Previous book was from Washington to Tyler.
Author of American What They Said, Presidents, What, Polk to Hayes and What They Did Was Said About Them, 2016 publication.
Robert Nowlan Ph. 2 months before they was to depart on a journey by motorcycle across United States, I cracked my oil pan. What was usually a classic beginner mechanic’s mistake was a drastically devastating occurrence for me as we faced countdown to my rapidly approaching trip. My motorcycle being in NY and my parents being in Washington created a predicament. I busied myself with classes at Columbia University from MayJune, and after that worked on a dressage barn through July muggy heat. I wanted to see my parents home in Washington and ride my motorcycle, August proposed a free schedule and solely summer until my senior year of college we was living in NYC.
In all its romantic and adventurous grandeur, after mulling over my endless ugust options solution dawned on me.
One which would solve my geographical location motorcycle dilemma, that said, this would also be an undoubtedly epic adventure. I announced news to my parents and dreamt every night of me, highway, open road and my motorcycle attractions like world’s largest frying pan, or country’s largest ball of string! This has been case. I would ride my motorcycle cross country!
Sometime after my decision my father intended to join me.
July rolled around and I began shopping for a bike worthy and capable of this trek.
I ultimately made it to Grand Central Station and out to some hood in Brooklyn, By the way I looked with success for the address and waited for the seller to arrive home. I plopped my sticky self down on a curb and watched children playing in an open wild spray fire hydrant which spilled water into the street in almost any direction causing medium size rivers to flow down the streets of Brooklyn. Bikes nature specifications created complications.
He would purchase an one way ticket to NY and join his daughter’s venture, they usually needed to search for him a bike.
I could get a train to pick up.
I eventually figured out a bike in Brooklyn with potential. I hopped on the train to the city after work and to my dismay discovered the Long Island Express doesn’t work as efficiently as one probably desire. He jumped on the bike and beckoned me to hop on, I warily climbed on the back with this enthusiastic stranger and he gunned the blackish devil down the treelined Brooklyn block, water soaring up behind us from ghetto hydrantrivers. He energetically clarified and demonstrated how the acceleration on the bike was and after that slamming on brakes -how p notch braking power was. I got off shows him if he would ride it to Washington he said yes, I’m quite sure I well like State said I’ll get it. With or max metal spikes in front fender, he flung a tarp off of a motorcycle shaped object to reveal the product -a 1992 Suzuki V rhino lined blackish. Seller showed up. Of course, we went back onto his block and up on the side walk.
I tried to have an open mind. Whenever struggling with the cruiser style fork pitch and suspension, rolling my eyes at the inconceivable situations we get myself into, a half hour later I was navigating the grey devil onto the Long Island Express freeway. How could this happen right before trip!?’ My father being the ingenious man he is probably got off train in New York City with a helmet, God and a tiny backpack’s gift to motorcycle riders. My next task to prepare for trip was the infamous oil review. Be sure you scratch suggestions about it. I set up my ols and provisions neatly around my shiny blue Suzuki GSX R, excited way newbies are usually when they perform their first task of motorcycle maintenance. For instance, I over tightened the bolt and cracked oil pan. Sounds familiardoesn’t it? Oil gushing out onto the yard they saw the dreams and plans of this trip washing away with my engine lubricant. You see, at the moment I triumphantly thought. Now please pay attention. JB Weld.
We were prepared to cruise on out, with my oil pan JB Welded and oven baked.
Had to shed some light the Easy Rider reference to me, lines of pricey German horses. As we exited barn to start our adventure the radio station hailed our start journey with. ‘Born to be Wild.’ My Dad ofcourse thought the cinema heavens were speaking first-hand to us.
Basically the morning we left we gave my Dad a barn ur I had worked at over the past month. We pulled over at Niagara drops to cool off in the normal spray wonder, marvel at my hair sticking straight up from electric charges and ask New York City in a August heat wave and navigating up through Catskill Mountains we were met with thunderstorm. The actual question is. Food and neighboring flavor, I wanted to stay off the interstates and have a look at the locals, seriously what’s in middle America besides Bush voters?
Sipping on my grapefloat they described to my father goals for the trip, beyond finding Zen or peace inside a helmet. We were about to understand for ourselves, I’d heard rumors of corn fields and cheese. I know that the Motorcycle gods had another plan. We hit Amish, county and Cleveland Chicago ominous sight fortified by its construction clogged highways, after grapes and first big lake. Then, we pushed forward through heat and thunderstorms. Approaching Chicago tan lines on my back were seared in redish and my fragile GSX R kept ‘reminding’ inescapable me heat by reaching obscene motor temperatures hereafter nagging at me with check engine light.
We headed into Chicago with one motive.
After struggling through five traffic lanes in the merciless sun we searched for ourselves in standstill traffic on a giant overpass, lofty in the air with zero shoulder room.
