it had one, a small young tree that I wouldn’t hang a hammock on, even if there was a second tree.  The back of the site was wooded, but densely. I parked Trigger on the site and started walking through the primitive sites.  There were very few campers. I remembered the number of some empty sites that were more suitable, and hopped on Trigger and returned to the registration desk and told her my situation. “I like 58 best…. and it appears empty…” She apologized and told me to go ahead and take it.

After hanging the hammock, I unloaded Trigger and went back up to the store one more time, and bought a bundle of firewood.  I was too awake to try to go to bed right at sunset, and it was pitch black there, being a new moon. I bungeed the wood onto the bike and rode back.  By now it was rather dark, and I held a flashlight while I gathered sticks and leaves for kindling. I didn’t have much to start a fire with.

I wadded up the park map and piled leaves and twigs and small sticks in a pyramid on it, and lit the paper.  It flamed a bit, some of the leaves caught, but after several attempts I couldn’t get it going. Hmmm. I’m usually pretty good st starting fires.  Must be just a bit damp.

I unrolled several feet of toilet paper from the roll I carry and made two wads.  One I twisted up tightly.  I unlocked and opened Trigger’s gas tank, and dipped the paper wick into it to absorb a little gas. I stuffed it under the piles of kindling, and stuffed the other wad near it.  I lit the non-gassed piece.  It smoldered a bit, and then POOF the other one lit, and started a good flame. I stacked some wood on it and had my campfire.

I talked to Mike awhile on the phone, before getting sleepy enough to crawl into the hammock, the fire still crackling.

Part Two of Part Two

It is the morning of August 14th.  It’s a Friday. I started riding the motorcycle close to end of July, and left my sister’s on August first.

I just ate my free breakfast here, and am getting ready to shower and pack the bike and gas up and all those prep things… and from here I will get on highway 13 and head north, back to US 2, what I was riding through the Upper Peninsula.

It will be cool to see more of America at the relatively slow pace I keep. Not as slow as walking, but I stop to see things, take pictures, look at the small towns. I have many more miles to ride, and I hope many more people to meet.

I am just getting myself awake and psyched up for the rest.

I have an incredible life, and I’m just a broke old lady on an old motorcycle, taking a ride. So many people have so many wishes, and never achieve them… they trap themselves within the confines of normalcy… must have the 9-5 job, the mortgage, the kids… then life becomes a chore to upkeep all they have, and it marches by…  Dreams get folded up and put away with the Christmas linens, taken out once in a while and dusted off, only to be folded away again.  So many folks have said, I wish I could, I’d love to, I always wanted to.

Take a sabbatical, quit a job, get another, make room for the important things. Have no regrets.

Look at all the cool things in the world, and embrace them. Don’t wish for them, have them. I’m not talking material things. I’m talking  about the reflection on a lake, a grove of birch trees, a small country mercantile.  A cold beer at a small local pub. Breakfast at the diner with the most pick up trucks, where the farmers and ranchers gather to discuss the price of feed over endless coffee. Getting a glimpse of life in other towns, in other landscapes. Seeing the beauty of this continent. Meeting people, hearing their stories, petting their dogs. Soaking it in, all of it, because it is what matters.

To me, it’s not how much crap one has.  And I have plenty, and it sits in a storage room.  It’s just stuff.  I have found the GOOD stuff, the stuff that matters. Good people, lasting friendships, true love, red sunsets, blue-green water, cool forests, windy plains, mazes of corn, weathered barns, dirty dive bars, green fields of crops, confused, wandering rivers and bridges and country roads.

Don’t sit at your desk and look at the pictures on your calendar, month after month.  GO to the places on your calendar, leave your desk. I know, I can hear you, “Easy for you to say, you don’t have a mortgage.”

Yes it is.  And no I don’t.  And that’s why I’m about to ride a couple hundred more miles on my motorcycle, past the people sitting at their desks, worrying about their bills and their mortgage and their greying hair. Past the women getting manicures and perms and waxed.

I guess I just don’t get other people’s priorities.  I don’t have a problem with them, but it seems so many people say, “I wish I could.”

I guess they just gotta wish harder.  I did, and I am the happiest person I know.

Freeing myself of those things, of the obligations society wants us to have.. the degree, the nice car, the mortgage and the 2.5 kids. I have been there, it was okay, but it wasn’t enough.

I am the richest woman I know.  I have more than anyone I know, more of the good stuff, more love, more peace more happiness. And I appreciate it.  Every blade of grass.

Figure out what’s important to you.  Is the Lexus more important than a sunset?  I guess to some people it is..   I guess I don’t get it.

I’m going to leave this Countryside Hotel in Prentice, Wisconsin with an air of smugness, yes. I didn’t quit… I just regrouped.  I am going to do my damnedest to get to Ocean City Washington, and finally finish my cross country trip;  and to see my beautiful daughter, and to rush home to the arms of my wonderful boyfriend who is patiently waiting for his wild girlfriend to return.

And I will return. Sunburned face, tangled hair, full, happy, enlightened, complete, in love, … I already said happy…. And I said in love.  Very much in love.

In love with MIke, but also in love with life, with roads, with everything. I’m just plain giddy.

Life is great. Sometimes you just have to give it a chance.

Wisconsin

In the morning, Darci called and we arranged the morning.  I packed up Trigger after a disappointingly puny shower,  and rode across the street to her home.  I put my dirty laundry in right away, and we sat and talked.

She fixed me a delicious breakfast.  I figured I’d better see what was up with my headlight. The speedometer and odometer were just a pain in the ass to be without, but the headlight was a big safety issue. Hard enough being seen on a small brown bike while wearing black leather… but no headlight…?

I unscrewed the side of the headlight case, and her boyfriend Steve started unscrewing the other. The wiring looked intact, so he next checked the fuses… and discovered it had blown out. He said he had to run to town anyway, and he picked one up and got the light working.  I was satisfied, at least I would be seen on the road, and could see at night if I needed to.

So Darci and I talked some more, and in a few minutes Steve came back in and said he thought he had the speedometer working.  I said, take the bike out and see.

I heard the engine start up and leave, getting quieter, gone

After several minutes, Steve came back in and said he’d had to tweak it, but it was now working.  The idiots at the bike shop put the part the cable goes into on backwards.  He said when he rolled the bike backwards, the odometer started moving.  So in one stop, everything was up and running again. I met some really cool people on my walk… Their coolness endures.

When I walked through there and stayed at the Grand Motel for a week, before I left town, Steve did some welding and repairs on Panda, beefing up areas that showed stress cracks, etc.  So both times I came through, he did me huge favors to get me moving again.  Very cool people.

I packed up my laundry and gave her a hug and hit the road. My next stop was near Rhinelander.

As I rode down Highway 8, a lot of memories came back.  I recognized places I’d bought breakfast,. or camped, or met people. I thought about how long I’d been on the road just on the motorcycle, and how long that took me to walk that distance. Some of the hills leaving Pembine were long, long fairly steep grades, and then it would level off, and then another up or down grade.  Most of the time, in between towns, was nothing but trees on either side of the road.

I followed directions to Fisher’s Resort, a place I had stayed a few nights on my walk.  It is a cabin motel on Lake George, and has a bar and restaurant on the property.  The Fishers had treated me so kindly, even let me stay the last night for free.  When I returned from my walk, I drew a picture of the place from a photo I took before I left, and mailed it to them with a note explaining that this was a gesture of gratitude, basically, and thank you again for your kindness.

I parked and walked into the bar.  No customers, just a man that looked familiar.

He looked at me funny, I could tell he recognized me too.  I asked if he was a Fisher, and yes, he was Russ.. and I told him I’d been there, and he cut in and said “Shawnee!  We have your picture hanging right there!” and he pointed to it, framed and hanging in the bar. His wife walked in and before he could say it, she also said my name.

I talked to Russ awhile, I told him how my trip had ended, and what led to me coming back on the bike.  We had a nice talk, and when I finished my beer, I took a couple of photos, hopped on Trigger and head for Tomahawk.

I pulled in around 5:30 or 6:00 I think, and stopped at the Rodeo Saloon, where I had met him and Amber in 2012.  I ordered a Heineken and texted Steve that I was in town, and had he eaten yet.

He had, so I ordered a sandwich and then followed the GPS directions to his mother’s place on Lake Nokomis, where he was staying a couple of weeks.  He texted, “I’m starting a fire for you.”

The GPS was a bit off, and I was stopped at the top of a hill, trying to find the house number.  Steve waved from the driveway.

We sat around the fire he’d made outside, and talked and smoked.  I felt like I hadn’t been gone at all. We talked about my trip, and his life, and just stuff.

After a couple of hours, we went inside, and talked with his mom and stepdad a while.. I said I needed to get to bed, and he showed me to my own room, which had a VERY soft and comfortable bed in it.

I tried to call Mike, but the service was bad.  Steve told me to go outside, it’d work there.  So I talked to Mike awhile, until the phone was flashing low battery.

Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep well. I was up at 2:30, and at five…

In the morning, I took a nice hot shower, and packed the bike up.  Then I went in and his mom insisted I eat, and I had a variety of things, watermelon, toast, hard cooked eggs.

I thanked them all, gave Steve a hug and headed off to see Amber, a bit northeast of there.

When I rolled down her long dirt driveway, she and her daughter were sitting outside in lawn chairs talking.  I joined them.  Her daughter left a few minutes later, and Amber and I talked and talked, and moved inside, and talked some more.  We smoked and discussed all kinds of things. She was very easy to be around, I feel like I’ve known her for years.

Next thing I know it’s 2:30 and the day was getting away from me.

So I gathered my things and gave her a hug, and headed back to the highway.  She had told me to take a right, but apparently my right is on the other side, and a made a big loop and came right back to her street… and then I turned the other right way, and on to 8, and west.

I was now driving the last couple days of my walk. I passed the log cabin church, from which the pastor/coroner I met was from; he had handed me a hundred-dollar bill and told me to have dinner and a motel room.

I passed the grassy area that I sat on, when I called the police on the last day of my walk, and asked for a ride to this hotel, and proceeded to get arrested. Man the last day sucked.

I stopped at the first convenience store I came to buy a drink. I talked to Mike on the phone, and said I wasn’t into riding today.  I just got off late and kind of mentally off track, since for three days straight I was visiting with people I’d met my last time through.

I decided that I’d stop here, but just for the night.  I remember my melancholy mood when I was last here,.. I had conceded and just here for a night or so, to arrange a ride to L.A.  That night, I walked across the street to a bar called Boondock’s.  I was asked about my story, and talked to the bartender and a few guests.  One played a song for me on the jukebox.

I wasn’t charged for my meal, as had happened my whole trip…

So this afternoon I checked in and of course a lot was going on in my head. Until I worked out starting my motorcycle trip in New Jersey, this was where I was going to start from.  But I am very glad I was able to start over.  I must admit, it has been a long ride, and tough, and I was on a motorcycle. Just looking at the hills, and knowing I walked up them, the endless one after another hills of Pennsylvania.  When I drove through the Upper Peninsula and other parts in north Michigan, and the farmlands of south Michigan, I remember the passing the trees slowly, each one looked like the next, mile after mile. Even on the motorcycle, that scenery got monotonous. For many many miles, the highway looked like it had been cut right through the forest like a scar. The fortitude to walk through those areas… The patience. The time to think…

I texted with Mike from here at the hotel, and told him I’d decided to quit early, I’d rather get some sleep and get in a full day of riding tomorrow.  I hopped on my now unloaded bike and zipped across the street to the restaurant. I was disoriented. A knotty pine paneled clean dining room sat, brightly lit.  I walked through and past the restrooms and into the convenience store… no bar.  No Boondocks.  No jukebox… I walked back to the restaurant, and asked if the place had been remodeled, and she said it had been a couple different things since it was Boondocks. Hmm.

I had a quick dinner, bought some drinks next door, and rode back to the motel.  I put the drinks in the mini-fridge, and went outside for a smoke,

Behind the hotel is a pond that sits like a mirror. Still, the trees reflected upside down on the glassy water. I wandered near the edge and saw two reflectors on poles, marking a trail. It was shaded and grassy and wildflowers grew abundant. I walked through the cool Wisconsin woods, around a pond and between it and another, through grassy leas and looped back to right behind the hotel again. Very, very peaceful.  Well, except for the reefer trucks growling at the truck stop across the street.

And tomorrow I start Part 2 of Part 2. From here west, it will all be new to me.  I won’t have friends along my route, I won’t be remembering things… And that is another reason I stopped early today; to pause, to look back on how far that really was, and what a remarkable trip I just kind or relived in fast forward. How incredibly cool to be remembered, and to meet up with people I met on that walk, still friends, still invited me to stay.

From here, it changes. I won’t know of campgrounds up the road, or good places to eat, or the cheap motels.

But from here, I am driven.  I will have good driving roads, wide open spaces, less people and traffic.  I will be making new memories and I hope new friends. And when I roll into Ocean City, take my boots off and walk to the sea, I will have finished my book.  I will know how it ended.

I am timing it to meet my daughter in Portland, and then I am heading home. It’s not part of the original trip, these last thousand miles, but they will be their own chapter so to speak.

Mike is planning to meet me when I cross through Montana, taking his own motorcycle trip, and he plans to take the single car ferry across the Missouri River, both directions.  He won’t be riding to Washington with me, just intersecting with me briefly.

I have many, many more miles to ride.

This place, the Countryside Hotel here in Prentice, Wisconsin, has been eating away at me.  This is where I threw in the towel, where I mourned, where I faced the harsh reality of my damaged back.

And from here I wanted so badly to keep walking, and to here I vowed I would return.

I am back.

And tomorrow, I get the last word. No, no longer does it all end here, a whole new chapter starts tomorrow.

I’d better get some sleep.

The Bridge

I am writing this from a bar/restaurant in Escanaba, Michigan.

I left off at the campground near Mackinac City.

I rode to town to eat breakfast, and then I went to the hotel. The guy at the desk said I wrote a long note.  The online reservation form had a space for  “special requests” in which I explained, apparently lengthily, that I wanted to throw my stuff in the room early, so I could go to the island.

He gave me a key right then, as the room had already been cleaned and readied, I turned the A/C on and hurried back to the campground to pack. Another light rain was falling, I sped up to beat it and get my gear  before it got wet again. Or wetter.

I packed as fast as I could and then unloaded it all into the room.  I sat on the bed and called the post office.  The employee told me the package (of my prescriptions)  had already arrived, but it was now 12:30 and they were closing for lunch for an hour.

I talked to Mike on the phone, and then decided to sit in the hot tub for a bit. I dressed, went to the post office and then back to the motel to drop them off.

Although there is a free shuttle that would have picked me up, I wanted to ride the short way to the ferry.  They directed me to a long pier and told me I could park on that. Apparently I was the only one who rode a bike there…

I bought my ticket and boarded the ferry for the 16 minute ride to the island.

I spent a few hours walking around, taking pictures. I sat on a cement bench on a green smooth lawn of a park, and smoked. It was different stuff that I am used to, and I had the classic experience of colors looking brighter. So I took more pictures.

I had a small dinner and a couple of beers at a pub there, and a young lad sang into a microphone and strummed his guitar.

I walked until I hurt, and then boarded the 8:00 ferry back to the mainland.

At my room, I tried positioning the GoPro camera on several different places on the bike. Windshield… mirror… fuse box…  I mounted it on top of my headlight. I should have done it sooner, but I wanted to capture crossing the Mackinac Bridge.

As usual I stayed up too late.

After I showered and packed Trigger, I filled up and headed for the ramp to the bridge.

I clicked the GoPro camera on, and merged onto the slow moving traffic headed north.

Unfortunately, my place in line fell directly behind a log truck.  It was tall and blocked my view of the bridge. And, as I had been expecting, I started seeing orange barrels and traffic was sent to single file on the left side.

That would be the inside lane.  The one with metal grates on it.

Although it was morning, the wind had already picked up some.  Trigger had a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on. The metal grate surface of the road had a strange pattern that zig-zagged the front tire, no matter where I was in the lane. I reminded myself that as long as I am moving forward, the bike wants to go straight, and i ignored the unsteady feeling. I took a quick glance down and saw the water below, kind of weird. I didn’t see the grate since I was moving.

After a couple of miles of that, the right lane opened up.  I moved over, but decided I was going to pass the log truck because I was sick of looking at it. I then had a nice view as I went under the northernmost bridge support.

I managed to look out of the straits from off the bridge.  It was too difficult to take a picture while moving, so I didn’t.  But it was a hell of a view.

Cars and trucks were funneled into toll booths to pay, and then the speed limit rose.  I took the first exit.

In St. Ignace, at the foot of the bridge in the Upper Peninsula, I stopped at a small quaint cafe for breakfast. I got the bridge out of the way, and I shouldn’t have let it worry me.  It was a bit hairy, but I don’t scare easy.

I debated going north to Whitefish Point and Paradise, but as soon as I got back on US 2, I decided I was just going to keep going west.  The winds were blowing hard, and my bike was getting blown left and right.  A couple of times it blew hard enough that I had to lean hard to correct it, before crossing the yellow line. That gets old fast.

I didn’t want to go faster than 45 miles an hour, so any time I saw wide shoulder ahead, or a rest area, I would pull over and let the drivers behind me get their speed back.  I like to chug along at my own pace.

I stopped by the lake a couple of times. and had a smoke or took a break from fighting the wind. I remembered much of the road, remembering places as I passed them, and smiling. I looked at the emptiness and the miles and miles of just road through trees, and thought of my slow pace. I’m a lot more impressed with myself that I was.  Not that I was.

I thought the same thing in Pennsylvania and parts of Ohio, when I rode the bike over hills so steep I couldn’t see over the other side… “I walked over that.  Pushing a stroller.”

So, as much as I love northern Michigan, I buzzed on through it, hoping getting inland in Wisconsin would cut the wind some.

Somewhere along that windy highway, I had a “moment”. I finally felt confident on that motorcycle. Being a newish rider (I bought the bike in ’13) I have moments when I don’t feel confident, when my heart beats a little faster… but right there, fighting the wind on the north bank of Lake Michigan, I became a rider.

I stopped in Escanaba for dinner, and studied the map and mileage.

