Badlands and Iowa

After Piedmont, South Dakota I headed out to the Badlands. Now, the Badlands are beautiful. Highly recommend going out there for some camping. I mentioned previously there were no pictures of my time in the Badlands. The reason for this is it was getting hot. Very hot. Too hot to handle a 2 hour ride during the day. So I went to Mt. Rushmore during the day. Now money was getting pretty tight, so rather than go into the parking lot for the attraction I just rode around the area (it's nice), found a utility road I could leave my bike on, then scrambled up some boulders for a view.



I left Piedmont at around 10pm, well after the hottest part of the day. I got to the free campsite in the Badlands around midnight. I was hoping it would be mostly empty considering how hot it was, but such was not the case. Luckily there were some people still awake and making enough noise that I didn't feel bad about rolling in late, and being that I set up the tent once already I had it figured out got it all up in just a couple of minutes with minimal effort.

I awoke at 6 in the morning, because it was already too hot to sleep. I packed all my gear up as fast as I could. I had a liter of water with me, and I poured 1/2 of it out onto my shirt just before heading out to keep cool. I didn't know that it was already over 90 degrees, I just knew it was uncomfortably hot and that it was going to be a very long day.

I got out of the badlands as fast as I could, and while it was beautiful, and I got to see some mountain goats up close, it was so hot that even thinking about stopping for pictures made me nauseous.

I had 400 miles to ride and it was 107 degrees that day. I took it 60 miles at a time. The routine was ride 60 miles, pull over, gas up, drink some ice water, hose myself down in cold water. By keeping my clothes wet it keeps me much cooler as it evaporates while I ride. But by the time I got another 60 miles down the road, I would be mostly dry again. So it went and it was more or less bearable up until the last 100 miles from Spirit Lake, Iowa; when the humidity went way up which stopped the water from evaporating.

I started to focus like a laser on the road ahead of me instead of being aware of everything ahead of me, as well as my surroundings. "Just a few more turns and I'm there." In retrospect, I think I barely made it. If I had to ride for another 1/2 hour I would have had to pull over and lie down if I had the sense to. Otherwise I may have just passed out from heat stroke.

When I arrived at my hosts door feeling, looking, and smelling like a beaten wet dog, they asked me "You're leaving tomorrow for Missouri?" "Yeah that's the plan." to which they thankfully informed me "No you're not. You'll never make it in this heat. It's supposed to break by Wednesday evening. You can stay until Thursday." (It was Monday).

I felt like I had just been rescued (twice in one week!). Big thanks to Doug and Linda, I think you guys may have saved my life.

Now when I pictured Iowa, I pictured flat and boring. I did not picture



a beach side community complete with a boat accessible bar and palm trees.



Apparently they bring them in during the winter.

My hosts took me sailing



and they even set up a tour of the Victory Motorcycles plant through a friend of theirs.

Doug and I in the front room:



There were absolutely no pictures allowed inside the plant, but it was a very cool experience.

After the heat broke, I headed out that Thursday. As much as I wanted to head down to Missouri, I just couldn't. It was still over 100 degrees down there and there was no sign of the temperature dropping in the immediate future. So I altered my route and went to Madison, Wisconsin. I was 6 days from home.


Smell no evil.

The Legend of "Six-Shooter" Harris

To be read in the voice of Sam Elliott

Ain't ya heard the legend of Ian "Six-Shooter" Harris? Not named for the gun he carried, but for the bike he rode.



Harris blew in to Sturgis, South Dakota like some kind of thundering tumbleweed: hot, dry, and mean.

In another month, there was a rally happening here, but it wasn't getting any cooler and funds were tight. He wasn't there for that.

No, he had come to find his fortune in the Homestake gold mine in Lead. That plan...didn't work out. Not only due to his propensity to ride in carts of explosive material,



but all the gold had been completely mined out by 2001



and it is now used as a laboratory for researching neutrinos and dark matter.

After his failed stint at the mine, Six-Shooter, desperate and dejected, headed over to the (in)famous town of Deadwood, to try and win big in the casinos.

