November 2012 found me facing the prospect of a major job relocation. I faced the reality of moving out of state from home in Corpus Christi, Texas to Cleveland, Ohio to take on this new job and face it’s challenges – to this place I knew which in my wildest imagination and beyond the shadow of a doubt, would alter the dynamics of my passion for riding and touring. (In ways that I could never have anticipated or imagined).
As I contemplated the job offer, the same message resonated across from my riding buddies “ ….. are you sure you want to move so far out there? You know you’re going to get hardly any riding done, don’t you? It’s so cold, the snow, ice, rain …….. all making for a short riding season each year”.
For me it was crunch time. As part of the moving process, I sadly sold my beloved ’95 ST1100 not because I could not have brought it along, but primarily because I had recently purchased my new 2012 ST1300 ABS – and Dad always told me: “Never own more bikes than you can ride at one time”. Advice that I strictly adhere to.
I arrived in Ohio on the first day of snowfall for that winter season. I don’t think I will elaborate any further or digress at this point, but just to let you know, and I’m sure you agree with me, I was not impressed by the weather!
So the going got tough and this tough boy got going! Going ahead, leaving my loved ones behind in order to go begin the resettling process and then to be rejoined later.
Riding now took place in the far recesses of my mind, giving way to work, work and work, but still providing the means to have something to look forward to.
Demands of an extremely busy work schedule forced me to use up my first vacation time to make a return trip to Texas in order to bring/drive my second vehicle up to Ohio.
So in June 2013, my wife and I embarked on this trip, flying down and making the return road trip. It was an enjoyable and refreshing trip for us. We enjoyed the trip so much as we had done a few times in the past years on other road trips, but never far from my thoughts were thoughts of how I would also enjoy this very trip on the bike. Hmm, one of these days, health and wealth permitting!
So my mind now turned towards my 2014 riding season.
New job, insufficient disposable income, still working at getting settled, not many new friends and ……………. Weather! Ugghh!
Was this really going to work out for me? This was so discouraging. I started to have nightmares of my bike aging from misuse, sitting in the storage area wondering what the heck I had done to “us” (the bike and I). We were miserable!
By early March 2013 I was so frustrated from riding deprivation. I could swear the winter would never end. At least that’s how it felt to me. The coldest and most miserable I felt was when the mercury hit -11’F/-6’C with a wind-chill of -34’F/-19’C. This was no joke. This was not fun and not what I had expected. Heck, you were asking for serious trouble if you exposed your skin to the air for more than a few seconds!
A series of events that night, mostly mechanical/automotive combined that night to make it a night I will never forget. (That is a story for another time!)
At this point, I think I was angrier with myself more than anything or anyone else for having made such a choice to move into such wintery climate. But in life, they say, when you get handed lemons, make lemonade!
So I held my self together in the knowledge of a time to come when, with proper/good planning, I could load up, mount up and “hit the road”.

News Bulletin:
Winter 2013-2014 was one of the coldest on record in parts of the Midwest, according to the government's official monthly climate report.
The 2013-14 season, was one of the coldest winters in recent memory in the Upper Midwest, The winter in this Cleveland area went down in weather history/records (started in 1865) as the most severe of the last 20 years!
………………… Weather.com/news

So as with most things in my life, I started to dream. Dream of what I would like and what I could do to begin making a riding dream a reality. It was a simple dream. Put on safety gear, get on bike, fuel up, RIDE! Where? I don’t know, I didn’t mind. Just RIDE!
Simple huh?
Come along with me, let’s ride!.

Fast Forward to May 2014.

It turned out to be a 7 1/2 month long "c o l d" winter this past season.
I spent the best part of my forced personal indoor time dreaming of riding and where I could go. I am certain that is what has held me together through these long, cold, grey, dull days to this point.
Head north, south, east or west? I don’t know. I want to go everywhere!
Shucks, not enough time and resources!
3 years earlier I had been thinking of finding and visiting the geographical center of the lower 48 contiguous states of the U.S.. Yeah, why not? That could very well be do-able. I had new resolve, born out of re-commitment. Now I had a mission! Now I was on a mission!
So out with the atlas. I begin my research and planning.
My mind drifts back to my college days of studying geography (one of my favorite subjects). I begin to remember particular lessons of North America. I recollect lessons of farmlands that have rows and rows of wheat and corn in fields that stretch as far as ones’ eyes can see. Gradually, I am transported back in time and I remember and begin to feel the enthusiasm with which we paid attention in class as our teacher described in nauseating detail, making us actually feel we are there amongst the endless “fields of corn” in the heartland of America!
Now I have the chance of an opportunity and am determined to experience it for myself. All of a sudden this daydream becomes like a magnet. Drawing my attention and desire. Drawing me to come and visit. I am now excited at the thought of being able to see really how extensive the cornfields really are. I’m really “fired up “!
With my heart rate now on the rise with excitement, I make the decision.
Now I have 2 solid reasons for myself to make this journey. This was my journey. Only I would know what I would derive from it. Only I would gain the self-satisfaction through the personal accomplishment and the feeling of knowing and truly feeling the experience.
Oh Boy! What a feeling that could….., oh boy, what a feeling that would be!
I could feel a certain fire beginning to burn in me!
I am pumped up! I am gung-ho! I am mentally ready!
Oh Boy, it’s only the beginning of May! Soon, soon this cold will be over with! – For a couple of months to come, anyway.
At this time however, it “popped” back into my mind. Hey that could be “do-able”. Yeah, it was a prospect I immediately began to consider. This sparked my energy.
This trip is shaping up to be all about wide-open spaces. Great expanses of farmlands and open country. (With an additional dash of experience and education about some of the history of democracy in our beloved country that I could throw in.) About what it means and feels to a long distance tourer, about experiencing the feeling of being able (relatively speaking) to freely travel through and visit this land, free of the constraints of day to day life in the inner cities, even if only for a few days. About the possibility of traveling through a few more states in my personal quest to ride through the lower 48 contiguous states of the U.S..
So I continue to dream of a plan to try and make what could become another privileged and wonderful tour of my lifetime.
This is a very abridged summary of this trip, which took me through 10 states in 8 days! So join me as you continue to read my journal and view a DVD through which I have tried to showcase some photos and video clips of some places in our lovely country that I have assembled and was so overjoyed and privileged to have experienced first hand. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Day 1. July 20th, 2014.
The ability and opportunity to indulge in my passion of Long distance touring is something I do not take lightly or for granted. I am very appreciative and I work diligently and strive to indulge myself in this passion.
The plan today is to try to ride as far as I choose to. No constraints, no deadlines no limitations but only by how I feel. That is another nice thing I find about Lone riding. I reserve the right to make these decisions based solely on personal factors only.
At the beginning of every journey I try to get as far away as possible in the shortest amount of time. This influences my getting on the turnpike/interstate and “pounding the pavement”. As much as the interstates take away from me with respect to scenery and quiet environment, so do they reward me, in another sense, with their ruthless efficiency!
The night before, my granddaughter and I stayed up late checking out functionality of my newly purchased tent/camping equipment. Her plan was to be with me on the trip, camping each night in the new tent.
How could I break her heart by telling her she would not be along for the ride? My own heart hurt at the mere thought of that.
I promised myself at this time that I would make it up to her in the coming future with a camping trip together – Good Lord permitting.
I would “sneak” out of the house whilst she was still asleep in the a.m.
I am up, loaded and ready to leave. It’s 7:00a.m.. The odometer on the ST13 shows 19,743mi. She fires up at the touch of the start button. The fuel-injected engine needs no “choke”. The patented “Honda V4 Engine Whine” fills the morning air as she gradually comes up to operating temperature.
We share a prayer for my safe return and I kiss my wife goodbye, after she takes of photo of me prior to departure. With the Honda’s engine warmed up to recommended operating temperature, I head out of the driveway making a turn onto OH6 West, another onto OH83 South, which in about 6 minutes, puts me on the on-ramp to join I90 West. This highway would launch me into the bowels of the Midwest. Smack dab into the heartland of this country.
My heart pounding with excitement and anxiety, I settle down to a comfortable and legal speed limit of 60m.p.h..
I have no idea of how this day will shape up. All I find myself thinking about is what a lovely feeling it is to be out on the open road, heading west.
I begin to relax, knowing that with each passing minute I am putting distance between myself and the urban sprawl of the inner city.
It is a foggy morning out on the highway and visibility is not that great.
I do not need to look at my own face in the mirror because I know exactly what that big broad smile looks like! I can feel it in my being!
With the dull sunlight behind me urging me on, my faint shadow leads the way, tugging me along.
Without realizing it 2 hours go by. I am oblivious to time.
The road seems noisy. I hear much more of my surroundings than I feel I should be. In my excitement when I left home, I failed to insert my earplugs. (Out on the open road, these are a very important part of my safety gear. Over time, the sound of rushing wind like a lot of other noises and sounds can and will degrade and damage my ears/hearing.) So I pull over to put them on.

