Travelogue

June 27, 2010

North America/USA   06:49 PM
The Lift To Reno -- And Code Word For Mustang Ranch.

The Whoa Nellie Deli was teeming with business, cash registers ringing, cooks shouting numbers and a line to order. It was my third night ordering and I felt local, part of the crew. And now, we were in a bind. We needed to get Jeremiah's bike on a truck headed to Reno and I looked forward to crossing Tioga Pass into Yosemite.

So with my baby back ribs, I asked for a little help.

"Do you know anybody with a pick up or a trailer who'd like to earn some extra money taking my friend and his bike to Reno?" I asked the 20 something cashier. I explained our situation and then the word was out.

Licking the bbq sauce from my fingers and dirtying up several napkins while Jeremiah chowed on his thick steak, we had several visitors at our table inquiring about our dilemma. One ambitious and enterprising employee of the Whoa Nellie Deli was a true problem solver. Brendon works as a cashier at both the Mobil Station and the deli. In his early thirties with a slight paunch and an easy smile, he moonlights as a fishing guide in the summer and alpine ski instructor at Mammoth in the winter. Sincere and eager, he wanted to help Jeremiah. And he wanted the money. Though his truck was fitted with a cap over the bed, he was negotiating with one of his fellow workers, a hispanic guy in the kitchen. He was going to borrow the truck, pay the kitchen worker $100 and take Jeremiah early in the morning—to be back in time for his shift starting at 11am. The price? $200 plus gas.

"Would you like to go tonight? he asked. "I have to go to the airport," he explained, "it would be much more convenient if we could go after work." I'm not sure if it was the lure of another windy night in his tent at Mono Vista or just nostalgia, but Jeremiah wanted to leave in the morning.

Even after Brendan agreed to the early morning run to Reno, Jeremiah balked, reasoning that he'd find another offer more suitable and perhaps cheaper. "We'll let you know," Jeremiah expressed his uncertainty. But in a town with a population of just a few hundred, I suggested he not hedge his bets. Meanwhile, our enterprising driver was making calls.

By the time Brendan returned, I'd convinced Jeremiah to take him up on the deal. However, Brendan raised the price to $300 plus gas. He called the local AAA and got a quote to take a bike to Reno: $500+

Feeling he shoulda closed the deal earlier, Jeremiah was pissed. Too expensive, he reasoned.

"If you want to go tonight, I'll do it for $200," Brendan offered. "We have to go anyway." That's all it took to convince Jeremiah. An hour later we were loading El Viento into the back of a pickup and tying his baby down.

They got to Reno at 1:30am. The next morning before climbing the pass to Yosemite, I chatted with the crew at Whoa Nellie Deli while getting a good dose of protein from a massive breakfast burrito. After explaining the events the night before, chef owner Matt Toomey laughed.

"They had to go where?" he asked me a third time.

"The airport," I explained, "that's why they gave Jeremiah a better price if they left last night."

"You know what the airport is, Allan?" Matt asked, his cheeks burning red and eyes wide as he laughed and shared the story with the kitchen workers, "they were going to Mustang Ranch!" For those of you who don't know, Mustang Ranch was Nevada's first licensed brothel in the only state in the USA where prostitution is both legal—and regulated.

The next morning Jeremiah waited until the doors of Sierra BMW were open for business. Jeremiah's e-mail explains what happened to his bike:

I got the bike into Sierra's service shop at 9AM on Thu. They've been very accommodating. I took everything apart. The water pump impeller/gasket and seals are fine (hence no oil/water mixing), but the impeller's gears (2, plastic) were completely stripped. This means the engine was unable to turn the impeller and push water to the radiator.

The thermostat failure and the failure of these gears could be related--or not. In 30 years working for BMW service, they've never seen this happen, but aren't surprised. They said they rarely see an F650 with 62,000 miles, and attribute this primarily to normal wear and tear as opposed to a special event. The Death Valley heat may have accelerated the inevitable, but who's to know?

Stockton has the parts. They were ordered just in time on Thu, so they should show today, Fri. So, with any luck I'll be back in business today. We had to drop the oil and coolant to get into the water pump, so I'll be changing both here, at the dealer instead of in a parking lot. I'm also going to change the water pump impeller/seals with the spares I've been carrying, so everything is renewed. This is going to be expensive.

This should be a lesson for you too, as you have a lot of miles. A water pump rebuild should be done to Doc asap.

I bid one last farewell to Matt and the crew at Whoa Nellie Deli, and headed up Tioga Pass, at some 9943 feet, it's California's highest mountain pass.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

June 21, 2010

North America/USA   01:30 PM
Sunrise Mono Lake While Waiting For UPS and the Thermostat

The good news is we will have another shot at sunrise over Lake Mono. This means leaving by 5:30am. The bad news is, there is no UPS early morning delivery in Lee Vining. According to the locals, the UPS truck arrives late afternoon, sometimes after 5pm. We'll be waiting in Lee Vining all day long for a new thermostat.

The BMW tech from San Diego BMW motorcycles told me that a thermostat is absolutely necessary. We can't ride the F650GS Dakar without something to restrict the flow of water through the radiator. Without the thermostat the water flows through too quickly leaving the radiator no time to cool the water. At once this makes sense, and it doesn't Years ago we used to remove faulty thermstats from cars to solve overheating problems. Then again, the radiator on our bikes is very small.

We spent the day reviewing our photos, reading and finally closing the evening with yet another meal at Lee Vining's Mobil gas station's infamous Whoa Nellie Deli.

Lee Vining is not only famous as the eastern gateway to Yosemite National Park, Bodie Ghost Town California State Park and Mono Lake, its reputation as perhaps the windiest spot along California Route 395 was confirmed as all night long the chilly winds shook my tent and whistled through the leaves of distant cottonwood trees.

Eager to catch the early sun at Mono Lake, Jeremiah and I took off around 5am. In an effort to spare my shock further abuse, Jeremiah took his bike hoping it'd be cool enough to allow him to get there in time. Unfortunately, he had to pull off the road about ten times, let the bike cool and move on. An eerie steely blue sky with streaks of grey and platinum clouds accented by the subtle glow of the rising sun made for better pictures this morning as we tried to rationalize our time pent here as prisoners in Lee Vining.

Sitting in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and on the fringe of the shores of Lake Mono, Lee Vining takes the brunt of climatic activity as cool air whips down from the mountains and meets the warm desert. This contributes to the windy climate. But the odd thing about the small historic town of Lee Vining is its lack of shade. There are no mature shade trees, and none of the businesses and even the school, local park and community organizations have built any shade structure. One restaurant in town has a few umbrellas on its patio, but that's about it. So the prospect of tearing down Jeremiah's bike in the blazing desert sun wasn't appealing. Figuring a UPS arrival of late afternoon, we reasoned that the local high school building would provide a tad of shade and flat concrete sufficient to work and layout tools.

We waited in the Lee Vining Public Library, which is open only three hours daily, from 2pm until 5pm. We were still mulling around the high school parking lot at 5:30pm when UPS finally arrived. Jeremiah jumped into action and in less than an hour the thermostat was fit in place and we were bleeding the cooling system and packing our bikes.

The only shade in Lee Vining -- behind the High School and next to the library.

The new thermostat on the left has four tabs keeping the spring in place. The old thermostat barely has one tab, while a broken piece fell out as Jeremiah pulled the unit out. Where are the other two tabs? Perhaps floating around El Viento's cooling system. Uh oh.

