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The 3000 Mile Leap by Gary Lapointe
The 3000 Mile Leap
by Gary Lapointe
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How does a person who hates flying, end up sitting on a plane heading across the country to ride home solo on an eighteen year old motorcycle? Well, there has to be a strong desire to ride of course, and that has a lot to do with it, but at that stage of the game fear would have to be replaced with faith. This story is just as much about faith as it is about the ride.
When I got back into riding after a 20-year lay off in 1997; I started with a 1981 Yamaha XS650 special. I got it from some guy who had dropped it and got spooked after the rear tire kicked out from under him while starting across some railroad tracks. The perfect bike for my situation. No need for speed, just a good rush from the hard pulling twin and a soothing rumble that made the 20 mile back road trip to work a real pleasure.
Soon however I found myself looking for more. The 650 was great as long as you kept it under 55. Anything faster and the vibration tended to drive you mad. I eventually learned of another bike that Yamaha made during that era that would better suit my needs, the big XS1100. It came to my attention after visiting a motorcycle club web site run by a JP Honeywell where I could download most every article printed on all of the XS1100 models from way back when.
The XS1100 Midnight Special in particular got my interest not only because of it’s devilishly good looks but because everything I read about it made it clear that it was a silky smooth, vibration free bike. It also had enough power to satisfy even the most macho fools out there, not to say I am one (OK, once in awhile!).
After downloading many pictures of the Midnight Eleven from JP’s XS1100 Association site, the search was on. After three or four months of looking throughout the Massachusetts, Connecticut area, I learned two things about the bike. One, owners loved to ride them– the average mileage was above 30k on the odometer, and two, black chrome doesn’t hold up well in New England weather.
Oh well we all have our dreams, some things were just not meant to be. Or then again - once in awhile if you don’t give up hope, things align themselves to produce a situation greater than you may have imagined.
One night near the end of my web search efforts I had nothing better to do but check out exactly what the heck could possibly be in the last 50 pages or so of 2500 results during a web search for the Midnight. In dimming hope one night I came across a small online classified companion to a newspaper located in Lancaster. Lancaster? I knew of a couple of Lancasters in New England, but the palm trees in the ad site said warmer. Lancaster California is about 40 miles north of Los Angeles and just outside the Mojave Desert. Does dry come to mind?
When I got my first picture of the bike, my mind was set. Experience had told me of the rarity of the find. It only had 9900 on the odometer and would cost a sum more, but definitely worth it since I had no desire to put in endless hours on a restoration project.
My only problem would be – how to get it home?
Tom Gardiner is a good guy, an electrical engineer with a mind towards being meticulous. Not only did he perfectly preserve the bike based on my observations of the video he sent me, but he was willing to hold it in his care for three months until I could fly out in June to ride it home. Tom understood the experience it would be and after many communications, a deal of faith was made. Well, maybe the faith was more on my part since I had never met Tom yet I would trust his word while paying in advance, but Tom’s faith would have to be in his bike and whether it was good for the trip. I don’t believe either of us had any doubts. And so for three months I would plan my itinerary, as it seemed to take forever to get through the spring.
In the meantime I had contacted Mansoor Shafi, owner of RoadGear, a cycle accessory and apparel company. He helped me decide what I should bring for my trip. His online site was appealing because he tells his own story about his first cross-country trip and how it changed his life. Mansoor shipped my jacket, gloves, and tank bag to Tom so I would have less gear to haul. I also had a windshield and highway pegs shipped to him and he did a great job installing them. Thanks Tom.
The hardest part was the cross-country flight. I seriously doubt that the young couple siting across from me on the plane would stay seated there if they knew I had thoughts of throwing them out the hatch door next to us. They talked and I nodded with a smile all the while imagining them falling like stones back to the ground. I know it’s a weird response but I usually tell people about it, especially when they try to get me on a Ferris wheel. After that, they don’t ask again. In any case, after a couple of beers I was fine, and the second leg out of Mississippi to LAX (Los Angeles International airport) was no problem.
After barely catching my van out of LAX due to a baggage delay, I was full of adrenaline and happy to be closing in. After calling my wife on the cell phone, I stared out the window at the alien terrain that really gave me a sense of being a world away from home. No maples, no oaks, just sage brush and joshua trees. What a difference!
It was 12am on my watch (9pm West Coast) when I got to Lancaster. I didn’t adjust my watch because I wanted to know what time my body was at, and I expected it wouldn’t be long before I was in the same time zone again anyway. Tom picked me up with his son Brian, whom no doubt had been waiting to see what a crazy man looked like. When we got to Toms I was taken back by how perfect the bike really was. Good storage and the dry dessert air really does slow time down. At least for motorcycles. Windshield in place, footpegs on the crashbar, it was all just too right! I celebrated with Tom and his wife Roberta with a beer before I put on my new Jacket and gloves and tried the bike out. It helped that the handlebars and switches were similar to my 650 so there was not a big adjustment really. But I did feel the power and the smoothness. I couldn’t wait until the next morning to begin the big ride.
