I didn’t think today’s ride would be able to match yesterday’s travels.  I was right.  Instead of Absolutely Spectacularly Magnificent, today’s ride was just Great.

Today’s Final view of Zion

Leaving the incredible scenery of Zion, including the view from our hotel window, the view from the place we had breakfast and the view riding down the main street of Sprindale, was difficult.  It’s a cliche, but words really can’t do justice to what nature has wrought in Zion Valley.  But leave we did, beginning with a reverse traverse of  the same set of great switchbacks into the tunnel that led us in to the Valley of Zion yesterday.

We headed south and east toward Arizona, driving much of the time in desert or near desert conditions, though mountains nearby make the ride easier to take.  I had originally planned to go through polygamous Hilsdale/Colorado City where Jon and I could check into some Sister Wives, but we went another route instead.

The clerk at the hotel at Zion had given me a couple of tips on places to visit along the way on US 89A and we took advantage of his advice.  He mentioned the Cliffs of Vermillion, which I thought was a natural/scenic site and which turned out to be a very small town (50 people) with one restaurant where we stopped for coffee.  Great conversation with the CoV native behind the counter who regaled us with stories of the area, including throwing burning bales of hay and flaming tires off the Navajo Bridge, which spans the beginning of the Grand Canyon near Lees Ferry more than 450 feet above the Colorado River.

On the Navajo Bridge above the Colorado River. Rafters visible on the river if you look close.

The bridge was built in 1929 and discontinued as a vehicular bridge in the late 1990s when a replacement was built about 100 yards downstream.  Note:  Lee’s Ferry was the only crossing of the Colorado River for more than 660 miles until the Navajo Bridge was built.  Lee’s Ferry is currently the site where they launch rafting trips down the Grand Canyon, and we saw several boats/rafts beginning their semi-perilous journey down the gorge.

Riding once again in triple digit temperatures, we headed to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon (where it was only about 85 degrees.)  We had both been there before, but the Grand Canyon is worth seeing as often as you can.  Incredible views from a dozen vantage points, many with interpretive information provided by the NPS.  Once again, I was struck by the shear size of the place and the time scale involved to carve a gorge a mile deep and almost 20 miles wide in some places.

Jon and I at the Grand Canyon. Photo taken by Croatian tourist.

While at the Grand Canyon I was struck by the number of languages being spoken, with English definitely not at the top of useage popularity.  While there today we talked (sort of) with folks from Italy, Germany, France and Croatia.  Also represented were Chinese, Japanese and Korean.  I would be surprised if there weren’t at least 50 different languages spoken at the Grand Canyon today, though I have nothing but my instinct to guide me on this guess.  So why don’t more Americans visit the natural wonders in their own back yard?  Too busy going to Disney World, Branson, and the Mall of America I guess.  My language skills (Russian and Spanish) are rusty and other languages are all Greek to me, but I still think I heard a lot of Wow! today in several tongues.

Tomorrow:  Arizona Deserts (or desserts if I can find more boysenberry pie)

Ho hum.  Today’s ride was boring, boring, boring.  Same thing mile after mile:  Gorgeous view, gorgeous view, gorgeous view, gorgeous view.  Broken occasionally by a spectacular view.  And  of course there were several “Holy crap did you see that!” views.  Air so clear mountains 75 miles away provided the final backdrop for a grand vista.  Colors so vivid several probably don’t have names.  Deer and big horn sheep grazing by the side of the road, indifferent to our trespass on their turf.  Rock formations that have been a work in progress for hundreds of millions of years.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.  But I doubt it.

Almost from the minute we started south on Utah highway 12 out of Torrey headed for the Dixie National Forest, incredible scenery unfolded in front of us as if each turn was a new act in a reality play of a thousand parts.  We climbed steadily to 9600 feet, taking frequent advantage of the well-spaced view points that offered an horizon of nearly 100 miles across a landscape broken by mountains, mesas, ridges and hills, each a different color of yellow, gray, red, orange and green.  Normally I’m a rider who generally exceeds mandated limits, but today I slowed the pace to below (hard to believe) the speed limit just so I could extend the experience.

Re-constructed Anasazi dwelling in Boulder, UT.

About 40 miles into the ride we stopped for a break at the Anasazi State Park in Boulder, UT, where a well-done display showed off a 1950s archaeological dig that uncovered a community of approximately 200 Anasazi People who lived there for 50-75 years almost a thousand years ago.  The interior interpretive center and the exterior dig site  gave a nearly complete picture of what life was like in the Utah mountains for these early people.  Once again, I was reminded that my place is small and my time is brief.