With his last 2 dollars burning a hole in his pocket, he parked his monstrous steed and walked in to the nearest casino. Mesmerized by the flashing lights, he sat down at a roulette table. Now watchin' that little ball bounce around that wheel can be quite stressful indeed.



But lady luck must've been blowing him kisses from across the room and before long he figured he had better high tail it out of there before he's dragged into a back room and worked over for winning too much.



So away he walked, at a brisk pace, on over to "The Original Location Saloon" to pay his respects to the mannequin of "Wild" Bill Hickok, which supposedly sits in precisely the spot where the man himself was shot.



Sometimes when a dude is in a place, he just needs to have a drink. Especially if it's hot out.



Not much a fan of beer, Six-Shooter got himself a root beer, and rode on out of Deadwood for the only place a man like him could call his home: The Badlands.

There ain't no pictures of his time in the Badlands. There could be several reasons: Some say his bike was so powerful, it tore a hole straight through to hell; and he rode down there, won the devil's crown in a poker match, and there he now rules. Still others say Odin himself came and traded his powers for Six-Shooter's jacket and Six-Shooter was able to then explore other worlds, while Odin got a pretty sweet jacket. They also say Odin got the better part of that deal.

But most say, and I'd like to believe this is true, he had some sort of epiphany out there; threw away all he had, left his bike in a ditch, and spent the rest of his days enjoying the beauty of the black hills. Now adds beautiful backgrounds to his pictures of turtles. They say if you're out in the Black Hills of South Dakota, after midnight when the sky is clear, you can still hear the six roaring cylinders of Six-Shooter's motorcycle.
















They're wrong though. He was in Spirit Lake, Iowa after a night in the badlands.

I was saved in Wyoming

No, I'm not born again.


Dayton, Wyoming to Gillette, Wyoming is 124 miles. I had 25 miles on my tripometer leaving Dayton. I had thought that it was 114 and as such I did not see a need to fill up before heading out. It was also somewhere in the 90's that day. Very hot. I soaked my shirt in cold water before heading out. When it's very hot out the Valkyrie's mileage plummets. I had noticed it before but thought it must just be coincidence. Maybe it still is. Either way 77 miles later, when I got up to 102 miles on the tank, I ran out of gas in the main tank and had to switch to the reserve, instead of around 125 as is typical.

Uh oh. That means if I slow it down, I can squeeze out another 25-30 miles. That's ok because Gillette is only about that far away right? I start to think if I should turn around and head back to Buffalo because I know I'm only 23 miles past it. There's no exit to turn around in, but there are those U-Turn sections in I-90 that you're not supposed to use. Nah, I can make it to Gillette! Then I see a sign that says Gillette is about 40 miles away. Uh-oh, I can't make it to Gillette. But I see a bilboard up ahead which advertises an RV campground/motel at the next exit and says there is gas there. Ok, problem solved! Boy, that was a close one! My tank is at 110 miles and I can only go about another 20 if I'm lucky. I get off at the exit for the campgrounds, ride past the Powder River rest area (it's a parking lot with bathrooms and a playground), and go over to the motel/campground. This isn't good: things look deserted. I ride up to the pump, flip the switch, squeeze the handle and nothing but a wheeze of air comes out. They're all dry. The store that supposedly runs the gas pumps is closed. I'm 33 miles from a gas station back the way I came, or 36 miles from one in the direction I'm going. Those are the only directions there are to go. The only people around are fishing in the creek next to their pickup camper.

"Excuse me, I'm in a bit of a bind. I'm out of gas and those pumps are dry. Could I buy a gallon of gas off you for 10 bucks?" (This was a futile effort anyway, but I'll explain that later.)

"Sorry man, the truck takes diesel. Last time we were here someone said if you knock on one of the motel doors, they can come out and turn the pumps on."

So I go and knock on the nearest door. No response. I go to the next door. No response. I go to the next door and I figure this is the door to knock on because the air conditioning unit is on. No response. I then proceed to knock on all 12 doors somewhat desperately but there is no response from any of them.