DAY ONE- June 21, 1998
Waving goodbye to Tom who was rudely awakened when I wanted to take some pictures, I left Lancaster and headed out to route 40. Originally I had planned to travel a bit of the old route 66 to catch some of that old sense of the way it was, but a feeling of urgency came over me to head home. The realization had come over me that I had been dropped off tired, 3000 miles away from home, with only one way back, the bike. Sight seeing would have to come as it would from the interstate, with my focus on getting home to my family, and along the way seeing if the bike was all it was cracked up to be. The day was clear with the sun really cranking up the heat as I made my way through the Mojave to interstate 40. With gas stations spaced every 30 miles or so, fuel wasn’t a problem and I gassed up often since the special had just 3.8 gals total. I didn’t want to get caught dry out in the desert. The heat was so incredible in some spots that I felt as though I was going through an oven. The jacket that Mansoor sold me was surprisingly comfortable. With the front and rear vents open the dry desert air did a good job of keeping me cool as long as I kept drinking water. I had read that I should keep the jacket on since the air is so dry it can actually dehydrate you if you don’t. As far as the heat goes, I wouldn’t have it any other way. What kind of experience would it be if the Mojave wasn’t hot when I went through?
Feet up on the highway pegs, the big engine proved to be just as smooth as I had read in all the articles I downloaded. There is no comparison between the 1100 and the 650. After a few hundred miles with no bike induced fatigue anywhere in my body, it became clear that a cross-country trip would be no problem for such a great bike. They may make better handling bikes now, but for the straight highway runs, Yamaha had a bike way ahead of its time in 1980. It was so smooth in comparison to my 650 that it took me hours to realize there was an oscillation in the front end. At that point I took a wheel weight off where it looked like there was too much and was amazed that the wheel smoothed out. Luck would prove to be on my side several times on this trip.
As I cruised into Arizona my energy levels were getting low, but I made the side trip to the Grand Canyon anyway. I saw pictures of the canyon before, but nothing compares to the real thing. Finally spent, I decided to finish up the first day in Flagstaff. I got caught with the sun going down and was surprised how cold it got as I put in the last thirty miles. Putting the cover on the bike I put in at a Best Western. I looked forward to Monday’s leg, which would take me into New Mexico and to a visit with an old army buddy I hadn’t seen in twenty years. First days mileage - 566 miles
DAY TWO -
Not really rested but still high from the first days ride, I got up at 8am and found I would have to wait for the local auto parts store to open to get oil. My watch was still a couple hours off the time zone. The heat from the Mojave had caused me to burn off almost ¾ of a quart. Luckily Tom had put in a synthetic blend which vaporized less. I would not burn much oil again in the trip.
Before leaving Arizona I would pick up some t-shirts and souvenirs for my family, and while the RoadGear jumbo tank bag was already loaded with stuff including quarts of cool water, It just kept on expanding as I put more things in it. This actually helped by bringing the map-reader closer to my eyes. I would rip a page out of my Rand McNally road atlas for each state as I went along and insert it into the reader, and then put the atlas back in my duffel bag which worked great as a back rest. I also kept my small digital radio in the reader and I could easily see the channel display and change channels by pressing the buttons through the reader face. The sun was still beautiful (and hot) on the second day and I would cherish the cool moments at rest stops along the way to New Mexico.
I had called Lawrence’s family in the morning to let them know I would be on time, but I almost go stranded in the desert on 50 miles outside of Albuquerque. The problem came from misjudging my consumption of gas. Up until then I had pretty much topped off the tank at ever other stop, but I had begun to stretch the intervals and got caught with my red light on in the middle of nowhere. Putting the petcocks on reserve I slowed my speed down to 60 mph to preserve gas.
I was really getting nervous as it seemed the red light was on way too long when I finally crested a hill with a gas station in sight a mile down the other side. Amazingly at that moment the engine was beginning to lose throttle and growl on the fumes. With God as a witness, I rolled to the pumps where the bike just died. I laughed out loud about my luck as a couple in a car smiled back while I spent a few minutes priming the carbs back up. It felt great pulling out of that station, but I would remain diligent and not let that happen again. I would eventually stop 35 times total for gas during the trip.
