It’s 1:00 a.m. – this is the beginning of the fifth day, but I haven’t slept from day 4 yet.

You might ask why I am up so late – after such a long days ride – which brings me to a very important point about motorcycle touring. Guys, if you haven’t figured it out yet – you can’t carry 24 days worth of clean clothes on your bike – even if you have a Bushtec trailer. Now once you find a motel or a campground with guest laundry facilities – you have to get at the end of a very long line of mothers – waiting to do laundry for countless children. Hence, my turn has finally arrived – all the mothers are tucked quietly in bed – and yes I am waiting for the last load to dry.

I struck up a conversation with the last of the mothers – she is from North Dakota and is touring in a van with her husband and two kids – ages 6 and 9. Guess what guys – she didn’t get a vacation – cause she is doing laundry at 1:00 a.m. – just like she does at home. Her husband and the kids are in bed asleep – and she just wants to tell someone that she is still up taking care of her family. I listen. When I go back down to move a load from washer to dryer – she is gone – but lying on my laundry bag are four dryer sheets. She knows I didn’t think to stop and buy dryer sheets. Does her caring for others ever stop? I don’t know – but I feel cared for.

Now if there was just a guest laundry for my Valkyrie. After rain and bugs and gravel roads – she is truly a mess. Makes me wish I had my Sam’s lift – a hose – and a bucket for a good wash – I think it would be good for both of us. And, speaking of my Sam’s lift I just want to say thanks again to Danny in Illinois – he posted a note on the general board several months ago and offered to make some up – before Ross had really begun production. Anyway, Danny made one and shipped it to me. Danny, I appreciate you for that and want you to know that I think of you every time I lift my Valk. What a great group of guys.

While I still have a couple of minutes – I want to send a little message to the Prestons at Bushtec. Guys, I don’t know what your design specs were for the Turbo +2 – especially with respect to Buffalo pies. But I just wanted you to know that my trailer has successfully negotiated countless piles of Buffalo droppings with aplomb. I suggest that if you failed to include it in the design specs – you should add it as a "field tested item."

My jeans are clean – the saga resumes at 0530.

Reveille was late this morning – and it was my fault. The trumpeter (alarm clock) blew at 0530 and I slapped it (snooze) up along side the head and slept till 6:00. By 8:00 I’m rolling west on I-90 – it’s cool enough to stop and put on my leather jacket. As I cross into Wyoming the temperature suddenly jumps from 63 to 74 degrees in less than a mile.

Turning north on Wyoming 111, I am the only out of state license plate to be seen – the road is deserted except for the occasional pickup. Just after turning west on 24 I am visited by a hawk – who flies parallel with me, briefly then soars off in a climbing turn. Only a couple of miles further down the road just past the little town of Alva – I happen upon a pair of hawks – they are soaring – into the strong wind from the west. I am grateful – the spirits are with me.

This route to Devil’s Tower is breathtaking. I am stopping frequently to shoot the landscape, all the while doubting that I am capturing the glorious colors. I’m thinking this is a case of "you had to have been there."

Approaching the entrance to Devil’s Tower, I’m thinking that the National Parks Pass that I bought at the Skyline Drive on my way to the Hoot in June was a good move. It passes me through the gate and up the two-mile drive to the tower. The tower is too big to shoot close-up – so I sip some coffee in the parking lot – and yes, once again, a Harley guy walks over to talk to me about the Valk. He’s from Minnesota – and confides he’s thinking his Harley is underpowered – he likes the Valkyrie – and I respond that a lot of us do – and he can find out more at www.f6rider.com.

The busses start arriving and I am outta here. I take 24 and 14 back to I-90 at Moorcroft. I’ll be cruising I-90 for the rest of the day into Billings, Montana to get the 12,000 mile service done on my bike.

Heading west again – into incredible winds – I am holding onto the Valkyrie for dear life – feeling as though I am going to be blown off the bike. I am reminded of an old man I met maybe 25 years ago. I’ve always been thin – 6’1" and 125 lbs most of my adult life – a little more than that now – I can finally buy clothes in the men’s department – instead of the boys. But anyway, the old guy said to me one day, "Boy, you had better put some sand in your pockets or that wind is going to blow your skinny butt into the next county. After all, you ain’t nothing but breath and britches." Well, I’ve got to tell you I’m glad my "breath and britches" are on a big motorcycle today. The weight holds me down and six cylinders push me forward.

I stop for gas in Buffalo, Wyoming and I can see mountains in the distance signaling the end of the high plains. I’m across the Montana border and I am curiously captivated by the landscape. I see the South Dakota grasslands – the Wyoming wild country – some Indiana cornfields. One minute it’s fertile – the next minute it’s desolate.

Riding in solitude, I imagine the creator as an artist. In Indiana and Illinois, she or he drew very precise square sections and shaded them in with the richest soil on earth. Continuing west through Wisconsin and Minnesota, the richness continues as it is overlaid on gently rolling hills. The artist’s complexity begins to reveal itself in South Dakota’s gentle grasslands; and the gouging – almost vengeful landscape of the Badlands – followed almost immediately by the sometimes scraggy – sometimes lush Black Hills. There is a rugged beauty to Wyoming – desolate grazing lands punctuated with red rim rock canyons – as if to say "Lets try something different."

But Montana – it seems as though it’s a broad brush of desolate grazing lands – interspersed with a narrow daub of lush and fertile – here and there. I ask, why? The answer follows immediately, "Because I can!"

And I am reminded that you can’t get here on an airplane. You just can’t understand the humor of creation from 35,000 feet. I reflect on the landscapes I’ve witnessed for the last five days – and my heart smiles. I recognize the humor – but I don’t understand it – and I don’t expect I ever will. I am content with recognition – understanding is not required.

As I approach Billings, a billboard announces a Cracker Barrel ahead. I can already taste country fried steak with mashed potatoes, green beans, and okra – and yes – a Red Roof Inn nearby.

My heart smiles again – I remember the hawks floating on the wind – they can see farther than I - and have come to assure me that all is well.

The bike trip meter says 379.9 the Garmin III+ trip meter says 380.9 and I say Goodnight from Billings, Montana.

Connecticut Yankee in Yosemite Valley- the Trek
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