We continued on Highway 12 through the Escalante Grand Staircase National Monument, captivated by the ever-changing views that had a commonality of exceptional beauty.

Kiva Koffeehouse interior

Rounding one turn we saw a structure sitting atop a hill next to the road that looked not at all out of place and a sign that read “Kiva Koffeehouse.”  We stopped.  It turned out to be a restaurant/coffeehouse built by an artist/engineer who wanted to build something that blended into the rugged rocky environment using all native products and that provided a unique resting place for travelers.  The coffee was good as was the not-to-be-resisted fresh-baked good that called to me from the display case like a Siren enticing a Greek sailor.

Bryce Canyon National Park

Back on the road and with several more stops where we properly stood in awe before the awesome, we finally made it to Bryce Canyon National Park.  I took advantage of my elderly status and Senior National Parks Pass to freely enter the park while Jon, a youngster at only 60, had to shell out $12 to drive out and back on the 15 mile park road.

Who Dat with hoodoos?

We had both been to Bryce Canyon National Park before and knew what to expect, but even experienced Bryce visitors are amazed each time they happen on the misshapen hoodoos rising prodigiously from the canyon floor.  After being properly amazed, we returned to the park’s entrance, noting the gray clouds and lighting flashes to the west, our direction of travel.  We pointed our ponies west but rode for only five miles before stopping to put on rain gear.  As luck would have it, the fortuitous choice of a parking lot for suiting up was at an eatery whose aged window sign advertised fresh baked pies.  We decided it was fitting to support the local culinary economy and ducked inside.  Jon chose for his contribution a slice of warm apple pie, while I, the more daring of the duo, opted for boysenberry.  Sipping our coffee slowly, we gazed out the window as the wind driven rain pelted our parked ponies and, after 30 minutes,  finally petered out.  And down the road we went.

After various road side attractions, pastry pauses, and slow riding,  at 4 p.m. we entered Zion National Park (where Jon again dispensed his $12 fee as I waved happily to the toll collector in the Smokey Bear hat).

Zion National Park

The ride into Zion NP  from the east is highlighted by huge, multi-hued rock formations and the one-mile Mt. Carmel Tunnel that ends at an incredible set of switchbacks that descend the mountain to the floor of Zion Valley.  Again, both of us had seen the main tourist attractions at Zion National Park, which can now be reached only by riding a bus because of the overwhelming cage traffic that clogs the road and befouls the air, so we called it a day and headed for our hotel.

Tomorrow:  Into Arizona, the desert and the Grand Canyon.

Just finished several beers, including an interesting local brew labeled “Polygamy Porter,” and enjoyed a 30-minute soak in the hot tub at the hotel where we’re staying on the edge of Capitol Reef National Park.  Pretty damn good way to end a day that included some spectacular riding.

(I know that first paragraph is killing my riding friends, but everyone had a standing offer to come ride with me.)

We got another 7 a.m. start, which is always a good time to start riding.  You have to be more vigilant regarding forest creatures and cows on the open range (i.e. no fences along the road)  but morning air is always crisp and your senses are as fresh as they’re going to get.  We headed south out of Rangely.  Like yesterday, I expected to be on s0-so roads, and like yesterday I was pleasantly surprised as we rode through interesting terrain, including some ups and downs and tight corners over a mountain pass that produced the first of the day’s several floor-board scraping leans.  At one point, on the downhill side of the pass, we stopped at a pullout to survey the panorama spread below and in front of us.  Several hundred yards below in an open area on the side of the mountain, a doe warily crossed the meadow, grazing here and there and then finally, with several bounding leaps, disappeared into a draw and some scrub pine.  It was a nice off-bike interlude.

Outside Grand Junction, Colorado, the Colorado National Monument rises majestically 2,000 feet above the Colorado River, punctuated by a dozen steep-faced canyons that cut into the face of the multi-hued monolith.  Fortunately for me and everyone else who visits there, a Depression-era Civilian Conservation Corps project built a road that winds along the edge of the canyons, producing awesome views and even better motorcycle riding.

Jon with Independence Rock in the background on Rimrock Road.