Notice the wacky hose clamp sculpture. When removing the thermostat housing, Jeremiah cracked the bottom of the housing where the clip secures the unit and keeps it from dropping down. So with pressure that crack will get larger and eventually break the housing. Using this maze of clips is Jeremiah's way of jerry-rigging the unit for longevity -- we hope -- by reducing pressure down.

Worried about the presence of deer on the road to Yosemite, we headed up Tioga pass with trepidation. But it wasn't the deer that fouled up our plan just 3 miles into our journey, it was coolant spewing onto Jeremiah's riding pants and all over the left side of his bike. The new thermostat failed to correct the problem.

Now we were stuck. As daylight faded, Jeremiah waited on the side of the road while I ran back to Mono Vista RV Park to grab the last campsite while spreading the word we were looking for someone with a pickup or trailer who wouldn't mind earning a little money by taking Jeremiah and his bike to Reno, 120 miles away and home to the closest BMW dealer . But it was inevitable. We'd spend a third night in wonderful Lee Vining.

When I returned roadside to Jeremiah he was talking to a man in a late model pickup. In his hand was a familiar looking computer case. Confused, I wondered why he had my computer. I used it last at the Lee Vining public library and packed it up before we worked on Jeremiah's bike. Turns out I never locked in my pannier, instead it lay under the only shade tree in Lee Vining. After leaving for Yosemite, the school bus driver saw it under the tree and tried to catch us. But he was too late, we were already a few miles up 120 toward Yosemite. Amazingly, he passed us in the other direction as we headed back to town. He pulled a fast U-turn and caught up with Jeremiah as I headed to camp.

Back luck for Jeremiah, turned out to be good luck for me. If Jeremiah's latest fix hadn't worked and we made it to Camp 4 in Yosemite tonight, I would've been in for a devestating surprise–my computer would be gone. What would've I done? Go back to Lee Vining to look? I'd rack my brain for the chain of events to the last time I saw my computer. Luckily a good samaritan in Lee Vining went out of his way to help us—and returned my computer. Just goes to prove that while I experienced kindness, trust and friendship from humanity all around the world, we have the same right here in my backyard— in the USA. I was lost for words. But still needn't to get Jeremiah out of his jam.

We headed to the Whoa Nellie Deli one more time: looking for food and truck ride to Reno.

Posted by allan | Comments (3)

June 17, 2010

North America/USA   09:58 PM
Whoa Nellie Deli - Another Day In Lee Vining

I've seen Taco Bell, Pizza Hut and a bevy of other questionable food for sale at gas stations on the road. But this Mobil station just a 1/4 mile west of 395 on route 120 toward Tioga Pass and Yosemite National Park had the most unusual food selection and highest prices I'd ever seen for a roadside gas and convenience store. From lobster taquitos, wild buffalo meatloaf, St. Louis style bbq ribs, burgers, fish tacos, grilled pork tenderloin and $25 pizzas, the Whoa Nellie Deli even had elk on special. The breakfast menu was equally enticing. And just like you'd expect, you order at the counter, grab your own silverwhere and wait for your number to be called. The hot food met our expectations. Sitting in a sterile, laminate booth in a Mobil Station eating prime cuts of meat, Jeremiah and I realized that while the status of our bikes was in question, we wouldn't go hungry in Lee Vining.

During the summer the Whoa Nellie Deli offers live music on Thursday and Sunday nights and is very clear, with signage and on its menu:

Warning To All Customers!

We do not allow excessive drinking,
smoking, foul language, womanizing, gambling,
fighting, lying, tree hugging, bear wrestling,
trout taunting, spraying, bird watching,
or just plain screwing around…unless you work here.

-- The Whoa Nellie Deli, Lee Vining, CA

The sunrise over Lake Mono was stunning. We rode two-up south on 395 as the bright orange orb slowly appeared from behind distant desert mountains, casting long shadows and looking east, silhouetting the tufa formations rising out of Mono Lake. To the west, the snowcapped Sierra Nevada Mountains reflected in the still waters. For better photographs, we should have arrived 30 minutes or more earlier.

It took nearly 30 minutes to get to the lake. After returning to our campsite I realized that riding Jeremiah on the back of my bike with a shock in questionable condition wasn't a good idea. With each mile my bike bounced three or four times before settling. I was losing dampening.

The thermostat on a BMW F650GS Dakar sits in a cylindrical housing that fits vertically in a tubular channel at one end of the radiator. Held in by a hidden u-shaped brass spring clip, it's not evident how to release the clip. With a screw driver, as Jeremiah tried to lever the clip he cracked part of the plastic channel which secures the clip in place and holds the thermostat housing. The plans was simple: remove the thermostat and run the bike without it until we had a new part to replace it. We figured this would get us into Yosemite and then the California coast.

Replacing the housing was the toughest part. The clip just wouldn't give and we couldn't slide it back in until we applied intense upward pressure on the bottom of the housing while shimmying the clip into place. Took more than an hour. I packed up camp as Jeremiah put the pieces of his back together. Fired up and eager to continue our journey, we blasted out of Mono Vista RV Park about 2:30 pm, stopping to fill our tanks and stomach at the Mobil Station and the Whoa Nellie Deli.

Just above the hose is the bottom of the radiator.
Through the narrow opening you can spot a copper colored clip,
this is what must be levered in order to release the thermostat housing stuffed vertically up that friggin' hole!

With my visor open and the cool wind whipping through my helmet, the pine trees towered above and the tarmac zoomed beneath my boots. I leaned into the first set of turns and I fell into a great groove as the rhythm of riding again quickly set. I rolled the throttle to feel the torque and passed the slow moving motorhome. Riding a motorcycle in such surroundings ignites the senses, pumps the heart and can't help but make me smile. I'm alive.

I look in my rear view. All I see in the distance is that motorhome. No sign of Jeremiah. Forced to break my rhythm, I make a u-turn and find him on the side of the road. Ugly green coolant drips from his pant leg. The fix didn't work. We limp back to Lee Vining and the Mono Vista RV Park.

Lee Vining Mobil Station at 395 and 120 (Tioga Road) home of the Whoa Nellie Deli.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

June 16, 2010

North America/USA   08:20 AM
Goals With Good Intention

The few drops of oil beneath my bike served as confirmation of what I hoped wasn't true. My shock is leaking. And without much room, it'd be only a short time before I was out. Dampening would be compromised, I hoped that the nitrogen would hold me and the bike up. I didn't want another episode like Baja California early in my around the world trip. The shock simply gave way and I had to ride it nearly 500 miles on the spring. That's like bouncing on a pogo-stick for two days—or longer. I replaced that shock in La Paz some 50,000 miles ago. I didn't need this problem on my first lengthy ride since returning home in late 2008.

More riding the Alabama Hills outside Lone Pine

With its smooth granite orbs and towering pinnacles and wrinkled and beveled hills glowing amber and rich copper, Jeremiah and I cruised down from Whitney through the Alabama Hills and Lone Pine and headed north to Bishop. With the snow capped mountains to our east and the seeming endless desert baking in morning sun, now hot and begging for a thinner layer of riding gear, our goal would be lunch in Bishop, ride through Lee Vining to Historic Bodie, a California State Park and the site of a well preserved ghost town. We'll camp in Lee Vining so we'll have a shot at catching the sunrise over Mono Lake before taking Tioga Pass (Route 120) over the Sierras into Yosemite National Park.