Out in the fields, some farmers are already hard at work.
I watch for several minutes. I am in no rush to get anywhere at any particular time. So what if I make it wherever I am headed an hour later, or sooner? I appreciate hard work and respect smart, hard working folks – like myself!
That is one of the nice things of planning and making ample provision of time. It affords me time for unrushed moments. Time I cherish and use to “take in” my surroundings.
Ear plugs inserted, safety gear donned, head checks for approaching vehicles, double-check for approaching vehicles, I join the stream of vehicles on the highway and settle back down to 60m.p.h.. (Ohio highways have a 60 m.p.h. speed limit. So if you pass through these parts anytime soon, be cognizant of that fact. Besides, the L.E.O.’s (law enforcement officers) would be more than happy to “make your acquaintance”.)
I begin to penetrate what could be a very low hanging cloud over the road, rolling into the fog which is gradually becoming more and more dense with each passing mile.
Whoosh, whoosh. Vehicles go by. In the fog they seem to appear out of nowhere. Then just as quickly as they go by, they disappear! They’re all “running” +5 m.p.h. at the very slowest.
The fog condenses as it makes contact with the relatively warmer windshield of the ST and “beads” off nicely (the result of my keeping the shield very well cleaned, polished and protected with a good quality product – I use Plexxus), allowing me to maintain a decently clear view through the shield. Visibility, in my estimation could be around 100 yards or so.
The ST’s windshield does a fine job of keeping the elements off me. At 60 m.p.h. in the highest position/setting, weather and surrounding conditions as they are, the bike remains rock-steady and creates a great cocoon/envelope around me by forcing the wind and fog around and over me. (At 7+ inches of travel and 13o rake angle, the ST windshield has the highest travel of any of the bikes with this feature out there, making for probably what is the best wind and weather protection of any bike on the market to date. “Thank you Honda”!)
Rolling on with this V4 engine so quiet, smooth and powerful, my Honda delivers a very relaxing and stress-free ride. (I offer a more technical description and personal opinions of this “fine” machine in a dedicated section of my journals.)
We finally break through the fog after a seemingly short time and before long, I arrive at the Indiana State Line.
With my personal, customary state-line crossing photos dispensed with, I push on.

Statistics have it that from Cleveland, driving in any direction for one full day you are within 60% of the total population of America. I am experiencing it. The flow of vehicles is unrelenting.
At this time the sun has done a good job of burning off the morning fog and no doubt it begins to feel more like summertime in the Midwest. The temperature climbs and the memory of past cold winter weather is nowhere in my mind. It is now an archived byte of data in my mind!
Pushing on, the miles continue to roll by effortlessly. Interstate 90 and Interstate 80 (Ohio Turnpike) share this section of the route together.
The ST has not even broken sweat!
I find myself a section of the highway between a “slug” of cars on the highway, making sure I have more than enough space around me for a quick safe exit/out if need be and settle into this stretch of road for the next stage of the ride. I always look for a place when I’m on the highway where I’m a good distance from vehicles and not too tightly boxed in, as a way to increase my personal safety margins. I call it my space of life. Almost always though, I’m either way ahead of these “slugs” or well behind them. Today though, the pace I need to get and stay well ahead of them is more than I care to ply at. I have no desire or need for speed at this time. Falling in behind them is presently not a very good option either, because the congestion is just more than I care for. Besides the Little Honda Civic to the left and rear of me is holding his speed and holding off any others who might want to suddenly cut in front of him. The F150 Pickup ahead and to the left of me is doing the same. I’ll still be boxed in unless I decide to do otherwise. Occasionally it will be necessary to leave vehicles behind as the dynamics of my space of life become altered. (Nothing that a light twist of the throttle on the ST cannot handle on any given day.) But for now, all is well and my safety margin is adequate.
I maintain good situational awareness.
Hakuna Matata!
With as much time I have spent in the saddle journeying, I find it very beneficial to take mandatory breaks every couple of hours, whether fatigued or not from being in the saddle. Although I do not feel like I need to make a break in the journey at this time, I take the upcoming exit and find myself just beyond the Indiana/Illinois Stateline, approaching Calumet City.
Eyes peeled on the lookout for the state line welcome sign, it was a chore. The Illinois Stateline sign, just as I saw it, went by in a flash. Shucks, I will have to make time somewhere else to be able to capture it for my photo collection/library.
My eyes and attention were totally on the road when I caught a glimpse of it. To my disadvantage it had been placed right at the side of the highway, on an almost non-existent concrete shoulder.
Pulling off the highway at this point was not an option.
Oh well. I make a mental note as a reminder to myself to look for another at the other end of the state!
Good time to take a break and fuel up, even though the gas gauge on the ST does not indicate the need at this time.
I find a gas station after much frustration over the last 3 miles. It is overcrowded. The only 1 out of 5 stations I drive to that has fuel. Crowded in the likes of which I have not experienced since I was a teenager in Ghana, W. Africa during the fuel crisis of the 1970’s. Patiently, I wait in line for four vehicles ahead of me on either side of the pump. At least I do not have to “sleep overnight in line” in order for a chance to fuel up. I am okay with that. Ghana taught me a lot of patience in this respect.
I fuel up and make a quick exit out of this locale. It leaves me no desire to cruise around and see the sights! So far it’s been nothing but railroad tracks, crossings, rail yards and lots and lots of uncut grass/weeds, abandoned buildings and un-kept properties. Not a very warm welcome for a stranger’s first time in this part of town! A certain kind of sadness and disappointment sets over me. This is America! How can this be? This shouldn’t be!
Finding my way back to I80, I turn west again and settle-in for the next haul.
Crossing into Illinois was nothing but sheer congestion on the highway. I found myself having to maintain a relatively high rate of speed in order to not get “run over”. This is crazy! I’m on vacation! But I’m making good time.
All of a sudden I find myself in the middle of a “slug”!
OK fellas, enough of this. I don’t want any unpleasant surprises.
Mirror check, head check, mirror check again, another head check, lane change, a slight twist of the throttle and the ST launches me ahead so smoothly and effortlessly such that within a very short time (and I mean very short!) the “slug” is now just a dot in my rear view mirror. I maintain this rate for a while. The ST “munches” several of these passing miles without even a hint of indigestion! LOL!
As a result, Illinois passes by rapidly.
The day wears on. As mid-afternoon approaches the traffic is still relatively heavy but not too much like traffic from earlier this morning.
I see an exit sign. Good time for a short break. I find myself pulling into the Great Sauk Trail Rest Area.
Home made Tuna fish sandwiches and a bottle of water go down very well! I take the opportunity to call home, let my wife know that all is well and register my GPS coordinates with her. Potty break out of the way, I suit up, mount up and get back onto the I80. I’m about 2/3 of the way across Illinois by this time and fast approaching the outer city limits of Davenport, IA – my next scheduled fuel stop. I80 forms a loop around the city of Davenport, IA. Crossing the Mississippi River, I know for sure that I am crossing into Iowa from the Illinois side.
I seize a brief chance on the crossover bridge to take my customary stateline pictures, where coincidentally I am literally straddling both states.
The ST is very capable of “returning” 340 mi to a full tank of gas and allows me to ride for the best part of a day if I so desire, without the need to stop for re-fueling. That being said, the ST is also very capable of delivering much less mileage to a full tank of gas. (For fear of not wanting to incriminate myself, allow me to leave you with just that statement)! And although I do not need fuel at this time, I will use it to force myself to take a break.
Breaks have become an anticipated part of my tours. I find they are good for my health, making me move around to keep blood in good circulation through my body, a chance to rehydrate and also presenting a chance to meet others and strike up conversation and friendship.
I never know what to expect and never expect anything. This way I am always pleasantly surprised. It adds to the adventure of my tour.
One thing I will say though is that as I travel around and make these friendships and engage in friendly conversation, I realize that everywhere I have been, we are all very similar in whom we are and what we wish for in life. (That statement being made, there are of course, exceptions to this rule as there are to many other rules in life).