This 25-mile biker’s dream is undoubtedly one of the great roads of my riding career.  Jon and I liked it so much, in fact, that we turned around at the eastern terminus and retraced our route back to the western entry point.  Including stops at view points and the visitors center, we spent almost 2 1/2 hours on Rimrock Road raving at the 75-mile views and reveling in the hundreds of twists in a road unprotected by guard rails and mere feet from a 500-foot fall to a canyon floor below.  Coming around a turn with floor boards grinding and seeing nothing–I mean nothing–in front of you but air and the far side of the canyon 1000 yards away adds a dash of excitement to one’s retirement.

With our appetite for twisties sated for the time being, we headed west on I-70 in the afternoon with temperatures once again soaring into three digits.  The highway ride and the first 50 miles off the highway were the low-points of today’s addition to the odometer of joy, but once we headed toward and into Capitol Reef National Park the road and the scenery improved dramatically.

Capitol Reef National Park not far from our hotel.

Capitol Reef National Park is one of the newest National Parks in the system and has a rich cultural and geologic past.  Jon and I took in both when we stopped to see petroglyphs carved by the  pre-Columbian Fremont Peoples sometime between 700 and 1300 AD.  The carvings were made on towering red rock walls that line the canyon.

Throughout today’s ride, Jon and I were continually amazed at the stark beauty of the Colorado and Utah wind-and-water sculpted landscape.  We had been impressed with the 150 million-year old dinosaur fossils yesterday, but then came to realize the rocks we were seeing around us were formed around 1.5 BILLION years ago.  Living mostly in cities, people today have nearly lost the ability to think in terms of a history that goes back more than a century or two.  The history of much of the visible Rocky Mountain region of the United States is written with numbers that are hard to fathom.  One of these days I’m going to plan a trip out west in the company of a Harley-riding geologist and archaelogist and really learn what’s out here besides awesome scenery and great roads.

Tomorrow: More of the same?  Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park

After several days of riding in the heat, waking up to overcast skies and 60 degree temperatures in Laramie was a treat.  But I knew the ride to and in Colorado meant an elevation climb and a concomitant  decrease in temperature.  Sure enough, as we rode south and climbed to 7,500 then 8,000, then 8,500 feet the temperature kept falling until it reached 57 degrees on a bank thermometer in Walden, where we stopped for coffee at the throwback River Rock Cafe.  We were prepared for cool weather, though, and pressed on, headed toward the Continental Divide at Muddy Gap and then to Steamboat Springs.

As we continued to climb, the gray skies turned darker and rain and mist obscured nearby peaks.  We donned rain gear at a turnout on the side of the road; 10 minutes later we were in a light rain and low to mid 50 temperatures at Rabbit Ears Pass, a 9,400 foot summit that, like Muddy Gap, marks the Continental Divide.  By the time we reached Steamboat Springs about 20 minutes later, the rain was gone and blue skies beckoned in the westward direction of our travel.  The light rain would have soaked us without gear, but it really wasn’t much of a test for our rain suits, which were returned to the saddlebags 40 miles west of Steamboat.

The landscape of western Colorado and eastern Utah contains an endless panorama of foothills and mountains, along with dry, open range.

The Uinta Mountains are the backdrop for this view of the Green River in Utah.

I was pleasantly surprised by the terrain of western Colorado and eastern Utah;  I had expected it to be flatter and uninspiring.  In fact, we enjoyed a moderate roller coaster road that followed the curving contours of the Yampa River.  To our right for much of the ride past Craig, Colorado, the Unita Mountains provided a scenic diversion when straight stretches of road afforded the opportunity to peek at the peaks.  The Uinta Range is one of the few East-West mountain ranges in the United States and it has the highest elevation of all the East-West ranges.  Located in a dry part of the country, though, there are no permanent snow covered peaks as there are in the Rockies, the Sierra-Nevadas, or the Cascades.  Temperatures in the mid-80s made the afternoon ride along the gently twisting U.S. Highway 40 a nice change of pace from the full-throttle twisties of the Black Hills.

I’m surrounded by 149 million-year-old dinosaur fossils.

This brand new facility holds the face of a quarry which has yielded more than 7,500 fossils over the past 100 years.