“I can make it to Pembine tonight.  Easy.” The GPS said it would take an hour and a few.

I called the motel and told them I was coming.

I exited off highway 2 following arrows that said “to US 8” and some other town in Wisconsin. That became a lovely road with sweeping curves carving through field and trees, and past lakes and over rivers. I was feeling good, the roads were much emptier, and I rode on. I wasn’t sure of the time because I had just crossed into Central Time Zone at the west side of the UP.

So I’m cruising along, and to my left I see water.  Lots of water.  Signs for boat launches and marinas.

“There’s no water by Pembine…” I pulled over on the side of the road and discovered that I was in beautiful downtown Marinette, Wisconsin.  It’s on the bank of Green Bay.  I typed in Pembine again… it said 59 miles… back.  I missed a highway or got on the wrong one in the first place. It was a perfect evening, and I didn’t mind riding another 50 some miles back, and it was a different highway.

I texted Darci, and told her I’d screwed up, but I’d still be in Pembine tonight.

I enjoyed a very pleasant ride through northern Wisconsin, and pulled into the Grand Motel.

After I unloaded the bike, Darci and I agreed to meet across the street at a little bar. I hopped on Trigger and rode a couple hundred yards across highway 8.  We had a beer or two and talked.  I felt like I had just been there.

The GPS I wore on my walk, which I had clipped to the cup holder on the bike, said I had done 441 miles but the math is wrong.  It should be about 300. So I think it added two days or something.  But it was a long, full day of riding.

We agreed to meet in the morning, and I rode back to the motel.  As I was riding, I flicked my high and low beams on… nothing.  I had no freakin’ headlight.  I hadn’t noticed because I hadn’t ridden in the dark until then.

I wrote a bad review for the motorcycle shop that screwed up my bike.  I opened the window and shut off the air conditioning, and climbed into bed.

Top O’ the Mitten

I left off in Hell.  I didn’t edit that pos, so please forgive the typos and such.  I was typing away, drinking a beer, and looked at the time. It was 3;30 so I packed up and left in a hurry.

From Hell, I rode back roads when possible.  I don’t recall my exact route, because walking routes take the shortest route, sometimes on dirt roads, but I did remember that Owosso and Elsie were on my route.  So I rode through endless cornfields and pastures and pass dairy farms that gave me quite a noseful. Holstein cows by the hundred stood in muddy looking lots, their head through long metal feeding stanchions.  Rolls of hay were stacked like bricks.

Shortly after I left Elsie I managed to get turned around.  The roads all look the same, each square of land has a farmhouse and a red barn… and my zigzagging got zagged or zigged and I hit a “T” intersection I didn’t expect, so I pulled way over by the stop sign and turned the bike off.  (It’s air cooled, so if I’m standing for a while, I kill the engine.)

It’s empty out there, just farms.  Only an occasional car or truck.  A blue pickup stopped crooked at the corner and an older man got out. I thought he was going to ask if I was lost, but instead he yelled at me. “Why don’t you turn your damn blinker on?! I almost hit you, you’re all black from the back!!”

I wondered why he was going so fast towards a stop sign… I replied with, “Have a nice day!” which throws people who are attempting confrontation.  Old grouch.

So I figured out my issue, I was facing south (don’t ask) and got myself turned around and headed towards Clare. I kept trying to stay on the Old highway, also called the Alt” or “Business” route, but kept getting shoved onto the big highway, which has a minimum speed of 55.  I like to cruise at 45, so I’d hop off at the next exit and try again.

When I finally reached Clare, it was thinking about getting dark.  Hotel time.  I stopped in front of some small motel, a shabby but inexpensive looking place, and called them.  No vacancies. I called a few others, but their prices were over $100.  The Lone Pine Motel had a vacancy and a $60 price, so I said I’d be right over.

Weird place.  I think many of the people there were full time residents.  They talked to each other like neighbors.  The room had a four burner electric stove, a mini fridge, a microwave, cabinets, etc.  I was stuck with a second floor room so I hauled all my gear up the stairs (I didn’t trust it not to get poked through). A quick trip to a local grocery store for a frozen dinner was good enough for me.

The next day I got to cover my favorite stretch of lower Michigan. From Clare north is wooded and has many lakes.  Cabins and motels sit along the banks, there are docks and boat ramps and bait shops.  That part of Michigan reminds me of Wyoming… except with trees and water.  I mean the recreation is based on outdoor activities, hunting, fishing, camping.

I got on to Old 27, which is the road that the North Central Trail (a rail trail) parallels.  That’s the trail I walked on in 2012. I could see it through the trees, a white gravelly sandy trail right alongside the highway.

The trail, and road as well, skim right along the sides of Budd Lake, Mullet Lake, Otsego Lake and a couple others, and across the Sturgeon River.   Although it goes east towards (and into) Cheboygan, it’s a pretty route and I enjoyed it.

In my blog from my walk, I wrote a post called Breakdown, Part Two or something.  I had been trucking along that trail and saw a clearing to my right, cut through the woods, across the road and into a roadside park on the bank of Lake Huron.  I didn’t realize exactly where I was then, until I saw the Mackinac Bridge spanning the straits off in the distance.  It made my knees buckle and I dropped to them and cried. I had walked to the very top of Michigan, and emotions overwhelmed me.  That was then.

This time, of course I knew where I was, and I came up on the roadside park and pulled in and parked Trigger.  I needed to use the bathroom anyway.  I walked over to the water’s edge and for some reason, I had the same reaction. I became overwhelmed with emotion, and once again broke out crying.  It’s an unusually beautiful place, and marks a physical milestone and landmark.  From there I begin heading west again, as all through Michigan I was going due north.

I called the campground again, to verify that I was indeed still coming, and I sat on the picnic table right at the shoreline and smoked. It is such a beautiful spot.  Last time it was a very sunny day, and the water looked a beautiful turquoise blue.  It was cloudy, so it wasn’t that Caribbean blue, but it is still breathtaking.  I love northern Michigan.

Unfortunately I never heard from Rob again, he was still out on the west side.

The campground (had I known I would have avoided it) was enormous.  When I pulled in a young man in a safety-yellow vest asked me was I checking in or did I already have a spot.

I was directed where t park, and to check in, there are about seven or eight windows like ticket booths at Disney, you walk up to the next available.  They have over 600 sites.  There were too many choices, so I made the wrong one.  That’s how it goes.  I said, “Just give me a fairly cheap spot, but nice.”

Although crammed in like sardines, my site had a direct, unobstructed view of the bridge. Because it was about 7 PM, I hurried and hung my hammock, unloaded a little, and asked my neighbors to watch my stuff.  I rode to town for dinner.

The first place I came to was the Blue Water Grill and Bar.  I chose an outdoor table as it was a perfect 73 degrees (or felt like it).  I was surprised that although they touted fish and chips and crab legs and steak, they had a veggie burger on the menu.  My server was quite nice, and told me some of the motels weren’t too expensive.  (I don’t know why I didn’t check…)

After I ate I hurried back at dusk and set my tent up, as I had looked at the radar and a green “glob” was headed due east… right through the straits.

After getting all set up, at dark I walked to the bridge view, and sat on a bench and talked to my One on the phone, while enjoying a smoke. We talked a while, and I looked at the time and it was after 11, so I told him I’d best get to sleep.  It’s weird being on Eastern Time, you get yourself set to that schedule pretty quickly, as the world out here is ticking on it.

I crawled into my hammock and watched the lights on the bridge twinkle as I fell asleep/

About four something in the morning, I woke up wet, it was raining.  I grabbed my sleeping bag and pillow and ducked into the tent.  I’d already blown the Thermarest up so I went right back to sleep.

The dawn broke grey and the skies remain threatening.  I heard kids on bikes, people making breakfast, tents unzipping, but I tried to sleep just a bit more.  I dozed a bit but was up early.

I shook out the hammock, which was wet, and shook the tent to knock the droplets of water standing all over it.  I figured it’d do it good to sit and dry off a bit, so I loaded the bike up with stuff needed to take a shower; clean clothes, toothbrush, etc.  I enjoyed a nice hot shower, dressed, and decided I’d come here to eat breakfast, before packing up the tent.  I hope I beat the rain in between.  I was hoping for a sunny day, but I didn’t get my wish.

Last night I reserved a reasonable room right here in town, and on the “Any special requests?” section I filled out, I asked that I’d like to dump my stuff inside, and park the bike, so I could shuttle to the island and not worry about my unlockable gear being stolen. I don’t want anything with me but money, credit card and a camera.

So I have just finished breakfast and I need to get back and pack up my wet tent and load the bike.  I’m going to stop at the hotel and pay and check in, and hopefully they’ll let me drop my gear off.  I want to go to the island but need to be back before the post office closes, as Mike mailed my prescriptions to me.

That’s all for now.  Have a beautiful day, grab it and squeeze all you can out of it.

Peace.

To Hell and Back

I’m in Hell.
Hell, Michigan. At theDam Site Inn, having lunch and a beer.
There’s no connection here, so I don’t know where I left off… I think it was waiting for bike repair.

Before they gave me the bike, I asked them to give it a once over and check the tire pressure and oil and stuff. And to ride it.

The charge was $303, which was quite a bit more than they quoted, but they squeezed me in and got it done. I thanked them and said I’d give them a good review.

So I drove out of the urban area, … and THEN noticed that my speedometer and odometer weren’t working. I stopped and messed with it but nothing. I called them, angry, .. the kid that rode it said, “Uh.. I didn’t notice..” I said, “Why do you think I had you ride it? To make sure it was all good.”

I could have turned around, but that meant like ten miles of city driving again, then ten more miles to get back to where I was, and I figured just a cable wasn’t connected right, and it was no big deal.

I have tried several times, as have a couple other people and places, and no one can get it to work. So now my miles are not being logged, I’m guessing at my speed, and having to use the GPS to see how far I’ve gone, as my odometer is also my gas gauge. And they *won’t* be getting a good review at all.

I was heading for my friend Ray’s house, in Clyde. I figured he could fix it, so I didn’t sweat it.

I also know a guy in Wakeman, and had called and texted, but no answer. I left him messages, but since I didn’t hear, I rolled on through and towards Clyde.

As I drove towards Clyde, I recalled the wonderful rails-to-trails path I took all through that area. I saw an occasional sign for it.

I arrived in Clyde and parked in a lot and went into the Town Tavern, ordered a Heineken, and sent Ray a text.

A couple people inquired who I was… it’s a small town and I guess they know I was an outsider.
They all knew Ray, though… although the one kind of drunk guy said Ray owned the tavern. (he doesn’t).

I was going to ask Ray if I could stay on his couch, but before I could, he had already insisted. We had a beer, then walked to the Moose Lodge to get some dinner. Then I followed him to his house, where he let Trigger have the garage and he parked his Jeep outside.

I felt like I had just been there. We talked and had a smoke, but since I hadn’t slept well at all the last two nights, I told him I simply had to go to sleep. I slept right there on the couch.

In the morning I showered and threw laundry in, while Ray looked at the speedometer problem. He had me ride it to see if he’d fixed it, but no go. It was still stuck. Grrrrr.

We rode together in his Jeep back to the Moose Lodge for breakfast, and then we went to a cycle salvage place, but the dude wasn’t there.

I packed up and we had another smoke, I gave him a hug and headed out the 20.

I stopped a few times to find a better route, but 20 did exactly what I was trying to do: loop west of Toledo and north… when it veered west again, I stayed north.

There was no welcome sign, just a “leaving Whatever County”… and the roads tuned to shit. Aaahh, Michigan. That’s how I could tell I’d left Ohio.

I had gone a bit too far west, so once in Michigan I headed east and north a bit, but ended up on highway 127.. the new one. It got wider and faster, and then I saw a sign saying 55 was the minimum speed, so I got off at the next exit. From there I called and found a campground. The first one didn’t allow motorcycles… you had to park and haul your stuff to the campsite on foot. Excuse me? So I called Apple Creek and they’d have me. $30 is a bit steep for a campground, but still cheaper than a motel. I hung my hammock and unloaded the big bag, and then rode into town for dinner.

The camp owner directed me to a sports bar a few miles up that she said had decent food… it also appeared to be the closest place to the camp.

It was a lively crowded place, families, groups, couples. music. I ordered a pizza and of course a cold Heineken.
After my second beer, I hurried back at dusk as I don’t like driving in the dark. I was talking to my love on the phone, when a couple drops hit me and I told him I had to go, and get my tent set up.

I set the tent up while holding a flashlight either in my mouth or under my arm, so I could see the clips and loops and poles. I threw the Thermarest in it, the green bag and a few other things, but then rain, by then, had quit.

Around 11 PM I called my friend Rob, who lives in Harris, up the road. I left a message for him that I was in Michigan and was hoping to see him.

I slept in the hammock a while, but not well, and since the tent was up, I thought maybe I’d have better luck in it. So around two in the morning, I blew up the Thermarest and dragged my sleeping bag and pillow into the tent, and made another attempt at sleeping. I managed some sleep, but was awake again at 5, then went back to sleep till about 8.

Rob called me early, like 7 AM, and told me he wasn’t home! He was way over on the west side, near Traverse City, and didn’t know what his plans were, interviewing for a job. I do hope he goes back to Harris before I leave the area….

So I took my time this morning, having to repack it all since the bottom layer in the duffel bag is the air mattress and tent. Once I got most of it packed, I took a shower and dried my hair and stuff, and packed up the rest of my stuff, and headed out the sandy driveway towards Hell.

Technology

When I was on my walk in 2012, I carried an Apple iBook G4 laptop computer, a 300 gigabyte hard drive (about the size of a textbook back then), plus my phone, camera,battery charger, etc.  I still have my electronic luxuries, but scaled way down.  I’m using a nifty aluminum folding bluetooth keyboard , whose case props up my iPhone 6.  I brought along my Kindle as well, but haven’t used it except for games and reading.

Much smaller, might lighter, much cooler.

🙂

Mechanical Delay

I’m sitting on a bench outside Manuel’s Motorcycle shop in Akron, Ohio, waiting for Trigger to get his new steering stem bearing installed. Motorcycles are being revved up at high, noisy speeds, bikes are parked out front and inside, waiting for servicing.

Since I got re-routed into a more urban area, Kent/Akron Ohio area, I figured it’d be a good place nto look for a bike repair shop.  I read reviews, and his place was well liked and not far, and when I called and explained my situation, they said yes, they’d take a look.

Of course, the part for my ’81 was not in stock, but they found one and said it’d be in tomorrow. I immediately reserved a room a few miles away at the economy Inn in Cuyahoga Falls.  I said I’d be back in the morning, so here I sit.  I spent yesterday mainly in the room, going out just to try to get prescriptions and to grab a meal from Panera bread across  the street.

I was very tired, having not slept enough the night before, so I too two sleeping pills, and still didn’t manage to sleep hardly at all.  I don’t kn ow why.  But I’m very tired, sitting out here in the grass behind the shop.

Hopefully I’ll make it to Wakeman and thn Clyde today, I know people in both towns. If I am too tired, perhaps I can crash with one of them.

I’m looking forward to Michigan.  I’m looking forward to anything besides city areas, actually. Traffic, red lights, congestion… not my thing.

So I will close here, and perhaps my eyes as well, while I wait for the bike to get done.

More later from the wandering argonaut.

Midwestern Corn

I think corn is beautiful, but I must admit, after crossing Nebraska, Indiana and Illinois, I’d seen about enough. I know I am headed for more too.

Some of the drive out

Deep Ruts from pioneer wagons, Guernsey, Wyoming

More names.

The pioneers carved their names or used axle grease and tar to paint them on. Register Cliff, Wyoming

Alva Unthank’s name carved in the rock at Register Cliff, near Guernsey, Wyoming

Over the Mountain, Rockton, PA

The portraits on the wall are the ones I drew in May of 2012, when I walked through there. They are framed and hanging, and Kim says when people ask about them, she tells them the story of the lady walking across the country.

Trigger the Pack-Mule

Trigger as he looks loaded. Here he is sitting by the Mullica River in Southern New Jersey.

And all the while

… over all the miles, I think about my Mike. He made this possible. He helped me. He supported me. And he’s waiting for me. Besides my schedule to meet my daughter, him just being there, my missing him gives me this subtle urgency to get to where I belong. With my love.

He has not hurried me, he has not complained. If I don’t have fun he will be disappointed. It is so oxymoronic, or contrary, I found the man I want to be with all the time, and then voluntarily separate myself from him. I cry from missing him

I didn’t feel incomplete after my walk, i felt just the opposite. I felt full and whole and healed  And my new, whole me fell in love with Mike. But now when I am away from him, I feel incomplete. How is that?

I love him with everything I’ve got. I will get back home to him. To OUR home, where WE belong.

He is my ONE.

Pennsylvania

This morning I am at the DuBois Diner in the town if DuBois. Old fashioned sixties place with chrome and those boomerang countertops.

I left off in Lairdsville I think. From there I headed towards Monroeville, to visit with Sean Emigh. He had originally told me I could stay with him, but I guess that was before he consulted his wife… As I was getting closer he told me instead to grab a room at the Harbor Inn in Philipsburg.  His wife is just cautious, wary about letting a stranger in her home with their child.  Actually, Sean had never met me in person either, so her caution is understandable.

The Harbor Inn was an okay place, but had a very disorganized staff.  It felt like I walked in post murder-burglary, and the culprits were faking it as they didn’t expect a walk-in guest. The scruffy young man at the desk said to follow him, and we went upstairs and down a hall, and he stopped and mae an abrupt u-turn and went back to the desk.  No explanation.  Then he got the key to a downstairs room, which worked out great, because I was parked right by it.  It made unloading the bike easier.

In the morning, they said I had already checked out… from an upstairs room.  Really disorganized staff.

So that evening Sean and I met at RJ’s pub for dinner.  What a handsome fellow! I felt like I’d known him for years, he was very easy to be around. He had to run errands as his car was in the shop, he was in Lisa’s, so it wasn’t a long evening.

Which was fine cause I was so tired. Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep well, I don’t know why.  I’m a chronic insomniac, so it’s no rare thing.  I took a second sleeping pill at 2 AM.

