Route 55 heads north out of Boise and basically turns into Idaho’s answer to California’s Route 1. It’s full of twists, turns and beautiful views as it winds along the Payette River. Lush, Oregon-like forests surround the road on either side. This is one of those roads that you just want to travel again and again.

As I travel, I always watch my speed. While I do exceed the posted speed limit on the open road, I never do so through a town. So when I came into Cascade, I slowed down to 35 and then stopped to get gas. After filling up, I pulled out of the gas station and within a block, red and blue lights were flashing behind me and I was urged to pull to the side of the street by a constable on patrol.

He got out of his patrol SUV, sauntered up to me and asked how my day was.

“Fine, beautiful day today,” I said to the young cop. He had to be 26 or 27.

“Do you know how fast you were going?”

I answered that I did not. That was true. I had just pulled out of the gas station, I couldn’t have been going faster than 25 or 30.

He then asked me if I knew what the posted speed limit was. I replied that I did not.

Then he asked me what most people ask me. “Did you really ride that from Pennsylvania?” I assured him that I did.

That’s when he told me about a girl that passed through his town last year on a red Vespa. She was from Pennsylvania and he thought that it might be her again. This, dear readers, is why I was being pulled over. But this isn’t where it gets strange.

He asked to see my license, registration and proof of insurance. Looking at it, he asked, “are you really from Lewisburg?”

“Yes, born and raised.”

“Really? I went to Bucknell!” That’s the university in Lewisburg. He had graduated three years ago with a degree in geology. He came to Idaho to be a geologist, but got stuck behind a desk and decided to be a cop instead.

Oh, at this point, I knew that I wasn’t getting a ticket.

We talked about the bookstore that I owned – he remembered seeing it since it was next door to the liquor store. He asked if the Town Tavern was still there. I promised that it was. We both shared our love for Venari’s Pizza.

For the next ten minutes we talked about Pennsylvania, college, life’s goals and traveling around the country.

So what are the chances that I’d get pulled over by a cop in some small town in Idaho who graduated Bucknell, remembered the bookstore that I owned and spent four years in the same town as I did? Paths from our past cross constantly. Sometimes they hold great meaning and other times they just mean that you won’t have to pay that $130 fine. Either way is okay with me.

Here’s what I wrote back then…

One way to tell if you’re on a Montana road is that they mark their highway fatalities with white crosses. Each cross represents one fatality. They’re placed in the “exact” spot where they died (or where they were hit before being taken to the hospital where they died). It’s kind of creepy.

Usually, there were one or two crosses, signifying one or two fatalities. Those were all over. You could hardly go ten miles without seeing some.

This might have something to do with US 2 being a 70mph two-lane winding its way through hills and along cliffs. Maybe?

But I saw one that really made me pause. Actually, it made me turn around to make sure I saw what I thought I saw.

And I was right. 17 fatalities in one spot, probably in one accident.

As macabre as it might seem, I’d really like to know what happened here. I think it was near Kalispell. I could be really wrong about that, and I doubt anyone would really know (anyone who reads this, I mean). But 17 fatalities in one spot can’t be a good thing.

And while 17 fatalities wouldn’t be a good thing, I just learned from a commenter on that old post that it’s not really as bad as you’d think.

“The 2 clusters of 17 crosses on US Highway 2 were placed there after a 10 mile section of highway was reconstructed and dozens of fatality markers were removed from the roadside. They represent the fatalities whose makers were removed from that stretch of highway.”

That’s sort of better, I guess. Apparently there are two clusters of 17 crosses in one ten mile stretch. That would mean that 34 people have died in separate accidents over ten miles of one really windy road.

Ok, so that does seem kind of worse when I think about it.

Putting up crosses to memorialize the dead is a nice thing. But doing something so that 34 more people don’t die in this short bit of road would be even better.

After about two blocks, I hear this rumbling coming from my rear tire. Turns out that it’s my rear tire. Go figure.

I rode it back and checked it out. It was mostly out of air.

The soapy water trick worked and even blew a large bubble, just for fun!

