ndivita
Well-known member
Caving into the spirit of correct punctuation and formatting that does not induce narcolepsy, I re-submit this post:
So, my oldest brother and I just returned from a 4000 mile trip. This was our fourth trip together. He trailers his motorcycle out here to KC from Richmond, Virginia. I was on my trusty 2005 FJR, now with 35,000 miles, he on his 2003 H-D Anniversary Edition Road King complete with white wall tires (I tell him it looks like something Michael Corleone rode in).
My upgrades, improvements and additional farkles this year included a new cam chain tensioner, a Russell Daylong custom seat, new Michelin Pilot Road 2 tires, Saeng Micro Swirl windshield edging, FZ1 mirrors, Suzuki V-Strom handguards, and, oh yes, a SHAD 50 top case with custom topmaster mounting plate (the last of which I highly recommend). I was ready to go.
We took off from Kansas City on July 31. Departing, we rode up Interstate 29 North catching the Pony Express Highway, US 36, in Kansas westward to US 281, then North to Grand Island Nebraska. From there, we made our way to Broken Bow for the night before making Pizza Hut happy. We then made our way in a north westerly direction over US 2, the Sand Hills Scenic Byway and to Crawford Nebraska. There, we discovered that my brother's Harley had a leaking rear tire. Naturally, his Road King has tubed tires (quaint, right?) so a tire patching kit was not really of much use.
It was a Sunday. We were stuck. You won't believe this, but on a bulletin board inside the convenience store where we were gassing up and trying to figure out what to do next, there was a flyer for the local Christian Motorcyclists Club. There were two phone numbers. I called the first one, there was no answer. I called the second one, and a man picked up.
I explained our situation, and I want you to know that he came out with a trailer and some tiedown straps, called his neighbor who is a mechanic at a local Honda dealership, and hauled the bike to Chadron, where we met the mechanic. Significant acts of human kindness, brotherhood, charity and mechanical skill throughout the rest of that afternoon resulted in a tube being replaced and a tire being fixed. I won't name names, except to say that two of the finest human beings I've ever met helped us. My brother compensated them accordingly and we rode onto Hot Springs South Dakota for the night. our fading faith in humanity temporarily renewed.
From there we took off into eastern Wyoming, to catch the marvelous Thunder Basin National Grasslands, and Wyoming Highway 450. After setting that road on fire, à la Road Runner cartoons, we then rode in a northerly direction into the Big Horn National Park area along lovely Wyoming 14A, tracing our way over to Cody. From there, naturally, we were forced to ride the inestimable Chief Joseph Scenic Highway, Wyoming Highway 296. We came to the always interesting intersection of the road up Beartooth or over to Cooke City MT. We chose Cooke City having experienced Beartooth twice before. There in Cooke City we had a leisurely lunch, before making our way into Yellowstone (where we saw a black bear and a herd of buffalo) and up to Gardiner, MT. We caught US 89 northbound in a rainstorm as we made our way up to Great Falls for the night.
The next day, we decided we had had enough of our Chatterbox GMRS X1 bike to bike radios with the ridiculous assortment of cords, cables and intermittent, inexplicable, troubleshooting-defiant failures. We found a local dealership who sold us a pair of Q2 Cardo Scala Bluetooth units. We will never go back. They worked like a charm the rest of the trip. From Great Falls, we made our way to East Glacier, Montana, which would be our point of departure into Glacier National Park the next day. Glacier was beautiful and interesting and dreadfully crowded. I'm glad we went, I'm glad we saw it, and we got some great pictures. But the traffic and the construction cause me to say it will be awhile before I head back up there. Missoula was our next destination.
