The Long & Winding Road AKA

Emu's 6 Week Tour

Look Here For Raymond's Version Of Events

Part 25

Meandering with Purpose: Yellowstone

While on the road to ...
By 6:30 AM we were ready to roll. The motorcycles were packed and we had removed the ice and frost that had formed on them during the night. The sky was perfectly clear and the sun was low, shining brightly from the east. There was little or no breeze and the air temperature hovered just above freezing. It was going to be a very cold 10 mile ride into the village for breakfast and much needed hot coffee. We headed east from the campground riding directly into the sun. The bite from the cold air at 60 mph was terrible, 40 mph was manageable. Even from behind his windshield, Raymond didn't mind the slower pace either. I rode with jaw set, gritting my teeth, neck and shoulder muscles tensed, eyes focused straight ahead, bracing against the cold. Even at 40 mph the cold had my eyes watering behind the sunglasses. Then it happened! While shivering and totally focused on the road ahead, I got the feeling I was not alone. Although my peripheral vision was blurred by water buildup in the corner of the eye, I could see movement. I turned my head just in time to see a young moose running at full gallop in the ditch beside me. A moment later he made a sharp turn to the right and ran off into the woods. Raymond pulled up beside me yelling "Did you see that? Was that a moose? That was a Moose!"
It is a good omen when the moose run with the Intruders, and not into them!

Breakfast and a V-rod ...
The village of Yellowstone was a warm and welcomed sight. We parked the bikes on a side street in front of the only local restaurant open this early in the morning. The waitress/owner was a friendly old gal who kept the coffee coming. She saw the bikes and asked how far we'd come. Raymond gave her his condensed version of distance traveled and events to date. It's amazing how he can put a ton of pertinent information into a few short sentences and still tell pretty much the essence of what's been happening. Two other riders on rented Harley-Davidson's finished their breakfast about the same time we did. We got to talking outside by the bikes. The Harley's were a V-rod and I think a Heritage. The guy on the V-rod was not happy and his friend wouldn't trade bikes with him. He let me test ride the V-rod up and down the street. From that short ride, I could see why he wasn't a happy camper. We gassed up and headed for the entrance gate to Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone ...
We entered the west entrance of the Park just after 8 AM and rode along the Madison River. There was a wildfire in 1988 and as you ride along you can see the forest's natural regeneration. The River basin is a lush wetland teeming with wildlife. No matter where you look as you ride along, the distant mountains always border the ever-changing panoramic view from the motorcycle. Our first stop was to watch a bull elk graze by a bend in the river. When we turned south on the road toward Old Faithful, we passed a lone bison (buffalo) standing under a tree not more than 10 feet from the road. The motorcycles and cars didn't seem to phase this beast at all.
We were now following the Firehole River toward the Lower Geyser Basin. As we entered the basin, the terrain in the immediate vicinity changed drastically. This is an active volcanic area. The magmatic heat still powers the parks geysers, hot springs and mud pots. Very little vegetation encroaches in the active areas. We stopped along the way to check out a small single geyser outcropping. It was about 150 feet from the road. We'd walked about halfway to it, when some people in a truck started yelling at us. We returned to the roadside and were informed you're only allowed to walk on marked trails or walkways in this area. The ground is encrusted and can give way underneath the unsuspecting tourist, dropping him into boiling hot water. We thanked the two in the truck for the warning and a little further down the road we read a sign warning to that effect. We stopped at Midway Geyser Basin and toured an assortment of geysers, hot springs, natural fountains and bubbling mud pots. At times you would almost think you are on another planet. We continued on to Old Faithful.
Now, Old Faithful should be renamed "Old I'm going to tease you a few times before I blow my top". And that is exactly what Old Faithful does. She starts to spout, everybody rolls film. She stops. Cameras stop. She starts again. Film roles again. She stops again and repeats this several more times. A natural showman this geyser, building up the suspense and then blowing her top in a magnificent finale.
From Old Faithful we took our time riding the 50 miles to Canyon Village. We sighted much wildlife as we rode along. We stopped for lunch and refueled. The road from Canyon Village up past Tower Fall is absolutely spectacular. The road climbs up the mountain side and at one point as you round a ridge, far below is the Tower Falls. We had to stop and take in the magnificent view of the gorge and waterfall from this vantage point. We continued on over the mountains toward the Northeast entrance to the park. We made one last stop at the crest of the last mountain pass before leaving the park. We pulled the bikes well off the road, onto the rocky ridge of the mountainside. Raymond took pictures. I laid down in the sun and thin air at this altitude for a quick nap, just to drift off enjoying the surroundings. Once past the mountains the eastern entrance to the park is more rolling foothill and was a pleasant ride to end our Yellowstone experience.