The only planned stop for today was the Dinosaur National Monument Visitors Center and Quarry in eastern Utah.  I had read about it and seen some photos, but wanted to see it personally to better understand the significance of the dinosaur fossils found there.  It did not disappoint.  In the 1909 a paleontologist discovered a small skeletal tail sticking out of the side of the mountain and began to uncover it.  As he realized the magnitude of the find, he and other workers excavated tens of thousands of  149 million-year-old fossils.  Today, quarrying has stopped at the site, freezing in place 1,500 fossils in an 80-foot rock wall enclosed by a brand new structure that protects the fossils and makes them available to thousands of visitors.   The 80 foot wall, that before quarrying was nearly 200 feet tall, was once the bottom of a river bed but is now tilted at a 65 degree angle thanks to the same powerful tectonic uplift forces that created the Rocky Mountains.   It’s an incredible historic and scientific site and a great place to learn a little about the ancient earth, about plate tectonics, and about dinosaurs who roamed a very real Jurrasic Park.

The vastness of the land we motored through today reminded me how small we are.  And the 150-million year context of the Dinosaur National Monument reminded me how brief our 30,000-year human history really is.  Riding a motorcycle is more than adreneline pumping excitement.  It’s also a way to expose yourself to new things, new thoughts, and new connections.  Today was one of those cerebral rides.

Tomorrow:  More twisties, more deserts, more national parks.

We had to make choices for today’s ride, a route that would eventually end  in Laramie, WY.  First, we could go back to Sturgis and walk Main Street again to see if any of the vendors had new and exciting products we hadn’t seen yesterday.  More shopping didn’t interest us, so we ruled that out.  Second, we could ride west and a little north to see Devil’s Tower and then ride almost 400 miles from Wyoming’s northern border to its southern border through flat grasslands.  I’d seen Devil’s Tower and Jon wasn’t particularly interested.  Third, we could spend the first three hours or so riding through the Black Hills again and then through a mixture of hilly/twisty roads and Interstate.  We took what was behind door number three.

A presidential profile. And George’s isn’t bad either.

Although both of us had seen Mt. Rushmore before,

Riding through the Black Hills produces amazing sites.

we decided to ride there again since it was not far out of our way and I knew the roads in the area were good.  Mt. Rushmore impresses me everytime I see it.  Not just because it’s a massive carving on the side of a mountain of four dominant figures in American history, but because the story of  the artist, Gutzon Borglum, and his sons and their goal of creating the Mt. Rushmore memorial is inspiring.  To have that vision and to complete it is an individual accomplishment  rarely equaled in American history.

Our three hour ride through the Black Hills reminded us we weren’t in Kansas (or Florida) anymore.  Long distance touring on a motorcycle is great fun, but when you add adrenaline-generating hours of traveling on challenging mountain roads twisting back on themselves and keeping you in a floorboard-scraping lean for a full 360 degrees you experience part of what motorcycle riding is all about.  Mountain riding is special because you never know what may be around the next turn (and stopped in your lane).

Unfortunately, we also rode through several areas devastated by drought-enhanced forest fires and areas where the pine park beetle has wreaked havoc on the forest,  turning lush green mountain sides to a rusty, deadly brown.  If you doubt climate change, come to the west and gaze sadly on dead forests and vanishing glaciers.  My advice:  Enjoy what we have while its still here.

Leaving the Black Hills behind, we emerged into the grassland prairie that typifies most of eastern Wyoming.  Those of us who grew up with Grade B Western cinemas are familiar with the landscape where evil savages/noble natives slaughtered settlers/defended their homeland.  The landscape, barren as it may seem, is nevertheless beautiful in its own right.

Two friends: Can’t help but grin.

One of the highlights of my Ride West is seeing old friends.  Two days ago you met the Mawbys.  Tonight Jon and I had dinner with Marilyn’s and my best friend from our Wyoming years in the 1980s.  Linda Croonberg, a third generation Wyoming rancher, has more stories and more interesting ways to tell stories, than anyone I know.  Living and working alone  on an 8,000 acre ranch 20 miles north of Laramie on the high plains of Wyoming, she does more  in a week than most people I know do in a month.  We spent  two and a half short hours at dinner this evening catching up on our lives and renewing old traditions that involve knocking back tequila shots and laughing at new and old stories.  It was, as you can tell, a great evening.  It ended with her promise to visit us this year in Florida.

Tomorrow:  Through the Rockies in Colorado and possibly to an old bone yard.