Remember that coolant problem I had back in Austin, Texas? Well, while attempting to fix that I needed some clear vinyl tubing to siphon the coolant out of the reservoir and I kept the extra tubing with me this whole way.

There was what looked very much like an abandoned GMC Jimmy parked next to the motel and a quick smell test told me there was gas in the engine and I briefly considered attempting to siphon some gas out of it, but even if it is abandoned that's technically stealing so I decided against it.

I go back to the rest stop and decide to explain my predicament and offer to buy a gallon from whoever is passing through. If there's one thing people in Wyoming are terrified of, it's letting a stranger attempt to siphon gas out of their car and give them some money for it.

When I would approach people they were friendly enough but when I explained my situation and asked if I could give them $10 for a gallon of their gas, they would have a little freak out session, stutter out some excuse, and drive off as quickly as they could.

Okay.

I suppose I can call my hosts from last night, and ask them for help...but I am an hour away and I really don't want to bother them or leave a bad impression. Oh, there's no cell phone service out here. I can't call them anyway. But there is a pay phone in by the bathrooms (I would just like to point out that by the way it smelled it seems some people might have mistakenly used the payphone as a urinal). I call the AMA roadside assistance. Whoops, my membership expired 2 weeks ago. Ok, I'll call my brother, get him to look up the phone number to renew my membership and renew it. The phone line is only open 9am-5pm eastern time, and it was just 5pm eastern. Ok, my brother can renew my membership online. I'll just give him all the information. He enters the information and -Server error! The system was down.

Well now what? I go back out and try my fuel buying schtick. This time someone says "Sure!" Lo and behold, the siphon won't work. I can't get the tube down into the fuel. I try for a few minutes but I'm getting nothing but fumes. Odd. Someone else sees me attempting this and asks if it's working.

"No. I can't seem to get to the fuel."

"That's because modern cars are engineered with an anti-fuel-theft system. The siphon tube just gets routed over the gas tank and doesn't go down into it."

Damn. I look around for the oldest looking car I see. It's a '98 Pontiac Sunfire. The owner is willing to take some cash for gas, but alas her car too prevents gas siphoning.

At this point I threw out the tube in frustration. What's the point of keeping it?

Maybe I should call the highway services on the pay phone? I don't expect this to go anywhere. That number apparently calls the police. I explain my situation to the dispatcher and they ask if I want the number for a tow truck to come out. (*note) I knew that was going to be well over $100 and I honestly didn't know if I could afford that and make it home so I said "I can't really afford what they're going to charge me so there's no point in calling a tow truck."

"Well would you like me to send a trooper out?"

"And he can bring me a can of gas?"

"...Yeah."

"Ok."

Here's how this surely must work in my mind. They will send a trooper from a place. He will buy gas at the cheapest station around said place. He will bring it and charge me for the gas based on the most expensive gas in the state + a consumed fuel charge for how much gas it took to get from the place to where the stranded motorist is + a service charge. Probably will come out to around $50. Right?

An hour and 20 minutes later, the trooper arrives.

"Are you the one out of gas?" "Yes! You have a gas can for me?" "No we don't do that. Carrying gas isn't our job. I can give you the number for the tow truck."

*note: WHAT THE FUZZ?! They can tell me the number over the phone, or they can send a car to drive over 60 miles, burning gas that the state pays for, taking an officer of the law out of his regular assignment, to come and personally tell me the number for the tow truck? As opposed to how I had thought it must work? (And I just made that system up in my head! I must be a genius!) Carrying gas in some system like I described above isn't your job but driving over a mountain to personally tell people a phone number [that dispatch, whom the person called, could just have given them over the phone] is your job? Could anyone claim that the police department of Wyoming doesn't have a contract with that tow company (be it written or just "understood")? I feel like that should be illegal.

"Well the issue is that I really don't think I can afford their price. I've been unemployed for 13 months and I'm trying to get home."

"How do you pay for things? You have a credit or debit card?" "I have a debit card."

