This is the blog that I kept while planning and riding Scoot 66, a three month, 11,000 mile journey on a Vespa motorscooter. There’s quite a lot to read here, but below is a summary.

If you would like to read the posts in the order they were posted, look to your right and select “Sort by date ASC.”

Happy exploring!

May
This was the start of the trip that would change everything. After a couple days tramping around the hills of West Virginia, I departed on May third.

Weather would mar my trip for the first several weeks. The first day was no exception. Rain through Ohio, and then wind and then rain again at night as I searched endlessly for a cheap motel. Eventually I found one.

Route 66 was the main inspiration for this trip. It started in Chicago, and that’s where I headed on the second day. It was my great fortune that it was sunny and springlike. The next day, riding across Illinois, was also sunny and nice.

I crossed the Mississippi. Missouri and I get along very well. Another fairly beautiful day.

Day Eight of my trip was a wash. It rained all day. I have never seen so much rain before or since. It came in sheets and I was nearly swimming through the air. On Day Eight, I had my only accident of the trip. The rain became so intense, so sudden that I could not see and didn’t make a turn, winding up in a ditch. Thankfully a family came along and dragged me out. There was no damage to anything but ego.

I retired for the night, only riding 100 miles, in the small college town of Rolla.

Rain marked the next day and the next as I rode through the rest of Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma. The weather was still a factor, I was just lucky. I missed a deadly tornado that leveled a town I rode through by a day. By the night of Day Eleven, I was in OKC, ready for a break.

I had originally planned a side trip here, but shortened it, staying in OKC for a few nights.

Finally rested and fully dried out, I hit the road, falling in love with Route 66 through Oklahoma. This is a very underrated section. Sun, rain, dirt roads, getting lost, hippies and fun were all in store for me through western Oklahoma, into Texas. Texas is unforgiving and relentless and I love it. And it rained. Big, Texas rain. And the temperatures dropped into the low 40s.

Each night I was having to dry out everything I owned. Not because I didn’t plan for rain, believe me, I did. But even rain gear gets soaked and needs to dry. All day rains are tiering. And going into New Mexico, snow started to appear on the mountains. Visions of the Donner Party wiggled through my head.

But thankfully I escaped without having to eat my own arm to survive. No snow (yet), but wind was becoming a factor.

I fell deeply in love with Albuquerque and a wonderful family I met and stayed with there. I crashed for a few days, took in the local sites, hung out with some of my new favorite people ever and generally had a blast.

I was sad to leave, but had to (though I’d be back). Here is where the wind became a real issue. Actually no, here is where I figured it would be, but only caused minor issues, like blowing my tent down all throughout the night.

By the time I got to Arizona, the wind was amazing. It’s nearly impossible to ride into 40mph sustained winds and make good time or gas mileage. Both suffered. It’s also exhausting. And then there were the dust storms. Huge, billowing clouds of swirling, pissed off dirt kicked my white ass across Arizona.

Day 23 brought all sort of fun weather: wind, rain, snow, cold. It was a riding nightmare, but the scenery and stops were worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The day ended in Flagstaff with flurries flying and temperatures dropping to the low 30s as I rode around looking for a place to eat. No camping tonight.

I awoke to several inches of snow, that held me up for a bit. It soon melted, but more storms greeted me throughout the day. Riding in snow is not very possible. I did my best and ended the day short, which was fine by me.

Route 66 was winding down. Only the rest of Arizona and California to get through. Day 25 was cold at first, but as I wound my way up to Oatman and down the other side into the Colorado River valley and then into Needles, the temps rose, though it wasn’t the 119F that I experienced the last time I was through here in 2006.

It would be nice if Route 66 ended in the Mojave. I love that place. It wasn’t hot and was just an enjoyable ride with a little desert rain. The next day was LA. I hate LA. I blew through it, very unceremoniously ending Route 66 and headed north on California One.

My plan was to make it to Big Sur the next day, but decided instead to head to Berkeley to visit Cole and Josh.

Though I don’t really care much for Berkeley, I had a great time thanks to my hosts. We saw the sights and even some big trees and a fault line and met the Great California Sky Whale! It was a delightful way to end the month of May.

