El Coyote

Alonzo "el Coyote" Munguia; of Spanish descent. His ancestors include Texas ranchers who owned thousands of acres of cattle ranches before the gringos moved in and invented Shiner beer. They were expert horsemen which is why I occasionally refer to him as "The Last Gaucho." (photo: Two Badass bikers on the Snake River - L-R - El Coyote and Old Geezer) His father was a career Army man. Coyote' was once a pro baseball player, a wiry second baseman. He is also a retired Teamster which is why I often claim he knows where Jimmy Hoffa's body is buried. He is a master mechanic and a history buff who vows to be a teacher in the next life. For now, he teaches Sunday school. He is also married to one of the best nurses who ever lived, Norma Munguia. 

Alonso and I met about ten years ago at a cafe and meeting place for Sacramento HOG members who were gathering for an organized ride. We became fast friends when we realized we were both extremely high on the Harley-Davidson fanatic barometer. We have ridden thousands of miles since and he is one of the main protagonists in my book, "Badass (The Harley Davidson Experience)". 

Pause for a plug here: You can read all about it at www.badassbook.com. I can honestly claim that this is the best selling pebble grain leather bound Harley Davidson book that was ever written. This is mainly because it is likely the only leather bound book of its type. Pause for schmaltz here: I believe if you have one friend of Al's caliber in your lifetime you are a very fortunate person. I am blessed to have enough, including my wife Julieann, to fill more than one hand. Of course I don't deserve it... that's where the luck comes in know what I mean?!

(Why this story? Annie K., a reader of this blog to whom I am most grateful asked about him. And thank you again Annie!)

The Chance Dance

Working my way through the mountains, fields and prairies. On my way from Billings, Montana to Rapid City, South Dakota. It will be just short of a 400 mile day. There is rain everywhere. Huge dark clouds are all over the horizon.

(photo: TC's HOG covered with a lot of grey crud)

I am trying to time my trip on the Interstate to avoid getting drenched. The highway curves gently to accommodate a 75 mile an hour speed limit. The highway curves often to accommodate the transition from mountains to valleys and back. I catch a few sprinkles but not quite enough to warrant full blown rain gear.

Just out of Gillette, Wyoming I spot a large thunder cloud on the horizon directly in front of me. I pull over and quickly set up... adding a fifth layer to torso and a pair of leather leather chaps. It was already a cool day, running around 50 degrees all the way so I had on lots of gear. Two t-shirts, a poly fleece with the mandatory Harley embroidery on it, my trusty Harley leather jacket adorned with amulets of all sorts and then adding a "Jen-U-Whine" Harley Davidson rain jacket. I also have heavy gloves and under my helmet, a poly fleece face mask.

As I approached the storm the highway often appeared to directly face, then veer away from the storm. With that, I was at times relieved that I might stay dry and then, with the next turn disappointed that I would run smack into it.

It was a Chance Dance with the weather.

I was reminded of a comment I once heard from a fellow member of the Sacramento Harley Owner's Group. Randy Owen was briefing us all on an upcoming 1,500 mile "Iron Butt" ride. These rides stop only for gas and essentials. Randy said, "People often ask me about the weather and I say; Yes, we will have some." It was another way of saying you want to try and prepare for anything.

I sort of lost the Dance as I hit the fringe of the storm. Caught not too much water but did catch a lot of oily residue from vehicles in front of me. It is a light gray mixture of oil and water that gets on and in everything and is a bitch to remove. Nonetheless I hit Sturgis during a sunny break in the weather and immediately headed for Sturgis Harley Davidson to get my commemorative t-shirt fix. I was one of thousands who will do the same during the next week and a half.

Shortly thereafter, I was in Rapid City sipping a Corona Light with fellow biker, long time pal and brother-in-law Butch Thomas. Butch is among the world's luckiest riders who happens to live in the middle of biker mecca.

The Chance Dance. All bikers do it. Few prevail against the weather. Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to spend 95% of my time dry.

Thanks to the Big Harley Rider In The Sky.

Panther Piss - Today's Observations

Panther Piss

Yup, that's what it is.

Cheap gasoline that is.

When we were kids we often had to locate the cheapest gas station around and buy their gas.

We called it "panther piss".

"87" Octane...that's all you get folks!

A fine alliteration to be sure.

It wasn't the octane that warranted this classification in our minds.

It was more so the look of the dealership that made us question the quality of what came out of the pump.

Today, I ran low on gas again.

I was on a fairly remote stretch of Interstate 90.

So I had to stop and take what was available.

87 octane only... panther piss

I was thinking "My Hog is not going to forgive me for this".

I just put in a couple of gallons, honest!

