New York to San Francisco on VFR’s: 7,000 miles and 18 states

[Hulked Up]

I apologize in advance for the length of this report, but it was one of those once in a lifetime trips that I wanted to document for myself in the future.  

Introduction

My friend Doug and I talked about doing a cross-country trip on our VFR’s about three years ago.  The plan was to do one Iron Butt sanctioned ride per year to prepare and then do the 50CC (coast to coast in 50 hours or less) ride this year.   In 2005 we did a Saddlesore 1000.  Last year we did the Bun Burner Gold (1,500 miles in 24 hours or less).
 
We decided to go coast to coast from New York City to San Francisco.  I know a lot of people do the Jacksonville to San Diego route, but the start point was too far away from us and after doing a BBG we wanted a ride that challenged us further.
 
I started preparing for the trip about six months before.  I worked on mapping out a route with all of our gas stops planned in advance.  I used this method on the other IBA rides and it worked out great.  I also needed to get the bike in shape.  I ended up replacing both the chain/sprockets and tires before I left.
 
I also realized I needed to buy a few farkles to make the trip easier.  I bought a Garmin Zumo, which turned out to be almost indispensable.  I also laid out nearly $500 for an autocom so I could have reliable bike to bike communications, plus music and a cell phone.  I even bought a cell phone because of the trip.  I was one of the last people in the world without one, but realized it would be essential on a 3,000 mile trip.
 
I needed to also arrange the start and end witnesses to satisfy the Iron Butt Association.  In New York, Daniel Cohen was gracious enough to send us off.   He’s a legendary long distance rider who’s been featured in one of Ron Ayres books.  Check out his website for his numerous accomplishments.  In San Francisco Will Lee agreed to witness us.  Will was the first Harley rider to do both a 100CCC and a 50CC (he did the 100CCC first).  He gave me invaluable tips on both the ride and accommodations once we arrived in SF.
 
Day Before
 
Doug lives an hour and a half south of me and we were leaving from his house in the morning to ride another hour to get to the official start point in New York City.  Our friend Andy wanted to support us by riding down with us and seeing us off.   I met him at the local Ducati dealer in Connecticut to check out the Hypermotard before we headed down to Doug’s.








At Doug’s we did the final prep on our bikes and sorted out some last minute problems with the radios.  




Andy checking out a route home for tomorrow.
 
After the prep. work we helped Doug’s son change out the plugs in his 1986 IROC Camaro.  One plug was especially hard to remove and it took Doug well after dark to finish the job.  In retrospect, not the best thing to do the night before a 50 hour ride.

[Hulked Up]

Day 1:  Sunday, July 1, 2007, New York City to somewhere in Nebraska
 
Andy, Doug and I got up about 4:30am and rode down to the Bronx to meet Dan at the Shell station at the foot of the George Washington Bridge.  As we pulled into the pumps Andy motioned me to Doug:  he had dropped his bike maneuvering it into the parking lot.  The bikes were loaded down with 2 weeks worth of stuff and a bit tricky to handle when the speeds were slow.  He picked up the bike with no damage other than some scrapes on the fairing and bag.
 
Daniel Cohen was great.  He was very encouraging to us and he gave us some last minute tips and stories from his own 50CC ride.  


Me, Dan and Doug




With Andy in the middle

We took some pictures, then gassed up and got our first receipt with a 7:04am start time.  That gave us until 6:04am (Pacific time) on Tuesday to arrive in San Francisco.  We needed to maintain a 59 mph overall average over those 50 hours in order to be successful.


George Washington Bridge




We flew into New Jersey and were in Pennsylvania before we knew it.  





By the afternoon we were through Ohio and Indiana.  Not much to say about this part of the trip.  I’ve done it several times before and it’s a pretty boring ride.


 
By late afternoon we were in the Chicago area and hit the first of our setbacks.  It was a late Sunday afternoon and people were apparently headed home from their weekends.  Traffic was backed up to a crawl across 3 lanes for about 45 minutes.  It was painful to watch our overall average speed go down by the minute.

I also was having problems with my Discover credit card.  Despite calling them several days earlier that I was doing this trip, by the time I got to Illinois they put a “fraud alert” on my card and froze it until I called them.  More wasted time.
 
The ride across Interstate 80 in Illinois was fun.  Not much traffic, higher speeds and we were fortunate to find several “rabbits” to chase.  We used rabbits (people who drive well above the speed limit) to give us advance warning of any LEO presence.  In Pennsylvania we even had one rabbit “take a bullet" for us and get a ticket from a trooper parked out in a median strip.  On I-80 in western Illinois the rabbits were very fast, running over 90mph, a speed where we wouldn’t try to match.  High speed is not the point of an Iron Butt ride anyway.  It wastes gas, shortens your mileage and causes added stress and fatigue.  The ride is all about shortening your time stopped and getting pulled over could potentially kill the ride.  I’m happy to say we never got pulled over in the whole two weeks on the road.  We never went over 100mph on the Iron Butt section either.


We got to see this nice sunset the first night in Illinois.


This is from a stop in Des Moines, Iowa, just as it was getting dark.

[Hulked Up]

Day 2:  Monday, July 2, 2007, Nebraska to Rock Springs, Wyoming

The first overnight was difficult.   The plan for our rest and sleep consisted of pulling over at a rest area, finding a grassy spot or a picnic table and setting the Screaming Meanie (a 110 decibel alarm) for about 20-30 minutes of sleep.  We hadn’t employed this method on our previous Iron Butt rides (we did the 1,500 mile ride without rest) so that first night we had to struggle to get into rhythm of riding and sleeping.  We first stopped at one rest area in Iowa but didn’t get much sleep.  Later that early morning I told Doug on the radio that I was getting tired and needed to stop, but he didn’t hear me.  We eventually found a gas station in Nebraska and parked behind it.  I never took off my helmet and just laid down on the asphalt next to the dumpster.  We both woke up when a garbage truck came to empty the dumpster.
 
Despite the emptiness of Nebraska I enjoyed riding there.  The vast openness is a stark contrast to the Northeast where it is often overly congested.  





 By this time we were running an overall average of 60mph.  Above what we needed to do, but not much of a cushion if we started having problems.  I had hoped to do at least 1,500 miles in the first 24 hours, but we managed 1,400.  Chicago certainly hurt us, but our stops we also a problem.  Too many times we would stop longer than necessary.  When you are with another person you use that person as an excuse to make the stop take too long (he took his helmet off, so I can; he used the bathroom so I’ll get a drink).  Some of our stops were also well off the highway and had us riding into town to get food or gas.  We would ride a great pace on the highway and make up time but once we stopped we would give back all that time and our overall average never really improved, despite the 75mph speed limits past Iowa.
 