So with photo op dispensed with, I make the full crossing and take Iowa Exit 306, which loops me around and filters me onto the South Cody Road. The south Cody Road becomes East River Drive and runs along the banks of the Mississippi River and makes for a very appealing and scenic drive, which is such a contrast to the seemingly endless and drab pavement of the Interstate system I have just relieved myself of. I expect this though, so even though I’d prefer the more scenic roads anytime anywhere, I have no choice on this trip but to utilize it for the greatest advantage it provides me!
I roll into Davenport. People are outdoors. A gathering of folks at a ballpark. The Lindsay Park. That’s what the sign reads. People walking around the commerce district of this area, enjoying the beautiful warm weather. I truly do not miss the cold Cleveland days at this time. I make the effort to cast those memories from my mind, even if only for a short period of time.
Before I know it I’m right back to my starting point of where I turned into the town. A small place, I muse. I guess I’d better find a gas station, take care of business and go about my own business!
Exiting the store after paying for gas dispensed, I am suddenly taken back in memory at the sight of a 1965 Honda 90. Oh, those were the really early motorcycling days. That’s close to when it all started for me. This machine is in mint condition, all original and no doubt the owner is very proud! We chat for a while. Actually, we reminisce for a good while! He is kind enough to let me take a few photos of it. I do not dare ask him to let me have a ride on it! It’s too precious. What if I drop it? I shudder at the thought.
But there for a short while, I am transported back in time to an age when 40 m.p.h. to me was “warp speed”! Turning my head left, I look across to The ST and reflect on differences and similarities of the 2 bikes and how technological advances in this area have come such a long way! The solid quality of engineering and design, the clean lines of styling and the aesthetic appeal of this bike of his that is obviously one of the great forerunners of mine! Seeing one in this condition in these times is a very rare technical treat, let alone seeing it on the road (outside of a museum) in almost perfect physical and technical condition – in all it’s vintage glory! I know he is a very proud owner. And to rub salt into my “wound” of admiration, he tells me: “and I have another one just like this in the garage at home. I just came out to fuel this one up and stretch its legs a bit)!
Wishing each other well, we part ways. I watch him ride off till he is completely out of my sight. What a trip down memory lane for me!
Getting back into the saddle I hightail it back to I80 and on towards Des Moines, IA.
I’m beginning to breach the limits of urban sprawl!
Several passing drivers give me a thumbs up. Others wave. In combination with the smiles and expressions on their faces I can’t help but smile back and try to imagine just what is going through their minds. Do they really want to be like me, doing what I’m doing at this time?
If that is indeed the case and if I would have a chance to respond to them, I would no doubt say to them exactly what Michael Parks, playing the part of Bronson on the 1969/1970 TV series “Then Came Bronson”, would say to them: “Well, hang in there”!
This TV series ran for just 26 episodes/1 season and portrayed Michael Parks as Jim Bronson, becoming very disillusioned about life and work after witnessing the suicide and experiencing the loss of his best friend. As a way of maintaining a physical connection to his friend, Jim buys his friends’ motorcycle from his widow – a Harley Davidson Sportster.
Unhappiness, job dissatisfaction and questions about the meaning of life, prompted Jim to quit his inner city job as a journalist and embark on a journey in search of the meaning of life, across America on this motorcycle. (I know he was looking for a way to renew his soul.)
Tales of his travels across the country, his interactions with people of all walks of life, sharing his values and helping others in whichever way he is able to, is the setting for this show. So like a vagabond he sets off. Jim’s adventures start as he crosses the Bixby Bridge in the Big Sur region of California (one of my “must go, must see” places – part of Motorcycling Mecca for us traveling motorcyclists today).
His story, no doubt, captivated many others like myself and continues to influence the wandering spirit that is so much a part of our motorcycling lives.
So ………. One such driver has now “been with me” for a little over 40miles. His constant smiles and high revving 4 cylinder fellow-Honda engine, keep us company in the heat of the afternoon as the temperature gauge on the ST reports 95’F.
As the sun continues it’s descent in the western sky, clouds have long given way to a wide open and beautiful blue sky. As I continue westward, the now setting sun forces me to squint. I slide the internal sun visor on my helmet down to the lowest position, giving me maximum glare protection. (Thank you HJC). Riding west into the low-hanging late afternoon sun is quite a challenge. Time to slow it down a bit. I am beginning to feel the effect of having been on the road for the best part of the day. So I nudge back to a sedate 75 m.p.h., finding a quiet, safe zone in the slow lane. The accompanying Honda is still with me!
It’s well after 7 p.m. local time when I arrive at the Des Moines, IA city limits. I find a Mickey Dee’s (McDonalds) and pull in. Patronizing the establishment, I take full opportunity of “riding” their internet signal and use it to find and book a place/hotel to bed down for the night.
About half an hour later, I pull into my chosen hotel here in Urbandale, IA and dispense with the formalities. I will treat myself tonight. Tomorrow it will be a campground.
It’s been a long 14-hr. day. Many hours in the saddle and hot afternoon sun. It’s going to be more of the same tomorrow as I carve my way through Missouri, Nebraska, Kansas and part of Colorado. That is the plan anyway. So a comfortable nights’ rest and lot’s of drinking water to rehydrate will go down very well.
Calling home, I give my wife the run down of the days’ events and “e-kiss” her goodnight.
With an odometer reading of 20,440 mi., the ST has transported us 697 mi. on this day.
I try to make a few journal entries for the day after a lovely and welcome hot shower but sleep has the better of me after only a few minutes.

Day 2. 21st July 2014.

After a good nights’ sleep, I awoke feeling very refreshed.
No time clock today!
I packed my belongings and loaded the bike up. After the continental breakfast offered by the hotel, my journey continued southwestward across Iowa.
My morning route took me through farmlands that sported seemingly endless rows of corn and wheat. The farms went on for as far as I could see. An amazing sight to witness for myself and pause for reflection and appreciation for the abundance of food products in this beloved country of ours.
Not long into the morning as I passed through the town of Desoto, IA I found myself approaching the town of Winterset, IA.
A roadside sign announced the birthplace of John Wayne 14miles further along the way.
Now that was an unplanned surprise.
As a little boy growing up in Ghana, West Africa – Yes, we got to watch “westerns” too! We called them cowboy films.
Those were days of Roy Rogers, Tex Ritter, Gabby Hayes and the likes of that era.
So a visit to John Wayne’s birthplace and boyhood home was now in the works.
Barely a couple miles along the way I made a detour in search of a covered bridge. Riding an unpaved road, I had to be very careful as the Honda is not best suited for this kind of road surface. Off-road Adventure Tourer she is not. She was not designed for that so it was up to me to keep her upright and well planted.
I found the Hogback Covered Bridge sitting 7 miles at the end of this dirt road, in all it’s glory. Out of a total of 19 covered bridges, it is 1 of only 6 remaining of it’s kind in Madison County, Iowa and yes, one of “The Covered Bridges of Madison County”.
I have a very healthy respect for a lot of the technology from earlier generations. Robust and very practical designs, proven and time tested. In short, “Applied, appropriate technology. Built to perform a function and perform it well over a very long time span. Time spans that in most cases far exceeds its design lifespan. To me, that speaks a lot and commands my attention and respect.
With a short visit and walk around, I admired the design properties and the quality of woodwork design.
I headed back to the main road and continued my journey towards Winterset.
Leaving Winterset, my route took me towards and through the towns of Creston and Clarinda in search of and in anticipation of making it to the Missouri Stateline.
The sun was now high in the sky and there was very little breeze except for what I was generating by moving on the bike.
I began to feel de-hydrated and ready for a snack break. Glancing down at the instrument clock, it reported right around 3 p.m. Realizing the I had crossed into a different time zone and gained an hour of time, it was a no-brainer that I had to stop and take a break.
So making this time to have lunch/a snack, I set up and took some photos of this tranquil and beautiful area I found myself in/at.
As I ate and drank, I watched the nearby wind turbines turning so slowly in the now gentle breeze. It seemed to slow time down. There was no rush. I was not in any hurry. I was taking it all in stride.

So with photo session and a snack dispensed with, I pushed on through the northwestern corner of Missouri towards Nebraska.
The riding was enjoyable, despite the heat. I had quite forgotten what outdoor heat could really feel like. The cooler/cold Cleveland days had made sure of that. It was good to be in the heat. I felt alive. It reminded me of the Tropical African heat and sunshine I grew up in.
Late afternoon found me in Beatrice, Nebraska. I had traversed part of Nebraska highway 136 through Auburn, Tecumseh, Crab Orchard and Filley to this point. Each town passed by quicker than I approached it. They began to bear a very strange and close resemblance to each other, giving me a feeling of having-been-through-here-before. I began to laugh at the questionable thought of: “Could I be riding in one big circle?”
As I have traveled to many places and through many small towns across this nation, they are all beginning to look the same. Quaint and quiet but each with its own personal character.
One thing I cannot overlook though, is the journey through many others that have become almost ghost towns. Void of vibrant activity with lots of closed store fronts and businesses, lots of sale signs adorning properties, all smacking to the recent and dominant times of crises in our countryside’s economic existence.
The asphalt had been close to excellent. Very well maintained roads, straight, wide and with little vehicular traffic. This made for a very relaxing ride in the summer heat of the day. The fresh smell of cornfields and farmlands made for the experience that I had so long ago dreamed of one day experiencing. And here I was, living that part of my dream that I so long ago never thought that I could or would ever experience.
Not using a GPS unit on this trip, I pulled into a gas station somewhere on main street, here in Beatrice, NE. I quenched my bikes thirst with a just shy of 3 gals. of fuel and sought directions of the pretty young clerk behind the counter who greeted me with a big smile, for the nearest campground if she knew of one. Glancing at the wall clock in the store it was now 4:57 p.m. A good time to begin looking for my lodging for this night.
Armed with directions, it was my turn to answer her curious questions about my journey. I obliged her and went along my way.
I went in search of the campground, found it and checked it out. It would cost $5.00 for the night. It was clean, well-located, full, no breeze and HOT! I glanced down at my instrument cluster on the Honda. It reported that it was 7:30 p.m. and 105’F. I reminded myself that I was now in CST time zone so that made it 6:30 p.m. local time. I contemplated my options. It had been a 13 hr. riding day. Previous day had been 14 hrs. in the saddle. Weighing my options I wimped out and opted for a hotel/motel room for the night. I think I’ll treat myself again!
So I drove around town for a bit in search of a Micky Dee’s for my evening meal. As usual, I took advantage of their internet connectivtiy and began to search for a hotel room.
The only one I found was 7 miles out of town and was the only one in the whole area with an available room, only because the regular construction worker/tenant would not be showing up that evening.
At least here was a town that had so much construction work going on that the whole place was taken up. Good economic activity I guess. Money had been appropriated and committed and was being spent. Yup. That has to be a good thing for the local economy.
So after a hot shower, I settled down, made a few journal notes, looked up google maps for a broad overview of the coming days ride/travel and “hit the sack” for the night.
It was just after 7:30 p.m. I was out like a light before I could say ST1300!
It had been a day of bucolic farmlands, great asphalt, fresh green corn, soybean, alfalfa, wheat, wide-open spaces and glorious weather. I had ridden half the width of Nebraska today. The ST had transported us 292miles.
All making for a blessed, safe and enjoyable day of another riding experience.

Day 3. 22nd July 2014.