June!
The first few days of June were spent in Berkeley with more fun, but finally it was time to say goodbye to California, climbing the Sierra-Nevadas and visiting Donner Pass. I took Route 50 through Nevada. It’s called The Loneliest Road in America, but isn’t. There are “worse.” This was, however, one of my favorite stretches of road on the trip so far.

It took me through the long valleys where you could see twenty miles of road in front of you, to mountains and finally to the salt flats of Utah. I wound up in Salt Lake City after a brief stop over at the Hare Krishna temple way the hell outside of town.

I stayed with friends, Mandy and Earl, dropped my scooter off to be serviced and picked up a rental car (which turned out to be an evil white PT Cruiser). Smartz joined the trip for a few days and we first drove up north a bit to see the Spiral Jetty and some train stuff. We then headed south for some wild west style fun. We spend the next handful of days hanging out in Albuquerque pondering what to do after Scoot 66 ended. We knew we were moving, just weren’t sure where. Albuquerque? Sure seemed nice.

We drove back to SLC and then Smartz flew out the next morning. I stayed for a day and then was off north through northern Utah and bits of Idaho and Wyoming.

Riding through Idaho, I discovered that I loved Idaho. Would never ever want to live there, but couldn’t wait to visit again. Idaho seems to contain bits of almost every state. From rocky mountains to white water rivers to deserts to thick forests and everything in between. I also discovered that I really dug the Oregon Trail, and followed a segment of it for a spell, however, not into Oregon.

By Day 54, I had been on the road twelve days longer than I thought that I would be… and I was only in Portland, a place that I didn’t even plan on visiting. The trip evolved on its own, naturally. The longer I was out, the longer I wanted to be out.

I could only stay for a few days in Portland, visiting Ashley, a traveling companion from 2004. Portland was my favorite town of the trip. We passed a very happy day there, picking strawberries and wandering the streets. Maybe I would move here. It was a plan. Love for a city makes you do wacky things. The next day, I fell in love with it even more. I did every but promise Ashley that I would move there. Hell, maybe I even did that. And I still might, who knows. Life is long.

I did not want to leave Portland to go to Seattle. But I did want to go to Seattle. I just didn’t want to ride there. I planned a fun, elaborate all-day ride. But I was worn out and said “eff it” and took the interstate.

The last day of June was a day off in Seattle. There would be many more of those days off to come.

July!!
At the very latest, I was to be home in early July. Instead, I spent the next two and a half weeks in Seattle. Mostly, it was so that I could get my scooter repaired – there was some drama associated with that. There was a lot of money associated with that as well.

I stayed with Ryan and Jaime and Jeff. We are old friends. Pretty much the oldest I have. I’ve known them since I was 18. We didn’t grow up together, really, but in a way we did and are still.

I can’t say that I fell in love with Seattle. Not yet. But I fell in love with being around such good, old friends. The plans once more had changed. I was moving to Seattle.

Now if only I could get back on the road!

By Day 78 of what was originally a 42 day trip, I was again on the road, heading through eastern Washington. The next day, I picked up the pace a bit. It’s not that I wanted to be back in PA, I was just tired from traveling and had a whole continent to cross as quickly as possible.

Montana and North Dakota were really fun to ride across. I was doing about 500 miles each day, which is quite a lot on a Vespa. South Dakota was as well. It was also fun hitting states that I had never been to before. Minnesota flew by. I hardly remember it.

But Iowa was like the mid-west’s answer to Idaho! I know that doesn’t sound too appealing to most, but trust me, there’s a lot of fun to be had in both!

That evening, I crossed into Wisconsin. I had never been to Wisconsin before, so yes, yet another new state… and my last of the 48. I have now visited every single one of the lower 48 states. Of my many fairly pointless accomplishments, this is one of my favorites.

I zoom through Wisconsin, Illinois and Indiana, wiggling closer and closer to home. Though it would not be home for long.

The next day, I was back at Rati and Dwija’s. Home? Pretty much.

Day 86 was the last day of Scoot 66. It was twice as long as originally planned and probably twice as fun.

There had been no major mechanical problems on the trip. It was smooth sailing (save for the small crash in Missouri). I didn’t even get a flat tire.

That is, until the day after I returned. Thank you, dear universe, for sparing me.

