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15 May 2011
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Join Date: May 2011
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Solo Circumnavigation of the USA, Part 1
One Long Ride
By Jim Burtle
Part One
I woke up one morning in May 2010 thinking I am going to do it and let the chips fall where they may. You see, for several years I had been contemplating a circumnavigation ride of the 48 contiguous states. This ride was not to be your typical 21-day corner-to-corner ride but a ride outlining the borders of the United States. I planned to stay as close as possible to the borders and oceans while, at the same time, avoiding interstate highways whenever possible.
Why not? I asked myself. On one hand, I had lots of time; my business had been dead in the water for the last six months or so. On the other hand, with my somewhat limited funds, I knew I should be spending my money in a more responsible way. The chance to take to the road won out, though, and I departed Little Rock, Arkansas, on 14 June 2010 and rode to the southwest coast of Louisiana on a 2008 Harley Davidson Ultra pulling a small pop-up camper. My big adventure had begun!
(To see photos while you read go to: https://picasaweb.google.com/CasaLoma2/2010TripSummary02#)
As I had expected, it was hot and humid in that part of the country. To deal with the heat and dehydration, I kept all body parts covered, wore a wet bandana, and soaked my do rag and helmet liner at each stop. This kept me alert and made the ride enjoyable except for the occasional stop or traffic backup.
My first camp was at Louisiana’s North Toledo Bend State Park; it was to be the first of many state park stops. If you haven’t tried them, you should look into state parks on your travels. Most are moderately priced and have showers, and many have electrical hook-ups. Particularly in the South – in the summer – the hook-ups allowed me to run a small fan that I found invaluable for dealing with the heat and humidity.
I rode through the Louisiana outback and on to New Orleans where I spent a couple of days enjoying some culinary delights and the ambience that is New Orleans,.
From there, I made my way along the coast to Dauphin Island, Alabama, for the first ferry ride of many on this trip.
Continuing south along the coast, the incredible heat and humidity made sight seeing difficult but I did manage a trip to the Sunken Gardens
in St. Petersburg, Florida. This open-air garden is much like the botanical gardens you find in the northern states but not climate controlled.
Nine days into the trip (23 June) and I found myself on U.S. Route 41 in the middle of the Everglades. Dusk was quickly turning into darkness and I was desperate to find a campground. I ended up at Big Cypress Campground, a private place that looked good from the outside but turned out to have the most disgusting bathroom of the entire trip. Needless to say, I did not shower that night and, at the first hint of morning light, I was out of there like “jumpin’ jack flash.”
I spent a few days on the Florida Keys where the ocean breezes made it quite comfortable and, of course, so I could stand at the southern most point in the United States.
Sticking with my plan, I rode north from the Keys and into the South Beach area of Miami. What a mistake!! Arriving around midday, I spent what seemed like days in stop-and-go traffic. Afraid I was going to burn up my bike, I made a beeline for the interstate to get some air moving around my engine. It dawned on me then that I was going to have to avoid slow paced traffic congestion while pulling the trailer – even if it meant riding interstate roads.
On 26 June, I arrived at Fort Clinch State Park in northeastern Florida.
While there, I remembered some friends from Denver who had moved to the Georgia coast a few years ago and gave them a call. We met up the next day and, after lunch, they suggested a tour of Jekyll Island, Georgia. The island hosts a number of wonderful historic mansions that are worth a look.
It was while I was in Georgia that a friend of a friend of mine put me in touch with a lady doing the same trip I was but she was in a van with her dog. Turns out, we both had been at Fort Clinch State Park at the same time though we had no way to know. We met the next day at Fort McAllister State Park near Savannah, Georgia, to compare notes. We kept in touch through the rest of our journeys and were able to share a wealth of helpful information.
Approaching Charleston, South Carolina, I remembered another friend I hadn’t talked to for 25 years and, thanks to the Internet, was able to locate him. I spent several evenings with him and his family catching up on those 25 years. During the daytime hours, I roamed the city. Charleston is filled with antebellum charm and Confederate history. This is where the Civil War started in 1861. It was even beautiful during the rain, which I considered a welcome relief from the staggering heat I had been dealing with the last 17 days or so.
