I Survived Highway 50

From I Survived Highway 50

Well, I actually got in the mail today my certificate, suitable for framing, and pin from the Nevada Tourism Commission that says "I Survived Highway 50.

The pin is sort of lame. Doesn't even say I survived.

From I Survived Highway 50

Island Vespa

So, it's not a Vespa, but it's my ride on the island.

Bermuda, ahhh my treasured island to bemoan. You see, every time I arrive, the weather is gruesome, and work is a burdensome chore, but the folks I work for, Barry and James are a treat to work with. This time is no different. I try my best keep my rain gear with me at all times, but I usually fail miserably.

It was sad in a twisted sort of way to find a Piaggio badge from some Vespa crushed and defaced at the end of the driveway at Barry's house.

One of the things I do take the time to do is find a rock on the water to enjoy, while eating my lunch. It really helps to get away from the job site during lunch and enjoy the scenery. I can look, but I can't touch....I've nearly gotten to the point of not telling people where I'm going when I have to come over here and work. I get the idea most people think I'm laying on the beach. Just ask anyone whom I've brought over to work here. It ain't no vacation, trust me. If it's not miserably hot and humid, it's raining, or a hurricane is on the way.

Here's how it usually goes. I get a crap load of gear shipped over here. I'm lucky if it gets unloaded off the boat and cleared through customs in a timely fashion, and undamaged. Then, say one of my manufacturers forgets to send the bolts for the clips, I have to drive to the other side of the island to a hardware store only to find they have the bolts, but not the nuts. OK, so I drive to the opposite side of the island, to another hardware jobber, they have the nuts, but they're metric. I swear, this is the way it goes. Yea, its a vacation....I get to work on my stunning lineless full body suntan in the depths of most any dark theatre.

In all the fifteen years I've been working on this island, I never took the time to check out the local Vespa shop. I tried to score some swag, but I failed miserably. With so many scooters here, I believe it is considered merely a utilitarian purchase. Very different than the scooter shops back in the states. Nothing, no tee-shirts, no key chains, nada, zip, zilch. There is a pile of rusting hulks of LX125 frames looking pitiful to me.

A little slide show of my latest journey:

Laundry Day

Well... really, wash the scooter day.


I've never washed my scooter, really. I'm one of those 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' kind of people. I wash my car once a year whether it needs it or not.

I have to admit however, after more than 8800 miles on the road, and not enough rain showers to wash the bugs off it was looking pretty bad. Really bad. Several people along the way asked if they could help me wash, like the windscreen, or something. I figured since I didn't actually look through it, why did it matter?

Today's slide show is for all you kind folks who really wanted to wash my scooter. You know who you are.

One Day after -

Sleeping in my own bed was nice, but it just didn't seem right without a couple of felines stomping over me all night. They're still at their Grandparents house, and will be for a few more days. I've got to jump right back into work.

Almost 8800 miles. Wow! I'm so glad I took this trip, and I'd leave tomorrow again if I could. I have had the splendid opportunity to meet and enjoy some of the finest people one could ever meet. I think I have forged some new friendships that just wouldn't have happened if not for this extraordinary journey.

All the guys and gals on the lrlr.org charity ride, I'm proud to have had the opportunity to share some incredible vistas of this country I've only seen from 32,000 feet in the air, and conjure up some cash for two outstanding charities. All you Royal Bastards on the west coast, thank you for opening your hearts and homes and making me a part of you. I'm more than just Easy, I'm humbled and honored. To all my Cushman friends, thank you for welcoming me to your world. It's been a trip, really. And to anyone reading this now, thank you. Writing this has not been easy for me, but I think it's worth it. I appreciate all your comments.

Many of you have kindly asked me about my concerns for my personal safety and what precautions I had taken. Well...really...none. I mean I do carry an 18" breaker bar and a swell Gerber hatchet, but those items would be nowhere at hand if I really needed to clock someone. I think a lot of one's personal safety is in one's head. Look confident and you'll be confident. I helps for sure that I wear the full get up of protective gear with a full face helmet and dark face shield. My riding style probably gives me away to experienced riders, but for the most part, I think I look mostly androgynous. Actually on several occasions in Utah and Kansas, a carload of youth would speed by, yelling 'faggot' out their windows, and display their limp wrists. I usually responded with my tightly cupped hand pageant wave.

Several people have asked what would I do different next time. Hmmm. Let's see...

#1- I won't bury my flashlight deep in the pet carrier. I'll start of with it in the glove box.

#2- Unless I'm doing a specific camping trip, I'll ditch the tent and sleeping bag. Just too bulky, and for me, I rather enjoyed finding and staying at the no-tell-motels found on the outskirts of small towns. I like having internet.

#3- Sunblock everyday. I didn't realize until the third or fourth day that I could get a sunburn on my face under my full-face helmet with a sun visor. Same thing with windburn around my neck despite the high collar of my hi-viz jacket.

#4- I should have researched my locales more in advance. Even with my leisurely 250 mile a day pace, I burned up a good portion of the day deciding what I would like to seek out. Some days I just drove until something caught my eye.

#5- I'll call my credit card company every three days to make sure they don't cut my card off for 'my own fraud protection' No, wait...I did that already. What useless pricks at American Express. Seems like only the last of nine separate calls that eventually was routed to 'Account Services Dept.' was able to cut through the BS and stop the declines. Why 'Customer Service Dept.' or 'Fraud Dept.' couldn't do the same thing is a mystery to me.

The things I would do the same again:

#1- Have a spare set of keys accessible at all times. It really came in handy when I left my keys on Lucky's kitchen counter in Sacramento, and we had trailered the scooters the few hours to Tahoe. Would have been very awkward to go back for keys.

#2- Take spare tools, wheel, rollers, belt, and such. It ate up most of my space in the pet carrier, but I was confident I could handle most any roadside maintenance issue. With the exception of the keys, I'm of the mindset: if I have it, I won't need it, and conversely if I need it, I won't have it. So, I tend to overpack.

#3- Take spare oil. I think the days of WOT burned oil. I had to add oil three times, about 2/3 cup each time.

#4- Take spare fuel. I bought two small fuel bottles from the local outdoor camping store. Clamped one under the rear luggage rack and another in the pet carrier. Needless to mention, I did run out of fuel near McLean, TX, where the fuel stations are not at every exit.