A flat, eh? I remembered the night before, only a few hours after arriving home, something felt uneasy in the rear wheel. I assumed it was just in my head. But no. I must of gotten a tack in my tire at the Chinese Restaurant.

I was able to ride over 11,000 miles in 12 weeks without having any real problems. But the moment I get home, I catch a flat.

Luckily, or so I thought, I had a tire plug kit under my seat. I had never even used it. It was purchased for the trip, “just in case.” I was more than a little amused that the day after I get back… or really, the night I got back, I got a flat.

I wheeled it into the garage and plugged it, following the directions.

And in about five minutes, the tire was plugged, reinflated and ready to roll!

Now, what I should have done was tested it for leaks. Why I didn’t, I’m not sure. I just figured that I plugged it the right way. That was dumb of me.

But no matter. I headed out of town on PA 304 and then took County Line Road for about a mile until the balance began to switch. The ride, to pitch. And suddenly the tire started to unhitch. And just then the bitch, to satisfy an itch, left be stranded by the roadside thumbing for a hitch.¹

Yep. The tire went flat and the plug was gone. Since the tire was now off the bead, there was no way to replug it and inflate it with the little bike pump I always carry.

Now, if I could digress into explaining how this wouldn’t happen if I had just stayed with vintage. When I rode the vintage Vespas, I always carried a tire patch kit. But since the tires were tubed and had split rims AND were easy to take off, I could remove the tire, split the rim, throw on a new tube (I always carried extras) and ride away.

This was not the case.

I had to call for a tow. For a flat. This was lame. Even if I could somehow carry a spare, changing it is such an amazingly huge and clumsy ordeal that it would be nearly impossible (or completely impossible in my case – as I’d find out later).

The tow company said that they would be there in a couple of hours. And with time to kill, I checked out the cemetery that was my host on this lovely summer day.

Many of the graves were of children. In fact, there was an entire family buried there. They had three kids, none of them lived past the age of three.

Only one Civil War soldier was buried here. He died in 1861 in Washington DC, but I couldn’t read how or why because the stone was so deteriorated.

Though the cemetery was well carried for, I did a little maintenance myself, putting a vase upright here, weeding a bit there, righting a headstone or two. What else was I going to do to keep busy?

Well, finally the tow truck arrived and we loaded up the scooter. I’ve never seen how they did this before now and I was pretty impressed. He strapped the front wheel to this little cart thing and the cart to a winch and it pulled the scooter up the flat bed.

I was only five miles from home. I could practically see the house from here. This was frustrating.

I was more than a little amused at how the night I finished an 11,000 mile cross-country ride, taking horrible dirt roads, parking in hundreds of parking lots, even being swept off the road into a ditch during a Missouri rain storm. I never needed a tow. I never caught a flat. The ride, more or less, was 11,000 uneventful miles. And then literally 20 miles after returning home, unpacking my gear, I pick up a nail or a tack in the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant. Over night the tire went flat, I tried to fix it the same way I would have tried to fix it on the road and now it was off the rim and on the back of a roll back tow truck.

None of this made a whole lot of sense. It was like I was supposed to break down. I was overdue, but something held it off until the day after my trip, when I was a mere five miles from home. Yes, thank you. I should be thankful. Sort of hard to be, of course. But at least I know I should be.

And the state of affairs now is that a plate that goes over the wheel is somehow stuck on and though I’ve tried, I cannot remove it (and thus cannot remove the wheel). I’ve changed tires a few times before. This has never been the case. They’re tough to remove, but not impossible. I’ll tackle it again today.

Here’s a write up, with pictures on how to change a tire on a modern Vespa. This, like many modern car/motorcycle/scooter things, is far more complicated than need be.

This whole ordeal threw off my day by a good four hours. AND I had to take my car everywhere I went. It reminded me again of how much I really dislike driving. The entire time I longed to be on two wheels.

So if I can remove this plate thing (which I am pretty sure I can), I’ll have to take it to Mechanicsburg and get the tire replaced. Thankfully, they’re open on Mondays.

I’m sure I’ll follow up on this before too long.