I was planning to catch a ferry to Ocracoke Island, North Carolina (the southern tip of the Cape Hatteras National Seashore), on 3 July. I thought I had plenty of time but, due to my relaxed pace, I missed the boat and decided to ride to Nags Head on the outer banks instead. When I got there, I found myself in the epitome of a tourist trap, complete with traffic jams and way too many people jammed into a small spot. What a change from 1982 when I had last visited this place. Then, it was cozy, quiet and quaint. Now, I see no reason to ever return. Deciding this was not my idea of fun, I headed inland until the holiday weekend was over.
Once in Virginia, I visited several Civil War sites for a few days. Of particular interest was Appomattox Courthouse where the Civil War ended in April 1865. I then headed back to the coast at Virginia Beach. As I crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, I gratefully noticed some relief from the heat.
More relief was on the way. After riding through Maryland and Delaware on my way to Lewes, Delaware, I caught the ferry to Cape May, New Jersey. This nice long ferry ride provided an extended respite from the heat compliments of the ocean air and breezes.
Heading north on the Garden State Parkway, I exited onto State Route 539 and turned toward Trenton to avoid as much New York City traffic as possible.
I hadn’t gone too far on Route 539, when the landscape changed abruptly from lush deciduous forest to stunted pine trees. The surrounding air underwent a similar drastic change to an arid heat that was very much like what you would find in New Mexico. Go figure!
From Trenton, I followed the Delaware River. After making camp that evening, I enjoyed a refreshing soak in the Delaware River just a few miles from where George Washington made his famous crossing.
I continued following the river the next morning (8 July), ending up in Frenchtown, New Jersey, where I enjoyed a fantastic breakfast at the charming Frenchtown Café.
Later that day, in Connecticut, I stopped at Yankee HD in Bristol for an oil change and then was off to visit friends Tom and Becky in New Britain.
I stayed in New Britain for a few nights catching up on some much needed rest and enjoying the local sights and wonderful food courtesy of Tom and Becky.
By Monday 12 July, I had arrived in Newport, Rhode Island. After walking several miles of the sea wall and touring a couple of the historic mansions from the gilded age, I decided I simply could not pass up the opportunity to have a cold one and a plate of the best sea scallops ever at the White Horse Tavern which claims to be the oldest tavern in the United States.
Cape Cod was up next and, when I got there on Tuesday 13 July, I stopped at a coffee shop to check my map (Yes, I use maps; in fact, I like reading maps. I’ve been told repeatedly that I need a GPS. This always produces the same response from me – “No, I don’t because it is hard to get lost if you don’t care where you are going”).
As I was getting on my bike at the coffee shop, a man approached me asking about my trip and shared a story of a ride he and a friend made many years ago on their motorbikes. As the years spun by, the two friends often talked about repeating their trip. Something always got in the way, though, and they never made time for the trip. Recently, the man’s friend had passed and, with him, their dream. He wished me luck, saying I was living his dream now. Unfortunately, this was not the first nor would it be the last time I heard this sentiment. Personally, I hope to never make such a remark; I will live my own dreams, thank you very much.
It was now mid July and I was on my way to Marlborough, Massachusetts, to visit some more old friends from Colorado – Matt and Steph – for a few days. We caught up on the missing years and toured parts of the Freedom Trail at Lexington and Concord along with some nice walks near their home. Their hospitality was much appreciated – along with the great food and drink. Matt’s martinis were particularly excellent – even to someone (like me) who is not a connoisseur of these drinks.
On Sunday 25 July (day 42; half way through the journey?), I camped near Thomaston, Maine. My camp neighbor Doug suggested we go out on the bay in his sea kayaks. Now, I am not much on water sports and am not very comfortable in the water but figured, if I was expanding my horizons on this trip, what the heck.
