9000 miles on an 84 fj

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One strange thing that I noticed riding up through Big Sur, Carmel, and Monterrey, were how many Porsches contributed to the traffic on the coastal highway. I figured sports car drivers appreciated the twists, turns, and scenery, perhaps more than most on the road, but Man, there sure were a lot of Porsche out! I even saw what looked like a 917, and a real 550, go past me going south. It wasn't until I cut off onto route 68 towards Salinas, where I stayed the night, that I found Laguna Seca raceway, and a huge sign proclaimingthat it was Porsche weekend. The number of like branded vehicles coming in and out of the entrance way could have been bees buzzing around the hive, hundreds of them!

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It also wasn't until I got to Salinas that I figured out where I was going to head, and how I was going to get home. I wanted to see my buddy Dick in Austin, and if I was going to go down that way, I wanted to stop in Santa Fe to see if I could find the woman in the market place there, who's beaded necklaces had so impressed my. I had gotten used to the idea of the prices she had quoted me, and figured I could splurge for a couple of gifts.

I had ruled out going further north because of concerns about cold and inclement weather, including the risk of snow.

I worked out a rough route that would take me down to Santa Fe from southwestern Colorado, then to Texas. From Austin, I would head to see a friend in Abbeville Louisiana, a Cajun Lebanese lawyer, Rosemary, who has been a family friend for many years. From there I would head to Barber, then up the Blue Ridge  perhaps stopping again to see my lovely ex-sister- in- law, Shirley on  the way. Anders said he might ride down to meet me at Barber, and Jim said he was game for riding the Blue Ridge again, and would meet me as well. Cool beans, as some say around here. I woke up Monday morning, after staying at a Motel 6 with no hot water. I'd eaten dinner in the Denny's Diner last night and found that the waitresses were tougher than the steak. I was up for trying though, and felt good when I got 3 or 4 of them to laugh or smile. Must be a tough gig!

I had spent a fair amount of time after dinner, programming the Garmin to take me up to the west entrance of Yosemite, as it looked like I could travel through the park, and come out in a good place in Nevada, where I could run across the state on secondary roads without having to go through Reno or Las Vegas, but right between the two. The one thing I couldn't quite understand is how long it would take to go through Yosemite. It wasn't clear that I could do so, but I decided to try to get into the park from Oakhurst rather than travel further outside the park lands to Mariposa to enter.

Cutting across route 5 on 152 through Los Banos, which I vaguely thought might translate disagreeably, up to Raymond, and then to Oakhurst on rt 41, about 2.5 hours from Salinas. I chatted with the woman working there, who told me her son liked to motorcycle but that she wouldn't get on the thing. I told her my mom had felt the same way until she finally relented. On our one and only ride around the block, she laughed so persistently and hysterically, that I never asked her to do so again. I spoke as well to the park ranger there, and the only other person in the place,, who sold me a park pass, and reassured me that I would be able to reach the park entrance at Tioga Pass, and my way to Nevada. Off I went to the land of Ansel Adams, and John Muir!

I tried not to, but with more traffic than I had anticipated, 25 mph speed limits, and an unknown amount of time across the park, I passed a lot of cars, and generally could have spent more time admiring the beauty of the place. Truth be told, I preferred being in places where the speed limits were more reasonable, and perhaps offered a sense of greater unpredictability. I felt strong, and wasn't afraid of nature, a little danger is the spice of life... what an idiot!

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It also wasn't until I got to Salinas that I figured out where I was going to head, and how I was going to get home. I wanted to see my buddy Dick in Austin, and if I was going to go down that way, I wanted to stop in Santa Fe to see if I could find the woman in the market place there, who's beaded necklaces had so impressed my. (ME) I had gotten used to the idea of the prices she had quoted me, and figured I could splurge for a couple of gifts.

I had ruled out going further north because of concerns about cold and inclement weather, including the risk of snow.

I worked out a rough route that would take me down to Santa Fe from southwestern Colorado, then to Texas. From Austin, I would head to see a friend in Abbeville Louisiana, a Cajun Lebanese lawyer, Rosemary, who has been a family friend for many years. From there I would head to Barber, then up the Blue Ridge  perhaps stopping again to see my lovely ex-sister- in- law, Shirley on  the way. Anders said he might ride down to meet me at Barber, and Jim said he was game for riding the Blue Ridge again, and would meet me as well. Cool beans, as some say around here. I woke up Monday morning, after staying at a Motel 6 with no hot water. I'd eaten dinner in the Denny's Diner last night and found that the waitresses were tougher than the steak. I was up for trying though, and felt good when I got 3 or 4 of them to laugh or smile. Must be a tough gig!