It was there that I discovered I should have had my fork seals replaced before departing Kansas City. They were leaking, and I noticed some black residue on my rotors. This was totally my fault, as my dealer suggested a replacement earlier this year, and I dismissed it thinking there was some other explanation for the discoloration on the rotors. After some Googling and working the phones, I found a Yamaha dealer in Butte, Montana, able and willing to order the replacement parts and do the job the next day. So I tied rags to my leaky fork seals and nursed the old girl across I90 over to Butte. Thus did it happen this past Saturday that the friendly and competent two-person staff at Leipheimer Yamaha did their thing. That afternoon, I had new fork seals and a fresh set of legs on my FJR.
We high tailed it to Rexburg, Idaho, where there are no unclean streets and no alcohol is sold. I fear that the fair townspeople of Rexburg may be well mannered cyborgs. Incidentally, we rode through a smashing rainstorm in Idaho, which is by the way a very beautiful state; it was my first time in Idaho since circa 1994, I would love to go back there again simply to ride motorcycles. From Rexburg, we traveled through the Teton Valley, on to Jackson, Wyoming, thence to Rock Springs on the great Highway 191. Rock Springs sits on Interstate 80. I looked at my map, and to my pleasure and surprise, we were a stone's throw from the amazing Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area.
My older brother was a career officer in the United States Army, retiring in the mid-1980s as a lieutenant colonel. He was a Ranger and a Green Beret having served in the airborne infantry in Vietnam circa 1967-68. Therefore, it amuses me that he relies on me so heavily to navigate our way around the West. After we arrived in Rock Springs, I suggested that we knock off for the day, have a nice dinner, relax, clean our bikes, and strike out the next morning down 191, doing the loop around Flaming Gorge. Nothing prepared us for the delight of this ride the next morning. We took a few byways into Fire Hole Canyon, stopped in Dutch John Utah for refueling (where I bought a high-quality slingshot for no valid reason), and then made our way around to Highway 44 before discovering Wyoming Highway 530, perhaps the most startlingly cool road I've been on in a long time. We had the thing all to ourselves, and took full advantage of it. (I love Wyoming).
That brought us back up to Interstate 80. Terrible, terrible winds met us on Interstate 80 as we rode eastward to some nondescript junction of Wyoming Highway 789. That desolate, strange, mostly gas station-free road took us down south and east to Dixon, Wyoming. There we picked up Wyoming Highway 70 which led us to the indescribably great Medicine Bow National Forest, which again was ours for the taking. Why no one seems to drive or ride these roads is a mystery to me. I don't think I've ever had more fun on a motorcycle. Wait, yes I have. Because then we rode the picture-perfect Snowy Range Road, Wyoming 130, into Cheyenne for the night.
While storming up Snowy Range Road, a bull moose was having dinner on the side of the road and allowed us to photograph him as he chowed down. He was enormous and very moose-like. The next morning, we decided to begin traversing our way back to Kansas City. We rode down to Fort Collins Colorado on Highway 287, caught Highway 14 East, US Highway 6 into Nebraska, which led us to Highway 25.
That surprisingly good road dropped us down to forgettable Colby, Kansas. We decided to suck it up and slab on Interstate 70 across Kansas beginning at 6:45 a.m. I will say it runs against our nature to ride the interstates, but I will also say it runs against our nature to be outside with a heat index of 109°. So we scurried across Kansas some 372 miles yesterday before making it back to my house in Kansas City, with a couple of beers, lots of laughs and fantastic memories.
I love my brother and I love my FJR, a truly great motorcycle. He loves his Road King as well. He asked me if my bike has superconductors. I'm proud to be with him on these trips because in the past eight years, he has had and recovered from quadruple bypass surgery, two shoulder joint replacements and a hip replacement. He handles his massive Road King with dignity, grace and skill. We have had great fun on these trips together since first reconnecting four years ago. He is 14 years older than I am, and I have not lived under the same roof with him since 1967, when he went off to fight for his country in Southeast Asia. I prayed for him then, as I do now. Riding with him on these trips as we communicate in full duplex through some of the most beautiful places in the whole wide world allows us to reconnect in ways I never thought possible. It helps me know him and myself better. I come back from each trip humbled by nature and experience. Thanks for letting me share this.
End of ride report.