At one point in Nebraska I looked behind me and saw that Doug was well behind me (we usually stayed a few lengths off each other’s rear tires).  The radios didn’t work much over 75mph so I couldn’t understand what was wrong.  He pulled over under a bridge and said that he was tired.  We stopped for a few minutes and pushed on.














 
We took a way too long lunch stop in Laramie, Wyoming and hit the road again.  This time it was very obvious that Doug was exhausted.  I put him in the lead but he was having problems maintaining his speed and his lane position.  At one point he nearly hit an orange barrel on the shoulder.  We pulled over to rest under a narrow bridge, but he couldn’t fall asleep.  We hit the road again.





By the time we got to Rock Springs, Wyoming it was obvious to me that Doug couldn’t continue.  He was exhausted and needed several hours of sleep.  We still had about 800 miles to ride and less than 12 hours to do it.  Not enough time to do that without rest.  We got off in Rock Springs and got a motel and got some much needed sleep.  It was a very hard decision to make, but also an easy one.  If the conditions aren’t safe you’ve got to be able to walk away no matter how long you’ve prepared.


 
In some ways we were both relieved that it was over.  Doing the 50CC ride was not fun.  The accomplishment would have been great, but we were still going to be able to ride our sportbikes across the country, something few people do.  Taking our time would also give us a chance to actually talk to people and take in some of the country, a luxury we couldn’t afford on the 50CC ride.

[Hulked Up]

Day 3:  Rock Springs, Wyoming to Reno, Nevada

-753 miles total
-13:11 hours overall, 9:35 hours moving
-57 mph overall average, 78.3 mph moving average, 128 mph max. speed
 
Despite being freed from the 50CC we still had to cover a lot of miles today.  Our plan was to meet Dave, a friend of Andy’s, to stay overnight in Reno, over 700 miles away.  

Doug and I really enjoyed riding Interstate 80 in Wyoming.  It’s wide-open and the speeds were way up compared to what we could do back in the Northeast.











As you can tell, we were having great fun in Wyoming:



We crossed into Utah and were impressed with the unique topography of the landscape.  Even the rest area was very beautiful.  














found some great twisties right on 80

Salt Lake City was kind of congested, but the road into the city was cool, the interstate literally drops off the mountain and skirts around various peaks.  Very fun, for an interstate.



After SLC we got a look at the Great Salt Lake.  





Headed west we had one of our favorite stories from the trip.  Interstate 80 in this section is about 40 miles of laser straight road through the salt flats.  The lanes of traffic are separated by a median and the pavement is absolutely perfect.  







We noticed the immediate differences between riding in the west and riding in the Northeast.  In the Northeast when you are going between cities you’ll find a lot of congestion, suburbs and usually a cop (potentially) hiding behind every bridge abutment.  In the west there didn’t seem to be anything between cities, just sagebrush and desolation.  We also didn’t notice any cops.  Some of the states I couldn’t even tell you if they had a state police because we never saw them, and some of these states are 400 miles wide.  We never saw one speed trap in the whole two weeks.  We kind of figured out that if you are in-between cities the cops don’t bother you.

To us, this felt like being a kid handed the keys to a candy store, so we kind of went nuts.  We were running about 90mph and even got a thumbs-up from a guy in a Cherokee.  Gradually the speeds went up and some of our passes were in excess of 100mph.  After a few minutes of this I noticed one semi pulled next to another and he never completed the pass.  The semi’s set up a rolling roadblock on us and slowed to 65mph.  It was pretty obvious what they were doing, but there was nothing we could do other than run on the shoulder, which was not an option.  





We did this for about 10 minutes until all the cars we passed caught up to the semi’s and they had no choice but to let us by.  We gave them a nice wave that we got the message and moved on at a more reasonable speed.


A cool sculpture in the middle of the Great Salt Lake

We stopped for a few minutes to check out the salt.











After lunch we were gassing up in Nevada when a guy approached me about our trip.  His name was Jim and although he worked for an H-D dealer he was a sportbike rider and had extensive knowledge of the best roads in the Northwest.  He gave me a couple of tips, the first of which was to make sure we hit U.S. 50, “The Loneliest Road in America.”  I’d heard all about this road before, very desolate and straight – perfect for some more top speed riding.

Dave had told me that Battle Mountain was the armpit of the earth.  He wasn’t far off.  For one thing the “towns” in Nevada are little more than prefabbed buildings and trailers parked off the exits of the interstate.  As we were gassing up in Battle Mountain a Greyhound bus pulled in.  Several of the passengers started talking us up.  One of them was mentioning how he needed to get home to clear up some misdemeanor warrants he had.  Okay, time to move on.

From Battle Mountain we took Rte. 307 (?) to U.S. 50.  It was 88 miles to the junction.  What a shock to us.  A few miles out of Battle Mountain it became extremely isolated.  The road was like this the whole way to the junction.  For me it was a little un-nerving, having grown up in the Northeast where there are houses and side streets everywhere, you can’t go ten miles without seeing something, even in the most remote parts of New England.  Some sections of 307 were straight for 10 miles or more and there was very little traffic of any sort.  





The high speed bugs bit us again and we soon had the VFR’s running well over 100mph and into the top speed range.  The highest I saw on the GPS was 128mph, the fastest I would run over the entire 2 weeks.  There is no place else I’ve seen in the country where you can do these kinds of speeds on a public road.  Of course if we had a problem we were pretty much on our own, but it was not an experience we were likely to get again.  I think we did the whole 88 mile section in about 45-50 minutes.

Here’s a GPS shot from 307, the overall and moving averages are for the entire day:



U.S. 50 was just as isolated but all the hype about it had added traffic so it wasn’t as fun as 307.




Approaching Reno

We got into Reno well after dark and met Dave and Janet, our hosts for the evening.  Really gracious folks and hardcore riders.  Dave kept us entertained with his riding stories and we were soon off to some clubs and casinos for the evening.  Before we left, Dave got his loaded .38 to take with him (“everyone is packed out here”).  More cultural differences to enjoy.

At the club we went to we were clearly the oldest people there.  Everyone else was in the 20’s and looked pretty damn good.  Great town if you’re young or want to be.  From there we went to a few casinos.  I won about $30 at the slots, but Dave won $150 on his 2-3rd pull.  I watched poor Doug feed a $20 bill into one machine and lose everything in about 5 minutes.  We finally got to bed at 3am.

[Hulked Up]

Day 4:  Wednesday, July 4, Reno, Nevada to San Rafael, California

-344 miles

Today we needed to get into San Francisco to start the rest of our vacation.  Dave and Janet agreed to show us some fine roads into California first.  







First we made a stop in Virginia City, Nevada to check out the Fourth of July festivities.  Virginia City is an old west town, complete with character actors, saloons, casinos and tourists.  From there we rode down to Topaz Lake on the border.





and then to Ebbets Pass in the Sierra Madres.











