Flappin' Cheeks

“Al had decided he was going to become one with the road so he left his detachable windshield at the hotel.  I glanced over at him while we had the baggers mellowed at 3,000 rpm  (about 80mph) and his cheeks were plastered back around his ears.  He looked like he was pulling around 8 G’s, but it was just the wind making his face into silly putty.  I wanted to slow down so he wouldn’t look like he was suffering too much but I managed to overcome the thought and he kept flappin’."

(photo rt: TC, Willie G. Davidson hisownself and Alonzo "El Coyote" Munguia - rear with hat is Bill Davidson, Willie's son and newly appointed CEO of HD as of April 2010 - I have Sharpie authographs of both on the vest I am wearing in the picture)

Signed Hand Leather Bound copies available at: www.badassbook.com 

The Road Home - Nailing It!

Saturday, August 1st: My day for a planned ride to Deadwood to see Butch at the hospital. Judy was already there and gave me directions on the best route. Earlier, Mel took off on a Badlands run with his pretty pal, Pat on back. They would make it to the hospital for a visit later that afternoon.

First, I would head for the Rapid City Convention Center, where the Harley-Davidson company would have their 2010 models displayed for the first time. I would also present my Harley Owner's Group membership card and pick up a free pin commemorating my attendance at the event. I drooled on a bunch of brand new bikes then picked up bike and accessory catalogs for Butch, Mel and I. Again, it was early in the morning and there were hundreds of visiting bikes parked there. During Bike Week, you will find the same large numbers everywhere including Sturgis, Deadwood, Rapid City, Hill City, Keystone and Custer.

Next, heading to visit Butch I took the most direct route... around 40 miles going past Sturgis with the last 10 miles running through the mountains. The contrast of deep greens there and blue sky along with the reddish cliffs was striking. The scattered white and grey clouds gave us the shadows needed to bath every scene in pleasant contrast. The three dimensional panoramas kept unfolding and revealing a new perspective every second. That ride prompted me to later tell my wife Julieann, "Let's make one thing clear, I love the Black Hills." She was lucky enough to have been born and raised there... she remembers the winters so she limits her love of the place to the summers. That would probably be my take on things too.

(photo r: Deadwood during the Rally)

I hung around the hospital long enough to annoy Butch and Judy, then headed into Sturgis to get my figurative radical fanatic rubbernecker card punched. I stopped at JP Cycles at the edge of the Lazelle street... then I walked a mile or so down the street, occasionally criss-crossing to get a closer view of some of the vendors. Along the way, I stopped in the Jack Daniels tent display and had a "Jack and Diet" in honor of my trouper son's favorite stage drink then headed for the other end of the row and the Broken Spoke saloon, "World's Largest Biker Bar."

After that I crossed over to Main street where most Sturgis photos are taken... there you will see bikes parked four wide for many blocks. To get set up that way, they are backed in to each curb and sit nose-to-nose in the middle. I took in the scene, walking past the huge bars and vendor displays there. It's probably worth noting that, during Sturgis bike week, there are enough t-shirts for sale there to clothe every man, woman and child in China... and perhaps a couple of neighboring countries. They have been staging this event for 69 years so you can imagine the sort of stories Lazelle and Main could tell.

(photo r - Main Street Sturgis - four wide)

Finally, I returned to Butch and Judy's home and spent a chunk of the evening on their porch with some Budweiser Lights and a stogie. In recognition of my senior status, I would be in the sack by 10 while hundreds of thousands partied in various Black Hills camp sites and homes. I know they all missed me too.

Sunday, August 2nd: My last day there. I began the day by calling Julie and mentioning that I was thinking of staying another day. She got a little testy at the suggestion and it had me picturing what my ass would look like in a sling so a few minutes later, I called her back again and told her I was starting the trip home the next day as planned. She didn't try to make sense out of the whole thing as she learned many years ago about my skills with making 'non-sense.

On the way to visit Butch at Deadwood again, I stopped at Black Hills Harley-Davidson... again. This was just to be sure there was nothing vital I had missed. Sure enough, I found a terrific seat at the Mustang vendor and was quickly convinced that it would do better on long hauls than the Corbin seat I had made at Hollister, CA last year. One of my purposes in doing this was to perhaps avoid the dreaded "crotch creep" phenomena. This happens to rider's who do not have a proper motorcycle seat and gives the sensation that their jeans are trying to wrap themselves around the rider's neck. While they were installing it, I went into the HD store and bought Butch a t-shirt.