#5- Take and drink plenty of water, always. De-hydration is an issue in all kinds of weather.

#6- Take lots of gloves, once a pair gets wet, even the waterproof ones, they transmit the cold badly to my fingers. It was nice to have a dry pair of gloves to switch to. Same thing for mesh gloves, once they're wet, they're a drag.

#7- Take a good first aid kit, and forget the band-aids. Take loads of gauze and other blood sucking material. Road-rash is not pretty and band-aids would be worthless for some deep blood gushing gash in my flesh.


Thats all for now. It's good to be home.

Cheers.

Day 37 - 115 Miles

Destination: Home

I sandbagged all day long waiting for the sun to go down. A cold snap was predicted for tomorrow: 92F high. I figured either wait for the sun to go down, or wait until the next morning. Besides, it gave me almost another whole day to visit with my cousins and aunts whom I just don't get to see too often.

I walked to the Trent River Coffee shop, my cousin Lauralyn, was already there. Several customers were skeptical of my recent adventure, but mercifully Ed, the proprietor had a computer there. This blog reveals all.

We decided to try the Pollack Street Deli for breakfast, but we just missed the cut off. A grilled shrimp salad with feta cheese however was as good or better as an omelet had we gotten there earlier. I'm amused at all the bears, some carved well, some not scattered all through town.

The temperature drops to a frigid 90F after the sun goes down, and that's my cue to head home. The thought of sleeping in my own bed seems foreign. I've slept in nearly as many different beds as the number of days I've been gone on this journey. I've met so many wonderful people along the way, it seems like it will be a let down, but I'm anxious to get home.

A short slide how today:

Day 36 - 84 Miles

Destination: Atlantic Beach, NC

My cousin Lauralyn, and I get up and walk downtown to a coffee shop, and then to a bakery for breakfast. The coffee shop is filled with locals who seem right at home. One customer complains about all the old posters on the windows. She's been cleaning the windows in exchange for her coffee fix. Try that at a Starbux. I ate an omelet bigger than my head at the bakery and stopped at the small grocery store for some needed supplies for a lazy day on the river.

It was miserably hot and I decided to bite the bullet and head to the beach, hell's fire and damnation. Surprisingly it was almost 15 degrees cooler, 40 miles away at the beach. I stopped for that iconic photo of my scooter on the Atlantic Ocean. Looks sort of like the left coast, eh? I took a quick tour around Fort Macon, a fort first established to protect Beaufort Inlet, but later fell into Confederate hands. I have fond memories of another family visit there many years ago with my Grandmother and Uncles who have long since passed.

I beat a hasty retreat back to New Bern, for a cool shower and a cold adult carbonated beverage. Not too much later, I was snoozing the day away in the warm breeze on a huge hammock.

I forgot to mention last night, my cousin Ben took several of us on an evening river cruise on a brilliantly restored skipjack. The Ada Mae is one of only a few surviving oyster dredging vessels from the early 1900's. It's now used as a teaching vessel to help kids understand and appreciate coastal and maritime heritage through Carolina Coastal Classrooms. We went a good ways downriver and returned under power of the jib sail.


Todays momentous slideshow of the terminus of my journey:

Day 35 - 201 Miles

Destination: The Atlantic Ocean

Coast to coast X2 (almost). Wow, I'm still in a bit of a fog thinking: did I really do this? I cooked breakfast for my self for the first time in I don't remember when. Scrambled eggs with sweet onions, cheddar cheese, with bacon. Mighty tasty if I must say so myself.

Actually my destination is my cousins house in New Bern, NC. But I figure if I'm going to brag about a coast to coast adventure, by damnit I better get to the other ocean. So I'll drive the extra 40 miles past New Bern to Atlantic Beach for that iconic picture of my scooter on the other coast, tomorrow.


I head out of Greensboro on Alamance Church Road which eventually leads me to Chapel Hill on some of the most picturesque back roads in NC. After crossing Interstate 85, one house catches my eye.  Some bizarre greco-roman gingerbread renovation frozen in a state of flux.  There's statues, and columns, and archways scattered about the front yard.  In the back yard I spy a medieval sort of parapet wall.  There's a carved statue strung on a utility pole resembling a cross between an Easter Island statuary and a Totem pole.  It's a visual cacophony of styles and images.  Next door, sharing a driveway, a small engine repair shop sports all sorts of lawnmowers rusting away.  I'm guessing they're related.

The signs pointing to Chapel Hill lead me through Kimesville.  The village built a dam back in 1812 to run a grist mill.  A cotton mill was on the site until 1931.  It's a picturesque recreational setting, water gently trickling over the side.  I remember as a child, my family driving to see holiday decorations and animated lighting displays strung out over the dam during Christmas time.  I'm curious if they still do decorations.  Several small buildings, and a replica of a lighthouse dot the edge of the reservoir.  One shack advertises: "SEE ROCK CITY" on it's roof.

If the cool shade was a cash commodity, cows would be the miser kings of cool. They know how to milk every inch of cool from a tiny patch of shade. An if there's not enough shade they just pile in a pond and swim around to keep cool. It is miserably hot and humid. It's supposed to be 103F when I pass through Raleigh, but my outside temp gauge tells me it's 109F. Lots of farm lands remind me of the bucolic midwest landscape I just traveled through with their silos sticking in the air.

I'm always amused at signs on the highway displaying a double entendre, like 'Eat here, Get gas' and this one in Goldsboro is no exception. Folks who are not from around here are always get a giggle from this sign. I always wonder if the guys from the DOT had any idea how amusing that sign really is. Double click on the image for the full size.

I decided to stop in Kinston and pick up some barbeque. That's Eastern NC barbeque, it's a noun around here not a verb. It's pulled pork from a slowly smoked juicy pig that's spiced with a vinegar based sauce. Not too hot and never sweet. It's always good. My outside air temperature gauge tells me it 118F when I'm waiting at a stop light. Hell's inferno can't be this bad.

Ben and Marion's house, on the Neuse River is the gathering point for a family re-union. At some funeral many, many years ago, my mother and her three siblings decided to not wait for the next funeral for a get-together. This half of the family made a concentrated effort to do that, and it's truly been a treat throughout the years. I haven't made it to all the gatherings, but those I've been to have been a delight. My Uncles, Cullen and Tryon have passed away in the last two years, and each one of these events become more precious for me.