The roads in the California mountains were another learning experience for me.  They are pretty narrow and have plenty of sharp corners, switchbacks and hairpin curves.  In the Northeast they usually don’t build roads up to the tops of these types of mountains but in California you could ride everywhere.  Physically it was a tough day for me.  The roads were pretty challenging and I was only operating on 3 hours sleep (someone woke me up at 6am).  Definitely didn’t feel myself.  

By the time we got off the mountain and said our goodbyes to Dave and Janet I just wanted to crash in our motel room.  We were very close to Yosemite, but I was just too exhausted to take more time to see it.


“Dangerous” Dave and “Jammin’” Janet

The riding to San Francisco was pretty cool.  We took some 2 lane state highways into Stockton and there was very little traffic.  





The temperature started to really climb however and before we knew it we were seeing temps of over 100 degrees.



Once we hit Interstate 5 the best part of the ride was over.  It gets so congested along the freeways.  



One funny story though was when we gassed up.  I followed a guy into the store and heard him say on his cell phone:  “hey, I’m here at the station and guess what?  There’s two motorcycles out here, one from Connecticut and the other from Massachusetts.”  Pretty cool.  I never got tired of the comments and questions about how we rode our bikes all the way out there.

Our hotel was actually in San Rafael, north of San Francisco and the GPS routed us directly there, which unknown to me at the time, bypassed the city.  I was depressed about this because I really wanted to ride over the Golden Gate Bridge to complete the ride.  I was also getting a bit homesick, realizing that I was very, very far from home and it would not be easy to get back.

After resting up for a while Doug and I decided that we needed to get to the Golden Gate Bridge to at least emotionally complete the NY to SF ride as we had never actually set foot in the city.  We cruised down the 101 and found the Golden Gate Park which sits right over the bay and the Bridge.  It happened to be Fourth of July evening and was very crowded from people wanting to see the fireworks.  With our bikes it wasn’t too hard to find parking and we snapped a few pictures to commemorate the end of that part of the ride.









Golden Gate Park was a zoo.  There were too many cars and not enough places to park.  We saw one guy openly disrespect a ranger and ignore his order to leave.  The ranger ended up chasing him up the hill with his lights flashing.







You might be able to tell in my face that it was very cold that evening.  The wind was blowing very strong and my ears were actually starting to get numb.  But despite that we were ecstatic, despite not finishing the 50CC we were really pumped that we had made it to San Francisco on our VFR’s.

On the way home that night we stopped at In and Out Burger for dinner.  I’d heard all about them and had to sample it for myself.  It’s everything it’s made out to be.

[Hulked Up]

Day 5:  Thursday, July 5, 2007, San Rafael to Fort Bragg, California

-208 miles
-Overall Time:  9:41; Moving Time:  5:45; Stopped:  3:56
-Overall Average:  21.1 mph; Moving Average:  35.4 mph; Max. Speed:  80.2 mph

I woke up early and took a walk around San Rafael.  The area we were staying in was a real pit.  Heavy industrial with a lot of body shops.  Many of the stores and corners had groups of illegal immigrants waiting to get picked up for their day jobs.  I had only read about this, but out here it’s the real thing.  Didn’t get a real good impression of San Rafael.  It was only when I got back that I learned that most of the Frampton Comes Alive! album was recorded at the Civic Center in town.  Rock on.

Now that we were in San Francisco we could start the next phase of our vacation.  The plan was to take Route 1 up the coast to Oregon and see what happened next.  I had laid out a bunch of routes in Oregon, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming that I hoped we could do, but kept them as options as our schedule permitted.  The first couple of days at least were going to be spent exploring the California coast.

To plan this part of the ride I used some articles from the now defunct Motorcycle Escape magazine.  Jaime Elvridge had an article about secrets of the Pacific Coast Highway and I used that for some side trips.  Unfortunately the first few turned out to be busts:  the John Muir Woods seemed to be a pay, park and hike area and the view from the top of Mount Eamalpais was foggy.  





We saw these sea lions right off the road…



The ride to Limantour Beach took a long time and was also pretty foggy.  



We were wasting away the morning on some of these wild goose chases.  I was wishing I had just stuck with Route 1 and dropped a plan to take a trip to Boonville for some supposed great roads.  

I was impressed with Route 1 though.  Although we didn’t see much water in the beginning the road was in great condition, there wasn’t much traffic and it wasn’t congested.  Another culture shock from the east coast.  On the east coast most any road near the ocean is overbuilt and has a lot of pricey shops.  Out here it was very laid back and probably closer to what the Atlantic coast was like 60 years ago.

Things got so much better after lunch.  We reached Bodega Bay, which is where Route 1 and the Pacific meet.  We were literally riding along the water’s edge, on roads carved out of the mountain.  I can’t express the beauty of this place and what a thrill it was to be able to see it for the first time and ride it for hours and hours at a time.  Again, something you wouldn’t see on the east coast.  (There are some roads in the Cape Cod National Seashore that parallel the ocean, but the views aren’t as good and they aren’t that long.)











At one of our stops we heard that it was unusual to get such clear days at the ocean.  Usually the fog is pretty heavy.

Not only is the area incredibly beautiful but the roads were just as amazing.  The pavement was perfect and there were tons of tight corners to play with.  The engineers did an exceptional job contouring the road to the land.  Most of the day we had a very tough choice:  looking at the scenery or getting into the twisties.  I hope these pictures give you some hint of what it was like.











By the afternoon it was very obvious that I made a serious miscalculation and that we wouldn’t be able to make our hotel that night.  I thought we could do 488 miles, turned out we did about 200.  We used the Zumo to find a nice motel in Fort Bragg.  We had a great dinner at Denny’s (our first real food of the trip) and found a one hour photo machine to get some pictures printed out to use as postcards to mail home.

[Hulked Up]

Day 6:  Friday, July 6, 2007, Fort Bragg to Arcata, California

-200 miles
-Overall Time:  9:06; Moving Time:  5:51; Stopped:  3:15
-Overall Average:  21.9 mph; Moving Average:  34 mph; Max Speed:  76.9 mph

Another amazing day on the road.  We started out with more perfect roads along the ocean.  











After a while Route 1 ended (sadly) and we took the bait for a drive-thru redwood tree, paying $5.  We got a big kick out of this old tourist attraction and spent about an hour here hanging out and putting the bikes through the trunk.













From there we picked up Highway 101 and arrived at the Avenue of the Giants near Garberville.  This was the first time either of us had seen the redwood forests.  The Avenue runs through several redwood groves.  The road snakes right around the trees so you are literally in the middle of the forest.  We were overwhelmed with their size and had to stop several times for pictures.  A motorcycle is the only way to see these trees, it was amazing to just look up and take everything in while we were riding.