In Albuquerque, Lawrence and his wife Laura took me out to eat at a fine Mexican restaurant. We spoke of past and present, took pictures, and when it got cooler I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to get in more miles. That evening took me into Colorado up route 25. I rode on in the dark, as there was little in the way of lights to help me out. I would spend time following big rigs figuring that they would scare off any animals and if not, they could squash them for me. Totally drained, I pulled off at an exit north of Trinidad that advertised the "Hilltop Inn", which sounds a helluva lot better than it is. As I pulled off the road something with a very large wing span flew out at me and diverted just before I would have hit it. I think it was a turkey but I should have taken it as an omen and kept on going. After I had paid a very scary looking manager who had an even scarier looking mother, I unloaded my gear and opened the door to my room. When I heard a door close inside, I found that someone had just been in the room and had gone back through a door connecting the adjoining office. When I saw the unmade bed with a dent in the pillow and the full wastebasket in the dirty bathroom I decided it was too weird. Getting my money back and loading back up again I headed for Pueblo and made it into the city at around 1:30 AM. Those last miles were tough staying awake, but the bike was smooth and really spared me a lot of anguish, besides, after the episode at the motel, scenes from the movie "Deliverance" had begun to dance in my head so I was happy to get some distance behind me. Day two mileage - 664 miles.
DAY THREE -
I woke up around 7:30 and felt pretty dragged out. If that had been any other day I would have spent it on the couch tapping a couple naps to catch up. I would have to shake it off though if I were to stay on schedule. A decent breakfast and plenty of coffee got me going again, but I would never have believed when I first woke up that this would be the biggest day yet. Rolling through Colorado Springs and hitting Denver during morning commute time was fine. I even ran into another Holyoke ( I am from Holyoke, Ma.) as I was working my way up route 76 to Nebraska.
Nebraska has higher speed limits on route 80 so it made it easier to get across the flat and repetitive landscapes. I had to stop about thirty miles west of Omaha where I cooled off. While taking a power nap at a rest stop off the highway, the hot sun was replaced with patches of dark clouds. Soon on my radio, I heard the banks of clouds off to my north had carried in tornadoes. Four had been reported sighted so I decided to move on. It began to sprinkle and when I decided to put on my rain gear I noticed what appeared to be a tall circle dropping what I thought were ribbons of rain. I could see better with my sunglasses the form that the ribbons were taking, and when it was clear that they were spiraling I got on the bike and got the hell out of there. The timing had to be right because after a couple of miles the sprinkles disappeared. I would later see on the Weather Channel a huge funnel that was taped in the area where I had spotted the spiraling rain. In a way I wished I had stayed there long enough to witness a funnel if that’s what it was, but I also remember how I felt at that time and discretion may have been the better part of valor.
I stayed on the bike way too long that night. A truck driver who had seen me pass him in the afternoon was pretty surprised to see me at a rest stop late in the evening. At that point I had already put in over 600 miles for the day. But I would continue and have a very close call when an extension ladder fell off a pickup truck about 60 miles west of Des Moines in the wee hours of the morning. I saw the pickup pull into the breakdown lane a few hundred feet ahead with the ladder sliding sideways alongside the truck in front of me. The pickup effectively blocked my only path around the ladder and I didn’t know which way it would go. I think the fact that I was fatigued may have helped me. Too tired to panic, I simply watched the ladder and hoped it would give me some room to get around. If there was any time during the trip when the power of the eleven needed to avail itself, the next moment would be it. As the ladder continued to slide, it turned , and with the headlights of a big rig coming up in my mirrors I twisted the throttle. What happened next was pretty remarkable. Despite all the weight of myself and my gear, the bike picked up so fast that the ladder looked as though it was sitting for a photograph. I imagine the truck driver behind me was feeling some relief having witnessed the whole thing. After that situation I began to feel I had a friend in the bike.
I slowed it down a little bit after that and just a few miles later I came across the remains of a deer that had obviously been flattened by hours of big rig traffic. For a second there appeared to be a human arm in front of my lights, with my mind playing tricks. I decided I had consumed all the luck I had that day so I struggled into Des Moines and took in at a Motel 6. Wouldn’t you know I still had some luck left, because within seconds of putting the cover on my bike it started pouring. I had only received sprinkles for a few miles of the trip so far. With tornadoes and lightning around me I had managed to snake my way across half the country so far and had stayed dry and in one piece. Exhausted, I was determined to sleep better that night. To bed at 2:30am I ended that lucky day with 827 miles.
DAY FOUR-
Although it rained off and on during the night, by the time I was ready to leave, the side roads had just a few puddles left, with the highway having dried out from the traffic. I felt pretty good and took a little walk around the area. There was a Harley showroom right around the corner from the motel, but again I was up too early to get in and I wasn’t going to wait around. Today I would make it to my Aunt Helen’s in Battle Creek Michigan and I wanted to have time left at the end of the day’s ride to enjoy her and my cousins company. The trip was just over 500 miles so it would be my shortest day so far. I was right on schedule and would be able to take a day off at my Aunts as long as I could get home inside of a week as I had promised my wife. The weather called for rain in the area soon so I took off after stretching out and hoped to get lucky again.