As we passed through Independence, home of Manzanar one of the sites of US Japanese internment camps during World War II, I remember from our travels in South America Jeremiah's bread stash. Pancito, the latin people called, were small bread rolls. Not very flavorful, but always somewhat crusty and filling. He'd always buy a small bag for less than a dollar, and he'd have an instant snack when combined with the peanut butter he always had handy in his panniers. "I love bread," he's always remind me, "I could live on bread." When we arrived in Bishop I introduced Jeremiah to the Sin Qua Non bread of the Sierra Nevada: Erik Schat's Bakery. Where in stone hearth ovens, the Schat's Bakery since 1909 bakes natural bread using pure well water from the Sierras, stone ground unbleached flour, other natural ingredients depending on which of the more than a dozen varieties the sell, and of course, never any chemicals or preservatives.

I tried to get photographs inside the bakery showroom, but the staff told me the owner forbids photography, a very strange policy. To put in perspective, perhaps the most secret and protective company in the world, Apple Computer, has no qualms should anyone wish to shoot photography in any of the company's retail locations. Certainly, Schat's capture's its share of tourists passing through Bishop, but more photos, tweets, blogs and Diggs etc., couldn't hurt. Nonetheless, Jeremiah is is in breadlover's paradise. He chooses the 150% Raisin bread and we head north.

As I downshift to make the turnoff to Bodie a dozen Harleys from Florida rumble by, each offering the ubiquitous biker wave, but no sign of Jeremiah. I busy myself sorting my gear, playing with my GPS and watching travelers pass. I reason that Jeremiah, dressed only in a mesh jacket, was feeling a bit of the late afternoon chill climbing the Conway Grade to the 8,000+ foot pass and pulled over to add a layer. Or maybe he wanted to grab a quick birds eye photo of Owens Valley and Mono Lake. Either way, I was worried after fifteen long minutes and headed back. Nearly at the top of the pass I spotted a California Highway Patrol cruiser and Jeremiah's motorcycle. I spotted the cop tucked behind tall brush as I blazed up the pass. But these 650cc motorcycles, heavily loaded and climbing steep passes just don't gain much speed. Plenty of other cars, trucks and bigger block bikes push MPH north of 80 climbing that pass. Was Jeremiah winding out his bike, El Viento fast enough to trip the radar of California's finest? Not a chance.

The only photo we got at Schat's Bakery in Bishop was out on the patio where I finally felt what it was like to ride a Harley along the Eastern Sierra.

Looks like he's being interrogated. Nope. Just a concerned officer helping a stranded motorcyclist.

What have we here?

The CHP had to take off when an accident report flashed over his radio.

Jeremiah begins his coast down the pass - 12 miles to Lee Vining, I had to tow him the last seven.

Turns out, my shock would be the lesser of our bike problems. For El Viento bubbled over. It overheated. And Jeremiah had nearly half his bike in pieces on the side of the road trying to diagnose the problem. Perhaps the tell tale sign was the radiator cap wasn't hot. Coolant had spewed from the overflow. Either the water pump failed or the thermostat was stuck closed. Peeking into oil reservoir, the fluid looked nearly as black as the Gulf Coast, but without the water. You see, in most cases when the water pump impeller fails, the seals go along with it—and when the seals fail coolant mixes with the oil. With the oil clean, it had to be the thermostat. The bike couldn't run for more than a few minutes before overheating. We contemplated getting a truck to take El Viento back to Bridgeport of Lee Vining. But sitting at the crest of an 8,000 foot pass, we figured it'd be best to run the bike for a few minutes and then coast down to the valley. From there, we strung three tie-downs together and I safely towed Jeremiah and his bike back to our camp site at the Mono Vista RV Park.

Before it was dark, we stripped El Viento again and tried to figure out where the thermostat was and how to remove it. Without a shop manual or previous experience with the bike's thermostat, we were confused. With the aid of a couple New Mexico riders towing trailers from their Gold Wings and a phone call to a friend we were ready to remove the culprit part. By now it was dark and it was clearly evident exactly how to get to the thermostat. So we cut our losses for the day and headed to dinner at the local Mobil Station: home of the Whoa Nellie Café. According to the CHP officer, it was the best food for 100 miles or more.

Mono Lake Sunrise -- Lee Vining, California

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

June 07, 2010

North America/USA   02:14 PM
Death Valley vs. Mount Whitney

"You should be so happy you didn't meet me in Death Valley," Jeremiah explained when we finally met at the McDonald's (free Wifi and mediocre coffee) the next morning. "I could only sleep after dousing my clothes and silk sleeping bag liner with water—all night long," he said. "It was 120° yesterday."

Photos from Jeremiah, the left taken in the afternoon at Death Valley Visitors Center; on the right the thermometer on his bike shows the morning temp as he arrives in Death Valley: 118° - ouch! I am definately pleased at my decision to choose alpine temperatures versus death temperatures!

After Jeremiah and I split up in January 2007, I never heard from him again. Not through the rest of my time in South America, nor Africa, the Middle East or Europe. I tried to connect with him many times to no avail. I never received another email nor heard anything about him. After my return to the USA in late 2008, my route across the country took me through his home town, Durango, Colorado. Through some investigating while staying in Durango, I managed to find the address to his ranch, which is located on the outskirts of town and down a dirt road. When I showed up in late October 2008, there was nobody home. So on his front steps I left the homecoming gifts and a note. Perhaps the local critters ravaged the food I'd left, but once again, no word.

I was worried. But moved on.

In January 2009, I made a pilgrimage the annual Macintosh computer show, MacWorld, at Moscone Center in San Francisco. Joining my friend Ken, it'd been some six or seven years since I'd been to the show. Wandering the massive show where two huge halls are jammed with exhibitors touting software, printers, iPhone Apps, monitors and more, it takes the better part of three days to completely check out the show. Midday on my second day at Moscone Center, at the eyeTV booth I spot a familiar profile. When the guy turns around my suspicion was confirmed. It's Jeremiah. Here at one of the largest trade shows in San Francisco where nearly 100,000 people visit over 4 days I run into a guy I spent many days traveling with throughout South America.

He's startled when I appear out of the crowd and ask him if he's received any of my emails or telephone calls. There's a lot of silence. Then after a few minutes of catching up it feels as if no time has passed. We relive those days in Bolivia when I broke my leg, and the crazy journey through Northern Mexico. Later that evening Ken and I meet Jeremiah and his buddy for dinner in Chinatown.

Ken Hauck keeping afloat thanks to tens of thousands of iPhone Apps at MacWorld January 2009

We've been trying to coordinate a 'reunion' trip since those days in San Francisco. We'd finally agreed to beginning June 2010. Jeremiah started from Durango Colorado on the 24th of May. We agreed to meet in California on June 3rd. Through email, voice mail and text, Jeremiah suggested he'd be in Death Valley on the eve of the 3rd. I could get an early start from San Diego and meet him somewhere along the Eastern Sierra. I'd questioned Death Valley in June, and by the time I got to the turn off to Death Valley, I'd made the decision that it'd be too hot. For me, it would be better to meet in Lone Pine. So I made my way to the Whitney Portal Campground and sent word to Jeremiah I'd see him here the following morning.

Hanging with Jeremiah in Chinatown, San Francisco January 2009

It's a bit of deja vu. His bike looks the same. He's wearing the same gear and helmet. Turns out, McDonald's WiFi was down, so we continued our storytelling and made plans for the next few days at a nearby coffee shop outfitted with working WiFi.