"Ok well I can call them and ask how much it will cost. You just have to be able to give them the information over the phone because sometimes people will get rescued and then the tow company has wasted their money and time coming out. So they charge you as soon as you order the call."

"Ok...yeah find out how much it will cost."

A few minutes later: "It will cost you $120." "No thanks. Thank you for coming out though."

And off he drove.

I will put my tent up in that parking lot and spend the week before I pay $120 for a gallon of gas.

It has been about 2 and a half hours now.

Here's where the rescue comes in. Two bikers ride up on a couple of pretty flash Harleys. Now I believe I've mentioned how terribly bad I am with names. Almost comically so. So let's refer them as "Red" and "Blue":



These guys rolled up, I described my situation, and blue went over to the RV camp to ask any of them if they had a can of gas because it didn't occur to me that RV drivers would carry spare gas. Well it turned out they didn't, BUT when he got back and let us know that was the case, Red says "Well, I have about half a tank left and that's more than enough to get where we're going. If you have a hose you can just siphon some out the top of my tank."

"Oh crap! I DID have a hose. Hang on a sec!" I run to the garbage, grab the vinyl tubing and using a powerade bottle, we then siphon out about a gallon of gas, and put it into my tank. I can now most likely get to Gillette! They would not accept even a dollar in payment. All they said was "Just help out the next guy and that's how you pay us back." Many thanks to these two modern day cowboys. AND: While we're pouring the last bit of gas into my tank, a couple of dudes rides up in a red pickup truck and asks "Is one of you out of gas?"

"I was."
"We saw you poking around back by the pumps out there and figured you were probably in trouble."

They then get out of the truck with a huge gas can, and I pour another gallon or so into my tank. Now I can definitely get to Gillette. "Can I give you anything for it?"
"Eh...5 bucks. I may be generous but I'm still a capitalist." Small price to pay for a roadside rescue on a ~90 degree day in the hot Wyoming sun.

I ride off to Gillette, and wouldn't you know it the "next guy" happens to be up the road a few miles. I see a big RV parked on the side of the road with it's driver looking balefully back in the direction I just came from. I ask if he needs any help and he explains that he ran out of gas but a couple of guys in a red pickup truck drove by 15 minutes ago and said they'd be back soon with gas. Ah, he's gonna be ok. I stayed and chatted with him for a bit and a few minutes later the same two dudes ride up to rescue this guy. These two guys just took a couple hours out of their day to go around and rescue stranded motorists. That is awesome. I salute you all, roadside saviors!

I made it to Gillette, and from there continued on to Piedmont, South Dakota. It's right near Sturgis. And Mount Rushmore. And Deadwood. More to come!

(I write this from home. I have returned, the blog just needs to get caught up.) Ironically, as I was writing this post I had to stop to go to the bathroom. When I was ready to finish up I realized there was no toilet paper. No big deal, I look under the sink for a spare roll and...nothing! Not again! Luckily my cell phone works in my house.

Bears and pic-a-nic baskets.

I was looking at a map at this place called Yellowstone National Park and I see this campground called "Mammoth Hot Springs". I decided to break my cardinal rule of not paying for lodging to camp out here. Who doesn't love a good soak in hot springs? Turns out you're not allowed to enter the hot springs here. They're just for looking at. It was a little disappointing, but even still, not even Björgólfur Thor Björgólfsson himself could buy a better view.





Let's head up the nearby hill, shall we?



That isn't snow in the background, it's mineral deposits caused by the hot springs.

Now I might not have needed to pay for lodging that night, but I'm glad I did. My neighbor was one Chris Mainard. A biker from Seattle that has ridden his Harley Street Glide to Alaska and back; something I couldn't have done on the Valkyrie. We shared stories, he shared his fine scotch, I shared my cliff bars. A good time was had. And I got this tip: The Beartooth Highway out of Yellowstone might have been recently voted the best motorcycle road in the country, but only because so few people know about the Chief Joseph Highway, which splits off the Beartooth just before it starts to climb into the mountains.