This was at our lunch stop, a chimney tree.













After the Avenue of the Giants we took another chance on a Motorcycle Escape route suggestion, this time for the “Lost Coast.”  On 101 you move inland and lose sight of the Pacific, the Lost Coast seemed like a good way to get back to the ocean views, but in an extremely remote area.

We took the turn-off for Mattole Road, which in the beginning was in the middle of another redwood grove (never got tired of that kind of riding).  We spent the next hour climbing some mountain ranges on narrow roads.  More very isolated locations, no houses, streets or nothing.  



After some time we dropped into the “town” of Honeydew.  There we had an experience right out of a Twilight Zone episode, in fact this entire part of the day would seem like we were in a lost world somewhere.  The best way to describe Honeydew would be to compare it to the store in Deliverance where the characters get gas and play the banjo.  

Honeydew is one general store with one gas pump.  It was an ancient thing with the old dial tumblers, like an old odometer.  Gas was wickedly expensive, but the only game in town.  The store was a gathering place for all the locals.  And there were a lot of them, all sitting around their pickup trucks drinking beer, in the middle of the day.  They must have thought we were just as unusual as we were with our sport-touring bikes and full gear.  At one point a man (with a Jason DeSalvo t-shirt) and his girlfriend came up to us.  The woman asked us if we wanted to see her rattlesnake.  She had a box with a baby rattlesnake she said she had caught on her property that day.  I don’t know why I didn’t think to take any pictures of this place; I guess I was just too bewildered to think straight.  When the locals started looking at us too intently we decided to get the hell out of Dodge.

A few miles later we finally arrived at the “Lost Coast,” miles of Pacific shoreline bordered by farmland and mountains.  There was literally nothing out there except for some cows, which were running free range.









We started to get that Twilight Zone feeling again.  The wind had whipped up to about 40mph and the temperature was dropping.  The sea felt angry and the place very inhospitable, despite how beautiful the pictures look.  





We stopped to snap a couple of pictures.  Those things you see on the ground are my gloves, blown off my seat by one of the gusts.  We didn’t stick around too long.  



At the end of the coast road was something we called “The Wall.”  The Wall is where the road literally goes up the side of the mountain, does a switchback and keeps climbing.  The slope of the hill was ridiculous, it felt like they didn’t bother to try to engineer a way out of there, they just paved a road up the side of the hill.  The pictures don’t do it justice.


The Wall



About this time I got this weird feeling that not only weren’t we supposed to be there, we weren’t supposed to leave either (like the Hotel California).  The wind, poor roads and dropping temperatures all felt like a conspiracy against us.  It was a very metaphysical experience, probably the only one I’ve had on a motorcycle.  I don’t want to say it felt evil, but it definitely felt like we didn’t belong there.



After about an hour we finally got back on 101 at Fernbridge and our lives returned to normal.  Doug and I each immensely enjoyed experiencing the Lost Coast but I don’t think either one of us are eager to repeat it.

We originally tried to find lodging in Eureka, but found it to be a real pit.  Tons of traffic and congestion, not what we were looking for on vacation.  We also got smarter about finding cheaper accommodations.  At Denny’s the night before we found a travel coupon book and located several great deals in the area.  We got an exceptional price on a Friday night for the last room at a Comfort Inn in Arcata, complete with a pool.

We did laundry and had dinner that night (at Round Table Pizza) in Arcata, which is a great little town.  There are tons of hippies there, older guys in their 50’s still living out of busses and wearing Grateful Dead t-shirts.  They even had a local baseball game and I found a vintage early 1960’s VW crew cab on the street (my earliest car crush).


Not enough room in the saddlebags for this one…

[Hulked Up]

Day 7:  Saturday, July 7, 2007, Arcata, California to Klamath Falls, Oregon

- 315 miles
- Overall Time:  10:45; Moving Time:  6:35; Stopped:  4:09
- Overall Average:  29 mph; Moving Average:  47.2 mph; Max Speed:  106 mph

We started the day running up 101 along the Pacific coast, sampling more of the beautiful scenery we’d seen over the past two days.  





We finally said goodbye to the Pacific and followed 101 inland through the forest and some awesome twisty roads.  

I have to say a word about the courtesy of the California drivers.  On the east coast, it’s every man for himself.  You could have 100 motorcycles behind a car and they won’t pull over.  We also have the “left lane lurkers,” people who stay in the left hand lane at or below the speed limit, no matter how many people are behind them or how open the right lane might be.

In California there are turnouts on the two lane roads and signs that ask slower drivers to pull over and let traffic pass.  The roads must have been designed by a frustrated civil engineer from the east coast.  These turnouts work and cars and RV’s did pull over for us.


Adding another state

Since today was 7/7/07, the luckiest day ever, I decided to play $7 worth of scratch-off tickets in the Oregon lottery.  Nothing.

Jim from the gas station in Nevada also told us that Crater Lake National Park in Oregon was another must-see so that was our destination for today.  The roads approaching Crater Lake are awesome, but once you’re in the Park it’s all about the scenery.  Crater Lake is a volcano that erupted 7,700 years ago and filled with water.  You can ride around the entire rim.  You not only have the breath-taking splendor of the Lake, but the view from the top is incredible.  I truly felt humbled to be there.












The view from the top of the rim, you could see a hundred miles in every direction.


Still quite a bit of snow in some spots.


Climbing up some volcanic rock

After Crater Lake we were pretty exhausted and had some problems finding a place to stay for the night.  There is a lodge at the Lake, but it’s pretty $.  I called several motels before I found Crater Lake Resort in Klamath Falls.  We got a cabin there for a very reasonable price.  Very friendly folks, I highly recommend them.

That night we went to an Indian casino for dinner and gambling.  I won about $30 at the slots so I was pretty happy.

When we got back we were chatting it up with our neighbors, one guy and two girls who were in town all week for a horse show.  They were drinking margaritas and having a good old time.  They were talking about how much they hated their boss and “Team Hedlund,” their boss’ team.  Freaked me out a little because my last name is Hedlund, but no relation.

We started telling these folks about our trip and Doug offered to show them his photos from his memory card.  The guy put the card in his laptop, gave the card back to Doug, but then went in for the night, never showing the pictures.  

One of the girls was getting a little flirtatious with us, telling us to go to the horse show and how we should go to her home town of Bend, Oregon and enjoy the steam baths.  She was a little bit drunk too.  It was getting late and we had a long, long day of riding ahead so we said our goodnights.  (Again, didn’t think to get pictures for you guys.)