It was near sunset as we paddled out among the lobster boats and north along the shore, our kayaks rising and falling with the ocean swells. As we sat rocking on the water, my eye swept the scene in front of us. What a view! On our left was a lighthouse illuminated by the setting sun and on our right a large ship seemed to merge with the fading horizon. Directly ahead of us, the sails of a large sailboat were catching and reflecting the last rays of sunlight. Simply awesome! It would have been the perfect photographic moment, if only Doug hadn’t cautioned me about bringing any electronic equipment. I can still close my eyes, though, and recall the scene in vivid detail. It was truly one of the highlights of my trip.
The next day I rode to Acadia National Park. This is a beautiful and unique park. And it is a place of contrast. When looking one direction, I was drawn to the silent, forested mountains, the highest on the Atlantic Coast. However, when I turned to look another way, my eyes and ears were overwhelmed by the waves crashing on the glacially carved rocks and by the small islands dotting the seascape. If I looked long enough, the ocean and sky become blended into a vast infinity. These are just a couple of reasons why this park is now tied for first place with two of my other favorite national parks, Glacier and Zion.
From Acadia, I continued up the coast and along the U.S./Canadian border. Riding inland, the salt air was replaced by a veritable cornucopia of fresh new fragrances that had me sticking my head around the windscreen like a dog in a pickup truck, drinking it in and smiling ear to ear. As the traffic count lessened, a feeling of seclusion and wilderness began to fill the space in my mind previously occupied by the sometimes hectic vacationing of my fellow Americans.
By Wednesday 28 July, I had arrived in Madawaska, Maine, the northernmost point in the eastern United States. I rode on to Fort Kent, which is pretty much the end of the road here, and turned south on U.S. Route 11. All of a sudden, I was nearly overwhelmed by a feeling of being in the wilderness. There are few places in the lower 48 states where paved roads carry you through such secluded grandeur.
At Bangor, Maine, it suddenly dawned on me, as I turned west on U.S. Route 2 into New Hampshire, that I would be riding west for the foreseeable future. I made my way to Plymouth, New Hampshire, by way of the wonderful Kancamagus Highway where another treat awaited me. My friends in Connecticut had arranged for some of their friends in Plymouth to take me rock climbing, an activity I have enjoyed for many years. Guy and Ilona not only shared one of their great local crags.
I departed Plymouth on Friday July 30. Unlike the hot and humid conditions that had dogged most of my travels so far, the weather that greeted me the morning of my departure was very cool, cool enough that I could see my breath.
That afternoon I arrived at the home of another friend near Post Mills, Vermont. Although I only had one afternoon and evening to spend with Ridge and Sally, they showed me the high points of their hometown, one of which was the rare Vermontasaurus built from scrap wood.
After a great home-cooked dinner, we attended a memorable concert performed by Village Harmony, a traveling troupe of very talented teens.
This stop marked the last location on my trip where I would actually know people along the way. I felt like I was entering a new phase of the trip where, even though I was riding alone, I could still look forward to meeting new friends along the way. I have found that many people – bikers in particular – are very approachable. People are curious about your trip or are anxious to tell you about one of their past motorbike experiences. Once contact is made, it is always surprising what information emerges – parks or points of interest you shouldn’t miss, where the best campgrounds are along the road ahead, where to find the best burger in town.
The next day, when I passed from Lake Champlain to upstate New York and left northern New England behind, I felt a tug at my heartstrings. The region had made a lasting impression on me and I look forward to my next visit.
Following the Saint Lawrence River, I made my way to Alexandria Bay, New York, to visit Boldt Castle, a historic estate located in the middle of the river.
Next was Lake Ontario but I soon had to turn south to avoid tourist traffic near Niagara Falls. Don’t get me wrong: Niagara Falls is truly one of the wonders of the world but I had visited in the past and I didn’t feel up to dealing with the throngs of people there.
By Monday, 2 August, I was camped an hour or so east of Toledo, Ohio. Returning from the shower, I was surprised to find a skunk digging in the fire pit a few feet from my tent. These sorts of situations require a bit of diplomacy, at a minimum, much the same as with a bear: talk softly, back off slowly and give the animal as much space as possible!