Heading out it didn’t take me long to realize that Iowa is a lot like Nebraska - FLAT. The strong winds were something else though. I don’t know how much the storms off to the south had to do with it, but the wind caused quite a bit of pain - literally. Before this day of the trip, I had very little problems with my back side being able to handle the mileage I was putting in, and the long hours spent in the saddle. In fact I had anticipated problems and had emailed various members of the xs1100 association about the ability of the bikes seat to cushion on long rides. The replies I got back did not eliminate any fears I had. Most club members plainly stated the seat was not the greatest and that I should get a seat pad of some kind. So I did, but I took it off halfway through my first day and found the bike’s seat by itself to be just as good. Maybe it was because the bike had the factory optional King/Queen seat which offered more padding than the plain original.
Tom had sent me a dimensional drawing of the seat so that I could customize a back pack to strap on rear of the seat’s high back tail. I could tell Tom was an engineer when the drawing came in. True in detail, the drawing would have the back pack fit perfect, and it did, with the duffle bag being stapped to the front of the high back to serve as my back rest. The seat still had enough room left to enable me to change my postion often enough to keep comfortable. Being able to reposition my feet to the rear pegs helped a lot as well, but the unrelenting winds going through Iowa would force me to stay in a perpetual upright position to stay in control of the bike, and even with the seat pad installed this set me up for a very sore ride. The wind was so strong that if I didn’t stay alert, I could be blown off the road, which almost happened early on. At times I would be in a constant lean which must have been unerving to drivers around me. And when I went under an overpass bridge the sudden interuption of wind would cause me to have to quickly adjust off the lean to keep from going off the road for that reason. It was just crazy. I’ll never forget that morning. When I think of Iowa I’ll always think of the winds, not to mention my sore butt. It would get more humid as I made it through Chicago and Indiana making it a lot tougher, but it didn’t rain and I made it into Battle Creek where my cousin Kathie who had come down from Grand Rapids was waiting with my Aunt.
Day four mileage - 517
DAY FIVE- REST
Kicking around the house it was another hot humid day. I spent a couple hours cleaning the bike and cousin Bob who took the day off got some beers. No problem with that! Betty came over later and it was a nice respite from the ride. I want to say here that it was also a spiritual stop for me because my aunt Helen is the only sibling of my dad who had died not too long before. I remember going to his gravesite just prior to leaving for California and inviting him to come along for the ride. My cousin Bob had suggested that someone may have moved that ladder the night before. We both knew what he was talking about. And considering the other luck I seemed to be having -I wondered. I would leave Michigan with a bit of a heavy heart missing some of the greatest people I’ve ever known, and proud to be related to them.
DAY SIX-
I didn’t plan on making the last leg of the trip home in one day, but after already proving to myself that it could be done and since we’re talking HOME here, I went for it.
It was hot going through construction areas on 401 in Canada. The stop and go traffic had me worried about overheating the air cooled engine, so I would skip around traffic by using the breakdown lane to keep it cooler. When I made it across the border at Niagra Falls I was beat. The heat and humidity were taking their toll. As night came the roads began to get wet so I knew that my luck was running out with the rains. The fatigue was setting in stronger and earlier than I expected. At one stop I had failed to put the kick stand down all the way and when the bike began to drop I was shocked to see that I couldn’t bring it upright. Luckily there was a teenager cleaning the parking lot who help me out. At that point I had to question whether I should call it quits for the day. I was about 200 miles away from home at this point, but I was weak. I called my wife, Helen, to let her know I would probably stop for the night, but after resting a little bit at a truck stop, I changed my mind and was determined to finish up.
When I got to the toll booth entering Massachusetts, the roads were wetter and my heart jumped when I felt the bike slide to a stop from oil that builds up at the booths. With the wheel spray kicking up from trucks I would have to peer over the top of my dirty windshield the rest of the way with little protection for my eyes as I looked through the gap in my open helmet screen.
I could see the lightning strikes ahead of me, expecting the rain to hit me at any time.
At least the traffic was low as I crawled at 55 mph through the remainder of the way. It’s not funny how the miles seem to take forever when you’re on the edge of losing consciousness, but when I finally made it to route 91 entering Holyoke, I suddenly got a boost of energy. I easily made it up the sidestreets leading to my home and was totally on an exhausted cloud nine when I pulled the eleven into the driveway. It was 1:30am.
Helen was waiting up for me and said she knew I would be coming. It was great to be there. When I asked her whether she knew when the last rain had come through, she said "ten minutes ago". Day six mileage – 752 Total mileage 3326
The trip was all and more than I had expected. Uncanny luck? Well, that depends on what luck is. Is it the result of your own actions and sensabilities, or is it something else? I have my opinions, but in the end, maybe my once in a lifetime experience was more than just good planning, research and luck. Maybe it was a reward for being able to believe, to trust, and to take, that incredible 3000 mile leap of faith.
by Gary Lapointe
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How does a person who hates flying, end up sitting on a plane heading across the country to ride home solo on an eighteen year old motorcycle? Well, there has to be a strong desire to ride of course, and that has a lot to do with it, but at that stage of the game fear would have to be replaced with faith. This story is just as much about faith as it is about the ride.