Then, I made the biggest mistake of my trip... I bought the Coyote a t-shirt too. You see, I just couldn't stand the thought of him whimpering and scuffing the floor with his shoes when he realized I hadn't bought him anything. I know, I know... in the first installment of this journey I promised I would make him suffer for not joining me but I guess I am just an old softy.

Later, at the hospital, Butch was doing great. He even refused the nurse's offer to let him don pajama bottoms. I think he was enjoying the idea of mooning all of us periodically. A little while later, the nurse threatened to "kick (Mel's) ass" when he made a wise crack. I think we all lit up the entire ICU with laughter over that one. They sure make them tough in Deadwood...

Back at the house that evening, I cleaned the Hog and packed up then hit the sack early again... cleverly missing hundreds of raucous parties that would have been soooo much better if I had been there...

Monday, August 3rd: I was up at the crack and headed out early for Rock Springs, Wyoming.. around 500 miles down the road. the first 50 miles or so I was riding adjacent to and in the Black Hills so I got to say a long "see you later" to that wonderful land. About half the trip was across Wyoming flat lands... pretty God-forsaken at times and typically with a lot of

headwinds. Rock Springs is adjacent to the Flaming Gorge area though, another magnificent place on Earth you should see at least once in your life time.

(photo r - The Black Queen loaded and ready to leave the Rock Springs Holiday Inn.)

Tuesday, August 4th: Up at the crack again. Destination Elko, Nevada, a little over 400 miles. The day started on a spectacular note with a few panoramas offered up by Flaming Gorge. 400 miles of Interstate. Speed limit, 75. I set the cruise control at eight over. My 100 horse Street Glide just chewed up the highway like it was born to it. Not much wind from any direction so it was a smooth ride and I settled at the Holiday Inn Express pretty early.

I left the hotel in mid-afternoon searching for three things, a Texas hold-em game, a Mexican restaurant and a car wash so I could do a little bug removal work on the bike. First, I went to the Red Lion but found their poker room totally empty. Then, after riding around a while I found the last two in basically the same strip mall area. I washed the bike first then sat down to a fine meal of Carne Asada and one of the largest Cadillac margaritas I have seen. On that evening , hitting two out of three objectives was pretty terrific.

Wednesday, August 5th: The home stretch! Weather... perfect almost all the way. Temperatures in the 50's and 60's had me dressed in comfortable layers for over half the trip. Dressed down to a long sleeved shirt the last half when I found the heat of the Sacramento valley while riding down off Donner Pass .

East of Reno-Sparks, I had noticed a series of signs placed "Burma Shave" style, set in a series so you could take in one thought at a time. They said,

"A Lot Of Pretty Ladies.

To Sit On Your Lap.
Wild Horse Saloon.

Exit 28. Truck access."

I will leave you to figure that one....

Next I decided to name my Harley. I guess out of respect for all we had been through together in the previous couple of weeks. At first I thought of "Black Mariah" but then as I thought through use of the name I had some reservations. For instance, what if I was sitting in mixed company and volunteered that I had to go home to "clean up BM"? That wouldn't work too well right?! So I am tentatively settled on "Black Queen", after the Steven Stills song. I can call her "Queen" for short. I guess that would work eh? Let me know if you have any other suggestions.

The last stretch was one of the most difficult of the 3,000+ mile trip. I had been dreading the run from Reno to Sacramento as Interstate 80 was in such terrible shape. To my surprise, much of it is now being repaved and new lanes are being added in some spots. It was slow and tough negotiating the traffic at times but it will be a good ride when it is done.

End of story. Good to be home. As with most bike tours, I am already anticipating the next one. I would love to do the Rolling Thunder run across the United States for the Memorial Day ride in the Capital honoring our POW/MIA. Who knows?!

AFTERWORD - Tuesday, August 11th: Called Butch last night. He is doing great and, in fact, returned to work yesterday. We discussed the later part of Sturgis bike week too as Sunday was the last day. One rider was killed during the event (I am thinking that would have to be a record). The rider was on an Interstate ramp and had a straight-line accident - got on the shoulder somehow, lost control and that was it.