I had spent a fair amount of time after dinner, programming the Garmin to take me up to the west entrance of Yosemite, as it looked like I could travel through the park, and come out in a good place in Nevada, where I could run across the state on secondary roads without having to go through Reno or Las Vegas, but right between the two. The one thing I couldn't quite understand is how long it would take to go through Yosemite. It wasn't clear that I could do so, but I decided to try to get into the park from Oakhurst rather than travel further outside the park lands to Mariposa to enter.

Cutting across route 5 on 152 through Los Banos, which I vaguely thought might translate disagreeably, up to Raymond, and then to Oakhurst( AND THE VISITOR CENTER THERE) on rt 41, about 2.5 hours from Salinas. I chatted with the woman working there, who told me her son liked to motorcycle but that she wouldn't get on the thing. I told her my mom had felt the same way until she finally relented. On our one and only ride around the block, she laughed so persistently and hysterically, that I never asked her to do so again. I spoke as well to the park ranger there, and the only other person in the place,, who sold me a park pass, and reassured me that I would be able to reach the park entrance at Tioga Pass, and my way to Nevada. Off I went to the land of Ansel Adams, and John Muir!

I tried not to, but with more traffic than I had anticipated, 25 mph speed limits, and an unknown amount of time across the park, I passed a lot of cars, and generally could have spent more time admiring the beauty of the place. Truth be told, I preferred being in places where the speed limits were more reasonable, and perhaps offered a sense of greater unpredictability. I felt strong, and wasn't afraid of nature, a little danger is the spice of life... what an idiot!

It would be so great if large format photos oriented correctly, rather than upside down or sideways, and modifying or editing capabililies of text and photos were not time limited, but I am very happy to be able to address this group. Thanks for your attention, and for reading my story!

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Leaving the just about 10,000 ft elevation of Tioga Pass, I descended, somewhat thrillingly, down rt 120 towards Benton, route 6, and the Nevada state line. Not much traffic outside the park, and logging trucks, which were frequent road companions were much more easily passed on a motorcycle, than in the reverse situation on a bicycle. The amount of air displaced posteriorly, and laterally by a logging truck on  a downhill road at 50+ mph is plenty sufficient to push an unknowing bicyclist off said road, frequently onto a gravel, dirt, or non existing shoulder. I became so gun shy that, after several similar confrontations with minor injury while riding my bicycle across the Pacific Northwest in the 70s, I pulled off the road on mistakenly hearing a logging truck coming down a winding hill behind me, only to find it was a VW bug with a broken muffler. The fj is a good passing bike, and this is when having a 5 speed tyranny is a good thing.

I am pretty sure that most of us are always looking for the next upshift, that is not there. It doesn't seem to matter how many real cogs there are, there should always be one higher. BMW does a good job in this aspect with their transmissions. Although my experience through Beemer 4, 5 and 6 speed trans has not been the most endearing, I do like that in top gear, one can feel there are no more speeds available by simply pushing up with your foot. The spring like movement on doing so obviate the need to use the clutch. Riding the FJ,  I probably tried to shift into 6th hundreds of times, and still continue to do so. I have never understood why the box was never augmented with a 6th gear.


On the FJ, 5th gear is frequently more than ample for passing at any speed, on any road. Perhaps the Yamaha engineers employed the same motto my dental school instructors frequently tried to imbue us with 35 years ago, when techniques were not so digital, and highly technical, but involved considerable coordination and thought. "Use the KISS rule" they'd sometimes yell. Other times, when one had done something particularly wrong, they'd instead yell more revealingly, "Keep it simple , STUPID!!!"

I realized as I passed by Mono lake on my descent, that I was tired. I found, especially in the early afternoon, but sometimes even in the latter part of the morning, that I would start to fall asleep while riding. As foolish as it sounds to write, I did not initially stop when this occurred, somehow alternating between sleeping, hopefully for milliseconds, then startling myself on waking by finding that I was heading off the side of the road. On several occasions I continued in this fashion for what seemed like a long time, before either snapping out of it or stopping. On one afternoon, I actually awoke refreshed while still with the rubber side down. Though proud that I had accomplished something so foolhardy and bizarre, I knew the limitations of continuing,  and started to take a break as soon as I felt drowsy. The interesting thing I found from doing so, was that I did not necessarily need to sleep, just take a break, and further, the break needed only be a couple of minutes before I could get back on with newfound energy.