On Monday morning, Sean texted me and said he’d called out of work.  He had injured his shoulder and only had a bicycle to get to work, so he took the day off. He told me to come on up.

On the way to his place, Trigger acted funny.  On the downhills, when I’d let up on the throttle, the front wheel would wobble pretty bad.  But there was wind and hills and the load, so I’m not sure what that was all about.  Scared me pretty good. If it continues I will have it checked.  Could have just been the “perfect storm” of situations.

Anyway, Sean lives a quarter-mile down a long dirt driveway.  I navigated the bike over a few muddy spots and when I arrived, Sean was on his back patio holding his adorable redheaded daughter, and waving me a welcome.

He has a beautiful home, knotty pine walls and acres of privacy. His daughter Charli was a little shy at first, but warmed up a little bit. She and Sean played while we talked. Soon identical twin girl cousins and their brother came over, with their grandma, to collect Charli for some swimming fun. After much ado and kids running amok in the grass, they loaded up and left. I gave Sean a hug and a kiss and left as well.

One of the places I loved most on my walk was the bar/restaurant called Over the Mountain.  It was the place with the instruments on the wall, and the jam sessions. Kim and Steve, the owners, let me stay in an empty apartment when I was there in 2012.  So I rode up the long hill to Over the Mountain and pulled in the parking lot.  The neon beer signs were off.  I parked Trigger and walked around back to the guy mowing the yard.  He stopped the riding mower when I approached.  I told him I was looking for Kim. I told him ow I’d met her, and he remembered me.. he cut me off in mid sentence.. I said, “I stopped on my walk for dinner and listened to music and she let me stay the night..” “..”And you drew a picture of me!”

He told me to wait around a bit, to see if they showed.  I was disappointed.  I sat in the front grass and had a smoke.  Soon a handsome young man wearing a work shirt embroidered with some refrigeration company logo walked over and asked what was up.  I told him who I was, and he, too, remembered me.  He had come in that night and played on the fiddle awhile, and left. I said I was disappointed, but that I’d try to come back if I was still in the area tomorrow.  He asked if he could do anything for me (yeah the world is full of  assholes…)  I said I’d kill for a Heineken.

“Wait here.  I’ll unlock the bar.”

The repairman? Turns out he lives there.. he’s Steve’s son.  He called Kim and put her on speakerphone.. She s camping and wasn’t going to be back till Tuesday afternoon.

“She’s there? Is she walking?”

“No, she’s on a nbike.”

“She’s on a bicycle?”

“No, a MOTORcycle.”

We agreed to meet on Tuesday.  I thanked Lucas and headed west to DuBois.

I has originally planned to meet Rachel in DuBois before she got off work at the daycare at 4:30, but it was 4:30 when I got to town.  I told her I was going to get a room and try to see her after.  She immediately said “no way are you paying for a hotel room!”, she was coming to get me.

I was sitting in a bank parking lot near a busy intersection, she knew right where when I described it. She pulled through and I follwed her up white-knuckle-steep blind top hills her to her upstairs apartment. I met her beautiful son Aiden, who was now three years old. We talked and Aiden played.  She looked outside, and said, “If there’s anything you don’t want wet, you’d better grab it.. it’s starting to rain.” I brought up the big green duffel and the bags from in my saddle bags, and made sure my lighter cover was snapped on.  The rain never amounted to anything but a little steam on the sidewalks.

I had offered to take them to dinner, but she declined. I needed to eat, so I had her order a local pizza for delivery for us, which I paid for.  We ate, she gave Aiden a bath, and then she said she was going to stay at her boyfriend’s place like she usually does. She said, “I hardly think you’re going to put my flatscreen on the back of your bike…”

I sat on her wooden deck overlooking the older, hilly town of DuBois, and smoked.  The sun turned the sky fuschia before setting, and the air was a perfect 72º. An indigo cloud moved in slowly.  Lighting bolts flashed in it, and because the sun had just set, the cloud lit up salmon and pink and magenta from the flash of the lightning. Beautiful. And to join in the evening light show, lightning bugs flashed under trees like little shooting stars.. when you turn your eyes to look, they are gone.

I washed a load of laundry, and slept comfortably on the couch. In the morning, I showered and lugged my bag back down the stairs and loaded Trigger up for the day’s ride.

I called the Harley shop in town, but they said they didn’t work on Hondas.  He recommended a shop in a town way off my route.

I had breakfast at the DuBois Diner, a 1960’s style diner with red vinyl seats and boomerang print countertops and lots of chrome and aluminum. The breakfast I got was called “The boring” or something, “2 + 2 = 2” it said. Two eggs, two pancakes for two dollars. Holy crap. With a big coke my meal was only $4.77. Can’t beat that.  I spent nearly ten at a McDonald’s on my way out. I wrote the beginning of this post at the diner, and then notices it was 11:30 and I was supposed to meet Kim at Over the Mountain at noon. I packed up, left a $2 tip, (the same amount as my breakfast dish!) and hopped on Trig.

I have an app in my phone called Roadside America.  It uses GPS to locate you, and then lists oddities to see in the area.  I was up the street from a standing Bigfoot and a T-rex, among other items.  I stopped for a couple pictures before heading east back over Rockton Mountain.

I parked in front and Lucas was outside sweeping.  He said, “Must have caught up with Kim..” and smiled.

Kim came out of the bar, walking gingerly as she recently had a hip replacement, and gave me a hug. “Come on in!” She opened a Heineken for me and we sat at the bar and talked. I remembered to get a picture of the drawings that are framed on the wall.  Kim told me tales of other passers by, one of them was a woman oldert than I, walking around the world.  She thought Rockton Mountain was a mere anthill… it is about a seven mile grade uphill from the east. More power to you, lady.

While we talked some spaced out dude came in and ordered a beer.  Although she wasn’t open, she was there anyway so she served him. He asked about my trip, and kind of took over the conversation interjecting comments. It annoyed me because I had come all that way and had just a short time to visit with Kim.

Kim gave me a sticker for the bike or car window, their bar logo and a Bigfoot. She had told me on my last visit there, that people she has known for years, sane, sober people, have sworn they have run into the hairy beast in the dense woods of Pennsylvania.  I wouldn’t doubt it…. there’s a lot of deep woods there.

Kim had a doctor’s appointment, so we said good-bye.  Her bar there was my favorite of all the ones I stopped at on my walk. She agreed that the night I was there was a lot of fun.

Across the street was a power sports place with a garage and showroom.  I parked and went in and told the fellow the problem I was having with the bike. He went out and hopped on Trigger and went off to the east, came back in and drove him into the shop.  He said, “I think it’s your steering stem bearing, but I don’t have the part.  I can get in about a week.”

He tightened some stuff on it and said he reduced that chatter considerably.  It was some better, but I’ve still got a vibration.  I found a place in Akron I’ll call in the morning. (Akron?)

I headed west again on the 322.  In KNox I picked up the 208. I recognized a bar I’d stopped at.. it’s where I had met Casey, the long haired dude I drew the cabin picture of.  Anyway, I pulled over and had a couple energy drinks with cranberry juice in them.  “No booze?” the waitress seemed taken aback. “I’m on a motorcycle…”

I recognized places as I went by.. I passed the barn where the three horses stood on the hill and watched me, and I got a great photo of them.  I recognized some of the curves and barns and road signs, kind of weird that something I saw for less than a minute stuck in my head..

Riding a motorcycle requires so much concentration, and I didn’t realize how physical it was until I took longer trips.  I’m as tired at night on this road trip as I was on my walk. It’s exhausting, it’s fatiguing.  I do stop a lot, as I am always replacing my Gatorade bottle with a new one, and the subsequent pee breaks which let me know I am hydrated enough. I also pull over to let impatient drivers pass me.. I like to go slower and sight see, and I hate when I hold people up,

So I plotted my route on my GPS, and said the highway names over and over so I’d remember which ones to look for. I wanted to avoid the urban, trafficky areas of Youngstown and Warren… especially Warren.  I remember it as, well, I wouldn’t leave Panda outside unattended… He’d be empty and on cinderblocks before I got back outside. Crumbling sidewalks, low rent, just not real scenic shall we say… But mainly, a lot of traffic lights.  The walking route the GPS gives is the shortest route, but it certainly wouldn’t be the fastest to drive. I’ve had the GPS direct me up dirt roads, through neighborhoods, through state parks, beause it was the shortest and best walking route. So I walked right through Warren.

I took the highways I’d mapped out and looped right around Sharon and Warren and the other towns crowded at the border.  (I was going too fast to stop to get a picture of the Welcome to Ohio sign..)  I was all happy I’d not had a problem connecting the highways and finally got out on to the 303, a small rural highway that runs east-west, I don’t recall my exact route through Ohio but I do know I was on the 303. I wasn’t on it but a few miles when it declared it was closed 2 miles up the road, and orange detour signs pointed that-a-way.

Okay, just a few miles… I drove south on Route 88 for about ten miles, all the while cussing out the detour. I was headed north, not south!. Finally at a red light in the town of Ravennna, the orange arrow pointed northwest.  I pulled over and studied my location.  The sun was down, I was running out of daylight. Going back to the 303 now meant arriving in Streetsboro well after dark… But Ravenna had no hotels. The closest one was further south in Kent (Home of Kent State University). So another beat-the-clock seven miles to a hotel ride.  I don’t like cutting it close.. letting my day run into the night like that.  When I walked I’d start looking for places in the mid-late afternoon… I’d decide how much further I thought I could go, and line a campground or motel or choose a hiding spot first.  The detour threw me, and I was alos trying to catch up a bit to my itinerary.  I am a few days off but they can easily be made up. I wanted to get out of Pennsylvania and the constant hills. When you cross the Pennsylvania–Ohio border going west, there are a few more hills, but they are broad and low, more like rises instead of the steep rollercoaster hills of the Alleghenies and the Appalachians.  And then it flattens out.

It does amaze me that I walked those hills.  I’d come to the top of a good sized, steep hill, only to find one twice as high ahead.

After I checked in I rode over to a restaurant that had great reviews. My GPS app said it was open till 11.  Although a couple neon light buzzed in the front, the place looked dark and there were no cars.  The familiar yellow and green Subway shop sign glowed next door, so Subway it was. I small talked to the kid making my sandwich, as I was the only customer.  I told him why I was in town, detoured on my cross country ride.  When my total came up, $7 and change, I pulled my cash out, three ones and a hundred.  He said he couldn’t make change for the hundred.. and said, “don’t worry about it.  It’s okay.” and bagged the sandwich and I left with my dinner and a couple bottles of Coke. (My day’s food expenses, not counting a couple gatorades, or tips: $4.77)

So here I am at the Kent/Akron Super 8.  It’s not very “Super”… I just get the least expensive one… I read the reviews and most gave the place “one star”… There are holes in the bedspread from cigarettes, a big damaged area on the carpet… it looks old and a bit rough.  And the area seems “iffy” so I made sure I brought everything in off my bike.

It’s amazing how much stuff there is, when I have to move it all.  First I take unbungee the big duffel bag, and bring it in.  Then I open the saddle bags and pull the ziplocks out.  I have the saddlebags lined with 10 gallon ziplock bags, so all I have to do is pull them out (and they have handles!) instead of unbungeeing and removing the saddle bags themselves. The contents of the barrel bag in the back are also in a Ziplock. And i grab the GPS from it’s case. And the bright yellow waist pack I wear. And the drink from the drink holder.

I got spread out, got my keyboard out, my pipe, my glasses… Took my boots and socks and jeans and bra off, and sat on the bed writing.  And I started to get warm.  I thought it was a hot flash, honestly, at first… and then I realized the room was warm and muggy,, I had turned the air conditioner on to “high cool” when I got in the room, and it was working for a bit, I think… It was after midnight and I called the desk and he told me to take the room across the hall.  I had everything spread out and it took multiple rips to move it all.

So now I lay me down to sleep

My a/c unit cold me keep.

East

I am writing this from my sister’s house in East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania.  I got here just at dark on Wednesday the 29th.

In the last post, I mentioned taking the van out to drive it and see if anything strange showed up.  Mike and I got in the van, I turned the key… and nothing happened.  I immediately got a sinking feeling… Fortunately it turned out to be the battery; but unfortunately that became a $100 investment in the vehicle that wouldn’t be recouped at it’s sale.

But the old girl ran.  I called her Betty. After removing Trigger’s windshield and mirrors, we loosened the bolts on his handlebars and tucked them down. We rolled him up the ramp and Mike ratched the straps tight for the ride.

After loading my duffel bag and saddle bags into the back of the van, and putting drinks in the cooler, I pulled out of Powell in the afternoon.  My destination that night was Douglas, Wyoming. I had one last prescription to fill, but it couldn’t be filled till Friday.

The air conditioner in the van didn’t work, and the only windows that opened were the front seat driver and passenger windows, and two vents in the back. The slanted windshield let a whole lot of sun in… and heat. The drive to New Jersey was one hot ride.

In Douglas, I found a truck stop, and parked Betty way in the back of it, between 2 huge semis. I unrolled the Thermarest mattress and inflated it a bit, wedged it between the motorcycle and the side of the van, and lay down for sleep. In the morning I bought a shower at the truck stop and arrived at the pharmacy just minutes before it opened.

From Powell to Scottsbluff, Nebraska I was on state highways. The ones that slow down to 25 mph through the small towns that dot the empty highways. I took a few detours to keep the drive interesting.

In Guernsey I walked to the Deep Ruts for a minute, more to stretch my legs than to see the landmark, as I had been there before years ago.

I stopped at Register Cliff as well, a vertical bank of stone on which many passing pioneers carved their names or painted them on with tar and grease. I got talking to a woman from Belgium, who was taking her second tour of the United States.  She was visiitng national parks, and had just been to Yosemite and Yellowstone and a few in between.  I thought it was pretty neat that she was not just seeing the sites, but that she was exploring the history of the country too. I have visited the emigrant trail sites many times, but I am often the only one at them. They are overlooked by so many, a forgotten trail from a forgotten time.  I wished her well and headed towards my van when I heard her squeal. She came over and said she had just seen a big rattlesnake, and pointed him out.  I walked over and took a photo of it as it coiled and rattled at me.

In the town of Bayard, Nebraska, red and blue lights flashed in my rearview. The officer told me I had a brake light out, and wrote a warning ticket. While he was in his vehicle, I was scrolling the GPS in my phone for auto parts store.  When he saw the NAPA logo on my screen, he told me that one block up was an auto parts place, but that I didn’t have to fix it right now, just soon.  And to get the repair verified by any police officer, and mail the ticket back. I said, “why wait, and possibly get stopped again?”

Right outside town is anotther pioneer trail site called Chimney Rock.  I follwed signs for it, and, despite no shade and temperatures in the 90’s, I removed the back tail light cover. I knew there had been yellow jackets buzzing around it, and Mike had sprayed in the light (it was cracked), and when I opened it I found a 4 inch diameter nest.  And a lot of dead bugs.  I knocked them all out, put the bulbs in, and put the van back together.

I had never seen so much corn in my life, driving through Nebraska. Huge farms, acres upon acres of tall green corn, in rows so uniform it looked as though someone ran a giant comb through a field.

Iowa looked pretty much the same as Nebraska, and Illinois, and Indiana….

West of Columbus Ohio was some of the flattest terrain I’d ever seen.  My brother Adam lives in Columbus, so I contacted him, but he was out of state on a bicycle trip.

I stopped briefly in New Concord, Ohio, to see the “John and Annie Glenn Historical Monument” touted on highway signs. I am assuming it was John Glenn’s childhood home, and it hadbeen turned into a museum.  I didn’t have the time to take the eight dollar tour, so I took a couple pictures and moved on.  The high school there is named after him.  🙂

I slept in the van a couple nights, in hotels a couple nights. When I slept in the van, I would pay for a shower at the truck stop. Once I discovered those a few years ago, it made traveling cheaper. Why pay $79 for a hotel room, when I can sleep in the van in a rest stop or at the truck stop itself, and pay ten bucks for a nice hot shower?

I was on interstate 80 for a while, but at Davenport, Iowa I cut down to interstate 70 to bypass Chicago.  In Pennsylvania the 76 joins the 70, and it became the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  (I thought the interstate systems were a public project…  I was just cruising along and suddenly I’m at a toll booth… and the highway changed. The rest stops were gone, replaced by “Service Plazas”.  No shady pull outs, no quick on and off. These service plazas had lanes of gas pumps, a huge area for truck parking, and what was essentially “mall food”.  People were lined up for Auntie Anne’s Pretzels, Sbarro Pizza, fast food, etc. It was awful. No shade, no trees, just mass human and car and truck traffic.  I hated it… and I was paying for it.

I used to be able to drive all night, and I still could if I could see. My eyes don’t recover from passing headlights fast enough, it takes them too long to adjust back, so for a short spell after each passing car I can’t really see. I sit forward and clutch the wheel and try to keep my eyes averted and on the line by the shoulder, but I have to look at the road… I don’t know what has happened, but I just don’t drive at night anymore.

So i found myself approaching Harrisburg, Pennsylvania that evening on the turnpike,  just at dusk. I wanted off that highway from hell. My sister Doona had texted me, asking where I was.  I told her, and that I was seeing signs for Mechanicsburg. I knew someone in that town.  Kind of kidding, I told my sister to check Facebook messenger and see if Karin was on, and if she was, just to tell her I was aproaching her town. Within a minute, Doona came back on and said she got hold of Karin, and gave her my number.  Karin called me, and said I could stay at her place. Actually, she enthusiastically invited me.  She texted me the address, and I punched it in to my GPS for directions.  I was about 15 minutes from her home.  With just that much warning, Karin opened her home to me and let me crash there and shower there.

Karin grew up in the town I grew up in.  She was best friends with my late sister Kathy.  Kathy and Karin were about 15-16 years older than me, and the last time I saw Karin I was in grade school.

We talked about the Township, my sister, what she has been doing all these years. It was surreal but I felt very comfortable around her.  She was extremely hospitable and welcoming. It was an odd thing, but it worked out well.  The timing was serendipitous, to hit her town just as it was getting dark, and I was getting off the turnpike (which cost me $20 at the exit!) to seek a place to sleep.  And to make the timing even better, a wicked thunderstorm rolled in that night.  I slept peacefully on a couch in her beautiful home.