It's just too darn hot today to continue on to the beach. Besides lots of family folks are leaving today. Slide show today:

Day 34 - 172 Miles

Destination: Greensboro, NC

I left Asheville early this morning in comparison to my normal departure time. Mostly to avoid the heat, it's supposed to be in the 100's today. Secondly, I want to get to the Scooter Vita of the Triad early to change my rear tire and get them to mount my old Michelin Gold Standard for the rear. This one has developed disturbing bulges only on the right side. Several are very big.

I decided to take I-40 instead of some smaller back roads. I figure if I have a blow-out and drive off the road into a ditch on a secondary road, I could be there for days. At least I have a fighting chance of someone seeing me and not hitting me as I drive off the shoulder of the interstate.

This heat is oppressive, very different than the dry desert heat. Here, you're sweaty and sticky in this humidity, and it's hot inside my helmet.

I got to the scooter shop and was shocked to see a nearly empty showroom. Scott says the scooters have been flying out the door for the last month. When I left on this journey, you could hardly walk through the showroom. Now it's looks downright lonely in there. Josh kindly offered one of their lifts for my use to change out my rear tire. Thanks Josh. I'm not sure if I know how to do some of this stuff without actually standing on my head.

For those of you who have asked about the Dyna-beads I've used to balance my tires, here's the poop. It seemed to have no effect on the rim whatsoever. Josh was concerned they might chew up the rim. What they did chew up was some rubber inside the tire, and you could see the pattern they wove inside the tire as they dynamically balanced the tire on the roll. The company that sells them says you can vacuum them out and re-use them. I think it would be a PIA, so I'll just bite the bullet and spend the extra $4 for another tiny bag-o-beads. I think they work as advertised. I put less than 7000 miles on my stock Sava tire with the adhesive lead weights, and it was horribly cupped. I now have more than 8200 miles on a front Continental Zippy with Dyna-beads, and that tire still looks new.

I decided to crash for the night at my parent's house here in Greensboro. They've already left for a family get-togther in New Bern, my destination for tomorrow. And I get to spend some quality time with my felines, who've been getting spoiled, fatter, and lazier than they normally are staying with their Grandparents, and oh, do some laundry. I pick up Guy, normally the out-going one. A couple of sniffs- 'oh it's just you' and he's outta here. Lola, normally the stand-offish one, is thrilled to see me. She sheds a significant amount of her orange fur on my black shirt in her excitement to have me pet her butt. Although I really think their definition of quality time somehow revolves around food.

A few slides from today, yeah mostly felines...

Day 33 - 240 Miles

Destination: Asheville, NC

I wound my way to NC on Hwy 25. In some ways, I think I would have been better on the interstate due to the heat. It was a sweaty 97-101 degrees all day long. Very different than the Mojave Desert heat. Seems like home.

I made the mistake of going straight into downtown Asheville at Friday 5:00 pm traffic. Seems there was some graduation going on as well. It was a zoo. My fan kept turning on and off trying to beat the heat.

It's refreshing to see so many scooters here in Asheville, on the east coast. Too bad there aren't more in Raleigh. But I'm making the great mental leap with fuel prices soaring, scooter sales have to increase.



I decided to call it a night at The Mountaineer Inn. I've seen this old roadside motel for years and years on the outskirts of town. Now the town has expanded exponentially, nearly swallowing up this old landmark.

Day 32 - 3.5 Miles

Destination: Shell Station for fuel

I decided to spend another day here at the farm. For the first time on this journey, I have developed very specific aches and pains in my wrists. Both wrists. I think that's pretty good for nearly 30 days in a row and over 7800 miles. I figure a day of not driving the scooter would be helpful.

Pedro ran over some wild baby turkeys while cutting hay, and managed to not kill them. They were some wiggly little creatures. I had trouble holding on to them.


I did however help with some administrative tasks here for the farm and spent the rest of the afternoon tedding about eight acres of hay, Pedro had cut yesterday. A tedding machine is this sort of rake machine with spinning tines to spread out and air out the hay before it's bailed. Sort of a fluffer. It's been more than 20 years since I've been on a tractor, and it's amazing how easy it comes back.




Pedro's wife, Maria cooked a mean plate of BBQ beef ribs for lunch, and Margie grilled up some juicy and delicious hamburgers for dinner. Thanks Maria and Margie. A tiny sliver of the moon rose above the old farm house as a colony of little chimney sweeps flew out from the chimney at dusk.

Down on the farm slideshow:

Day 31 - 247 Miles

Destination: Aunt Margie's farm in Richmond, KY

Once again, hellacious storms passed through early in the morning. A quick look at the radar tells me I'm in the clear for the rest of the day. I'm lucky to be avoiding the storms. Today is the day I veer off course from Hwy 50 and truly head towards home. I haven't seen my Aunt in more than a year, and it had been way too many years since that time before.

Not too long after I turned onto Hwy 150 outside of Washington, IN, the scenery changes dramatically from vast farmland with painted barns to a tight tree canopied twisty turning road. It snakes along a creek bed, and the temperature feels much cooler, despite the heat and humidity I haven't had the pleasure of experiencing lately. The sweet smell of honeysuckle permeated the air.

Once in Kentucky, the farmland takes a picturesque turn towards opulence, I have yet to have seen on this trip. Miles and miles of well groomed pastures, bordered by creosote covered fencing perfectly aligned with the lay of the land, hold horses that likely are worth more than my total assets.

Leaving Lexington on Tates Creek Road leads me to the Valley View, KY ferry. Since 1785, it's the oldest continuously running business of record in Kentucky. Capn' Eric welcomed me aboard the paddle boat ferry and gave me a great map of all the local roads and some good recommendations for some winery tours/tasting.

Aunt Margie's farm is up a steep gravel road that I recall from my last visit was not in too good of shape. I made several visits here back in the 80's and spent a good deal of time here back then, when one of it's many personas was a sawmill among other dreams of my late Uncle Tryon. Now it's a booming Christmas tree business and pumpkin patch, along with hay, corn, and other vegetables.

I managed to get up the hill without dumping the scooter. Like I remembered from years ago, I hadn't really gotten all my stuff off the scooter, and before I know it, I'm on the back of a tractor Pedro is driving, planting rows of corn. The cicadas are here in their 17 year cycle of destruction. Their screeching sound is almost hurtful to my ears.