In Michigan, I stayed close to Lake Huron, riding State Route 25 and U.S. Route 23 to Mackinaw City, portal to the state’s Upper Peninsula. The U.P. – as nearly everyone there calls it – is another remote area of the lower 48 that keeps you on top of your daily bike maintenance. You sure don’t want trouble there. The UP’s Whitefish Point is home to a maritime shipwreck museum inspired by the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the Great Lakes freighter that sunk with all on board on November 10, 1975. I had made it a point to visit the museum because I had worked with a man many years ago who claimed he was supposed to be on the “Mighty Fitz” but missed the boat the morning it sailed. Incredibly, museum staff confirmed in fact there was a crewmember who had missed the boat for medical reasons. After nearly 30 years, I couldn’t remember the man’s name but I don’t see why he would have made up the story.
After a trip to Copper Harbor, the northernmost point of the U.P., I arrived in Wisconsin and followed Lake Superior into Minnesota, where I decided to turn north and take in Grand Portage. That decision required backtracking 90 miles to [State Route 1. This route took me to Ely, Minnesota, home of the North American Bear Center. I love bears so I found this to be a worthwhile educational experience. From Ely, I rode to International Falls, where I discovered that road congestion isn’t the only thing that could force me off of my planned route. Road construction, too, could push me miles off my intended path.
On day 57, Monday 9 August – which was also my 57th birthday! – I found myself in tiny Cavalier, North Dakota (population a shade more than 1,300), looking for a steak dinner to celebrate my birthday. No luck; I ended up with a burger, fries and ice cream at a little greasy spoon kind of a place. It still beat the foil packets of tuna I had in my bags, I suppose.
Before I got there, I had many misconceptions about North Dakota, expecting flat boring wheat fields for the most part. I was pleasantly surprised as I rode across the rolling landscape. The state’s topography is hilly with a very colorful patchwork of many different crops in various stages of maturity. At the International Peace Garden (near Dunseith), I parked my bike in the United States and the trailer in Canada. While I contemplated the stark difference between the peacefulness I had been feeling on this ride and the increasingly sorry lack of peace in today’s world, the sky responded by opening up and raining with a passion.I sought shelter in the site’s chapel until the worst of the thunderstorm passed but, upon leaving, I still had to don my heavy waterproofs. However, when I thought about it, I’d only had to put them on maybe three or four times during the trip. After nearly two months on the road and with 11,000 miles under my belt, I was struck by how fortunate I had been when it came to riding weather.
By Wednesday, 11 August, I am riding into the arid West. After the oppressive conditions that plagued me in the South and up a portion of the East Coast, I had had enough sticky-hot humidity to last for some time, possibly a lifetime.
They call Montana big sky country and there is something distinctly different about the sky here. This is my third visit to the state and I must say this phenomenon has been obvious each time. This trip, however, was going to show me what dangers can lurk in all that big sky.
It was my first night in Montana and I made the mistake of camping in an unprotected area near Fresno Reservoir, west of Havre.
Early showers were replaced with a full-blown storm that started in earnest around 10 p.m. incredible wind gusts blasted my frail little pop-up tent from every direction. I had tied off the two main upper supports but lacked enough rope to tie off the front or rear.
For what seemed like an eternity, I stood in the tent holding the front supports as the gusting wind knocked me around like bobble-head doll before deciding to collapse the front of the tent and secure it with tie-downs. This left the other end of the rig to deal with. The wind was lifting it off the ground at what seemed to be regular intervals. By the time I had used both arms and both legs to stabilize the unit, I looked like a contortionist in a traveling circus! All those years of yoga paid off that night! I dared not take a chance and collapse the rest of the tent because I had no way to secure it and was sure all of my belongings would be scattered from Montana to who knows where.
Feeling like a bug in a pillowcase being drug behind an Indy racecar, I spent the next hour or so hanging on for dear life. Finally, the storm started to let up and, except for the occasional horrendous gust, I was finally able to doze off. When I awoke, I looked out on a wonderful calm morning.