In the morning I showered and we had coffee outside on a back yard patio. Her roomate was awake, and joined us.  It was a lovely morning, and I hit the road rested and ready for more driving.

I stayed off the turnpike after that.  I followed a road through Lancaster county, which has a large Amish population. Standardbred horses clip-clopped up the streets. The girls driving wore starched white bonnets and long dresses.

I continued east on state highways, which offer much more scenery than interstates. I saw several signs for railroad-related attractions, and then approached a big railroad museum. Again, I didn’t have time to make a visit to it worthwhile, but the place made a neat rest stop for me.  People were boarding a steam train, which was, well, steaming.  Other old steam engines sat like statues, behind fences or glass. What was commonplace a hundred years ago sit as museum pieces on display. Mike just happened to text me while I was there, so I sent him a few photos of the engines, walked around a bit then kept moving.

I finally arrived in Somers Point in mid-late afternoon, and checked in to the Budget Inn motel, the very same motel I slept in on the eve of my walk.

On the road a few days before, I followed MIke’s suggestion and placed a Craigslist ad for the van. Within an hour I received numerous texts and a call about it.

I stayed two nights in the hotel in Somer’s Point. I had only planned to stay one, but wanted a day off from driving, and still needed to get rid of the van. When I re-upped the room, they said they had to move me to a smoking room,. as the one I was in was reserved. I am sure the second room was the same one I stayed in the night before my walk. I finally got a serious person on the van, and he sent a tow truck to get it, it was hids only way to move it, evenb though it drove just fine.  Betty got hauled off and I got $300.

I’m sitting here at the Lairdsville Inn in Lairdsville, Pennsylvania, on the 118.

There’s no internet connection so I’m going to try to remember where I left off.

I finally caught up with Bruce, the police officer from Montgomery Township. I was tinkering with my motorcycle when he pulled up. I had forgotten how TALL he is. I had totally pictured someone else, he was a pleasant surprise. We went to the Point Diner and had, then we walked next door to some noisy bar that had a man asking trivia questions on a too-loud microphone. We talked about my walk, my upcoming motorcycle trip, his new motorcycle, etc. I found him to be a delightful, intelligent man. People who know me know I’m no big fan of cops. He’s an exception.

On the morning of the 28th, I loaded up the motorcycle, I was now carrying the chrome rail from my motorcycle seat with me. And the giant pile of CRAP I had in the van and motel room was in saddle bags and barrel bags and duffel bags. Although I had ridden the bike loaded before, I hadn’t ridden it THAT loaded. I checked out and the three quarters of a mile to the Point Diner were very scary. The front wheel “walked” back and forth and I had a hard time getting used to the heavy load on my bike. Trigger is already a top heavy bike, and now he bore a hundred pounds, a lot of it on the seat. I did try to put the heaviest stuff in the saddler bags, but they aren’t big enough to hold my clothes and the tent. I had to get used to keeping the bike perfectly balanced at red lights, both feet flat, bike exactly vertical. If it started to tip, I doubt I have the muscle to upright it.
After breakfast, I rode over the bridge to Ocean City and was lucky to find a metered parking spot (as opposed to $10 flat fee parking) near the Boardwalk, and I walked to a gate to the beach. People sit in chairs there, posted at the gates, and collect $5 to use the beach. (*Something seems really wrong about charging people to enjoy a natural thing…) I told the girl that all I needed to do was go into the water, take a picture, and come back out. She let me go on without charging me. I even took my boots and socks off there, and left them by her, so she’d know I’d be right back. Plus I was wearing black jeans and a shirt, not really beach clothes.

On the water’s edge two teen girls were taking pictures, and I knew a teen girl taking pictures with a cell phone would know how to take mine, so I asked the taller blonde girl if she wouldn’t mind. I stood in the water and she took a few shots, I thanked her and went back up to the boardwalk. After dusting the sand from my feet, I walked back to the bike, and started,

I spent hours and hours navigating the crowded, narrow, potholed streets of New Jersey. truly believe I spent more time with my feet on the asphalt waiting for green lights than on my motorcycle foot pegs. Add to that it was in the high eighties or nineties, very very humid, and I was wearing a helmet. It wasn’t bad when I was moving, but most of the time I wasn’t. As soon as I’d stop, sweat would pour down my face, my arms would get wet with sweat, and I could feel heat from both the bike and the asphalt rising to join the suns rays beating down. But as soon as I’d start moving, I’d cool off because now I was wet.

I followed the route I took, what I could remember. On the 206, I passed the small old bar that had “Frank Sinatra Live” painted on it. It had been painted over brown, turned into a Mexican restaurant and had since gone out of business. Too bad.  The Pic-a-liliy had repainted their very 50’s sign to something more modern.. and without personalioty.

When I got to Montgomery Township, I sent Bruce a text. I said I wasn’t staying long as I was making horrible time, but he said “two minutes”.  I was sitting at a Wawa convenience store, drinking a Gatorade and sweating. Bruce showed up in uniform and we talked a bit.  He told me faster routes, as at that point, I just wanted out of New Jersey.  Bruce said, just up the road is the spot we met, where you were sleeping on the side of the road, follow me there. When we got to it, he pulled over with his lights flashing, I pulled in front of him. We talked a bit more, I took a picture of the spot. When I pulled out to leave, he stopped traffic and cheered me on as I left.  Trigger honked.

I followed a lot of the same route, but skipped the back routeds Google maps had sent me on, and Jockey Hollow Park, which I remember as very hilly.  As a matter of fact, it was in that park that Pands’s brake shoes wore off, and I ended up disconnecting his brakes there. I made it all the way to the border of my town, right by the sign, and stopped.  My GPS said to take Route 46, the way I had walked, would take about 2 hours to get to my sisters, or 52 minutes on I-80.  It was going to be dark in an hour, so, much as I hated to, I got on the interstate and got off at the first Delaware exit. Fromn there I would nmy way through Delaware Water Gap and East Stroudsburg to my sister Doona’s place.

She lives in a gated community.  I texted her, “Im at the gate” and she said, oh good, makew two lefts, I’m the sixth house.”  Assuming I was cleared, I rode around the drop gate and headed for her place.  In a minute red and blue lights were flashing in my rearviews. The security guard scolded me for running the gate, and made me turn around and register at the office. By now it was just past dusk and getting dark  Whitetail deer grazed on the road’s edge. I parked the bike and went in to the office.  The guy at the desk said I need to see your license and registration.  “It will take me a ghalf an hour to get you the registration.  It’s under the seat and my motorcycle is heavily loaded. Go look.”  He settled for the plate number and my license, and let me go.

I stayed three nights with Doona, we talked and laughed and went out for a beer, and on the first of August, I left.  I didn’t get out of there till late afternoon.

I rode on the roads I had walked, past Walter Dam, on the 322 and the 118, but had to make it to the campground I chose before 8:00.

I hung my hammock and unrolled my bag, unloaded the bike and ran up to a store for a yogurt for dinner. I was going to work on this blog there. but once it got darl, it was too dark to see the keyboard, and I took my sleeping pill and crawled into my hammock.  I woke at 4:45, before dawn, and peed out in the woods, and then slept till 8.  I assumed I’d wake at light, like 6:00, and be gone by eight, but everything is now two hours later.

So in the morning, I showered, repacked, and came up here to the Lairdsville Inn.

The man waiting on me looked familiar.  I asked if he worked here three years ago, and he said, “I’ve been working here twenty five years, can’t you tell, don’t I look like it?”  He kind of remembered me from when I was here on my walk.

And now I’m going to hit “Publish” and finally get this posted. I apologize for the delay. I will post photos later.

Down to the last few days

I set my departure date for this Thursday.  Yesterday, I loaded Trigger (my bike) up with a load.  It was pretty close to what I’ll be taking, I bungeed my leather chaps down, strapped the helmet to the sissy bar, and filled the saddle bags with random crap for weight.  My boyfriend had adjusted the rear shocks a bit stiffer so they’ll bear the load better.

I rode about fifteen miles or so, at different speeds, to see how the loaded  bike handled.  It’s not very heavy, despite the size of the duffle bag.  That’s a thermarest air mattress and a down sleeping bag taking up a lot of the space, along with a tent and sssome other camping gear and miscellania. The black pack on the back is ))crammed(( fill of clothes. I’m sure my clothes were look like a wadded up piece of paper, but combine that with sunburn, bugs in my teeth and hair that looks like a Neaderthal’s, I don’t think it will matter…

Left to do yet: Today we’re going to take the van out, make sure it’s not showing any obvious signs of trouble. I’m sure, if it’s going to do something obscene like start smoking or steaming or making some hideous grinding noise, it will wait until I’m in the middle of Nebraska with nothing but corn on all four sides of me for 100 miles.

Then, a real pack of what is going. I need to compare it against the list I posted in March of 2012, that went with me on the walk, and then remember what it was I didn’t use, and what it was I wished I’d had. A lot of the gear on Panda I won’t need for this trip. Like two pairs of extra shoes and a lot of blister kits and bandaids. I carried a two gallon spigoted water jug for when I was in North Dakota and Montana and would be two days between towns.  Obviously I won’t need that, but I did use it for bathing when I camped by streams or lakes. So I will replace it with a collapsible bucket that squashes down to a frisbee size.

The Thermarest is a luxury, but last time, my first air mattress leaked, and the Big Agnes company was kind enough to send me a new, upgraded mattress to a post office in Michigan somewhere.  But by the end of the walk, it, too, was slowly deflating while I slept. It’s advantage was it rolled up to about the size of a football at best. The Thermarest is much larger, but I’ve had it for years and it has never leaked air. It’s about the same width as the tent, so they are both crossways in the big duffle bag.  That’s the same bag that rode on Panda on my walk.  I am going to sew some big D rings on it, to aid in bungeeing stuff down on it, and bungeeing IT down to my bike.

I still need to add a hammock (of course!) and it’s straps, some general camp stuff like rope, bug spray, a tarp and my picnic blanket.

The clothes are pretty minimal, 2 pairs of jeans (besides the ones I’ll be wearing), several tshirts and tank tops, my white fleece, a set of base layer underwear if it’s chilly, a long sleeved shirt, a pair of sweats for when at camp and for pajamas. I decided to save space by wearing comfortable hiking boots when I ride instead of my usual black biker’s boots, because they’re not very comfortable for walking around in. (The boots are the ones that I got for free but never used on my walk)

I will of course have my heavy leather jacket and a pair of leather chaps.

In the saddle bags will ride my electronics, their respective chargers, toiletries, sandals or moccasins for camp, my wallet, maps, papers, important stuff, etc. Binoculars, perhaps a tripod, whatever other luxury I can fit, and of course extra sunglasses, goggles, gloves, bandanas and other biker needs.

I will post again soon. Lots to do!

Progress!

Trip plans charge forward.  A major hurdle was cleared today: We loaded Trigger into the van.  And he fit.

I will be driving a 1998 plymouth Grand Caravan to the east coast, with the motorcycle inside.  The van has two rows of tie down things, so it’ll be easy to secure the bike upright.  The bike’s windshield pops off, the mirrors unscrew, the handlebars fold down, and the sissy bar unbolts.  Trigger will have to be reassembled when I get out east.

My friend ran across a sissy bar awhile back, for free.  Whoever had it had it extended to fit a larger, longer bike.  Mike cut the ends off so its back to it’s original size.  It’s ugly and gives my bike a real 80’s look… but it *is* an ’81 model… It won’t be a permanent addition, but will help for stacking gear on, bungeeing things to, etc.  It has a little shelf type rack over the tail light as well, so, ugly or not, it’ll be useful for gear.

I have been going over my gear list, the one I posted on this blog in March of 2012.  I cannot believe how much suff I hauled on Panda.  Obviously, a lot of it I won’t need, like the water jug, the types of clothes, etc; plus there won’t be room or allowable weight for anything extra.  I carried a laptop computer, a separate hard drive, books, etc. I have to bring about half.

I bought a small folding wireless bluetooth keyboard, folds up about the size of two decks of cards. I pair it with either my Kindle or my iPhone. I will be taking a lot of photos, and a lot can be taken with my camera as I got the 128 gigabyte drive iPhone 6. So the elctronics alone are a smaller packge. My kindle books are in my iPhone as well, so no worry about reading material should I desire.

I bought a leather bag about 5″ in diameter and a foot long or so, it rides under the headlight. I can keep my bike stuff in it, like a can of chain lube, a rag, tools, etc. I also bought a barrel bag, not very big, looks like an overnight bag sort of. I’m not sure where everything’s going yet, but if I pack it like I did Panda, my smaller, important stuff like my prescriptions, electronics, toiletries, goggles, bandanas, snack and whatever will go in it.  Or it may just hold my leathers if I’m not wearing them. (if it’s 95 out and muggy, I won’t be wearing the heavy leather coat!) I have to get every item coming with me and see what can go where, and then ride the bike around fully loaded to see how it rides.   Trigger is a tall bike, I didn’t realize how tall until I measured it against Mike’s Harley. It’s a well balanced bike, but topheavy because it sits high like a dirt bike instead of a low rider. So the weight needs to be low. Something heavy on the top of the tall sissybar would make keeping the bike upright in wind and such quite a challenge. So all that has to be taken into account, as well as left-right balancing.  Kind of like packing a mule, you want the bags to weigh the same so not to lame the animal. And since a motorcycle turns by leaning, I don’t want it leaning on a straightaway.

New Jersey, Washington State and Oregon have mandatory helmet laws. I don’t wear a helmet… the only time I did I wrecked my bike… Not that the helmet caused it, but nor did I hit my head when I went down. (Mike says the only difference between wearing a helmet or not wearing one, is whether or not you can have an open casket…)  But I will abide by the rules of course, and strap one on in New Jersey.  All the states between it and Washington don’t have helmet laws… that apply to me anyway. (Some say under 21 must wear, etc) So for 2500 miles I’ll bungee it down somewhere.

I have had string of health problems, and am trying to get them resolved. I am on antibiotics and have to take potassium supplements., my chronic fatigue is more.. chronic lately, so my preparations are moving slowly.  The nice thing about riding a motorcycle, well one of the many nice things, is that I can sit. I find my bike more comfortable than a car or truck seat, and I can change positions often on the bike.  My back always hurts, but when I ride, I twist and lean and stretch it frequently, and it helps.  You can’t move that much when you’re driving a car. It’s quite a comfortable bike… let’s see how I feel about it in a few thousand miles…

I have a lot to work out as far as time and miles per day, but just like with my walk, I’ll have to find my pace.  The slow moving curvy hilly roads of Pennsylvania will slow me down, as will the congestion of New Jersey, but that time can be made up on the empty plains in North Dakota and eastern Montana, which will travel faster between towns, although a slower pacer is what I like.

I will post again as I get closer to leaving.

And a note for Bruce, if he’s reading it: You’re on.  I’ll let you know when I’m in NJ. 🙂

Trial on Trigger

Before I set off on my bipedal adventure, I took walks frequently and of varying and increasing lengths, to build my stamina and to see how I held up.

The week before last, Mike and I loaded our bikes up and took an impromptu trip to Cheyenne, Wyoming. Two days before I had had twenty injections in my back, so I was a bit sore.

The first day was hard.  The wind blew constantly and with great force, so it was a battle keeping my top-heavy but lightweight motorcycle upright. By the time we arrived in Casper, about 200-something miles from home, we were out of breath and both a bit sore. My gas mileage was awful; from fighting the headwind, and Trigger (my bike) wouldn’t go over 50 on hills because of it!  The next day we rode into Cheyenne.  The last leg of the trip, between Laramie and Cheyenne, was the prettiest part.  We took Happy Jack Road, and it curved up and over mountains that had trees on them… if you have driven in Wyoming, you’ll know why trees are a treat.  We generally don’t have many.  There are miles and miles of treeless, dusty, flat, sagebrush covered land; no houses, no livestock, just sagebrush and occasional antelope and jackalopes. 😉

We stayed in a strange old but cute motel in Cheyenne, the Sands Motel, on the old Lincoln Highway. We were in Cheyenne to attend Mike’s granddaughter’s softball tournament.

We were supposed to leave on Sunday, but we stayed an extra day to avoid passing storms.  Monday morning we rode down to Fort Collins for some business, and Mike looked for a part for his Harley that had broken… he ended up using a bungee cord and it held fine.

The way back was very pleasant.  There’s always wind in Wyoming, especially out on the treeless plains, as there is nothing to stop it.  But it wasn’t as bad, although despite the fact that we were going the opposite direction, we again encountered a headwind. Go figure.

Despite a very rainy Spring, riddled with hailstorms and flash floods and soggy ground, we managed to miss all the rain, both directions. On the eastbound trip, we stopped at The Virginian Hotel in Medicine Bow, for a beer and pee break.  As we sat and drank a cold one, the sky darkened and a storm rolled in.  It rained and hailed for a bit, and when it stopped, we dried our bikes off and continued east.  We never hit anymore rain, and we didn’t get wet.

But the best part is, I arrived back home really no worse for the wear. 1000 miles is a quarter of the distance I intend to travel, and my back didn’t complain much.  Less than I expected.

We arrived home on Tuesday, and I anxiously checked my gardens as we left hem with no source for water.  Even though the area had gotten a lot of rain, our house sits in a spot that the storms seem to bypass, due to the lay of the landscape. Although dry, my plants were all still okay, and the beans and corn sprouted.

Last Wednesday I had radio frequency nerve ablations done on five levels of my lower back.  It’s a very painful procedure, but I can feel some improvement so I am hoping to schedule getting the left side done.  The nerves he burned off run from my sacroiliac joints, and into my butt and hips. Burning temporarily deadens them, the intent is to provide pain relief. The effects are temporary,from a few months to a year, but since my back is irreparable, I do what I can to keep the pain level manageable.  If I can keep it down long enough to enjoy my cross country ride, I’ll be satisfied.

