Ron Beatty's ride to British Columbia, 2005. Updated 25 Feb 2007.
Hi Y'all,
Read on for the one page synopsis, or skip ahead to the complete story in 15 pages.
In April 2005 I left the Florida Keys after five consecutive nights where the lows exceeded 75 degrees with 75% humidity. The previous year staying with my sick friend Bill had proven to be a mistake because I turned into a zombie under those conditions from lack of restful sleep. This year Bill died in my absence, but no one expected that.
Walt had scheduled a retinal exam for me at the Cleveland Clinic, and I had to patch one motorcycle tire 3 times en route. The exam showed no detached retina ... thank goodness. Walt & Pam asked me to house and doggie sit, during which week it snowed 20 inches and the power was out for more than 24 hours. No power means no sump pump in a basement that displays a running stream during rainstorms. My heart survived snow shoveling constantly for an entire day.
Cousin Gloria & Jim in Van Wert, Ohio are hard to reach, so I dropped in and discovered that they were vacationing at Cades Cove, Tennessee. While awaiting their return, I commuted to Ft. Wayne daily to correct most of the inadequate references in the Rambo genealogy and enjoyed two afternoons with cousin Kenneth & Jewell in Elkhart, IN. Jim & Gloria have organized The Glory Gospel Group to perform a wonderful Christian music mission by serenading in Old Folks Homes. Seeing those old folks repond to their favorite Gospel music is uplifting and amazing.
Riding motorcycles with buddies Jim, Lee, and Walt & Pam in Ohio was very enjoyable - as was the Great Sock Burning.
The 45 pound box of genealogical papers rode safely on the back of the motorcycle from Florida to South Carolina and on to Edwardsville, Illinois where it joined other treasures and trash in my overfull storage locker.
The trip across the country to Santa Fe was not as hot as could have been, especially since I rode at night from Kansas City after purchasing a new down coat at Cabelos. Those outing goods stores build mountains with trophy wildlife and gigantic fishtanks stocked with huge fish. Bill died that night. The rear tire looked thin in Kansas City, and thinner every 50 miles until the cords showed on Sunday in the small town of Clayton, NM. I left it there and hitchhiked the remaining 300 miles to Santa Fe.
John was nice enough to lend me his van to retrieve my motorcycle, but the starter died in Springer ?? as I drove back to Clayton to retrieve the motorcycle. Fortunately I was befriended by a local character and treated well by the Ford dealership. The wedding anniversary was a fun time and the hikes up Santa Fe Baldy (twice), Penitente, and Lake Peak were not a strain at all. More evidence that my heart is better. The scenery is spectacular.
Just after I had finished most of the Rambo book preparation, aunt Jeannie died in Iowa. The ride to the funeral in Davenport was less stressful than anticipated, mostly due to riding at night out west where the roads are long and straight. A cloudy sunrise near Kansas City also helped. It was good to see several cousins at church and more at the cemetery.
Davenport to Mason City, Iowa to Minneapolis was an interesting ride on the smaller roads, but South Dakota and Montana eventually turned boring. Out there drivers going the opposite direction still wave to strangers. One field of sunflowers was spectacularly yellow and the stars were magnificent one night in Montana, far, far away from human habitation. Mikel in Harlowston was quite a story teller. This sailor lived up to the stereotype.
The smoke from fires certainly detracted from the scenery between Helena and Sandpoint. That Sunday I needed an address for Rambo cousin Helen, and the VA Hospital allowed me to plug my computer into its outlet. It was disappointing to discover that she lives in Idaho rather than Montana. Patrick is married and busy, but otherwise remains the eccentric that I love.
To be continued with details of Dave and his adopted Chinese daughters in Vernon, BC; Deb and romance; and seemingly endless correction and proofreading of the Rambo genealogy in Salt Lake City.
One of the beauties of e-mail is that you can continue reading at leisure or not at all. Be forewarned that the entire saga runs to 13 pages.
Sorry for the impersonal mass mailing, but I've been delinquent sending personal notes ever since I got hooked on this Rambo genealogy. The way my correspondance has gone the last few years, I'd better address this travelog to everyone at once and get 'er done ... rather than try to send a personal note to all my correspondants and dropping the ball half-way home.
After arriving in Big Pine Key, Florida in late October last year, I concentrated on the Rambo genealogy while keeping Bill company throughout his "facial pain" malady. Unfortunately Bill died this June, so I am very thankful for the opportunity to spend a big chunk of the last two years with him. The genealogy progressed nicely, and the plan was to get the book to the publisher in April and to commense hiking the Appalachian Trial before May. My favorite plan is "to get the genealogy to the publisher first; then to spend a year hiking the Appalachian Trail; another year on the motorcycle touring the Rockies; at which point I will finally be free to travel."
My "no meat fat, no milk fat, no sugar, and no white flour" diet/life style worked very well during that time, although my body managed to maintain a weight of 180 pounds despite the lack of high calorie foodstuffs. Here's a perfectly healthy, perfect ice cream substitute. Mix quick oats with cold water, frozen blueberries and a bit of orange juice. YUM.
Most days in Florida I bicycled 7 miles to the end of Key Deer Boulevard in the morning, and another 9 miles to the end of No Name Key every evening just before dark. Usually up to 14 Key Deer appeared during the evening rides. Key Deer are a separate endangered species of minature white-tail deer that live only on a few islands (3) in the Florida Keys. A full grown adult is about waist high. The spotted fawns are the cutest, tiniest little things, slightly taller than a terrier. We also dusted off Bill's weight bench for 3 sets of 20 repeats of 5 weight bench exercises after most bicycle rides. A few stretching and toning exercises followed and it paid off: certain chronic aches disappeared completely and I was a strong hiker in New Mexico in July.
By mid-April the overnight low temperature didn't drop below 75 degrees with 75% humidity for a string of five consecutive days. Since I suffered through the heat until August last year, I was NOT about to repeat that mistake. That plus the plan to hike the Appalachian Trial prompted me to bid Bill adieu and load up the motorcycle with as much as possible. The old Beemer looked very overloaded with all the clothing & sleeping gear plus computer and a 45 pound box of genealogy papers. Skirting Miami to the west on Krome Road and following old Florida route 27 up the center of the state is somewhat scenic and certainly less stressful than the crowded expressways. It was comfortable and pleasant to spend a nice weekend with Bill and Merry in Oveido before continuing north.
Cousin Mona in Jacksonville, Florida is slowing down some at age 90, but is still vital and fun. After Jacksonville, it seemed most appropriate to make an afternoon genealogy research stop at the Historical Society library in Edgefield, South Carolina to look for more Rambo genealogy. The rear motorcycle tire was very low leaving town, but held air when pumped up, and it was only 60 miles to Greg's house in Columbia, SC. Twenty miles later, the tire was again low, so I pumped it up again and continued hoping ... in vain. The tire suddenly went completely flat five miles from town and a mile from the nearest shade on a cloudless day. Fortunately it was after 5pm so the heat was bearable. The vicinity had been logged, so there were lots of pieces of wood to support the center stand while the rear tire was removed and patched.
Unfortunately I don't have an air pump. Fortunately an air conditioning mechanic in a company truck stopped and offered to take my tire, fill it, and return it. Just as I was getting nervous about his absense, he returned with the bad news that the tire did not hold air. The good news was that he brought a tank of air and waited while for me to again remove the tube, discover that a tire iron had pinched two new holes into it, patch those, and re-assemble the tire. This time the patch held all the way to Greg's house in Irmo, SC and beyond.