My inspection found that everything – miraculously – seemed to be intact, everything, that is, except a bit of my sanity!
What stung the most, though, was realizing I had made such a stupid mistake. I have lived in the Rockies for 30 years and knew better than to set up camp in an unprotected area. If you are going to travel the western plains and mountains, be sure to take the proper precautions and plan for all possibilities. Nature can be downright heartless.
To be continued in Solo Circumnavigation of the USA, Part 2
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15 May 2011
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Registered Users
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Join Date: May 2011
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Solo Circumnavigation of the USA, Part 2
One Long Ride
By Jim Burtle
Part 2
(To see photos while you read go to: https://picasaweb.google.com/CasaLoma2/2010TripSummary02#)
On Thursday, 12 August, I arrived at one of my favorite places in the whole country, Glacier National Park. On this trip, I spent four nights in the park, camping, resting, hiking, sightseeing and kayaking. I walked the entire Highline Trail , which has to be one of the most scenic hikes in the country, and was lucky enough to see a mother grizzly and her cubs. What a thrill!
John, a retired fire fighter whom I’d met in Minnesota, caught up with me at Glacier. He was riding from New York to San Francisco and then back again. We had stayed in touch while finding our separate ways to Glacier. After being on the road by ourselves, I think we both enjoyed having someone to share a campsite with and to swap stories about how we each ended up at Glacier.
On Tuesday, 17 August, I left Priest River, Idaho, and soon found myself riding west on State Route 20 in Washington. Perhaps one of the best motorbike roads to cross an entire state, Route 20 brought me to the small (population a hair over 1,900) town of Winthrop.
As Route 20 was nearing completion in the early 1970s, local business people decided to reinvent the town as something right out of the Old West. Nearly all the buildings in town look as if they were transported from that era. It is one of the coolest Old West towns I’ve ever visited. And I got a great tip from a man playing a Celtic harp along the boardwalk. He told me about a shortcut to the ferry at Coupeville, Washington, which saved me just enough time make it on board!
Up the road from Winthrop, I crossed Washington Pass across the north Cascades.
As I climbed in altitude, the temperature dropped as one would expect but descending the western side things never really warmed up.
Riding State Route 112 from Port Angeles to Neah Bay you are treated to 50 miles of the most excellent motorbike roads and scenic beauty to be found anywhere. From Neah Bay, it is a short ride to Cape Flattery.
I deemed this to be the most northwestern point in the contiguous 48 states. Yes, I know there are some who will disagree but I’m saying that Blain, Washington, is itand that’s ok. I can truly say I have been from sea to shining sea and then some; I have dipped my toes in every major body of water on the borders of this great country if not literally then metaphorically.
Mileage to date about 12,700 miles.
Another treasure that should not be missed is the Hoh Rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula. It is one of the few temperate rain forests in the U.S. and receives 144-165 inches of rain a year. Many trees grow from nurse logs instead of seeds.
The dominant species in the rainforest are the Sitka spruce and Western hemlock; some grow to tremendous size, reaching 95 meters (312 ft.) in height and 7 meters (23 ft.) in diameter. Bright green moss covers nearly everything in the forest.
I continued south on U.S. Route 101 through Washington and Oregon. I have ridden the coast of Oregon before and knew it to be spectacular. On this trip, feeling that it was worth a 250-mile detour, I decided to see Crater Lake. So, when I reached Florence, Oregon, I turned left and headed inland. State Route 58 from Eugene to U.S. Route 97 is a spectacular ride through deep canyons and forests of huge trees. I had breakfast in Oakridge, Oregon, where all the customers were entertained by an overly tattooed but quite animated waiter who was also a biker!
Arriving at Crater LakeI once again was surprised to run into John the firefighter. I told him I planned to camp there but as the day waned, so, too, did the warmth. Deeming it too cold to camp there, I set my sights on Crescent City, California, although – as it turned out – this required me to skirt a forest fire near Grants Pass, Oregon.