1. Sorry about this, but I couldn’t resist.

But this morning, I woke up in a familiar place for the first time in nearly three months (well, if you don’t count the day before… hm). And that was pretty nice.

I packed up my stuff, ate a small breakfast and said goodbye to two amazing people, promising to be back a couple of times before leaving for Seattle.

The plan was to stick to the back roads. First, National Road. I did it for a bit. There was no fanfare crossing into Pennsylvania. I sneaked in the back, I guess. Not even a sign. Nothing, really. I was going to take a picture of my triumphant return, but nope.

No big deal.

Route 40/National Road is usually pretty nice. But today it was busy and as soon as I got into PA, people started to yell at me.

Seriously. I don’t know what it is about this crummy state, but I haven’t really had anyone just yell at me this entire trip. But in PA, several shirtless men in trucks yelled at me. Maybe it was Shirtless Yelling Man Day or something.

I had to take the interstate a couple of times. Not had to, really, but did. But I didn’t linger too awfully long. I even did a little exploration of the town of Brownsville. A few months ago, I passed through it on a Sunday evening. It was dead. So I figured that I should go back and get some better, daytime pictures of it.

Today, I rode through it and it was actually busy. Not the businesses, of course. Those are boarded up. But Main Street was stacked with cars. Oh, and stacked with shirtless guys in trucks yelling at me. This happened twice.

It was also here that I saw one of the paint by numbers that I’ve been looking for. It’s unofficially titled “Touchdown Jesus.” It was in the window of a storefront that may have been turned into a church or something. The sign read: Travels with Jesus. I’m not really sure what it was, but seeing Touchdown Jesus made my day. I wish it were for sale. But nobody seemed to be around.

I rode on.

Around Uniontown, I headed north to US 30. I had around 160 miles under by belt and was beat. The day’s rest at Rati and Dwija’s helped a bunch, but I’m still really spent. I considered taking the interstate, but stuck with the Lincoln Highway.

At an overlook, I met two motorcyclists, one who had ridden up from Fort Worth, Texas. They were brothers, Ray and Warren (I think). Ray was the traveler, visiting Warren and the rest of his family. We chatted for a bit, exchanging road stories.

Oddly enough, that invigorated me and allowed me to push on towards New Berlin.

It didn’t, however, keep me off of I-99. I was going to take US 522 north, but decided to shorten the trip a bit and take the newish I-99. It’s funny how afraid I was of interstates before this trip. And though I didn’t take many during it, the few that I took make the ones we have around here seem easy and carefree.

I took the superslab to near State College and then US 322 to PA 45, roads I’ve taken many time before. It was easy to just zone out.

After about an hour and a half of all that, I rolled into New Berlin, my hometown.

I could go on about how everything seemed so much smaller, but honestly, it all just seems the same. And it seems like I’ve only been gone a few moments. Nothing much, if anything at all, has changed.

That’s not really a bad thing. It’s almost like time stopped for me to make this trip. Sure, it was April when I left and it’s nearly August now, but still, a few months in a small town makes very little difference.

There wasn’t anyone to greet me when I arrived home. Just like there wasn’t anyone to see me off. I’m very ok with that. It seems fitting. I don’t like big to-do’s. I left and came back to very little attention.

And to make things even more normal, the first thing I did was had bad Chinese food with Sarah. Just like I did the night before I left.

So here I am. Back in Pennsylvania after twelve weeks of scootering around the country.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who helped out along the way, to the folks who gave me directions, to the folks who gave me a place to crash.

And thanks to everyone who read this. I’m not really sure why you’d bother, but I’m glad you did.

I’m planing on making one more post in the next couple of days… so stay tuned.

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 360
Miles total: 11,052

So the grand total is 11, 052. If you add in the miles via that horrible PT Cruiser (1,976 miles), it’s: 13,028. I’ve traveled over 13 thousand miles since I left. That’s pretty fun.

Out west, the interstates are extremely fast. Add in a head wind and you’ve got a 50mph death trap surrounded by other death traps moving at around 80mph. But heading east, the wind was behind me. Throw in high gas prices making everyone drive slower (I’m just speculating about that, but I think it’s true – people are driving slower… or I somehow got faster).