Sorry for the stream of consciousness text and originally un-paragraphed format...
So, my oldest brother and I just returned from a 4000 mile trip. This was our fourth trip together. He trailers his motorcycle out here to KC from Richmond, Virginia. I was on my trusty 2005 FJR, now with 35,000 miles, he on his 2003 H-D Anniversary Edition Road King complete with white wall tires (I tell him it looks like something Michael Corleone rode in).
My upgrades, improvements and additional farkles this year included a new cam chain tensioner, a Russell Daylong custom seat, new Michelin Pilot Road 2 tires, Saeng Micro Swirl windshield edging, FZ1 mirrors, Suzuki V-Strom handguards, and, oh yes, a SHAD 50 top case with custom topmaster mounting plate (the last of which I highly recommend). I was ready to go.
We took off from Kansas City on July 31. Departing, we rode up Interstate 29 North catching the Pony Express Highway, US 36, in Kansas westward to US 281, then North to Grand Island Nebraska. From there, we made our way to Broken Bow for the night before making Pizza Hut happy. We then made our way in a north westerly direction over US 2, the Sand Hills Scenic Byway and to Crawford Nebraska. There, we discovered that my brother's Harley had a leaking rear tire. Naturally, his Road King has tubed tires (quaint, right?) so a tire patching kit was not really of much use.
It was a Sunday. We were stuck. You won't believe this, but on a bulletin board inside the convenience store where we were gassing up and trying to figure out what to do next, there was a flyer for the local Christian Motorcyclists Club. There were two phone numbers. I called the first one, there was no answer. I called the second one, and a man picked up.
I explained our situation, and I want you to know that he came out with a trailer and some tiedown straps, called his neighbor who is a mechanic at a local Honda dealership, and hauled the bike to Chadron, where we met the mechanic. Significant acts of human kindness, brotherhood, charity and mechanical skill throughout the rest of that afternoon resulted in a tube being replaced and a tire being fixed. I won't name names, except to say that two of the finest human beings I've ever met helped us. My brother compensated them accordingly and we rode onto Hot Springs South Dakota for the night. our fading faith in humanity temporarily renewed.
From there we took off into eastern Wyoming, to catch the marvelous Thunder Basin National Grasslands, and Wyoming Highway 450. After setting that road on fire, à la Road Runner cartoons, we then rode in a northerly direction into the Big Horn National Park area along lovely Wyoming 14A, tracing our way over to Cody. From there, naturally, we were forced to ride the inestimable Chief Joseph Scenic Highway, Wyoming Highway 296. We came to the always interesting intersection of the road up Beartooth or over to Cooke City MT. We chose Cooke City having experienced Beartooth twice before. There in Cooke City we had a leisurely lunch, before making our way into Yellowstone (where we saw a black bear and a herd of buffalo) and up to Gardiner, MT. We caught US 89 northbound in a rainstorm as we made our way up to Great Falls for the night.
The next day, we decided we had had enough of our Chatterbox GMRS X1 bike to bike radios with the ridiculous assortment of cords, cables and intermittent, inexplicable, troubleshooting-defiant failures. We found a local dealership who sold us a pair of Q2 Cardo Scala Bluetooth units. We will never go back. They worked like a charm the rest of the trip. From Great Falls, we made our way to East Glacier, Montana, which would be our point of departure into Glacier National Park the next day. Glacier was beautiful and interesting and dreadfully crowded. I'm glad we went, I'm glad we saw it, and we got some great pictures. But the traffic and the construction cause me to say it will be awhile before I head back up there. Missoula was our next destination.
It was there that I discovered I should have had my fork seals replaced before departing Kansas City. They were leaking, and I noticed some black residue on my rotors. This was totally my fault, as my dealer suggested a replacement earlier this year, and I dismissed it thinking there was some other explanation for the discoloration on the rotors. After some Googling and working the phones, I found a Yamaha dealer in Butte, Montana, able and willing to order the replacement parts and do the job the next day. So I tied rags to my leaky fork seals and nursed the old girl across I90 over to Butte. Thus did it happen this past Saturday that the friendly and competent two-person staff at Leipheimer Yamaha did their thing. That afternoon, I had new fork seals and a fresh set of legs on my FJR.