Oh man...Ride the Beartooth, or give it up for the Chief Joseph Highway...Decisions, decisions. Gotta love when it's a choice between awesome and awesome. When the time came, I decided I would ride the Beartooth Highway and I'd save the Chief Joseph Highway for a return trip.

I will say this much about the Beartooth: If there is one day when I wished I had a helmet camera, this was it. The Beartooth Highway (US-212) climbs up to 11,000 feet and is gorgeous the whole way through.







It just keeps getting better as you go. It is pretty cold at 11,000 feet, but not too chilly, and not nearly as windy as Mt. Washington in New Hampshire was. It's kind of like biting into a York Peppermint Patty:



After the highest point and you start descending the mountain, the views remain amazing, but they take on a different flavor:



Since I was going to Dayton, Wyoming, I then got to head up US-14 through the Bighorn National Forest. This road was also a great, beautiful ride and climbed to about 9,000 feet. My poor carburetor spent a lot of the day gasping for breath.



Man, what a day.

Neck Paintings

Hey! Remember my friend Jaime out on Salt Spring Island that if you haven't read the post immediately below this one that you've never heard about?

"What's she doing out there on Salt Spring Island?"

Glad I pretended you asked!

She makes scarves. Jaime, you see, is a crafty person. No, I don't mean she's scheming and tricky. I mean she's real good with textiles. She makes these amazing scarves that her friends jokingly call "Neck Paintings" because they really are like wearing a painting around your neck. She showed me one that definitely evoked Van Gogh's "Starry Night". Of course, maybe I only thought of that because of the cupcakes in Portland. I wish I had a picture. Instead I'll just rip a couple of pictures from her website:







Aren't those beautiful? Wouldn't one of those make the perfect accessory? Have everybody "Oo"ing and "Ah"ing over your incredibly unique and beautiful scarf? Yes. Yes it would. Here's a link to her blog where at the very least you can leave a comment saying "Hey I want one of your scarves!":

dharmathreads.blogspot.com

Oh, Canada

As I rode my bike from Seattle, Washington into British Columbia Canada, I couldn't help but notice that they seem to understand what's supposed to fuel a car up here:



High octane, and it's got no ethanol in it. Can't beat that.

I was visiting my friend Jaime from Japan out on Salt Spring Island, so I had to take a ferry to get there.





Salt Spring Island is a beautiful little place. Right next to the Fulford Harbor ferry docks are two places to grab a bite to eat, cup of your favorite hot beverage, and maybe some baked goods to go. The Morningside Bakery, and the Rock Salt Cafe. Both are exceptional, and if you find yourself on Salt Spring Island looking for a bite to eat, live a little and splurge for a meal at either or both of these places. It'll run about $13 Canadian at the time of this post.

When I finally find the address I'm looking for, thanks to a friendly cop who escorted me right to it, my jaw hit the floor.



Is this paradise? She must have like 5 roommates in this place. Turns out, no, it's just her and 1 roommate, who's work takes him all over the world so he's out a lot.

That porch is the perfect spot for breakfast.



What a view!

SSI was a beautiful little island, but it seems more suited to retirees who are already established and settled.

On the ferry back to the mainland, I met a couple of really cool B.C. bikers who were also techies like myself. One of them handed me this card:



For free?! Well, I guess everyone's got to have a hobby.

So then I spend a couple of nights in North Vancouver. Where it was also beautiful. When I got there, my host took me canoeing with a couple friends to go collect their crab traps from earlier that day. I didn't bring my camera because I was worried it might get wet but I should have taken the risk. The view from the canoe was amazing.

The next day I went out and explored Lynn Canyon Park. I went over to the suspension bridge, but my heart sank a little bit when I saw how crowded it was.



But even this anti-social misanthrope couldn't help but smile on that thing because the view is amazing and it swings back and forth like crazy. Not the least scary time a person can have on a bridge for sure. If you're afraid of heights, this would probably be some great exposure therapy though...

Anyway, I was there during a peak hour and everyone seemed to be congregating at the bridge. They didn't seem to realize or care that "30-foot pool" was just a 10 minute walk down the trail on the other side.