Well, I did get a little faster due to the tail wind. I was drafting trucks a lot of the way, as well. A fun little game to play is get about three car lengths behind a semi, so that you’re in his slip stream, but not too close. And when another semi is passing both of you, hit the gas. The scooter will take full advantage of the slip stream. Right when you get about one car length from the semi in front of you, the semi to your left will just be passing. Do a quick lane shift and you’re riding at 80mph behind a huge truck giving you zero wind resistance. It’s pretty fun!

Sure, a little dangerous, but I’m riding a scooter across the country… so… where’s the line?

I rode around Columbus. Not like around the streets, but physically around it. I used to live there and I’m not sure I really like the place. I kept my respectful distance and rode on. From a bit before Columbus to Wheeling, I took the interstates. It was probably 150 miles or so. Maybe a little more (took US 33 to the beltway and that’s rather interstate-like).

I got to Wheeling just as quickly as if I were in a car. Very few cars passed me. Usually, it was the other way around.

After a windy (with turns and bends) West Virginia State Route 88, I found myself on US 250 and then Palace Road on my way to Rati and Dwija’s. Just a little bit after 12 noon. Fast!

I had quite an amazing ride – when you take into account it was all on the interstates and if I don’t think about bypassing half a state worth of the historic National Road.

Thursday, I’ll be here and then Friday I’ll leave, finishing out the trip. Crazy that it’s over. . .

Miles today: 283
Miles total: 10,692

In Wisconsin, I tried to take Great River Road, but it was blocked due to construction. I picked it up later, but it was after it moved away from the Mississippi. A little later, I rode by another wacky grotto. I stopped and got some pictures. I love weird stuff like this.

This grotto had an unsettling patriotism thing going on. I’m not really sure why. I’m not at all sure what patriotism has to do with God. Actually, I am sure. It has nothing to do with God. But when you mix the two, nothing good ever comes of it. Ever. I’ve never really found much good in or use for patriotism, mixed with other stuff or taken straight.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I obviously love this country (small “c”). I love the land and the people. I adore it. But the government, the borders, the insane foreign policy, the republican and democrats and all that horrible nonsense – I have no place for it.

And when I see patriotism mixed with religion, it just bugs me. Religion and spirituality are supposed to uplift us and fill us with love of God, not love of country. Love of God is obviously higher than love of country, yet so many churches and religious institutions focus on patriotism instead of actually teaching something that could help us. It’s a shame.

Jesus had tons of wonderful teachings. None of them had anything to do with patriotism.

Bah, I had it all thought out in my head. It’s what I do when I’m riding. I’ve got a lot of time to think and stuff almost always sounds better with the rush of wind.

As I crossed over into Illinois, I found myself in Galena. General Grant lived here before and after the war. I visited his house. There was a monument to his wife… that was sort of weird.

But I couldn’t stay long. I had to make time. I don’t like traveling this way, but I’m good at it. I have this weird level of endurance for travel. I spent 11 hours on the bike today. That’s been pretty normal on this return trip. I didn’t do as many miles today as I have been doing, but that’s because of trying to get through the Chicago/Joliet area.

Being back in Joliet (third time this year) was nice. Sort of nice. Well, it could have been nice. It was nice going through it on the Lincoln Highway. Slow, but nice. Again, west to east – not such a great thing!

And after that, it was Route 30 to Ft. Wayne and then US 33 to Decatur, Indiana. And that’s mostly just like an interstate. Fast, but not a whole lot of fun.

Tomorrow I’ll be taking US 33 to Columbus. I used to live in Columbus, but I don’t think I’ll be visiting. And then I shall I-70 to Wheeling, where I also used to live. I used to travel between Columbus and Wheeling (New Vrndavana, actually) quite often.

While on I-70, I’ll have the opportunity to take old sections of the National Road. We’ll see if I take it.

Here are my pics!

Miles today: 470
Miles total: 10,409 (woo!)

