Connecticut to California – Day 1 – August 12, 2000

“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other.  In a car you’re always in a compartment, and because you’re used to it you don’t realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV.  You’re a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame”

“On a cycle the frame is gone.  You’re completely in contact with it all.  You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.  That concrete whizzing by five inches below your foot is the real thing, the same stuff you walk on, it’s right there, so blurred you can’t focus on it, yet you can put your foot down and touch it anytime, and the whole thing, the whole experience, is never removed from immediate consciousness”

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig

 
Good Company

The alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. – it really doesn’t much matter, because I haven’t slept much anyway.  I’ve been waiting for this alarm for six months.  This alarm is the Valkyries in the Valley alarm.  Twenty four days and 10,000 miles begin now!

Several cups of coffee – last minute things packed – checklist checked twice – a picture before I go – and the final goodbyes.  It’s 7:20 a.m. and I am rolling.  Weather forecast says I have a 50% chance of rain from Stamford, CT to South Dakota, but I am not putting on rain gear.  The skies are cloudy – looking like they will open up with a downpour any second, but I am resolved that I will not start this trip expecting rain.

I’m on the Merritt Parkway then the Hutch to I-287 – I get on the Tappan Zee Bridge – I’m over the middle of the river and the skies open up.  It’s cloudy to the South – clearer to the North – I’ve been predicting weather on the back of a motorcycle for 25 years, and my expert opinion is that it will be over in a minute – and it is.

I’m not as expert at predicting road rage, however.  I’m on I-87 passing through Spring Valley, NY when I see a Mercedes coming up fast in the left lane – I’m in the middle lane – and there is a Jag coming up very fast in the right lane.  The Jag must be doing 90 mph and as soon as he has passed me on the right, he cuts in front of me – across my lane – gives the finger to the guy in the Mercedes and cuts across in front of him with very little space to spare.  About that time, a barrage of soda bottles and cans come flying out of the driver’s window of the Jag and begin bouncing off of the windshield and hood of the Mercedes.  I shower down on the brakes and move quickly into the right lane avoiding the flying debris and putting a lot of space between them and me.

I pick up I-287 to angle down to I-80 west of New York City – pulling up along side a Red Jetta.  The back seat is filled with everything you can think of – looks like mother is driving and daughter is passenger.  Looks to me like mom is taking daughter off to college.  I am instantly transported back more than thirty years.  It was a 1966 Dodge Dart. It was red and everything I owned was in the back seat and trunk of that car.  Do you remember when everything you owned would fit in a car?  I do – and sometimes I think I was happier then.  Today, everything that seems important is in two saddlebags the trunk and the trailer – I find myself wondering what it is that I need, that I don’t have with me right now.

I find I-80 and some rain too – so it’s time to capitulate and change the riding gear.  Off with the leather jacket and on with the First Gear two piece riding suit – Nolan helmet and glove covers.  Lots of intermittent showers from here on – I like the First Gear outfit – the glove covers go on and off as necessary.  Cruiserworks boots keep my feet dry – so I don’t have to mess with overboots – just love you folks at Cruiserworks.

I stop for gas in Hazleton, PA – sipping some coffee from the thermos and eating a buttered hard roll when a Harley guy walks up – his eyes bulging and his finger pointing at the bike, “What is that?”  I might be mistaken, but it appears he is disappointed when I tell him it’s a Honda Valkyrie.  He walks around it about three times, just shaking his head – tells me he is riding from New York to Ohio.  I watch him pull out – he has a car following him.

As I am passing the Clearfield exit on I-80 in Pennsylvania, I am reminded of the events of nearly 40 years ago – in the little town of Curwensville just 7 miles up the road from Clearfield – that bring me to this very place and time on a motorcycle.  You see, I was a thirteen-year-old kid working at Goodman’s IGA supermarket – after school and on weekends.  I can’t remember his name now, but the Assistant Meat Manager had a Harley and he asked me one Saturday if I wanted to go for a ride after work.  I have no idea what model Harley it was, all I can remember is that it had, what I thought looked liked the biggest bicycle seat I had ever seen on it.  I got on that big old seat behind him and held onto a chrome rail that went around the back of the seat – and he took me to Lumber City.  Well, Lumber City is gone now – flooded by the Army Corps of Engineers when they built the Curwensville Dam, but the memory still persists of my very first motorcycle ride.  I was hooked.  It would take me 15 years to get one of my own, but the fact that I would get one was never in doubt.  Cruising past that exit today, I’m grateful to him for a lifetime of enjoyment and I resolve to take a neighborhood kid for a ride.  Maybe you could do that too!

Having been born and raised in Western Pennsylvania, I see lots of names of towns that bring back memories.  I’ve been here before – many times, but never before on a motorcycle.

The Ohio Turnpike is a disappointment.  I don’t know what I expected, but after I-80 through rural Pennsylvania, this doesn’t compare.  I am starting to think of accommodations for the night and am surprised to see signs that say there at motels at this exit – ask for a list at the toll booth.  Not very traveler friendly, I’d say.

I planned my route using Microsoft Streets and Trips and today is supposed to be a little over 450 miles, but I am on a roll.  The bike is smooth – the Bushtec Turbo is towing flawlessly – I’m ahead of schedule and I’m feeling good.  Stop at a rest area and pick up one of those “lists” of motels – better hold onto that for the trip back – figure I’ll press on to near the Indiana border.  Found a Super 8 at exit 3 – I can’t believe it - $75.00 a night.  Pull in and get some supper at Smith’s restaurant next door.  When I come out, there must be 30 Harleys in the motel parking lot – everyone is on their way home from Sturgis.  Guess what?  My Valkyrie is the only bike in the lot that isn’t on a trailer!

The bike trip meter says 608.3 the Garmin III+ trip meter says 626.6 and I say Goodnight from Wauseou, OH.   

Connecticut Yankee in Yosemite Valley- the Trek
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