Day Seven.  Greetings from Montpelier, Vermont.  Things didn’t work out the way we planned today unless you consider that we consciously decided not to have a plan.  We began the day by visiting a few lighthouses on the coast of Maine before making our way to New Hampshire.  The lighthouses standing guardian over the rocky shores are spectacular in their beauty.  I imagined living in more rugged times and crossing the Atlantic to the New World with the beacon perhaps being the first sight of hope after an arduous voyage.  It was yet another symbol of hope and prosperity which our Nation has come to symbolize.

We had stopped at the Portland Harley dealer http://www.bigmooseharley.com/index2.html for some T-shirts and ran into a fellow rider from New Hampshire.  He offered some tempting tips for our ride which we were all too happy to accept.  The mountains in New Hampshire/Vermont are as pristine of a wilderness as I have ever seen.  The roads parallel babbling brooks and streams and the water is crystal clear.  We occasionally would round a bend and see spectacular lakes surrounded by forest.  The rugged beauty of this land is truly breathtaking and one can not help but be in awe of God’s artistic talents when they see a land such as this.

Navigation was a bit of a problem today.  We were so wrapped up in the beauty that surrounded us that we missed at least three of our opportunities to begin heading west as we originally intended.  That never seemed cause for concern to me until we realized that we were ten miles south of the Canadian border and we were still in New Hampshire and it was already three in the afternoon.  We decided to get serious about making headway towards Niagara Falls but could only make it to Montpelier by sundown.  Montpelier is the capital of Vermont in case you didn't know.  Just thought I would throw in some 5^th grade geography trivia for ya.  Somehow I get the feeling that the town would be more aptly named Mount Pilot as the entire state of Vermont has somewhat of a Mayberry quality to it.  I mean that in the most flattering way possible. 

Along the harried portion of our journey, after our brush with the Canadian border, we ran into a road block which was put in place due to a traffic accident on Highway 110 in central Vermont.  There was an Ewok-looking volunteer fireman manning a stop sign out in the middle of the highway.  Sporting fairly long hair and a face not shaved in days, department issued bibs and boots that looked three sizes too large the short and round little fireman was comical looking in a charming way.  He explained the situation but mentioned that there was no way he could tell when the road would be opened for traffic.  He further explained that if we did not want to wait we could take the road to our right, go past the four corners and veer to the left where the concrete bridge was and make our way back to highway 110 on the other side of the accident.  We asked him how far and he claimed approximately eight miles.  We said thanks and started to ease our bikes into gear and an almost sinister grin came across his face as he had obviously amused himself deeply.  He glanced over our Harleys and said, “I hope you don’t mind riding dirt roads.” 

Hell YES we minded riding our Harley’s on dirt roads but there was no chance I was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing us back down like the pack of yuppie Harley Riders his grin had seemed to suggest he thought we were.  We don’t haul our bikes on trailers, we ride them.  And now we don’t let a little dirt road action on a rainy day keep us from riding either.  I revved my motor and Steve and Rick followed suit and we bolted down the road leading the line of cars that had accumulated behind us.  I hope he scratched his head in befuddlement as we roared away.  I guess I didn’t give that idea much thought at the time because as soon as we crowned the first hill on our detour the deliverance banjo song began playing in my head and it never left until my Harley’s wheels were once again pounding asphalt.

Tomorrow morning we have about an hour ride to Grand Isle Vermont where we will catch a ferry that will take us across the lake into New York where we will tour the Adirondack Mountains on our way to Niagara Falls.  http://www.adirondack-park.net  It is our hope to be through the Adirondacks by lunch time so we will need to get an early start.  We still plan to be home by Saturday so we will need to cover a lot of miles in as short amount of time as possible.  If my Saturday morning picture of the Falls is a little blurry that will be because we took the pictures from the bike as we roared by doing 80 mph. 

          Day Six.  It has come to be quite the joke between Gismo, Gimp and I (Grumpy) that no matter where we are, when we ask a Northeasterner how long it takes to get from here to there the answer is always 4 hours.  I’m not even exaggerating a little when I tell you that no matter how far we were going or how far we had gone the estimate was always that we would arrive at our destination in about 4 hours, depending on traffic.  This must be some built in time reference that transcends all ages, genders and professions.  Waitresses, front desk clerks, cops and gas station attendants all had the same answer.  About once a day, one of the travel aides would be approximately correct.  So it goes.