Part 26

Meandering with Purpose: Beartooth

A few years ago, Harleyboy, Stevie Red Pants (don't ask) and I had been planning a weekend road trip for months. When the trip finally arrived, I was sick as a dog with a cold verging on pneumonia. I've never missed a planned road trip and this was no exception. We rode.

Our tour of Yellowstone National Park had been fantastic, informative and most enjoyable. By the time we reached Druid Peak, the effects of the previous night's cold was catching up. I had managed to somehow damage a ligament or cartilage in my knee that morning, and the leg was now swelling and stiffening. To make matters worse, I was now beginning to feel the effects from a very mild, slight case of hypothermia. The whole body just felt off and very lethargic. Good thing we were riding or I might have called in sick.

We left the park at the northeast entrance and stopped at the village of Silver Gate for a break. While sitting at a bench outside the general store, about 100 feet away from us a black bear came charging into view. He was at a full run, crossing the highway and hightailing it down a side road between two homes. Several locals jumped into their pickup truck and took off in hot pursuit. Raymond and I just looked at each other and figured we'd now have to watch out for bears as we rode along. We continued on and refueled at Cooke City. From there it was all open road to the Beartooth Pass.

Highway 212 from Cooke City to Colter Pass runs the north side of an expansive valley between two mountain ranges. The view to our right as we rode eastward on the road nestled into the beginnings of mountain foothills, is a panoramic view that sweeps low and away for miles. It's flat, tall grass covered range land. About a mile away, a river meanders its way through the valley. Several miles past the river, the valley sweeps up again, to a beautiful border of snow capped mountains veering off southward. This widens the expanse even more. As wondrous as the landscape is here, it was the local population we marveled at. Grazing along the river was a free roaming herd of bison about 200 strong. Even from a mile away, a herd of bison this size is very impressive. A few miles further, we came across a small butte about the size of a house right beside the highway's soft shoulder. Normally we would not have stopped, but just beyond the butte was a buffalo sitting in the grass at roadside. We stopped, figuring we could climb this big roadside rock and get some pictures of the beast. We discovered a second buffalo mucking around in the muddy creek bed on the far side of the butte. I climb down to within a few feet of this buffalo, staying on a ridge just above him. I figured if he turned my way, I could be on top of the butte before the animal could think "Stupid tourist descendant of buffalo hunters"! We took our pictures and then gave old "Sitting Buffalo" a wide berth as we rode off.