I have always been an “early morning person”.
It is 6:00 a.m. I am already packed, have the bike loaded and am underway for the day. It promises to be another exciting one. I have an idea of the direction I’ve chosen to head in but have absolutely no clue of what I will see, encounter and experience. Oh, such anxiety and anticipation! I look forward with the joyous innocence of a child.
Sunrise and sunset are 2 of the times of the day, when through the lens of a camera I can take advantage of those magical rays of light during these “Golden Hours”, to enhance my photography.
These golden hours, to me, are “The Greatest Light Show On Earth”!
I push on with my journey and several miles down the road I come across a crop duster doing his thing over the cornfields, flying parallel to the road I find myself on. So I issue the challenge and the race is on!
He is very perceptive.
He swooped over me, “wiggled his wings” at me and was out already in the distance turning for another sweep of the field before I could finish shifting into 5th gear!
As he approached me again, he was close enough to feel like I could reach out and touch him from my perch on the bike. He had a big smile for me. With a grin on his face, he saluted me with a touch of his helmet with his fingers as he made another pass.
I pulled over and took out my camera. I used the next 20 minutes or so for photos and captured some quick shots of him as he flew by me with each successive pass.
As I suited up and prepared to continue my journey, he gave me another close flyby and waved to me. I understood that to be a well wish, fare thee well and goodbye. He pulled up into the bright blue sky of the morning almost doing a 360 degree loop as I took off and was way off in the distance and became just a speck in my rear view mirror as I kept my eyes on him for as long as I could.
Not too long afterward I came across a farmer already hard at work in the fields. I stopped to chat with him. He was wonderfully friendly towards me.
It is folks like this I enjoy spending time with. The sincere warmth, and friendliness makes me want to be like such good folks and seems to rub off on me. These are genuinely nice people I seem to come into contact with. I think to myself quietly. This is how I believe life and personal relationships should always be wherever one goes.
I take it to be a blessing to have an opportunity to share their company even if only for a short moment of time. These become unforgettable memories and I use my remembrance of them to always send good wishes, thoughts and spirit to them.
Fascinated with my bike, all bedecked with gear, he is curious about my journey and the spirit I exude with the excitement with which I describe the journey so far. I begin to share my story with him.

I am invited/welcome to stay for lunch and dinner to talk and spend some time with him, but with many, many miles to go, I thank him for his extension of hospitality, ask for a rain check, wish him well and bid farewell, for I must carry on. Best of luck, see you later, we both shake hands and return to our individual lives.
I make it to Red Cloud, NE. The junction of NE highways 136 and 281. Turning south I point myself towards the state of Kansas. I am in search of Lebanon, KS which lies somewhere along this stretch of highway a few miles ahead of me.
As I approached the Nebraska/Kansas stateline, I took a few minutes to stop and experience the wide open prairie that lay before me.
Retrospectivey I found out that I was close to Harland County. A wide open space of seemingly nothingness – as it might seem to the naked eye, but to someone close to the land, to someone who has had to live and survive as so many others before me have had to do, it is a place teeming with life. Animal and plant life so naturally and delicately intertwined. Of special mention is the birdlife of this area. A few miles behind I had crossed the Republican River - a main water source provided to the area which is a natural habitat for a host of resident and migratory birds that have made this a corridor of life for themselves.
I pressed on.
Aaah, Lebanon, KS. The geographical center of the lower 48 contiguous states of America!
It’s been a long time coming.
My heart begins to race again with excitement. The excitement of being able to reach and experience the location. A location that lays claim to a unique place in the geography of our country – as do so many others I know and can think of. For now, it is one more such place that I will be able to certainly add to a host of places of my interest, of which I will have and have had the blessing and good fortune to have visited and experienced in this lifetime.
I’m getting closer and closer - with each passing mile, with each passing minute.

And not long after ………..

On location here was a small - let me correct that – TINY, but well built Chapel.
I stepped in, made a small monetary offering/contribution and said a prayer.
After rehydrating my body and an hour and a half of rest, I resumed my journey westwards towards Colorado along Kansas Highway 36.
On-going road construction work forced another stop for close to a half hour. It was a section requiring escort by a construction worker vehicle, as the road had been shut down to one lane only. The road was being re-paved.
The heat of the day, the heat of the fresh asphalt being laid down combined to make for an extremely hot environment. I did not miss being in an air-conditioned car/vehicle. The smells, heat and sweat added to the experience of the moment. I felt in touch with the outdoors.
Off in the distance along the dirt road running perpendicular to our stopped point, about a half mile along, I could make out a piece of agricultural machinery being put to use in the fields.
The traffic guard responsible for our safety control had said it would be at least a half hour before we could be escorted along the way. It would take the guide vehicle that long to get back to us, so our only alternative was to wait.
Having no choice, I pressed on.
It was a brand new Combine Harvester at work in the fields. I choose not to say hard at work because my first impression was how easily it seemed to be performing its function. Later research on this would confirm to me that it happened to be not only the top of line model in it’s brand/class, but also the most powerful and productive Combine Harvester on the market today ( July/August 2014) and holds the Guinness World Record for harvesting.
A truly impressive machine!
I made it back to the main road with perfect timing.
The escort vehicle and I arrived together and without having to stop, the guard waved me into line to join the convoy of now moving vehicles.
So riding on freshly laid asphalt, so fresh it had not even been painted/striped yet, I overtook all the vehicles ahead of me in a safe and timely manner and straddled the lane to maximize my enjoyment of the quality of the roadwork. I do not remember feeling a single bump or ripple in the road surface for as far as I could recall.
This is the kind of road my Honda is made for! With the bike as quiet and comfortable as it is, I settled in for what has become to me, a most memorable and unforgettable stretch of road.
Arriving at the Kansas/Colorado state line, I again dispatched with my customary state line-crossing photos and continued the journey.
The mid-afternoon sun had started its daily descent although still high in the blue sky of the day. Visor and sun-shade deployed, I still squinted but continued with the journey

And so the highway climbed ever so gradually to almost 4000 feet in elevation.
It was hardly noticeable.
Cruising around 70 m.p.h. the topography of the land, it’s flatness, made it easy to take my eyes comfortably off the road ahead and take a good look around at the surroundings.
I could see for miles around. The air was fresh, relatively cool and made for a comfortable ride.
I came to a cattle holding station. This is a place where the beef industry has taken hold for many many years and I have no doubt that it will thrive for many more years to come.
The holding pens were humongous! They stretched for as far as my eyes could make them out.
Phenomenal, I thought. I had never before seen such an industry so vast.
Similar setups I had seen in Garden City, KS some time earlier on another trip, paled in comparison to these.
My journey continued as the highway wound itself through the plains and through the town of Wray, CO which came and went like a blip on a radar screen. Gentle sweeping curves broke up the monotony of the straight sections that went on to the vanishing point of sight.
Massive ranches adorned the landscape. I could see that this territory was all about grazing land needed to rear the cattle. Grazing land that many years ago fueled the greed of land barons for cattle ranching against the homesteaders and sheep farmers who had also moved west in search of a new life for themselves.
My continuing road experience was that of peacefulness, brought on by the comfortable weather and its accompanying piercing silence.
The sun still hung in the blue sky and there was not a single cloud in sight.
It was early evening when I arrived in the town of Holyoke, CO.
No sooner had I arrived at the town limits, I found myself at the other end of town without realizing it. Small town America!
I mad a U-turn and pulled into a gas station to fuel up for the night. My eyes had been peeled, on the lookout for a place to stay for the night. Everything was dilapidated, empty and so un-inviting. I had passed one nice looking hotel, so after taking on a full tank of gas I doubled back to find a room.
No luck. All booked out!
I doubled back to the far northern edge of town so I could comb the streets better to find a place. No luck.
The sun had begun its descent in the evening sky.
I remembered that at the entering city limit, I had seen a motel sign, so I headed there in the hope of finding a place. It’s parking lot was full I was skeptical.
Pulling up at the front office I steadied the bike on its side stand in the not so firm gravel/stone driveway.
I was apprehensive. The last thing I need now is for the bike to “keel over” onto its side. At 740 lbs. (336 kg.), plus the additional luggage in excess of 160 lbs. (72 kg.), I would embarrassingly need assistance to pick her up.
This feeling of uncertainty and nervousness did not sit well for me. I recognized the feeling, which in the past has led me to trust my instincts in situations like this, that this was setting up to be a not so pleasant situation. Luckily for me, I always carry a side-stand pad purposely for times and conditions like this. I opened the right side storage pocket on the ST, fumbled amongst the plethora of miscellaneous doo-dads in there amongst all the odds and ends and pulled it out.
Placing it under the side stand it afforded the bike more surface area to better steady her up on the gravel.
As I approached the front door, I could hear voices from within. There was no door knob. The door was shut and through the mounting hole of doorknob, or should I say where the knob should have been, I could see someone attempting to get the door opened from the inside. He was going about it all wrong. It was immediately obvious to me that he was not quite sure how to go about this. (My years of building maintenance experience was paying off now).
Calling out to me he apologized for the inconvenience and asked for my patience while he tried to get the door opened.
In my usual friendly and somewhat diplomatic manner, I asked him to suspend his efforts while I tried to assist him from the outside.
So “whipping out” my ever-present Leatherman utility multi 19-piece tool, I proceeded to release the door catch and open the door.
I was greeted with a big smile and yet more apologies.
“No sweat buddy. I just got lucky”, I responded.
So on with formalities, I was rented the last remaining room for the night. My maintenance work qualified me for a 20 dollar discount on the nightly rate. Cool! I was appreciative.
I will not go into detail on the room condition, but suffice to say, after unloading the bike and getting luggage into the room, I had to go out into town again to find some bug-spray!
After disinfecting the room as best as I could, I went back into town to try and find some cooked food for dinner.
On this night, I fancied some Chinese fried rice for dinner. But after walking into a locked establishments’ glass door, whose sign clearly indicated that they were open, I became the proud owner of a bruised nose!
I ended up getting a “take-out” pepperoni pizza from the next door establishment. Everything else was closed and it was not even 7:15 p.m.
This part of town turned out to be a community of migrant and construction workers. Rather dilapidated and void of the whole gamut of amenities and conveniences en masse, as I have been exposed to in a whole host of more populated centers of the larger cities of America.
So back to the motel, I put the bike onto the sidewalk right up to the motel room window.
I could not stand her up comfortably in the gravel. That gave me peace-of-mind.
I then proceeded to air out the room and expelled insect carcasses to the great outdoors.
I settled down for my meal and shower.
Too tired to watch TV or make journal entries, my bedtime prayer offered my gratitude to the Good Lord for another safe day of riding. I fell asleep promptly, albeit uncomfortably to get some much needed rest.
Despite the discomfort of the room condition, I slept soundly. I must have been very tired.
My 60-mile ride along the High Plains had been very pleasurable in motorcycling terms, making for another high point/experience in my riding life. The flatness of the land at such high elevation was a unique experience for me. One that I will not be forgetting too soon.
It had been a 383-mile day of more cornfields, beautiful stretches of asphalt, cattle ranches and perfect riding weather.