          Today our trip from Peekskill to Portland, Maine was to be about 4 hours but we kind of messed that up on our own by diverting to Orange County to see if we could mug for a picture with Paul, Paulie and Mikey Teutul of the Discovery Channels “American Chopper” fame.  http://dsc.discovery.com/fansites/amchopper/amchopper.html We stopped in the retail outlet of OCC and saw some of the bikes made famous on the TV series.  The Teutul’s were not there, the store staff said something about Arizona.  The whole experience was pretty underwhelming as we are accustomed to warm greetings from the Harley shops we visit on the road.  Typically a dealership will take time to offer coffee, travel advice and generally just see if there is anything they can do to make your trip better.  Perhaps it is because the boss was out of town, perhaps it is because fame has jaded the staff but the employees of OCC could have cared less if we were there or not.  They should have.  We were the only ones in the store.

          We took some scenic back roads in upstate New York and the landscape was breathtaking.  For a long while the road snaked along the ridge of the Hudson River offering panoramic views of the river valley below.  I have a new appreciation for the North East.  The villages are all well maintained, the historic qualities of the towns are enhanced by modern zoning requirements in many locations.  With the exception of Montgomery New York we found all of the residents quick to share a smile and their attention to customer service was superior. 

          From New York we rolled into Connecticut where a state trooper pulled a U-turn as we rolled in for a gas stop.  He had seen Steve’s, (Gimp) Christian Motorcyclist Colors he was wearing and wanted to say hello.  We talked with the trooper for about a half an hour where we learned he too is a Harley enthusiast.  He took the time to share with us some ride destinations that we would want to check out while visiting his state and offered a brief testimony about how he blends his career with his Christianity.  He was a very cool guy but not cool enough to give us the unlimited speed voucher I requested while we rode in his state.  He did offer us a state map that had all of the scenic motorcycle roads highlighted though so the denial of the license to speed ended up being not too big of a deal.  When he departed he told us he would meet us again when we went home.  He almost slid that past me but when I put it into the context of his our shared Christianity I shook his hand and said, “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

          We used the quickest route through Connecticut which was outlined on our new map from the trooper and we made Massachusetts shortly after noon.  Gimp’s shift linkage was acting up so we pulled into Sheldon Harley Davidson in Auburn, MA for a quick repair.  The service was fantastic and they slipped Gimp’s bike on the rack immediately.  While we waited, Mary, one of the sales persons, really did us a solid by routing us around Boston in a way that helped us miss any significant traffic problems.  Her accent was cool and her attitude was infectious.  You could just tell she enjoyed her work.  Typically a repair stop would not be an event which holds fond memories on a trip such as ours but because of Mary and the service department of Sheldon HD we can call that stop good. http://www.sheldons.com

          New Hampshire.  I think we were in it for about twenty minutes, I’m not really sure.  The only significant thing I can tell you about it is that the temperature dropped about twenty degrees.  That was welcome.  Then we crossed into our destination state, Maine.  Woohoo. 

          We jumped off of the super slab and rode up highway 1 in the hopes of some coastal riding.  We were disappointed that the road sat inland enough that we only got a few glimpses of water but the towns along the route were charming.  I wasn’t too upset because this stop was all about the lobster.  Somehow, in my forty-six years I have never had a fresh boiled lobster.  I figured Maine would be the place to do that.  The front desk of our motel suggested Gilberts Chowder House as a local favorite.  Not being one to argue we took the suggestion.  We were advised to try some of their award winning chowder and in particular we were told to try the bread-bowl super seafood chowder.  Again, no argument here.  So basically we ate a double entrée and the bill was less than had we eaten at our local Red Lobster back in Iowa.  And did I mention it was all fresh catch?  The super seafood chowder came out heaping with shrimp, scallops, lobster, clam and fish.  Huge chunks of caught fresh seafood made the chowder a culinary event.  And the lobster!  Wow, yeah, I should have been eating lobster for years.  Again we were treated to exceptional service by an interesting server, Kara who recently graduated from a West Coast School with a degree in Anthropology.  She had opted to go to school in California to escape the North East winters and seems satisfied that she enjoyed it but has that out of her system.  http://www.hollyeats.com/Gilberts.htm If you ever make it to Portland you have to do this place. 

          Tomorrow promises to be an equally exciting day.  We have abandoned the interstates and decided to cut through the Adirondak Mountains on our trip to Niagara Falls.  I’m sure we are looking at least three four hour trips before we are done.  I will be grinning the whole way!  Happy June!  Stop back tomorrow!

 

Song Credit: Aaron Neville Oh Happy Day

          Day Four.  Day four had us busting a move towards the Big Apple.  Only 280 miles stood between us and our next round of adventures.  No problem!  That should only take us a little over three hours!  WRONG!  Nine hours later we checked into the scenic Peekskill Inn which is just north of the city.  http://www.peekskillinn.com  Who would have figured?  It seemed there were a few other people traveling in the North East Corridor over the holiday weekend.  Part of our problem was my navigation abilities once we got upstate but most of our delay was traffic.  Insane amounts of traffic.  Within any given mile our speed would vary from eighty miles an hour to parked.  I’m not sure how that is possible but it is, it was, and I am sure it will be again.

