The GMan Chronicles:
(A small collection of short stories of my ride across the U.S. Summer 2004)



(Chapter 1)
THE GREAT ESCAPE:

As in any story of ones travels a departure is eminent, mine is no different. It was a cool, overcast Saturday morning in June, I was heavily clad in leather, gloves and the urge to ride, and ride I did. A scheduled rendezvous with the infamous SMan, 5 miles out, was delayed but only by minutes, due to my incessant desire to be ‘fashionably late’. My tardiness equips the SMan with needed ‘ammo’ for the road, which he uses at will.

Our first day’s route was carefully planned to exclude Freeway’s, Hiway’s, the Superslab……whatever you call those wide, flat, boring roads, in an effort to better experience our Washington State. The initial 25 miles were congested, but we knew it would soon trickled down to 2-lane mountain roads lathered with curves, hills, frequent passing and scenery beyond compare. After which we would break out into high desert, small towns and flat lands. The sights, the smells, the roads, the wind, the adventure, we were riding and all the worries, cares and thoughts of back home were behind us and we weren’t looking back for the next 5 weeks, at least I wasn’t.

It would be best to partially ‘unmask’ the SMan(Cuz) at this point so you can glean the full impact of our bantering. His given name will be of no help, but understanding that he’s been my best friend and elder cousin for almost half a century. True, 3 mos does not a lifetime make, but it bodes well from my point of view. We’ve ridden together for almost 40yrs from Mini-Bike fame of the pre-teens to an assortment of street bikes and, yes, both of us have come close to utter annihilation caused by no fault of our own whilst experiencing this passion we share. He’s Old, Short and Bald and that’s sufficient ammo for me, remember he has his own ammo and he’s very proficient with it! LOL

Our route took us over scenic Stevens Pass, meandered us thru the Bavarian Village of Leavenworth, and forded us the majestic Columbia River and all this before lunch. Speed limits are for comparison purposes and we don’t doddle. We even had time for two gas stops, a nature break, a photo op and a hardware store for security cables/locks to more securely tether our goods at future stops. Cuz has always traveled solo on trips as he’s just a bit independent, which has softened in his advancing years, so learning from his experiences were welcomed. I’ve not had much need for locking my bike as riding in groups of 20+ bikes is usually enough to chase off even the most determined thief.

Lunch on the open road, food baby, food! Well not exactly. Riding extended distances requires monitoring your intake. It’s important to eat light and drink water in volumes nearly rivaling your body weight, especially in warm weather. Our typical meal consisted of almonds(nuts), beef jerky(road-kill) and water. It took me only minutes to find a way to drink and ride at the same time. Pop top water bottles, what a great invention. I learned to nestle one behind my windscreen next to my bag. The vibration of the v-twin kept the water stirred and made for an almost kaleidoscope of colors, even allowed for welcomed in-flight showers when the bottles were real cold and the air real warm. It’s easy, set the throttle lock, grab the bottle, apply teeth to the pop-top(careful if your dentured), squirt down a few ounces, tap it against your chin and settle it back down for another round somewhere down the road. Leaving a partially opened bag of nuts in your windscreen bag also lends itself to the occasional need for energy after a series of aggressive twisties or an unruly cage or six. We did stop in a picnic area around Dry Falls, mid Washington, and rest about 20 minutes on the grass to lessen the vibration woes of our legs and hands. Choked down some more nuts, road-kill and water. Yes, even looked at a map just to make us look like we cared which direction we were heading, but more importantly to insure we didn’t grace any road twice.

Next would be a small detour to the mother of all Dams, Grand Coulee. What a sight, about an hour diversion and well worth it, a 10 minute stop for some great pics and back on the road. We were determined to make it across the state and meet up with a couple local buddies that were scouting out the upcoming West Coast Rally routes in Wallace Idaho. We pressed on reaching Idaho in time to make the hotel with light to spare. Checked in and grab a nice dinner with Jim and Don. There was even time for the always inviting Hot Tub and road stories, most unembellished. The day was a success and the Cuz achieved his goal of escorting me out of the State in what he noted as his noble efforts to increase property values upon my absence. Now what are cousins for if not to make sure ones head is screwed on correctly.