Today’s big thing was the Alvin Straight ride. But to get to Laurens, Iowa, where he lived and started his journey, I had to get out of South Dakota. I had a few options, but ended up taking Route 15 south out of town.

Route 15 South, no matter where it is, is a tough ride. Route 15 South along the Susquehanna River is horrible. I hate it. And Route 15 South out of Milbank, South Dakota is just as bad.

Well… maybe not.

But there are a lot of cornfields in this part of the world.

And it’s flat. Really flat. Hm. Actually, no. it’s not flat, really flat. It’s got hills and swells. It just seems flat.

South Dakota didn’t last long this morning. Soon it gave way to US 212 to Minnesota. Now, I’ve never been in Minnesota before, but it’s where MST3K comes from, so it can’t be all bad.

This, however, wasn’t the place in Minnesota where MST3K came from. It was just like South Dakota, except there were towns.

Quite a lot of towns, actually. And I stopped in a few, took some pictures, got the feel of the place. It was nice. Definitely not somewhere where I could live, but still… nice.

I passed through Canby and Marshall and Slaytown. Each town seems to have been founded by a different nationality. Ghent, for example, seems to have been founded by the Belgiums who are also good at whatever rolle bolle is. Ghent is the world capitol of rolle bolle. Ghent has a population of 315 and isn’t even on my map.

I then found myself on the interstate passing truckers. I wish I could see the look on their faces when a red little Vespa passes them.

At exit 64, I headed south into the heart of northern Iowa. I’ve been through Iowa before, but that was on an interstate coming back from the 2004 trip with Ashley and Nikki. We ate at some horrible Chinese place somewhere. That was when we did Devil’s Tower, WY to Lewisburg, PA via a night in Pioria in two days, a distance of over 1,750 miles, in just two days.

So yeah, I’ve been to Iowa. But not like today. Today I got to really see Iowa. And I can understand why folks live here. I don’t think I ever could myself, but I get it. It’s a really nice, down home and comfortable sort of place.

But today was going to be a real Iowa experience. I was going to try my best to follow the route that I thought Alvin Straight took to visit his brother in Wisconsin. You may have heard of him, but if not, I’ll give a quick summary…

Alvin Straight lived quietly until he went on an unusual journey that put him in the spotlight. The Laurens resident took a 240-mile road trip -on a lawn mower. At 73, Straight wanted to see his brother, Henry, whom he hadn’t spoken to for almost a decade. The 80-year-old brother was ill in Wisconsin after suffering a stroke.

Straight didn’t trust public transportation and could not drive a car because he had limited vision and no driver’s license. So he decided to drive a 1966 John Deere mower to Wisconsin. On July 5, 1994, he loaded a 10-foot trailer with gasoline, food, clothes and camping equipment. He hitched it to the mower and started out from Laurens.

The mower’s top speed was 5 mph, and the trip along back roads took nearly six weeks. Straight endured rainy weather and breakdowns. The odyssey made headlines. Straight didn’t like finding himself the object of attention.
-The Des Moines Register

When I pulled into Laurens, Iowa, it was just as I had pictured it (thanks to David Lynch, I guess). But I was half expecting a sign or memorial or something. But tiny Laurens gave up nothing. Alvin was definitely Laurens’s most famous resident, but not even a sign? Shame.

And while I didn’t know the exact route to take, I did my best at piecing together something. It’s been years since I watched the movie, which was filmed on location and I’m sure has many clues as to how to follow it. In retrospect, I should have watched it while planning this.

I didn’t, however. I followed the roads pretty well, assuming where Alvin would have driven the John Deere. It was mostly speculation on my part. Also, I’m sure the roads have been changed a little in the past ten or so years. I know US 18 has.

Most everything made sense by the time I pulled into West Bend, where the Grotto of the Redemption is. The Grotto and its creator Father Paul Dobberstein. He fell ill in 1912 and decided to build a shrine to the Virgin Mary. 42 years later, he was finished. You can read all about it here (and you should).

I was planning on just riding by the Grotto, but as I did that, I knew I just had to poke around inside.