[Hulked Up]

Day 8:  Sunday, July 8, 2007, Fort Klamath, Oregon to Inkhom, Idaho

- 680 Miles
- Overall Time:  12:34; Moving Time:  9:45; Stopped:  3:48
- Overall Average:  50.4 mph; Moving Average:  70.1 mph; Max Speed:  116 mph

As we were going to bed the night before Doug told me that his memory card was wiped out, none of the pictures over the past week were showing up.  It must have happened from the laptop.  Panic mode set in; our only option was to try to grab our neighbor before he left for the horse show at about 5am.  We had set our alarms for 4am, but there was no activity over there.  Finally about 5:30 Doug went over there and got the guy’s laptop to try to recover the pictures.  I took a look at it but couldn’t find anything.  Crap.  The guy came over and tried to find them, but nothing.  The pictures were completely gone.  The guy felt bad enough to give Doug $40 for a new memory card and an offer to have someone look at the laptop when he got back to California.  As far as I know Doug never heard from him again.  

Doug was pretty devastated as there were some great pictures on the card.  This was also the second time it happened to him.  Last year I managed to erase all his pictures of our Bun Burner Gold ride when I stuck his memory card in my own computer to try to grab the pics.  Hard lesson to learn (again).




At least our accommodations were great.

Today was a very difficult day of riding.  We had to do about 700 miles through Oregon and then through Idaho to get to Inkhom.  The reason was that Doug wanted to stay the night with an old army buddy, Pat, and his wife Debbie.  We were already several days behind schedule so he wanted to get there in one day.  The problem was that it was over 90 degrees all day and we spent most of it riding through the deserts of central and eastern Oregon (yes, they have deserts).

We took Route 97 up to Bend and spent about an hour at a pharmacy trying to recover some of Doug’s pictures from the card.  Some of them were found, but they were ones he had already backed up onto a CD in Fort Bragg.  He ended up losing about 3-4 days of material in all.

From Bend we took Rte. 20 east all the way to the Idaho border and Interstate 84.  The desert riding was fun, there was something like 80 miles between Bend and Burns and nothing in between.  We were able to elevate the speeds a bit, but nothing like Nevada.









That afternoon I decided to see just how straight the Oregon roads were.  I set the GPS compass up on the Zumo to read the degree heading.  I counted one 12 mile stretch before the compass changed even 1 degree in direction.  Amazing.  

As we approached Burns we saw a massive wildfire.  This was also something new for us.  Out here the possibility of fire is always present and something as simple as a lightning strike can set it off.  The topography out here is all tumble weeds, so we never saw any huge flames, just tons of smoke and the acidic smell.  I later learned that the fire eventually burned 140,000 acres before being contained on July 22.

There was one section of Route 20 that was really amazing:  great mountain views, perfect pavement and true 90mph sweeping curves.  






I got a kick out of seeing this 1968 VW bus pass the RV on a curve.















At one point Doug pulled over and said he thought he got stung by a bee.  His chest was red, then he said he might be allergic to bees so we needed to haul ass to Ontario as he might only have 10 minutes to live!  Doug went into the lead and kept his adrenaline up just like Jason Straham in Crank, pinning the throttle.  After a few minutes Doug wasn’t dead, so I figured he was going to be okay.  He never did figure out what got him, but he turned out to be fine.

By the time we made it to the Idaho border however I was exhausted.  But we soldiered on across Idaho.  Not much to say about Idaho, this section was pretty boring.





We finally pulled into Pat and Debbie’s house in Inkhom about 10:30pm.  They fed us a great meal of ribs and corn on the cob, our first home cooked food in over a week.  Pat even let us park the bikes in his garage, very much appreciated.

[Hulked Up]

Day 9:  Monday, July 9, Inkhom, Idaho to West Yellowstone, Montana

- 287.1 miles
- Overall Time:  10:29; Moving:  6:16; Stopped:  4:12
- Overall Average:  27.3 mph; Moving Average:  45.7 mph; Max. Speed:  98.3 mph

We were hoping to get a little bit of rest today and hang out with Pat and maybe go for a ride with him and his Harley.  No such luck as he got called into work.  Debbie also had to work, so we decided to just head to Wyoming and the Great Tetons and Yellowstone National Parks.

This is Pat and Debbie’s house.  Great views all around.







We took Route 30 and then 34 into Wyoming.  More great roads.  







I was trying to get into the rhythm of the twisties but Doug kept getting further and further away in my rear view mirror.  After a while I pulled over and asked him what was going on.  He told me that he had stayed up late with Pat the night before and drank some beer, which left him hung over.  He hadn’t intended on riding today.  This kind of put a damper on things until we got into Wyoming and grabbed some lunch at a nice little restaurant in Freedom.




Great roads and views coming into Jackson.  Followed the Snake River for quite a while, many white-water paddlers.

Jackson, Wyoming was another highlight, it’s a nice little resort town right at the foot of the Grand Tetons.  We got some nice pictures of the Tetons on 89.











Entrance to the Tetons and Yellowstone was $20 each, which kind of pissed Doug off due to the high taxes he pays (in Connecticut).  All I can say is that it’s totally worth it.  The scenery is unbelievable.  We only had a half day in Yellowstone and I wanted much, much more.





 
We managed to see a coyote walking down the road.

While we were riding around Yellowstone this guy on a V-Strom pulled up to Doug at an intersection and told him that his chain was making a lot of noise.  I had been adjusting and checking the chain nearly everyday but didn’t this morning.  We pulled over and noticed that it definitely had a kink in it that was causing it to run very loose and then tight as you rotated the wheel.  We pulled over at the Yellowstone entrance and adjusted it again.

We got a chance to talk to the V-Strom owner for a while.  His name was David and he was on his own trip:  from Georgia to Alaska and was documenting the experience for ADV-Rider.  David was showing us his V-Strom, a 650 which he had kitted out for the trip.


Doug and David





It was cool to meet another rider as we had not really seen too many on this trip.  Yes, there were a lot of Harleys and Gold Wings, but we never chanced to meet anyone in our travels.  We did see a lot of V-Stroms however; they seemed to be a very popular touring bike.





We rode into Yellowstone and I was immediately struck by the fire damage still present in the park.  Almost 800,000 acres were affected by the 1988 wildfires.  Even 19 years later it was overwhelming to me.  We rode for mile after mile through what was once a thick forest, now reduced to just a few small trees and some survivors.











By this time we were both feeling antsy about Doug’s chain and decided we needed to get to a motel to plot our next move.  We detoured to Old Faithful since we didn’t know if we’d get the chance tomorrow.  We were over an hour from the next eruption so we got something to eat and tried to find a room for the night.  Even though it was Monday, rooms were proving impossible to find.  We called about 10 places before we found a room at the Ho-Hum Inn in West Yellowstone.  Only $40 a night.  It turned out to be a great place.

We did get to witness Old Faithful and saw another geyser in the field erupt.  