Jeremiah is a former National Park ranger having worked at Rainier National Park in Washington, Canyonlands, and others. But this was the first time in many years since he'd been to the Eastern Sierra. With the Alabama Hills awash in red light as the sunset, we decided to camp at Whitney Portal -- this would be my second night. For Jeremiah, the cool mountain air, rushing alpine creek and towering pines would provide the much needed relief and stark contrast to his night at Furnace Creek in Death Valley, where he surely felt he slept in a furnace.

Even Lone Pine experienced a heatwave this weekend. After getting up to catch the sunrise and riding the Alabama Hills, by afternoon we searched and found shelter and smoothies at a local shop before heading toward Bishop and points north.

The primary road north, California Route 395, with the majestic snowcapped Sierra Nevada Mountains towering to the west crosses the Owens Valley where Cottonwoods and saltbush scrub blanket the high desert to the eastern horizon where the White Mountains, home to the oldest living things on the planet, bristlecone pines, form the border between California and Nevada. Our destination, the historic ghost town of Bodie just outside of Bridgeport.

Morning sun filters through the Ponderosa and Sugar Pines at Whitney Portal Campground.

The Road to Whitney Portal Campground looks north up Owens Valley toward Bishop.

Second night campsite along Tuttle Creek at Whitney Portal Campground outside Lone Pine, California

Jeremiah taking a photo break while exploring the Alabama Hills outside Lone Pine, famously remembered for many Hollywood Westerns that were filmed here, including High Sierra, How The West Was Won, Gunga Din and many others.

Nice riding in the Alabama Hills with the towering Sierra Nevada Mountains as the backdrop.

Early morning, heading from Mount Whitney north toward Bishop.

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June 06, 2010

North America/USA   10:16 AM
On The Road Again

The roar of rushing water drowns out the muted sounds of nearby campers as I stare upward following the pattern of the bark of tall pine trees touching the sky. At some 9,000 feet, the dots perforating the sky, those inspiring and twinkling stars, seem that much closer. Though I feel funny sitting in front of this LCD screen as the embers of my fire fade to the sound of pop, crackle and the odd snap. Today's ride, from the fogged in coast of north county San Diego, though the weekend madness of the inland empire, I traveled some 150 miles before 14 lines funneled down to two, and the roadside clutter finally disappeared.

Eager to get off the slab and find a one or two lane road!

Soon Joshua cactus trees towered, and sage brush disappeared into the horizon and the dimpled and neatly folded hills of distant mountains appeared across the umber desert. And I'm back on my motorcycle.

I have a bit of a hard time with travel by bike these days. First, it takes too long to get anywhere interesting. Second, even when it's interesting, my mind drifts to Wadi Rum, Ethiopia, the Nile River and the Sudan. So I learn to look closer and get in tune. My ride across the Mojave was marked by killing a few liters of water and feeling the motion and rhythm of a packed motorcycle.

Though I just passed through these roads a month or so back in a car, on motorcycle the scenery, other cars and trucks and the commercial establishments that appear and then fade all take on a new dimension. It's perspective combined with awareness. In the car I don't really know how hot it is until I get out. Music fills the space and tinted windows filter the sunlight. On the bike it's me, the road whizzing by at speed and the wind and everything it carries with it is in my face. If I stop, the temperature surges. When I cruise, I'm comfortable.

The short little journey is a bit of a reunion tour. You see I'm meeting Jeremiah, aka Miah. For regular readers of my world travelers, you might remember him as I traveled south through Mexico. I then reunited with him just a week before the fateful day my bike slid out from under me on a rutted muddy road on the way to Uyuni, Bolivia. I broke my leg badly that day, and had to call it quits to my journey—that is, until I returned many months later and continued for another two years.

Jeremiah is heading from Durango, Colorado through the amazing southern Utah deserts, through Vegas and Death Valley. Had I departed earlier today I might have caught up with him at Furnace Creek in Death Valley National Park. But traveling, for me and by motorcycle, takes a warm up period. So while he baked in 116 degree heat and finally set up camp at perhaps the lowest place on earth, I'm hanging in the shadow of the tallest mountain peak in the Continental United States, or as my friends in public service might say, CONUS.

I look forward to riding again with Jeremiah. It's a short stint, but we're on a bit of photo odyssey. I hope to share images with you as we take in some of the best of the Sierra Nevada mountains and surrounding areas.

I finally found a dirt road that looped off the main highway. Closest I could come to real adventure today!

Hot days like these requires a lot of hydration.

Classic roadside signage in Lone Pine, California

Camping near the portals of Mount Whitney outside Lone Pine, California

Days Details:

291 miles traveled

Moving Average 61.1 mph

Moving Time: 4 hours 40 minutes

Total Time 6 hours 6 minutes

wish I had average and high/low temps!

Posted by allan | Comments (5)

February 08, 2010

North America/USA   08:26 PM
The Universal Language.

Thank all of you who've dropped me a note over the last couple months inquiring as to what's next with WorldRider. I am happy to report I'm safe and staying warm, albeit wet for the past few weeks, in Southern California.

I gave a presentation to a group not long ago and during the question and answer session I was asked a loaded question. One that I thought I'd share here. The question was multilayered and focused on what were the most important things I brought with me that without them my journey would've been much more difficult. And in the same breath was asked if at anytime I felt in danger and what did I bring to keep myself from trouble.

Almost instinctively I first acknowledged that the most important thing I packed on my trip was patience. For without it, it would've been hard to make any progress. Too many of us tend to get used to our own expectations. It's those expectations and the failure to realize them that causes frustration, anger and ill will. As for what did I use when I felt in danger, threatened or in a compromising situation? I brought the cheapest, lightest and frankly, most powerful weapon known to mankind. My smile. Not only does it transcend language, culture and political borders, it's so easy to use. Though I know some people might need a bit of training or practice in using it. Trust me. It's the universal language. And it works. I touch on these things in greater detail and in context with stories in my upcoming book.

The good news is that things are progressing nicely my two book projects. These should hit the bookstore shelves this summer. Two books? Yes. My travelogue adventure and discovery story tentatively titled "From the Boardroom to Bolivia and Beyond," is an exciting story of personal quest and adventure and explores the motivation of my three-year journey, my resignation from the company I founded, divorce and many lessons and discoveries along with the and nail biting adventure and challenge of my journey including finding myself in the jungle with two Colombian guerillas through the tragic injury in the middle of nowhere on the Bolivian Altiplano and to my journey home.

Yet it seems it's the second book that's gaining all the attention. For regular followers of my journeys, you'll remember that I had an epiphany a few months after returning from my journey. And that was after cooking a casual meal for good friends consisting of some of my favorite foods from my journey -- a moqueca from Brazil and an amazing Syrian salad. It was Bonnie's casual suggestion "Allan you should do a cookbook," that triggered this adventuring in cooking and food from around the world. The book includes some 30 recipes from most of the countries I visited. The book is designed to be an adventure and exploration in food, culture and geography. Thank you to all my friends from all over the world who've helped me track down recipes from those amazing local meals I enjoyed.

We're in the middle of photographing the food and our first batch includes recipes from Brasil, Syria, Turkey, Zambia, Rwanda, Uganda and Peru. Some time this spring I'll post a few of the recipes so you can try out the food. But you'll have to wait for the book to truly immerse yourself in the experience.