The accompanying photos are looking at Mono lake, and from the same spot, back at Yosemite, and from left to right,  Mts Dana, Tiogo, and Warren. Interesting to note that the elevation of Mono lake is almost 6400 ft.

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Passing through Tonopah on rt 6, I realized I had been to most of the towns in the songs Willin, and Route 66. I was starting to sympathize 20th Dave Dudley's singing on 6 Days On The Road. I'd been out for more than 2 weeks by that point, and had covered a fair amount of ground. I was starting to think about the way home, as I rode up to Ely, where I spent the evening. Central Nevada struck me as a place that was still in a primitive or formative stage of development, as far as housing and the organization of the towns I passed through. Trailer parks, and inexpensive tract housing seemed to comprise the bulk of housing that I passed, with a lot of gravel, and construction businesses.

I wondered if it was kind of a guy oriented environment, as it reminded me of boys, playing in a sand box with trucks.

Photos are Ely at dusk, and at dawn the next morning.

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I stayed on route 50 out Ely, until just after Salina, where it turned into route 70. There were long periods of time where I saw no other cars, or anything else for that matter, perhaps some wind turbines, and a couple of head of cattle. Scrubby and craggy high desert. This went on for several hundred miles, which because of lack of any other vehicles or diversion, went by quickly. At one point, I scared up a coyote by the side of the road, further along a cow crossed my path at 90 mph. Please allow me clarify, the cow was not doing 90! Not much else to recollect! Straight as an arrow for the most part,  hardly a building in sight. I was impressed by the sign I stopped to photograph though I can't say I noticed the prison.

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As I neared the intersection of rt 70, where it crosses the Green River, the butte and mesas became more and more stunning. It dawned on me that the irregular red sandstone was ancient, having worn down considerably from its original size and dimension. I took a right on rt 191 towards Moab, past Arches Park, and feel that, geologically, this is the most spectacular area of the country that I have seen.

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Moab seemed a big too young and sportive for me, tons of folks recreating by being active. All good, but serene and calm were not applicable descriptive adjectives here, and that's what I prefer. 191 is an awesome road to travel as a cycle tourist though, and there is something for everyone to do and see!

I took a left at Monticello onto rt 491, and crossed into Colorado. It seemed greener on the other side of the imaginary line, and more residential, with many visible homes and farms. I was immediate seen and followed by a member of the state's finest, which made me a bit self conscious. I'd ridden,  so far, without attracting any police attention, and was irritated to be under observation. He, or she, became bored with me after a few minutes and moved on, but the encounter made me wonder if I was returning to a more restrictive environment than I had grown accustomed to in more western  and less populated states. I begrudgingly paid greater attention to my rate of travel and who else was as well.

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I reached Durango at rush hour, which is not the best hour to search for a place to stay. I had hoped to reach a niece who lives in the area, but after her sister in Santa Monica did not respond to my communications, I did not want to be disappointed twice. I ended up staying at the Adobe Inn, paying probably more than I needed to, but the desk clerk was a geology students at the local college, Fort Lewis,  who agreed with my rinding that the rock structures I had seen in Southeast Utah, were indeed very old and very worn, and besides, i was too tired to move on when he told me the room was 90 dollars, tax and breakfast included. I stayed, and we talked, or more accurately he told me about igneous versus sedimentary rock and how each is formed. Smart kid! I ordered a salad from the Subway across the street  and ate in my room, before going for a walk in search of the Durango Coffee Company, a ways down on Main Street from where I was staying. My photos of a couple of nice old buildings in the towns historic district, are a bit too dark, but the area was very pleasant to walk, and people were fun to speak with.

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I rode into Santa Fe the next morning on route 84, getting there at about 11.30. Finding parking in the historic square, is a bit of a challenge, so after securing my bike in one of a few motorcycle only spaces, I hurried over to the market place in search of the young, middle aged woman I had spoken to the week before, hoping she had not gone to lunch. Not seeing her before the noon hour, I went in search of something to eat for myself. After a sandwich at an outdoor cafe, I stopped in at Tees and Skiis, across Washington Street from the market place. The two ladies working there, who's names are now lost to me, were a hoot, the t-shirt graphics beautiful, and best, they were happy to mail the shirts I selected to Boston, and did so before I left. Lovely place for inexpensive gifts, highly recommended.