Not Old Faithful


Tourists like us


Old Faithful

Wish we had more time there, but we had to move on.  Before we left the park we saw even more geysers and a bald eagle nesting area with four eagles sitting on top of a nest.  Very cool.  There was so much of Yellowstone we missed though:  the buffalo, the water falls and more.  Definitely need to make a return trip.

[Hulked Up]

Day 10:  Tuesday, July 10, West Yellowstone to Bozeman, Montana

- 93 miles
- Overall Time:  8:30; Moving Time:  2:49; Stopped:  5:40
- Overall Average:  10.6 mph; Moving Average:  31.8 mph; Max Speed:  87 mph

I got up early to take a walk and get some presents for my sweetie.



Our intentions were to try to get Doug’s chain looked at to see if it could make it 2,300 miles home.  We did talk to a couple of friends who told us it would probably be fine.  

As we got ready to leave the motel though Doug’s bike wouldn’t start.  Dead.  Crap.  This changed everything.  We borrowed some jumper cables and got it fired up.  We went to get some gas but Doug didn’t bring a spare key and would need to jump the bike again.  He decided instead to ride to a local motorcycle shop to have the chain looked at.  As he left he forgot his kick stand was down, stalling out the bike.  (The motorcycle shop turned out to be a chopper boutique store that had very little motorcycle related stuff anyway.)  He gassed up and we borrowed another set of cables.

I checked the Zumo and found a Honda dealer 80 miles away in Bozeman (I had loaded up a Point of Interest list of every Honda dealer in the U.S. before I left).  I called the dealer and learned that they did have a VFR battery in stock.  Cool.

We headed up to Bozeman and rode right through Big Sky Country on Rte. 191, another beautiful road.









We took the bike to Powerplay Motorsports in Bozeman.  The service manager, Don, was good about getting Doug’s bike into the shop considering he had a lot of local customers to deal with.  We sat outside the dealership for several hours until Don came out and said, “well, you’re not going anywhere tonight.”  It turned out the rectifier, stator and battery were fried on Doug’s bike.  (This is a common problem on VFR’s.  Mine went out at 30,000 miles and left me stranded.)

Of course the dealership didn’t have those parts in stock, most places don’t anyway.  They would have to be overnighted.  Doug went through the first phase (denial) and checked the bike over and it was clear the electrical connectors got very hot and damaged the parts.  His anger phase came when we learned from Don that the stator was back-ordered until July 24 (it was the 17th).  It wasn’t until later that night that Doug reached the acceptance phase.




Doug wanted this documented.  We spent an entire day sitting on that concrete waiting on the bike.

I found us a room at a very nice motel, the Microtel.  Good-sized pool and spa and they even had internet access.  I spent the rest of the afternoon chasing down jumper cables and a spare key for the bike in case we had to repeat the scenario of this morning.

The cables were easy to find, the key not so.  I went to all the hardware stores in the area and no one had a double-sided blank for a motorcycle, not even the dealership.  I got a tip about Bozeman Lock and Safe and was able to find one there the next morning.

I know this part of the trip was hard on Doug.  Not only was his bike down, but he was running out of cash and he hadn’t brought a credit card.  Well, he technically had a card, but it was in Connecticut; it didn’t arrive in time.  He only had the card number and was hoping the dealership could run it through.  Doug didn’t renew his Honda Rider’s Club towing coverage either and had to do that in West Yellowstone.  


Bozeman was a nice place to be stranded anyway.  Of all the places we visited on our trip it was about the only town I could see myself actually living in.

[Hulked Up]

Day 11:  Wednesday, July 11, Bozeman, Montana to Gillette, Wyoming

-384 miles

The dealership told us the parts may be in about 11am and they would call us.  11am, no call.  The motel was gracious with a late check-out of 3pm.  3pm, no parts.  Crap.  We were forced to check out of the motel and got a ride from the housekeeper to get to the dealership.  The Fed Ex truck finally rolled in after 4 with the rectifier.  They tested it with the old stator and learned that the bike was only putting out a little more juice than before.  New rectifier, new battery, old stator:  it would have to do.  They finally got the bike done at 6pm when the dealership closed.  Doug asked them about the chain and they said it was okay for the trip home.  By 6pm we hit the road for home, over 2,000 miles away.  We were shooting to make it back to New England in two days.

Doug’s plan was to not shut the bike off and use the spare key to gas it up.  He did buy a battery tender in case he needed to charge it up at a motel.


Finally leaving Bozeman

We hit I-90 and gunned it east into the sunset.  





Our bad luck continued.  In Billings, Montana we were passing a flatbed, pickup truck when its left rear tire just exploded and disintegrated.  Doug was passing him at the time.  Rubber and steel belts went everywhere; we couldn’t avoid them.  Then a shovel fell off the back of the truck and started sliding across the asphalt, coming towards me.  I was able to move out of the way just before it started tumbling and cart-wheeling.  Not a good way to start this trip off.

By midnight we made it to Gillette, Wyoming, 384 miles away.  We tried to sleep in the trucker’s lounge of a Flying J, but that wasn’t happening, not with a female trucker watching The Natural on Oxygen at full volume.

[Hulked Up]

Day 12:  Thursday, July 12, Gillette, Wyoming to LaCrosse, Wisconsin

-1170 miles


At a rest area just over the South Dakota border

Aside from seeing a deer grazing on the side of the highway we had a pretty uneventful overnight.  We grabbed some breakfast and a quick nap at a truck stop in Rapid City and then found a nice, quiet rest area to get another hour of much needed sleep.


This is how Doug slept on the way home.  I preferred a flat patch of grass.  I usually wouldn’t take my helmet off as it made it easier to fall asleep with the earplugs in.  We’d get so exhausted we’d fall asleep almost immediately and wake up in another 20-30 minutes, just enough to get into R.E.M. sleep.  You’d be amazed at how refreshed you feel with just a power nap.

The landscape of South Dakota may be just as boring as Nebraska, but I found it a lot more interesting because of all the billboards.  The billboards were hawking all the tourist traps along I-90, like the Rushmore sculptor’s museum, the auto museum at Murdo, Al’s Oasis gas station, Wall Drug and the Corn Palace.  At least out there you’ve got something to look at.

We decided to stop at the Corn Palace in Mitchell for a break as we had to bypass several of our intended destinations on the way home (Little Big Horn Battlefield, Devil’s Tower and Mount Rushmore).  I wanted to see at least something touristy on this part of the trip.

The Corn Palace may be the original tourist trap.  It was originally conceived over a hundred years ago solely as a means to attract people to Mitchell.  The Palace is an ordinary civic center/auditorium with corn used as the facing of the building and the murals inside.  The whole outside of the building is covered in corn ears and hay.  The patterns are changed every year and reflect a particular theme.  Inside the building are a number of murals that depict rural life, all of them made out of corn ears.  You can also buy a bunch of kitchy tourist items that are corn themed.