Perhaps I overstate slightly when I say every motorcycle rider must make a pilgrimage once in a lifetime to Sturgis, the Mecca of motorcycle rallies.  But only slightly.  Each year, hundreds of thousands of riders converge on a small town in South Dakota to pay homage not only to their steel steeds, but to the lifestyle their pampered rides signify.  Long before Jon and I reached Sturgis a little after noon today, we passed thousands of other riders enjoying the outstanding riding roads in the Black Hills.  And when we arrived in Sturgis, we joined hundreds of thousands of other pilgrims in the 72nd annual honoring of our two-wheeled, bone-rattling, ear-splitting, purse-draining demi-gods.

Taking time to enjoy the Cathedral Spires in Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

We opted for the long way through the Black Hills and didn’t regret a minute of it.  After almost 2,000 miles of upright riding since leaving Florida, I was thrilled to rely once again on the tread on the sides of the tires as I leaned first to one side then the other then back again, repeating the pattern for nearly two hours as we weaved through pine tree lined roller-coaster roads.  I even scraped some of the rust off my floorboards as I challenged the hairpins marked with 15 mph warning signs.

A buck and doe didn’t seem to be phased by us or dozens of other bikes that roared past.

The range out here is awe inspiring.  Makes one want to build a home here.  You can watch the deer and the antelope enjoy the playful pursuits of ungulate mammals.  And the people?  Everywhere we went they had nothing but kind words.  Above us and unblemished azure canopy completed the picture.   (Oh, did I mention that the Black Hills is where “Home on the Range” was written.  Hint: go through the lyrics.)

Jon rides carefully past several wary and powerful bison in the Black Hills.

The Black Hills is also home to one of the largest herds of bison in North America and, like a lot of people with cars, they seem to think they own the roads on which motorcyclists pursue their passion.   Several times on the morning ride we came to a stop as scores of the massive beasts meandered along and across the asphalt. Moreover, even when they were not in sight we knew of their previous presence by the turd slalom course they left on the road.  But we weren’t complaining.  It was nice to be able to watch a once nearly extinct species at home where they lived for thousands of years.

While some riders spend an entire week at the Sturgis Bike Rally, Jon and I were content to tour the major vendors, purchase the obligatory T-shirts and gifts for the unfortunates we left behind, and people watch as pedestrian motorcyclists jostled along crowded sidewalks and tens of thousands of bikes rolled through the streets, the owners showing off individualized accessories that make each bike as unique as their own fingerprints.

Jon takes in the sights at the FTS.

The Sturgis Bike Rally is, at its core, a big party for grown up kids.  And party central seems to be either the Buffalo Chip Campground or the Full Throttle Saloon.  We paid a visit to the latter.  Jon had seen a television special focused on the FTS and requested it be added to the afternoon itinerary.  Good call.  Knowing we had another hour of riding before our day was finished, we forsook the refreshments that enlivened so many others at the Saloon but still took in the sights and sounds that make the FTS and the Sturgis rally a critical part of motorcycle lore.  The parties of legend happen at night when bands blast their listeners and bartenders pour great quantities of joy juice.  My guess is that the highway back to the campsites and the hotels after the party ends is a scary place to be.

Tomorrow:  Perhaps a return visit to Sturgis, some other local sights, and, of course, more riding in the Black Hills as we head for Laramie, WY.

Wichita was dark when Jon and I rolled out of town at 5:45 and headed north at the beginning of a 12 1/2 hour, 630 mile ride. But dawn wasn’t far behind. I think sunrise may be the best time to ride a motorcycle: the air is cool, the smells are fresh and colors explode off the few clouds dotting the horizon as they did today. All the colors in the red/orange end of the spectrum made an appearance this morning as the sun rose to begin baking, once again, the Midwestern landscape. What a magnificent way to start a day.

Road trips are best when serendipity intervenes from time to time. Riding along US 24 in northwestern Kansas through small towns where residents depend largely on nature for their livelihood, I spotted just the kind of sign that turns an ordinary day into something unique. “World’s Largest Ball of Twine Ahead”. Any time you have a chance to witness an international superlative firsthand, you should seize that opportunity and add the experience to your storehouse of memories. So we stopped. I dismounted and stared at the World’s largest ball of twine. I wondered,”Why?” But having no suitable answer, I remounted my bike, content in the knowledge that I, unlike so many other people, had at least seen the World’s largest ball of twine.