So, my first loaded-bike and overnight trip was a success. Once I get over this godawful flu, I will mock an assemblage of my gear and see what would ride best where on Trigger.  I won’t need to carry as much as I did when I walked, because the trip will be shorter, I won’t have long days where I don’t find a store or water, forcing me to carry said items, and I will have the ability to go off route to get better camping spots, since a five mile detour on a bike is ten minutes… on foot it was nearly two hours. On the other hand, it will be harder to hide in the woods to camp, because I will have a motorcycle to contend with.  I can’t just slip off the road into the woods to sleep.

I will update more as the preparations get underway.

Fundraising

After I posted the last blog entry, a couple things happened that have made me much more determined to start in New Jersey.

Besides visiting the wonderful people who helped me out on my pedestrian adventure in 2012, a coast to coast ride has a diffferent “feel” to it than a Wisconsin to Washington trip.

I have been exploring ways to get my motorcycle, gear and myself to the East coast.  Truck rental plus the enormous amount of fuel it would consume is horrendously expensive.  My boyfriend suggested buying a cheap car, driving it (towing the bike) East, and then selling it out there.

Riding to NJ from here, and then to Washington and then back to here is 6000 miles on a bike: I doubt my back can do it.  The 4000 proposed mles will be tough as it is. Hauling the bike will get me there faster and with less exertion and strain on my back.  I don’t like to ride very fast, and my motorycle is quite light, so interstate is out. The big rigs about blow me off the road! Once in New Jersey, if I can swing this, I can putt along at an easy pace, and do what I set out to do: See America.

So, I have set up a fundraising campaign on Indiegogo.  My goal was $2500 as I had priced the rental vehiles and based it off that, but I can pull it off for less if I can pick up a cheap car for a few hundred that’ll make 2000 miles.  Ugly won’t matter.

The address to see the fundraiser, and to donate to it (every little bit helps!) is:

https://life.indiegogo.com/fundraisers/help-me-finish-making-my-dream-come-true-please/x/10503425

Three Years Later… it continues…

I’m sure anyone that was “following” me on here, has long since forgotten my ill-fated walking adventure of 2012, and/or has suince unsubscribed.

But I haven’t.

As is the norm for me, the last year has certainly had it’s share of twists.

The guy I was dating, mentioned in a post a year or so back, turned out to be emotionally abusive.  Since I took the walk, I’ve had self esteeem for the first time in my life.  I wasn’t about to let that idiot pick away at it, so I dumped him.

I had a paid-under-the-table job bartending last summer. A quiet bearded biker would come in and have a couple of Budweisers, and, since I worked Saturday afternoons often, a quiet shift, we’d have time to talk.

We talked more, and finally he asked me out. It felt unquestionably right, and I moved in about six weeks later. And I am happy I did.  Mike is a wonderful, sweet, patient man who knows how to do everything it seems, incluing putting up with me and my crazy kitty. He had been alone for over seven years, having been widowed after a 25 year marriage. As it turns out, he had had to quit working over a decade ago due to a back injury. Although it flat-out sucks that he hurts, and that I do, it is countered by the fact that we BOTH hurt, so we do understand eachother’s pain. I don’t feel like I slow him down, as he can’t do whatever that much, either.  We’re a perfect match.  I moved into his beautiful 1910 farmhouse on three acres near Powell, Wyoming. I’m pretty sure I turned his life upside down, but I think it was a good thing. I brought a lot of chaos and crazy into his life, and a lot of love, too, as I am nuts about him.  He treats me like a queen, and I’m blissfully happy.

***

Last April I posted a photograph of my mototcycle and wrote that I was planning to finish the trip on that. And I do. My plans are solidifying for a mid-late summer excursion.  Ideally, I’d like to start in Ocean City, New Jersey, and retrace my walk, and continue on to my original destination of Ocean City,Washington, but to ride that far would be pretty hard on my back, unless I and the motorcycle got a ride to the east coast.  If that’s not feasible, I shall ride to where I left off, in Wisconsin, and head west from there.  Either way, it’s at least a 4000 mile ride.

Before I moved in with Mike, I told him of this plan. Unbelievable man that he is, he supports it.  He mentioned riding along, as he is a *very* well seasoned bike rider, but I told him that this must be accomplished alone.  He may ride a portion when I pass north of here, through Montana, but no concrete plans have been set.

Not only is he supportive, he trailered my bike up to a repair place and Trigger got fixed up. The motorcycle now has a new, heavy-duty o-ring chain, a new sprocket, the carburetor rebuilt, new Dunlop tires, new cables and an oil change. Trigger is ready to go.  I took the windshield off, so, besides the saddlebags, the bike is pretty much “stock”; how it looked in 1981. Of course, on the trip, I’ll have a sissy bar installed and my camping gear on it, etc.

Although highway speeds can be fun, I prefer a comfortable pace of about 40 mph. Much slower and one impedes traffic; faster, and one misses the sights. As I did in my walking tour of America, I plan to stop in each town and look around, meet people, take in the regional atmosphere.

I know it is not the same as walking, but despite doctor visits and consultations with surgeons, nothing has been, or can be, done about my back. I have had nerve ablations and cortisone shots, but my pain remains. Walking is what aggravated the condition, and that hasn’t changed. The bike ride will be tough on my back, but is worse comes to worse, I can just go home.

I am allowing about a month for the ride. 4000 miles in thirty days (1000 miles a week)  is not a very grueling schedule. But it allows me to take a day off for weather, sightseeing, resting, and to mantain a slow enough pace to see the sights and take side trips. An advantage to the motorcycle is that a campground that’s five or ten miles off my trail won’t be excluded like it was when I was on foot. Lots of times it wasn’t logical to walk two hours to camp, and have to walk two hours to get back on my route in the morning.

I know that I won’t receive the curious reception I received, as riding a motorcycle a long distance isn’t quite the same as walking, and that will somewhat change the interactions and mood of the journey, but I will just have to be the one to speak first! Meeting the people I did was one of the highlights of the trip, and I’m not leaving that by the wayside.

My daughter will turn thirty in August.  She is tentatively planning a trip that weekend to Portland, Oregon.  If that comes to fruition, I plan to time my trip to have reached Washington’s coast before then, and to drive down to see her, before heading back. Regardless, the most likely month to have clear mountain passes and decent riding weather will be mid July to mid August, or the month of August. Unless, like I mentioned, I have found a ride east with my trusty steel steed, I will have the flexibility to tweak the dates as needed.

I had started writing a book about my walk quite a while ago.  The problem I have with being able to concentrate grew unbearable, so I finally saw a doctor and described it. She diagnosed me with adult attention deficit disorder.I tried a few meds, and, since I wasn’t having much success with them, I saw a psychiatrist and he said immediately that I had a rather severe case, and gave me yet another drug.  None has seemed to help a terrible lot, but enough so that when I went back to work on my book and reread it, I could tell it was written like the thoughts in my head, disjointed, no particular order, and the point of each paragraph was kind of hard to single out. So I have started over.

It began as a more linear account of my trip, like my blog here, only in more detail. But since I last wrote, till when I picked it back up again recently, so much has changed in me, that the theme of the book has changed.

Although my walking adventure was cut short by pain, and I was unable to finish it, and life threw me a few curveballs since, I have emerged a different person. I am still learning and growing and changing.  It was as if I was stalled out before, and the walk kick-started me. It hasn’t been easy to explain, but I’m trying to as I write the book. I have changed 180 degrees from the woman I was. I have an innner peace I never had, a liberated, enlightened mindset that has freed me to be me, to love more freely, to forgive without question, to grab life even harder and to realize what matters and what doesn’t. I had never had self esteem, ever, and I do now. I don’t care what others think. I do what I want, how I want, and have learned to slow down, to open my mind more, to open my heart more, to see beauty and promise in places I’d never noticed it before. “They” (whoever they are) claim you cannot love another unless you love yourself. I don’t agree with that, as I loved my husband and my kids, but not so much me. I do believe, however, that learning to love and accept yourself enables one to love more fully, more purely, and for the right reasons.

I have never been happier in my life, and that has enabled me to love more, and to be accepting and open and to take a chance with Mike… and I feel like I met him at the exact time I should have. He is an amazing man and deserves all I can give him. I don’t think I had much to offer before.

Mike gave me a larger set of saddlebags. I got a sissy bar for free that needs to be altered to fit my bike, but that’s easy. I already have the camping gear from my three years ago. I will have less room this time, but should need less, as I don’t need to deal with a day’s walk till the next town, and toting extra water and food and such.  I recently bought a nifty little bluetooth keyboard, on which I am presently typing, that folds up small and pairs with my smartphone and my Kindle fire tablet. It will replace my full sized laptop I carried before. I am already mentally putting gear into piles.  Preparation for such a trip is half the fun to me.

So, if you are curious, stay subscribed to this blog, as here is where I shall continue journaling as the trip draws nearer. In between raising a flock of chickens (a new venture for me, and fascinating enough to me that my poultry musings shall get their own blog), contolling the chaos my cat stirs up, raising a vegetable garden, loving my boyfriend, riding my motorcycle and having fun, I’ll be planning and plotting and projecting my way-too-late-in-coming Part II.

Life goes on. 🙂

Two Years Later

I was going to put this post up on April 1st, but it’s a tough day for me, because that’s the day I started walking two years ago, in 2012.   I joked, half-way, that I started on April Fools Day because I knew I was a fool for attempting such a feat at my age.

And it turned out to be true.

Now it’s 2014 and I am plotting (without adequate financing, yet) Part II.  I can’t walk it.  Hell I can barely walk 3 blocks without a stabbing pain in my lower back.  I love walking but have discovered a new love.

“His” name is Trigger.  The same guy that named Panda named him.

Trigger is a 1981 Honda CM400 Custom.  He’s old but only has 12250 miles on him.  I put a quarter of those miles on it this past summer and fall.  It’s not a big touring bike, and I don’t have adequate saddle bags yet (those were the ones I used on my mule!) but I’d like to finish my trek on Trigger. I few lightweight camping supplies and clothes would suffice.

The trip, if I can pull it off (if not this year, next perhaps) would be a 5000 mile loop.  From here in Cody Wyoming I’d ride to where I left off, in Wisconsin (actually a bit further East, to visit some people I met there) then turning west to Washington State, Ocean City to be exact, then turning East again and returning to Cody.  No backtracking, all new roads, and still seeing America at a leisurely pace.  I allow about 200-250 miles a day average, and a month to do it.  That’s very easy on a motorcycle.  It allows for long days, layover days, frequent stops in small towns and for taking pictures, sitting out rainy days, etc.

It’s not the same thing but I have made peace with the fact that In can’t do it on foot. I don’t *like* it but I know it can’t be helped.  I recently read an article about a man who is on his eighth crossing of America on foot.  He was walking off grief from the death of both his children.  He must have a good back!  (He’s also PULLING his supply cart, which was my first idea, until I looked up the physics behind it and found that pushing is better on your body than pulling.)  But it will, I hope, give me closure.  I’ll finally look over the Left Coast’s edge, upon the Pacific Ocean at Ocean City, what I dreamed of doing on foot.  Trigger will have to suffice.

Surprisingly, the motorcycle is not hard on my back. The Silverado truck I was driving was a lot worse.  Besides pulling myself up into it and stepping way down, simply steering it, which twisted my body even a little, was uncomfortable.  A motorcycle turns with a gentle lean.

I have chronic pain that varies in intensity. This week has been prit-near unbearable.  I had a cortisone shot a few weeks ago and had a strange, bad reaction.  I’ve had cortisone shots before, but this one made me feel like I was electrocuted, from my hands, which felt like they were buzzing so badly they hurt, all the way to my knees. It was very bizarre and landed me in the emergency room with IV’s and heart monitors.  So I don’t think the doctor will rush to give me more. It had a slight positive effect but only on one level of my back.  My hips and other parts hurt like hell.

If I knew I’d hurt like this, probably forever, before I took that walk… I’d still have taken it.  I complain about the pain, I live on a measly disability check, and it restricts a lot of the activities I’d like to do, but it was worth it.  I remain a changed-for-the-better person.  I still have a peace, a confidence, a happiness in me I never had before.  I feel like I grew up.  I learned what I’m made of.  Although, yes, I would love to have been able to walk all the way to Washington, I take solace knowing that I had the grit to do it.  I didn’t quit walking in Wisconsin because I got tired, because I got bored, sore, scared, lonely, sick of getting rained on, sick of getting blisters or any other reason than I was injuring my back badly. I slept in patches of woods, I bathed in icy cold streams, I walked through downpours, I endured countless blisters, high heat, humidity, wind, cold, traffic, getting lost, going the wrong way, losing things, and a lot of cops. I could have, and would have, kept going is I hadn’t been in so much damned pain. I learned that I am one tough son of a bitch.  🙂

I am trying to think of ways to raise some money to complete my trip.  Trigger gets good gas mileage, so $300 is the gas bill for all 5000 miles, give or take. I live on a very meager social security check, so it’s not like I have “extra”money.  On my first trip, I was subsisting largely on alimony which has since been diminished to a couple hundred a month, when he has it. My ex-husband went belly up, financially, and sadly, lost the big house we had in California. I also had to sell my mule and give my donkey away when he lost the house. On top of that, my beloved doggy Boomerang had to be put down. So the last years was tough, but I am hoping 2014 is a lot better for both him and me.

I’ll keep you posted (if anyone even remembers me!) as I know more.

In the meantime, if you can, take a lone walk.  Even a short one.  Look around you. play loud music in your iPod or listen to nature.  Observe how awesome the planet is.  Cause it is.  Really.

Peace.

An Old Blog from a Past Adventure

Link

An Old Blog from a Past Adventure

If anyone is still following this, I have some fun reading for you.  I found my old blog online, I think it’s from 2001 or 2002.  It was my second trip to Wyoming, just a jeep adventure along the Oregon Trail.  It has a few photographs along the way.

I am again starting to plan the continuance of my trek, for next Spring (2014).  I shall disclose how and such soon.

 

What’s Been Happening In The Life Of The Lady Who Walked Just Halfway Across The Country

It’s been a long time since I posted.

I’ve had a lot to digest.

I was living with the Cowboy I mentioned many times in my blog. I had my own room, we’re friends, nothing more.  He needed the room for someone else, and I hadn’t been able to pay rent, so this week I moved back to Cody to stay with another friend till I find more permanent, affordable digs.

My walk had been funded primarily by my ex husband’s generosity.  His luck, however, changed, and he fell upon hard times. (Welcome to the new millennium)  I, in turn, ran short of funds, and being in the pain that I remain in, very few jobs were out there that I could handle.  Plus, Cody in the Winter is not a very fruitful place for job seekers.

I landed a job as a custodian for the aquatic center in town (meaning indoor pools).  Clean, wet, chlorinated people don’t make much of a mess, so, although quite hard on my back, and “janitor” is not a job most people covet, I don’t mind it at all.  The pay is decent, the people are nice (the hours suck! 5-10 AM!) and it’s in general a pleasant atmosphere.  Except everything I have to clean is well below my waist’s level, therefore I have to bend over… ouch.  Hard on my back.  It’s just a part time job, and a month or so ago, I took on a second job at the local supermarket in the deli, but lasted just 9 days as it KILLED my back.

I was granted disability and will cease working at the pool soon.  My back gives me a LOT of trouble, to the point of tears, on a regular basis.

But that’s all beside the point.

In the meantime, since I’ve been back, or rather, long past since I GOT back they started, I’ve been getting flashbacks. No, I’ve never done acid.  They’re flashbacks from the walk.  Places I’ve been, corners, roads, bars, barns, fields, towns, .. all brought back like a slide show, wham, right in front of me. I’ve almost run my truck off the road when I’ve been “hit” by one.  They are sometimes frequent, twenty or more in a day, and other days, none or one.  I can be driving along out here in Wyoming, Tom Petty cranked up on the stereo, and >>poof<< suddenly I’m at that 5-way cross road in Pennsylvania that was very confusing.  Or at the rest area in Bellefonte. Or the dirt road near Elsie, Ohio.  Or by Lake Michigan, or at the nice couples house.  I can vividly recall the details of the places. I don’t always know what state it’s from, or what town, or what the weather was, but man I remember the scenery.  Without warning, all the sudden.  Some have made me smile, some have made me cry.  They are very weird. 

I had every intention of commencing writing my book when I got back, but found myself to be overly emotional about the whole experience for quite a while.  Every time I’d start reading this blog from April on, I’d cry, from missing it so much, from the disappointment of not being able to complete it, from being overwhelmed, again, at the generosity and kindness of the people I encountered.

I met a man recently, and we went out, and now I am dating him exclusively. His name is Zeke. I adore him.  We spend a lot of time together, as he has the same outlook on life that I do.  HAVE FUN.  He’s retired, and goes fishing every chance he gets.  I join him when I can, just for the fun of driving his boat and spending time with a man who makes me laugh till I hurt.  He’s been a great mood lifter and distraction.

It’s been over a year since I started my Walk.  This time last year I was hoofing along some road somewhere, living my dream.  I often look back on the blog to see where I was a year ago today.

But before the memories blur and fade, I need to write it all down.  I wish I’d kept a more detailed blog, and wish I’d taken more pictures,, especially of the people I encountered, but I’ll have to work with what I’ve got, and the mile by mile tracks still preserved in my GPS.  But I think I’m getting close to starting to write a book. I won’t know till I sit down and start pecking away at my old G4 iBook with the line across the screen, but I’m still in awe at my adventure and I want it all written down if not just for me, then to share.  I think writing it, and recalling as many details as possible, will help me enjoy living it again, and at the same time preserving it for the future.  Whether it ever gets published would wait to be seen, and isn’t as important to me as “saving” it to pass on, to re-read, to share.  I don’t want to forget a MILE of it, though some were mundane, they were all part of the trip.

I’m STILL learning from it, I’m still experiencing it’s repercussions in my life. The biggest thing I came away from it with was an inner peace I’ve never had.  This walk, or the desire to do it, was like a gnawing hunger in me for more than twenty years. (more like thirty I think).  I finally got that itch scratched, and although I didn’t finish, I think I COULD have had my back not been so screwy.  In 1700 miles I didn’t encounter anything insurmountable or scary or disheartening, I didn’t run out of energy, or spirit, or desire.. I just hurt too damn bad to continue.  So I have this “nothing can bother me now” attitude, which is wonderful.  I accomplished something pretty damn cool, and had one hell of a time doing it.  I made friendships that still endure, I learned lessons that will stay with me till I die, and I can close my eyes and still, in my mind, see America slowly passing by at three miles an hour.