I got a big laugh out of this…





After I finished with the Palace, Doug told me he needed to grab a motel room to get some serious sleep.  We found a Motel 6 and slept for about six hours.  Doug pulled the battery out of his bike and put it on the charger.  His bike had actually been doing okay; he shut it off several times and it always started back up.  

In the late afternoon we were in Minnesota and Doug noticed at a meal stop that his chain was looking worse.  By now it had developed several kinks and was running very loose and very tight as it rotated around.  We had been in communication with our friend Scott-sts who had us keep the chain on the loose side.  When I examined it there were sections that you could pull the chain pretty far off the back sprocket, but it seemed to have just enough of the teeth that it would stay on.  The insides of the chain were also starting to disintegrate and the O-rings were long gone.  Doug also kept it lubed up.  By this time, the chain became our chief worry and not the stator.  At the meal stop Doug adjusted the chain and we pushed on.

About 5 minutes later I noticed Doug slow down and the chain was just hanging off the back of the bike.  Damn, trip over I thought.  The chain had just slipped off the rear sprocket and tore the sprocket up, but the chain was still in one piece.  The only option Doug had was to put it back on the bike and try to adjust it.  As he was putting it on he realized the axle adjustment bolt was very loose; he forgot to tighten it at the last stop and the torque just pulled the axle in, throwing the chain off the back.  No damage done.

Doug was pretty shaken up about this and stopped to have a smoke and calm down.  I wanted to get out of Minnesota by dark and told him we needed to go.  We took off but less than 2 minutes later he hit a bump and his left hard-bag came flying off the VFR and started sliding down the center line of the highway towards me.  Luckily for both of us the bag was so heavy it never tumbled, it just slid across the asphalt.  Other than the gouges it was fine.  Fortunately for me I was able to avoid another near-miss.  We were also lucky there was no other traffic (trucks) that were around to hit the bag.  Doug thought that he had left his key in the bag and I walked back about a quarter mile to look for it, but it wasn’t there.  It turned out he had the key all along; the bag just wasn’t secured, although it looked like it was (another common issue on the VFR).



By this time I think both of our states of mind were a little crazy.  Doug was exhausted and the problems with his bike were taking their toll on him.  I just wanted to get home and it seemed like the problems kept piling up and were preventing that from happening.  We just couldn’t seem to make much progress.  On top of that the objects in the road were starting to make me wonder IF I would make it home at all.  Our luck was running that bad.

By the time we got the bag back on and hit the road it was getting dark.  The rest of the night was pretty uneventful.  We managed to cross Minnesota and then went into Wisconsin.  We were able to grab more sleep around midnight at the rest stop at the border.  

[Hulked Up]

Day 13:  Friday, July 13, LaCrosse, Wisconsin to Danville, Penna.

-929 miles

From Bozeman:
-Total Time:  44:39; Moving time:  29:35; Stopped:  15:04
-Overall Average:  46.8 mph; Moving Average:  70.7 mph; Max Speed:  98.8 mph

I had a simple goal today:  get home tonight, no matter how late.  We were “close” if close means doing another Saddlesore 1000 to get there.  Of course today would be Friday the 13th.

We managed to grab more sleep at a weigh station shortly after 1am.  Doug was sleeping so soundly that even the Screaming Meanie at 110 decibels could not wake him up.  Wow.

At 2am we landed in the Wisconsin Dells and took another rest.




The pleasures of long distance riding…

Our next stop was near sunrise in Rockford, Illinois, my old stomping grounds.  My parents used to live there for 10 years and I’m pretty familiar with the area.  We stopped at the Road Ranger at 4am.



As I was coming out of the bathroom I noticed two teenagers approaching the station, one of them wearing mirrored sunglasses.  I thought that was pretty strange for 4am.  One of the kids went into the bathroom, while the other waited outside.  The kid with the glasses came out and was milling around, his friend was standing by the door (over my left shoulder in the picture above) and held it open for him, but he didn’t leave.  Then it happened:  Grab and Dash.  The kid with the glasses picked up a case a beer and they both took off running.  The clerk saw absolutely nothing.  We told him what happened but the dim-witted kid just shrugged and said there was nothing he could do.  This was the same kid who told us minutes before that he had a motorcycle, but crashed it because he “had to lay it down” to avoid a semi that turned in front of him.  Totally clueless.

From Rockford it wasn’t long before we got into Chicago, a little later than I wanted, but still early enough (6am) to avoid most of the rush hour traffic.  The Zumo was acting flaky, routing us on some other roads when we really just needed to stay on 90 the whole way.  After a couple of wrong turns I just ignored it and followed the signs to Indiana.

I have to say Chicago has the worst drivers of any we encountered, second worst were Connecticut.  The Chicago drivers make multiple lane changes, dart in and out of traffic and keep the speeds pretty high.  At least they had high speed EZ-Pass tolls.  Ohio and most of Indiana still don’t believe in toll transponders.

We pulled into the first rest area we saw to get some more sleep.  


Doug’s luck changed as he found a $20 bill in the grass, right next to his bike.  Doug slept for awhile, but I couldn’t manage any.  It was time to leave and again the Screaming Meanie could not wake him.

Not much to say about the rest of the afternoon.  Riding across Indiana and Ohio was extremely boring.  We started playing “Follow the Rabbit” again which relieved some of the boredom.  Cops were a lot more plentiful here, “welcome back east,” I thought.



At a stop in Pennsylvania that afternoon Doug told me that his chain felt worse and that he didn’t think it would make it the rest of the way.  We adjusted it again and it seemed about the same.  I had been riding alongside Doug occasionally to check it out and it didn’t seem to have too much excessive slop in it.




It’s lunched…


Bag damage





As we left one gas station I turned my camera sideways and told Doug I was going to take a picture of him at speed.  As we got back onto I-80 I started talking to him on the radio, but he wasn’t responding.  (Not that unusual, as the radios were not too effective at highway speeds.)  As I pulled alongside of him I saw his communication cable dangling from the bike and hanging inside the chain guard, next to the sprocket and chain.  I motioned Doug to pull over and he fixed it.  How it didn’t get enmeshed in the chain and sprockets I don’t know.


At least we did get the picture

It was getting later in the day and the elevation was climbing, making it pretty cold.  Doug didn’t bring any heated gear (it was July).  We stopped at a rest area, geared up and looked at the chain.  I noticed that his rear tire looked pretty low.  I checked it with the gauge:  20 pounds.  Oh no, not this too.  We got to the next exit (Snowshoe), but couldn’t find an air hose.  I brought along an onboard compressor so we pulled that out and got the tire aired up.  We couldn’t find any obvious leaks and pushed on a few more exits to check it out.