Many have asked if I'll be giving any public presentations this winter. As many of you know, I've been getting booked for a number of corporate meetings and conferences. These are typically prvate and closed events. However, I'm working with BMW to see we can't organize a mini-tour of dealers throughout the states. Ask your BMW dealer if they've received the notice from BMW corporate.

Posted by allan | Comments (2)

September 21, 2009

Mexico/USA   08:03 PM
Baja California. History. Water. Endangered. And Great Photography.

Imagine California more than 150 years ago. Until Spain recognized Mexico's sovereignty in 1821, California was a Spanish colony. This colony was separted by two missionary factions. In the North, Alta California was governed by the Franciscan missions and to the south Baja California was under Frandiscon mission rule. But the young sovereign Mexico soon had its hands full when a perhaps overly zealous US President James Polk seemed bent on fulfilling our nations manifest destiny pushed Stonewall Jackson, Zachary Taylor and a talented group of junior officers which included Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee into Mexico. U.S. Troops battled their way through Mexico until they occupied Mexico City and thereby setting the stage for the Mexican Cession of 1848 when Alta California and Nuevo Mexico were ceded to the United States -- a condition that ended the war.

As the cliché aptly dictates, 'the rest is history.'

Modern day Alta California, or the 31st state to join the union, is the fifth largest economy in the world. But southern California, a significant contributor to that position, is an unlikely oasis smack in the middle of a grand desert -- unable to sustain itself with local water sources. Thus, the on-again, off-again rival with Northern California and the other Colorado River basin states -- many of which, ironically enough, were part of territories negotiated from Mexico.

Water is life. And while I certainly didn't need to span half the globe to find evidence of this notion, it hit me harder than I ever imagined as I skirted the border of Namibia and Angola while trekking Kaokoland and the African nomadic tribe of the Himba.  And then seeing how water is also death as the mighty Zambezi spilled and spilled its bounty into the flood plains of Mozambique and Zimbabwe forcing people to migrate and spreading disease along the way. We see it when the media makes it news. But until you really see it and see the people does it move one into action.

But here in California, we've somehow negotiated not only the state from foreign hands, but the water that we need to stay alive. Except we've negotiated that from our domestic brethren and neighbors. Fortunate to turn the tap and have the magical elixir quench our thirst instantly, this seemingly basic American privledge disappears once you cross that line once drawn by the missions which now is a wall separating the United States from Mexico and California from Baja California.

My around the world odyssey also took a turn when I crossed that line and entered Baja, California a few short years ago. On a rough yet beautiful road that parallels the pristine coast along the Sea of Cortez from Puertocistos to Coco's Corner through the Sonoran Desert, I found myself out of water. With temperatures north of 100 degrees fahrenheit, the often rocky and washboarded road eventually caused my shock to blow -- overheated, overworked and over done. Sandy washes caused me to dump the bike. And my overworked body was nearly dehydrated -- and there were no services, no taps, no convenience stores along the way. Exhausted and spent, I was saved by the one-legged man known to all as simply Coco.  

I often wonder what Baja California would be like had it been part of the Treaty of Guadalupe back in 1845. For more than 150 years it has remained wild, beautiful and host to wildlife that reaches the tops of its mountains to the coral reefs of the Sea of Cortex and the surf-pounding waves of the Pacific. And while its natural beauty is compelling on its own, the dolphins, whales, lizards, turtles, rays, birds and more all make for a fragile ecosystem that is in serious jeopardy.

The road from Puertocitos to Coco's Corner -- I'm told this is being paved today. I hope not.

The road often not forgiving.

The man only known as Coco.

Recent changes in Mexican law have opened the door for foreign ownership and development. And if not tended to with commitment to care and conservation, Baja, and what makes it so endearing and seductive could die. And that's why I spent my Saturday morning viewing amazing photographs and listening the words of the photographers that shot them at San Diego's Natural History Museum.

Ralph Lee Hopkins has been shooting nature for more than twenty years. Leading many photo adventures with National Geographic's Lindblad Expeditions, Ralph has traveled the waters from Alaska to Baja - and along the way touched whales, swam with dolphins and observed from afar the amazing polar bears. While the beauty cannot be denied, Ralph isn't shy to share those photographs which are not so beautiful -- photographs of places where human intervention and development have left open wounds and irreparable scars on the face of our planet. Ralph has teamed with WildCoast, a non-profit that aims to protect and preserve coastal ecosystems and wildlife in the Californias and Latin America.

This is just one of the amazing photographs of Baja California you'll see at Baja - the photo exhibit featuring Ralph Lee Hopkins  at the Ordover Gallery in San Diego's Natural History Museum.

While Ralph's photo work focuses on the ocean, sea and coastal areas of Baja, Saturday's exhibit and talk also included work and stories by Miguel Angel de la Cueva, who just weeks ago endured and watched the damage caused by Hurricane Jimena.

If you find yourself in Downtown San Diego (Balboa Park) I urge you to check out the exhibit of photographs by Ralph, Miguel and others on the fourth floor in The Ordover Gallery.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

July 18, 2009

North America/USA   01:50 PM
Presentation - San Diego BMW Motorcycles - Friday July 17, 2009

For those of you who made it to last night's presentation at San Diego BMW Motorcycles, I want to thank you for joining me and the guys at SDBMW. I had a great time and am please you enjoyed the photos, videos and storytelling.

For those of you who didn't make it, I'm sharing a handful of photos shot by good friend Rob Eccles.

I delivered my presentation on the showroom floor while those shiny new BMW's graced the front of the dealership. They wheeled my bike, Doc - my 2005 F650GS Dakar - onto the showroom floor for all to see. Yes. The same bike that traveled 62,000 miles through 35 countries over five continents. When the sun finally dipped behind the horizon, I delivered my presentation and hosted a lengthy Q&A session afterwords.

Also, the good folks at Airhawk donated a AirHawk motorcycle seat cusion for a raffle last night. For those of you who don't know about Airhawk and do any distance riding, you better hop on over to their site now and check out what could be the smartest accessory you'll ever buy for your motorcycle -- it'll save your ass! It did mine. I used one the entire three years and 62,000 miles. And I won't ride without it. You can see it in the photo to the right. One of the women attendees was the lucky recipient, Cincy Sutalo. She'll get her choice of an AirHawk Motorcycle Seat Cushion. Airhawk will also be giving away seat cushions at my other presentations -- you just might be lucky enough to win one!

But perhaps the best part of last night's event was the food. I had mentioned to Gary at SDBMW my plans to release a cookbook in early 2010. It was his idea to take the event up a notch and agreed to take some of my recipes and cook them for those who came to the event. Between the San Diego BMW staff and their spouses and customer volunteers they cooked an amazing array of delectable goodies. It was true family-style event from the cooking, to the serving to the community of riders and friends who joined us last night.

To recap the menu:

First Course: Syrian Fattoush Salad

Second Course: Brazillian Moqueca w/steamed rice

Third Course: Lamb Schwarma (Israel / Jordan)

Dessert: Malawian Banana Nut Cake (Malawi, Africa)

  

Judging by the instant feedback last night and the e-mails and posts I've seen already today, the food was a hit and the presentation was okay too!

Next Friday, July 24th, I will be in Northern California south of San Francisco giving my presentation in Mountain View at CalMOTO / CalBMW. While there won't be a four-course WorldRider-inspired menu service, it will be a great time and camaraderie and I'm sure a great audience and presentation. Hope to see you there.