Day 4. 22nd July 2014.
The Calm Before The Storm!

“A bad day of riding is better than a good day at work!

I was up at the crack of dawn. I packed and loaded the bike.
Armed with a rag and fresh water, I cleaned the windshield of all the dead and dried up bugs that failed to get out of the way of my fast approaching bike during yesterday’s riding. I shudder at the thought of the last things that might have gone through their minds or what they could possibly have said or done before meeting up with the shield.
“Oh s**t”!
I began my journey for the day just as the sun rose in the sky. It was already getting hot.
Breakfast consisted of left-over pizza and Pepsi. That would suffice. I had enough provisions and water on me to afford being able to stop at anytime and anywhere during the day to snack and replenish my electrolytes if and when I felt the need to.
My plan for today was to continue due north, all the way to Rapid City, SD.
I headed out. Turning left onto US 385 a.k.a. The High Plains Highway, the wind picked up and I could smell the freshness of approaching rain in the air. I was now on the South Platte River Trail section. Another one of the beautiful roads set aside as a Scenic Byway. As the wind blew across the road I could feel the cooler temperature that accompanied it and tempered the heat of the early Colorado plains morning.
Continuing along this highway would eventually get me to the Nebraska state line, through a section of Nebraska’s Platte Region and all the way on to the South Dakota state line.
Way off in the distance I could barely make out the darkness of swirling heavy rain clouds. The kind of which I was not sure whether I would encounter rain or not.
The rain clouds seemed to hardly approach my direction at this time. The weather began to take on an ominous darkness, which seemed to guarantee me that there would definitely be rain - hopefully somewhere other than where I was!
Behind the layer of clouds in the distance, the direction in which I was traveling, I could see bright daylight. I had hope. I would probably be lucky and miss it.
In the interest of safety, hoping to not get caught out in the rain, I pulled into this Shell gas station to check the local weather radar and report on my smart phone.
I decided to journey on.
We (the bike and I) crossed the South Platte River and arrived in Julesburg, CO after only 32 miles of travel this morning.
In a north to south direction, Julesburg is more popularly known as the gateway to Colorado.
I found it to be very tiny (population 1200) but became very curious about it as I began to take in the surrounding sights and a little bit of its history.
Back in the mid1800’s Julesburg and the surrounding area had its share of infamy and fame.
From massacres of Sioux and Cheyenne Native Americans and the resulting retaliatory attacks, to the establishment of a Pony Express stop and large stagecoach station on the overland stagecoach route (circa 1861) between the east and west.
In 1865 when the telegraph system reached here, the Pony Express, after 12 years, stopped using Julesburg as a station.
I rode around this little town and ended up at the original train station on this Union Pacific line. It was through here that many westward venturing pioneers on their journeys seeking the promise of a new life of riches and gold in the west, came.
Today, the former Union Pacific Station exists solely as a museum, The Fort Sedgwick Museum, closed at this time, but as a memory of those wild, challenging and sometimes exciting times of the westward expansion days gone by.
The streets were empty, void of people; most unlike the bustling inner cities of America that never sleep. They had probably not started their day yet (I wondered). It was still very early. The day was just starting. Typical of small town America in these modern day times.
I had far to go.
Heading out of town on W. 1st street, I resumed my journey.
In a matter of a couple of minutes, or so it seemed, I was at the outskirts of Julesburg.
The clouds were now very ominous.
It was very evident that there was going to be rain.
Rain in the form of a storm! No doubt about it.
The wind picked up.
Tumbleweed began to blow around me.
It was a circular pattern.
This storm-to-be was not passing by.
It was circling the area. The very area where I was!
But in the back of my mind I was very sure that it would miss me in the direction in which I was heading.
Yes, I was sure it would miss me.
No sweat!
I was confident it would miss me.

Satisfying myself that it was the case, I did not see or feel the need to don my rain gear.
The wind really picked up now and a single golf ball-sized raindrop fell on me. Getting back on the bike, I took off and continued the journey, making a right turn at the junction of US 385 north, which was less than a minutes’ ride from where I was. I began to smell the scent of rain in the air.
With a new sense of urgency, I picked up the pace and headed towards the now fast-approaching Nebraska state line.
As the wind blew across the road, I hit the button and raised my windshield to its highest position to give myself as much protection as it afforded from the strong crosswind.
…….. just then it really came down! Out of nowhere and all of a sudden!
Raindrops the like of which I had never seen or felt before.
I slowed down. That made it worse. I began to take on water! I barely saw the state line marker through the now heavy sheet of rain drops as I crossed into Nebraska.
Wondering whether to stop and suit up or not, my mind instinctively turned to try and seek shelter from the rain. I was hoping to find some shelter; but there was nothing around me. I was traversing open land as far as my eyes could see.
A couple more minutes that felt like an eternity went by and I began to realize that I was procrastinating.
By this time I could have sworn that I had a gallon of rain water in my underwear and 2 gallons of water in my shoes/boots!
Well that’s how it felt!
Not to mention the trickle of water that had found its way down my back and into the “crack of my a**!”
Making a U-turn, I contemplated “running” in the opposite direction back towards Julesburg – back towards some form of shelter from the rain. I did not know what lay ahead for me, nor what I would encounter.
I was already wet through and through!
It started getting heavier. The sky continued to get darker. I was caught in the storm!
I was wet. That was the understatement of my day. I was drenched. The rain got heavier.
I pulled over and spent the next 7 or 8 minutes reaching into my luggage, getting my rain gear out and suiting up. Again,It seemed like I took forever to get this done. Despite being wet, all I could instinctively think of doing was to put on my rain gear. I could not seem to do this quick enough.
Water flowed around me on the impervious ground. Impervious because it had been caked for a long time in the hot dry weather for who knows how long up to this point.
The rain was coming down in sheets! No I think it was coming down in buckets!
So, now dressed and rain protected - and wet, I turned back northwards and continued my journey. I was really wet.
Within less than 5 minutes of this time, I broke out from under the cloud/storm.
Not a drop of water had fallen in this area! It was bone dry!
Still wearing my rain gear and in this heat, I began to overheat rapidly. Steam was billowing out from under my jacket. I pulled over to de-robe.
Reluctant to put my wet gear into my saddle bags with all my other dry luggage in there, my only other thought was to find a place to lay out my wet gear on the ground to dry. I pulled over and dangled my wet jacket and socks on the bike in the hope of air-drying them as I motored along, whilst scanning the land around me like a Kite searching the fields for prey, for a place to pull up and take a forced dry break/snack.
My shoes were my main issue now. I did not want to ride bare-footed. The thought of some possible mishap and scraping my feet on the road scared the living daylights out of me.
My mind ran back to the days of early riding in Ghana where riding in flip-flops was not unheard of. One unforgettable instance was when I scraped the tip of my left big toe in a nice left turn lean on my bicycle. It was one of my best leans ever on a bicycle and I paid the price! Ugh. I shudder. I still feel the pain at the thought and remembrance of that. So much that even to this day when I look at that big toe, although long ago and well healed, I still remember that day vividly – as well as the pain of losing skin!
Been there, done it!
So I opted to wait at roadside for a little while to try and dry them out.
I took advantage of the time to take some photographs and to watch the trains go by.
Let me correct that statement: To watch the train go by!
This has to be the longest train I have ever laid my eyes on.
In either direction, running parallel to the road, I could make out its length for as far as I could see. As the engine had passed by me, the train driver sounded his horn, stuck his head out of his window and waved at me. What a nice friendly gesture. He probably saw me caught in the storm when I went by him several miles back.
As the carriages went by me, I mused at all the graffiti artwork that adorned their bodies; even to the point of admiring the artisanship. A lot of it “smacked” of talent and creativity!
How nice it would be if these kids could/would channel all this ability into something productive for their environment/community. Hmm. I mused. Perhaps this was it. Oh well. Who am I to judge?
I’ve got far to go and places and things to see!

Thankfully, my wet-weather escapade did not last for longer than about 40 mi. (64 km).
Having come out of the storm safe and unscathed, I was prayerfully grateful; and so am able to look back and remark how much fun it was!
I caught up with the train several miles down the way. Saying it was easy is an understatement. The ST had no problems whatsoever being able to do that and as I caught up to and passed the engine up front, I honked my horn at the train driver/engineer and gave him a big wave back.
We had become kindred spirits in friendship!