Much has changed since the last time I was here. But it still feels like a time capsule from when I was here back in the 80's. There's a new chicken coop, lots of critters, and the makings of a beautiful sunset looking over the memorial gazebo for my Uncle Tryon.

I didn't think I would have a big slide show today:

Day 30 - 280 Miles

Destination: Olney, IL

Much of Missouri looks alarmingly familiar to parts of NC. Certainly not the sharp contrast in scenery I've been enjoying so far. Except for the Testicle Festival. I really can't imagine what it's about, but it sure breaks up the monotony. Another anti-monotonous stunt for me is to sharpen my card counting skills for the next time I'm in Tahoe. I figure counting and categorizing the dead animals on the side of the road without the help of pen and paper would be a good exercise.

Hmmm, lets see. In the first 85 miles outside of Jefferson City on Hwy 50, I encountered: 32 small furry creatures, 29 indistinguishable masses, 14 totally unrecognizable greasy spots, 11 turtles, seven armadillos, five birds, four opossums, three snakes, and one dead dog. I only counted the road kill actually on the road or paved shoulder. If it was in the dirt off the pavement, it didn't count. You gotta have rules you know. I did stop for a turtle who was high tailing across the road, I turned around, helped him across the road and he was safely on his way in a big fat hurry.

Once Hwy 50 merged onto I-44 near St. Louis, I really had to pay attention, so I quit my exercise for the day. It didn't help, I somehow crossed the great muddy river without seeing the arch. What trip would be complete without a stop at the arch. I wound my way back to town for a few pix. Lewis and Clark were mostly submerged in the flooded Mississippi River.


Olney, IL apparently is famous for a couple of clowns who released some albino squirrels around the turn of the last century. They're everywhere. The albino squirrels have the right of way on streets, and it's a crime to try and leave town with one.

I stumbled upon the Hovey Diner, famous for their hamburgers, and a local hangout for many regulars who always order the same thing. It was tasty, The Big Mike. Two grilled patties piled high with cheddar cheese and coleslaw. Hand cut french fries completed the feast. Several locals were intrigued by my adventure, and Susan, my waitress gave me a T-shirt. Thanks Susan.




Todays picture show:

Day 29 - 305 Miles

Destination: I seriously considered last night trying to get to a Cardinals game by 7:30. No way.

A huge damaging thunderstorm raged through just north of Emporia this morning. I sandbagged at the hotel hoping it would continue further northeast so I could stay behind it. Breakfast at the S&S was better than dinner was last night: sausage and cheese omelet. It's a quaint local eatery with clever messages on the bathroom doors. Lots of smoke and lots of farmers.

I decided to detour off my Hwy 50 route towards the south and catch Hwy 54 to avoid the storms. I was surprised to see an Oklahoma mile marker squished on the side of the road. I didn't figure armadillos got that far up here. But there was more wildlife in store for me today.

I'd hazard a guess that turtles have a less than 10% chance of getting from one side of the road to the other alive. Those poor creatures just don't get a break. I've decided that squished turtles can be mile post markers for Eastern Kansas. In my quest to photograph some of the unfortunate mile markers, I did stop for one that was ahead of the curve. I stopped and gently took him across the road in the direction he was traveling.

I started to catch up with that nasty storm and stopped for fuel in Weaubleau, KS. Across the street the Common Ground cafe lured me in with it's advertised free WiFi. It was a hippie Jesus community cafe of The Twelve Tribes, that brewed a mean cup of tea and baked delicious cranberry muffins. They do a bang up business in organic vegetables. They were very nice to let me into the office to check the weather since the WiFi wouldn't log me in.

I haven't quite figured out why the gas stations in Eastern Kansas offer not three but five different octane grades of fuel. 86, 89, and 91 octane just aren't enough choices I guess. After being in Kansas for the last three days, the Missouri border was a welcome sight, even if squished armadillos are now the current mile markers. I've decided today is wildlife day. I have seen just today: a wild turkey, a beaver, a hawk, an eagle, a llama, goats, sheep, and cows of course. They were all alive.

After sandbagging several hours for the rain, I decided to call it a day in Jefferson City. The Super 8 motel is calling my name. I'm sick and tired of American Express making my life miserable.

Todays wildlife slideshow:

Day 28 - 275 Miles

Destination: Just get the hell out of Dodge

It's laundry day in Dodge City, KS. I've always considered a laundromat to be the great equalizer. Everybody's got dirty shorts or something. From haughty ladies washing the big comforters that won't fit in the machine at home to migrant agricultural workers. I get to talking to a trucker doing laundry there about my adventures so far. Somehow the biggest ball of twine, which happens to be in Kansas comes up. I've already decided it's way far north and not really on my way to anywhere, but another local suggests I seek out the biggest ball of barbed wire. Apparently some tornado came through and rolled up about 200 miles of barbed wire. The local guy tells me it's only 30 miles up the road and surely the locals up there can tell me where it is.

First though I was encouraged to see the Boot Hill Museum and Cemetery. It's an eclectic little museum. Sort of a cross between a natural science and history museum, with live re-enactments. I think I've discovered my next Christmas gift project: wreathes made from my own hair. I can't imagine the time and patience that took for some frontier woman to make a wreath from human hair. A talking animatronic longhorn tells some story that I was just too amused at to grasp the point. They did have some cool paraphernalia from Gunsmoke. When I was a kid, I got on the set of Gunsmoke and met Sheriff Matt Dillon, got his autograph. What a great TV show.

My search for the biggest ball of something was unfruitful, but I did get a lot of funny looks from the several people I asked. I gave up and continued east on even a smaller road. Kansas is still flat, but at least there's some things to look at along the roads. I now have logged more than 7000 miles on this trip alone.

If not for the barbed wire folly, I would not have driven past the sign for the Kansas Motorcycle Museum in Marquette, KS.

Stan Engdahl was a racer and collector, and owned a motorcycle shop there. When he retired, he and his wife, LaVona gave the building to the town if they would help develop it as a museum. One wall is covered with over 600 trophies Stan alone won in his racing career spanning the 1940's to 1990's. He recently passed and his wife continues to run the museum. It really has some fascinating motorcycles from the past, but the scooter collection in the back were the most interesting to me.