I had to get on with life when I came back to Wyoming.  It was a tough winter, I stood outside a church on a cold, windy afternoon for free food because I was so broke, I took pain pills and saw doctors for my back, I borrowed money,my beloved dog had to be put to sleep, I got so broke I had to sell my mule I’d had for 20-something years, and her saddle, I am still working a job that is quite hard on my back, but all the while I have this inner smile, this peace, this happiness I’ve never had before, so despite hard times, everything’s been good.

And having a new love in my life has helped as well.  It was time to move on from my unrequited situation, and I’m happily involved with Zeke.

So things are okay, except for my back, which hurts all the time,  When it gets bad, I just remember how it GOT so bad, and it makes it hurt less, cause it was SO worth it.  If I knew, last April, that I’d have a tremendously enriching experience but would be in chronic pain afterwards, I’d still have proceeded.

I will post more soon, as I’m finally becoming able to process my emotions about the walk.  It’s amazing what four months of walking west has done for me, how much I literally walked away with, what an ENORMOUS impact it’s had on my life.  I have done a lot of neat things, lived many places, seen a lot, birthed and raised two fantastic kids, had a 25 year marriage… but those four months of homeless bliss and wandering essentially have defined who I am.

Absofuckinglutely amazing.

Peace.

 

 

Update, Thanksgiving Weekend

I haven’t posted in quite a while, and although most of you have probably forgotten about me, some of you might be wondering, whatever happened to Shawnee Moon?

When I last posted, I was living in Glendale, California with my son.  The pain management doctor I saw said that my insurance wouldn’t cover epidural shots and such… I have since found out that it’s because they were OUTPATIENT.  Because I stopped at Iron Mountain, Michigan, and Rhinelander, Wisconsin to see doctors about my aching back, I maxed out my outpatient insurance benefits.  Surgery was still an option, as long as I was retained overnight.

So, in September I moved back to Wyoming.  I re-borrowed my ex-husbands Silverado and it took a few days because of my back and much fatigue from morphine and stuff, but I made it fine.  The good friend that had gotten me all the hotel rooms let me stay in his Airstream motorhome which is parked on his property. He told me it was an offer good until it got cold, because he winterized the coach, drained the lines, etc.  So I had to find another place.

It was good to be back in Cody, a lot of people had heard about my adventure and asked if I had done it.  I saw friends I hadn’t seen in months, which was nice. 

And I saw The Cowboy.  We got together several times and then he offered to let me rent a room. And I do, my OWN room.  We’re good friends, as we have been a while.  He knows how I feel about him, and I know nothing will ever come of us, and I’m trying to move forward.  But living with him is quite a trip… or a treat, something.  He’s so funny.  Anyway, originally the deal was I was supposed to pay rent, but since I am still trying to figure out what to do about my back, I haven’t worked yet, and my ex, who supported me, hasn’t fixed his financial situation, so he has been nice enough to let me stay on in exchange for housework, sewing, cooking, cleaning, errands,.. I share what food I have, do his laundry, make his bed, wash the dishes, etc.  We both benefit, and I try hard not to cost him anything.  Vegetarian that I am, I’ve had to make beef stew, chicken casserole, and pork sausage, never having made ANY of them.  It’s been an experience.  He tripped one day and split his face open, and called me on his phone from elsewhere in the house (he was rather intoxicated) asking for assistance.  He had fallen and hit his his head on a small wooden bookcase and his cheek around his eye was laid open, but I decided he could go without stitches, and cleaned him up and iced him down.  If nothing else (and I’m SURE there’s nothing else) we have become good, good friends, and I enjoy his company when we’re both here watching TV or working in the kitchen.  Since my laptop is here, I have hooked him up on dating sites and he has been meeting women, and learning to use a computer at the same time.  I want him to be happy, and it’s not me that can do it (according to him) so I’m trying to help him find Her, as he says he is lonely.  Friends do that for other friends.

I am still in contact with the quiet woodcutting janitor from Houghton Lake, and hope one day I can go see him.  Right now, however, I have NO money, I have borrowed from everyone, and don’t know if I’ll make it to January. My friends have been wonderful, without them I’d never go out, I’d be homeless, have no gas in my truck, have nothing at all.  

So I got more x-rays done and was set up to see a surgeon in Billings, Montana.  I was sure I’d come away with a date for surgery. He examined the films (which are now all on CD instead of the big ghostly images of old) and showed me I had scoliosis.. meaning crooked back, caused by degenerative disk disease.  5 vertebra are out of place.  It was more than he’d operate on. He explained he could do one level of repair, but that wouldn’t help, or had like a 40% chance of relieving my chronic pain, a risk barely worth taking for the pain and complications of a third back surgery.  He recommended physical therapy, and getting in good shape, but physical therapy is outpatient, and won’t be covered by insurance…

When I left the surgeons office, I sat in my car and cried.

I have switched from one medicine to another, currently I am wearing a Fentanyl patch and take percocet for breakthrough pain (and there’s plenty). Not working well, but it’s better than nothing at all.  Scarcely.  Even my prescription coverage has maxed out, so I had to borrow money for that as well, but it should be renewed January 1st, just 6 weeks away or so.

Meanwhile, I have applied for disability.  I’m in pain all the time now, and sitting too long, standing too long, and even lying down too long in one position hurts like a bitch.  It’s pretty miserable.  This would have happened anyway, they say, but the constant walking day after day accelerated the process.  Despite the pain, it was still worth it.

I haven’t begun the book yet, I’ve just been so stressed out about my back and my finances (or lack thereof) I haven’t felt I could concentrate enough.

In the meantime I am trying to keep my chin up. I played around on an online dating site and met a man who has an uncanny amount in common with me. It’s all new territory to me, and not sure where it’ll go, if anywhere. I’ve got my heart in too many places, so it’s hard for me to move forward.

… Even at three miles an hour.

Update on My Situation

I’m still in the Los Angeles area.  City of Angels, huh?

I’ve been staying with my son in Glendale, northeast of LA.  Like most of the places I walked through, I hit LA during a heat wave.  Heat waves here are triple digit.  Ugh.

I used to live here, and had a pain management doctor I saw when I had my back surgeries a few years ago, so I looked him up and made an appointment.

Finally, I was directed to have an MRI of my back.  The doctor gave me morphine to hold me till he got the results.

I saw the MRI.  They put them on CDs now, instead of the big 11 x 17″ (or whatever they are films.  I have stacks of them at home.)  Anyway, there are 3 levels of damage, L2,3 & 4.  That means my second through fourth lumbar vertebrae are compressing the disks between them.  I could see the worst level, the vertebrae are practically touching, the disk is bulging out so far you can see it hitting the nerves, which are shoved over from them.  It’s a mess. The solution would be disk replacement (most likely) and fusion, screws in the bones and such. Sounds complicated, painful and expensive.

But first, my doctor wanted to try a cortisone shot in the epidural space.  If it worked, it could ease pain for several months.

That particular procedure has to be pre-approved by the insurance company… and they wouldn’t approve it.  Said I maxed out my benefits already, nothing else would be covered.  What really ticked me off is that they’d have billed the insurance over $800, but the cash price was $700, or, “what COULD you pay?”.  Now, I wonder why I’ve maxed out my insurance.. because they charge more to them.  I **KNOW** a shot doesn’t cost $800. 

So anyway, I pretty much don’t have any money.  Neither does my ex, who is always very very generous with me.  He’s in a pinch himself right now.  So it doesn’t look like I can do anything about it right now, other than take pain pills.  The doc gave me morphine at least.

Since it’s been so hot, I haven’t been out much, and the less I walk, the better my back feels. Which really sucks.  But “taking it easy”, much as I don’t want to, has been helping some.  Still hurts like a bitch, and feels stiff, but the pain is not as excruciating as it was.

I’ll continue to look into my options.  I intend to call my insurance company and see when their “fiscal” year starts.  I guess my trips to the ER in Michigan and Wisconsin ran my benefits out, I don’t know.  I’m beginning to think I pay more to them than they cover.

There are more medical options here, but since I can’t do anything about my aching back right now, there’s no reason for me to linger in Los Angeles.

Well, except one.

It just so happened that a dear friend of mine just happened to be in California while I’m here.  He used to live here, and now lives in Florida, but flew back this week to do some maintenance on his home, which he rents out.  I haven’t seen him in nearly three years, so I don’t want to go back to Cody while I have this rare chance to see a good friend.

My son is moving from this apartment over this coming Labor Day weekend.  He got a new job miles away so he’s going to move closer to there.  For now, he’s moving in with his Dad.  Which leaves me nowhere to stay, so I’ll have to leave LA. The campgrounds are full, it’s Labor Day weekend in Southern California. You better believe they’re full. I’ll figure something out.  I’m currently driving my ex’s long bed Silverado…

And this good friend has an idea.  He’s thinking about buying a 42′ trawler ( a yacht ) which is docked in Michigan off Lake Michigan.  His idea is to pilot the boat down the Intra-coastal Waterway, which would be Lake Michigan, the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, and the Gulf of Mexico, to his home in Florida.  This would take a couple months.  As he described the trip, it sounds much like my walking adventure, only on water.  Slow moving, stopping in little ports and places to explore and shop and get diesel.  He’s invited me to join him. 

How tempting is that?  The boat has 2 bathrooms, air conditioning, bedrooms, a kitchen, you name it. It’s a luxury boat you could live in.  Sounds like quite an adventure.  I don’t know how likely it is that this will happen, but he’s pretty sure he’s doing this, and needs a “first mate”.  Not too many of his friends are free to travel and such, and he knows I dig adventure and don’t have commitments right now.

(Big sigh)… But I want to get back to Cody and see the cowboy I miss so much.  I’m getting so anxious because I am so close to leaving.  I may get back to Cody and not be able to leave him again.  It was so hard the first time, and I’m so looking forward to seeing him again.  So that’s a dilemma.  Another trip of a lifetime has possibly availed itself to me, hard to pass that up, hard to leave the cowboy again. 

So I’ll see how this plays out… I have no idea, as usual, what direction my life’s headed.

 

 

Some nonsense facts, just observations from my walk.

Just some more ramblings and mental notes I took on the road.

The most common item I found alongside the roadways was a single glove.  Usually a men’s work glove, but occasionally a ladies’ or child’s. These were heavily present in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, grew less often the further west I went.  I saw so many that, when I DIDN’T see any for a few miles, I felt like I was on the wrong road.

The second most common item was a broken bungee or other lashing tool. I picked up a few NOT broken bungees when they would fit a spot on Pandemonium. And an occasional carabiner clip if it was in good shape.  I hung my ipod from one I found.

The rest of the roadside finds were trash, car parts, bolts, retreads, cotter pins (wonder what’s not connected anymore!?) rims, car logos, tail lights, coolers and lids, lids to Rubbermaid type tote bins, an occasional diaper, tools, like screwdrivers, clippers, a hammer, etc.  Useful but too heavy to carry.  If I could use it, I picked it up.  My lanyard for my GPS broke, and a couple days later I found a perfectly good black one on the road. Also found lots of bandanas, one came complete with strange yellow goggles that I passed on to Steve in Tomahawk.  The bandanas (one is a hat) blow off bikers.  I pick ’em up and wash them.  Can’t have too many bandanas. The hat style one had the Jägermeister logo on it, I wore it on my Harley ride.

Lots of broken sunglasses and eyeglasses. Two lacrosse balls, in the same 100 yards, A few golf balls, “super” balls and a couple tennis balls. Kid toys.  Broken keychains with keys on them. Shirts, underwear, single shoes here and there. Stuff that blew out of camping vehicles, like coolers, some actual tupperware type containers with food in them, a few portable grills, grill grates and various parts. Tons of broken Bic lighters.

Most common discarded drink container: Coors Light, followed by Red Bull sugar free.  Lots of empty Gatorades too.

Most common dead animal:  The fuzzy grey Opossum, hands down. Then unidentifiable bird, then unidentifiable small mammal (rodent, rabbit, rat?) then skunk, deer, a few birds i COULD identify, largely red-headed woodpeckers, a few cats, and one black bear cub.  A couple roadkills told stories.  One was a set of three opossums, a momma and two babies.  All dead. The babies ride on the mothers’ back, and the whole family was wiped out at once.  Sad.  Made me cry a bit, I used to have a possum for a pet.  Another one appeared to be that a hawk swooped down to catch a small rodent that I’m assuming was darting across the road, and the hawk was hit after piercing the rodent with it’s talons… the two were side by side on the shoulder.

Lots of bones and pelts and completely unrecognizable animal remains. Many had dried with a frightening “screams” on their face, eternally snarling or hissing, their eyes open but empty. Their last seconds of life forever frozen. Well, not forever, until it’s obliterated by weather and traffic. If I had a dollar for every possum I stepped over or around, I could buy a car.

Live animals I saw: Bald Eagles, several hawks, a few buzzards, a handful of deer, a snake, a big raccoon crossed a bike path in broad daylight, a skunk crossed a northern Michigan road, also in daytime, lots of small things like muskrats, mice, voles, prairie dogs (gophers?) tons of birds, including woodpeckers, hummingbirds, goldfinches, crows, lots of red-winged blackbirds, a few wild turkeys, geese, ducks , loon, seagulls and other lakeside waterbirds. Frogs, toads, turtles and lizards.  And insects. Lots of ’em.  Mosquitos, grasshoppers (by the bucketful) June flies so numerous I took pictures of them. There were swarms all over the outside of a building we stopped for gas at, when I took the Harley ride to Lake Erie. Beautiful butterflies would flit around me as I walked sometimes.  Orange and black, blue and black, yellow.

And of course the domestic variety. Cows predominately.  Then horses, goats, alpaca, sheep, a barren of mules here and there, and dogs. . Mostly Holstein cows (the black and white dairy variety) but a few other dairy breeds like Jersey and Guernsey. Not so many beef cattle like we have out west, but several of them anyway.

Money: A car ashtray on the shoulder looked as if it had been placed there. It had two ones in it, a Toyota key, and four quarters.  I took the cash and left the key. Quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies scattered here and there, and one additional dollar bill outside St. Ignace, MI. I just remembered it because it wasn’t there when I walked UP the street, but was when I returned just a few minutes later.  It’s folded up in behind my phone cover.  Good luck spare buck. Unfortunately, I didn’t happen upon a bag of cash stolen from an armored vehicle.  Or unmarked non-sequential laundered cash from a drug deal.  One can dream…

Most unusual items found on road shoulder:  The one that stands out the most is a pregnancy test.  Just an odd place for it. Did the woman pee on it at a rest stop, carry it the obligatory five minutes, and then say, ,”Hon, we’re having a baby!” as she gleefully tossed the test stick out the window?  I found a little Lego policeman a lady at Over the Mountain named Rocky, as we were near Rockton, PA. I kept him in my pocket for miles, but he finally vanished. A broken computer tablet.  Has technology gone so far that iPads are just road litter now? I remember when cassettes and VHS tapes would be crushed roadside, great long ribbons of tape dancing like streamers in the wind. Various bags of clothes and toys.

Worst area I went through: Warren, Ohio.  It’s a tad north of Youngstown on the Ohio-Pennsylvania border.  Dirty streets, cracked sidewalks, boarded up stores, so many car stereos and cars on hydraulic lifts and cars that were lowered and sported weird tires and spinning rims. People were setting up big 55 gallon drum barbecues in weedy empty lots and were selling ribs, it was close to Memorial Day I think. Just the kind of place you don’t feel comfortable leaving Panda alone,  I hurried through the town.  Second worst: I was told but didn’t see much evidence that Egg Harbor City was dangerous. I stayed in a hotel that might because everyone said don’t be out after dark.

I can’t recall the name of the town, but it was directly next to and north of Wilkes-Barre, PA… I remember steep steep hills and busted concrete and shady looking characters.  Lots of bars that weren’t the type dive bars I like, let’s put it that way.  Creepy ones. I remember feeling a bit unnerved there.

Prettiest towns: Bellefonte, Pennsylvania stands out. Mackinac Island, the little town there with all the hotels and carriages. Gaylord, Michigan, … I’d have to go through my photos.  There were so many cute towns, little “Mayberrys” here and there, with town parks and fountains and quaint downtowns.

Prettiest areas: Lots of Pennsylvania was pretty, with green rolling hills, foggy skies, 200 year old barns, Amish communities.  The Flat northern Ohio cornfields and farms were gorgeous.  Bright red barns, brilliant blue skies, snow white clouds, deep green corn; looked like a coloring book ad. Some of the pretties places I thought were in Michigan. When the road skirted the bank of a lake edged by adorable cabins, shaded by tall pine trees, I wanted to stay. Several times the bike path I followed paralleled a lake’s shoreline.  Another beautiful place was the park at the top of Michigan where I broke down and cried.  Lake Huron was turquoise, the grass was green and manicured, the Mackinac Bridge glittered over the water in the distance.  Mackinac Island itself was gorgeous, as were it’s surroundings (Lake Huron), with the bridge and the lighthouses on the rocky outcroppings. So many areas of Michigan are pretty. The southern part of the “mitten” was flat like Ohio, with pleasant dirt roads and lots of corn and wheat fields. I happen to like wide open landscapes rather than forests, but Michigan grew on me pretty quickly.  Wisconsin added birch trees to it’s roadside forests, and more wildflowers, and a lot more hills, so I found it to be beautiful as well.  Like Michigan, Wisconsin has a lot of ponds and lakes. The banks of any of the Great Lakes are beautiful.  You can’t see to the other side of these lakes, so it’s like standing on an ocean shore.  A few places along US 2 the road hugs the shoreline of Lake Michigan, and it’s gorgeous. Tahquamenon Falls, in the Upper Peninsula, was probably the single most beautiful place.