I had parked next to a 90s HD Dyna, and when I returned to my bike before going into the marketplace again, I found the bike's owner hangling by his bike. He had ridden from some where near Gallup to sell his wares at the market. As we were talking, a two up Beemer 1200gs pulled into the vacant 3rd bike space. The guy from Gallup went back into the market, and I chatted with the newly wed Brit couple, who had shipped their bike over to Las Vegas with James Cargo, and were honeymooning for 5 weeks, eventually heading for NYC to travel back.  Wonderful kids!

Of course the artisan I was looking for was not at the market place that day. I figured ok, I tried, time to get going. I headed for Texas.

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I headed out of Santa Fe on route 285 down to Vaughn, but ended up  turning to go east on us 40 to Santa Rosa.

Big business farming, giant ranches with millions of cows, it was getting dark when I reached that point, but I had read glowing reviews about the Executive Inn in Lubbock, and thought that if I could get there, I'd have an easy run to Austin the next morning, where I could spend the afternoon with my childhood friend. I took 84 south out of Santa Rosa, took a left at Fort Summer, and headed towards Clovis, passed it and went southeast at Farwell towards Lubbock. It was about 9 when I got there.  The Executive was almost through to the south side of what seemed to be an industrial town, perhaps where farmers would broker their crops and cattle. Lubbock seemed like a frayed and worn city, but at night how can anyone tell? It was too big for me though, and i wasn't ready for an urban setting.
The Executive sign was unobtrusive, on my left, and next to a used car dealership. It looked rough exteriorly, but I figured TripAdvisor and all manner of other online services rated it well, must be nice inside.

I introduced myself to the desk person, a small, sad eyed lady, perhaps in her late 30s or early 40's. I told her I wanted a room where I could see my bike. I didn't have time to mention non smoking before the kind, wan smile dropped from her face, and she related " I don't think we have anything for you." I told her that I was tired, and would take what ever she had. She took a key from the rack, and asked if I would take a look at the room, as it was the best she had.

The key didn't fit the lock which had been recently been replaced, along with a steel plate where the door had been violently broken. The second key did the trick. The room didn't look too bad, but I have become a bit wise in my travels, and checked the bathroom as well. I did not turn the light on, but the bottom of the bath glistened at me, disturbed by what appeared to be globules of some sort of fatty substances. I wasn't sure and put my shoe into the tub, immediately pulling it out, as the bath was half filled with the stuff. I walked back to the office, and thanked the lady for her trouble. I was tired when I had arrived, but the revulsion of being in that room energized me. I could ride down to Austin this eve, I thought, get there at 2 or 3, sleep a bit, and have the day to spend with Dick. I stopped for gas on the way out of town, but didn't stop to zip my coat up correctly until far out of Lubbock. I made it down about 20 miles to a small town called Post, where the quietly inviting sign from a Best Western caused the fj to turn into the drive before I had a chance to make up my mind. Clean, spacious, my bike under the roof over a side entrance
next to my room, the world was a safer, calmer place. I would be surprised to find myself in Lubbock Texas again.

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It rained a bit early the next morning, but by the time I was ready to depart the Best Western, the heat of the arriving sunny morning had already dried the roads. I rode into Austin on rt 183, and found a brand new Motel 6 in Round Rock. It had been a very relaxed and quick ride along secondary roads that only became very congested with traffic within 10 miles of the downtown area.

I first came to Austin, sometime around 1976, staying in a big old Victorian style house on Guadaloupe, near the university,  that had been divided into student housing. Dick had moved down there sometime around then, following a girlfriend, who he had lived with in Wisconsin. In ensuing years, working for the state school for the blind, he had lived in a couple of other locations, lastly and for a long spell in a townhouse apartment on East 48 and 1/2 street. He had had a daughter Nicole, with another woman in 1980, but had lived solidarity since that time, bringing up Nicole on the half week schedule that a number of my friends abided after breaking up. Although I am perhaps his closest friend, he is not a great communicator, and at times word was sparse, however we met up every year, either when he visited New England to commune with the ocean, usually a shared day trip or two, where he swam, and I pretended to like the beach, or when I would go down to see him, usually in the winter or early spring, which is always a very good time to get out of the northeast.

I received a call from Nicole, who had married, and had her own daughter, in the summer of 2013, that her dad had had a stroke at work, and was in the hospital, but would be discharged soon to her care. I was relieved to speak with Dick soon following to know that he was intellectuslly intact, and to get the story of what happened first hand. Apparent closet drinking had brought with it a full blown case of diabetes, which his doctor had missed, and  diagnosed as a more benign incipient condition.   The stroke was a result of untreated diabetes, although Dick did not wish to find the doctor at fault.