Greg & Donna enjoy my visits and allow me the pleasure of pulling weeds and transplanting centipede grass plugs and sawing deciduous overgrowth. By mid-morning the sun gets too hot, so there is still lots of time to do genealogical work. My M.D. friend Walter at the Cleveland Clinic scheduled an eye exam for me the following week to determine if I had a detached retina that needed repair. The plan was to hustle up to Cleveland for the exam, then immediately return to South Carolina to finish the Rambo book before starting the Appalachian Trail in mid-May. Consequently the 45-lb box and other luggage was left behind and the bike's riding and handling were much improved.
First stop northward was due to another flat tire (actually a repeat of a previous flat). One of the patches had adhered only on the tiniest rim of the patch ... the glue had dried without affixing the entire center of the patch. Unfortunately the flat happened on the Interstate in the middle of nowhere south of Charlotte, NC. Fortunately it was a comfortably cooler day especially since finding supports for the motorcycle involved long walks along the shoulder. (The rear end needs to be supported very high before the wheel can be slipped off the bike.) After redoing the patch and remembering my Triple-A membership, one would think that a call to Triple-A would bring air. Instead they said that their membership provides no services whatsoever to motorcycles unless the owner has paid for the more expensive RV membership. None of the literature ever mentioned such a restriction, so I've dropped my membership.
This time on the Interstate highway it took longer to flag down help and longer for the help to return with air, but the helper was a very nice young man. No sooner had my ride resumed than the rain started. Since it was too early to select a place to camp for the night and it was raining too hard to keep riding and the forecast called for continuing rain, I stopped at the nearest motel. Imagine my surprise when the same helpful young man stopped at the same gas station to say Hi again.
The next afternoon, the rest of the ride to Jack and Alice's house in Marietta, Ohio went without problems although it did rain for 100 miles in Virginia. (Thank God for a functional rain suit.) I very much enjoyed seeing those 80-year-olds, especially since my travels (as passenger) last year had passed by so closely so many times. Jack is not as mobile since his fourth hip replacement, but we all hope that he will improve. John, their son, dropped in that evening and is such an enjoyable person. It is impressive that John's stepson, Eric, works for Google. The remaining Interstate to Lee's in Dover, Ohio and on back roads afterwards to Walt's near Cleveland were easy hops. During these hops the thoughts arose that cousin Kenneth & wife Jewel in Elkhart, Indiana are 90; that 90-year-olds should be visited at every opportunity; and that the distance from Cleveland to Elkhart, Indiana isn't excessive (around 250 miles). Chink #1 in the plan to return to South Carolina ASAP.
Walter took me with him to work the appointed day and displayed his personal exercise program: very rapid pedestrian locomotion across the extensive Cleveland Clinic hospital campus. The Eye Institute has its own separate building, and Walter introduced me to its head when we passed him in the hall. Registration went smoothly, and the nurse who first examined my eyes gave me a prescription for glasses (20/40 in my right eye with astigmatism; 20/20 in the left). The internist who performed the retinal exam was British and examined both eyes twice. Somehow that close, intense light blinded and disoriented me. After a few minutes I became unsure that my eyes were even open and unsure of direction as she instructed me to look left, look upper left, etc. The good news was that I passed the exam = no torn retina. The card-carrying medical specialist confirmed her diagnosis and the observation that there is a harmless freckle on my retina.
Walt and Pam were speaking of taking Doggie to the kennel for the second week that month, so I intervened and suggested that I could house- and dog-sit to keep Tasha (aka Doggie) outta the slammer. Imagine my surprise two days later when it snowed for 36 hours straight. The power went out by early afternoon, so my computer work stopped. Pilgrim's Progress is one of Pam's favorites, and that snowy afternoon was perfect for finishing it. By evening it seemed appropriate to ask the next door neighbors if they had power. Nope, this street is the first to lose power and usually the last to regain it. The neighbor has a most interesting passion to restore and fabricate Indian tomahawks. He once duplicated a tomahawk being restored for a museum and challenged the museum curator to "pick yours." Next morning I returned to shovel his driveway. (It is a strange never-never land when you realize that those "older" people whom you've helped to avoid physical overexertion ... are actually your age.)
While returning after shoveling, coffee and conversation, my imagination concocted a disturbing scenario involving Walter's basement, where streams flow when the ground is saturated, the sump pump, and the electricity outage. I decided to continue shoveling snow from Walter's driveway, including the paved circle in front of the house and the pavement between the two garages (house and workshop). HUGE. Rather than using the Kubota (which I've never started), my choice was to rely on that old stalwart, shoveling by hand. It is reassuring to report that my heart survived all that extended physical effort, shoveling from morning until dark for two whole days, pausing only when overheated or winded. Perhaps my diet and supplements are doing my poor clogged arteries some good.
Weather is occasionally astonishing in that it can be 75 degrees for the overnight low in the Florida Keys a few days before Cleveland gets 20" of snow. Shoveling is also good for thought, and the relevant thoughts were that the Rambo book needed reference citations proved and improved and that the genealogical department of the Allen County Public Library in Ft. Wayne, Indiana (near Elkhart) is perhaps the best resource in the country for printed materials. Chink #2 in ASAP plan. My plan to return to South Carolina ASAP died with the attractive thought of a visit to my delightful cousin Gloria and her musically talented husband, Jim.
After Walt & Pam returned from his speaking engagement in Spain (and showed me the pictures, bullfight and all), the weather continued cold and rainy for a few days. Rambo genealogy work went well, especially since my Verizon phone didn't work anywhere nearby. Tuesday it looked like there would be a dry escape from Cleveland southwesterly under the rains blowing in from the northwest. It proved dry, but far too cold for far too long, especially after stopping for a quart of homemade ice cream at an interesting farm store that is open all winter. Where is the name of that place? It was worth remembering and adding to my website.
Within the hour the cold, the occasional drizzle, and the dreary skies compelled a protesting thought: "But motorcycling is supposed to be fun in May." The skies did eventually lighten, the cold warmed, and the town of Kenton appeared at the end of a pleasant stretch of bucolic state highway. The genealogy society was closed [surprise #1], and the route to Van Wert through Ada avoided Lima city traffic. I pulled into cousin Gloria's driveway south of town and phoned her. She answered her cell phone [surprise #2], and informed me that she and Jim were in Tennessee [surprise #3]. She called a daughter who gave me a house key so that my luggage would be safe and dry while I commuted 45 miles daily to the impressive genealogical library in Fort Wayne to perfect several hundred reference citations for the Rambo book.
On Sunday, after a very productive week at the library, I rode up to Elkhart to see cousin Kenneth and Jewel. He was the third genealogical cousin I ever met and was instrumental in fanning my growing interest. Kenneth and Jewel have had a number of physical problems in the last several years, but were doing well while I was there ... at ages 90 and 91. They live at home, maintain a flower garden, and drive to do their own shopping. Ken has many enjoyable stories, and Jewel remembers better than I do which ones he has already told me.