I gotta say this is one of those times I wish I had a car to stash stuff in and just head out in a swim suit and flip flops:



This would be the perfect place to come out and- oh. Never mind.



Here's a Canadian energy drink:



In Canada, Nestea "Brisk" is Nestea "Cool". I found that funny. It makes it seem as if Canada is like an Earth 2 where everything is similar but ever so slightly different. Wait! Oh my god!



Is this toilet paper trying to advertise that it feels like wiping your butt with a cat?



I hope so!

Anyway, after North Vancouver I gunned it over to Cheney, Washington. for a night.

Funny story:
When I was a freshman in highschool, and Napster was THE THING, I found myself in a Napster chatroom about anime (Japanese cartoons) one night. I remember talking to someone (Let's call him "Josh") about this tv show that was on Comedy Central called "Frank Leaves for the Orient". It was a funny show, but I mentioned it because in the show, Frank hears about this program where you can go and teach English in Asia and you don't even have to be a teacher. Well, Josh says "You know that exists right?" and he links me to the JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) program.

We exchanged AIM screen names, and I would talk to Josh about once a year after that.

That first conversation influenced the next 7 years of my life (and pretty much the rest of it too), as I planned on participating in the JET Program, minored in Japanese Language and Culture in College, and lined everything up to join the JET program as soon as possible after I graduated.

During our last annual conversation I told him about this trip I was on. We exchanged facebook info, and he invited me to come stay with him.

That's who I stayed with in Cheney, Washington. My new, old friend Josh.

: End of funny story.

After Cheney, I ran it on over to Columbia Falls, Montana. Montana is gorgeous.



Big Sky Country indeed!

I was pleased to see that the no ethanol in premium gas policy extended this close to home. Guess you don't have to go all the way to British Columbia before people know what to put in an engine.

The original plan was to spend 1 night in Columbia Falls, then camp for a night in Glacier National Park, then head on over to Bozeman, Montana after riding up "Going to the Sun Road" which is a legendary road. Well, it turns out most of "Going to the Sun Road" was closed (still too much snow on it). This was on Monday and I heard it was going to open up on Wednesday, but I can't dilly-dally around waiting for roads to open: there's home needs be gettin' to! So my host allows me to stay a second night and leave for Bozeman from Columbia Falls. I did go in to Glacier though and take what part of the road that I could. It's beautiful in there:



Darn shame about that road not being opened. I guess the time to go to Glacier is in August.

Anyway, I arrived in Bozeman yesterday. I have so far eaten at I-Ho's Korean where the food is quite good. That's it. I roll out tomorrow to camp in Yellowstone National Park for a night, before taking another legendary road ("The Bear Tooth Highway") eastwards, back up into Montana, and ultimately down into Dayton, Wyoming. For a night. On my way back to NY. I should be back in NY mid August. Which would mean the second half of this trip only took 2.5 months as opposed to 6. Here's hoping everything goes according to plan...

What?

Seattle

The first thing I did in the Seattle area was go to lunch with a friend at Dixie's BBQ. Dixie's BBQ is an old auto garage that's been turned into a BBQ with some good grub.



They have a sauce simply called "The Man" that is only for people who like their food to hurt them.

The next day I rode around the area enjoying the nice weather and the good scenery.



It's...bigger out here. I was riding around for hours and haven't covered hardly any of the Olympic Peninsula.

Then I went on the Seattle Underworld Tour with another friend out here. I was told they change the script of the tour after 8pm. Before then it's a little candy coated and not as fun. The old city is actually under the current one. Since Seattle started out as a logging town, as it started to become a proper city, there were a lot of problems with the infrastructure. After the great fire of 1889 they raised the city up by as much as 36 feet in some places. But business owners downtown didn't want to wait for them to finish raising the streets, so they rebuilt their buildings at the original level. This leaves a whole underground portion where all SORTS of seedy stuff can go on. Interesting fact, during the gold rush 2,000 women claimed to be seamstresses but only a handful had sewing machines.