It’s fascinating to think of what technology of today has made available to us in this aspect of our lives.
My journey continued………
It was turning out to be a beautiful morning. It was now mid-morning. The sun was out with its daily passion; it was hot, muggy and void of breeze.

The Cherry Pepsi and bag of Trail Mix nuts and fruits, topped off with a Cadbury’s chocolate bar for dessert, made for a calorie rich snack. It went down well and I felt charged up, ready for the next long haul to my final destination for the day - Rapid City, SD. I had a little over 250 mi (400km) to go.
All things being equal I’d be able to make it there by mid afternoon. It was not even noon yet.
I pushed on for another hour and a half or so and after this short spirited ride, I found a solitary clump of trees at the roadside and made the decision to take a short break for lunch. More importantly though I needed to get my shoes off and thoroughly dry my feet and toes.
Laying out all my still wet gear in the sunshine, I perched myself underneath the tree and had a snack of dry crackers, potted meat (Vienna sausages) and apple juice. It all went down very well.
My gear was bone-dry in just about 20 min.
The hot Nebraska sun made easy work of evaporating whatever remaining water I needed to shed.
I sat down on a piece of fallen tree trunk/branch in the shade of the trees for another 10 min. enjoying the light breeze, which seemed to exist only under the trees and then decided to push on.
I was now so relaxed and ready to just stretch out underneath the tree and take a snooze, but I still had far to go. I wanted to make it to Rapid City well before sundown. I still had about 250 mi. (460 km) to go.
It was hot. The temperature gauge on the instrument cluster showed 84’F (29’C). There was no breeze.
In my estimation I was probably only about a fifth or sixth of the way through Nebraska.
After delicately putting away my camera gear and accessories, I suited up and prepared to journey on.
Three quarters of an hour went by in a blink. I loved this change in environment.
I had lost quite a bit of “journeying time” on this morning and so I had to push on with purpose.
These are times when my station in life dictates and rules my choices and decisions. I do not necessarily always have the luxury of spending all the time I can or have for stops like this as much as I would like to, because like it or not, returning to home base and back to my job by a particular time is not negotiable!
With only so much time off work and limited funds, I have to plan the ride and ride the plan!
So moving forward and northwards, I was now not going to “take any prisoners”.
The next 117 mi. (187 km.) went by in what seemed to be the blink of an eye!
The ST continued to lay down the miles. We entered the national grasslands. I had made it into South Dakota. I had not seen the state line sign. The highway sliced its way through the land and from my vantage point this high up, looked like a long scar that cut its way through the seemingly endless prairie.
I was thrilled by the undulations in the road. It felt like a roller coaster ride in slow motion, although I had been traveling at a pretty good “clip”.
The elevation change took me up into the Pine Ridge area of Nebraska and at the highest part of this road, I found myself overlooking the town of Chadron in the valley below.
I was approaching Native American territory. Lakota territory, to be precise.
My journey, to this point, had been a lot about me getting away from the confines of big cities, from the hum drum of present day life and the thrill of being on my bike riding lovely roads and seeing and experiencing things that had been so foreign to me all these years. Things I had only come to know through the textbooks of my school-going days.
But here and now, here presently, I could feel that I was beginning to tread on ground that was at one time and still is very special in many ways, to many people. It was a profound feeling.
History teaches me that this is where it all started to happen!

“Paha Sapa”.
This is the land that has been named “Black Hills” by the white man.
To the Lakota, it is The Heart Of Everything That Is.
It is and always has been sacred land, where the Lakota would only venture for their ceremonies, vision quests and burials.
Without going into a lengthy historical discussion or write-up, which I believe you all know much better than I do, my understanding is that this is where gold was first discovered which subsequently led to the troubles between the New American settlers, their government and forces and the Native Americans.
Starting to see this beautiful land I begin to understand what all the struggles on both sides was all about and how easily it led to what we have come to know it as. My heart grew heavier.
I journeyed on.
Without a smile on my face and lost in thought, I made my way into the Black Hills.
This is gorgeous country!
The hills were literally black. Lost were the red and brown hues of soil and ground I have always associated with hills and mountains. They had been aptly named.
So the road wound and twisted as it guided me through the hills for the rest of the afternoon.
Arriving in Rapid City, I sought out a McDonalds, treated myself to another calorie rich ice cream topped with strawberry sauce as I took advantage of their internet signal to check my bearings and locate a hotel/motel that I would use as base camp for the next couple of nights.
The sun was out. It was still hot, although early evening as I made my way to an only Motel that I could barely afford. It was the only one I found that had a room available. All hotels were not only fully booked, but I was unable to afford to pay what they were charging!
Rapid City is not cheap! Additionally it was peak summer season. I guess that had a lot to do with it too.
I have slept in many a place across this nation of ours and I have never had to pay this much for a motel room. It was pricier than a lot of higher end hotels I have lodged in.
The condition of the room as well was not commensurate with the cost IMHO. It was way at the end of the other scale. Yes there were bugs in the room too. Seemed possible too that sheets could not have been changed either. Coupled with that, the room sported a pair of twin-sized beds.
So with luggage spread out on one bed, I had very little space left to really spread out and feel relaxed.
It was better than nothing though, so I embraced it for what it was worth. After all, I had made it to the Black Hills, and I did have a place to stay. I was excited, to say the least, to be here.
I had to return to the front office to request a code for internet access and it was through this encounter with the clerk that I got to find out that Mount Rushmore was barely 20 min. due south of us and the night show (which I never knew they put on each night) was not to be missed!
Glancing at the time, and making quick mental calculations for time distance and speed, I rushed back to the room, grabbed and loaded up my camera gear and headed south in search of the Mount Rushmore memorial.
It was easy to find. I couldn’t get lost. There were signs all over the place and at every intersection from here to Timbuktu!
Seemed like every building and establishment was named Rushmore! Talk about capitalizing on that name!
My very first glimpse of the monument was shortly before sundown/sunset. It was spectacular, although quite a distance off, just beyond the entry to the memorial where I was.

Back on the road I wound my way around the hilly terrain and joined the long queue of vehicles waiting to pay the entrance fee to the memorial. Getting through, I entered the parking garage and found a place for my motorcycle.
Unloading my camera gear, I joined other pedestrians along the Avenue of Presidents and wound our way to the viewing plaza.
The light show started right at dark and lasted for close to an hour.
Needless to mention it was a treat to witness. The monuments were lit up. In the pitch dark of night, every distinct feature was accented. I truly marveled at the feat of their creation.
I was glad I did not miss it. To the extent that I ended up being the last guest to leave that night. I stayed and took it all in. I chose not to miss a moment of this experience. I did not want to leave just yet. But all too soon I had to pack up tripod and gear and returned to my motel for some much needed sleep.
It had been one heck of a day for me. There is not much I would trade it for!
After 343 mi. on the day, I was too tired to make any journal entries.
I lay down to sleep, asking the Lord my soul to keep, if in case I did not wake from my sleep.

Day 5. July 23rd, 2014.
Another Memorial, Mountains and More.

The nice thing I was truly enjoying was the fact that I had not pre-planned the details of this trip.
I knew where I wanted to go and what to see in the area, but kept my options open as to which route to take.
In essence, this made it an adventure for me. I would try to find and ride all the mountain roads and passes in this area before leaving and heading for home the next day.
The one thing I knew for sure was that Rapid City was my turn-around point for this trip. But today, I was here. Today was all about riding. I was in the Black Hills! Perhaps I would find some gold at the roadside and could become instantly rich where I would have not to continue paying obeisance to the Time Clock. After all the streets of America are paved with gold, right?
Right?
I was up with camera gear loaded before 7:00 a.m.
Getting onto Highway 16, a.k.a. Mount Rushmore Rd., I rode south again towards the Rushmore Monument where Highway 16A split off to the left just before Mount Rushmore.
This was the start of the Iron Mountain Road. I rode it a short distance and branched onto Highway 244 which then dumped me onto Highway 385 south. I followed the road all the way to the Avenue Of The Chiefs.
And there it stood ………….. 11 miles south of the Mount Rushmore Memorial.
The Crazy Horse Memorial – A mountain carving in progress since 1948. When completed, it will be the largest mountain carving in the world. Yes it will eclipse that of The Mount Rushmore Monument.
Again the history of its inception lies deeply intertwined in the annals of American history with the loss of land by Native Americans to the white man.
The Crazy Horse Memorial is being carved as a memorial to the spirit of Crazy Horse – and not as a direct likeness of him as regarded by his people.

I composed the following picture of this 1/300th scale model of the monument–to-be, silhouetted against the backdrop of the actual mountain carving as it currently stands. It looks to be colossal.
My thoughts drifted, knowing that it would most likely not be completed in my lifetime. It surely will be a sight to see when completed.

So from Mount Rushmore to this Native American landmark, my rides and time so far in South Dakota had taken me on a small historic journey and a small taste of culture that is so deeply woven into Native American History. The museum at this monument did a lot to educate me.
I had become more knowledgeable and humbled.
Leaving the monument and carving I was anxious to get back to riding solely for the thrills I had for so long anticipated.
The road wound me through and past towering granite cliffs and ponderosa forests.