I decided to stop in Emporia, KS for the night. The S&S diner was my dinner destination. Full of locals, that always look me over when I come in all dressed like the Michelin Man, but seen to get a kick out of my cross country adventures.

Todays pix:





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Day 27 - 277 Miles

Destination: Farther East

Today was a blast. I followed my Cushman friends to the La Junta Community Center for biscuits-n-gravy. Tom, who seemed to be heading up this shindig warmly greeted me. Kind of seriously, he told me I was welcome to ride with them, but I'd have to ride at the back of the pack. I told him I was used to that by now. He was amused.

I got a cordial greeting from everyone, and was told the last Vespa to show up at one of their meets got toilet papered. I knew I was in for a fun day. I was one of the youngest in the room, and I'll be on AARP's radar in just a few short years.

The scooter games started right after breakfast before it got too hot. First there was riding the board, but this board was actually two ropes that were moved closer together with every pass. I made it to the third round before I was disqualified. Next up was the newspaper toss. Apparently as kids, some of these guys used to deliver newspapers on their Cushmans. All the rules seemed to bend in several directions. Last up was the slow race. Two scooters race each other to a finish line. The last one to cross the line without dumping it or putting a foot down wins.

Next up was a 70 mile circuit that took us through town, out into the country, through Rocky Ford for lunch at the Sonic Burger and on to other destinations. The pack of scooters broke into two groups so traffic trying to pass would not be so bad. Not that there was that much traffic. I blocked a few intersections for them until they got out of town, and on to the straight away. I sped past the growling scooters a few times to catch some action photos of the ride.

We stopped at a scenic outlook to the Santa Fe Trail. You could see for miles and miles. I stuck with the pack for the journey to Sonic Burger. We got almost up to 40mph one or two times there. Think Richard Farnsworth in 'The Straight Story'. You know, the guy who drives a riding lawnmower from Iowa to Wisconsin in back in 1994.

These have to be some of the finest folks around. They've come from Kansas, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah to have some fun on their Cushmans. Some of their scooters are incredible restorations, rat bikes, hot rods, you name it. One soul popped her chain early on, and a guy with a fouled plug and sticky throttle cable made for a longer than usual lunch stop. I decided to bid farewell after lunch and continue on my journey.

Thanks to all you Cushman folks. I had a ball with you today. I hastily put together some video my digital camera takes:

Not far past Lamar, the landscape really flattens out. I found an old school house named after me, and saw my first longhorn cattle in the flesh. I figure carrying around those horns is a pain in the neck.

Kansas is well, um...flat. Sort of the anti-Deals Gap: 11 turns in 318 miles. And aromatic too: coming soon to a dinner table near you. Feed lots as far as the eye can see. Depending on which way the wind is blowing, I could sniff out a feed lot four or five miles away.

Near Cimmaron, there was a road block due to an accident ahead. Traffic was being detoured on a dirt road. The EMS guys nicely gave me another route on paved roads to the next town with a gas station. I was running perilously low on fuel. It didn't help that I saw endless wind farms far away and wanted to take a few pix. Resembling crosses in a graveyard at a distance, they majestically churn the air into electricity. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: What's the big deal with those folks in Craven County that want to put up their wind generators on their own property? I just don't get what the problem is.

I got a whiff of Dodge City about 10 miles out. I've been here a few hours now, and I don't even smell it any more.

A really big show today:

Day 26 - 297 Miles

Destination: No where in particular, just east.

The nice lady at the Canyon Trails Inn suggested a stop a Royal Gorge over the Arkansas River, although touristy, was well worth the trip. That entails a trip up Monarch Pass, the western continental divide.

On the way, I stopped in Gunnison for fuel, I wasn't sure how much I'd burn up climbing the pass. Someone has carved a big W on the hillside. It looks remarkably like a huge dubya bumper sticker.

The GTS bogged down to a bit over 40mph climbing up the 4000 feet to get to the 11 thousand or so feet summit. It's still hard pack snow, and very cold. I will never again even consider a journey without warm gear. I had almost decided to leave the warm stuff at home. I'm so glad I didn't.

Nelson, an Irish chap was driving a Honda. He's lost his job and thought there would be no better time to take a two month tour of the USA. He figured he might not ever get the chance.

Hwy 50 cuts deep into the gorge formed by the Arkansas River. It and a railroad track along the edge of the river for miles and miles of twisting turns. There really weren't too may safe places for me to pull over, but I eventually found a good spot that was rampant with rafters.

The turn off to Royal Gorge was gaudy, so much so I couldn't actually bring the camera to my face to take a picture. Bad, bad, bad. Fake gunfights and hangings. Puleeze. The bridge however was way cool. Wooden planked, wire suspension, built in 1929. You can even drive across it. It really swings in the wind. There's a vertical train car that travels straight down to the river. Some of the I-beams were bent, it was a bit un-nerving for me. Once on the bridge, the geek in me came out and I really was more intrigued by the construction, wire splices, the rigging, etc. Today's slide show is for all you geeks out there too.

The rest of the trip was all downhill from there, really. I stopped for gas way down the road after more than 160 miles. I didn't even get two gallons in the tank. Colorado really flattens out, and my long shadows are an indication of what I have in store for Kansas: flat as far as the eye can see.

I decided if La Junta, Colorado looked good, I would stay here rather than continuing to Lamar for the night. I'm glad I did. I followed a sign to the Midtown Motel advertised as 'The Quiet Place'. Of all things, I run into a bunch of folks attending a Cushman Scooter Meet. They've invited me to their shindig tomorrow: breakfast, a ride, lunch, scooter games, and door prizes.

Is that cool, or what?

A big slide show today:

Day 25 - 340 Miles

Destination: Montrose, CO

Mercifully today was uneventful. It was mostly a green day, more greenery that I've seen in weeks. Utah got a bit drier looking. I hopped on I-70 for a good deal of today as Alt-50 went through parts of Utah I saw a few weeks ago.

There were several miles however that I noticed a creek/river flowing along side the freeway, it looked like it was heading the wrong direction, as in I swear I was heading downhill, but I was actually climbing. This has happened twice on this trip. I guess it's an optical illusion. I even pulled over to stop and see if I would roll backwards. I did. See how uneventful today was?

AMEX has pissed me off beyond belief at this point. Words cannot describe how livid I am now seven times on this trip they have cut off my card 'for my protection'.