The next day I went to The Lunchbox Laboratory with yet another friend. This place is great. They specialize in burgers. Each week, some burgers are presented as weekly experiments, and the ones that really catch on get put on the regular menu. As a result, when you bite into your burger at Lunchbox Laboratory, you feel as if all you've experienced up until this point is a close approximation of what a burger should be. I've eaten at Wolfgang Puck's. I've eaten at Emeril's. I've grown up eating my mom's cooking which trumps them all anyway. I will put my own burgers up against any of theirs. Yet not even my own recipe could compete with this place.



Also, they serve drinks in beakers:



Aaaaand they have an arcade upstairs or at least, they will. I believe when I went it wasn't up and running yet.

After lunch, I went to the Pike Place Market which is a bustling little scene where you can get pretty much anything: Chocolate, pasta, chocolate pasta...the list goes on. It's where the original Starbucks is:



There are talented artists and buskers aplenty at the Pike Place Market. It's worth checking out but be prepared for a massive crowd.

I have no way of ending the blog this week with any degree of wit or eloquence, so:

The end.

Washington and the pull of home

Not my bike but a kindred spirit. Kevin (At least I think that's what his name is. Man, I am bad with names) from Ontario, traveling on his Valkyrie for the summer.

So I rode today from Castle Rock, Washington to Eatonville, Washington. It was only 80 miles and I was hoping to see Mt. Rainier but the clouds would not allow it. It was overcast and drizzly all the way through.

I've been feeling the pull from home pretty strongly. I've crossed a line. When I had left on this trip, I was a traveler. Now, I'm a tourist. I no longer seem to feel the need to run up every hill I see just for the view. Now I'm content to pull to where I have a good view, snap a picture, and move on. There's a difference between seeing a place: the way most people travel on their vacations, and experiencing a place: the way I've been trying to travel.

Rushing saps the purpose out of visiting a new place. If you're rushing, you're missing things. If you're rushing: it means your mind is elsewhere, and if your mind is elsewhere then you can hardly live in and experience the moment.

I've learned something about not rushing. It doesn't matter where you are, if you're not rushing through, you'll never run out of beautiful amazing things to see. I could spend the rest of my life on my bike circling the country, and never get bored of any one place I've passed through.

Meanwhile, on the home front, life is moving quickly. And when life moves quickly, shouldn't those on the move head home?

For the first time in a while, 80 miles seemed like a little too much time to spend in my own head, still heading away from home. Of course, I haven't seen a patch of blue sky in 2 days. Could my mood be accounted for by the grey skies; Seasonal Affective Disorder - S.A.D.? It's only been 2 days though. Sudden Onset Seasonal Affective Disorder? S.O. S.A.D.? Do I need a special lamp that plugs into my bike and mounts on my handle bars to prevent me from getting S.O. S.A.D.?

I'm getting to Vancouver. I'm almost there. That is the farthest point that I am getting to, and then I am turning home. There is not nearly as much on this part of the trip that I want to check out as there was on the first part. Vancouver, Mt. Rushmore, The Badlands, some friends in Missouri and Indiana, and Nova Scotia. 7 places. I think I'm going to up my daily cap from 150 miles to 250 miles. It's time to get home. Just need to stop at a few places along the way.

Northward bound!

I have successfully left San Jose. I went through Sacramento and Redding into Oregon where I passed through Ashland, Crater Lake, Eugene, and Portland (where I currently sit).

Sacramento is a cool little city, and I didn't really spend any time in Redding to get a feel for the place.

San Jose is hot. It was around 85-90 degrees when I was riding out, and I was eager to be heading North, because North = colder, right? Wrong. Inland North California is hot as hell. I left San Jose at around 8pm because I was told it's typically 10 degrees warmer up in Sacramento.

I met my host at their workplace, an Irish Pub called deVere's. It's a cool bar with a good atmosphere and a good selection of beverages. Check it out if you're in town and looking for a decent bar to go to.