Raymond and I were now getting close to the Bear Tooth Scenic Highway. The only thing that could possibly get in our way now would be a fork in the road. When given the choice of staying on 212 or the veering off on 296 ... well, you guessed it! We rode for less than an eighth of a mile and stopped because we both felt this wasn't the road we wanted to be on. As we were setting up our pulp GPS (map), a pickup truck pulled up and slowed to see if we were having problems. The driver of the truck must have been one of those TV evangelists, for it only took him a few short words to turn us around completely and have us travel a higher road.
Now back on track on 212, the road started upward and onward. The road climbs rather leisurely at first, easy long sweepers and "S" curves around rolling hills. Then the terrain starts to change and become more rocky. The vegetation as you get a little higher, starts to become more pine tree than anything else. The road now has long steep upward stretches with more challenging curves around some very steep inclines. Always pushing upward. The rock face becomes more predominant the higher we go. The pine trees are thinning and becoming the smaller skinny ones indigenous to higher mountain elevations. Along the guard rails are tall colored poles not unlike big thick whip antennas. These are used to measure snow depth and guide snowplows. As we get higher up the mountain pass, the temperature starts to drop noticeably and the wind seemed to pickup a little more around each bend. The terrain was now becoming snow-covered. Two things were affecting us. One, Raymond was fascinated by the snow. Being from Florida, he sure doesn't like the cold or the snow for that matter, but snow in July sure fascinated him. So near the summit we stopped and walked in the snow and took in the beauty that is the top of the Rockies. The other effect was the cooler temperatures were chilling me to the bone. The temperatures didn't warrant the chills I was getting. I attributed the sudden cold sensitivity as an aftereffect of the hypothermia. It was also having a tiring, almost sleepy effect on me. I recognized this effect early in our ascent up the pass and remedied the situation by focusing on the road and repeatedly reminding myself not to let the mind drift or be overly distracted by the terrain. With a little effort I was riding within normal parameters.
No sooner did we round the top of the pass and start the descent, when we were met by a blast of warm air rushing up the north side of the mountains. We reached the last rest area and scenic lookout before descending down the Montana side of the pass. From here the highway is a very steep set of switchbacks that drop from this high elevation to the valley floor below. We rode this stretch of highway fairly aggressively. It was fun. My ears popped twice during this rapid, twisty descent. As we traveled along one level, you could ride over to the edge, look down and see the next stretch of road 200 feet below you. From the valley floor as we made the last sweep past the mountain, I looked up at the switchbacks dug into the mountainside, and got a rush from just knowing we had just ridden that amazing stretch of road. The Beartooth Pass is a natural motorcycle high. If you're going to enter Montana by motorcycle, do yourself a great favor. Take the high road!

Part 27
Meandering with Purpose:
Wounded knee at Little Bighorn

It was late afternoon when we came down off the Beartooth Pass and headed for Red Lodge. It was warm and sunny on the Montana side of the mountains. I was now riding with my left leg stretched straight out, resting on the highway peg. It was very painful to bend the leg and I had to swing the leg out to the left in order to move my foot down to the foot peg to shift gears. Thankfully there wasn't much traffic and the road was easy cruising. This stretch of road for the next half-hour was very quiet. My ears had not yet adjusted to the atmospheric pressure after the rapid descent down the mountain. Hearing impairment is a very weird sensation. It quite literally pained me greatly when we saw a disabled bike on the roadside. Moving the leg to gear down and stop was a trip of it's own. The disabled motorcycle was an old Harley shovel head with loads of miles on her. She looked her age, but you could see this bike was a worker and had been lovingly maintained. The roadside dilemma was the chain had broken. The owner had a connecting link, but not a big enough wrench to loosen the locking nut on the axle. We checked our tools and of course metric just won't fit standard. Besides we had nothing the size he needed either. He was a friendly fellow, looked every bit the old classic Harley rider. He was a local who said he had a new chain at home, but it was such a nice day he figured he could get in one last ride. Raymond and I kept thinking of ways to help him out, even towing him if we could get some rope. Eventually using a hammer and pipe, the locknut started to loosen. He thanked us for stopping and said he'd be OK now. He asked where we were from and was impressed by our road trip to date. We headed on to Red Lodge.
We had reservations for a campground a few miles from the Little Bighorn battlefield. By the time we reached Red Lodge I knew I was pretty much spent for the day. To continue on from this point would have been inviting the crash gods down upon me with a vengeance. Raymond agreed and we got ourselves a hotel for the night. I must have hobbled pretty good when I got off the bike because the manager offered us the handicap room. We unloaded the bikes, washed up and headed into town for a steak dinner. Upon return to the hotel, I hit the hot tub just as fast as my one good leg would carry me. Finally, warm at last. At that moment I truly did intend on spending a rest of my life in that hot tub. A few minutes later, Raymond got in and I think was contemplating making this his permanent residence as well. As we sat there just mellowing out in the bubbling hot water, we got to talking about the last couple of days on the road. The conversation got to the point where we realized we didn't know what day it was or the date. Not that we cared really, but curiosity kept us back tracking to figure out the day. Help arrived in the form of a couple of very attractive young ladies who came by to check out the Jacuzzi. I would have rated them as 10's but they had boyfriends attached to them, so they automatically got dropped a notch or two on the cuteness scale. But Raymond and I took advantage of them anyway. They both gave us that "Duh" look you see when people watch the Jerry Springer show, when we asked what day and date it was. They couldn't believe we were asking. We had to explain about the bike trip and that we lost track of time ... again. Finally one girl shook off the "Duh" effect and said "It's Friday, you know ... like July 4th!"

In the next morning we stopped in town and had coffee and pastry at a bakery before heading to Billings and on to Little Bighorn. Just as we were about to mount up and leave, three Harley's pulled up in front of us and then walked their bikes into position, parking beside us. As soon as they shut off their engines, I thanked them for the courtesy, allowing me to hear if my bike had started. They laughed and we spent the next five minutes or so talking bikes and trips. The morning ride to Little Bighorn was uneventful and pleasant.

I've seen Earl Flynn's heroic Custer. I've also seen the portrayal of a maniacal, egotistical Custer in "Little Big Man". The Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument and visitors center, tells not of villains and heroes, but rather the story of a battle. A battle that on June 25th 1876, the Lakota, Cheyenne and other tribes of the Great Plains won. By theatrical accounts, I had always thought there was only the one encounter, an ambush or surprise attack by the Indians. This was not quite the case. On June 17th at the Battle of Rosebud, Gen. George Crook's company was knocked out of the campaign when they clashed with a large Lakota - Cheyenne force along the Rosebud River. On June 25th there were two battlefields. The Custer Battlefield, where at Last Stand Hill, the last of Custer's 7th Calvary was massacred. There was also the lesser-known Reno - Benteen Battlefield. To walk the battlefields and to stand on the hills, looking back through time where the battles were fought, has a sobering effect. Hollywood's misrepresentation and glorification of actual events, do a disservice to both sides of this historical conflict. And in doing so, a disservice to us.

Back at the motorcycles, while resting up under some shady trees, we gave Pat (frmrpat) a phone call. Couldn't get an answer so we called his brother Perry (Plowboy). We made arrangements to meet up with the famous Montana cattle baron brothers at Glendive. Bum leg or not, feeling poorly from the aftereffects of hypothermia or not, the next 3 1/2 days turned out to be an ongoing riding party. I could say that the brothers are as mental as I am. But that would be telling ... and another Meander altogether!

Part 28
Meandering with Purpose:
Brothers of Big Sky

From the Little Bighorn, we rode approximately 180 miles to rendezvous with frmrpat (Pat) and Plowboy (Perry) at Glendive. The two Cattle Baron brothers had ridden 65 miles just to meet up and escort us through no hostile territory at all. Now first impressions last forever. Our instructions were to get off the interstate at Glendive and head to the McDonald's by the K-mart. Well, just so that for once we wouldn't look stupid, we stopped at the first gas station off the interstate and asked where exactly the McDonald's and K-mart were. We were told it was just around the bend and we couldn't miss it. I wanted to say "this bend right here?", but that would make me look stupid. From the road, everything was clear. Rounding the bend, the golden arches could be seen. The restaurant was close to the road with a huge parking lot stretching back to the Plaza behind. In the middle of this mostly empty parking lot, stood two pristine 1400 Intruders. We pulled up and parked beside the bikes. You can tell a lot about someone by what shape their motorcycle is in. These two bikes wanted for nothing. To even the untrained eye, one could see these bikes belonged to men who respected and cared for their machines.

The two brothers emerged from the restaurant, partly I think to greet us and partly to make sure we weren't just a couple of scavengers who happened by, looking to salvage parts for my 1400. Now, Pat and Perry are everything in real life that they convey of themselves on the Internet. Both Raymond and I had been looking forward to meeting these two. I have been joking around with Pat on the Internet for years. Perry, had ridden with me before via a cyberspace motorcycle racing game called "Road Rash". It surely was a meeting of old friends for the first time. It becomes apparent rather quickly that these two are brothers by blood, and buddies by choice. We had a quick snack, gassed up and started the 65 mile return trek to the "Homestead".