Posted by allan | Comments (2)

July 07, 2009

USA   10:47 AM
WorldRider - California Speaking Events

WorldRider To Speak In Southern & Northern California

I am happy to have the opportunity to bring my experiences, photography and video to a number of locations this summer. If you are in the neighborhood please drop in and say hi.   

I've put together a dynamic multi-media presentation that combines storytelling from my three-year journey, some of my best photography and a handful of video clips. There will be a Q&A at each event and I hope to ride Doc to each location.

July 17 - Friday - 7PM - San Diego BMW Motorcycles, San Diego

Gary Orr and his excellent team will host an international fare of foods from my upcoming WorldRider cookbook prior to my presentation. Come for the good food, camaraderie and WorldRider presentation.

San Diego BMW
5673 Kearny Villa Road
San Diego, CA, 92123
858-560-BIKE (2453)
GPS: N32°50.250' W117°08.083'

July 24 - Friday - 7PM - CALMoto, Mountain View

Kari Prager hosts me at California BMW Triumph Motorcycles in Mountain View for a multimedia presentation and Q&A.

Cal Moto
2490 Old Middlefield Way
Mountain View, California 94043
650.966.1183

Want Me To Speak Somewhere Near You?

If you, your company or your local motorcycle dealer are having an event or interested in hosting one with me as a speaker, drop me a note to discuss details and schedule! And stay posted here for updates for future speaking events.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

February 04, 2009

Travelogue   02:43 PM
The Latest. And A Call For Support.

Truly, I've been amiss in keeping this blog updated since landing back in the states after my three-year 62,000 mile journey through 35 countries spanning five continents. To be sure, there are great stories and photographs from my ride across our great country. During September and October I crossed the USA using only secondary roads and small two-lane highways. The only interstate I traveled was from the Arizona-California border to the California coast. I'll be sure to send an update as I post more stories from those days traveling through Americana.

I feel lucky to have made this trip and to be sure the aclimation back into life in the USA has been interesting, if not challenging. Have I changed? Or am I just seeing things differently, perhaps with more awareness? Regardless, I've been taking time reconnecting with old friends while making new ones.

In fact, I've made lots of new friends both on the road and through the pages of my website through generous "friends", active commenters and curious and vicarioius travelers. That's perhaps the most rewarding part of my trip.

Since I've been back in the USA I've developed a strong friendship with a gentlemen who is on the board of directors of a non-profit organization that has touched a chord in me. As many of you know, I've tried my best to leverage technology in an effort to capture my trip and convey the essence of my experience through this blog. From digital photography, to dynamic PodCasts and video production and story telling, my computer and those things that plug into or integrate the technology have enabled me to learn, share and communicate simply and cost-effectively from virtually every corner of the globe.

But most of the warm-hearted and culturally rich people I've met over the past three years cannot do as I have done. Here in the USA and other developed nations, we have access to technology that allows us to grow personally while providing us an economic advantage. Often on my journey I've wondered what it would take to get this technology into the hands of the disadvantaged. I believe that with computers, internet access and training these people can improve education, healthcare and commerce -- ideally helping them become self-sufficient.

That's where the non-profit comes in.

I urge all of you to take a look at World Computer Exchange. This organization acquires computers that would be otherwise relegated to landfills, tossed into a heap in the garage or sit lonely awaiting just any bid on e-Bay. They then service the machines and ultimately get them into the hands of community leaders in third-world countries.   

Here's where you can help. Right now World Computer Exchange has a container shipment of personal computers destined for Senegal in western Africa. They're short about $3,400 for paying for this shipment to Africa. The gear in this twenty-foot container will supply 15 schools and offer 6,000 youth access to 200 computers. The Peace Corps in Senegal is involved in this effort too.

World Computer Exchange is a very small organization but extremely focused on bringing technology to underdeveloped communities. Ideally, World Computer Exchange would like to find contributing "sponsors" to cover the $3,400 container shipment to Africa.

For more information about the Senegal shipment and details of how you can help and send contributions visit the Senegal info page here.

More about World Computer Exchange - Expand Minds, Not Landfills.

Used computers connecting 2,500 schools, libraries, universities &
orphanages in developing countries.

700 volunteers building capacity in 500 partner groups in 67 countries in
planning, fund raising, content & partnerships.

Teams of volunteer tech professionals using vacation time to train & help
upgrade and troubleshoot networks.

Consortium of professionals promoting recycling of electronic waste in
developing countries.

I hope some of you, even in these tough times, will find a way to get these computers shipped to Africa.

Stay tuned for more on my WorldRider travels... soon!

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

October 07, 2008

North America/USA   12:40 PM
With Kansas Behind Me, I'm Really Coming Home

As I winded my way across Kansas I knew I'd be kissing the great plains good bye and would soon be climbing the steppes to the Rockies. Decisions must be made. As winter sneaks upon this part of the country I wonder where should I cross the continental divide. Have the Aspens begun their transformation? When will the first snow fall? And where?  

I set my sites on Colorado Springs. Two reasons. Two very dear friends, both of whom worked for me in some capacity or another in the past moved from California not long before I started this journey. My old company spawned a number of love affairs, relationships and marriages. But perhaps none has sustained like Heather and Doug. Doug an amazing illustrator and perhaps an even better watercolor painter met Heather, a production artist, designer and production manager there in the mid-90's. They shared passion for music, art, travel and wine. Seems that before I even knew what was going on, they were making marriage plans. Then came their lovely children, Frankie and Beckett. And they pursued their passion and love for the outdoors and moved to Colorado. Even better, they've opened an Art Gallery and Wine Bar (including serving delectable eats, I've heard) just outside the city in the historical district of Monument: The Second Street Art Market and Wine Bar. Anyone traveling between Denver and Colorado Springs or find themselves in that part of the country must visit!

Though as I crossed the border into Colorado, there was no hint of mountains, continental divide or anything but more silos, agriculture, tractors and field workers. My plan was to try to make to the Springs by nightfall, though I knew I'd be pushing myself and Doc.

Also in Colorado Springs I'd hoped to connect with another kindred spirit, Kyle. I never expected that I'd meet someone at perhaps the country's best producer of ear protection products -- for sound attenuation - that shared a passion for travel and motorcycles. I'd been using Westone products for more than 15 years when I contacted the Colorado Springs based company in 2004. In preparing for my journey, I knew I'd need a good set or earplugs or two that would make it around the world. I rarely ride my motorcycle without my Westone custom fit ear plugs designed specifically for motorcyclists. I also hoped to find high-quality custom earphones (or earbuds) that would be comfortable under a motorcycle helmet -- for those rare times I might be on a long road where music might make the miles go by quicker.

One of the executives of the company took an interest in my journey and helped me with the earplugs and buds. But two things happened to me in South America. First, some Ecuadorian school children took advantage of my absentmindedness and stole the earbuds I'd draped over the door in a gas station bathroom while changing into some rain gear. And the nasty winds in Patagonia got hold of one of my ear plugs and sent it sailing into the chilly waters near the Perito Moreno glacier.

When I contacted Westone again to requisition replacements I met Kyle. With a V-Strom and a restored 4 x 4, Kyle and his band of local friends love to take to the miles of dirt roads in and around the Colorado Springs area. Through my travels we communicated regularly and built a friendship. I hoped to finally meet him in Colorado Springs.