I took a ton of pictures, so please check them out. It was amazing. He did most (all?) of it on his own. Crazy? Maybe. But well worth it. The world is definitely full of religious nutjobs trying to ruin it for the rest of us. I’m glad that there are some, in this case, Father Dobberstein, who put that nutjobbery to good use and make the world a better place.

There was a tour I could have taken, but I was running late and had to keep up the pace.

But just when I thought I was back on the road, I stumble upon Britt, Iowa. I had to gas up, so I pulled into the nearest gas station. That was under the big early 60′s era sign that read: BRITT – National Hobo Convention.

No, I’m not a hobo (more of a tramp, I guess), but I’ve always been really intrigued by them. So this must be where the hobos have… or had… their national convention. Interesting.

I look to my left and see another sign: National Hobo Museum. I couldn’t pass this up.

At the end of Britt’s main street was a little movie theater. For some reason, I love old movie theaters and take pictures of them whenever I see one. I pulled over to take its picture, but on the marque it read: Hobo Museum.

I paid my two bucks and checked it out.

Tons of pictures were taken of this so, again, check them out. The old theater was mostly intact. Even a few of the seats remained. Almost all of the space was for rustic displays of hobo art and paraphernalia. Famous hobos have donated tons of their stuff for us to check out. I was thrilled.

You can read more about the museum here.

After I spent a bit too much time there (worth it), I really had to beat cheeks. By this point, the Alvin Straight idea had fallen apart.

US 18 turned into a four lane and I couldn’t find the old routing and wasn’t even sure if he took it anyway. I basically gave up. There are a few places where he might have gone that I visited along the rest of my day, but my research into this was poor.

However, I’m ridiculously happy that I got to see Laurens and that I got to travel on some of the route. Next time (I wonder if I actually hope there is a next time), I’ll be better prepared.

Several detours later and I was on US 18 again, descending into the Mississippi valley.

I crossed and was in Wisconsin!

This was a pretty big moment for me. I have never been in Wisconsin before. And prior to entering Wisconsin, I had been in 47 of the 48 continental United States. Wisconsin was it! I have been to ALL of the lower 48 states! Thank Wisconsin! Happy 48th to you and me!

I’m staying the night in a funky little town called Prairie du Chien. There seems to have been a War of 1812 Battle here. It was a British (Canadian) victory, eh.

The motel I’m in is really nice. I think it might be one of the best of the whole trip. One of the cheapest too. I visited the Piggly Wiggly and got some strawberries that are almost edible and some chips. Grape juice too!

Today was a really fun day. I wish I would have known!

Here are my pics!

Miles today: 503
Miles total: 9,939

First, let’s talk about birthdays. Today is my sister, Amy’s, birthday. Happy Birthday, Amy. And tomorrow is Cole’s. Happy Birthday to you, Cole! And tomorrow is also my parents’ anniversary. A very merry anniversary to them!

And for me, today was pretty. But also grueling. There’s something about riding 500+ miles a day that really really does something. I’m just not sure what that something is.

One thing that I’m lacking is good food. Take tonight, for example. I’m staying in a town called Milbank, South Dakota. There is no grocery store here. Also no cell coverage. It being Sunday night doesn’t help. Everything is closed.

I basically hate the mid-west, and oddly enough, the Dakotas are indeed the mid-west.

You know what? I shouldn’t have left Seattle. I wasn’t ready to travel and now I’ve done over 1,100 miles in two days, I’ve not eaten and I basically feel horrible. Seriously, if you don’t want to travel, don’t. Now all I want to do is get home. And when I get home, I’ll not be all that happy – I hate humidity and it’ll be August in Pennsylvania.

I’m tired and cranky.

The morning was foggy. The afternoon was hot. The evening never came.

I rode along the Missouri River Valley and wished I didn’t have to travel the mid-west. I tried to think of a way to get around it – maybe dipping down to Missouri, following the river, but that wouldn’t work.

Mostly, I just want to get home. But I shouldn’t want that. And essentially, I don’t want that. I want to travel. Just not here. In some ways, I want this trip to end. It’s nearly twice its original length. That’s pretty good in a “milk it for all you can” sort of way.