When I got back into riding after a 20-year lay off in 1997; I started with a 1981 Yamaha XS650 special. I got it from some guy who had dropped it and got spooked after the rear tire kicked out from under him while starting across some railroad tracks. The perfect bike for my situation. No need for speed, just a good rush from the hard pulling twin and a soothing rumble that made the 20 mile back road trip to work a real pleasure.
Soon however I found myself looking for more. The 650 was great as long as you kept it under 55. Anything faster and the vibration tended to drive you mad. I eventually learned of another bike that Yamaha made during that era that would better suit my needs, the big XS1100. It came to my attention after visiting a motorcycle club web site run by a JP Honeywell where I could download most every article printed on all of the XS1100 models from way back when.
The XS1100 Midnight Special in particular got my interest not only because of it’s devilishly good looks but because everything I read about it made it clear that it was a silky smooth, vibration free bike. It also had enough power to satisfy even the most macho fools out there, not to say I am one (OK, once in awhile!).
After downloading many pictures of the Midnight Eleven from JP’s XS1100 Association site, the search was on. After three or four months of looking throughout the Massachusetts, Connecticut area, I learned two things about the bike. One, owners loved to ride them– the average mileage was above 30k on the odometer, and two, black chrome doesn’t hold up well in New England weather.
Oh well we all have our dreams, some things were just not meant to be. Or then again - once in awhile if you don’t give up hope, things align themselves to produce a situation greater than you may have imagined.
One night near the end of my web search efforts I had nothing better to do but check out exactly what the heck could possibly be in the last 50 pages or so of 2500 results during a web search for the Midnight. In dimming hope one night I came across a small online classified companion to a newspaper located in Lancaster. Lancaster? I knew of a couple of Lancasters in New England, but the palm trees in the ad site said warmer. Lancaster California is about 40 miles north of Los Angeles and just outside the Mojave Desert. Does dry come to mind?
When I got my first picture of the bike, my mind was set. Experience had told me of the rarity of the find. It only had 9900 on the odometer and would cost a sum more, but definitely worth it since I had no desire to put in endless hours on a restoration project.
My only problem would be – how to get it home?
Tom Gardiner is a good guy, an electrical engineer with a mind towards being meticulous. Not only did he perfectly preserve the bike based on my observations of the video he sent me, but he was willing to hold it in his care for three months until I could fly out in June to ride it home. Tom understood the experience it would be and after many communications, a deal of faith was made. Well, maybe the faith was more on my part since I had never met Tom yet I would trust his word while paying in advance, but Tom’s faith would have to be in his bike and whether it was good for the trip. I don’t believe either of us had any doubts. And so for three months I would plan my itinerary, as it seemed to take forever to get through the spring.
In the meantime I had contacted Mansoor Shafi, owner of RoadGear, a cycle accessory and apparel company. He helped me decide what I should bring for my trip. His online site was appealing because he tells his own story about his first cross-country trip and how it changed his life. Mansoor shipped my jacket, gloves, and tank bag to Tom so I would have less gear to haul. I also had a windshield and highway pegs shipped to him and he did a great job installing them. Thanks Tom.
The hardest part was the cross-country flight. I seriously doubt that the young couple siting across from me on the plane would stay seated there if they knew I had thoughts of throwing them out the hatch door next to us. They talked and I nodded with a smile all the while imagining them falling like stones back to the ground. I know it’s a weird response but I usually tell people about it, especially when they try to get me on a Ferris wheel. After that, they don’t ask again. In any case, after a couple of beers I was fine, and the second leg out of Mississippi to LAX (Los Angeles International airport) was no problem.
After barely catching my van out of LAX due to a baggage delay, I was full of adrenaline and happy to be closing in. After calling my wife on the cell phone, I stared out the window at the alien terrain that really gave me a sense of being a world away from home. No maples, no oaks, just sage brush and joshua trees. What a difference!
It was 12am on my watch (9pm West Coast) when I got to Lancaster. I didn’t adjust my watch because I wanted to know what time my body was at, and I expected it wouldn’t be long before I was in the same time zone again anyway. Tom picked me up with his son Brian, whom no doubt had been waiting to see what a crazy man looked like. When we got to Toms I was taken back by how perfect the bike really was. Good storage and the dry dessert air really does slow time down. At least for motorcycles. Windshield in place, footpegs on the crashbar, it was all just too right! I celebrated with Tom and his wife Roberta with a beer before I put on my new Jacket and gloves and tried the bike out. It helped that the handlebars and switches were similar to my 650 so there was not a big adjustment really. But I did feel the power and the smoothness. I couldn’t wait until the next morning to begin the big ride.