I continued to follow Colorado State Route 96. Through the town of Haswell, where I had to make the decision to pass on seeing the nation's smallest jailhouse. And then through Sugar City where 96 crosses railroad tracks that seem to have long been ignored. Soon came nightfall. Temperature dropped. Wind picked up. No sign of city lights. Dark and lonely on the prairie.

When I arrived in Monument I was greeted by happy faces, smiles and home cooked meal. Starting to really feel like I am coming home.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

October 05, 2008

North America/USA   01:19 PM
Best Marketed Signs On The Back Roads of America

I'm fascinated, if not obsessed with the stuff that litters the backroads of America. Dotted with the small business endeavors of the "every" man or woman hoping to realize the American dream, I found an amazing array of visible roadside tactics intended to attract customers and differentiate. From banners to balloons to barns as billboards to mobile and fixed signs to waving greeters, clowns and healthy and bouncy cheerleaders, perhaps none struck me more than the ubiquitous portable flashing arrow sign complete with changeable letters.

You know the kind.

They are everywhere. I imagined the clever, persistent and super-effective salesman who traveled these same roads prior to my arrival touting the cost-effectiveness of such a staple in American's small business landscape. And I imagined once he closed the deal, delivered and collected his cash and commission, the salesman blew town as fast as he arrived. For so many small businesses seem to be stuck, clueless or otherwise lost for finding the all too necessary replacement letters.

Buy some more letters for goodness sake? What are you selling and does anybody care? Not sure if Jimmy got elected,
if so I wonder if he'll do anything about sign clutter?

Now this would confuse a motorist! Seems the sign is in good condition (all three of them) but the owner just has nothing to say nor sell. Ahhhh. But across the street. Look carefully. Another relic from a long lost error. A sign WITH letters. You gotta love those arrows!

Could somebody tell me what exactly is happening here?

Another effort to make a permanent sign from a temporary... nice stang, though...

For world riding or cross country motorcyclists and motorists the task becomes a case of a game of fill in the blank or "guess what we're trying to tell you". Except there's no prize. The only prize imaginable would be for the owner of the sign -- a new customers. But without the ability to spell clearly the intended message, our small businesses on the back-roads of America simply are missing out on customers, while the communities in which they reside are left with ugly relics of signs who've had better times.

Signs of the times, I guess.

Now some enterprising farmer needed a bit more height in his flashing arrow portable sign. So he built it's own platform.

Now what's going on here? No letters? Where's the sales guy? Somebody ought to either populate that sign with a message or take it to the dump!

This one is a low-rider, in need of a paint job and I wonder if those lights still work. And who's chip?

Perhaps the same vintage as Yarnell's above, but with a tad less sun exposure. Seems Jason has something to say, but just get get the letters right. And I guess many in the area have Boas - are they constrictors or simply wavy, flowy, feathery fashion accessories long lost from the era of the vamp?

Some upstanding communities do their best to prevent such garbage from destroying the visual beauty of a back road. I found this in the zoning laws of Camden, Maine:

(1) Billboards, animated signs, flashing signs, roof signs, rotating signs, signs containing any visible moving parts and portable signs are prohibited in all zones. Engraved cornerstones and stone-engraved building or structure names are exempt from this prohibition.

(2) Menu and sandwich board signs, easels, and other sidewalk signs and signs not affixed to a structure or sign post are prohibited.

(3) Ladder signs affixed by the use of hooks and chains are prohibited, except that such signs no larger than 3 inches by 18 inches may be used to indicate whether a business is open or closed or its vacancy status.

Camden defines portable sign in this manner:

SIGN, PORTABLE: A sign that is not permanently attached to the ground or other permanent structure, or a sign designed to be transported, including, but not limited to, signs designed to be transported by means of wheels or trailers, balloons used as signs, and signs attached to or painted on vehicles parked and visible from the public right-of-way, unless said vehicle is used in the normal day-to-day operations of the business.

Now I've never been to Camden, Maine so I can't speak to the type of community nor its history. But it's clear there is an effort to establish boundaries of good taste. You can read the entire code here and while I believe in simple code laws and less goverment regulation, Camden doesn't thwart the the marketing advantage available to businesses to promote itself through signage - it just has an issue with portable signs.

Hmmmmm?

When just one won't do! I get the applicance pricing. But what's going on with the engine repair? And is the fill dirt/rock business going downhill? And wait, in the background, we've got more. Zelta Choice Cuts and even a changeable sign at Bulldog's. This is a great roadside. You've got everthing!

Hey. Now I would have to guess the zoning commission in Camden would have to let this slide. The enterprising hair salon turned a portable into a permanent - complete with power! Bravo! Bravo! But what's the "A"? All that effort just to quit before the end game? Good god!

Riding the backroads certainly affords me the time to slow down, smell the flowers or look for a sign - something - to show me the truth. This poor guy not only is missing the letters from his alphabet soup, he can't seem to get the darn thing straight. And he's lost the lens for his arrow. If that thing lights up at night, it's gonna blind ya!

Steppin' Outside the Time Zone!

Oh - And I've got more. But I'll spare you the flashing portable arrow signs until another day. Look forward to some other classics in future posts!

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

October 04, 2008

North America/USA   03:11 PM
Crossing Kansas - Birds, Wheat, Sunflowers & A Toilet Seat.

Perhaps ever since Judy Garland, in her most memorable role, confided in her dog, Toto, her revelation that she was no longer in Kansas, the state has been the brunt of many jokes. Most, I'm sure, in good taste. Yet those off-color likely often mouthed by people who either whipped through the state across the straight and boring interstate or otherwise have never ventured through the heart of this often misunderstood state.

On the surface the state seems a tad starved. There is no National Park and those bits of its past that made it into the history books include the landmark Supreme Court case Brown v. Board of Education - a plaque in Topeka commemorates perhaps the first major step in ending racial segregation in the South. Kansas also earns the star as the first state to consitutionally prohibit alcohol - in 1891. And though to its chagrin, Kansas graced the front pages of the nations newspapers with the brutal murder of a family - the murder, family and murderers brought to life in Truman Capote's classic "In Cold Blood." And all of this collectively feeds the mainstream subliminally suggesting a less than a paradise mindset about Kansas.

I found Americana in Parsons and as I noted the old town Wichita charmed me - if only for an evening. So, far from the interstate I wondered through the plains and the prairie hoping to get to understand Kansas, before crossing the border into Colorado.

Getting to know you - Kansas.

Charm and fun in only the backroads across America.

What's this? A horse and buggy? Yes! An Amish community in the middle of nowhere. Yoder Kansas.

I found it here. In Kansas. The needle in the haystack.

There are two National Scenic Byways in Kansas and when I found myself a scant shy of the Wetlands & Wildlife National Scenic Byway, I took a slight detour to see if riding this bocky loop through the prairie and grasslands might give me a peak inside a Kansas most of us don't see. Riding through miles and miles of straight roads that often end in a T-junction and like an old etch-a-sketch zig-zag at right angles through fields of wheat, soy and sunflowers. Then through Quivira National Wildlife Refuge. Soon, I found myself mesmerized by the chaotic yet unison rhymic move of black birds across the road. Through the field. They don't move far. But like horses out of the gate, these birds moved on some mysterious cue. And then they'd sit. Silent. Still. Until the next cue.