Police Encounters: I think all told, about 15 or so.  Most were just welfare checks, making sure I wasn’t stranded, pushing a baby stroller cause my car ran out of gas or something.  Two or three made me get off the road, one way or another.  One put my stuff in their Suburban and drove me. One drew me a map and pointed me off the road. One Sheriff stopped as he got a 911 call that there was a jumper on the highway overpass. A few ran my license to make sure I wasn’t a fugitive.  And of course the last one, whom I called, who started to arrest me.  The ME/pastor that gave me the $100 wasn’t technically law enforcement I don’t think, but he had red and blue flashing lights and worked for the sheriff’s office, so he counts. One policeman from New Jersey just sent me an email that made me bawl.  I’ll get back to him when I can compose myself. It was all good, they were they “good cops”.  All but a couple of the law officers I met were very kind and helpful.

Best Moments: Geeeez, there are a lot. What stands out most is the night I spent at the hunting cabin with Rob.  He’d made a big fire in the fire ring on the lawn there, by a pond. Above the sound of the crackling fire, I could hear whippoorwills and bull frogs and coyotes off in the distance. We sat in lawn chairs watching the fire and talked, getting to know eachother.  Rob made us some rum and Cokes and we stayed up way late.   Another one: sleeping on that cliff on Mackinac Island, undetected. Another great one was the picnic I went on with Steve, to that tiny tip of the skinny peninsula in Tomahawk.  That was nice, unhurried, quiet.  That Sunday night was very nice too.  We sat outside on the bank of the Wisconsin River and listened to live music from the tavern on the corner, sipping beer and watching boaters and such. The sunny April afternoon when I went with Casey to his hunting cabin in Knox, PA. also comes to mind.  We just hung out and drank beer and talked.  He was (is) such a nice guy.  Handsome devil too.

The Harley ride to Lake Erie was cool.  The ATV rides at Rob’s was cool a well. The trip to Tahquamenon Falls with Margaret was a blast. Meeting my cousin Bill was neat.  Meeting “Throcky”the mini donkey and his owner Jim was a good time, and a long time coming.  Seeing each Great Lake (less Ontario) was epic. Damn, there are just too many.

When I’d interact with someone who did something such as gave me a ride, bought me a beer, engaged me in conversation with them, I told them, they became part of the fabric.  Each person, each place, each event, activity, blister, everything that happened was each a piece of thread, each one woven around the next, and now I have the most beautiful blanket you’ve never seen.

Another powerful moment was when I put my boots back on there on the Ocean City boardwalk, and took my first step.

Another was walking to the top of Michigan, where it all hit me:Look how far I walked!

When I posted from Pembine that I was in trouble, my back hurt, I needed rest but couldn’t afford to stay up in a hotel 4-5 days, friends deposited money in my Paypal account, and I was able to stay put in hopes that rest would heal my back.  That was an amazingly generous thing the contributors did. (Thank you!) Such a shame rest wasn’t enough.

Way back in Pennsylvania, a lady I’d only talked to a few minutes tracked me down at my campground the following morning, and left a little bag for me, full of hotel size shampoos and soaps, some spa soaps, power bars, etc. I cried for like a half an hour.

A true highlight was when poor Panda got such a nice repair job by Rodee’s repair shop in Michigan. I was so distraught over it, and they did a fantastic job.  They work on cars and engines, not aluminum baby strollers!  But they tackled the job and got Panda rolling strong and true, and didn’t charge me.

All the times my dear friend in Cody got me hotel rooms.  Every one of them.

And so recently, another memorable moment was when the Medical Examiner/Pastor handed me the $100 bill for the hotel.  It was what he said I found so intriguing.

Gotta balance it off with Worst Moments: The second morning of the trip, when I woke up soaking wet, my phone was drowned, my new sleeping bag soggy and heavy.  I left my cooler there as I got sick of trying to keep it upright.  Spent a good part of Day Two drying stuff at a laundromat, and then shopping for a new phone.

When I discovered my camera was missing.  Bellevue, Ohio. That sucked royally.

Another bad one: when Rodger’s attempt at fixing Panda failed, and he drove off and left me in Indian River with a seriously handicapped Panda, his frame cracked clean in two.  I was distraught, big time.  I didn’t have back-up funds for an emergency, like purchasing a new stroller, I barely had enough to pick up a used one at Goodwill.  If they’d HAD a Goodwill or Salvation Army. He was broken in half, thirds actually.  But you’ll see I just mentioned that that was also one of the BEST moments, when Panda got repaired.

Let’s not forget the cop who tried to arrest me for the pot, found during his illegal unwarranted search of my stuff, on the last day of my walk.  He was a charmer.

And of course, in Tomahawk and again in Prentice, Wisconsin, realizing that my trip was coming to an end, for now.  Done in by pain.

                     *   *   *

It’s very very hard deal with, having to stop such a great adventure.  As you can see, I had a lot of fun, met a lot of wonderful people, made new friends, took some scenic side trips, and that list above sure ain’t all of it. I’m so terribly sad, I have cried over this, and need a good cry, but am staying at my son’s and I don’t like crying in front of people.  It’s been a fantastic time, for four months I lived out of a stroller (sure makes me wonder what’s in my two 8 x 12 store rooms in Cody…) homeless, and had the best time I’ve ever had. I’m crying now as I write this. The full impact hasn’t hit me.  I imagine when I get back to Cody it’ll seem so behind me.  But it’s not.  Hopefully I’m in the middle of it, hopefully the doctors can figure out what’s making me hurt so badly, fix it, and I can walk again. Right now I’d settle for, “Okay I’ll limp, just take the pain away.”

I’m sorry to all of you.  I know a lot of people were following me, rooting for me, encouraging me, and I feel like I’ve let everyone down.  There wasn’t anything I could do about it, other than what I did. I’m let down, my body failed me. It’s going to be hard to keep depression from setting in, but I’ll try.  Like I said, I’m changed, so maybe I can better focus on the good, on the fun I had, not the fun I didn’t GET to have.  I’m hanging around LA but feel a bit anxious to get back to Cody.  I need the support f friends and I have a few good ones there.

I have a good friend flying in on the 24th, seeing him will perhaps get my mind off my sadness, and I hope to enjoy visiting with him a couple days before I drive back to Cody.  Might swing by and visit my oldest friend (not age, we’ve been friends since seventh grade) in Colorado if I can do it without spending TOO much extra gas. I need to stay busy and distracted, but it’s hard with this nagging pain.

I am just so sad.

Rambling From a Woman No Longer Rambling

Hello. (insert sad face here)

I  managed to get an appointment with my old Pain Management group in Thousand Oaks.  Finally, someone has decided that I need an MRI.  My insurance company will probably deny the approval because they say I am maxed out my benefits for the year. Huh?

So, to alleviate some pain till they know what’s causing it, he prescribed instant release morphine.  For some reason, it was hard to find.  I tried the Rite Aid in my old town, they didn’t have it, then the new Target store, nope, then the Rite Aid in Glendale, nope.. They told me a sister store in Los Angeles had it.  I called several closer drug stores (as Rite Aid could only check stock at Rite Aids) and none of THEM had it, either.

So I ended up, after having spent most of my day driving (this IS Los Angeles) having to go out again and drive to Weho (West Hollywood)  to get my prescription filled.  Drugs seldom work for me, but it’s better than nothing.  Placebo if anything.  I’ve been using marijuana for pain, I still have my California license, as it works fast, lessens my depression a bit, and generally makes me feel better and better able to handle my big letdown.

If I get a call from the radiology place, it means the insurance denied it. Otherwise. Saturday I get my back zapped.  I’ve had a lot of MRIs, I usually fall asleep during them.

My son rented a movie from Red Box called The Way, starring Martin Sheen.  Good movie, but at the end, the travelers come up over a rise and see the ocean.  Made me cry.  I didn’t get to do that.  I did have quite a breakdown when I came up on Lake Huron for the first time, when I walked to the top of Michigan. I was hoping the next time I saw the Pacific I’d be walking through Ocean City, Washington, over a rise I’d see the sea past the rocky shore. <sigh>

Instead I’m in the giant clusterfuck known as LA.  Hell-A is what I call it. There’s just too many people.  I live in Cody Wyoming (when I’m holding still long enough to call one place home that is).  It has a population of about 9000. No suburbs, just Cody. The town I lived in here, Simi Valley, has a population of 125,500. The two nearby towns, Thousand Oaks (pop. 127,000) and Oxnard (pop. 200,000), the three, combined, are the population of Wyoming. That’s just three Southern California towns, not even in Los Angeles County.  LA and it’s surrounding megalopolis contain 12,000,000 people give or take, and give or take several thousand “undocumented” residents. Anyway, just rambling.  In other words,  I don’t dig crowds, lines, traffic jams, etc.  There’s a reason I moved from LA.

I drove the twisty road from Westlake to Malibu. Switchback after switchback, corkscrews and blind curves, steep grades, cactus and ocean views.  It’s fun to drive in a sports car, or even a jeep with their great turning radius, but I was in the Silverado that my ex loaned to me. Four door, long bed. Can’t take the curves too fast with THAT behemoth. 

Regardless, the road spills out onto the PCH (Pacific Coast Highway, or Route 1) a bit north of Malibu.  There wasn’t a parking spot to be found along the PCH by Zuma Beach, so I ventured north and stopped at Neptune’s Net, a seafood restaurant and bar and big biker hangout.  Had a couple beers  while I looked out over the blue Pacific, and talked to someone in “entertainment” who talked like a surfer.  Two other surfers sat on the other side of me,  They have an odd way of talking, so, like, like, so they’re like, ya know, like hard to follow.  You know?  

I’m just so terribly terribly saddened by this. (stopping my walk for now)  But something I learned on my trip (which I’ll admit, is hard to keep on the forefront here in LA) is patience, taking what comes. Basically the serenity prayer:

“… grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”

I’m not in AA or NA, but the lesson’s the same outside the self help groups. It’s been very hard to accept this failure, this damned evil interruption in my fun, my journey.  It’s hard to see a dream fizzle and die, unfulfilled.  If you’ve read my journal the past few months, you have seen how I was treated practically like a celebrity, which was very humbling, with free places to stay, free meals, free drinks, open homes, invitations, having my picture made.  Now I’m just one of 12 million people fighting my way through the traffic of this city.  I have a terrible limp now, walking stiff as a board from pain.  I really did a number on myself.  Or something did. I’m not convinced it’s all from walking.

The doctor who originally did my back surgery back in like 2006 screwed up.  It was supposed to be an overnight stay in the hospital, a quick recovery, and the arrogant ass of a surgeon I had actually used the word “guarantee” when he said he guaranteed I’d feel better in the morning. Instead, I woke screaming in pain and continued to scream for days, no help at all from the 5 narcotics I was on.  He sent me home, still screaming myself blue from pain, for my poor bewildered and helpless husband to deal with.  A couple days later he brought me back and said DO SOMETHING.  So they hooked me back up to the morphine pump and and the next day my surgeon FINALLY MRI’ed me and suddenly I was headed for emergency surgery.  He repeated the entire procedure, without explaining why.  Kept telling me it was just blood clots or something, but I read the report.  There’s a lot more to this tale, but this isn’t an organ recital.

It took months for me to get walking again, and this was during the time when I had the neurological issue that made me walk funny anyway.  I used a walker, a wheelchair, canes, I took pain killers for so long I got addicted and had to take methadone for a year. 

My point in all this, was the surgery involved removing bone to widen the spinal canal as it closed in around the spinal cord, rendering my legs pretty much useless. Or it was heading that way.  So that’s all been cleared up and after the harrowing surgical ordeal, I did end up “better”, meaning I could stand up longer than 5 minutes at a time again.  I doubt bone could grow back that fast. My back muscles get pulled easily, so I’m careful, and it didn’t bother me much at all in the first few states. It just gradually got worse, despite many days or rest, the shots I got, the medicines I took, hot tubs, massages, ice packs, easy days like 2 miles (so I didn’t get stiff)… nothing works and it continues to worsen.  THAT’S what’s confusing. The pain is still worsening, and I’ve been resting, not walking MUCH, but walking SOME, like a few blocks to the store and stuff. But at this point I’m missing my cane and my blue parking tag!

What this doctor, like the one in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, said, was that I probably have a lot of scar tissue and arthritis, and he identified a pinched nerve down my left leg (another great job by my doctor, “yeah that’ll go away”.. it didn’t, I can’t feel the skin on my left leg, not really a problem but I do cut myself shaving a lot!) They both said that that much walking probably irritated and inflamed the scar tissue, aggravated the arthritis, etc.  So, why wouldn’t the lack of me “pounding on my back” help it all calm down?  (along with the anti-inflammatories and steroids I took)  

You can’t blame me for being a bit pessimistic about tests… a brain MRI years ago revealed a brain tumor I didn’t know I had.  I get spooked waiting for results of tests, … when your neurologist calls you back ten minutes after you got home from a brain scan and tells you you need to come back now cause they “found something”.. you don’t get over that.  So I’m convinced something more ominous is going on since it’s worsening.  Like a tumor pressing on my spinal cord.  But who knows, I’m not a doctor.  ……….. I don’t think my back surgeon was, either. ……………..

It hasn’t all sunk in, that it happened, that I walked even as far as I did.

My son works graveyard, so while he was sleeping the other day, I read my blog from April 1st on. The duration of my trip.  Brought back so many memories, even stuff I left out (the book can catch the shake).  What a fantastic journey I took.  I doubt I’m articulate enough in my writing to really give a reader a feel of what it’s like to do what I did.  It’s at once liberating and nerve-wracking. To wake up beside a stream, bathe in it, dress, and just WALK, strolling along, or stepping out on a mission each day, is a really simple existence.  Then I pick up my GPS system on my smart phone, and start hunting down where to head to, a stopping place.  THAT’S the nerve-wracking part. Say I wake up in A-town and it’s early but not crack of dawn by the time I dressed and ready to roll, whether in a hotel or a camp. I decide, by weather (checking radar and multiple forecasts for where I am) and by terrain, temperature, time and just by ME, how far I think I can manage in a day. Sometimes, when I can do 25 miles, there’s nothing THERE. I have had to break a longer distance into 2 days many times. If there’s no B-town or campground or motel at the 25 mile mark on the map, I look a bit beyond and a bit short of, and if nothing still, I use the satellite view and look for potential camping spots.  Not knowing where I was going to sleep was a bit unnerving at times.  But so many times, the plans I made changed anyway.  I would be headed for a campground, or a place TO camp, or a bar, or a motel or just a town, and I’d meet someone, take a short ride, get invited over, etc., and wherever I picked to sleep didn’t matter anymore because I had the freedom to do that, which is cool. And to take an extra day here and there, like I did in Clyde, Ohio or Pembine or Tomahawk, Wisconsin, while setting me behind my mental schedule, added so much to my trip, and again, I had the freedom to stay or go as I pleased.

Kinda hard to give that up for a nine to five.

I was planning on leaving here the day after my daughter’s birthday (8/20) but a good friend of mine who used to live here when I did, but who now lives in Florida, called me and is flying in the 24th;  I haven’t seen him a 2 years, maybe 3. He’s coming to do some maintenance on one of his homes here that he rents out. So that’ll delay me leaving a few more days.  And there’s the doctor factor as well.  If they can identify the problem in my back and give me treatment options… (depends on insurance) that may delay me as well.  The medical facilities in LA are far more expansive that Cody or Billings., Montana, where Cody people go for bigger procedures. 

I don’t know what’s ahead.  Right now I hurt too bad to try to take on work, but I need to when I get back to Wyoming.  I do owe several drawings and I have a book to work on, but I need to get out there and make some money for part 2 of my trip. 

I’m just so lost right now.  I’m supposed to be sleeping out somewhere, in Wisconsin or Minnesota or North Dakota, with Panda parked beside me… not in a studio apartment in Glendale, California, handicapped again from pain. Not here, not now, not happening! 

I started the walk on April 1st because it’s April Fool’s Day, and I knew I was a fool for trying this walk at my age and health.  So I knew what I was up against, but I figured my legs would go.  Or the heat would get me. Or relentless blisters.  I didn’t think my BACK would be the culprit.  And damn does it hurt!  Honestly, Fran Camosse and others’ blogs I’ve read, well they all did a coast to coast a lot faster.  They were also half my age and male. Sinewy, athletic dudes.  Not a cut-open-more-times-than-I-can-count overweight 50 year old women with hot flashes. I did well, I would have spells of being tired, but for the most part I tackled a twenty mile day with energy to spare.  Blisters usually gave me problems, but the back issue crept up gradually.  A little hard to stand up when I bent over, a little slower start, more than normal aches and pains… until it began nagging louder and louder until NOW IT’S A SCREAM! 

This is such a let down to me.  I’m trying to focus on the good, because my god what a blast it was, but the fact that it ended not due to a mistake, not due to a miscalculation, or some accident, but just cause my body’s fucked up, is hard NOT to focus on.  I don’t know WHY my back hurts, but if both doctors are right, it was just too much for my already compromised spine to handle.  Somehow, like I said, I think there’s something else involved.  It continues to worsen.  I’ve got 3 morphine tablets in me, a couple Heinekens and a bowl of weed, you’d think I’d be sleeping or at least comfortable.  Instead, I’m doing laundry, writing and am wide awake at 1:50 AM,  … and I hurt.  Go figure.

I’m sure when I get the book going, chapters and topics and anecdotes and such are coming to me in my head, and I start recalling all the details I left out, so many memories will come back, as they did when I just read the blog entries.  I am trying to fill in the blanks by reading it, and like I said, I get immediate visual recollections of the places, homes, landscapes and all, and more details come back to me.  When I read it, it amazed even me how many people I met (and only a fraction were mentioned!) and what a variety of places I walked through, by landscape, urbanity, culture, even food choices.  Each state is almost like a mini-country, each has their own laws, their own language (well, just variants and accents and local words) and their own food.  Ethnicities were different in places.  Some predominately Italian, Finnish, Black, etc.  So I’m hoping as I get writing, more will come back to me and I’ll glean more reason and lessons and morals and such from my odyssey.