DAY ONE- June 21, 1998
Waving goodbye to Tom who was rudely awakened when I wanted to take some pictures, I left Lancaster and headed out to route 40. Originally I had planned to travel a bit of the old route 66 to catch some of that old sense of the way it was, but a feeling of urgency came over me to head home. The realization had come over me that I had been dropped off tired, 3000 miles away from home, with only one way back, the bike. Sight seeing would have to come as it would from the interstate, with my focus on getting home to my family, and along the way seeing if the bike was all it was cracked up to be. The day was clear with the sun really cranking up the heat as I made my way through the Mojave to interstate 40. With gas stations spaced every 30 miles or so, fuel wasn’t a problem and I gassed up often since the special had just 3.8 gals total. I didn’t want to get caught dry out in the desert. The heat was so incredible in some spots that I felt as though I was going through an oven. The jacket that Mansoor sold me was surprisingly comfortable. With the front and rear vents open the dry desert air did a good job of keeping me cool as long as I kept drinking water. I had read that I should keep the jacket on since the air is so dry it can actually dehydrate you if you don’t. As far as the heat goes, I wouldn’t have it any other way. What kind of experience would it be if the Mojave wasn’t hot when I went through?
Feet up on the highway pegs, the big engine proved to be just as smooth as I had read in all the articles I downloaded. There is no comparison between the 1100 and the 650. After a few hundred miles with no bike induced fatigue anywhere in my body, it became clear that a cross-country trip would be no problem for such a great bike. They may make better handling bikes now, but for the straight highway runs, Yamaha had a bike way ahead of its time in 1980. It was so smooth in comparison to my 650 that it took me hours to realize there was an oscillation in the front end. At that point I took a wheel weight off where it looked like there was too much and was amazed that the wheel smoothed out. Luck would prove to be on my side several times on this trip.
As I cruised into Arizona my energy levels were getting low, but I made the side trip to the Grand Canyon anyway. I saw pictures of the canyon before, but nothing compares to the real thing. Finally spent, I decided to finish up the first day in Flagstaff. I got caught with the sun going down and was surprised how cold it got as I put in the last thirty miles. Putting the cover on the bike I put in at a Best Western. I looked forward to Monday’s leg, which would take me into New Mexico and to a visit with an old army buddy I hadn’t seen in twenty years. First days mileage - 566 miles
DAY TWO -
Not really rested but still high from the first days ride, I got up at 8am and found I would have to wait for the local auto parts store to open to get oil. My watch was still a couple hours off the time zone. The heat from the Mojave had caused me to burn off almost ¾ of a quart. Luckily Tom had put in a synthetic blend which vaporized less. I would not burn much oil again in the trip.
Before leaving Arizona I would pick up some t-shirts and souvenirs for my family, and while the RoadGear jumbo tank bag was already loaded with stuff including quarts of cool water, It just kept on expanding as I put more things in it. This actually helped by bringing the map-reader closer to my eyes. I would rip a page out of my Rand McNally road atlas for each state as I went along and insert it into the reader, and then put the atlas back in my duffel bag which worked great as a back rest. I also kept my small digital radio in the reader and I could easily see the channel display and change channels by pressing the buttons through the reader face. The sun was still beautiful (and hot) on the second day and I would cherish the cool moments at rest stops along the way to New Mexico.
I had called Lawrence’s family in the morning to let them know I would be on time, but I almost go stranded in the desert on 50 miles outside of Albuquerque. The problem came from misjudging my consumption of gas. Up until then I had pretty much topped off the tank at ever other stop, but I had begun to stretch the intervals and got caught with my red light on in the middle of nowhere. Putting the petcocks on reserve I slowed my speed down to 60 mph to preserve gas.
I was really getting nervous as it seemed the red light was on way too long when I finally crested a hill with a gas station in sight a mile down the other side. Amazingly at that moment the engine was beginning to lose throttle and growl on the fumes. With God as a witness, I rolled to the pumps where the bike just died. I laughed out loud about my luck as a couple in a car smiled back while I spent a few minutes priming the carbs back up. It felt great pulling out of that station, but I would remain diligent and not let that happen again. I would eventually stop 35 times total for gas during the trip.