Gloria and Jim had returned to their camper by the time I returned to Van Wert Sunday evening. They spend their summers camped in a travel trailer which is permanently parked in a campground a mile from their house. They spend their summers outdoors, cook over a campfire, throw paper plates into the fire, and enjoy campfire musical jam sessions frequently. There are always new people walking by and seldom any dreary housework to do. Monday I made one final trip to the library to allow Jim and Gloria time to readjust to being home. Monday night Jim was fit to be tied as his boss had told him, "You're leaving tomorrow for training in Chicago for a week."
Gloria had other things to occupy her time, so I continued commuting to the library to improve reference citations until the following Saturday. One of those mornings rain was forecast and appeared close to Fort Wayne on the color radar, so I rode the bike there early and had just parked and covered it when the rain started. The young German-born woman and the black Russian-Chinese gang member from Chicago enlivened the morning wait. He was a cook in a classy hotel restaurant and speaks four languages: Chinese, Russian, White, and Ghetto. His white was indeed well pronounced and appropriately inflected.
A big surprise at the library was hearing the name Wapello one day and discovering that the speaker not only had ancestors in southern Iowa, but also personally knew the family of my uncle Gene in Fairfield. More surprising was that his wife remembered teaching my cousin Lynnette in Keosauqua grade school. (I wonder if I still have their names somewhere.)
Saturday Jim and Gloria and the rest of the Glory Gospel Group performed at a local nursing home. The six band members play and sing many old favorite gospel songs, and those folks at the nursing homes respond surprisingly well by singing along and keeping time to the music.
Sunday I rode up to visit Kenneth and Jewel again, and enjoyed another fine afternoon visit. their garden is well kept and quite pretty and many birds frequent the feeders including a hummingbird or two. Kenneth gave me a comfortable knit cap which has served me very well ever since. I've just penned him a postcard with thanks.
Gloria and Jim carried me with them to another couple of nursing home singing engagements .. they had over 100 such engagements booked to the end of the year. Their children are all out of the house and on their own ... but are young enough and live close enough to be a continuing involvement. Gloria tells of being taught by "Granny" down in the hills of Cades Cove to douse for water and to use the same rods to divine graves and structures. One of the band members, Jim, asked Gloria to divine a couple of graves in his own cemetery. She correctly divined maturity, sex, and death circumstances for several graves he asked about. God certainly bestows some strange and unusual talents.
Suddenly my plans for the year were entirely untenable. John and Linda's wedding anniversary on July 4th in Santa Fe was too soon to allow me to finish the Rambo book and to start on the Appalachian Trail. Besides, another motorcycling buddy, Jim, would be coming to eastern Ohio in a week, and it would be much fun to see and ride with him and Lee and Walt & Pam.
Rather than riding straight to Dover, it made sense to swing south through Columbus to meet another Rambo genealogy cousin who wanted to meet me. Riding under dreary skies towards Columbus I hoped for a dry ride. The smaller roads were pleasant and smooth, and the rain was light and spotty until the last mile skirting the northeastern corner of Columbus approaching Pataskala, Ohio. There the skies grew more and more foreboding until it poured for a few minutes a few times. Cousin Mari's driveway is long and filled with large, loose stone, a challenge for fully loaded motorcycles. She and her roommate have a lovely house on an acre or more with lots of flowers, lots of bird feeders, and lots of birds. Pretty, pretty, and full of flight. Seems to me that I ingratiated myself by debugging a few computer problems. Later that evening the rain stopped before I went to sleep in their back yard hammock beneath a sapling.
Next day I called another Mechem genealogy cousin, Nancy, and was greatly surprised when she said that she was driving to Barnesville later after noon because my dilemma for the day was whether to visit Nancy or drive to Barnesville to visit cousin Elaine. We visited for an hour before she left for Barnesville with me following. The weather was again dreary, but it stayed dry to Barnesville. Cousin Elaine was home and entertained me for an hour or two.
Drizzle greeted me within five miles of Barnesville, and the appeal of a dry place to sleep encouraged me to ride all the way to Lee's before dark (80 miles). The rain lasted most of the way north on old state road 800. Rolling hills, curvy roads, and vistas lose a lot of appeal during rain. Some road surfaces become very slick with light rain, so I was doubly cautious (and slow and nervous) on this ride.
Jim arrived later that evening. Lee led us around his neck of the woods for a day, and we all rode up to Walter's the following day. Walter & Pam took us on a couple of good rides around their area, through the arboretum and along several parkways. Lee insisted on riding home that afternoon when rain threatened despite our invitation that he join us for lunch at a nearby watering hole. We watched the rain for an hour wondering about Lee's success in avoiding it. (He later reported riding through a downpour the entire 50 miles home.) That evening we inaugorated Walt's fire ring by lighting a good campfire to burn my holey socks per Danny's instructions. For proof, pictures were taken of burning of the socks and my old decrepit shoes. Jim returned to Mt. Airy, Maryland and I departed for points south - Lee's in Dover for a week, and then on to Greg's in South Carolina.
Greg & Donna left to visit their daughter, Krystyn, in Minneapolis. Their cats behaved wonderfully and appreciated my house- and cat-sitting attentions. The Rambo genealogy and the front lawn also benefitted. Greg Donna and I enjoyed a good week visiting after their return before my count of the days available for the trip to Santa Fe versus the intended visiting stops convinced me that the Rambo book would have to wait a while again.
Once the decision was made to postpone the book and the hike, another motivaton kicked in. Dave had sent me this lovely picture, and I couldn't resist thinking of visiting British Columbia to see Dave, Deb and the girls.
My bike rode a bit sluggishly with that additional 45-pound box of genealogy papers, but cruised to my storage locker in Illinois without difficulties. Darkness descended after Clarksville, Tennessee, but I kept riding in order to visit my nephew Eric the next day. Approaching Edwardsville in the early dawn my anticipation was to quickly pick up my backpack for the hikes in New Mexico and to drop off that 45-pound box. What a surprise to discover that my backpack was buried somewhere invisible and inaccessible instead of being near the door or camping supplies. After standing there contemplating that very, very full locker and contemplating the possibilities, it became abundantly apparent that the backpack would not be joining me on this western trip without great effort and sacrifice of visiting time.
It was lovely to spend quality time with my sister, my nephew & family, Don & Ann, and new genealogy cousin LaDonna Rambo in Knoxville. LaDonna was a real hoot, active, energetic, and cheerful despite being confined to a wheelchair in assisted living. Visits with aunts and uncles and cousins in Iowa were next, followed by a trip across Iowa on that most pleasant road, Iowa route 2. In Kansas City I made a mail pickup and enjoyed visits with Les & Joan, and Clarence & Kathy. Cabela's was open until 9pm and I bought a down jacket there. The ride across Kansas at night went smoothly and cooly. I had to wear that down jacket after midnight.
One of the nicest surprises came passing through Hugoton, Kansas at 8am, when I called Joe B. to see how he was doing. He lost his wife a couple of years ago and was drifting aimlessly for a while. The good news from his granddaughter-in-law is that he remarried about two years ago and that they've been like honeymooners ever since. However he moved to Phoenix and wasn't in Hugoton.