Beyond the adventure of the sisal twine, the real highlight of today’s ride was seeing Mike and Diane Mawby again after a gap of several years. Our friends from our time in Tullahoma, Tennessee, are still the great people we knew years ago and continue to be one of hardest working couples I know. If you happen to go to see the twine, please continue on to Kearney, Neb., and stop by “Come and Git It Barbecue” for lunch at the friendliest place you’ll ever find. And be sure to have the beans. Tell them Dr. Dizzyhead said hi.

After lunch, the temperature quickly climbed to triple digits again. (It was 102 when we went through Oglala.). The six hours we spent on the bikes after lunch were not nearly as enjoyable as the six before noon. We got to Chadron and a very motorcycle-friendly Best Western, cooled down and started preparing for tomorrows ride to Sturgis and Rapid City.

Sorry for the late post. Everyone stay safe.

“I can’t wait to get on the road again.”

Jon and I made final preparations for tomorrow’s long ride (620 miles) that will take us toward Sturgis and the bike rally. There wasn’t really much to do. Both of have been anticipating this trip for so long that besides loading the bikes there wasn’t much to do. For those of you who don’t know, Jon is riding my previous bike–a 2007 Ultra Classic that I put almost 100,000 miles on. It still seems to be in good shape and should make about 4,000 miles in the next ten days without any problem. We’ll see.

I mentioned in an earlier blog that this trip will include seeing old friends and tomorrow’s ride will include a stop to see Mike and Diane Mawby, our best friends from our Tennessee days. I’m really looking forward to that.

Once again, thanks for following along. Everyone stay safe and we’ll try to do the same.

“I can’t wait to get on the road again.”

Today’s ride was a short one–less than 300 miles. Started at 7 though to avoid the afternoon heat.

Hadn’t gone far when I met an Oklahoma state trooper. Officer Jeremy Tolman. Nice young man. Turns out he rides an ’05 Road King. We talked briefly about motorcycles and the joy of the open road. He asked if I was aware that I was exceeding the posted speed limit by 10 mph in a construction zone. I admitted, candidly that I suspected I was going faster than the traffic laws of Oklahoma allowed but wasn’t aware of my exact speed. He showed me on the control panel inside his patrol car that I had, in fact, been riding faster than the traffic engineers deemed safe and appropriate for the conditions. He asked if I would go slower, at least until I got to Kansas. I assured him that I would. He provided me with an official report of our encounter and we went our separate ways. As I pulled SLOWLY back on to the highway, I could almost swear I heard him humming “on the road again.” I put Foghat’s “Slow Ride” on the CD player and cruised uneventfully to Wichita.

Spent a relaxing afternoon with mom and brother Jon. I did, however, see that all Frobishes seem to be afflicted by a malady that causes all 15 minute home repair jobs to take at least an hour. We had to move a refrigerator out of his house. Jon carefully measured the appliance in question but despite his best measuring effort the unit would not go through the door he had chosen for egress. So then both doors of the refrigerator had to be taken off and the water line and wiring to the freezer had to be disconnected. Eventually the job got done, but not before my brother completely wasted 60 minutes of my 28-day road trip. Oh well. That’s what family is for.

Tomorrow: final preparation for ride to Sturgis.

“I can’t wait to get on the road again.”

Left Kenner this morning at 6:30 knowing I had a long, hot day ahead. Hilary saw me off but the girls were sacked out. Probably easier to say goodbye while they’re sleeping anyway.

The morning ride–all interstate–was cool, comfortable and as pleasant as a ride on a straight highway can be. I didn’t see my first 100 degree temperature reading until after lunch when I was headed north in Texas. When I saw a thermometer at the 104 mark, I remembered that the day I did an iron butt ride (1000 mile) it was 107. That memory, however, didn’t make me feel any cooler today. I drank about a gallon of water and kept my mesh jacket and neck coolie on all day and the 10 hour ride wasn’t really too bad.

One of the best things about riding cross county (or even around town) is stumbling on a great little eatery at the end of the day. Tonight was one of those stumbles. A little, 12-table, one waitress, mom-and-pop home cookin’ kind of place. The appeal isn’t just the food which is often good but not great. It’s kind of like Cheers without the bar. Everyone’s friendly, most of the customers are repeats, and you order desert (blackberry cobbler and ice cream) just so you can hang around longer. It’s a good way to cap off a ride.

If you want Four Seasons, go to New York. If you want Americana, look for local license plates and 18-wheelers.

Tomorrow: A short ride (6 hours) to Wichita for two days with family.

“I can’t wait to get on the road again.”