Sturgis also got some two and a half inches of rain over the weekend so all the sorry bikers probably had to hang out in bars to wait it out - thankfully bikers always have a back up plan though. With all the rain, it is still okay as veterans can tell you when it comes to weather, "we will have some" right?! I know, you remember that.

Also, the Black Hills can get hail that time of year and, at the same time it was raining in Sturgis, they got tennis ball sized hail at the famous Buffalo Chip campground (the place where Steven Tyler of Aerosmith expertly falls off stages). It was knocking out vehicle windshields and damaging gas tanks on motorcycles it was that bad. I got lucky when I left early eh?!

The Road Home - Looking Back

This trip...this Sturgis trip has been one of extremes. Here is an introduction, a little background on Sturgis and an accompanying chronology of sorts:

There were several reasons while I hightailed it to Sturgis this year; Sturgis bike week itself, friends and family who would be there, and son Tyler's bands were booked for two pre-rally shows in Rapid City.

(photo r w/captions... click on it and you should see a larger version)

Sturgis!

Look for estimates in the 500,000 range for the years overall attendance at the 69th Sturgis Rally. From mid-July to mid-August, no matter where you are in the United States you will see (mainly) Harley riders with large packs on the highways. You will also see trailers and RV's marked with Harley-Davidson and related logos. Ninety percent of them will be going to or coming from Sturgis. You could make book on that and likely get rich.

Also consider that a handful of of riders will be killed and at least one of them will be involved in a collision with a deer. I know that sounds terrible but understand that a city of several hundred thousand has suddenly sprung up in the Hills and it's population is riding millions of miles to get there, ride there and return home. With that in mind, the accident and relative fatality rate may even be low in comparison to similar sized cities. What makes this temporary city more special though is that it's people are on vacation, happy, and dedicated to living life large.

I have written a lot about this event so here I will focus on some small tales from one rider...one of the old Badasses. Earlier posts on this site, going back to "Rack'em!" on July 18th will explain how we got this far. Now, picking up where we left off...

Thursday, July 30th: My brother-in-law, and 'brother' Butch Thomas had to work that day so I set about cleaning the road scum off the bike. It was accumulated from a couple of showers during the Spokane to Rapid City run. When it rains, a grey mix of oil and water comes up off the highway and covers every surface of the motorcycle. Typically a spray wash doesn't cut the scum either. You have to hand wash every nook and cranny. No problem though as cleaning the bike is occupational therapy for Harley owners world-wide. Nothing different for me.

Next, I stopped by arguably the world's largest dealership, Black Hills Harley-Davidson. It was 3 days before the official opening yet there were hundreds of bikes parked in the vast lot there as riders took in the dealership along with dozens of vendors who had paid big bucks to set up shop in tents in several acres of parking lot. Yes, while there I bought a great rally shirt as a keepsake (No shirt for El Coyote though...nope. None.)

Later that day however, the bigger deal for me was riding with friend and brother-in-law Butch Thomas to Robbinsdale Lounge to check out the venue my son Tyler's bands would be playing the next night as part of the Sturgis pre-rally events. We were impressed with the stage size and set up of the place. It looked like a good club. They played two shows there over the next two days and I have described the experience on another blog post: Rock the House.

That evening Butch and I sat on his back porch with a couple of beers and stogies for company. We swapped lies and bashed fellow riders Mel Nelson (who would arrive from Henderson, NV later that night) and El Coyote (who would be notable in his absence).

Friday, July 31: Mel had arrived with his silver Street Glide so now there were three of us. That number elevated our group from a "tandem" to an official "pack" - always a nice word to have available when claiming "Badass" status. Mel's friend and flame, Pat had arrived as well. She would be riding on the back of Mel's bike that day.

We swilled a ton of coffee then headed for Black Hills Harley-Davidson where I had a Sturgis commemorative patch sewn on my riding jacket. I don't typically do that but was somehow motivated by the fact that the trip was extraordinary in it's length and that I was able to make it at all. We also looked at some new Street Glides Butch was considering after his wife Judy suggested he do so. That is a pretty remarkable thing...to have your wife suggest you look at a new Harley. From my perspective, the act has to go down with other great events in history...like the invention of beer and chrome and the opening of the first bar!

