The 2009 Trek Across America

I got out for two good rides in 2008, a 4,000-miler to Key West and a 4,800-mile loop through the Canadian Maritimes. I wrote up a road report each time, threw in some photos and e-mailed it around to friends. Didn't plan on doing that when I got back from the 2009 cross-country trek in November but Dana Bishop at Ocean State Harley said, What? C'mon! Write it! Everybody's got cabin fever! :-)

So here we go. If you want to skip the story and just take a peek at the photos, here's the link you need. It appears again down at the bottom of this post.

http://picasaweb.google.com/RKtonydepaul/The2009TrekAcrossAmerica#

The 2009 cross-country run took me to the four corners of the United States, or close enough: New England, Seattle, San Diego and Florida. I didn't do the toe-touch in a certain town or ride on any timetable. Didn't even have a particular route in mind. Just got on the road one day in August and went.

I knew it would be a long ride so I had Paul at Ocean State Harley in Exeter throw a new set of Dunlops on the bike, so I could get back without changing tires.

As always, I like to travel self-contained, camping along the way and living out of the saddlebags, on oatmeal, baked beans, rice, tuna, pasta, and the food of the gods, Fig Newtons. I get about 1,000 miles per pack.

Left Rhode Island with 38,512 miles on the bike, got back with 51,062.

That sounds like a lot of riding. Over 11 weeks it isn't, really. I stayed with friends and family in three towns in California (Spring Valley, El Cajon and Bishop) and in Washington, New Mexico and Florida. Took some work and a laptop with me so I could make money and pay bills. I didn't want the fabulous/dangerous bride of 34 years telling everyone I was goofing off! (Which I mostly was, let's face it :-)

I left Rhode Island August 20, got back November 5. Had plenty of 400-, 500- and 600-mile days. My top day rolled 705 miles. The much-abused '04 Road King Classic took a lot of punishment. Heat, mainly. Had a mechanical issue in California 8,600 miles into the ride. That was half my fault and half the U.S. Border Patrol's. More about that later.

I'll try to organize this tale into six mini-treks. I put on some miles between these segments, too, but here are the highlights:

Cranston, Rhode Island to Bishop, California

7 days, 3,407 miles

I stayed under a roof twice that week, with friends in New Cumberland, West Virginia and Pleasanton, Kansas. Camped out in Pennsylvania, Missouri, Kansas and Utah. It was hot and humid when I left Rhode Island. That made for a punishing first day. I gladly rode 50 miles out of my way to dodge a 14-mile traffic tie-up on I-84 west, in Port Jervis, New York. Hit some rain in Pennsylvania and Indiana. Brutal heat again in central and west Kansas.
An abandoned tornado shelter in Kansas. No house anymore. Blew away, I guess. Somewhere over the rainbow.
Headed west on the back roads. This is Kansas until further notice.
August weather on the Great Plains. Aim for clear sky and scoot!
Stopped in Hoisington, KS, an interesting little town of 3,000 people out in the middle of nowhere. Cooled off from the inside out with an ice-cold Dairy Queen cone, tall and vanilla. The best I've ever had anywhere! Rode around and between some big storms raging on the plains that day. The air would turn cool and rough when I got between two systems. High winds knocked me all over the road. Then the air gets still and you start to bake again.
Stormy... clear... stormy... clear...
Could have gone left here. Went right just for the hell of it.
Found some bright sky ahead after all.

Rode through an electrical storm that night without stopping to put on the rain gear. It felt good after all that heat. My day ended at the 560-mile mark, in Goodland, Kansas, near the Colorado line. ("I pulled in to Nazareth, was feeling 'bout half past dead...") Opened a can of beans and almost fell asleep chewing. Dead-tired and happy I crawled into my sleeping bag in wet jeans and a wet shirt and was immediately off on the sleep that awaits the truly worn out. No dreams. Just a peaceful oblivion. Woke just before dawn, recharged and eager to ride.
Rainbow! Didn't see any houses flying over it.
Dig it, Kansas is flat.

Up next, Utah and Nevada. They were scorching hot and sun-bright but, man, that dry air makes all the difference. I kept the water going in and I was fine. Bought gas on the Shoshone reservation at Ely, Nevada then headed for Tonopah, my next opportunity to fuel up. There are 167 miles of nothing between the two towns. I never saw another vehicle headed my way.
Somewhere in Utah.
Utah
...and kinda looks like... Utah.
That shaft of light is an alien tractor beam. Followed me all around the West. Dumbass aliens...
That's right -- Utah!
I'm thinking this might be Nevada.
Nevada! Definitely.
Up ahead, it's my road. Behind? Also mine.
I could have stopped and taken a nap on the dotted line.
Gets bright in the afternoon when you go west, young man.
Spirit helper at my side.
Set the Iron Piggy on cruise, then your hands are free to snap swell pics.

After baking across the Nevada desert on Day 7 I froze crossing the White Mountains into California that night. Climbed some high passes in the 8,000-foot range. Could have used my electric socks and gloves but they were back home. I stopped to tear apart my gear on the side of a mountain road somewhere, to find more clothes, but I couldn't see what I was doing. That was the last time I forgot to pack my headlamp where I could put my hands on it in the dark!

In Bishop, CA, I stayed with friends Jon and Kathy Peterson. Jon and I took his truck out into the Black Rock Desert northeast of Reno, for the Burning Man art thing. Hard to explain what Burning Man is if you don't already know. Check it out on the Web. Basically, 45,000 people camp out on some godforsaken dusty playa, a place where an insect couldn't live, and pretty much anything goes for the next week. Here are two public links to my Burning Man photo albums on Facebook.
Link 1
Link 2
Black Rock Desert, Nevada. This was my home for eight days on some godforsaken bone-dry dusty playa. No bugs, no birds. Nothing lives here. Watch out the sun doesn't bake you dead.
Dust storms every day on the playa. This one's not too bad!
The Man. Before he Burned.

The Black Rock Desert might as well be the moon with a little extra gravity. The atmosphere is dusty, as fine as flour and full of good things like arsenic and cadmium, all the heavy metals that have accumulated in the Great Basin for eons. As for the event itself, it's gonzo squared. Makes Woodstock look like a Kiwanis Club luncheon. You will absolutely submit to the desert environment, there's no escaping it. Keep a lot of water going in! Expect to breathe, eat and drink the dust. After eight days at Burning Man and a few more back in Bishop, I loaded up the iron piggy and rode south for San Diego.