I pulled into the Canyon Trails Inn in Montrose CO. Another motorcyclist was checking in too. Paul, seems to be a MSF instructor from Chicago. He's on vacation touring the southwest. I invited him to join me for dinner at the Red Barn. We traded some remarkably similar road stories. Safe journeys, Paul.

A short slide show today:

Day 24 - 314 Miles

Destination: Delta, UT

If you are ever in the sleepy old mining town of Austin, NV, the Mountain Motel is the place to stay. It's like the saying 'you can't judge a book by it's cover' - new beds, new bathrooms, new HVAC, and a nice proprietor to boot. Farewells to my pedal cycle friends, their butts are tired and are sandbagging a day here hoping to miss any bad weather. Although the sun was shining, not a mile out of town, the sprinkles started. The temperature dipped below 42F and I was immediately bored of cold and rain.

The nice thing about the rain however, is the sweet sage smell that permeates the air as I descend into a valley from one of the dozens of summits I cross. Each pass offers a new view which must be even more spectacular if not for the rain and clouds. I did manage to skirt the worst of it that obscured the view with wispy sheets of rain.

I stopped at the Opera House in Eureka to get my 'I Survived Hwy 50 Passport' stamped. It's been restored and is now part of the Chamber of Commerce. Nice little place if you ask me. I had lunch at the Owl Roost Casino. As if I haven't been subjected to enough ducks these last few months, they have ducks swinging from the ceiling. Very strange.

Most of the interesting turn offs have been down dirt roads, but one for an archaeological site in Baker, NV was paved...at least the first part of it. I'm glad to report I did not drop the scooter on the last 1/2 mile that was gravel. The gravel dust made for a nice backgound for my Michelin Gold Standard tire now with 6000 miles on it. That's a lot of miles. More often than not, scooter tires last less than 3000 miles.

I stopped at the Utah/Nevada border for fuel. As I turned to leave, I noticed the road blocked by Highway patrolmen from Utah. I figured it was some road block for some escaped criminal, but it turned out to be an escort for two ginormous earth moving behemoths on flatbeads that took up both lanes of Hwy 50. I can't imagine the cost to the trucking company to block who knows how many miles with eight Highway Patrolman escorts.

Once into Utah, the rugged mountain passes quickly morphed into dry, flat, arrid desert. I thought the last 200 miles was lonely. This was downright depressing. The vista eventually opened up to salt flats as far as the eye could see.

I've been seeing the warning signs for open range cattle for weeks now. I finally spot some along the side of the road, on my side of the fence. How quaint. I stopped to get a picture. They all stopped to look at me, then they started coming to me. I figured it best to leave, there were some babies with them, and I was not interested in any bovine battle. I saw them just milling about the center of the highway in my mirrors. I turned around and went back to terrorize them off the road. I really didn't want to leave them in the middle of the road.

I decided to stop at The Deltan Inn, they advertised wireless internet, but it seems I'll need to plug in at the office. A late dinner at The Rancher Cafe was welcome, along with lots of local advice on the next few days of travel.

I'm happy to be out of the cold. Big slide show today:

Day 23 - 256 Miles

Destination: Great Basin National Park

I didn't make it.

Despite there being no heat in the cabin, I woke up warm and toasty in a big soft bed. I didn't want to leave, but the sun is out, so I thought it should be a great day for riding. Little did I realize how wrong I was.

Lucky's cabin is about a mile west of the extremely tiny town of Kyburz. A sign on the solitary business establishment says 'Welcome to Kyburz', the next line reads 'Now Leaving Kyburz'. A light, but steady rain started not long after I passed there. I figured if it was anything like yesterday, the rain would stop once I passed Echo Summit to descend into South Lake Tahoe. Wrong again.

Miles and miles of a steady light rain were in store for me. As I looked towards my direction of travel, I saw blue skies, but I realized it was dark blue like rain, not sky. I eventually hit a small hail storm coming into Carson City. I stopped for fuel before departing on my journey across the Loneliest Highway in America. I somehow managed to avoid the dark rain clouds and showers I could see, but could not shake the light rainfall.

I stopped for a bite to eat in Fernely, I checked the radar at the Chamber of Commerce while getting my 'I Survived Hwy 50 Passport' stamped. I sandbagged long enough to dodge some of the worst rain.

East of Fallon, NV, the land flattens in a huge basin, and since I was chasing the worst rain, the roads were wet. For the next 10-15 miles, the banks of the spillways on either side of the road have become a natural graffiti target. People pick up dark stones, from where I can't tell and spell out all kinds of things along the banks. This goes on for miles and miles. I'm guessing the rainy season is not that long, maybe just today and tomorrow since some are dated over the last several years. The usual so-and-so loves so-and-so along with some other choice statements certainly broke up the pace.

The mountains in the distance were obscured by the rain clouds, I can only imagine how spectacular this should be on a bright and sunny day. There is nothing but scrub bushes and sand in this Great Basin. Somewhere between Cold Springs and Austin on one of the only two trees I've spotted for the last hundred miles or so, must be 500 pairs of shoes hanging from this cottonwood tree.

I decided to only try as far as Austin, NV for the night. Way short of my destination, but I'm cold and tired. I did manage to get a few pictures between the rain showers. Just outside of Austin, right about the time I'm really feeling tired, I spot a couple of pedal bikes stopped on the side of the road with a flat. I turned around to go back and see if they needed help. Gee, I thought I had a bad day, it was their second flat. They said they were OK and to tell the other two bikers ahead they were coming behind shortly. I did catch up with the other two and passed on the message. None of them had a plan except to stop in Austin like me.

I stopped at the first little motel that advertised internet access: the Mountain Motel. It's undergone a recent renovation, and Jim the proprietor was very accommodating. several other motorcycles are here, so it must be OK. The other two bikers pedaled up the winding hill and pulled into the parking lot. They were beat, it was a 65 mile day for them. I pulled my crap off my scooter and drove the three or four miles back down the road to haul some of the other two's luggage up the hill.

David and Belinda and Jack (the terrier) who have traveled by pedal bike since Salinas, CA are heading to Massachusetts. A friend of theirs, Bill is traveling with them only as far as Ely, NV. The fourth cyclist is John, on his way to an artist in residency job in New York, is someone they met along the road this week.