In South Carolina my rear tire had looked fine. In Illinois it looked worn. In Kansas City it looked iffy, so I checked it every fifty miles all night long. By daylight I felt confident that it would last to Santa Fe but continued checking every hundred miles. By noon in Clayton, New Mexico my rear tire was worn through to the cords in one little spot. It was Sunday, and Clayton is 80 miles from anywhere else in a hot, dry corner of New Mexico. Fortunately an inquiry about an open commercial garage door led to a safe place to store the motorcycle for a few days while hitch hiking to Santa Fe for a replacement tire. After walking a couple of miles, riding a couple of miles, and holding out my thumb couple of hundred times, I remembered that New Mexico is a hard place to get a ride hitch hiking. After four hours I was looking forward to walking 10 miles back into town to take the bus to Santa Fe on Monday. Then a very nice fellow named Patrick picked me up and drove me all the way to John and Linda's house in Santa Fe.
The motorcycle shop was closed Monday, but on Tuesday Richard assured me that they had the correct tire in stock. Linda offered me use of a van to drive to Clayton to collect the bike. That seemed like a wonderfully generous offer until the starter died after stopping for gas in Springer, NM. The Springer gas station had one interesting character who was waiting because the computer controlling the regular gas pump was being repaired by the technician. Strange to think that the gas pump can be idled by a bad computer. This guy helped me troubleshoot while waiting, and after his fillup, towed the van briefly downhill to the Ford dealership for a new starter motor. Had I bought the tire and returned to Clayton, I'd be richer by $285 (starter) + $80 (fuel). John's take on that was to appreciate that it didn't happen while he was driving. Those people in Clayton suggested helpfully that I could run the bike into the van using an abandoned railroad ramp nearby, and they provided a wonderfully nice, light aluminum ramp. They were some of the many, many wonderfully pleasant people that one meets while traveling.
The wedding anniversary party was lots of fun. Because of an early arrival, my gear went up on horseback. Wonderful. The horse packers were a fun group of four guys, but returned to the parking lot rather than stay the night. About 20 people trickled in and out for the party. The most energetic one ran up over several mountains and through camp early one morning on his way back to his car for his backpack (at age about 50). Only one couple had attended the original wedding 20 years ago, Phil and Tracy. I didn't remember them, but enjoyed meeting Phil again. He is another minimalist camper (as I am), and showed me his homemade backpack, homemade tent with hiking poles doing double duty, and thin, light groundcloth from gossamergear.com. Those groundcloths are a wonderful buy at $4.95. John brought a surplus of marguerita makings ... to make sure that everyone made optimal use of the 11,000 feet of altitude. I had met several of John's other friends in "recent" years, and was disappointed that Peter the Greek experienced altitude sickness which he blamed on living in London at sea level for the last ten years. John, Linda, and I were the first ones up and the last ones out, so we enjoyed seeing the horsepackers a second time.
Bob and Lupe graciously offered me a place to stay for a couple of weeks, and the Rambo genealogy benefited from their generosity. Their guest house is a very comfortable and pleasant place. It was a substantial disappointment that Bob stayed too busy to spend much time with me. It was a quick commute to anywhere else in town - 20 minutes max. No wonder Santa Fe is considered such an ideal place to live. Stuart and I enjoyed playing a few games of GO. Unfortunately for my diet, Ben & Jerrys ice cream was on sale super cheap ($2) at Wild Oats; most flavors were available; and it was very, very tasty. Norma, who usually invites me over for supper and Scrabble, was on vacation so it was appropriate to stockpile bunches for our next games.
Janie asked me to stay with her after a dental implant operation. Her house is a beautiful old estate located near Sun Mountain close to St. John's College. Fortunately, the pain she expected never materialized. My favorite sleeping pad in Santa Fe is under her sequoia tree. It is almost magically restful to sleep there. Since she has had bad results after previous similar operations, Janie followed the doctor's advice to remain basically very inactive for a week. This allowed me to make even more progress on the genealogy, now nearing completion.
Norma returned from a long train trip vacation and we managed a couple of hikes and a couple of Scrabble games on separate evenings. Amazingly on the first play of both games I drew a blank and played all 7 letters for the 50 point bonus "bingo."
My pleasant working and visiting situation in Santa Fe came to an end on a Saturday noon when my nephew called to tell me that aunt Jeannie had died in Bettendorf, Iowa. A call to cousin Monte confirmed that the funeral would be no earlier than Tuesday and that Monte was leaving for Iowa from Colorado Springs that night. The thought of riding across middle America in July is a grim one because the heat can be unrelenting. However, since there was no reason to prevent me from attending the funeral, I decided that I HAD to go ... uncle Gene and his three wonderful sons deserve the support.
That morning while packing, it was obvious that my load was too bulky and too heavy, and that discarding a mildewed pillow, a grungy coat, and a threadbare tarp would help lighten and reduce. One is forced to re-assess life strategy after realizing that even the desperately homeless would refuse my cast offs. Even after discarding those items, another 30% of my load still needs to be jetisoned.
Regardless of the impending funeral, John and I went hiking Sunday up alongside a lovely little mountain stream that we crossed 10 or 15 times by simply walking across its 10 foot breadth each time. There were no dry ways to cross it, so we hiked in soggy boots after the first crossing. This hike is unusual for New Mexico and was actually quite pleasant. With luck my boots will conform better to my ankle bone and fit more comfortably now.
While hiking, memory dawned that Janie's web site still needed more work, so I went back to her house and cleaned up the web site and installed it on the World Wide Web. I'm disappointed that Google doesn't find it yet. At 1:30am the bike and I were leaving Santa Fe on I-25 north. My plan was to ride at night as much as possible to avoid the heat and the plan worked too well. A coat was necessary shortly outside the city limits. At Springer no gas stations were open and my gas tank was nearly half empty and it seemed likely that the single gas station in Clayton would be closed, so I decided to ride the extra distance to Raton to be sure I didn't run out. My tank is good for only about 190 miles maximum cruising range and most stations are closed in the wee hours of the night. Imagine my excitement when I not only found gasoline a couple of miles north, but also found postcards of beautiful old Fords to send to Lee. Harry's Service has postcards of dozens of gorgeous makes and models from which to choose.
In the past I've seen an awe inspiring sky with magnificently bright stars in that intense darkness halfway to Clayton, but this time a sliver of moon cast my shadow and washed stars out of the sky. It was still beautiful. The gas station in Clayton was open for credit card self service, a variety of service becoming more common now. Some of them are "sleepers" that are not lighted but still pump gas. In the pre-dawn darkness on those deserted Texas and Oklahoma highways, I scoffed the law by leaving my helmet off so that I could exercise my constitutional right to "life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness."
This time Joe B. answered the phone in Hugoton around 8am. (5 cents (!) for the pay phone since Hugoton isn't Verizon friendly.) Joe B's new wife is his sister-in-law, Janice. Joe's brother died years ago and Joe and Janice gradually started spending more time together after Maxine's death. It is a relief to see Joe looking much, much better, and Janice is a sweet person although a bit gimp since she needs a knee replacement. They were kind enough to feed me lunch, and then suggested that I take a nap. The outdoor temperature was 106, so the nap sounded good, but was brief due to the heat. Four hours is much better than nothing. Garden fresh tomatoes and fresh corn on the cob were great for dinner. About sunset, after thanking them for their hospitality, old U.S. Route 56 took me northeast toward the infamous Dodge City.