My exhaust pipe continues to increase in volume and a new rattle from bolts loosened inside. In sore need of repacking, I turn off the engine to watch the birds. When I start it up, the birds move. I find that a subtle and simple twist of the throttle gives this unique power to command those birds to move - in unison. For a second. Then they land on the crop in time. I do it again. And they move. It's then I rewind my brain to Argentina and to the place my friends there refer to as "el campo." Loosely translated as the farm, I think it means the plains the prairie. For the same golden brown glow of the crops and the bright yellow sunflowers burning through an otherwise landscape lacking contrast. As the orange and yellow orb of the sun set in the west, the fields of brown, yellow and ochre colored fields based and came alive. A thing of beauty in a place most see nothing -- especially after traveling through hundreds of miles of this along the interstate.

What's this? Not wheat? Maybe soy?

The wild wicked ways of birds - flying on whim and unison anyway the wind blows.

It's farmland Kansas.

Birds so dense you can't see the cattle behind.

Straight and narrow. The roads and birds of Kansas.

I'm riding down a long lonely stretch when I see coming toward me a carriage. It looks like a carriage. As I get closer it's a horse and buggy. I think back of an old client who constantly accused and congratulated me for taking his company out of the horse and buggy age and into the present. It's Yoder Kansas, And I had no idea, but there's a large Amish community here - far from Pennsylvania. Famous for its quilts, Yoder registers on the map of Quilt enthusiasts worldwide. Paradise of Quilts, I'm told. I see several buggy's and exchange waves with a man wearing a tall hat, cuddled up against a dog in the front seat.

The gas stations have no credit card slots and the pumps no auto shut off. You pump first. And pay later. In Kansas I pumped but my mind wandered as the gas poured out of the tank and flowed onto my boot. There's no questions. I'm not from around 'these' parts.

It's the Wheat state. And after exploring the wacky route of this byway, I found myselt in a state other than Kansas. Hungry, parched and sleepy. I pull into a small market in Ness City, Kansas. A local schoolteacher leans his bicycle against the window and sits next to me with his microwaved hot dog. Tells me I need to see the Skyscraper of the Plains - a four-story building built in 1890 that once housed the Ness County Bank. Today it's one of the 8 Wonders of Kansas and hoses a few boutiques on the ground floor. Tours are available a couple days each week, but not today.

There's something curious about Ness City. Perhaps many things. I learn that just a few months earlier a man finally enlisted help of the local fire and police to talk his girlfriend out of the bathroom. She'd been in there for two years. Sitting on the toilet so long she was stuck to it. The ambulance took her to the hospital with it still attached to her butt. This is real. And this is Kansas:

Ness County Bank - the former - Skyscraper of the Plains. Ness City, Kansas.

Budweiser or Coors Light?

I may be in Kansas still and on some off the beaten track. Yet I find one tree. And a lonely rest area with wireless internet. This is progress.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

September 30, 2008

North America/USA   10:17 AM
It's The People Along the Way - Graceland to Kansas.

As the end this part of my journey looms with each mile I ride, I find myself thinking back at the many people who I've met, who've helped me, who I've helped and who just for one reason or another have made an indelible impression in my memory which I know will never fade. There are so many new friends and people who I hope one day I'll see again and have an opportunity to share more and to learn. And then I think of the friends I haven't seen in so many years. And those here who supported me and believed in this journey prior to my departure in July 2005. I'm heading to Eureka Springs, Arkansas to meet Laurene and Sean Franklin, a couple I met in Winter 2003 when I started planning this journey. AT the time they had just started their fledging internet-based company -- Cycle Gadgets -- offering technology products and gadgets for motorcyclists. Since then they've moved from their modest garage in Northern Indiana to new digs in Northern Arkansas. They helped me with GPS information and lighting.

Outside Memphis two brothers from Marshall, Texas taking a hunting trip and enroute to a property they inherited years ago are amazed and fascinated about the places my motorcycle has traveled. They must take pictures. Of me. The bike. It's the first time they're visiitng the Ohio property and they will be canoe hunting they tell me. I ask to take their photos too. They smile.

It takes a couple days to get there but first I can't imagine a ride across our great country and through Memphis without paying a visit to the KIng. So I made a quick loop by Graceland, tuned my iPod to Heartbreak Hotel and shake, rattled and rolled through Memphis and across the great Mississippi River. I spotted a truck weigh station just over the bridge in West Memphis, Arkansas, where Stan "The Man" Griffen and Eric Morris of the Arkansas Highway Police satiated my curiosity on how trucks are flagged for weighing and the technology involved, while they peppered me with questions of my travels and the flags on my panniers. "You really went to Sudan, Allan?" But even better, I've been feeling a bit heavy riding across east. Carrying a set of tires on the back of the bike certainly ads maybe 30 pounds or more to my load. With my desire to be fully compliant with BMW's "recommended" load rating, I asked Stan and Eric to weigh Doc and give me the official low-down. I haven't put the bike on scales since riding onto a scale in Western Tanzania. With tires and that bottle of wine someone offered me I clocked in at 660 pounds +/- as this scale is really geared for loads in the tons.

Sean and Laurene put me up in their beutiful home on Beaver Lake and I spend a day brainstorming and planning a rally for next fall. I will speak and share some of my stories and photographs (-- Cycle Gadgets -- ). Sean helps me update my maps on the Garmin GPS they sold me more than 3 years ago. And the morning of my departure, Sean fires up his beautiful yellow Gold Wing and takes me for a ride. Leaving about 7am we take a long loop to their shop in Eureka. The crisp air just cold enough to bite my face as I rode with my visor up so I could take in some of this beautiful backcountry. As we dipped into a small hallow, the run rising behind us and basking the green and yellow grasses in a orange aura glow, refracting off the morning due clinging to each blade. I'm mesmerized by this beauty but must keep focused on the twists and turns until we come to another lake where we cross a nearly 100 year old one-lane bridge as the fog lifted itself off the surface of the water in slow motion. It pays to get an early start in the morning. Especially in the Ozarks.

Doc Meets Graceland - Long Live The King!

Roadside Images - Arkansas & Tennessee

Brothers from Marshall Texas - "You really been to all those places?"

The Road to Eureka Springs, Arkansas -- always taking the backroads.

With a set of tires on the back, Doc weights in at 660 pounds... how accurate is it?

Stan "The Man" & Eric of Arkansas Highway Police

Coffee at the locals only shop is entertaining with conversation moving from bikes, to politics to iPhones and more. The owner of the coffee shop, Roscoe shares his microfiger guitar - it's so light, durable and good tone. I bang out a couple riffs before mounting Doc and head toward another iconic "dot" on the map of Arkansas: Bentonville. Yes. Where Sam Walton built his now legendary and somewhat controversial empire - Wal-Mart.

Jerry & Bob partners at Bentonville BMW  give me my first peek at the BMW F800GS. It's beautiful and wonder if when I return sometime in the future to India, Iran and Pakistan if I will be riding Doc or a new 800? Time will tell.

It's unfortunate that I'm unable to connect with Steve at Airhawk, the 'asspad' that I've sat on for my entire journey and perhaps the most important accessory I've used during this trip. So I move on and continue my strategy of riding only the backroads across America -- and cross into Kansas where heavy head winds dramatically impact my fuel economy and massive bugs reduce my visibility. It's flat and yet there are hills. Interesting. I take a liking to downtown Parsons and old town Wichita -- all in the Flat Hills of Kansas.

  

Posted by allan | Comments (0)