We all got settled in and had dinner at the Toiyabe Cafe. Our road war stories were similar, but I still think they have it a lot harder than I do. I admire their guts and stamina to ride pedal bikes across the country. Belinda showed me some routes that might make my journey towards Denver more enjoyable than the I-70 freeway.

I'm tired and cold. Today's slideshow:

Day 22 - 155 Miles

Destination: Lake Tahoe

We made it this time.


Barbara met us early. She's decided to ride on the back of Lucky's scooter for a tour around Lake Tahoe, so we trailered the two scooters to Lucky's cabin just outside of Tahoe. This by far has to the best MPG I've gotten on this entire trip. We stopped in Placerville, CA also known as Hang Town (for obvious reasons) for brunch at the Buttercup Pantry, another home grown pancake/waffle house. My California Benedict: poached eggs, sliced avocado and hollandaise on an English muffin was to die for.

When Lucky bought this cabin several years ago, there was ski jersey mounted over the fireplace from the 1968 Olympic champion Spider Sabich. He made his offer contingent on keeping the jersey. The deal went down, and little did he realize at the time, this was the childhood home of Sabich. It's an incredibly restored cabin from the early 1930's. The cabin managed to survive several fires over the years, and is an ideal hideaway. A crumbling outpost of the 1860's Pony Express is just beyond this cabin.

We unloaded the scooters, and departed for our clockwise excursion around Lake Tahoe. It was cold and somewhat rainy on the climb up past Sugar Loaf to the lake. We ascended though the clouds, past Lover's Leap, and descended to the Lake for a gorgeous sun dappled view of the lake.

Just past the California/Nevada border, we stopped at the CalNeva Casino, formerly owned by Frank Sinatra, for a late lunch. This was the stomping ground for many a celebrity in the day. There are tunnels underground from the stage to Frank's bungalo. Marylyn Monroe had a cabin here too. This was the Rat Pack's playground. It straddles the California Nevada border, with a line running through the swimming pool and through the grand ballroom. We sort of snuck into the theatre, but it was way too dark to see much. I wasn't interested in getting kicked out by turning on the lights.

We fueled up and headed towards the south side of the lake for Bill's Casino, mercifully the only non-smoking casino I have ever seen. I'd forgotten to get the cash I intended to lose earlier when we unloaded the scooters at the cabin and I realized I left the keys to my scooter back at Lucky's house in Sacramento. I was forced to use a casino ATM to lose my money. I had a spare set of keys so it worked out OK. My replacement American Express card chased me up the California coast, so my other keys can chase me across the continent.

The casino was not crowded at all. Lucky was not so lucky as he blew some cash at the Craps table while unsuccessfully trying to explain to me how the game works. I still don't get it. An hour or so of fun for me at the Roulette table left me lighter for cash. I wandered over to Lucky just as he was unluckily blowing the rest of his wad at a $5 minimum Blackjack table. I sat down with my last bit of cash I had earmarked to lose. I sort of staked Lucky, and he sort of advised me. Soon I had several handfuls of red chips and cashed them in for fewer green chips. I was excited to play with the just green chips. Lucky urged me to to leave when I had several handfuls of green chips before I tried to play with the blue chips.I did get to hold a handful of blue chips on the way to the cashier. We did well.

We drove though some rain and fog back to the cabin. Sadly I'm leaving the care of my social director for these last several days. I'm staying at the cabin while Barbara and Lucky head back to Sacramento. Barbara's got to be at work early in he morning, so we loaded up Lucky's scooter on the trailer.

No better way to end the day. Thank you Lucky for these last several days. You truly are a sweetheart, despite what everyone says about you on the interwebs. It's been a blast with all you Bastards.

A slide show from today:

Day 21 - 0 Miles

Destination: Lake Tahoe

We didn't even try.



Last night Colin told us it was snowing in Tahoe. Lucky offered, and I decided it best to spend one more night in Sacramento. My scooter has found a friend, We loaded Lucky's GTS that was at Julie's house, and mine on to the trailer for the trip back to Sacramento, said goodbye to Julie. Thanks Julie for your hospitality.

Lucky, Brooke (his daughter) and I drove back to Sacramento. Once again, we mercifully were heading in the opposite direction of all the Memorial Day weekend traffic. Brunch at a non-desccrpt Denny's hit the spot.

Lucky won a Buddy Black Cat Rattler 50cc scooter in some scooter raffle and it's become Brooke's scooter. Unfortunately, the front tire, brake caliper, clips and shoes have been removed by some dope who was unable to figure out how it goes back together. I like puzzles, and Lucky and I figured it out after a few tries and a few adult carbonated beverages.

Barbara (Wayward Bastard) from last night joined us along with her mother Audrey, for dinner at somethingorother Buccos for a family style Italian dinner. It was good and big. It's some restaurant chain with off the wall Italian inspired decor. We walked through the kitchen to be seated, there were tables in the kitchen also. A huge upstairs seating area with cozy nooks and crannies offered even more sights. One dining room had the Pope on a Lazy Susan in the middle of a humongus round table.

We decided to try Tahoe tomorrow. Lucky has a cabin near there, and Barbara decided to join us. It should be fun.

Today's short slideshow:

Day 20 - 27 Miles

Destination: Mods vs. Rockers

Lucky needed to get to Kinko's to get some cards printed for the Royal Bastards 'Blazing Saddles' Lake Tahoe Rally in July. We had brunch at the In-n-Out Burger waiting for the printing. I've heard about them, thinking it was maybe like White Castle burgers. Think Char-Grill on a huge franchise basis. They have no mayo in the store but their own special sauce. If you know the lingo, you can get a special burger off the menu. Another tasty treat.


We stopped at the San Francisco Scooter Center. Barry, the owner has a collection of Lambrettas and Vespas upstairs that would rival a museum collection. Cyrus, an interviewer for NPR showed up to interview Barry about the increase in scooter ownership. He was busy with customers, so Cyrus talked to me. He was a perceptive interviewer, and spent a long time talking to me. Don't know when it will air, but I'm sure it'll chew a bit more into my fifteen minutes of fame. Thor, by the way, wearing his little Doggles rides on the scooter with Lucky.