Peter Norbeck, was the first native-born Governor of South Dakota to serve in office and is best remembered as "the great political patron of Mount Rushmore”; responsible for spearheading and promoting the construction as well as securing the federal funding needed to build the giant mountain sculpture.
The Norbeck Scenic Byway, The Norbeck Overlook and the Norbeck Wildlife Preserve were all named after him, no doubt in remembrance of his vision, conservation efforts and achievements.
So in his capacity and in search of the “grandest views” he was determined to have these roads built in such a way to engage my senses through masterful engineering design work of the times. It took a lot of dynamite. More specifically, 150,000 lbs. of dynamite and 2 years later, the Needles Highway was conceived. Scovell Johnson, the road engineer, as I have come to learn, hired by Peter Norbeck, made this happen.
More dynamite was required for the construction of 3 mountain tunnels.
The tunnels had been thoughtfully cut through the mountains and make for such beautiful backdrops with Rushmore way off in the distance. Each being specifically designed and located to frame the 4 faces of Mount Rushmore, presenting a view just like a breathtaking picture hanging on a wall, but in real life!
C.C. Gideon, the superintendent of Custer State Park at the time, was also engaged by Peter Norbeck to build the roads linking the tunnels together.
Great elevation changes presented major construction challenges, which ultimately gave rise to his design of the Pigtail Bridges. So with a crew of 16 men and building with only wood from the surrounding forest, they built a series of corkscrew spiral bridges to combat these steep elevation changes. This part of these roads became known as the Iron Mountain Road - 11 miles from valley to summit, numerous curves, most of which were hairpins back to back to back due to the very steep elevation/rise. I stopped counting at 7! The road demanded my undivided attention.
These were so exhilarating to ride. Nothing like this anywhere else that I have been and ridden. I turned around and rode them a second time, enjoying the thrill just as much as my first pass!
When I am on tour I reserve the right and have the luxury of doing this when I please.
I call that freedom!
Together all these scenic roads link the Mount Rushmore Memorial, Custer State Park and The Black Hills National Forest make up The Peter Norbeck National Scenic Byway.
I rode all 68 miles of this magnificent Scenic By-way, stopping at all the overlooks and marveled at each view presented. Yes, I took pictures too!
This ride is definitely not for the faint of heart! Extremely technical but oh, so scenic! A lot of which I captured on video.
Utilizing and continuing to hone my riding skills on these very technically demanding roads, I wanted to ride forever.
The twisties are back to back. The hairpins – again, countless (I didn’t bother to count anymore).
With great asphalt, sheer drop-offs, tight twisties, elevation changes, magnificent scenery, lovely weather and friendly fellow travelers I met along the way, I was thrilled all afternoon, sharing experiences and talking about rides and places we had all been privileged and blessed to have visited and experienced.
This is one of those areas any serious touring biker must visit and experience. I highly recommend it. It will do something to you. It stirred my riding soul with warmth and happiness! A kind of joy I had not experienced in all my riding years to date.
I was in another world!
Peter Norbeck’s vision and plans that made this conservation achievement possible are such a great legacy for me and for generations yet to come….. for me to enjoy and learn about some of the history, nature and recreation that South Dakota offered me on this day – on this ride.

I spent all of this day riding the Black Hills. I couldn’t get enough. As the sun lowered in the sky I headed back towards my motel room in Rapid City.
After a shower and solitary dinner, I fell asleep reliving the rides of the day.
I had now visited the Heart of this country. The symbol of democracy. I had experienced it. My mind was a little more broadened.

Day 6. July 24th, 2014.
Up at dawn. Back on the interstate (reluctantly) I now have a need for twisties! Pushed north west and into Sturgis, SD. Great time to be here. 1 week ahead of the "madness" which is definitely not my scene or thing! Vendors all setting up tents and booths in preparation for the annual gathering that begins on the 4th August.
OK, been there and visited. 
Pushed on and into Wyoming! Aah, Wyoming! My re-scheduled/unplanned turn around point. Beautiful! Wide open! I just wish I could have kept going. That's how I felt anyway! Gateway to the west!
I made sure to put my wheels into this state for a few beautiful miles. It was all I could afford in time. After which then, I turned around and reluctantly began my journey back home to Ohio. I needed to begin making tracks back home – to work! My wallet was running close to empty.
So I turned around and pointed the ST eastwards. With a promise to return and immerse myself in a good tour and visit here, on my way further west one of these days/tours.
Not long afterwards, crossing back into South Dakota, I made out the familiar and unmistakable silhouette of a Honda ST1300. The tapered rear cowl and taillight, the characteristic triangular exhaust pipes/mufflers ………. Like no other bike on the road anywhere in the world.
I pulled up alongside him, having noted his German registration plates and made a friendly wave and gesture, hoping he would understand the unspoken word of “where are you headed?”
He returned a shrug that seemed to say to me that he either did not know where he was going or he did not understand what I was asking.
So I tried again. He shrugged me off again.
I motioned one more time hoping he’d understand this time that I would have liked to pull over and “make his acquaintance.” Again I felt I had a cold shoulder response.
This chap does not have friendship to offer. I accelerated and pulled away putting distance between the two of us.
I convinced myself that I was not worthy of his friendship!
I kept on going.

Time was drawing close to midday. Hunger pangs began tugging at me. I fancied a cooked meal. I now thought that it would be good to take time off the highway and sit down for a relaxed, cooked meal. Besides it was hot and I needed to rehydrate. My onboard supply of fluids and snacks were now running low. It would be a good time to restock my mobile pantry.
The sign by the highway signaled my approach to the town of Kadoka, SD.
I began my search for a Bison burger. I‘ve never had Bison. I’ve been told that it’s a very lean meat. “Healthy” is always good! This was Bison territory.
I pulled into the first food joint I came to. The parking lot was quite packed. My first impressions were that it was a popular place and so must be a good place to eat.
No Bison.
Returning outdoors, I met a young man – a bicyclist, on his way home from Seattle, WA to Boston, MA.

(I would follow his journey through his internet blog for the next month and a half till he reached home. At which time his Dad rode out – on a bicycle to meet him at the MA state line and ride home the rest of way with him.
I was to later read as well that he had made mention of “this man” he met in Kadoka, SD who was also living his dream of riding his motorbike across this country!) I smiled to myself.
“He did keep his word. He did say he would be sure to mention me”, as my story had also peaked his interest.

Less than a mile down the road I pulled into another eatery and opted for a beef burger in lieu of Bison. …… and a very good burger it turned out to be too! Well worth the stop.
I was joined at my table by an elder gentleman for the following 45 minutes, who incidentally happened to be the oldest and longest living resident in this locale who engaged me in conversation from his time in the war to his admiration of me embarking on this journey.
I could have stayed with him talking till breakfast time.
I enjoy talking to people like this. It is like an opportunity to peer into the past. Making me realize how generations before me made great sacrifices in their lives to try and give following generations the impetus to follow suit in search of “better” lives. – And I use the term “better”, very loosely.
After all, it’s all relative, right?
So after about an hour and a half’s’ ride after lunch, I needed to stop for fuel and also replenish my now dwindling stock of on-board water and snacks.
I took the next exit ramp off the interstate then negotiated a beautiful unending sweeper of a right turn that put me directly into a gas station/convenience store. I was in the town of Chamberlain.


The bike drank up 6.1 gallons of premium unleaded fuel. And I drank a much-desired cold 20 oz. of Cherry Pepsi.
As I cleaned my windshield and visor of my helmet in the comfort of shade of the roof of the pump station/island, I mused at the long line of flags that I could make out in the distance; as well as some sort of water body and a bridge.
“Wait a minute” I thought to myself. That’s the direction I just came from! I don’t recall traversing that! I tried to recollect my thoughts and for the life of me, could not remember going over that bridge or crossing that water body.
Now I was really confused! I knew for sure though that it was the direction I came from.
In my state of utter confusion, I went inside to the station store clerk and asked what the flags and water body was all about.
“That’s the Missouri River!” was the answer I got in response to my question. “You mean you don’t know?”
I felt like a Lilliputian!
It took me a while to understand that I was fatigued. I had crossed the Mighty Missouri without even knowing it!
I saddled up. To put my mind at ease, I took the exit back westwards and made a U-turn at the first opportunity, that was about 5 miles down the road. I made sure to be aware of the sign that indicated the Missouri river crossing (which I earlier on had missed altogether) and re-crossed the river, forcing myself to register the view/image in my mind.
I now knew I was really fatigued.
The Cherry Pepsi began to give me a good wake-up kick. I felt better. I now recall crossing the river (on the 2nd time around) and I was ready to continue the journey, feeling somewhat fresher.
(This experience has made me very keen to recognize when I get fatigued on a trip. It is a very dangerous situation and can have serious ramifications. In more recent times/trips, I take mandatory breaks purposely to avoid this from ever happening again.)
Another sign marking a historical point in the journey of the Lewis and Clark Expedition beckoned me off the highway.
Using it as another forced break and to gather a little bit of history, I took the exit and visited the area.
The view of the Missouri River from this viewpoint was simply majestic. I was in awe at the great expanse of the river.
I chatted with a few of the visiting tourists as well and took some photos.
I tried to envision what this area would or could look like without this modern day highway running through it. And how the members of the expedition would have felt at this point during their journey of discovery.
Gosh, how enchanting!