We high tailed it to Rexburg, Idaho, where there are no unclean streets and no alcohol is sold. I fear that the fair townspeople of Rexburg may be well mannered cyborgs. Incidentally, we rode through a smashing rainstorm in Idaho, which is by the way a very beautiful state; it was my first time in Idaho since circa 1994, I would love to go back there again simply to ride motorcycles. From Rexburg, we traveled through the Teton Valley, on to Jackson, Wyoming, thence to Rock Springs on the great Highway 191. Rock Springs sits on Interstate 80. I looked at my map, and to my pleasure and surprise, we were a stone's throw from the amazing Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area.
My older brother was a career officer in the United States Army, retiring in the mid-1980s as a lieutenant colonel. He was a Ranger and a Green Beret having served in the airborne infantry in Vietnam circa 1967-68. Therefore, it amuses me that he relies on me so heavily to navigate our way around the West. After we arrived in Rock Springs, I suggested that we knock off for the day, have a nice dinner, relax, clean our bikes, and strike out the next morning down 191, doing the loop around Flaming Gorge. Nothing prepared us for the delight of this ride the next morning. We took a few byways into Fire Hole Canyon, stopped in Dutch John Utah for refueling (where I bought a high-quality slingshot for no valid reason), and then made our way around to Highway 44 before discovering Wyoming Highway 530, perhaps the most startlingly cool road I've been on in a long time. We had the thing all to ourselves, and took full advantage of it. (I love Wyoming).
That brought us back up to Interstate 80. Terrible, terrible winds met us on Interstate 80 as we rode eastward to some nondescript junction of Wyoming Highway 789. That desolate, strange, mostly gas station-free road took us down south and east to Dixon, Wyoming. There we picked up Wyoming Highway 70 which led us to the indescribably great Medicine Bow National Forest, which again was ours for the taking. Why no one seems to drive or ride these roads is a mystery to me. I don't think I've ever had more fun on a motorcycle. Wait, yes I have. Because then we rode the picture-perfect Snowy Range Road, Wyoming 130, into Cheyenne for the night.
While storming up Snowy Range Road, a bull moose was having dinner on the side of the road and allowed us to photograph him as he chowed down. He was enormous and very moose-like. The next morning, we decided to begin traversing our way back to Kansas City. We rode down to Fort Collins Colorado on Highway 287, caught Highway 14 East, US Highway 6 into Nebraska, which led us to Highway 25.
That surprisingly good road dropped us down to forgettable Colby, Kansas. We decided to suck it up and slab on Interstate 70 across Kansas beginning at 6:45 a.m. I will say it runs against our nature to ride the interstates, but I will also say it runs against our nature to be outside with a heat index of 109°. So we scurried across Kansas some 372 miles yesterday before making it back to my house in Kansas City, with a couple of beers, lots of laughs and fantastic memories.
I love my brother and I love my FJR, a truly great motorcycle. He loves his Road King as well. He asked me if my bike has superconductors. I'm proud to be with him on these trips because in the past eight years, he has had and recovered from quadruple bypass surgery, two shoulder joint replacements and a hip replacement. He handles his massive Road King with dignity, grace and skill. We have had great fun on these trips together since first reconnecting four years ago. He is 14 years older than I am, and I have not lived under the same roof with him since 1967, when he went off to fight for his country in Southeast Asia. I prayed for him then, as I do now. Riding with him on these trips as we communicate in full duplex through some of the most beautiful places in the whole wide world allows us to reconnect in ways I never thought possible. It helps me know him and myself better. I come back from each trip humbled by nature and experience. Thanks for letting me share this.
End of ride report.
Sorry for the stream of consciousness text and originally un-paragraphed format...
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