But in other ways, I don’t want it to end. Not in three days, not in a week or a month. I think back on all those amazing times I’ve had and, though some seem like a lifetime ago, I wish I could be there now. But instead, I’m riding through Iowa tomorrow. Instead of traveling the country, I’m “returning home.” There’s a big difference.

“Traveling the country” means east to west. “Returning home” means west to east.

And that’s another thing that’s been bothering me. You shouldn’t see the country going west to east.

I know it seems dumb – it’s the same roads, the same places, no matter which way you go, right? Sort of.

In America, everything moves east to west. That’s how the westward expansion happened. That’s how life for eastcoasters often happens. We move from the east to the west. All the trips I’ve done across the country were from east to west. Going back didn’t matter. I didn’t care how I got back.

And now, it’s the same thing. I shouldn’t be upset or surprised. It’s what I do, it feels natural.

When all this is over, I will miss it very much. Each day, even on the return trip, is a day full of things I’ve never seen before. It’s full of things I will probably never see again. This is a great, wondrous continent! And even in my grumpiness, I still realize that. I’m beat. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m ready to stop traveling.

But still, I’m going to miss this.

Maybe in a few weeks I’ll ride to New England. I hope so. I hope I want to at that point. If I do, I’ll be sure to write about it here.

And I apologize for not really telling you about my day. However, this was my day. For the logistics, you can see my pictures. My descriptions are the descriptions of someone who flew by a whole lot of everything. The Dakotas have nice hills. They’re like the mid-west with nice hills.

At this rate, I’ll be in West Virginia by Wednesday and Pennsylvania by Friday. I apologize to the readers if they were hoping for a fun-filled return trip. So was I. I should have known better though. It’s never fun going back.

But it’s always fun riding… and that’s why I can’t wait for tomorrow!

You can see my pictures here.

Miles today: 555
Miles total: 9,436

I didn’t really get that much sleep last night. It was cold. Really cold. I woke up to 40 degrees. The sun was sort of out-ish and I wandered to the bathroom to shower.

And so begins another day on the road. I think I must have written the above paragraph more than a handful of times. It’s been a pretty cold trip.

But unlike the other times, I didn’t have any colder riding gear. I mailed home my winter gloves. So by about ten miles into it, my fingers were numb.

I was taking US 2 around Glacier National Park. And I’m glad that I did because along the whole way, I was right next to a BNSF Rail line. And I got to see tons of trains pulling up the continental divide! Sure, it’s not super exciting to all that many people, but it made my cold little morning a bit warmer.

So did finding the Izaak Walton Inn. It was built by the Railroad to take care of those who worked at the yard where the helper engines would wait to push the eastbounds up the hill. Now it’s just a normal Hotel, but with a great view of the trains.

I parked and took it in. Thanks!

It was also a great place to warm up. I didn’t go inside or anything, but not cruising along at 70mph, you tend to warm up.

I even checked out a few cabooses that are now being used as cabins. Lucky folks.

And then it was up and over the divide for the FOURTH time on my trip. There was a monument to Teddy Roosevelt (who I am seriously not a huge fan of and would gladly burn in effigy). There was a little rest area which I took advantage of. And then it was back on the road.

This is all being written very sloppily and I apologize.

Somewhere east of East Glacier, the cup holder on my glovebox gives way for only the second time on my trip. That’s not bad considering what I put it through. My poor water bottle falls to the road and in my rear view I see it tumbling end over end and spinning to the side of Route 2. I return for it since it’s my only water source. The bottle has seen better days (as have I), but both it and myself are as fine as can be expected.

Shortly thereafter I found Camp Disappointment. Lewis & Clark stopped here (or at least Lewis) and found it to be fairly crappy. Thus the name. It’s sort of depressing. But there’s a great monument to it on a hill with some fairly old graffiti.

Here I ate my breakfast.

Until this point, I had an incredibly horrible headache. I’m not sure why, but after the stop at Camp Disappointment it went away.

And though I’ve failed to say so, I’ve had headaches every day since leaving Seattle. Just like I had a headache after leaving SLC and Berkeley. I’m not sure what this means, but it’s the truth. But three headaches in three days is no good at all.