I spent Monday, 23 August, hiking in Humboldt County’s Prairie Creek Redwood State Park in northern California. a couple of times before I would be hard pressed not to take advantage of it again.
I’ve hiked in California’s redwoods before but I would have felt the fool had I passed up another opportunity to stroll through and gape at these magnificent trees.
You see, a hike in the redwoods is one of the most thought provoking and humbling experiences a person can have. At every turn, your gaze falls on some piece of nature that stops you dead in your tracks and gives you yet one more pause to reflect on you and your place in the world. Days like this help me keep going because, as I walk through these giant trees, I can feel insignificant one moment but, in the next, realize I alone could have a devastating effect on this majestic stand if I failed to give it the respect and care it deserves.
My next California stop was Ferndale. In my opinion, it is the quintessential Victorian town -the colorful and meticulously painted gingerbread homes and buildings make you feel as if you are walking into a storybook. Leaving Ferndale, I decided to ride out to the coast on the Ferndale-Petrolia Road or, as I was soon to discover, “the road to hell.” On the upside, the road was superbly curvy and scenic; on the downside, it was so steep that engine braking was of little use, thereby making overheated brakes a constant concern. The road was full of potholes, sink holes, busted up pavement, or no pavement at all. Generally, though, the road had just enough long stretches of new pavement to keep me moving forward. At the end of this detour, I had added only 67 miles to my total but those miles had taken three hours to negotiate.
On top of the treacherous driving conditions, the weather took a decidedly ugly turn as the road headed back inland from the coast. As if taking a cue from the road’s nickname, the temperature quickly shot up to the high 90s and, by the time I reached U.S. Route 101, the temp was near 115. An hour south, I hopped on State Route 1, heading for the coast to get some relief from the heat. I got my wish. Soon I was back in cool coastal temps, 35 degrees cooler than it had been just 14 miles and 20 minutes earlier.
I was still in northern California when, all of a sudden, I found myself thinking about going home. At times, I would get so tired I stopped and napped along the road. I could definitely say it wasn’t the bike I was growing tired of. Getting on the bike was still the highlight of each day. Finally, I concluded that by brain was suffering from sensory overload. During the weeks I had been on the road, I had been inundated by a daily and constant barrage of experiences. I decided I had simply run out of capacity to store any more information.
On 26 August, I found myself riding south from Fort Bragg in a heavy fog. Heading east in hopes of riding out of the fog, I all of a sudden found myself riding above the clouds. What an experience!
On my arrival in San Francisco, I received the devastating news that a biker friend and his wife had been in a tragic motorbike accident. He had died at the scene and she had sustained extreme injuries. This once again made me pause and reflect that life is precious and short. Those of us who prefer traveling and exploring on non-traditional modes of transportation do so, in part, because we are curious for new experiences that are only available to those who choose to swing their legs over a motorbike. We don’t exist in a vacuum or safe space in our living rooms or backyards; we endure heat, cold, rain, hail and snow in our quest for those picture perfect days that raise all of our senses to their peak because this is when we are most alive.
Later in the day, I was talking with a friend on the phone and said I might just bag it. Her only comment: “What would your friend do, quit or ride on?” As the next day dawned, I made my decision. I got on the bike and started for the coast. As I was drinking in the beauty and fragrance of a eucalyptus grove, I felt my friend’s presence smiling over my shoulder and knew the choice to ride on was the right one.
On the south side of Los Angeles, I stopped for gas and noticed another biker pulling a pop up camper – but he had a surfboard strapped to it! He had had the misfortune of having a flat tire, so I pulled out my tire repair kit and helped him fix his tire. About half way through the job, I was struck by the fact that I had been fortunate enough not to need the kit for my bike!
On Wednesday, 1 September, I arrived at Sweetwater HD, south of San Diego, to get a new rear tire and service before heading across the deserts along our southern border. At sunset, I rode to Imperial Beach, California, my southwestern most point of the trip.