Mod's vs. Rockers is a ride that has a history dating back years ago to the emerging conflict between the modern scooter riders and the leather rocking motorcycle riders. Now it's more like a Revolutionary War re-enactment. All the scooters meet in one side of town and the motorcycles somewhere else. We all ride to a particular tunnel, block the traffic on both sides, ride in circles in the tunnel until it fills with smoke, mockingly insult each other, drive out before the cops arrive.

There probably were 250 scooters and motorcycles riding through the city streets. Sort of like a bunch or rowdy kids on skateboards terrorizing the city. We don't stop at stop lights, or signs. Apparently this particular ride has such a reputation that all advertising is underground, otherwise the police would shut it down.

We made a stop at Ocean Beach for no apparent reason, then continued up to Twin Peaks. We ended up back at the San Francisco Motorcycle Club for chili and drinks. It seems one of the initiation rituals of the San Francisco Motorcycle Club is to suffer the humiliation of driving wearing silly rabbit and Leprechaun costumes. It really was humorous seeing a guy with bunny ears and outfit riding a motorcycle.


Many of the scooters and motorcycles were vintage. I noticed one particular very old Honda 90 that looked like the first shift motorcycle I learned to ride. Dean, the owner walked up while I was reminiscing. Cool bike. Brooke, Lucky's daughter needed sustenance, so we wandered up the street to Whiz Burger. Several other Bastards wound up with us.

We eventually made our way up to Dreaded Bastards house with the incredible view of the San Francisco Bridge. Colin, whom I stayed with last week was in town for his nieces graduation. We met up with him for a drink, and we wound up at Mel's Drive-in, made famous in 'American Graffiti'. Fresh sliced turkey on the turkey melt was tasty. I scored some of the paper hats the servers wear with the stipulation we couldn't wear them in the restaurant, to keep the servers out of trouble.

Thanks all you Bastards for a super fun ride today.

A new slide show:

Day 19 - 0 miles

Destination: San Francisco Scooter Girls 4th Annual Bash



Lucky got up early for a quick job, and Thor, a tiny chihuahua dog decided to play by running in tight circles until he was totally out of breath. He's a sweetheart. Later, to continue the Lucky theme, we ate breakfast at Lucky Cafe. The turkey, bacon, and avocado omelet was pretty darn tasty. The turkey was real, not that cubed Spam stuff.

Lucky loaded my scooter onto his trailer to San Francisco, met with Julie, one of the San Francisco Scooter Girls. It's odd, never having seen my scooter on a trailer. I'm glad I wasn't driving, the traffic was stupid with everyone heading out of town for the Memorial Day weekend.

Julie has a gimongous cat named 'Dog'. He's sweetheart too, and tolerates Thor well. We decided to grab some dinner at a Thai restaurant before the big bash. Probably the best Thai food I recall ever having.

San Francisco Scooter Girls 4th Annual bash was a blast. Finally getting to meet scooter folks I only know from the internet. The San Francisco Motorcycle Club was founded in 1904. The walls are covered with photos depicting the rich history. It should be a museum.

Drag, my camera battery was dead. A fun night indeed.

Today's slide show:

Day 17 and 18 - 554 miles

Destination: Sacramento, CA via Big Sur


These past two days have been brutal. The first day started off well enough, with breakfast at Whole Foods. Last night Greasy suggested I drive Sunset Blvd down to the Pacific Ocean to start my journey towards the north. It was a spectacular ride though many posh parts of LA, fragrant and scenic. It dumped me right on to Hwy 1 at the ocean. A pretty windy day, sort of overcast. As soon as I turned north, the road had been scraped prepping for re-paving. The next 12 miles were torture with the front wheel tracking in whatever pattern the asphalt scraping machine divined. It should have been a sign.

My replacement American Express card was going to meet me at Thousand Oaks Vespa, courtesy of Kevyn who needed some maintenance on his GTS. Colin suggested taking a spin to Zuma Beach, made famous in numerous movies, most notably the final scene in 'Planet of the Apes' with the Statue of Liberty buried in the sand. I made a wrong turn, came up behind it, going the wrong way, and never figured out how to get over to the other side.

David and Linda of Thousand Oaks Vespa run a great shop. David picked hp his phone right away to call Vespa to look into my temp gauge oddness. I don't think its a problem, but it nags me. Thanks David for the tee-shirt.

The Santa Aunta Maria Antoinette Hundred Year Wicked Winds have been just miserable these last two days. I am physically and mentally exhausted fighting the stiff headwinds, gusts, and crosswinds. This is supposed to the be the fun part. There were a few high points, however.

I did stop to watch the sunset over San Simeon, there's been some fires too, and the view is hazy and misty from the wind. Twilight driving along the Pacific Coast Highway was fun until I passed the sign after dark: 'Pavement Ends' WTF? That was the first time I dropped the scooter that night. I came to a stop on the sandy loose gravel, didn't realize there was a drop off, put my foot down, the ground was not there. The second time was at the camp ground after I put it on the stand, it shifted away from me, I tried to stop it but it just went on over. I've cracked the floor board, oh well....

My trial run of assembling my tent in the dark was a useful exercise. Mercifully the campgrounds were far enough inland to not have to contend with the winds whipping in from the north. It was blissful not to be fighting the wind, sand, dark, gravel, and mist.

I woke up in a grove of Redwoods, took a short scenic hike up to Pheiffer Falls and a short loop trail along the Big Sur Valley view. Normally one would be able to see all the way to the ocean, but the fire's hazy glaze obscure the view.

More brutal crosswinds taunted me on my way to Sacramento. Lucky Bastard has offered to be my social director for the next couple of days. I made it just in time for their chapter meeting of The Royal Bastards Scooter Club. Dinner and ride around the Capital and Old Town Sacramento was a blast. Thanks Lucky for dinner.

We stopped at Rick's for some coffee and decadent dessert, then off to another oddity known as Winkos Acoustic Sanctuary. It's a rolling one man band, piano bar, improv, and story telling, in a converted bread truck. There's four bar stools around the piano and room for maybe another four if you squeeze in. He asks you for any random topic and he hauls off on a tune, sometimes the real thing sometimes a brilliant improvisation.

We ran into Pope, of the Burgundy Topz, one of the oldest scooter clubs around. He had loads of useful info and tips on things to see and do for my the next few days here and the rest of my journey.

One last short ride around Sutter's Fort, smack in the middle of town made for an incredibly fun night. A nice change. Thanks all you Bastards.

New slide show: