Day 5, Monday, August 9th.
This morning Rick had to get his bars fixed at the Harley shop. Unfortunately, Harley shop in Cody only sold clothing and trinkets, no repair facilities. It was just a stroke of luck that the motel we stayed at was right next to the Cody Custom Bike Shop. There was a line waiting at 8:00 A.M. when we arrived. One guy had a brand new, bald tire after going only 1,500 miles. We commented that it must have been a shitty tire they sold him.
His friends clued us in, “It’s the way he rides.” Apparently, he peeled out after every stop and screeched to a halt every time he slowed down. So much for the cheap tire theory. Rick snagged an appointment for 11:00, so we hung out in the motel room till just before the 11:00 check out time. By this time, every other bike was long gone, and I’m guessing that the motel cleaning staff was trying to figure out a polite way to have us evicted.
We walked right next door to the bike shop and milled around talking to all the other bikers who were being saved by this custom builder. Two fellows from New Zealand got repairs to one of their bikes so we chatted with them for a while. They were going to Sturgis and then to a few NASCAR races around the U.S. They were racing fans so that was cool. I offered them some Australian licorice that was in my bag, and it surprised them that they had to come all the way to Cody, Wyoming to run into a licorice addict from California who could supply them with their favorite licorice. They eagerly accepted my offer and we got a laugh out of the irony.
Finally, around 12:30 Rick’s bike was ready to go. The owner replaced both bolts and charged Rick $89.00. This guy could have charged every biker there as much as he wanted, since he was the only show in town, but he was more than fair and as far as we could see they did a great job. He usually opened up at 9:00, but that day he came in early to help every one get back on the long road to the Badlands. The sales lady showed Rick some rain gear that would fit him (size 4X) so he bought it. We had, up to this point, been either ahead of or just behind the rain and wind, and so we had no need of rain gear, yet. As it turned out, Rick would be thankful later on.
We didn’t hit the road to Sturgis (actually Rapid City where we had rooms waiting) till 1:00 p.m. That meant we had to push on, while we still had daylight. We passed through the Bighorn Mountains on the way to Sheridan, Wyoming and our intersection with Interstate 90. The Bighorns are really beautiful. As we descended out of the Big Horn Mountains we saw the rolling hills of Wyoming and the plains beyond laid out below us. It was such a sight that we stopped at a scenic pullout and took some photos. You could actually see the curvature of the Earth from this high perch. This truly was one of the best vistas I have ever seen.
It was very windy rolling into South Dakota from Wyoming that night. Enough so, that it was a challenge to hold a straight line down the wide smooth Interstate 90. We saw herds of antelope and many deer along the road in Wyoming and South Dakota and just as we hit the Rapid City limits, a deer ran right across the freeway in front of me. She wasn’t too close and was hauling ass without looking either way. It was just a mad dash with luck as her only protection. It was a reminder to me to keep a close eye out for wild life. When we got to the motel at around 9:30 p.m. my wife Suzanne, who had flown in earlier in the day, was outside waving to us, so we would know where to park. It was a great greeting and she was with 6 other bikers she befriended earlier in the day. It was about 8 ½ hours and 400 miles since we left Cody in the morning, so we ate some late supper and called it a night. I fell asleep looking forward to seeing Sturgis in the morning.
Day 6, Tuesday, August 10th.
As bad luck would have it, I got a call from my workplace and they needed me to take care of some issues over the phone. It was not until 11:30 that we made our way out to the bikes for some fun. We only had four days in the Sturgis area, and we had already lost half of Monday due to handlebar problems, which caused us to arrive so late. Now, we lost half of Tuesday due to problems at work. There were no other bikes in the lot when we departed.
We had lost fun to make up for. Sturgis contained a big crowd. I don’t know what the official estimates were, but it was big. There were so many people in the streets, and on the sidewalks that you couldn’t move. We didn’t want to jam around in a hurry. We were finally in our element, people watching, bike watching and shopping like old ladies at Macy’s. Whatta blast, we arrived in Mecca. We bought souvenirs for our friends and relatives. We also messed up on the sizes for ourselves. We’re like shopping dyslexics. The weather in Sturgis was great, just a little warm but no rain.
There weren’t a lot of 1%er patches visible but the Hells Angels had a strong presence and were out on the street wearing their colors with no worries. They had stores on both sides of the main drag. We saw a few other patches but not many.
On a safer note, it really was amazing to see how many bikers there were gathered about the Sturgis. They were just a small percentage of the total riders in the United States. I thought of how many folks were still at home and at work, like I usually am every year. Most of them would like to attend the Black Hills Rally. That added up to a hell of a lot of folks who like to ride. I would venture that most of us have two or three guns and a lot of us have military experience. We would make quite an imposing army if we all pulled together. Once again, I’m just musing for the fun of it.
Getting back to the topic of Sturgis, we ate at the Jack Daniels bar or someplace like that. The Jack Daniels girls were there. There was good music and a lot of happy people just having a good time. It was a friendly vibe and we had a helluva meal and some drinks before roaming back into the crowd. 
Before leaving, we milled around another hour or so looking at cool bikes and interesting people. Sturgis treats bikers right. Everything is about bikes and bikers. The cops I came into contact with were minding their own business. By contrast, if you’ve been to Hollister the past few years, you know the difference. Hollister looks like a war zone. Helicopters constantly buzzing overhead, plainclothes and uniformed cops almost outnumber bikers, and the harassment factor was off the charts. Sturgis is the exact opposite. Sturgis is also flooded with money in return for this inviting and accepting attitude.
After we got back to the motel in Rapid City, I struck out on my own to go look at my old neighborhood while Rick and Suzanne rested up. I spent the first 18 years of my life in Rapid City (about ½ hour from Sturgis) so I had a lot to check out. I saw my old homes, and I visited an old neighbor. She was about 90 yrs. old and doing just fine. Her son Barry, who I knew from the old days, was there and we had a terrific visit. I went by my old school and around the old neighborhood and just took it all in. I headed back to the motel, and Suzanne and I went out to eat. Rick stayed at the motel. We had a real bad meal at the TGI Friday. It was bad food and the service stunk. We rolled back to the motel to sleep it off.
Day 7, August 11th, Wednesday
Once again, I had to deal with some collections issues at work, before we could hit the road. Rick didn’t feel well (it couldn’t be from a lack of Diet Pepsi) so he stayed at the room on Wednesday. At the continental breakfast, he made waffles and put apple topping and whipped cream on top. It was a bit sugary for a diabetic, with no medicine and that, along with being tired from all the riding, took Rick out of the game for a couple hours. Suzanne and I went riding around the Rapid City area. We stopped by my old friend, Rod Stamper’s jewelry shop to say hello. He was gone, but I was able to say hello to his mom. There were bikers lined up buying Black Hills gold jewelry. Rodney has been the manufacturer of Harley- Davidson gold jewelry for some time. Who knew back when we were kids running around the neighborhood, that he would one day be the supplier of Harley Black Hills Gold? I left a note for Rod to call me before we left. I hadn’t seen him for 45 years.
We left his shop and headed for Nemo Canyon. This was an old stomping ground for me and my brother, back when we lived there. We used to shoot guns, drink beer, fish, and take girls out there in our high school days. It was a great ride and from Nemo Canyon. You can peel one way to Deadwood, Sturgis, or Spearfish Canyon, or turn left and ride to Hill City, Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse Monument, or Custer State Park. Nemo Canyon is the perfect starting point for many good rides, and I’m lucky enough to know the area well. On the way back to the motel, we stopped at my old house, which is near the entrance to Nemo Canyon, and Suzanne filmed it so I could show my brothers and sisters back in California.
When we got back to the room Rick felt better, so we rode down the road to the Rapid City Harley shop. They packed in a lot of vendors around their facility. There was also a lot of good grub to choose from. I bought new handgrips at the Kuryakyn booth. We ate some fine chow and shopped some more. We didn’t expect it to be set up so well. That was one damn sharp Harley shop.
Day 8, August 12th, Thursday
We were having breakfast when my old friend Rod Stamper called. We set up a meeting time of 9:30 at his shop. When we arrived, I barely recognized him but his smile looked familiar and I asked this stranger if he was Rodney. It was and it was clear to me that I was also nearly unrecognizable to him after all these years. We started talking about old times, and it was so cool to see an old friend after so long. He has a great family life and a successful business, and I was so happy to see that. He remembered that my brother, Steve, and I had owned an old red Simplex cycle when we were about 15. That spawned many other stories and the time just flew by. Rod is still the same nice guy he was when we were teenagers.
Not only does he make Harley Black Hills gold, but he rides Harleys too. If you’re ever at Sturgis swing by his shop in Rapid City and check out his restored Indian on display inside. We took photos with each other and before leaving, I invited him to come visit us in California, so I could show him around our gold country back roads.
We said our goodbyes, and then it was time to head just down the road from his shop to Mt. Rushmore. Rick had never been to Mt. Rushmore, so we went by for a look before heading down some back roads into the Black Hills.
We stopped along the highway where there was a perfect view of the Presidents (after our crowded experience in Yellowstone, we were reluctant to get inside the actual parking area).
We took pictures and then off we rode back to Hill City, where we got some more T-shirts. We had never seen so many T-shirt vendors. They were everywhere and I think we bought shirts from all of them. After that, we headed back into Rapid City via Rim Rock drive. Rodney had informed me that my old friend Harley Scoville had a bar on Rimrock Drive, so I went that way to visit him.
We missed the turnoff to his bar and just continued on into Rapid City. We stopped at Canyon Lake Park for a few minutes and I took some photos to show my relatives in California.
We went back to the motel and boxed up our dirty clothes and new purchases (mostly T-shirts) and took them to the Harley shop where there was a UPS booth. Instead of carrying all these items back home on the bikes, we just shipped them.
After that we headed back to Sturgis for one last visit. Suzanne filmed our ride to Sturgis and some of the downtown activities and finally our exit from Sturgis toward Rapid City. It was the end of another great day of riding.
Day 9, August 13th, Friday
I ate breakfast with Suzanne, and then it was time for her to catch the shuttle to the airport for her flight back to California. I hated to see her go. We’d had such a great time in South Dakota. We didn’t want it to end. Rick and I watched the weather channel to decide whether to take the shorter southern route home or the longer, more scenic, northern route. The weather channel said it was going to be sunny all week up north, so we opted for the picturesque run, especially since Rick hates to ride in the desert heat and doesn’t find the desert particularly interesting to look at. The heat doesn’t bother me too much, and I find the desert beautiful in its’ own way but the cooler, longer and more scenic route appealed to both of us. On the way to Sturgis, we took five days, mostly on back roads and with fewer freeway miles. The way back home would be mostly freeway miles and a few back roads.
We packed up the bikes, checked out, and rolled northwest. On the way out of town, I stop in Sturgis at the Black Hills National Cemetery to visit my parents’ graves. How strange it was to be in Sturgis for the rally but also in Sturgis visiting my parents’ graves. Rick waited for me outside the gates and it was a good thing, as I became emotional at the sight. Many forgotten memories and feelings crept back into my mind. I don’t usually show much emotion but this time I couldn’t control it. I remembered how good our family life had been before our Mother died at 38 years of age. There had been seven of us and suddenly there were only six. I remembered how we lost our home and splintered after that.
I remembered how young our Father was when he died and thought about how many things most families take for granted. We were not able to experience and share as a family because of their early deaths. I suppose being in Rapid City visiting old friends and seeing old sights must have triggered this heightened sense of loss. I’m sure that our parents would be happy to know that all five of their children experienced the joy of having children, and lived to relative old age. I comfort myself with those thoughts. I said goodbye to them, dried my eyes and headed back out the gates to join up with Rick for the ride home. For some reason I hid my tears even though there was no shame in crying at the loss of your parents. Rick was good enough to say nothing to me, and we just took off without discussion.
A couple of miles later we passed the main Sturgis exit and took one last look to our right where the party was still going strong. For us the Sturgis trip aspect was over, but for many bikers still within Badlands range it was Friday, and they were rolling this direction for the final three days of the biggest and best rally I’ve ever been to. Goodbye Sturgis, hello Wyoming.
Of course the rain, which was not supposed to be anywhere around these parts all week (according to the weather channel) came sputtering down almost as soon as we crossed out of South Dakota. It started around Gillette, and we rode in mild rain for some time. We pulled off the main highway in order to get a closer look at Devil’s Tower in northeastern Wyoming by the Belle Fourche River. We got close enough to see it clearly in the distance but chose not to go all the way there. We took the unimpressive photo you see here and then rolled back to interstate 90 heading northwest for Montana.
Just across the Montana border we ran into an older Bandido who was wearing his colors over his rain gear. He was from Texas and was, with his younger female partner, heading to Sturgis. He was heading over to take a look at the area of Custer’s Last Stand also known as The Battle of Little Bighorn, or according to the Indians, the Battle of the Greasy Grass. He was a friendly guy and seemed a little out of place out there in Montana, running alone with his colors flying proudly and looking at historic sites.
Rick and I also decided to swing by Custer’s last stand and get a sense of the terrain where those men lost their lives. It’s a lonely looking area with rolling hills and wandering creeks. It was peaceful, but I thought to myself what a chaotic and frightening place it must have been when the fighting was took place. That would have been June 25th and 26th in 1876 near the Little Bighorn River in Eastern Montana. There were 700 of Custer’s men killed including Custer, two of his brothers, a nephew, and his brother in law. There were also 55 wounded. Five entire companies were annihilated. Payback’s a bitch. He had hunted Indians for some time, and I guess he was feeling too cocky. Remember, never underestimate your enemy. It is a sobering spot to visit especially on a gray and drizzling day. That’s what I would call an historic spot.
The rain increased. Remember the nice lady at the Cody Custom Bike Shop? Rick sure did, without her, he woulda been a big leather sponge. Since it was raining hard, we didn’t take too many photos and instead, just slogged along till we rolled into Livingston, Montana. We found a comfortable place to grab a cheap room for the night and right next door was a terrific family restaurant, which served the best homemade tasting food on the trip so far. I’m not sure how many miles we ran in the rain, but from Rapid City, S.D. to Livingston, Montana was a good long ride. We were ready to rest up for the next leg of our trip.
Day 10, August 14th, Saturday
We woke up early and after some more McDonald’s breakfast we headed out of Livingston, still on Interstate 90, for Idaho and Washington. It continued to rain for half of the day and it was damn brisk. August in Montana felt like winter in the central valley of California. We had on all of our leather gear, plus gloves, face warmers and rain gear, and still we were a bit chilled. Once again, due to the rain we rode on with few stops to enjoy the scenery. Even though it was raining, the country was still beautiful in this part of Montana. We passed through Bozeman and Butte and on toward Missoula, where my friend Cal Fuss lived, and the entire way was rolling green open country. I saw a bald Eagle flying off to my right, as we neared Missoula. We stopped to gas up and grab a bite to eat at Five Guys Burgers, or something like that. They sold only the basics; burgers, fries and drinks, but the portions were huge and the burgers damn good. They also had giant bags of peanuts in the shell. It was a strange and tasty place to snatch a burger and fill up on salted peanuts.
With full bellies we rolled toward the northern tip of Idaho and by now the weather was sunny and warm. We passed by Lake Coeur d’Alene and the lake was huge and just a beautiful blue color.
We continued on to nearby Spokane where we endured the first real traffic we encountered in several days. Soon after passing through Spokane, the country started to look dry and barren, and it becomes downright hot. We stopped for gas in a little town called Sprague, where I failed to look at my gas receipt until I arrived back home. I discovered that they charged me for almost 7 gallons of gas. My tank only holds 5 gallons. They obviously needed to recalibrate their tanks or maybe that’s how they stayed in business in this desolate little spot. We continued on through this barren land to Ellensburg where we cut south on Hwy. 82, following the Yakima River to Yakima.
From there, we rolled to Toppenish where we decide to spend the night. We scored a room and then hunted town for some supper. While we ate, we noticed people lining up at the window watching the “reality show” taking place in the park across the street. There was large group of Indians picnicking and two fellows were slugging it out. The cops arrived and the two warriors stop fighting each other and decided to turn their attention on the cops. One of the Indians was tazered, falling to the ground and jerking around like a carp out of water.
The second fellow fares just a little better because he only gets blasted with either pepper spray or mace, I’m not sure which, but he ended up crawling around on the ground rubbing his eyes frantically. A short time later they were both handcuffed and on their way to a free meal at the jail. The remaining family members and friends were completely unfazed by the fistfight and continued partying as if it was a common occurrence and no big deal, amazing.
“What’s all that noise,” one Indian said. “Please pass the potato salad.” As we finished dinner and headed to our room, they were still drinking and going strong.
That brought to an end a day of riding through cold, rainy weather and hot, dry weather and last, but certainly not least, the disturbing and somewhat sad dinner show at the end of the day.
Day 11, August 15th, Sunday
We once again wound ’em up early at 7:20 A.M. Just before leaving we heard the weather channel saying that the Yakima area is in for record breaking heat today. Goodbye Yakima! From Toppenish we cut off of Hwy. 82, onto Hwy. 97 heading for the Columbia River Gorge and the Oregon border. The bottom of the gorge was cool and soon we were climbing up the other side into Oregon where the weather and the scenery both took a comfortable turn for the better.
Soon we began to see a succession of distant volcanoes. Vaguely in sight was Mt St. Helens at 8,365 ft., slightly shorter since blowing its top off a few years back, Mt. Hood the highest point in Oregon at 11,239 ft., Mt. Jefferson at 10,497 ft., South Sister at 10,358 ft., and several other lesser volcanoes. All around us were ancient lava flows that reminded us of the violent and fiery past that formed this beautiful area.
As we were nearing the California border around Klamath, Oregon we got to meet the second idiot during our time on the road. This one turned out to be an irate, possibly insane truck driver. He took road rage to new levels. I’m not sure if he was taking too many little white pills or if he was going through “manopause” or what the hell his deal was, but we could have done without meeting him. We had just passed him when coming from the opposite direction was a highway patrol car speeding towards us with his siren on and lights flashing. Everyone slowed down and pulled to the side of the road as required by the law till he could peel past us. The only ones who did not pull to the side were the trucker and his buddy in the truck in front of him. He flew past me just a foot from the side of my bike. He would have killed me, if I had pulled back onto the road just a second earlier. He just missed Rick as well.
We finally got back on the highway and when we passed him Rick flipped him off, which is the least response this guy should have expected after nearly killing us. Instead of realizing he was in the wrong he flips us back and floors his truck trying to run us down. Black smoke poured out of his stack and his diesel engine making roared deeply from being taxed so hard, and he was gaining on us fast. I motioned for Rick to get moving and we got the hell out of there knowing that motorcycles always lose a battle between cars or trucks.
How do I know that you ask? I just recently healed up from getting run over by a hit-and-run pickup truck driver, while I was stopped at a red light. I had two broken legs and a destroyed Road King to show for that encounter, and it was all fresh in my mind as this scene unfolded. It was also fresh enough in my mind that I wanted to kick this guy’s ass for trying to intentionally do something so stupid. You want to flip us off? That I can deal with. You want to run us over? That is crossing the line. We continued on till we came to a spacious truck chain up area, which was in sight of Mt. Shasta. Soon, we see these two idiots coming down the highway toward the chain up area and as they near us we invite them to pull over and settle this little dispute man to man. They just flip us off again and continue on down the road without slowing down. Being already stopped and in view of Mt. Shasta went ahead and took some photos of Mt. Shasta then got back on the road.
Again we caught up with them in the slower truck lane. As we pass we signal for them to pull over. Now these two are not so brave. They just took a quick glance over at me, and when I motion for them to pull off the road, they just look straight ahead. No more flipping us off, no more bad- ass gestures, not even another glance in my direction. By now they seemed worried that we might be going as far as their next gas stop, and they were two little scared punks. We flipped them off one more time for good measure, called them pussies and continue on our way home. The way I see it, we win by default and they were cowards. Oh, it’s great to be a Neanderthal.
Around the time the day’s drama unfolded, Rick’s rear tire showed signs of getting bald, so we slowed down to around 60 MPH for his safety, in case the tire blew. We looked the tread over and decided it was okay to push on for Redding, California where there was a Harley dealership. We arrived there around supper time. 
Rick casually mentioned his birthday, so I wanted to take him for a good meal to celebrate. We found an Outback Steak House and went in all sweaty, sunburned and dusty and had what I thought was the perfect meal to celebrate his B.D. and the end of our time on the road together. We both had a drink and a hearty meal then parted ways. He was going to stay at the motel next to the Harley dealership, and I was going to continue on home to be with my sweetie for the night. No offense to Rick, but when I’m that close to home, I will choose a room with Suzanne every time over a room with him. We had 11 great days of riding. Rick is a “no extra comforts” type of biker because he rode the whole way with no windshield, 20-inch apes, wearing moccasins half the time, and no diabetes medicine. He was the perfect riding mate for such a long journey. You find out what people are made of on trips like this. He’s made of tough stuff (and Diet Pepsi).
We said adios without a lot of fanfare. It was kind of a lowkey farewell after so many miles and days. Something to the effect of, “see you later Rick. I hope you get in first thing in the morning for your new tire.”
He replied something like, “All right. See you later.”
And I was gone, like a horse headed to the barn after a long day’s ride.
This leg of the ride would last four more hours. The sun was setting as I blasted for home on Hwy. 5. I looked to my left and see my shadow on the embankment. I’m heading south, the sun is low on my right side to the west and it is casting my shadow along the roadside. I think to myself that if I can’t take a photo of me scooting along at 75 mph, I can at least try to take a picture of “Shadow Me.”
I put my camera down and make the final push for home. The surroundings become more and more familiar as I roll closer and closer to home.
I pull into my driveway at around 10:30 P.M., just over 15 hours and around 750 miles after leaving Toppenish, Washington. Happily, Suzanne is once again there to greet me. She takes one final photo of me sitting there on my trusty steed looking shell shocked from all of the day’s events.
I check the mileage on my speedometer and see that I have traveled 4,120 miles since I left home. I think to myself, what fun, what an adventure, and what a great life! Somebody peel me off of this damn bike and where the hell is my bed?
It’s been a few days now since we got back from our trip. Rick was the first customer in line at the Harley shop in Redding on Monday. He got his tire replaced and rode home in time to relax and drink 10 or 12 Diet Pepsis while watching George Lopez on the tube.
I have had time to reflect a bit on the ride. One thing I realized is that I haven’t had many confrontations in the past few years, because most of the dumb asses I meet while I’m working and representing the company I work for. Customers may insult you, or bounce checks, or pay 6 months late, or not pay at al,l and you have to just remember that you are the face of your company, not an individual who has just been insulted, and you need to keep your true feelings to yourself. No ass kicking, I’m forced to be diplomatic and try to keep the account for the future.
Out there on the road, on a trip like ours, in the real world, when you run into someone who just insults the hell out of you, or tries to injure you, like the two idiots we ran into in Oregon, you can respond in the fashion that suits the moment. That’s not to say that I’m running around looking for asses to kick. At my age that could very well be akin to writing a check that I can’t cash. HOWEVER!!! If you do want to tell someone that they have pissed you off, and if you do want to at least try to do something about it, well, guess what, you can! Go ahead and make their day! After all, you have all that pent up anger from your years on the job, just waiting to be released like some deranged, caged, monkey on the next available asshole you run into.
That was one thing I took away from this trip. Another thing I discovered is that there were a hell of a lot of really comforting people along the way, who wanted to know where we were headed, ask details about our bikes, tell us stories from their past, or just chat away a few minutes. I came in contact with many people who wouldn’t even notice you if you were in a car, but they will strike up a conversation with you, when you’re on your bike. We didn’t see even one little incident in all of the Sturgis activities. We met only mellow, friendly people who were enjoying themselves. It’s interesting to note that the only dopes we met were not bikers. We also met many great people in Oregon, just not those guys I mentioned previously (the drunk and the truckers).
I also discovered that, for me, the rally, as great as it was, was secondary to the trip itself. While Sturgis was the actual destination, it was not the highlight. The highlight was the journey in its entirety. Sturgis turned out to be just one of the ingredients of the whole enchilada.
I thought about what things I would do differently in putting together this account of our ride, if I had it to do again. I would have taken more photos of the people I encountered. Some of them really still stand out in my mind. I would photograph more of the unusual or old buildings I saw and I would photograph more of the small town streets I drove down. There was a good feeling in some of the smaller towns that we passed through. They actually made me feel good while we were passing through. I mostly photographed the landscape, and now realize I missed some of the things that stuck with me the most. I’ll do better next trip.
I mentioned to Desirea, one of the young ladies I work with, that I had kept a journal during our ride and she said, “you’re such a nerd”. My first thought was, “don’t mess with me Desirea.” Actually I think maybe she’s right because I don’t personally know anyone else who has gone on a ride and made a damn book out of it. Actually, this is more of a pamphlet. If you saw the last episode of the Larry David show, Curb Your Enthusiasm, you may remember the part where they make fun of Jason Alexander’s book because as they say, “it’s so thin. It really is just a pamphlet, not a book, nooo, just a pamphlet.” Even though I may be a nerd and this may be just a pamphlet, I enjoyed the ride and I enjoyed putting it all down on paper. 
Thanks to my son Lee for helping me get this into the computer and then off of the computer and onto paper. Thanks to my son David for taking care of the house and pets and for doing parts of my job at work, while I was gone. Thanks to my wife Suzanne for being so selfless as to encourage me to take so many days on the road because instead, she deserves a long vacation together after taking care of me while I healed up from my broken legs and subsequent knee replacement. I think most wives who saw their husband nearly killed on a motorcycle and who had to nurse them back to health for a year or so would not be as understanding.
It was a great ride. Live long and prosper!
–Gary Miller
Monday, Aug. 30, 2010