Just enough to get me to Butte,

Where I loaded her up with the good stuff (91 octane).

She rewarded me by handling like a dream all day.

I rewarded her back by stopping in Butte and getting her an oil change,

"Synthetic only please".

Ohhhhh Montana!

Western Montana serves as proof that God rides a Harley.

After all, he must have created this state so he could ride through it now and then.

The mountains, the enormous sky... it's all there before, on, and after the Continental Divide.

Better than you will see it anywhere.

Cruising on the Interstate
(Only "the Shadow knows" who's got a grip)

Through Missoula, Bozeman, Butte and Billings.

The Interstate was smooth and fast,

Posted speed limit... 75.

I cruised it at around 7 over... all day.

Whitehall

At the cafe Elena,

I had trouble with the zipper on my vest.

The waitress came whipping around the counter

and fixed it for me, muttering that it always "happens to my husband".

They had huckleberry jam for the toast.

"Can I stay here forever?"

67 degrees at 11 AM.

I was thinking I was in heaven.

On Second Thought

When old pal Jack Ohl took me bass fishing Sunday evening,

He out-fished me 4 to 2.

Two of the bass he caught were right around 15 inches long

And weighed a pound and a half.

Now I ask you...

Is that any way to treat an old friend?

An old friend you haven't seen in 10-15 years?!

I think not.

More importantly, this serves as testimony to the versatility of the typical Harley rider.

That he can graciously handle this type of abuse.

Yellowstone Harley Davidson

Located in the Bozeman, Montana area.

These folks are truly a class act.

They had a drive-through tent set up.

It was there to protect visiting bikers and their rides from the weather.

When I asked the service manager if I could get an oil change

He volunteered that he would do it himself and fit it in between counter customers.

Around a half hour later, I was outta there... a happy camper

Thanks Yellowstone HD!

Around 400 miles today.

Tomorrow, another 400 miles or so...

Then Sturgis briefly and on to home base in Rapid City!

(Note for el Coyote - I visited three Harley dealerships today, Montana HD, Yellowstone HD and Beartooth HD. I bought you zero shirts. None. Nada. el Zippo. I am hoping to visit a number of other dealerships where I can also purchase no shirts for you.)

Cattle Drive

I was in the high desert.

Between Alkali Flat and Wagontire Oregon.

Cattle in groups of 10-50 were heading along the fence line in the opposite direction.

This went on for a what seemed like several miles.

There could have easily been a thousand head.

I couldn't see anyone making them move.

I couldn't figure them.

When I hit breakfast at the world famous

(Well maybe not but it should be.) Wagontire cafe,

I asked Cheryl about them.

"Yes, there are riders driving them.

Three riders and two dogs.

They are moving them down to Juniper Creek

So they don't have to haul water as far to them."

Not long after, I was back in civilization.

Or was I?

In retrospect, I think Wagontire may have had better qualifications.

(Later) Spokane is a beautiful town,

growing, vibrant and busy.

I spent time there with an old friend, of

more than thirty years, Jack Ohl, and I was able to catch two of son Tyler's tour shows.

(Plug time: Arden Park Roots)

It was good to get back on the road today though.

To look for more cattle drives.

To see beautiful Lake Coeur d'Alene.

To feel the crisp mountain air.

To stick those handlebars into the turns.

To straighten the sweeping Interstate twisties on the HOG.

(Note to The Coyote - yes, I promised I would make you suffer for not figuring out a way to join me on this trip... I visited Montana Harley Davidson today. They had a great t-shirt. I bought one. They had your size too. I did not buy you one. Yeah, yeah I know you will get me back by buying that 2010 Sunglo Red HD Street Glide and I will definitely be gritting my teeth over it but I will keep getting these digs in while I can.)

Two Battleships

Woke late in Lake View, Oregon

Trying to time it for "Coffee and rolls in the lobby"

As there was no coffee available in the room.

(Hey, I am roughing it out here okay?!)

But still, it was 5:30 and rather than wait for the "7:00 AM" treats.

I hit the dispensing machine and bought a diet coke.

At 6:30 I was on my way

The air was cool, but I had layers on.

I was on a stretch of US 395 that was so desolate...

It was so desolate that I saw two cars, one truck,

One unidentifiable road kill, two jackrabbits and one cotton tail

On maybe a 70 mile stretch.

It was stunning country though, with high desert and prairies surrounded by distant mountains, the sweet smell of sagebrush (yup, there is always some of that out here) and a highway in

excellent condition.

At one point I saw two majestic

ridgelines... they made me think of the prows of two giant World War I era battleships, moored to the prairie forever. (photo right)

I was looking for coffee, breakfast and gas and didn't come across it for 90 miles.