U.S. 56 and U.S. 50 highways across Kansas follow the Old Santa Fe Trail, but at night none of that history is visible. About three times that night I pulled off into a rest area of any description and laid flat on the ground, flat on my back for a nap. Each time refreshed me enough to resume riding alert and awake for the next hour or more. As with the trip westward, the Braum's in Emporia was closed. By the time I-35 began, the daylight was fast approaching. Fortunately clouds blocked the direct sun and its heat. Progress through Kansas City was delayed by rain, traffic backups, and a major Interstate bridge closure or two. Impending rain was reason to leave the Interstate, and the city streets were much more pleasant than the Interstate traffic jams. News Flash! minor crisis: QuikTrip stores no longer sell Blue Bell ice cream, although Walmart Superstores still sell a favorite Blue Bell flavor, Strawberries and Cream.
All the way to the Iowa border, the clouds were a welcome heat reducer, but at the Iowa state line, the skies to the east appeared clear, blue, and hot. There was a little city park on the outskirts of Davis City, Iowa that provided shade, shelter, and a grassy napping spot. This nap lasted a couple of hours until the first rain drops landed. The drizzle lasted for about 10 miles north and east, and the clouds lasted until Pulaski, Iowa. As the heat rapidly built, a city park with a picnic shelter in Pulaski looked attractive. There was a shed to shelter the bike from the sun. My road atlas revealed that Pulaski is only 20 miles from Keosauqua, my target for the day. An interesting kid showed up on his bicycle at this state park - 14 going on 15 with $9000 already earned and saved towards a new pickup truck. He is adopted, very industrious, and earns his money mowing lawns. This very park pays him, but has stopped mowing for the summer until an inch of rain falls in a day. (By contrast, as I write this in Sandpoint, Idaho the weather announcers are excited to report a whole 0.38" of rain - a lot for this area.) He rides his bike several miles most evenings to his favorite fishing pond. Refreshing to see initiative and ethic in such a youngster.
It was busy that afternoon visiting cousins before going to Eleanor's. Eleanor has requested that I call her before dropping in, but my memory isn't up to the job. Laura's Beauty Shop is always my first stop because it is easiest to catch her at work. A new treat is that cousins Scott and Rex have moved back to town. The big surprise at Rex's was to be greeted at the door by cousin Jerry. In order to have a short, quick ride to Bettendorf the next morning, I left Keosauqua about 10pm and drove about 80 miles, "halfway," before looking for a place to sleep. On the northern edge of Washington, Iowa is a big Presbyterian Church near to a tiny National Guard Armory depot. The grassy alcove between two wings of the church was out of sight, out of traffic patterns, and unlit. Home for the night - and a quiet one too although the Iowa route 92 carried more traffic than expected.
Washington was almost an hour further than expected from Bettendorf and en route the realization dawned that I did not know where the funeral was to be held. The worry was that everyone might have gone to the funeral home before my arrival. In fact, I was among the early arrivals. Matt and Gene were already at the house waiting for arrivals. Ellen and Holly and Belinda were also there. Gene's three brothers with wives (Roger, ??) arrived soon after Mary's sister brought food for lunch.
It was very nice to see Jeannie's extended family again and to "meet" Gene's brothers, but very sad to be burying a favorite aunt. On the other hand, she had suffered ill health, deterioriation, and pain for far too many years and her passing can certainly be considered a blessing. My sister and I again enjoyed the fulfillment that accompanies the best family visits.
From Keosauqua, it seemed best to head north on smaller roads to Minneapolis to visit my sister-in-law Carolyn. That direction also lead me to enjoyable visits in Mason City and Algona with genealogical cousins Ray and Dick (and their wives Mary and Fran). The smaller roads were indeed pleasant, especially since the heat had moderated that day.
How do you describe those people with whom you instantly "click," and with whom you become emotionally and intellectually connected within 12 hours? Cousin David in Alden, MN is passionate about teaching, kids, motorcycles, and genealogy. Two out of four with no conflicts. No wonder we formed a close bond quickly -- of course the entire reason for stopping was because he recommended a Club for motorcyclists who love to camp: http://www.ibmc.org/ He and Pat certainly understood my point of view. David had just returned from Sturgis which annual pilgrimage he has made most of the last 24 years (correct me if I'm wrong David).
Carolyn was mostly busy, but we managed to enjoy a pleasant morning until 2pm when she needed to prepare to go to work at the blood bank. The road west from Minneapolis was far busier in the early afternoon than expected. The ride was not very scenic either. Carolyn probably could have recommended a more enjoyable route. Once the road entered rural South Dakota all that changed. At first it was a surprise to have every passing motorist wave to me. Then I realized just how little traffic the roadway carried and just how comfortable my fellow travelers felt. Unfortunately interesting scenery is lacking, except for occasional fields full of spectacularly yellow sunflowers.
The town of Hettinger, North Dakota was the first one in many, many miles that had a library! The weather forecast is of tremendous interest to me while motorcycling, especially on days like this one when dark, heavy clouds appear on the western horizon. www.weather.com is a God-send. Indeed, stormy weather was forecast, and a casual exploration of town revealed a couple of good places to sleep convenient to shelter in case of rain. The town is nestled alongside a large and lovely lake with a well-developed public park. As I was walking for exercise there, a pleasant couple of residents walking their dogs volunteered that I could sleep anywhere along the lakeshore. Yes, Hettinger seems like a lovely place to live - no humidity, no bugs, nice people, local (& localized) greenery. I slept along the lakeshore, but was awaken after midnight by raindrops. Rain spurs me to instant action, and a rain plan is mandatory every evening. This time the bike was nearby, everything was soon lashed to it, and I was riding (under tiny power) towards the bandshell. There is a rule forbidding vehicles inside the fences, but the orchestra shell was just too inviting. It blocked the wind completely and the Beemer was invisible to passing headlights, so I rode up there and finished the night sleeping on the concrete. Again, my new Cabela 1.5" inch thick inflatable air mattress performed wonderfully.
The next day was cool, cloudy, and drizzly, a fine day for writing postcards in a pleasant city park. During a lull in the drizzle, I changed engine oil, and was soon after approached by a park employee riding a lawn tractor. When he stopped, I feared taht he was going to upbraid me for changing oil on park property. Instead we exchanged pleasantries for an hour before he finally restarted his tractor and resumed fulfilling his duties as a city parks employee. Meanwhile he had told me that I could dump my used oil in a barrel the county uses for that purpose at their (his) shop on the other side of the ball field. Parked in front of the shop was a home-built "trike," undoubtedly owned by that interesting "motorcycle character" conversationalist. There was another camper who rode a motorcycle, a laborer who has followed the harvest these last seven years.
The first night in Montana, the stars were magnificent. No city lights were visible and there was only one farmyard light in sight a mile or two away.
Billings has grown enormously over the last few years. It is now a BIG city with lots of people and lots of new development. No more sleepy little cow town. It now has everything modern to offer. My foodstuffs needed replenishing, but more important, rain appeared imminent and shelter would be scarce outside town, so I scouted about town for a good spot to sleep. One city park had a picnic shelter that was very dark as the light faded. A pedestrian scouting of that park revealed a baseball field with covered dugouts that were even less obvious. The bike fit into the open-ended dugout easily and my new inflatable camping matress made the concrete floor comfy. During the night, a Spanish girl and a couple of guys came very near and stayed talking for half an hour without seeing me or the bike. I arose and packed as the morning light first appeared and rode through town to find the Walmart and my dietary staple, quick rolled oats.