The next day, I headed east into the mountains. At a gas stop near the top of a pass, an interesting old gentleman introduced himself. We talked for a while before he said “There is something in your eye and about your countenance that is familiar to me but I am sure you have not been here.” He then asked my name to be sure we had never met and continued, ”Bicyclists and some bikers I have noticed also have a certain quality about them when on such journeys. I know they are not in search of anything but just to experience the country.” I couldn’t have said it better. He went on to recite some excellent cowboy poetry he had written and wished me safe travels, it was truly one of those special moments when you are in the right place at the right time.
As I knew it would be, the desert was dry and hot with temps reaching 115 or so. I will tell you truthfully, though, the heat was much more palatable than the 100 degree heat with 95 percent humidity I experienced the first few weeks of the trip!
By the time I reached Tucson, Arizona, the temps had cooled to a sweet 95 degrees. Before departing Tucson, I spent a little time in Saguaro National Monument.
From there, I rode south to Bisbee, a very charming old West town
that features a very scenic approach along State Route 80. Then it was on to the border at Douglas and back north to Interstate 10 in New Mexico where I camped at Rock Hound State Park. What an ideal stop. Rock Hound provided a grand view of the West I had just ridden through.
I was pleasantly surprised by the topography of west Texas; State Route 118 was twisty and mountainous nearly all the way to Big Bend National Park. I made camp in a town with an unexpected namesake, Fort Davis. Turns out it was named for Jefferson Davis, president of the Confederacy. And I thought I had left all Civil War history behind me long ago.
By the time I rode into Del Rio, late in the afternoon on Sunday, 5 September, I had decided I was not going to ride to Brownsville. (My decision not to go south to Brownsville was somewhat intuitive as tropical storm Hermine hit that area on 6 September.) For some reason, I felt the trip was done and it time to go back to Little Rock. I stayed in San Antonio that night, leaving at 4:30 a.m. the next day. I arrived in Little Rock at 5p.m. – 83 days, 33 states and 17,200 miles after my departure on 14 June.
I will say there were times I was tired but I never grew weary of riding; it was the highlight of my days. Would I do it again? Probably not without having someone special with whom to share part of the ride. Deeper pockets would be nice, too, so I could stay longer in some areas. In fact, rather than doing the country in one big trip, I would recommend doing it in quarters. Pick the best time of the year for that quadrant and spend a minimum of 30 days.
Areas that strongly beckon my return (in no particular order) are Charleston, South Carolina; Maine; New Hampshire; Vermont; northwest Montana; the Hoh Rainforest; Humboldt County Redwoods; and Bisbee, Arizona.
As I reflected on my circumnavigation of the lower 48 states, one important question rose to the surface: Was this the end of a dream or the catalyst for many more? I choose to believe the latter. When I started my journey, I had no expectations about how it would unfold. All I wanted to do was finish the ride. I tried to keep my mind open to any and all thoughts and ideas that were generated by the ride itself or, perhaps more importantly, by those people I met along the way. Because, when I look back, the best memories of this adventure are thanks to the people who shared their time and a bit of their lives with me. As I said earlier, I may have been riding alone but I was never alone thanks to my friends and acquaintances.
In the last 15 years, I have been from coast to coast, border to border and all through the heartland of this great country on my motorbike. I view these trips much like holding a living sculpture in my hands. As I rotate it, I look through it and around it and have discovered the common thread that holds it all together is the unrelenting beauty and diversity of its flora and fauna, geology, climates and people.
Yet, one of the most disturbing attitudes I’ve encountered in all of my travels is the sad lack of desire many Americans seem to have to experience this exceptional country in which we live. The well-respected historian Shelby Foote, commenting on the end of the Civil War, said, “Before the war, people had a theoretical notion of having a country, but when the war was over, on both sides they knew they had a country. They'd been there. They had walked its hills and tramped its roads….”
I know firsthand that every state – no matter what you’ve heard about how boring it is – has something unique and special to offer if you take the time to look for it. Next time you venture out of the safety of your home, your suburb, your city, get off the interstate, stop and read those historical markers, strike up a conversation with a local, walk the trails, think about those who came before and why they were drawn across this wide and varied landscape. You may find something that you weren’t even looking for – YOUR country!