In Albuquerque, Lawrence and his wife Laura took me out to eat at a fine Mexican restaurant. We spoke of past and present, took pictures, and when it got cooler I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to get in more miles. That evening took me into Colorado up route 25. I rode on in the dark, as there was little in the way of lights to help me out. I would spend time following big rigs figuring that they would scare off any animals and if not, they could squash them for me. Totally drained, I pulled off at an exit north of Trinidad that advertised the "Hilltop Inn", which sounds a helluva lot better than it is. As I pulled off the road something with a very large wing span flew out at me and diverted just before I would have hit it. I think it was a turkey but I should have taken it as an omen and kept on going. After I had paid a very scary looking manager who had an even scarier looking mother, I unloaded my gear and opened the door to my room. When I heard a door close inside, I found that someone had just been in the room and had gone back through a door connecting the adjoining office. When I saw the unmade bed with a dent in the pillow and the full wastebasket in the dirty bathroom I decided it was too weird. Getting my money back and loading back up again I headed for Pueblo and made it into the city at around 1:30 AM. Those last miles were tough staying awake, but the bike was smooth and really spared me a lot of anguish, besides, after the episode at the motel, scenes from the movie "Deliverance" had begun to dance in my head so I was happy to get some distance behind me. Day two mileage - 664 miles.
DAY THREE -
I woke up around 7:30 and felt pretty dragged out. If that had been any other day I would have spent it on the couch tapping a couple naps to catch up. I would have to shake it off though if I were to stay on schedule. A decent breakfast and plenty of coffee got me going again, but I would never have believed when I first woke up that this would be the biggest day yet. Rolling through Colorado Springs and hitting Denver during morning commute time was fine. I even ran into another Holyoke ( I am from Holyoke, Ma.) as I was working my way up route 76 to Nebraska.
Nebraska has higher speed limits on route 80 so it made it easier to get across the flat and repetitive landscapes. I had to stop about thirty miles west of Omaha where I cooled off. While taking a power nap at a rest stop off the highway, the hot sun was replaced with patches of dark clouds. Soon on my radio, I heard the banks of clouds off to my north had carried in tornadoes. Four had been reported sighted so I decided to move on. It began to sprinkle and when I decided to put on my rain gear I noticed what appeared to be a tall circle dropping what I thought were ribbons of rain. I could see better with my sunglasses the form that the ribbons were taking, and when it was clear that they were spiraling I got on the bike and got the hell out of there. The timing had to be right because after a couple of miles the sprinkles disappeared. I would later see on the Weather Channel a huge funnel that was taped in the area where I had spotted the spiraling rain. In a way I wished I had stayed there long enough to witness a funnel if that’s what it was, but I also remember how I felt at that time and discretion may have been the better part of valor.
I stayed on the bike way too long that night. A truck driver who had seen me pass him in the afternoon was pretty surprised to see me at a rest stop late in the evening. At that point I had already put in over 600 miles for the day. But I would continue and have a very close call when an extension ladder fell off a pickup truck about 60 miles west of Des Moines in the wee hours of the morning. I saw the pickup pull into the breakdown lane a few hundred feet ahead with the ladder sliding sideways alongside the truck in front of me. The pickup effectively blocked my only path around the ladder and I didn’t know which way it would go. I think the fact that I was fatigued may have helped me. Too tired to panic, I simply watched the ladder and hoped it would give me some room to get around. If there was any time during the trip when the power of the eleven needed to avail itself, the next moment would be it. As the ladder continued to slide, it turned , and with the headlights of a big rig coming up in my mirrors I twisted the throttle. What happened next was pretty remarkable. Despite all the weight of myself and my gear, the bike picked up so fast that the ladder looked as though it was sitting for a photograph. I imagine the truck driver behind me was feeling some relief having witnessed the whole thing. After that situation I began to feel I had a friend in the bike.
I slowed it down a little bit after that and just a few miles later I came across the remains of a deer that had obviously been flattened by hours of big rig traffic. For a second there appeared to be a human arm in front of my lights, with my mind playing tricks. I decided I had consumed all the luck I had that day so I struggled into Des Moines and took in at a Motel 6. Wouldn’t you know I still had some luck left, because within seconds of putting the cover on my bike it started pouring. I had only received sprinkles for a few miles of the trip so far. With tornadoes and lightning around me I had managed to snake my way across half the country so far and had stayed dry and in one piece. Exhausted, I was determined to sleep better that night. To bed at 2:30am I ended that lucky day with 827 miles.
DAY FOUR-
Although it rained off and on during the night, by the time I was ready to leave, the side roads had just a few puddles left, with the highway having dried out from the traffic. I felt pretty good and took a little walk around the area. There was a Harley showroom right around the corner from the motel, but again I was up too early to get in and I wasn’t going to wait around. Today I would make it to my Aunt Helen’s in Battle Creek Michigan and I wanted to have time left at the end of the day’s ride to enjoy her and my cousins company. The trip was just over 500 miles so it would be my shortest day so far. I was right on schedule and would be able to take a day off at my Aunts as long as I could get home inside of a week as I had promised my wife. The weather called for rain in the area soon so I took off after stretching out and hoped to get lucky again.