Here is where the straight-flat part of the day started. Oh, it was probably around Shelby, Montana. Here, the towns ran together. I entertained myself by tracing, with my eyes, the old alignments of Route 2. Nothing really all that interesting except in a few spots. But even that just followed the railroad.

There are tons of little towns along Route 2. Most of them are farming and railroad towns.

My planned stop for the day was Malta. But I reached it at 1:30pm and figured that I should probably keep going.

I found out that, including small stops for gas and bathroom breaks, I was averaging about 50 miles every hour (which is sort of different than 50mph). When I was at speed, I was doing about 70mph, sometimes more if I could get behind a truck. But when you figure in the stops, I could do about 50 miles in one hour.

Route 2 follows the Milk River for quite a long time, even crossing it on several occasions.

Unlike like Route 66, US 2 doesn’t have a whole lot of kitsch. On 66, you can enter almost any town and find something fun. On Route 2, most of the towns are off the road (sometimes the newer alignment of US 2 bypassed the town, sometimes it just never went through it). I entered a few, but there was precious little to see.

Sometimes I got lucky, like with this dinosaur thing. Dinos are kind of big out here. I’m not sure if they ever lived in these parts, but giant horses and woolly mammoths did! That’s pretty cool. And it wasn’t that long ago either!

The towns were mostly depressed. Kind of depressing too.

I kept an eye on the sky and was checking out a steadily growing cloud formation. I wasn’t sure if something was going to come of it, but it gathered quickly.

I rode through Glasgow and Wolf Point. I was nearing the end of Montana and ready for another new (to me) state! As I hit Colbertson, I was ready to call it a day.

There were a few motels, but nothing really did it for me. I rode on.

The closer I got to the border, the higher the mile markers got. 654, 655, 656… “only ten miles till what would be the coolest mile marker ever known to man!” But I figured Montana would end before it hit the mythical “666.”

I was sort of right.

My odometer is actually fairly accurate. My speedometer, however, isn’t – it’s optimistic. Meaning, if it says I’m going 75, I’m probably going 70. That means if my odometer was reading that I traveled a mile, it would actually be a little less (though, somehow, it’s accurate).

I kept track of the mile markers to see how closely they matched my odometer. They matched perfectly. I was surprised.

They matched perfectly until about mile marker 662. It was short by a tenth of a mile. And when 663 came around, it too was short by a tenth of a mile. The same was true for 664 and 665. And as I descended a small hill, there it was, mile marker 666, less than a quarter mile from the border. Woo!

Ok, so do you know what this means? It means that someone in the Department of Transportation squeezed in mile marker 666. There is no 667. Technically, there shouldn’t be a 666. North Dakota should begin a little over a half mile after 665.

Someone in Montana’s Department of Transportation is my new favorite person ever.

Oh and then there was North Dakota. Williston was my destination. Smartz did a little footwork and found the stupidly named Airport International Inn. The International Airport, next door to the Airport International Inn, makes short flights to Canada.

But what I pulled into hardly seemed like a motel.

Yes, welcome to the Williston Area Junior College. Founded in 1968, WAJC offers classes in High School, TV/VCR Repair, Computer Programming, Child Day Care, Auto Mechanics, Bookkeeping, Learning the Personal Computer, Electrician, Legal Assistant, Veterinary Assistant, Interior Decorator, Medical/Dental Office, Gun Repair, Hotel/Restaurant Management, or get your degree.¹

Check out their dorms!

I can’t wait to enroll! My roommie and I are going to be the bestest friends ever! We’ll hang out after class and sneak cheap beer into the room! I sure hope our RA doesn’t catch us!

I can’t wait to hang up my Doors poster!!

Yes folks, this hotel is indeed as crappy as it seems. From its stupid name to its amazingly unhelpful girl at the front desk, if you have any desire to not shoot yourself in the face, do NOT stay at the Airport International Inn.

And with that said… Goodnight.

Here are today’s pics!

Miles today: 554
Miles total: 8,881

1. Anyone have any idea what I’m talking about?