          The biggest jam up we encountered was crossing into New York City on the George Washington Bridge.  There is a toll as you cross from Jersey to New York and they then cram about 20 lanes of toll paying traffic into 5 lanes of bridge and they have to get that done in about 200 yards.  Engineering geniuses!  Once we finally made it on the bridge, as if an omen, thunder clapped, lightning flashed and a gully washer commenced to baptize our crossing in a full immersion.  We found an over pass to tuck under once we made our way into Manhattan.  I am sure we pretty much resembled trapped drowned rats as we huddled by our bikes on the shoulder of the road.  Most New Yorkers did their best to avoid the pooling water by the shoulder but some couldn’t resist the temptation to travel just a bit closer to the edge of the road and enhance our baptismal experience.  So it goes.

          Once the shower stopped we made our way quickly out of the city knowing we only had about forty miles to go.  Little did my traveling mates know that this was the point where map quest and I would form an unsalvageable disconnect that left us touring the countryside in aimless circles.  The last forty miles took us about three hours and were it not for the remarkable helpfulness of New Yorkers we might still be roaming the countryside.  Get this!  There are perceptions we Midwesterners have that New Yorkers are a cold and surly lot who are quick to put you in your place if you cross their path.  We haven’t met that New Yorker yet.  The first time we were certain we were lost we were in Mt. Pleasant New York.  We went to a local gas station for directions and a local over heard the broken English directions we received and told us that it was somewhat complicated to get us back where we needed to go.  Rather than explain it to us he offered to show us where to go.  Then once we got to Peekskill we took the wrong exit into town.  I had grown weary of winging it as far as navigation went so we pulled into the first gas station we saw.  Again we were rescued by a local.  As the driver separated from us after delivering us right to the driveway of our motel, she threw her fist in the air as if to say, “Ride on!” 

          Much to our delight we found that the Peekskill Inn offered an in house restaurant and lounge.  The restaurant was closing but offered to serve us anyway.  I am sure it is because we looked pathetic after our drowning.  Teresa and Jessica did a fantastic job of making us feel welcome and delivered our food, which was excellent and you know that I am an expert on such matters.

          We made a move to the lounge where we were entertained, cajoled and perhaps a touch over served by Chrissy the bartending guru.  She was able to tolerate our road weary silliness and was able to make us feel welcome.  It may have tested her patience a little when I grabbed a decorative flag from their patio, wrapped it around my neck like a cape and began running around the bar like superman.  As I swooped out the door to replace the flag I heard in a perfect New York accent, “Look at that idiot, flying around like he thinks he is Wonder Woman!”  My work here is done.

          We are soon to be jumping on the train for our trip into the City.  Gee, do you think they are ready for us? 

          Day Three.  Rolling Thunder is the description that Run for the Wall organizers use to describe the sounds of Washington DC as hundreds of thousands of motorcycles invade our nation’s capital to honor the Veterans, POW’s, MIA’s and KIA’s of our armed forces.  The description is accurate as the parade of bikes began rolling down Constitution Ave.  From all the way across the Mall the crescendo of rumbling bikes kept building in volume as the parade neared.  People cheered, flags were waved, and smiles abounded.  Half of a million people were unified in remembering those who sacrificed years of their life to defend our country and to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

          We took in most of the most popular monuments today.  We went near the Washington Monument and made our way to the WWII, Korean and Viet Nam war memorials.  We spent some time at the Lincoln memorial as well.  All of the monuments are beautiful reminders of the price that must be paid for freedom but in my mind there is none more poignant than the Viet Nam Memorial.  The wall with its simplicity offers no distraction from the meaning of The Wall.  It is always difficult for me, emotionally, to visit the Viet Nam war memorial but today was even more so.  There were so many people there and most of them appeared to be of the era where they would understand something about the pain of war. 

          Big tough looking biker types were coming out one end of the memorial with tears in their eyes and sorrow on their face.  In spite of the pain they were feeling their heads were held high.  They knew.  They knew what it meant to be in Viet Nam in those war years and there was no dishonor in their hearts from being asked to participate in an unpopular war.  At the foot of The Wall were thousands of cards, pictures, letters and mementos that had been left by loved ones.  What struck me so much today was how young and innocent the faces on the pictures appeared to be.  The men we asked to fight that war were ripped from high school and had all of the potential of life as a young American in front of them and they did not all make it back home.  We must never forget.