Not far past Alkali Flat (nothing there but a BLM building)... at Wagontire, Oregon, I saw it.

A little restaurant with a couple of gas pumps in front of it and the ramshackle remnants of what was once a motel.

I pulled up to the pumps. One was gas and one was diesel. The one with gas only had one selection, "87" octane. Everything else was taped over. There was a piece of large masking tape on it that said, "$4.00". I was really low and knew I was 30-50 miles from the next possible pit stop so I decided to go for it. A lady came out and unlocked the pump and I put about three gallons in the HOG. I apologized to her (the HOG that is) profusely because she is accustomed to nothing but premium.

I then followed the lady into her little restaurant and she fixed me one of most bodacious breakfasts you can imagine. The coffee was just right and the ham was over a half inch thick. It covered half the breakfast plate... biggest individual portion of ham I have ever seen. The eggs, "over medium" were cooked perfectly and there was a large portion of hash browns... all of that accompanied by a couple of slices of sourdough toast and a small jar of homemade strawberry jelly. I just couldn't quite knock off all that ham but I tried. She asked me how my eggs were, can you imagine? I told here they were perfect and there and then decided to commemorate it all in this blog. Her name is Cheryl and she lives out there in the middle of nowhere. Stop in sometime!

I went another 300 miles or so beyond Wagontire today,

On highway 395 North.

Through country that reminded me of US Highway 50,

"The Lonliest Highway in America".

Through other country that reminded me of the Black Hills.

I straightened out hundreds of "twisties" along the way,

curves with 35, 40 and 45 miles an hour marked for speed limits.

I would come in high, throw the inside of the handlebars at the pavement, tilt my head to the center line and whip around them, dropping inside and accelerating out wide to the center, typically at 20 over or more.

Sometimes there were enough in a row that I could set up a rhythm...

It was very similar to the back and forth motion used by a slalom skier.

When you do this, you are conscious of how your feet hang off the floorboards.

Often, it will be the bottom of your foot that touches pavement rather than the outside edge of the chrome floorboard... in either case, they are telling you to back off the throttle a little. Or else.

It's good here. Now. In the room.

Cooled down and looking forward to tomorrow's ride.

Grasshopper Moshing

First day of 3,000+ mile loop

Through Northern California

To Spokane then west to Sturgis

For the Mother of all bike weeks

Near southern Oregon fields

The Harley and I

Encountered our first herd of grasshoppers

In all my years of riding

I say 'herd' because those puppies were BIG

They were big, they were tough

And they knew how to hurt you

They must have been moshing over the highway

Because when I arrived they started moshing me

They were moshing so hard they disintegrated when they bounced off me

Took me an hour and a half to clean those mooshed moshers off the bike.

Must have been damn good music...

Rack'em!

In January of this year we wrestled with issues of an aging biker but rebounded big time with a "Hipshot!" (click on this for a rerun: Cairo Practica II and III).

We did great with that shot.. going some four months without significant discomfort and only walking like a gimp about 75% of the time instead of the usual 100.

We expected it back and it came with a vengeance but now, yes now... we have shot that puppy again! Yes, just a few days ago we went through Hipshot II so now we are loaded with cortisone and somewhat giddy with relief. (I am even more annoying than usual when I am running around giddy).

Why, Molly The World's Greatest Golden Retriever and I even went jogging... for the first time in months. In the interim I have been trying to teach her to to do the elliptical machine but she hasn't figured out what to do with the two extra paws yet. Isn't that just like a dog?!

Anyway, in my elated state I am now planning a bike trip of some 3,000 miles that will have me chasing some of son Tyler's tour concerts in Washington and South Dakota. 

I think the Coyote will join me for part of the trip and I will also get to see some old pals along the way. It also puts me on a direct path with the Mother of All Biker Rallies, Sturgis. Yes, with work and hip diversions it has been three years since I made it there. I miss South Dakota, the Black Hills, Rushmore and The Rally.

It is worthy to note that there is some question as to whether my absence from Sturgis is cause for the precipitous drop in attendance over the past couple of years. That's probably true but when someone questions me about it I just lay it off on the economy...

My rack mounted and ready.
Someone please explain to me
how it could get any better than this...

So, if I am to make this trip, I must have a rack that is strong enough to hold my tour bags and now I do! I picked one up from my local Harley dealer, somehow figured out the installation instructions and now I am there! All I have to do is dig up my electronic tour checklist and started running it. When I am done I will be fully packed and ready to go. It has been far too long since I have been on the road. To say I am pumped would be a massive understatement. So let's rack'em and hit it!