We stopped near Lindsay for some dinner, then headed on to Circle as the sun started casting long shadows from the west. Circle Montana, I believe is only a sprawling suburb of the "Homestead". Riding northwest of Circle, the road is paved and straight for the most part, with a nice little sweeper swerve here and there to add to the pleasure. The last mile or two is gravel road. As you come up on the "Homestead", there should be a sign saying "Welcome to Breitbachville". The brother's spread is some 15 square miles of working farm and cattle ranch. On the south side of the road is Plowboy's residents, local airport and amusement park. Plowboy is a big kid at heart. So am I, so I had to admire what he had done with the place . After we settled, unpacked the bikes, Perry showed us around. He has a Gas Gas trial bike he rebuilt and a small obstacle course to practice on. (A certain 2 by 4 being the main obstacle! Haha). On the other side of the driveway, there are bales of hay set up in a random fashion. That's the paintball range. Back the other way is a large structure. Half this structure houses farm equipment, the other half is the hangar. It was now getting dark, and with the motorcycles safely tucked in, we jumped in the minivan and drove to the north side of Breitbachville to frmrpat's. Now Pat, if you've seen his picture, when in his overalls is the consummate portrait of what a farmer should look like. But this man's talents are not just in working the land. He cultivates conversations that stimulate the thinking process. Harvard could use professors of this man's caliber. As the evening's conversations progressed, I came to realize it's Perry's ying to Pat's yang and vice versa that sparks these two. Perry figured they should join us for a couple of days to the Black Hills. Pat wasn't so sure. As Mrs. frmrpat explained, Perry has no problem with doing something on wim. Pat is a little more reserved. In the final analysis it came down to a lesson in logic.

Perry: "Let's go!"
Pat: "Well I don't know, the swather needs fixin and ...."
Perry: "And it will still need fixin when we get back!"
Pat: thinking about it for a moment. "Ya know, it's hard to argue logic like that!"

It was getting late, so we headed back to the south side. We'd know in the morning if we were going to have an escort out of Montana.

The next morning after a good night's sleep, Perry and I went out and played with the Gas Gas. Riding a trial bike with an injured leg I found to be very curtailing. Raymond joined us and took the bike for a spin in the field as well. It was now time to head for the airport and a look at the brother's backyard from the air. Raymond declined going along for the ride, so Perry and I hit the wild blue yonder. Perry as I said is a big kid at heart and a wee bit of a prankster, but at the same time, is very thorough and responsible when it comes to the operation and maintaining of his aircraft. As we left the ground and gained some altitude, Perry banked the plane so we'd head back to do a fly pass for Raymond. As he banked the plane it shook a bit. Perry with a deadpan look said " Ya know I'm a bit of a puker!" Returning the deadpan I said "Well, I'm a bit of a puker myself when puked on!"
As we flew over Perry's home, he pointed out the original farmhouse, Pat's place, and another house belonging to his mother and another brother. From the air the farmhouses along with the other assorted farm buildings, really do look like a small community. "Breitbachville". We flew over the back 40 and I could understand why they raise cattle. Being a cityboy, I sure wouldn't want to mow their backyard. On the way back in, Perry decided some elk hunting was in order. For a brief moment I envisioned hanging from the wing strut with a rifle taking potshots. Elk hunting in this case meant buzzing an elk. There was a good cross wind as we came in for a landing. No problem, Perry just powered her to a perfect landing and taxied directly into the hangar. This guy sure knows his stuff. I'm sure if Perry had been born at the turn-of-the-century he would have been a Bi-plane flying barnstormer. I sure enjoyed his taking me up for a look around.
It was now time to hit the road and see if Pat had decided to go. Much to his wife's surprise, Pat was packed and raring to go. We topped up the tanks at the Breitbachville gas pump and headed for the very unsuspecting Dakotas. The next two days was a mini road trip of its own. As it turned out, the Sturges Rally was a little early this year. You don't need 40,000 Harleys when you ride into town on four Intruders, with the Brothers of Bigsky!

The Journey Continues Here

Note This is Ed's story of his almost 19,000KM journey.
It has not been edited by me in any way and is posted here,
so others may enjoy the trip Vicariously
Emu is a member of the Intruder Alert Cafe

Be Sure to Check out Raymond's Abridged Version of Events

Type @ ya'll later
Night_Wolf

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