By this time it was getting dark and although home was still possible, we were still hundreds of miles away and my GPS was telling me something about a 3am arrival.

As we were pulling into the Danville exit it started to rain, our first drops for the whole two weeks.  We decided we needed to get some food and rest up so we found a motel/restaurant and had some dinner.  We inquired about a motel room, but were told they had “the last room” available at about $130 (twice what we were usually paying).  After thinking hard about it we decided to stay the night.  We were both exhausted and riding in the rain at night, through Pennsylvania (deer country) was not high on my list of fun activities.  The room was actually a suite and pretty nice.

[Hulked Up]

Day 14:  Saturday, July 14, Danville, Pennsylvania to S. Deerfield, Mass. (home)

Doug didn’t feel like his chain was going to make it the rest of the way and wanted to find a Honda dealer to get it replaced.  The Zumo found us one just a few miles away in Bloomsburg.  The dealer was great, they had the chain in stock and didn’t keep us waiting long at all.  They even diagnosed the tire as having a slow leak from running over the steel belts in Montana.  It would be fine the rest of the trip.  We talked to our friend Scott-sts, who gave us a little pep talk so that we could finish the rest of the ride without incident.

The ride home through Pennsylvania, New York and Connecticut did pass without any problems.  Doug said the bike felt completely different with a new chain.  The tech. at the dealership said he had never seen a chain that bad.



Doug and I parted ways in Newtown, Connecticut.  Not long after I had my third near-miss of the trip home.  Traffic was slowing down and a truck in the next lane didn’t pick it up at first.  He slammed on his brakes and swerved into my lane to avoid the car in front of him.  I had to go across the left rumble strip and shoulder to avoid him.  


Getting closer…


Finally!




Whooped, as my brother would say.

I pulled into my driveway about 5pm, more than 12 hours after I intended, and after doing an (undocumented) Saddlesore 2000 just to get there.  But it was a very satisfying feeling to finally be home.  My wife was more than glad to see me.

The next day I gave the bike a complete cleaning and detailing.  Total mileage for the trip was over 7,300 and aside from a burned out headlight bulb the VFR gave me absolutely no problems.





After-thoughts

I’ve got some definite mixed feelings about the trip.  On the one hand we got to see some pretty amazing sights and the riding was above and beyond anything available on the east coast.  I’ve also got the pride that I rode the VFR across the country.  On the other hand we had too much downtime, some unavoidable and some due to lack of preparation.  We also did a lot of bad riding: 700 mile days and numerous overnights, none of which was too fun.  

The trip ended up costing me about $1500 for gas, motels and food.  I spent several hundred more on bike prep. before we left.  For a future trip I’d have to look seriously at flying and renting a bike.  It might cost more but you have more time riding the good roads and less worry about break-downs.

One (non-motorcycling) thing I realized was just how much our economy depends on low wage workers.  Everywhere we went we met gas station clerks, waitstaff, motel clerks, housekeepers, etc. that weren’t making much money but were working very hard.  I remember our server in Danville, Penna. telling me she drove 40 miles to get to her job.  There weren’t many people in the restaurant that night so I had to admire her initiative.  I also felt pretty blessed to be able to do a ride like this; it wouldn’t have happened just a few years ago.

Finally, this trip reinforced that traveling by motorcycle is still the best way to travel.  We met people everyday, strangers who were interested enough in us to just start up a conversation.  Without exception everyone we met was great.  So, I’ll keep touring, but will definitely make some changes for the next trip.

Meaningless Statistics

Odometer Start in NYC:  60,257 miles
Odometer End at Home:  67,648 miles

Total Trip Mileage:  7,391 miles (GPS odometer fragged in Mitchell, South Dakota)

Highest Temperature:  103 degrees, Stockton, California
Lowest Temperature:  48 degrees, overnight in Wyoming
(we brought two complete riding suits and I had a heated jacket and gloves – we used everything)

Gallons of Gas Used:  160.311 gallons
Cheapest Gas:  $2.859 in Stuart, Iowa
Most Expensive Gas:  $3.399 in Battle Mountain, Nevada; Bodega Bay, Calif., Arcata, Calif. and I-90 rest area in Indiana.
Amount Spent on Gas:  over $475
Cost in gas to ride from NY to SF:  $197.75

Favorite State to Ride:  California (has everything)
Least Favorite State:  Ohio (flat, boring and too many cops, but at least they had White Castle)

Best Motel Room:  Microtel in Bozeman, Montana
Worst Motel:  Travelodge, San Rafael (poor location, surly owners, double charged me)

[hovmaven]

Out freakin' standing.  



I'll use your report for guidance if I ever get the nerve.  

[atypical1]

Great report and loved the afterthoughts portion. Very true stuff!  

james

[Rigger]

  Holy crap thats one hell of a trip!

[Liquidsilver]

  Holy crap thats one hell of a trip!

What he said.

[MK96xj]

Very nice trip. It sounds like it got much better after you stopped trying yo beat the clock.

Preprep goes along way. Glad yo umade it back safe to enjoy another trip.

Long read but well worth it.

[Orson]

Heckuva trip  

kudos to y'all for attempting the more difficult New York - San Francisco 50 CC. You came close!  

beautiful pictures...makes me wish I had a dashboard cam.  

[toddrod]

what a fantastic read.....

what a real shame that all those pics were lost early on in the trip.

While I was reading, I got the impression that you made a the smartest decision by not completing the 50cc. You came close, but if you had pushed it, it probably would have ended in bad news.

As you seemed to get closer to the end of your trip, I also seemed to think that you both were not getting enough sleep, and it was not as much fun for ya. I think it was also very smart that you got the room so close to home instead of trying to push it.

Man, too bad about the one VFR having those mechanical problems. However, that actually will make your trip much more interesting when you look back years down the road. It is much more of an experience than having everything work out perfectly.

Congrats to you and your friend Hulked!!  

[Hulked Up]

When I was thinking about whether to end the 50CC attempt or not I remembered this quote from Jon Krakauer's book, Into Thin Air, about Mount Everest.  He talked to one mountaineer who had probably prepared for years for his climb up Everest.  The guy got nearly to the summit but the weather conditions there were dangerous so he had to turn around and go all the way back home w/o summitting.  His rationale is that you have to be prepared to walk away if the conditions aren't right, despite all the prep. work.  Obviously a 50CC isn't Everest, but riding exhausted can be just as dangerous.  In the end, it was a pretty easy decision and we were happier without having to fixate on the clock.

[Orson]

and you'll have the memory of riding the Pacific Coast Highway.

In my opinion, that's the road every motorcyclist should ride before they kick the bucket

 

[st2sam]

You -da-man Hulkster!
Fantastic, awesome job, thanks for sharing. It's a     ride and report!