And thank you, dear readers, for getting this far. May through July of 2008 were life-changing for me. I wish I could have summed it up in fewer words so that more than a very small handful could read it, but hey, I’m not into the whole brevity thing.

I’ve been trying to think of a way to sum this whole thing up, some way to put it all so quaintly and nicely. Maybe something philosophical – my own Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, or some crap like that.

But the only thing I can think is “it’s over.”

And that can be taken in a few ways. Neither way is so cut and dry. While there’s the “thank god it’s over” mental faction, there’s also the “I’m sorry to see that it’s over” bits. And neither make a whole lot of sense.

By the time I rode through Columbus into Wheeling, I was tired. I was physically and mentally exhausted. Being at the farm certainly rejuvenated me a bit, but the ride back to Pennsylvania and the bad luck on the day after through me back into full exhaustion mode.

I feel bad, since I’ve been back I’ve not seen too many people and have been really crappy at keeping in contact (on the road, I was regulated and very good at it). I don’t know if that’s part of the exhaustion or just part of not being really all that regulated. Maybe a bit of both.

So what are my future plans?

For now, I’m living in Central Pennsylvania for the rest of the summer. While here, I plan on riding a lot, seeing some movies, visiting some friends, visiting New Vrndavana, selling some stuff (car, some books, some shelves) and basically getting ready to move to Seattle.

I had planned on a trip to New England. That is officially uncertain. I just don’t know if I have the money. I’m trying to not let the exhaustion be a factor, but it is. Though money is a bigger issue.

Well, I guess that’s about it. I made it. Thanks to everyone who read along. I’m sorry that I don’t have much more to say. I’ll be resuming my regular blog shortly.

The only thing left is for Harley and Annabelle to sing us on out…

On my first day back, I had a party to go to. Unlike most parties that happen in the evening, this one started at 9am. So, vowing to attend and not wanting to do so in a car, I hopped on the Vespa and attempted to ride the 30 or so miles to Montour Preserve.

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 said that I was going to make a final post. This isn’t it, it’s just a little aside. Thought you might find it funny. Or ironic or something.

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

I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Rati, Dwija and I were up till well after 1am. I wish I could have stayed longer.

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.

Howdy.

And on this, the next to last day of the trip, I have decided upon the route which I will take back to central Pennsylvania.

Ready?

Ok. I will leave Wheeling via National Road (US 40). I’ll take it east into Pennsylvania, through Brownsville and Uniontown into Maryland. In Maryland, I’ll continue on National Road (US 40) to US 219. I’ve never been on US 219 before. I shall take it north to Berlin.

And then PA 160 will connect me to the Lincoln Highway (US 30) east, which will take me to US 522 north and then PA 35 north. Woo!

Thanks to mom and Calder. Prepare for a bunch of pics (I hope).

Calder, when do you return to the land of the free, home of the brave? WHEN?!

The trip from Decatur to Wheeling went by rather quickly. This is mostly due to interstates. Now, as the entire trip has show, I don’t like interstates. But I do admit they serve a purpose. I didn’t realize that they served such a purpose to a scooter.

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

Right now I’m about to head out the door to Wheeling, WV, my last stop on the trip. I’ll be there for but a day. On Friday morning I’ll be heading out to New Berlin, PA.

But how will I get there?

You, dear readers, should pick it.

The choices are (everything starts with US 40)

-US 40/National Road to US 522 North (goes into Maryland )
-US 40/National Road to US 30/Lincoln Highway to US 522 North (basically how I got to Wheeling at the start of my trip)
-US 40/National Road to US 11 through Shippensburg and Carlise.
-US 40/National Road to US 22 to PA 45 (hilly and rural)
-Or some other fun combination.

Anyone? I plan on making a day of it. Interstates are not out of the question to quickly change routes, but I’d rather keep off of them for longer stints.

So check out a map and get back to me. I’ll be leaving Wheeling on Friday morning.

It’s all winding down, isn’t it? Today was quite a long day, but mostly it was a riding day. Sure, I saw a few cool things. And yeah, I rode along the Lincoln Highway, Yellowstone Trail and Route 66. But since it was a riding day, I didn’t really get to play around with that too much.

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!)

No, really. I had fun today. Who would have thought?

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

Or more.

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