I paddled like mad to avoid getting swallowed by Chicago’s ruthless traffic, we was left to push my bike, Flintstone style. By the way I helplessly tried to get the bike running, no luck, with semi trucks on my rear and nowhere to go. I frantically coasted across traffic lots of lanes, now descended the ramp and stopped under shaded mercy of an over pass. My bikes temperature ticked progressively higher consequently they had ever seen it and after all conveniently shut off. You see, had they blown my engine right here in this Chicago heat wave? Thoughts of a cracked oil pan seemed petty now! We dropped bike off merely as shop was swinging its gates closed for the night. Therefore the next morning we one and the other piled on my Dads bike, me half perched on p of them luggage and nervously rode to the shop.
I half laughed and half cursed at whole idiocracy scene as a dashed onto the road during a break in traffic.
My father was eyeing the windshields in shop like candy after being blasted by wind a way third across country and continued purchasing one.
Aside from that the quite old Suzuki was sound, to our utter relief my bike was fine, a little gunk in the kill switch assembly had prevented it from starting. Determined not to lose my credit, identity and money cards to this city seemingly determined to destroy me, I screeched to a stop and ran back to my wallet on freeway side. Ok, and now one of the most essential parts. I’m almost sure I saw it moving up in air as cars sped over it sending my cards and cash spinning up into the air, as we jogged up to my wallet. Then once again, eventually I went into city to call a w truck and figure out a shop. My father and they fiddled around with this and that, to no avail. Whenever exploring downtown and for a while water and eating at a quite questionable Persian joint, we enjoyed unexpected layover in Chicago. I collected everything I remembered having in my wallet, that we guess anything forgettable was not worth having. In addition illplaced ll booths act as giant speed bumps and catalysts for more traffic jams, Anyone who has drove Chicago understands therewith have been the freeways plagued with traffic and construction.
After windshield installation we got back on freeway. One of these ll booths, By the way I got the ll money out of my tank bag and as we sped away from the booth, realized we didn’t put my wallet away -we caught sight of my pick wallet moving away behind me. Seeing I was in one piece and getting back on my bike, he had to go through lls two more times to get back on track. Anyways, by this time my father, whole unknowing situation had exited and passed by me going the other direction. Whenever leaving the windy city once and for all, we ultimately rendezvoused and in addition got back on road together. Custard remains elusive edible item of our trip, almost any time we came across an establishment with custard it was either 7am or we had merely had.
Did you know that the next few states were pleasantly peaceful. Throughout Wisconsin we kept seeing signs for ‘custard’ a delicacy we have in no circumstances experienced. Wearing our night gowns and flip flops we cruised down to the regional laundry mat. Worth it, one night we stayed in ‘Winona’ Therefore a bit of a twisty misty valleys, roads, country and greenish mountains lifestyle were alluring and beautiful. With that said, as our laundry tumbled dry we enjoyed some ‘authentic Italian pizza’ from Minnesota’s finest and after all rode back through quiet summer air. That said, that night we poked around in our tank bags, all out of clean clothes we planned to figure out a laundry mat.
Basically, we realized our trip went down on that hallowed Harley meet in Sturgis and started to develop our inside jokes as it seemed any viewpoint or cultivated attraction we stopped at groups of men in leather giddily requested we get a group shot. Ironically Spearfish Canyon was minutes away from Sturgis and since we were again headed there, we figured we’d go into wn and have a look at the meet.
There were 2 destinations I had to see, a twisty road called ‘Spearfish Canyon’ and Yellowstone, our trip had been pretty free spirited. For quaintness we stuck to little back roads.
Spearfish Canyon Know what, I was an odd ball on a sport bike. One way or another, we enjoyed some fatty food and left rest, as we cruised for any longer a glittering river. Site. As we reached wn far end we ok off for Spearfish Canyon, without needing a map as a clear flow of bikes flocked ward it. Now let me tell you something. Entrance to canyon is marked by Deadwood, a wn made all Actually I guess sport bikes probably were not that elementary in 9 Sleep.
Mouth open wide I looked from side to side taking in the sight, nearly running off the tightly twisting road a few times, that jolted my adrenaline and focused me back on the road. Sporadic frail pines struggled rocks out adding to unearthly wonder we were witnessing. Normally, we moved north ward Montana, where Rocky Mountains slowly turned out to be a visual reminder we were approaching home. After a day of cruising around lakes. You should make it into account. So next day we entered Yellowstone. Mountains loomed in distance for hours on end, they signified the light after tunnel and our imagination climbed up and over them to our hometown which resided on next side.
We ok a northern route over Rockies and Idaho boasted its finest of glittering lakes and god like mountains.
As we descended into Eastern Washington we had around 4hours to go which left us alone in the flat desert to reflect on our adventure.
Dads face shrouded with stubble and my hair able to break any brush that dare near it, there was a strange any bend.