Mikel, a retire merchant marine in Harlowton, Montana was another of those "ahh ha sympatico" connections. He is quite a story teller, and apparently the sailor who lived up to several of the stereotypes. This whole pleasurable 24-hours began after I stopped to write postcards next to the E57B electric locomotive (Milwaukee Road) circa 1914 that stands as a town park monument. Mikel hollared "nice bike" complementing my overloaded 1973 BMW R75/5. (It would be nice to "find homes" for 1/3 of what I'm carrying ... but, to do that I'd have to stop traveling, genealogy, or this travelog.) We shot the bull casually for a couple of hours until other business drew him away. His deserted shop is open to all motorcyclists and my valves needed adjusting, so took advantage of his hospitality. He returned as I was finishing and invited me to spend the night at his home nearby. Once I finally pried myself free of Mikel's fascinating stories & philosophies, the ride to Helena was sweet and easy. However, memory failed me. The genealogy cousin I thought to meet lives near Boise, Idaho.
Here is a short episode to show you just how relaxed the folks are who live in remote parts of this country. My computer battery is dead, and the address I needed is only on the computer. The city library in Helena is closed Sundays, so electricity is not available there. I had a bundle of postcards to mail but needed stamps. The western edge of town comes abruptly, but there was a sign indicating that a right hand turn would take me to a Post Office and the VA Hospital. Miles later, on the VA Hospital grounds, I discovered that that post office was locked up tight without a stamp vending machine anywhere in sight. Phooey. However, VA Hospitals are supported by the public, so I waltzed inside to see if they would let me plug my computer into a wall socket. No problem. Later outside I did enjoy a long conversation with a veteran who had been among the first into Iraq. He said that the populace was overwhelmingly appreciative and supportive of the troops who freed them from tyranny. The problem is that they would now like their country back.
Frost appeared on my bag & pad the next morning. The smoke from fires certainly detracted from the scenery betwen Helena and Sandpoint.
The road is getting more interesting. I'm relaxing into the lifestyle more easily, but I'd really rather finish the Rambo genealogy and return to Santa Fe for good hiking and visiting. That seems rather strange to me. Patrick is helping me because he was such a traveler himself.
Sandpoint has nearly ideal summertime weather: 50s & 60s at night, 20% humidity, lots of greenery, lots of water, ... but unfortunately "one of the nicest places to live in America" with a growing roster of movie stars, rich people, etc.
Patrick is crazy as always, and Kay is a wonderful woman who loves him as much as he deserves. It is sooo very nice to see reciprocated love. Patrick and I wax wonderfully philosophical and I needed to read the Dao again.
OhMyGawd. Here it is more than a year later and I find no notes whatsoever about the rest of the story. I had such a good time that many memories are still quite vivid. Apparently my computer was willing to work only on genealogy throughout the remainder of the trip.
Patrick is still cleaning buildings at night and living a very clean life. He stays busy restoring unique old vehicles and improving Kay's property. He is doing very well.
Patrick's son TJ came home from a career selling door-to-door in Seattle. He is amazingly aware for a 20-year-old. However Patrick immediately started nagging TJ to get a job and make money. After I spoke privately with Patrick in TJ's defence a couple of times, Patrick asked me to leave. Oh well. I'm very happy and pleased for them all.
The border crossing was quick because of very little traffic.
In ?? the motorcycle needed more petrol, but the price at the station east of town seemed high, so I rode through town and found no other stations although there were numerous motorcycles about. The attendant at the gas station said that the motorcycles were there for a BMW club rally. Since Dave is a BMW afficiano, it was obviously necessary to go to the rally to see if he was there. While approaching the cordoned area in front of a nursing home, a granny in a sidecar presented the most wonderful picture, helmeted, shriveled and intent. The club had organized this rally to give rides to the senior citizens.
Wonderful to see Dave & Eric again. Coincidentally Rick was leaving as I arrived. Dave is a sweetheart of a guy although he demands top performance from his mechanics. Since he is a very capable mechanic himself, he expects a lot. I love his smile, his attitude, his humor and especially the joy de vie. He drives through turns very, very fast and can diagnose vehicular performance and mechanical problems like no one else. Dave's biggest problem at the shop is paperwork since he insists on personally typing thorough documentation for everything done to a customer's car. Often his customers have to wait to pay until Dave has finished polishing the bill. It is not unusual to see four or five customers waiting for their bills at 5pm.
Eric enjoys life and humor similarly but differently. He appears to be the raw boned blond northerner stereotype and is a wonderfully nice guy. He also is a fine mechanic and minds the shop on Dave's days off and during vacations. While he doesn't care for the office work, he is capable and pitches in when necessary or appropriate. I'll be forever indebted to Eric for the time and attention he has given me and my old motorcycles. This year he spent an entire day re-wiring my harness to fix ALL of the problems correctly.
Gene, Ray & Tye are wonderfully different & fun. There is a very, very good rock & roll station that the guys keep playing at volume throughout the day. Gene lives closest to the shop and is usually opens the doors in the mornings. He is hyper-active, upbeat, cheerful, boisterous, and lively 95% of the time. Ray is quiet, serious, steady and professional during working hours. Tye, the youngest, is even quieter but has a ready smile and a playful side.
Dave's girls are wonderfully different and Deb is doing a terrific job of home schooling them. (My sister-in-law home schooled her son & daughter through to high school graduation. Both of them have now passed their bar exams after college and law school.)
Amy is the oldest, about 8, and is a beautiful, cheerful, lively, talented violinist. She likes to read, enjoys Harry Potter immensely and reads out loud to her sisters. Unfortunately her youngest sister is capable of tormenting her endlessly.
Hana is my favorite, quiet and very, very smart. Hana is the artist and can easily become absorbed and amused in her own world. She seems more cheerfully athletic than the others. She also plays violin sweetly.
Ella is the youngest, about 4, and will have no problems in the working world. She has learned how to pull strings and get her way. She also plays violin, but prefers to attract attention by playing sour notes while her sisters are practicing appropriately.
In my book, Dave is a "go faster", someone who always rides the road for the thrills of pushing the limits in the corners. One of his amusements is watching others fade and disappear in his rear view mirrors as he speeds through the twisties. The ride into town was easier because he would slow for the school zone and heavier traffic. He always vanished during the ride home, sometimes amazingly quickly.
My diet had been working well and my weight might have fallen to my target of 175 pounds when one day ?? walked into the shop with a very appealing ice cream cone. He conveyed the news that the corner store sells cones which immediately prompted the memory that different brands and different flavors are available in Canada. Mere minutes later I was purchasing two cones at that store. Neither my weight nor my diet have never been the same.
It was a special treat to go to ?? with the family to watch the girls perform at the arts fair with the other Suzuki students. The other acts were also fun to watch, especially the old guys playing Canadian country.
The ride down to Kelowna to see Doug & Cathy was fun. Cathy reported bad reaction to hyraluronic acid. Doug was as intent and as entertaining as ever. He is originally from Massachusetts and has a wry sense of humor. Some thief was stealing items from his carport until he installed a security monitoring camera in a corner.
Dave does good work for fair prices, so he is Usually busy. My bike needed lots of minor maintenance, but I didn't mention it until one day when the scheduled work was done early. We immediately decided to do everything my bike might need during less busy times. Ray is the motorcycle mechanic and allowed me to help, watch and learn. Ray is the quietest and most gentlemanly of Dave's mechanics (although Tye might seem even quieter). Observing and working with him brought profound respect for him. He is meticulous, professional, unflappable, and observant. He is also very fit and an avid mountain bicyclist. He is usually quiet and calm, but has a wonderful smile.