The wind was blowing pretty strong at that time so we decided to head for Sturgis through the Black Hills on Nemo Road instead of the more direct route on the Interstate. We took off through the mountains and sure enough there was less wind but we did notice some solid overcast in front of us toward Sturgis. We stopped and visited Butch's in-laws on the way. Wally and Ruth Ann Jensen have built a huge log home and separate bunk house right on a stream in that beautiful area. Ruth Ann is an industrious soul and they have been been running their "Copper Canyon Lodge," renting their basement (for six) and Bunkhouse (as many as 10) to Sturgis bikers and Black Hills vacationers. 

Next, we stopped for lunch at the Nemo Guest Ranch. The 'grub' was all being cooked and

served outdoors and I opted for the pulled pork sandwich with a side of ranch style beans. Food always seems to taste better when it is cooked and served outdoors. That day was no exception.

(photo r - Nemo Guest Ranch)

Shortly after we left the ranch, a light rain began. At first it wasn't too bad. But then, it gained intensity and after a couple of miles Mel dropped back and gave me signal that we should turn around. I signaled agreement and we got Butch's attention with the same result. When we turned I ended up in the lead, Butch was the middle and Mel and Pat were on the third and last Harley. We were trying to duck the rain so our pace was fairly quick on the straightaways and slow on the turns... being mindful of the potentially slick roads.

My routine in the lead is pretty standard for most bikers no matter what their position...to continuously scan all the important points including front, side-to-side and both rear view mirrors. I was doing the same that day although I lingered a little longer on the front view in deference to the weather conditions. When I scanned my mirrors I would see Butch and Mel's headlights behind me. Then, all of a sudden I looked in my rear view mirrors and saw no one.

I thought... well those guys know the area a lot better than I and maybe I missed a turn off. They could be back there waiting for me or there may be some sort of problem. I stopped and waited a few moments for their lights to show. When that didn't happen I turned around and headed back into the rain to find out what happened. I didn't go far before the rain had completely stopped.

Then, I rounded a turn and saw three bikes and a car parked on the opposite side of the road. I knew there had been an accident and, as I pulled up to park Mel walked up to me. He said, something about seeing "him go down" and as he was saying that I was taking in the scene. I was wondering where Butch was and at first thought he was on the grassy shoulder helping the accident victim. I walked closer and then suddenly recognized the badly damaged motorcycle laying on it's side. It was Butch's.

The feelings I had at that moment were not for an average motorcycle victim, nor were they for someone's average brother-in-law. They were more like they would be for a brother and close friend of over 40 years...someone with the same selfless, thoughtful nature shared with his sister, my wife Julieann Marie.

Not far from the bike, I saw Pat, Mel's friend (and later wife) kneeling beside Butch. She was holding his left hand in hers and had her other hand on his helmet. I walked up and knelt beside them on Butch's right. He was conscious and alert. He had some small cuts on his face and a black eye. When I asked, he said "I felt it slide a little and knew I wasn't going to make it." Others there explained that 911 had been called and that police and ambulance were on their way. Butch would occasionally try to move his head, "How's my bike?" but Pat would gently remind him to be still.

The police showed after a few minutes and the ambulance arrived a short while later. The attendants got Butch strapped to a backboard...in the process cutting off a (lucky?) Yellowstone Harley shirt I had just purchased for him in Belgrade, Montana.

After the ambulance left, Mel took care of letting Butch's wife Judy know and getting the bike (totalled I am pretty sure) hauled out. I took off to Rapid City to see if Judy needed assistance. She was doing well with reports from us and took off for the hospital in Deadwood just after I got back. I stayed to go to a picnic Ty's cousin (Butch and Judy's son Rick) had scheduled and reserve tables for guests at that nights concert. Not long after, we got the first report, broken scapula and six broken ribs. An MRI later showed a bruised lung and slight cut on his spleen.

Butch went home a couple of days later after they confirmed the spleen would be okay - he did remarkably well... especially considering the six broken ribs.

Saturday, August 1st to Wednesday August 5: Further adventures in the next installment of this series. Yes, there will be more photos and yes, they will be more succinct... maybe.

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.

Ten over on the Black Queen

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.)