It was pleasantly cool at night, but when the sun came up it was that drain-the-life-out-of-a-man kind of hot. It's a good thing I left at night because that day it had been over 100 degrees up there. I hung around Sacto for a day (despite the heat) and walked around taking some pictures.

Of painted rods outside of what used to be a paint shop:


Of a park:


Of seven vehicles parked in a single parking spot:


And of a U.F.O/Airstream RV:


I left at 5pm. Well after the hottest part of the day but it was still rather warm. Shot this photo at sunset somewhere between Sacto and Redding:



I was glad to be heading North because I know that eventually, North does = colder. Just not quite yet.

I got to Redding and hung out with my hosts there for a bit, and left the next day for Oregon.



I was told to stop in Ashland, Oregon because in the nearby town of Phoenix, just a few miles past Ashland, is Debbie's Diner. I was told by a biscuits and gravy connoisseur that the best biscuits and gravy in the country (and that likely means in the world because I'm pretty sure they don't do biscuits and gravy anywhere else) is in Debbie's Diner. After trying them myself, I wouldn't doubt it. If you're going to order biscuits and gravy at Debbie's Diner though, be forewarned that 1 biscuit is about the same size as 3 pancakes. You do NOT need to order anything else. Expecting a biscuit to be a small fist sized item, I ordered a couple of eggs and a couple of pieces of toast and ate until I could not manage another mouthfull, and still ended up having to leave food on my plate.

Ashland, Oregon itself is a cool little town. I happened to be there for the Juneteenth celebration organized by the people behind the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. There was a cool little music/poetry show followed by a whole lot of home cooked BBQ.



I then went for a walk in the park which was quite pleasant. Ashland is a cool little town.



The first night I stayed in Ashland, my host's daughter and son were in and we all had dinner together. When it was heard that I was about to roll through Oregon and not see Crater Lake, plans were quickly made to rectify this. Seeing as that's where they both worked, I planned a detour to Crater Lake before moving on. Crater Lake is up high enough that there is still snow on the ground up there.



And while some of the roads were still blocked, you could get up to the rim. I am glad I got to see this because it really is beautiful up there.





I spent a day in Eugene, Oregon but that was just a stopover on my way to Portland. Ah, Portland.





Portland is a very cool city. Of course, I like any town with a famous book store that takes up an entire city block.



I met up with some good friends of mine from Japan (they're from Portland, we were neighbors in Japan), and they took me around to some of the various Portland sights. Like Voodoo Doughnuts:



(Worth a trip if you're in Portland.)

The world's smallest park:



And this thing:



I'm not really sure what it is.



I'm still not sure what it is.

We also went to Ground Control, a retro arcade/bar. Which is possibly the greatest idea for a bar ever.



They had the old Tron game I used to love. It was still hard as hell. They had an original Mario Bros. cabinet:



And quite the selection of pinball machines:



I like Portland.

The next day my host took me to the Saturday Market where you can get anything under the sun.



I had my first "Elephant Ear"



which is basically a piece of fried bread topped with something. I believe Cinnamon and Maple Syrup is the "traditional" way to go, but never being one to adhere to tradition, (and on the advice of my host) I got half with peanut butter, and half with strawberry cream cheese. The Strawberry cream cheese is definitely the way to go.

The rest of Saturday was spent playing Arkham Horror, a Lovecraft themed board game with friends old and new.

Sunday found me at the Portland CouchSurfing Annual Picnic. Portland, you see, has a huge couchsurfing community, and they do things like this.



It is a very cool crowd. When people ask me to describe couchsurfing, I tell them it's like a secret club for all the coolest people in the world, because that's pretty much what it's amounted to in my experience.

Someone did Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in cupcake frosting.



If that isn't the coolest pan of cupcakes you've ever seen, I have to start hanging around your bakery.

Ah, Portland.



I left Portland this "morning" for Castle Rock, Washington, where my host took me to see Mount Saint Helens and Coldwater Lake.





Now if the tone and pacing of this blog seemed a little disjointed and distracted, it was because I let too much time slip between the experience and the writing. I will try to write my blogs more frequently, so things are definitely going to speed up around here.