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15 May 2011
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Join Date: Jun 2000
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Nice story. I merged your 2 threads, rather than having them separate. If there is a part 3, then click reply and post it there.
cheers
Chris
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16 May 2011
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Like yourself Im no fan of the water but the story of you kayaking gave me goosebumps and I may just try something similar! And I love the photo of the sunflowers 
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19 May 2011
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Thanks
Chris for merging the articles
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19 May 2011
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Join Date: May 2011
Location: Englewood, Colorado
Posts: 4
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Glad you liked it
foxfly17 I hope you make the time to try the sea kayak experience because I will make another opportunity for myself.
The sunflower fields in ND were wonderful.
Be safe
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Check the RAW segments; Grant, your HU host is on every month!
Episodes below to listen to while you, err, pretend to do something or other...
2020 Edition of Chris Scott's Adventure Motorcycling Handbook.
"Ultimate global guide for red-blooded bikers planning overseas exploration. Covers choice & preparation of best bike, shipping overseas, baggage design, riding techniques, travel health, visas, documentation, safety and useful addresses." Recommended. (Grant)
Ripcord Rescue Travel Insurance™ combines into a single integrated program the best evacuation and rescue with the premier travel insurance coverages designed for adventurers.
Led by special operations veterans, Stanford Medicine affiliated physicians, paramedics and other travel experts, Ripcord is perfect for adventure seekers, climbers, skiers, sports enthusiasts, hunters, international travelers, humanitarian efforts, expeditions and more.
Ripcord travel protection is now available for ALL nationalities, and travel is covered on motorcycles of all sizes!
What others say about HU...
"This site is the BIBLE for international bike travelers." Greg, Australia
"Thank you! The web site, The travels, The insight, The inspiration, Everything, just thanks." Colin, UK
"My friend and I are planning a trip from Singapore to England... We found (the HU) site invaluable as an aid to planning and have based a lot of our purchases (bikes, riding gear, etc.) on what we have learned from this site." Phil, Australia
"I for one always had an adventurous spirit, but you and Susan lit the fire for my trip and I'll be forever grateful for what you two do to inspire others to just do it." Brent, USA
"Your website is a mecca of valuable information and the (video) series is informative, entertaining, and inspiring!" Jennifer, Canada
"Your worldwide organisation and events are the Go To places to for all serious touring and aspiring touring bikers." Trevor, South Africa
"This is the answer to all my questions." Haydn, Australia
"Keep going the excellent work you are doing for Horizons Unlimited - I love it!" Thomas, Germany
Lots more comments here!
Diaries of a compulsive traveller
by Graham Field
Book, eBook, Audiobook
"A compelling, honest, inspiring and entertaining writing style with a built-in feel-good factor" Get them NOW from the authors' website and Amazon.com, Amazon.ca, Amazon.co.uk.
Back Road Map Books and Backroad GPS Maps for all of Canada - a must have!
New to Horizons Unlimited?
New to motorcycle travelling? New to the HU site? Confused? Too many options? It's really very simple - just 4 easy steps!
Horizons Unlimited was founded in 1997 by Grant and Susan Johnson following their journey around the world on a BMW R80G/S.
Read more about Grant & Susan's story
Membership - help keep us going!
Horizons Unlimited is not a big multi-national company, just two people who love motorcycle travel and have grown what started as a hobby in 1997 into a full time job (usually 8-10 hours per day and 7 days a week) and a labour of love. To keep it going and a roof over our heads, we run events all over the world with the help of volunteers; we sell inspirational and informative DVDs; we have a few selected advertisers; and we make a small amount from memberships.
You don't have to be a Member to come to an HU meeting, access the website, or ask questions on the HUBB. What you get for your membership contribution is our sincere gratitude, good karma and knowing that you're helping to keep the motorcycle travel dream alive. Contributing Members and Gold Members do get additional features on the HUBB. Here's a list of all the Member benefits on the HUBB.
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