Heading out it didn’t take me long to realize that Iowa is a lot like Nebraska - FLAT. The strong winds were something else though. I don’t know how much the storms off to the south had to do with it, but the wind caused quite a bit of pain - literally. Before this day of the trip, I had very little problems with my back side being able to handle the mileage I was putting in, and the long hours spent in the saddle. In fact I had anticipated problems and had emailed various members of the xs1100 association about the ability of the bikes seat to cushion on long rides. The replies I got back did not eliminate any fears I had. Most club members plainly stated the seat was not the greatest and that I should get a seat pad of some kind. So I did, but I took it off halfway through my first day and found the bike’s seat by itself to be just as good. Maybe it was because the bike had the factory optional King/Queen seat which offered more padding than the plain original.
Tom had sent me a dimensional drawing of the seat so that I could customize a back pack to strap on rear of the seat’s high back tail. I could tell Tom was an engineer when the drawing came in. True in detail, the drawing would have the back pack fit perfect, and it did, with the duffle bag being stapped to the front of the high back to serve as my back rest. The seat still had enough room left to enable me to change my postion often enough to keep comfortable. Being able to reposition my feet to the rear pegs helped a lot as well, but the unrelenting winds going through Iowa would force me to stay in a perpetual upright position to stay in control of the bike, and even with the seat pad installed this set me up for a very sore ride. The wind was so strong that if I didn’t stay alert, I could be blown off the road, which almost happened early on. At times I would be in a constant lean which must have been unerving to drivers around me. And when I went under an overpass bridge the sudden interuption of wind would cause me to have to quickly adjust off the lean to keep from going off the road for that reason. It was just crazy. I’ll never forget that morning. When I think of Iowa I’ll always think of the winds, not to mention my sore butt. It would get more humid as I made it through Chicago and Indiana making it a lot tougher, but it didn’t rain and I made it into Battle Creek where my cousin Kathie who had come down from Grand Rapids was waiting with my Aunt.
Day four mileage - 517
DAY FIVE- REST
Kicking around the house it was another hot humid day. I spent a couple hours cleaning the bike and cousin Bob who took the day off got some beers. No problem with that! Betty came over later and it was a nice respite from the ride. I want to say here that it was also a spiritual stop for me because my aunt Helen is the only sibling of my dad who had died not too long before. I remember going to his gravesite just prior to leaving for California and inviting him to come along for the ride. My cousin Bob had suggested that someone may have moved that ladder the night before. We both knew what he was talking about. And considering the other luck I seemed to be having -I wondered. I would leave Michigan with a bit of a heavy heart missing some of the greatest people I’ve ever known, and proud to be related to them.
DAY SIX-
I didn’t plan on making the last leg of the trip home in one day, but after already proving to myself that it could be done and since we’re talking HOME here, I went for it.
It was hot going through construction areas on 401 in Canada. The stop and go traffic had me worried about overheating the air cooled engine, so I would skip around traffic by using the breakdown lane to keep it cooler. When I made it across the border at Niagra Falls I was beat. The heat and humidity were taking their toll. As night came the roads began to get wet so I knew that my luck was running out with the rains. The fatigue was setting in stronger and earlier than I expected. At one stop I had failed to put the kick stand down all the way and when the bike began to drop I was shocked to see that I couldn’t bring it upright. Luckily there was a teenager cleaning the parking lot who help me out. At that point I had to question whether I should call it quits for the day. I was about 200 miles away from home at this point, but I was weak. I called my wife, Helen, to let her know I would probably stop for the night, but after resting a little bit at a truck stop, I changed my mind and was determined to finish up.
When I got to the toll booth entering Massachusetts, the roads were wetter and my heart jumped when I felt the bike slide to a stop from oil that builds up at the booths. With the wheel spray kicking up from trucks I would have to peer over the top of my dirty windshield the rest of the way with little protection for my eyes as I looked through the gap in my open helmet screen.
I could see the lightning strikes ahead of me, expecting the rain to hit me at any time.
At least the traffic was low as I crawled at 55 mph through the remainder of the way. It’s not funny how the miles seem to take forever when you’re on the edge of losing consciousness, but when I finally made it to route 91 entering Holyoke, I suddenly got a boost of energy. I easily made it up the sidestreets leading to my home and was totally on an exhausted cloud nine when I pulled the eleven into the driveway. It was 1:30am.
Helen was waiting up for me and said she knew I would be coming. It was great to be there. When I asked her whether she knew when the last rain had come through, she said "ten minutes ago". Day six mileage – 752 Total mileage 3326
The trip was all and more than I had expected. Uncanny luck? Well, that depends on what luck is. Is it the result of your own actions and sensabilities, or is it something else? I have my opinions, but in the end, maybe my once in a lifetime experience was more than just good planning, research and luck. Maybe it was a reward for being able to believe, to trust, and to take, that incredible 3000 mile leap of faith.