          From the monument area we hopped the subway and went out to Arlington National Cemetery.  We witnessed the changing of the Guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  Arlington National Cemetery is truly sacred ground and when ever I visit I am humbled and honored to be able to live in this great land.  The last time I visited Arlington National Cemetery was in November.  I went with my Mother and Sister.  I should tell you that if you ever get the chance you should go but if you are with a little Old Catholic Mexican American woman, who happens to be your mother, stay clear of the Kennedy family burial place.  My Mother was not along on this trip so I thought it would be safe enough to revisit the eternal flame.  For the second time of the day I had a very difficult time controlling my emotions.  Some things in life and some lessons we learn are just too powerful to contain within our intellectual minds.  Greatness is defined by what a leader gives to those who will follow and JFK gave his life. 

          Memorial Day is a day for recollection of such things.  It is a time to count our blessings for living in these United States.  It is a time to aspire to better citizens, better friends and better family members.  You can be thankful for these things where ever you are.  It is particularly easy to do in a place such as Washington DC.

          Tomorrow we are off to bright lights and the big city.  New York, New York!  I have a cousin who lives there and she has agreed to be available to us to offer direction for our visit.  Hopefully she will join us to show us the sights and keep us out of trouble.  Until then, thanks for stopping by.  Have a great day.

 

Song Credit: Ray Charles America The Beautiful

          Day two.  Whew! We all managed to keep the rubber side down on Saturday.  The trip in to DC was great.  The weather was perfect and once we cleared Ohio the fast lane was pretty much wide open.  I set the cruise at 80 mph and we were shittin’ and getting’ all day long.  Coming into Maryland we had hooked in with a wolf pack and had little worries about our speed.  Or so we thought.  The posted speed limit on I-68 in Eastern Maryland is 55 mph.  There was thought to adjust our speed to a more appropriate 65 mph but we had grown accustomed to that 80 mph and just couldn’t make ourselves do it.  We rounded a bend and everybody was hitting their brakes as we all saw the Maryland State Trooper on the overpass at the same time.  The guy in the Acura who had been behind us had picked that inopportune time to decide it was maybe his turn to lead and was caught on radar as he went around us.  Sure enough, the trooper came down off of the overpass with his rollers flashing.  Quick prayers for “The Man” to pass us over and swoop his wrath upon the driver of the Acura were answered.  We offered a wave with a sympathetic head nod as we went around our traveling mate and hit the gas to put as much distance between us and the hapless driver as possible.

          We began our day at Fink’s Harley Davidson in Zanesville where the service department was ultra sensitive to our predicament and got us right in and back out on the road within an hour of their opening.  One thing I love about the community of Harley-Davidson is they all look out for each other.  The entire dealership was concerned about Rick’s status.  They threw on a pot of coffee for us and showed us to a waiting room with a television.  They must have known we were coming because the TV was already tuned into Cartoon Network.  Ironic side note.  We felt right at home at Fink’s Harley Davidson.  The dealerships facility was fairly new and it was located in an old Helig Myers store, just like our home dealership in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  http://www.metroharley-davidson.com

          Once we arrived in Arlington I collected my hugs and grabbed a quick shower just in time to come out and have a huge plate of lasagna with some Graham’s 10 year port to sip through my meal.  God, you have to love a woman who would have your favorite dish and beverage waiting for you after a hard day’s ride.  There was an additional surprise waiting as well.  Mike and Maureen, two of our army buddies from Fort Polk came by for dinner.  (My wife wore the combat boots) I hadn’t seen them since 1988 when we were all first starting our families and living large in LA.  (Louisiana that is)  We had a riot reminiscing about the days when our bodies could endure more revelry and celebration in an environment which left little else to do for entertainment.  One thing about good friends, you can always count on them to pick up right where you left off even if there is an 18 year gap in your gathering.  I loved how names and places came back to us as if we had only been gone a day when we reminisced about the old days. 

          After dinner we retired to the roof of Kandi’s apartment building and watched the lights come on across the river in DC.  The view is spectacular as you look across the Potomac towards the Lincoln Memorial, Jefferson Memorial and Washington Monument.  At the far end of the view are the Capital building and to the North, Georgetown University and the National Cathedral.  I can see why my wife likes it so much out here but every time I get to thinking I could live here I need only remember the traffic coming into town.  I read somewhere on the internet last week where your statistical probability for being involved in an accident is once every 3.1 years or so in DC.  It is one of the most dangerous traffic cities in the United States.  On that same list my home town of Cedar Rapids is ranked the third safest.  Being a fan of two wheeled transportation I think I like where I am from.

          We are getting ready to head for the Rally as I type this post.  When we rolled into the greater DC area it became quite apparent that this is one huge event.  Additionally, sitting on the roof, there was a constant roar of Harleys emanating from the city beneath us.  Here we go!  Have a great day.