Rode all afternoon till sundown, finding myself in Worthington, MN. My search for a close by hotel in this area proved futile. It was getting late. The sun had begun its descent in the late afternoon sky. The colors were beautifully golden. But at this time, finding a place to spend the night took precedence over photography.
It continued to get late as I sat in the McDonalds establishment searching online for a place.
I found the nearest hotel availability in, doubled back to and spent the night in Sioux Falls, SD.
It had been 404 miles of interstate pavement, but I climbed off the ST feeling like I could keep going on. I was neither fatigued, weary or aching. I felt good, physically. I think that Missouri River crossing served as my wake-up call!
The Honda ST is truly made for comfortable long distance touring! The ergonomics fit me just right. I felt in good shape although I was ready for a good nights sleep. Black Hills riding had worn me out. I needed it.
Tomorrow I would NEED to arrive home (as per my plan) to keep my end of vacation comfortably on track to be fresh and ready for work.

Day 7. July 25th, 2014.
I was up early after a very good nights sleep. The hotel was very clean, comfortable and reasonably priced. I made particular note of that because it was a high-end hotel (by my standards). Much less expensive than several motels I have stayed in during my journeys to date.
Wanting to be on the road early with a good start on the day, I opted for a fruit and yogurt breakfast which the staff kindly permitted me to have access to, well ahead of normal breakfast serve time.
I brought the ST to life with a jab of the starter button. Being fuel injected, needing no choke, the characteristic whine of the V4 power plant instantly broke the silence of the early morning in the parking lot. I smiled in anticipation of the miles ahead of me today.
I double-checked my luggage to make sure everything was securely fastened and pulled out of the parking lot before the sun rose for that day.
I was homeward bound. I continued via I 90 eastbound through remaining part of South Dakota. I was only 18 miles from the Minnesota state line.
I stayed on the interstate highway for the best part of the morning. The ST as usual, continued to munch the miles without a fuss.
It was lovely scenery and as I gauged my time, I could afford to slow down and “take in my surroundings.”
I had crossed into Minnesota and would be turning due south at a yet to be determined point. I was all business now. I was leaving the vast openness of the west and was fast approaching Wisconsin.
Another hour and a half went by. It was getting more humid and I began to feel small drops of drizzling rain. Good chance to take a break to rehydrate and another photo-op. I breathed in a lot of the fresh country air. So different from being in the inner cities! It wouldn’t be too long from now and I would be breathing in the foul smog and pollution of the inner city air! Ugh!
I took a slight detour off the highway and dumped myself onto a country highway. I wanted to enjoy the countryside for as long as I could. I love the green. I love the fresh air. I love the peace and quiet. I love the fact that there is not much road traffic.
I blasted my way from the Wisconsin state line into Minnesota. It was a short jaunt that went by in a blip.
The well-manicured farms off in the distance were a very pleasing sight. They caught my attention and admiration. I had to stop.
No doubt, a lot of hard work and resources must have gone into maintaining a farm in this condition. I respect that. I respect hard working people and the efforts they (myself included) put into what they do. Good results always speak for themselves.

Finding my way back to the highway, continuing with my journey, I soon arrived at the state line to Wisconsin. It was marked by a bridge that fords both the west and east branches of the majestic Mississippi River at this point.
I pulled over at the foot of the bridge and dispensed with my customary state line snap shots.
I began to try and recall how many times I have had the opportunity to cross the Mississippi River in all my tours to date. This one I think put me at 3.
Each crossing has been an exciting event for me. Don’t ask why, I don’t know the answer to that …… yet! But suffice to say: “Great rivers make for great crossings”.
So I pushed on. Time was becoming limited. I needed to make good time and cover as much ground as I could today, if I was to make it home late tonight or at the latest, in the wee hours of the morn. At this rate, I estimated somewhere in the vicinity of 2 a.m. would be pretty darned good.
It was mid afternoon now and as I glanced at my cluster of gauges on the bike, they relayed a plethora of information back to me. A little after 3 in the afternoon, mid 70’s for temperature and a sharp reminder that I would need to stop pretty soon for fuel.
Oh well, good chance for a sugar break. Almost instantly I felt the pangs of wanting sweet, very sweet in my mouth and on my taste buds.
I pulled into the first gas station/convenience store I came to just on the far side of Prairie Du Chien, on US Highway 18.
The chance to take a potty break as well could not have come soon enough.
So with the important stuff out of the way I got back on the road with renewed vigor and determination and settled in for the next long haul.
The 7.7gal. fuel tank capacity of the ST allowed me to comfortably ride non-stop for the rest of the afternoon.
I made it into Illinois effortlessly. A couple of cars kept me company and occupied on the highway. I think they were entertained and excited by the antics of my stuffed animals riding pillion on the bike, with arms, feet and ears flapping and flailing in the wind as we cruised. They seemed to be waving at cars and people going by.
Sundown found me right at the start of the Illinois Toll road system. It was a beautiful sunset. One I could not miss.
After dispensing with the formalities/legalities at the tollbooth, I promptly pulled over and snapped the following shot. It was now 9:17 p.m.

I would not have much time to try and get the shot before the sun dipped below the horizon.
I had to get my camera gear out very quickly. I particularly did not want a “cellphone-photo”
Sundown at these northern latitudes lasts for just over a minute and a half or so, compared to 3 minutes or more in lower latitudes like in South Texas.
Don’t dilly-dally here, or you will miss it!
This makes it challenging for aspiring photographers. Many have learned to set up their equipment and be prepared well ahead of this time of day in order not to miss those golden rays of sunlight. Those magical times of the day when the sunlight washes its colors over the land.
So with my gear put away, I became the road warrior again. I was taking no prisoners.
I joined the long line of cars in the only 2 lanes that the interstate had been narrowed down to, due to ongoing construction work.
I was back into urbanization!
So I pushed on into Chicago and just after 10 p.m. I pulled into a gas station for some much needed coffee and gas.
I fueled the ST up and had coffee. I needed it. I was beginning to feel tired. I needed that boost that I hoped I would derive from the coffee.
I continued my trip. The traffic was relentless. I persevered.
As I rounded the base of Lake Michigan into Indiana, it was right around midnight. I fail to remember accurately. I do remember though having to exit the highway in search of some more coffee.
Gosh it was dark here. Not a single street light as far as one could see. The headlights on my bike pierced the dark, pitch-black of the night effortlessly.
The Honda ST1100’s headlights were no match for this ST1300s’.
The ST1100 pkg. came with a single 45/55 watt lo/hi headlight bulb, compared to dual 55/65 watt bulbs on the ST1300. The latter does a fantastic job of “lighting up the night and I have not found any justification to add supplemental driving lights/fog lights. Thanks Honda!
Besides, unless absolutely necessary, I try to be off the roads by or just after dark, purely for safety reasons.
I found a convenience store, in the process of closing down for the night and I quickly fueled up again even though I did not need to. It was late and I needed to be sure that I would not run out of fuel in any event. I planned to ride all night. Could I make it home in 2 hours from here? Not hardly. Still many miles to go.
The Asian-American store proprietor was kind enough to make me a fresh pot of coffee despite having already shut off the coffee machine for the day.
A packet of powdered sugar donuts complimented the fresh coffee nicely.
I took the opportunity and paced back and forth outside to try and raise my heart rate and improve my blood circulation. this would help to stave off cramps.
It had already been a very long day of riding. It wasn’t over yet.
So back on the road again, out of this neighborhood and homeward bound.
The fog rolled in without warning.
Almost all of a sudden I had almost no visibility. I slowed to 50 m.p.h. from 75m.p.h. but that still did not help.
I had other vehicles zooming by me.
This was not a safe place to be. When I had a safe chance, I moved into the slow lane and dropped my speed again. This I thought, was still not a good solution.
Right around the time of that thought, a sign, announcing the exit for a travel plaza came into view and I took the chance and exited.
So now that I was off the road and still in fog, I stretched out on one of the outdoor plaza benches, within close eyesight of the bike and still in my riding suit and helmet and tried to force some rest.
An hour and a half later, with still no sleep, I opted to continue the journey knowing and hoping that the fog would begin to lift after not too long. The coffee was doing its job. I was wide awake. Although fatigued, I was oblivious to that.
So I hopped aboard and got back on the highway. With each passing mile the fog only got more dense! I literally could not see my outstretched hand in front of my face. It was that thick – like pea soup!
I believe I was “rounding” the bottom of Lake Michigan.
I soldiered on. After what seemed an eternity, I decided this was becoming an exercise in futility and so not safe!
Stopping on the side of the highway was not an option by any stretch of my imagination. So I had no choice but to keep on going.
And so I did till another sign announced the exit for another travel plaza. Unrecognized to me, the plaza on the Ohio side of the stateline crossing from Indiana.
No brainer! I exited and found the parking lot.
Pulling up and putting the bike onto her center stand, I sat down on the asphalt, still in riding suit/apparel, braced myself up against the bike and promptly nodded off to sleep. I was okay in my mind with staying here till the fog lifted.
Around 6:30 a.m. I awoke. A little brighter but still very foggy. I opted to continue the journey. Visibility was noticeable better than during the pitch dark of night.
So cautiously through the fog I continued till it lifted around 9:30 a.m.
Oh yeah! I had good visibility now. I was wide awake. The ST smiled and got me home through what were these last 247 miles of my 3400 mile journey.
I arrived home safe and sound, fresh and with a big smile in my being!
I offered a prayer of thanks for the safe and enjoyable journey and proceeded to unpack and bed the bike down with a promise of a good wash and wax at the earliest opportunity in the coming days.
This visit through the Heartland of America, from Mt. Rushmore to The Crazy Horse Memorial of Native American culture along this very 68-mile scenic American Byway known as the Peter Norbeck Highway, and all other sites between, was a very memorable, historical and geographic journey for me.