I think my visit a week later was helpful for Nicole. Dick was unable to walk or use his left hand. Further, he could not bath or dress himself. Most difficult to observe was his inability to deal with his discomfort which he described as excruciating pain. The pain he felt and his reticence to try to rehab because of it, caused his placement in a nursing facility in the northwestern part of Austin, and this is where I visited him.

Although it was tough for me to see my old friend in such circumstances, we had a great time together Thursday afternoon, and again on Friday before I took my leave to head home. Circumstances there needed my attention.

The photos are of a ranch I passed coming into Austin, and of my friend and I sharing a great moment.

[Mark Olson]

This has got to be the most epic RIDE REPORT ever.
I thoroughly enjoy reading about your trip and it has got me thinking about a epic journey myself. 

Thank you for sharing your experience with the forum .     

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What a great thought, thank you Mark.

The idea that writing about this trip has been inspirational makes me feel really wonderful. Thanks twice, and happy trails!!

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I was getting some pressure to get home, as Martha had made an offer on some property in my absense, which was accepted, and as well put our house up for sale, and received immediate offers. Although I jokingly told some of our friends that she had done so in my absense, I had encouraged Martha to make these moves. Now, there was lots of work to be done, and she could not do it alone.

Perhaps a change of scenery would make life at home more enjoyable, I wasn't sure, but it was worth a try. We'd moved close to Boston in 1982, raised kids in a suburban city that we had never imagined living in, and stayed because of my dad. With the kids and my dad gone, there was no need to stay any longer, we were going back to a more rural environment. I asked Martha if I could stay out for another 10 days or so, and she seemed to be amenable.

I called Anders to see if he could meet me at Barber, only to hear that the weather for the next week was going to be a challenge due to Joaquin, a hurricane due to hit the Carolinas, and cause a mess up and down  the coast. He didn't think that it made any sense to travel towards the storm center, and neither did I. I needed some accurate weather predictions over the eastern portion of the country. Radar Now, the app I used, along with My Cast, another weather app, were helpful but I could only see radar around individual radar starions, usually associated with airports in a given region. I texted Jim, and as he always does, he came through with weather predictions culled from aviation radar on the AOPA, Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association, website. While this was a secure site, Jim told me that the weather data was from the NOAA website, and available to all at:
http://www.aviationweather.gov/adds/progs/nav?current=1

This information, and Jim's interpretation, saved me from getting sopped, and caused me to head north from Austin, towards St. Louis, when I left Austin Friday afternoon.
I had changed my oil and filter on Thursday night in the Motel parking lot, after making my customary oil container, and Castrol semi synth 20-50 purchases at Walmart. I actually could not see what I was doing, and did the work by feel, checking oil level when I had finished with the flashlight app on my cell phone.

I headed out of Austin on route 79, towards Tyler, and then Texarkana. I picked up rt 82 in Magnolia, and route 63, which I liked in Eldorado, making it up to somewhere near Pine Bluff, where I stayed the night.
On Saturday morning, I started up towards St. Louis. I had called Vlad to ask if I might stay with he and his family, and was greeted warmly on my arrival with open arms. The warmth was well appreciated, both for the affection that imparted it, and for the heat of the shower that greeted me. It had been a cold ride. I had stopped at a walmart to purchase an inexpensive polar fleece, but had to keep alternating hands in the space between the carb bowls and the top of the engine case to try to keep warm. This was made possible with an ingeniously simple device called the Go Cruise. For those that haven't used fhese, they are a piece of plastic that fits on the medial part throttle grip, and looks kind of like the eiffel tower. When the tower is rotated so that it is resting on the brake lever, it keeps the throttle position relatively stable. I had given my original and well loved plastic one to Peter, and was now using the adjustable aluminum model, which I found initially harder to use, but by now was comfortable with. It allowed me to rest and warm my right hand.

I headed up to Searcy on back roads, then tried riding 67 for a bit, but was chilled. I got off on 367 for gas and a more moderate pace. I made a lucky stop for coffee at Foster's Cafe in Tuckerman, and a lucky acquaintance with the young proprietors, who's grandmother, Joan had run the cafe until passing away a couple of years ago.
The food was good, and so was the ambiance and company. They were so friendly, I just had to take a photo..