Dave still heats with wood, and I was able to help split wood endlessly. Dave can really swing an ax or maul with vigor, and he can read those swirls to decide where to aim for maximum cleavage. We sawed, hauled, split and stacked wood many weekends that fall.
The ride to the lake on back of Dave's bike was exciting. The two families of adopted Chinese girls was a hoot.
My speedometer had made a loud whirring noise far a hundred miles before I disconnected the cable. Dave's speedometer expert refused to look at it until I personally disassembled the speedo and presented it to him. This confirmed his earlier suspicion that parts worn are not available. The local machinist who had formerly machined those tiny parts had passed away.
The nights became frosty and leaves began falling as winter's approach suddenly accelerated. I was eager to leave and the bike was back together and ready to ride. Unfortunately I am not a mechanic and had mis-assembled the speedometer by placing a long clear plastic part where the short one belonged. The bulb that should have shown through the shorter plastic didn't seat well, fell and shorted which allow that mysterious electrical "magic smoke" to escape. A portion of the wiring harness melted. Eric examined the damage and decided that the best solution was to dismember the harness and replace everything that had been compromised, especially as the harness had been melted by the previous owner.
Unfortunately I overstayed my welcome with Deb without realizing it until one evening when she lost her temper at me. The issue was a common one: Dave is always late getting home because he caters to his customers; Deb feels that his priorities are misplaced and that he should get home promptly after the shop's official closing time. I side with my buddy Dave, especially since he arranges to work four long days to have a three day weekend. Deb told me in no uncertain terms that I had stayed too long. I walked out. If I'm not welcome, I don't hang around.
Unfortunately my motorcycle was not now running so I couldn't head south. Fortunately Dave had built a guest house hidden in the woods on his property and had offered me residence there. For the next month I commuted up and down the mountain with Dave, but avoided the household to keep out of Deb's hair. Dave rides as much as possible and riding as his passenger was thrilling.
The guys at Dave's shop are very bright, talented, personable and friendly, and have a long standing tradition for eating lunch out on Fridays. Before long we discovered that beer on Friday evenings after work provides a companionable end to the work week. Not surprisingly there were never left-overs and a few times I got pretty tipsy.
Normally I spent most of my time in the office with Dave. The customers and salesmen were fun to entertain, but there were two attractive single women who seemed very comfortable around Dave. Flirtation is just too much fun. Thinking that this was just flirtation after all, I enjoyed myself immensely. The flirtation got out of hand one day due to the inherent dangers of rock & roll. I'm a dancing fool and rock & roll is the only music that moves me. Some songs simply mandate dancing and one Friday afternoon I was bouncing around the shop thinking that it would be great fun to go dancing. DebG had given me her business card and the prospect of dancing prompted me to call her for that purpose. She happily accepted and knew of a good place with a good band. We hit it off and she was surprised to meet someone who is even wilder on the dance floor.
Winter approaches rapidly and suddenly in British Columbia, and as I was making plans to leave, it became necessary to upgrade Dave's computerized billing and inventory system. Dave's hired computer geek, Brent, seemed reluctant and intimidated by that prospect, so I delayed leaving to help. That turned into weeks because the installation was not at all straightforward and the help desk was only open 5am to 5pm.
Gene knew of my situation at Dave's. His wife also liked me so they offered me the use of their camper whenever I needed to sleep in town.
DebG is attractive, effervesant and fun. We enjoyed spending time together as the system migration crawled towards completion one baby step after another. The help desk personnel were very good, but each morning the debugging session lasted only a hour before daily operations required that the old system be restored.
Usually Dave and I rode two up on Dave's bike into town. Dave is always already late for work when he leaves the house, so he tries to reverse the progress of time as he hurtles off the mountain towards town. It is an exciting ride. It is all I can do to keep from screaming. I have to remind myself constantly to behave like a sack of potatos. (I.e. don't lean or make any sudden movements, just sit there motionless "as if" petrified.)
One Saturday(?) we had to take the sidecar rig into town to take Hana to violin lessons. Beginning late (Duh), Dave was conflicted by the need to get Hana to lessons vs the need to make bank deposits before the bank closed. In front of the bank he asked me to drive Hana to violin lessons. Ha! I'd never driven the thing, but gamely agreed. That BMW-powered sidecar was a powerful beast, but it certainly doesn't handle like a motorcycle. BMW used to run an add about motorcycle wrestling and this "bike" could be the poster child for that ad campaign. Dave had told me that the sidecar steered strangely. Under acceleration it tries to fade right and when braking it fakes left. YES! Hana and I delicately felt our way uphill to the school and then had to hunt for her class because it had switched rooms. Downhill I picked up Dave and asked if he wanted to be passenger for a change. It was fun trying to give him a feel of the acceleration, braking, and cornering from the passenger's perspective, but I was still too unaccustomed to the bike to do the job right. Dave knows the limits and can raise the side car with me in it a couple of feet off the ground when turning right (toward the sidecar).
The bike tolerated one of Dave's test rides with a passenger, but soon after while a large buddy's wife and I rode uphill, power suddenly failed and we were only able to limp back to the shop. A pushrod had failed. the guys began to consider me a winter guest.
After all the work on the bike was done and damages paid, it was obvious that the bike had been had suffered more damages than normal wear and tear in the 26,000 miles that showed on the odometer when I bought it. Either it had been abused by the former owner or the mileage was 126,000 instead of 26,000. Oh well.
DebG and I rode a short way into the mountains one night and saw a large deer almost in the roadway.
More computer snafus prompted me to stay another day or two to get communications between Home and office restored.
All good things come to an end, and DebG and I said a teary goodbye late in the afternoon. Riding southward through the mountains was marvellous except for the threat of rain. Most of the leaves had fallen, but the remaining ones were vivid. Indeed, a light rain started within thirty miles and the roadway was soon wet. Motorcycling is a dangerous enough when you are having fun. Not having fun while riding just doesn't compute, so I look for shelter. A small building to the right looked like a church, but the sign announced that it was home of a quilting society. A long covered walkway beside the building looked appealing, and it was barely wide enough for the motorcycle. Just as dusk was approaching, members of the society arrived and politely asked me to leave. Sigh.
Several wet miles down the road was a community center with a baseball field and covered dugouts. The dugout was almost too narrow, but became my dry home that night.
The rain lifted by morning, but the colors seemed less vibrant and a bit soggy. Those mountains in British Columbia provide lovely "twisties" and great greenery. Soon the border crossing appeared. Dave had told me to ask for a tax refund on the money I had spent with him, but the crossing agent gave me a form to mail to Quebec. There was no other traffic and the agent questioned me minutely until another car finally arrived. I had been dreading a search that would necessitate unpacking and repacking everything.
The roads eastward to ?? were not especially attractive, nor was the road south to ??, but ?? westward to ?? was magnificent with mountains alongside a wonderful river. Traffic was also light and my enjoyment was off the charts. It was quite a relief to be further south with less risk of snow.
There was no feasible approach to Salt Lake City from the north other than the Interstate, so traffic was dense the last 60 miles into town. At the Utah Welcome Station (150 miles into Utah) another motorcyclist was taking a break. He had bought his new bike off the internet in New Hampshire and was riding back to California.