I feel changed.  I look the same, except people comment on my legs (is that good, to say I have walkers’ legs? Or does it mean I have big muscular dudes-legs?) and I have a tan, but inside I feel changed.  I feel more at peace (when not in LA), I have a depth to me I don’t think I had, or not AS “deep” anyway.  I feel like I took college courses in Life.  I think I probably got a B. I don’t ALWAYS learn from my mistakes,  Some I make time and again.  Perhaps at that point they’re not mistakes, they’re just bad habits. But I feel different, like I have something you don’t, but NOT in a bragging way.  Like a young lady with the secret smile who’s the only one who knows she’s pregnant, I have a special THING inside me, I don’t know what to call it, and you can’t tell by looking at me, but it’s there.  It wasn’t there before.  I’m not the same person.  I feel wiser, I have a lot of love in me, I have never been more humbled in my life, I have never cried so much, tears of joy that is,… it was almost a daily occurrence. I have never worked so hard, missed someone so much, been so happy, felt so good (until the end there…)trusted so much and BEEN trusted so much, thought so much, acted so goofy, smiled so much or had so much fun in my whole life. I really took it all in, and loved every minute of it.  This back pain is really bothering me and it hurts like a bitch, but in all honesty, it was worth it.  I just want ’em to patch me up and get me back on the road. 

But back to the book, if it ever comes to fruition, I hope I have or can develop the ability to really express the gazillion different things going on in my head, and to capture moments that I want to share, and get the reader (if there are any) to really feel what I was feeling.  My idea for the “theme” of the book changed over miles. The outpouring of graciousness and generosity was amazing.  I wrote about it several times, and not all the stories are in there.  There were a LOT more free meals and drinks and such.  There were so many conversations with so many strangers who just wanted to know what I was all about.  Families and kids and men and women all would come over to ask me questions.  Often the same basic ten questions I answered like ten times a day. Having lived in LA for like 15 years, and in Cody where rumors abounded about me, I had a bit of an attitude and zero self confidence or self esteem.  I’m no prettier than I was, and not much thinner, but I have a lot better self image than I’ve ever had.  Nobody judged me, everyone accepted me immediately, I know because of what I was doing, but many people I met still text or call me, I made friends across the states I walked through. It was a nice feeling I’ll admit, to for ONCE in my life, to feel special.  I’m not, but everyone likes to feel that way once in a while.  Like birthdays, you feel special. Well I felt birthday-special for four months. SEVERAL people told me they’d never met anyone like me.  I like that.  Not just another Joe Schmo.  Er, Jane, rather.

I’m not saying there weren’t days when I was aggravated, questioned myself, “What the hell are you doing??!!”; days when I felt very alone, days when I didn’t feel good, my feet hurt, I was too tired to go to my planned quitting-for-the-day spot, etc. I had money issues the whole trip,and I had blisters the whole trip.  I walked 5 miles the wrong way one day.  I changed routes, I got lost, rained on, burned, all that not-so-good stuff.

But like Yin and Yang, there’s a balance,  Mine appears to be a bit off-balance, but in a good way.  Perhaps grief and sadness and frustration have more mass than happy times, so they balance out.  Seriously, when you’re in love you “float”, when you’re happy you’re high, but when you’re sad you’re depressed, that means also “pushed down”.. when you have worries you have something “weighing you down”, my theory might be right.  Sadness weighs more. So you need to be happy twice as much as sad, to keep the balance.   I had by FAR more fun than I had blisters.  And I got a lot of blisters.

And it’s hard to explain to people, as they have asked, “What’s so fun about walking twenty miles in this heat?” what exactly IS fun about it.  It’s the freedom, the fact that I was walking a dream come true, that I was doing something for myself that I always wanted to do, that I saw a butterfly or a deer or a waterfall that the people whizzing by in their cars missed. It’s the sunshine and exercise and gallons of water.  It’s fresh air, it’s people waving, it’s feeling stronger day by day. It’s no alarm clocks, no schedules, no one waiting at home, no home except wherever I land that night, for a few hours. Obligated only to myself.  It’s amazing.  Or was.

And it’s hard for me to understand what effect I had on other people,  Several people told me I inspired them. In what way?  I was just an old lady taking a walk.  I wasn’t trying to prove anything, to raise money, to win anything.  I simply walked from New Jersey west.  When I was in Tomahawk, I got an email from a lady I’d met in South Jersey. She had found my card in her wallet and sent me a note, surprised that I was still (at the time) plugging away on my quest.  She said, “… though our meeting was short you’ve made an impression on me that will last forever!” Another person said it was like I left a trail of pixie dust wherever I went. I don’t get it, but I do.  But I don’t.  See, when I met people doing what I was doing, walking, biking, whatever, I was inspired because I wanted to do that myself. So I understand being drawn to people like Fran, the young man that walked through Cody a couple years ago on HIS cross country walk.  But most people I’ve met have never had the desire to walk 3000 miles.  So how am I inspiring them? How have I moved so many, touched so many, inspired so many, when all I did was quietly walk along back roads? It blows me away, I’m just a nobody taking a walk. Or was.  Now I’m just a nobody.

It will take some time, some going over the blog from it’s very beginning as I prepped for the trip, up to now, and taking notes about all the stuff I remember from each part, and soaking it all in; the meaning, what I learned, what I didn’t, what it all meant to me, what it meant to others, what others meant to me, what certain people meant, or mean, to me; and taking that information and try to get it worded so it all makes sense, .. well it’s going to be a task.  But since I just walked 1700+ miles, I think I’m up for it.

*874, Roaches and Los Angeles

When I last posted, I was staying at the internet café. 

The picnic I mentioned in closing was very cool. Steve and I rode bicycles into Bradley Park and onto a skinny peninsula.  We chained them up and continued north on the skinny strip of land, which was tricky to navigate due to all the rocks and gnarled tree roots.

But it was worth it.  Where it ends is a nice flat spot on which I spread the picnic blanket.  We hung out and talked and ate and watched the boaters.  Really a cool spot.  I’ll post a satellite view of it on this blog. The tip of it, circled in fuschia, was where we picnicked.

In the evening we watched the Kwahamot ski show.  High school kids practice and put on a show three times a week on the Wisconsin River.  Kwahamot is Tomahawk backwards. The heat was backing off some, and a nice breeze floated up the Wisconsin River as we had a couple beers and watched the skiers.

Steve and I would occasionally take Steve The Dog for walks. Right behind the library was a great place to toss sticks into the Wisconsin River for the dog.

Steve likes to cook, so on Sunday, he played in the kitchen baking really good bread and some vegetable dishes, while the Olympics aired in the background.  On Sunday evening we walked over the The Bridge Inn for some live music.  A man played a steel slide guitar and had some digital background music.  He sang some old stuff, some Johnny Cash and such, and after a bit a lady got up from a table and fiddled along side him.  It was a very pleasant evening.

Monday I dealt with getting my pain pill prescription refilled, getting my pack more organized, and resting. On Tuesday morning Steve fixed me a fantastic breakfast consisting of a cheese omelette, fresh steamed spinach, homemade bread and melons. He walked me to the bridge over the Wisconsin River and I headed west.

I walked rather stiffly and a bit slowly down highway 8. According to my GPS there wasn’t a campground or motel until Prentice, about 25 miles away.

I had had a lot of time to think over my options in Tomahawk.  Steve had offered me a bicycle and we talked about converting Panda into a bicycle stroller and such, but I decided, since just sitting on a couch hurts, that I doubt I’d be able to handle a bicycle seat, with motion, for hours.  I’m just not into bicycling much, I prefer walking. I could have called it quits, as my pain has gradually been increasing; anyway, we discussed options and I decided I’d just walk on and see what happened.

So, back on the road, I was feeling pretty good, mentally.  Walking is an antidepressant to me.  Walking that fulfills a dream is not just an antidepressant, it’s a drug, it’s a “high”, it’s a powerful spiritual mood enhancer.  I knew my back was an issue, and I knew I wouldn’t see the coast of Washington this year, but I was content with my decision to just plug along and see how I felt, taking it day by day.

A sheriff pulled up behind me, he had gotten a call about a “woman pushing a baby stroller” and was just checking that I was okay.  He said he’d notify other law enforcement about me in case they got calls too.  Nice guy, he wished me well.

A few miles down the road an unmarked blue Expedition pulled me over, red and blue lights flashing from behind the grill.  The license plate bore a sheriff’s star and the numbers 874, so I knew it was some law enforcement or official use vehicle.  A man stepped out and asked me how my trek was going. 

“Okay,” I replied.  

“Where are you staying tonight?”

I told him I wasn’t sure, I doubt I’d make Prentice, so I was probably going to camp roadside.  He told me there was a motel and restaurant a couple miles up the road, and he handed me a $100 bill, and told me to go enjoy it.

I said, in utter shock, “You didn’t need to do that!”

He replied, “I know.  That’s the point.” and got into his truck.  I tried walking away but was doubled over from crying so hard.  I’m sure he saw that.  I never even got his name.

And sure enough, a small motel with a restaurant/pub attached sat on a corner on the left side of the road.  No one answered at the desk, so I walked to the pub and asked.  I told them where the $100 came from.  They gave me a key, and since I was done for the day, I stayed at the bar and ordered dinner and had a few beers.  I met several nice people there, including a nice gentleman named Darroll, to whom I gave my card, and I played dice and such. I was getting tired, and had miles to cover tomorrow, so I left to retire to my room.  I opened the door, and the bedding was all piled up on the beds, so I went back, they gave me another key, and same thing, so they finally sent someone to scout out a clean room. Apparently their cleaning lady didn’t show up.

I got a late start in the morning, and, although sore, figured the 20 miles to Prentice, the next town with any facilities (camping, motel) wasn’t a big deal.  For a while my legs were cooperating with me, the pain was bearable, and I trucked along in a fairly decent mood.  It was a warm day, but a breeze kept me comfortable, and it was intermittently cloudy, so I had occasional reprieve from the sun beating down on me.

I hadn’t had breakfast, so when I came to a BP station, I bought a prepackaged sandwich and some snacks and drinks for my pack.  Far cry from the gourmet food Steve prepared for me!  I sat on the curb outside the station to eat.  A couple from Quebec on motorcycles was there, gassing up and such.   Their bikes were laden with sleeping bags and stuff sacks and bags; I assumed they were on a camping road trip.  I don’t think they spoke English.  They looked Panda over, smiled a lot at me, but never said a word.  When they pulled out, they both waved and gave me a smile that said a lot; like they appreciated what I was doing, they were fellow travelers on their own expedition.  You know, people say it’s hard to communicate by texting because you can’t express sarcasm or humor or emotions well without being there in person.  This was the opposite, they said so much with their faces and smiles and gestures, without using a single word.  Pretty cool.

As I walked into the afternoon, the clouds built and the breeze became a light wind.  Thunder rumbled almost constantly from various areas of the sky.  Big raindrops started splattering Panda’s cover.  As luck would have it, right across Eight was a cute log church with a generous overhang in front.  I dashed across the two lane highway and saw that it was a church called, appropriately enough, the Log House Church.  A man mowing the yard waved me under the overhang, it was apparent I was seeking refuge from the oncoming storm.  He stepped under the porch himself, and said, “You didn’t make it very far today.” 

I’m not good at remembering faces and names sometimes, especially if they are brief encounters.

“I’m the man that stopped you last night,” he said. 

I walked over and gave him a hug.  I told him it had made me cry, that it was unexpected.  He said that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Turned out he was the pastor of that church, as well as the county medical examiner. 

We stood under the overhang awhile, until the storm really picked up, and the rain slanted under the roof, spraying us.  He swept his hand in an invitation for Panda to be rolled into the church, as well as me, and we stepped inside the adorable log church.  It was quite small, he said they get like 40-50 people at the service.  The inside walls were round sided logs with white chinking. Larry, the Pastor, told me the church has been in continuous operation since 1917.

SLAM.  The wind blew the front doors shut.  He simply said, “Spirits”.  I told him not to creep me out.

We talked a few minutes, and soon the storm blew over Sunbeams again drew shadows on the steamy pavement, I thanked him again and headed west.

Several hours of walking had made me very sore. On top of the back pain I’ve been enduring for weeks, my legs started doing strange things; .. things they used to do when I used a cane or crutches.  Involuntary bending, spasms, jerky movements… weird neurological and muscular stuff… stuff I don’t like.

So, like I did outside Rhinelander, I called the sheriff’s department to see if I could get a ride to Prentice. I told them I had Panda, well, luggage, and I was feeling poorly and just wanted to get to the Countryside Motel in Prentice.  After a couple minutes on hold, the dispatcher said he’d send someone, after making sure I didn’t need an ambulance.

So I stayed put at their recommendation.  I sat on a grassy slope alongside Eight, and drank a Gatorade.  After a bit a sheriff’s car rolled up and parked.  A sans-a-smile cop got out and questioned me all official-like. My needle alarm went off. Notifies me when there’s a potential prick in the area.

Now, remember, *I* called *HIM*. So he looks at my license and asks me about felonies and arrests and stuff. “Hi, I’m a fugitive running from the law, and I just dismembered a body, but I thought I’d call y’all for a ride…”  Um,.. yeaaaahhh.  He didn’t think Panda would fit, and I was about to move on, but he said let’s try.  So I hauled the big bag, then the backpack, and loaded them into the truck of the squad car.  With those items removed, the big Bowie knife was revealed.  He explained that he’d have to confiscate it, just during the drive, for his own safety; and would return it when we arrived at the hotel.  That’s fine, as long as I got it back.  Then he said he’d have to check for additional weapons.  I told him I had my Leatherman and a small pocket knife in my Camelbak, but that was all.  He decided to be a cop and check anyway. Of COURSE I was lying. (Remember, I called him.) So he unzips the big bag and the feels around a bit.  The big bag is an army duffle bag, in it I carry my camping supplies, clothes, tools, hammock and stuff I don’t use everyday.  The first thing he pulls out was a vibrator. (Hey, I’m alone all the time!)  I laughed inside.  I TOLD him I didn’t have a weapon.  He didn’t look hard, perhaps the discovery of Bob threw him, I dunno.  Then he opened the top pack.  That’s a backpack that I access all the time, it carries my maps, food, computer, bandanas, first aid, makeup, maps, battery chargers, etc. I was cool with him just doing a general search, I already told him what “weapons” I had.

Then he unzips the cosmetic bag.  It’s a small flowered  bag about the size of a men’s shaving kit bag.  Okay, conceivably I could hide a Derringer in there.  THEN he opens a small container about the size of a toothpick container. In that container was a few “roaches”, mostly-smoked-up marijuana cigarette remnants. If it was measured, it would have been about a quarter of a teaspoon of the evil, deadly herb.

“Well,  what  have  we  got  here?” he announces proudly. He sniffs it, shakes it out into his hand. Marijuana.  Might have well been anthrax.  

“I’m gonna have to place you under arrest.”

He ordered me into the back of the car and proceeded to make calls to report his big “find”. “Gonna need back-up.  We’ve got a seven one five here.” or some such crap.

I questioned him repeatedly.  Having been arrested before, I had had a reason to look up search and seizure laws.  The policeman had told me he was looking for weapons.  I asked what weapon would fit into a container the size of a tube of mascara. He “explained” it was for his own safety. The bags he was searching were in the TRUNK of his car, even if I had a gun, I couldn’t have accessed it. 

He tried to convey some story to me about “my kind” of people,.. which turned out to be transients.  Technically I am one, but not in the matter in which he referred.  I am only “transient” in that I pass from town to town, but I’m not broke, hungry, homeless, or running from the law, etc.

Anyway, he was on and off of the phone while I continued to ask questions and say basically are you fucking KIDDING me?  He asked about any criminal record, past arrests, was a fugitive.. think hard Mr. Copper,,. I called YOU.  If I was wanted or a fugitive, would I have called you for a ride??  I guess the police academy doesn’t check IQ’s.  So after a couple phone calls, or perhaps realizing that his search wouldn’t hold up in court, he said (now playing Mr. Nice Guy) that he’d be “lenient” and not arrest me.  He tried, again, to explain his search, but I still pointed out that no weapon would fit in a container that small, I had no problem with him doing a weapons search in my stuff, but not a small container drug search.  I looked this stuff up, he needed probable cause to search for drugs, and he had none.  Anything he found wouldn’t hold up because he wasn’t looking for it, now was he searching correctly nor with consent.

 I would have turned his life into a media nightmare. I was just on the TV news last week, and this area’s not very populated, so a lot of people knew who I was when I entered a place, “I saw you on TV!”.  A cop arresting the “lady walking across the country” for such a minimal thing, based on an illegal search,.. I don’t think the police would like the attention for that.

So after he dropped it, and stepped on the couple tiny roaches, another sheriff showed up to assist in hauling Panda’s gear.  They can only use their trunks, and his was already full.  This one was female, and patted me down.

He suggested that he take me to the county line and drop me off.  I RE-explained that I was in pain, and was going to get a hotel room in Prentice, so I could lie down.  There’s nothing at the county line but a few trees.

How odd that *I* called the cops and get treated like a criminal. 

Anyway, he, they, rather, drove me to the Countryside Motel in Prentice.  I’m sure the desk clerk was a bit alarmed when 2 sheriff’s vehicles pulled up and started unloading bags and crap.

The Countryside Motel sits just off 8, across from a truck stop.  The truck stop is just a BP station and a restaurant/bar called Boondocks. I never actually saw the town of Prentice, just this intersection. Right behind the motel was a pond that was frequented by Canada Geese.

Because it was in an isolated place, I had a choice of one place to eat:  Boondocks.  So after I got settled, and smoked the pot the cop DIDN’T find (my nerves were frazzled after almost getting arrested, and I hurt like a son of a bitch) I walked over for a sandwich. 

As frequently happens, the topic of my walk came up, and when I went to pay, the manager (I assume) scratched my bill.

I spent time on the computer, on the phone, texting and calling people and places and finally got a way out of Prentice.  The man I’d met at the Sportsland Pub, Darroll, came to meet me and volunteered to drive me to Eau Claire, where I could catch a shuttle to the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport.

So now I am back in Los Angeles.  I am staying with my son, I visited with my daughter, I will be seeing my ex-husband and animals and such tomorrow. 

I will write another entry soon, of what’s next, what I’ve learned, what’s going on the holy head of Shawnee Moon.

At the Dog Wash

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Steve The Dog gets his bath at the car wash. He sat perfectly still while he got soaked down, washed with doggy shampoo, and rinsed. They skipped the wax.