I certainly enjoy cousin Roy in Salt Lake City and he assures me that the pleasure is mutual. Roy and Barbara are both genealogists although raising two daughters shoved genealogy into the background. Roy often repeats a favorite phrase that he is waiting patiently for the Rambo genealogy to be printed. Roy also plays the oriental board game of GO which is my favorite from my college days. Roy has given my a standing invitation to stay in his finished basement apartment whenever I'm in Salt Lake City. There is no way to express my appreciation adequately for this hospitality in the Mecca of American genealogy.
The Rambo book progressed nicely for several weeks until my deadline to begin housesitting for Janie in New Mexico arrived. Roy and I enjoyed many games of Go and his collection of Go books provided considerable entertainment. At times I'd like to spend more time in one place to improve my game.
By coincidence the Gowdys very vacationing at Las Vegas and the detour was an easy one, although it was a surprise when the police officer in ?? told me that Nevada has a motorcycle helmet law. The detour to avoid the Interstate was not so good as it looked on the map, but the traffic was very light indeed. About 30 miles north of Las Vegas three motorcyclists were stopped on the roadside. The solo rider had left Grand Junction on his BMW that morning and had hit a rock which destroyed his front rim. He must have been flying because that distance is ?? miles on smaller roads. He was committed to staying with his bike and waiting for a tow truck, but couldn't keep a cell phone signal long enough to confirm the tow. It was miles later that I realized that he could have ridden slowly to Las Vegas without furthre damage to the rim, bike or tire.
I joined the Gowdys at their hotel for a few days. It was a surprise to learn that Las Vegas has nothing of interest to me. Boring, boring, boring. The local library referred me to the LDS Family History Library for genealogy and it was a delight to use their access to the census to find cousin Mona's Campbell relation who married a Rambo in Van Buren County, Iowa and emigrated to Nevada.
The ride through Page, AZ and near the Vermillion Cliffs was another delight. Those cliffs are a natural wonder and the newest national park. It was also of interest to ride through those desert miles again, but it was not warm. The Indian reservation town of Tuba City is pathetic and depressing. It is always inspiring to approach Shiprock from Arizona. No wonder that the Indians consider it sacred territory.
New Mexico highway?? southeastward from ?? to Cuba has certainly changed. That formerly sleepy highway has been improved to four lanes and the traffic has multiplied ten-fold. The scenery used to be appealing, but with the increased traffic there is no longer anything of sufficient interest to appeal. After gassing up in Cuba NM ?? cut east through the ?? Mountains to Coyote to drop in on Arturo Montoya. However his sister told me to look for him at the Walmart in Espanola. NM ?? joins US 285 south of Abique Lake and Ghost Ranch. Georgia O'Keef's favorite mountain and the view overlooking the lake are both worth the detour (as is Ghost Ranch). Art met me in the Walmart parking lot because his sister had called. It was great fun to see him again after five years, but he was leaving immediately to visit this wife's relatives in Colorado.
In Santa Fe, Janie had discovered that the newest plastic window coverings will keep her wonderfully open and drafty house warm in the winter, so she no longer needed me to housesit. Since She typically sits up watching TV in the evenings, I adopted a strategy of sleeping early, arising about 4am and typing genealogy until the rest of the world awakens. As long as I feel that the book is progressing, I am happy. My hiking friends were generally otherwise occupied, but John and I did manage a good hike up Lake Peak (and across the "knife edge"). Those views from the mountaintops are a great motivator for me.
Janie visited her brother in New York one week and her renter, Nancy, threw a hissy fit about my mere presence in the house "absolutely ruining" her life. After Janie returned, Nancy declared that she was so extremely aggrieved that she intended to move out ASAP and refused to pay her rent. In fact I had behaved no differently than when Janie was present and had seldom seen Nancy. Eventually it sank in that Nancy was absolutely stark raving paranoid about being left alone in a house with ANY man, I couldn't leave quickly enough. Very few things are as dangerous as an irrational woman.
Centaur Cycles was closed although their sign said merely "out" and their voicemessage was the usual. My rear tire was nearly bald and I was anxious to replace it after the issues on the trip westward in July. After five days of calling and a stop at the shop, I finally called their home number out of desperation and was relieved when Meg answered. She explained that they were just back from vacation but was adamant that they would not even open the shop to sell me a tire. Rather than wait over the weekend I left with the hope that the tire would last until Denton, Texas. It didn't.
Examining the tire every fifty miles is a drag, but it obviously needed replacement and there were very few towns and no motorcycle shops along my chosen route until Clovis. A Yamaha shop there had the right tire but no mechanics since it was nearly dark. I can mount a tire after quite a struggle, but have no way to balance it. The city park was huge and there were unlit areas ideal for a good night's rest. The mechanics returned the next morning but proved to be incompetent and took five hours to get the tire mounted and balanced (with weights all over the rim on both sides). Still, it was nice to be riding on thicker rubber.
It was hard to find a good place to sleep that evening in the open spaces of West Texas. There seemed to be yard lights all over the landscape - until the noise of a oil pumping station nearby sparked the realization that each of those multitude of lights was an individual pump. It was explained later that as long as the well was pumping the light stayed lit. The owner could look across the landscape to see if all was right in the world. If an area was unlit, he needed to check the pumps. It was quite a while until I found an unused road along an irrigation ditch that served as home for the night.
Since this place was too close to the road I arose before dawn and arrived in Denton early. While turning a corner in Denton the bike handled "funny" and the motor died. Fortunately it restarted easily. Cousin Dorothy is delightful.
Dallas lies between Denton and Hempstead where cousin Cynthia lives. Sunday morning seemed like the best time to ride the Interstate through town and indeed, the traffic was not bad. Once past Dallas the smaller roads again appealed and highway 6 into Hempstead was quick and comfortable.
Cynthia and Stan are delightful people whom I enjoy greatly. They have a guest house to provide a spiritual retreat for ministers, and extended a welcome for me to stay there for the week. If you've never published a genealogy you cannot begin to understand the amount of time it can consume.
The day I intended to leave the motorcycle would not start. This was a continuation of the problem in Denton. The day before the kickstarter had started the bike when the battery wouldn't, but this day it was just dead to the world. Since the rear tire had a slow leak and the bike refused to start I decided to patch the tire before worrying about the starting problem. That shop in ?? had mangled mounting the tire so badly that the tube had folded over and worn a hole. It was indeed a terrible struggle to remove the new tire and replace it after patching the tube. Such strenuous activity irritates the osteo arthritis in my left thumb joint.
After checking the wiring thoroughly and performing all the tests I knew I finally called Danny who gave me the name of his BMW shop which gave me the number of a specialist in older BMW "airheads" who gave me the number of a "motorcycle rescue" service who would pick my bike up in a van.
MPH Cycles (aka MPH Automotive) in Houston
The UPS tractor trailer driver in Alabama who diagnosed my problem as a capacitator.
That's it for now. More to follow as indicated in the synopsis. Love from rambling Ron Beatty, still rolling and stopping, visiting and typing.
Click here to return to Ron Beatty's home page,
These links are on all my web pages:
Eve's Garden Organic Bed and Breakfast, a wonderful, eclectic, artistic papercrete alternative living learning mecca in Marathon, Texas
Rambo family genealogy, Bankston & Bankson family genealogy, the Camblin family genealogy, the Dorsey Overturff family, cousin Jean's Schenck and Hageman genealogy, and