The next day we were to part ways so he could benefit from those increased values and I could ride in relative peace. I guess my warm and gentle demeanor was just too much to readily part with, or not. We continued together a few more hours in my Easterly mission before FINALLY parting ways. Whoever said “Parting is such sweat sorrow’ didn’t meet the Cuz. My final shot as I ran out of ammo….. “adios my Cuz, ride well or failing to achieve that goal, ride fast so you’ll spend less time on the road.” We posed for pics to prove my eviction and I continued East he back West. Thanks Cuz!

My next goal was to meet up with Frmrpat, Plowboy, Strider1 and Trapper_Canada over 400 miles away and I had just under 7hrs, I thought. Laying ahead was riding ‘Heaven’, traversing the Rockies of Montana where the speed limits are 75 and the roads are two lane mountain twisties. It don’t get no better than that! About an hour into this leg of my adventure I realized my neglect of a time zone change and what began as a leisurely pace turned into something short of a Dakar Rally thru the Rockies. Don’t do the math, my Wife would not be pleased. The rendezvous worked perfectly with Strider1 being the only timely arrival and the rest of us held with an acceptable ‘fashionably late’ tag. Upon meeting we shook hands, smiled big, grabbed some fuel and pressed on another 200+ miles to eventually end the day with a nice dinner at the local watering hole. Met all 5 inhabitants of Eastern Montana and proceeded to the ‘Montana Boys’ spread..………..Wow!

(Chapter 2a)
“Montana Outback”

….after shaking loose the SMan in Western Montana somewhere short of Missoula I pointed the LC in a NE direction on Hwy 200. It’s a more primitive ribbon of concrete that would carry me to a rendezvous with Strider1, Frmrpat, Plowboy and Trapper-Canada. It was Sunday, the second day of my trip, I was staring at 650 mile day with the Big Sky State. The warm up leg was a 400 mile stretch thru the Rockies with the rendezvous being in Lewistown on Hwy 200. All progressed well for the first hour without a glitch, then it happened. Somewhere in the depth of the Rockies on a narrow stretch of mountain road while listening to the cadence of my pipes keeping beat with the air rustling thru my helmet, my brain skipped a beat. No the Gray matter that so fondly resides at the center of that universe stayed intact, it was that ‘still small voice’ that yelled “Time Zone”. I had just passed thru a time zone. I lost an hour of my riding day. I didn’t deserve that. I had done nothing wrong. On top of that I still had some 340 miles to traverse. This was a dropped decimal in my trip calculations. Ouch! My brain froze for a second and then the planning lobes took over. Let’s see…. 340 miles, 6 hours left, NO….WAIT… 5hrs left, equals 80 carry the one. My ciphering concluded a need for heavy throttle twisting and limited pit stops. Could I average 80mph for the next 5hrs? I had enough fuel to go about twice the distance of the regular LC with my experimental GTank tucked neatly in it’s stealth home, but at 80mph how far was that range? We would soon find out. The posted speed limit was 75 so doing 80 was within allowable tolerances, but to average 80 meant I needed to go faster. Gas stops would need to resemble a pit stop at the Indy500, but was I up to it….it was only day two and I wasn’t really in sync with riding all day yet. These were uncharted roads for me and in the Rockies no less, but the posted speed was 75 so that had to mean something. Would they wait for me if I arrived over an hour late? Where did they live in Circle if we missed the connection? What an exhilarating dilemma...to be required to ride hard and fast, for a noble cause, and be justified in ones reasoning. Does a biker need any better excuse? Nah, I didn’t think so either.

The stops were 5 minutes, max. Indy500 style, probably not, but gas, outhouse, bottled water, the usual beef jerky/almond fix, a couple deep knee bends (behind the building of course), do a ‘once around the bike’, fire it up and I’m off. Most of central Montana was a blur, but a pretty one. On the plus side there really isn’t anybody that lives out there, no not really. So you can imagine my surprise when I rolled into Lewistown about 20 mins late, and saw a couple bikes waiting. My arrival must have resembled the landing of the Spade Shuttle to Strider1 (Lenny) and his short term riding buddy he picked up somewhere between Colorado and Montana. After all I had just modified the Time/Space Continuum across Montana and my sensation of speed was only slowed by a glimpse at the speedometer.

Lenny arrived a bit early and was patiently waiting for the rest of us. We shook hands, commenced relating a few of our experiences when three bikes rolled in. I hadn’t even dismounted my bike yet. It was the 3 Stooges, also known as Frmr, Plow and Trap. Their timing couldn’t have been better. Our stories would wait, we still had 250 miles between us and the Circle, our destination for the day and residence for the next two. We performed the typical Gas Station rituals and we’re off.

Plowboy(Perry) is an amateur bike racer and it only took me seconds to realize it. He lead, we followed, or tried to. We could usually maintain a visual distance, but not always. Frmrpat(Pat) is the older brother and thus the more ‘sensible’ rider. To insure our arrival Pat would maintain a responsible pace, no matter what little bro did. What Pat didn’t know, was what I went thru earlier that day and that this slower pace was allowing me to sleep most of this leg. I caught Lenny dozing off a time or two also.

After a stop or two for petrol we burned up most of the last of daylight as we arrived on the outskirts of Circle, Montana. As hunger dictated it was time, dinner. It’s really the only meal one eats on the road that amounts to anything. The rest is snacks and water. We stopped at the local watering hole and had some great grub, chatted with a few locals then headed into town. Town is 3 blocks long and 2 blocks wide with it’s own city park. Which is where we sat a spell until the sun dropped below the horizon so as not to blind us on our Westerly vector along a never ending stretch of gravel road they affectionately call their driveway. If you have never ridden gravel roads you are truly missing an experience, especially this one. Two lanes wide if you count sharing the center rut a lane. The mounds of loose gravel between the ruts are something short of 2’ high, or close to it. If you can remember the final episode of M.A.S.H. where Trap rode his scoot down the hill from the helicopter pad you have a good feeling of what this road offered. Our scoots consisted of two 1400’s, two 800’s and my 1500. Not a clean bike in the bunch, but who cared! Dust blowing from the tires resembling herds of bison traversing the plains. The colors emitted by the now setting sun gave an almost rainbow affect, but allowed enough light to see where we thought the road was. After several turns, a few ups and downs, and even a junction or two, we arrived. The bro’s set us up in an old earth type home built by their grandpa, just a stones throw from Pat’s house and across the road from Perry’s place. This would be home for the next two nights as we rested our scoots and prepared to be Farmers for a Day’ The farmer bro’s hospitality was, without a doubt, as big as the State they lived in.

Chpt 2b: “B.S.(Big Spread)"”

The next day, Monday, the bikes rested but we didn’t……….seems the Farmer Bro’s had a hidden agenda. They’re not quite as innocent as they appear. In fact they are more cunning than even Emu and Raymond had warned. Their M.O. is to draw you in real close, gain your trust then go for the kill!!!! Watch closely as the story unfolds, they are so innocent at the onset.

The night we arrived the ‘Bro’s’ had us park our scoots in their large equipment garage. They had cleared out the big items and had our scoots parking on the concrete floor along side such familiar toys as Plowboys crotch rocket and a couple of their finest quads. Our scoots were right at home, nestled so neatly among their own kind and completely protected from the elements. I told you to watch closely now! As we retire the scoots and prepare the long trek to our designated residence for that first night Frmrpat throws us the keys to the Farmer Family Mini Van for us to use at will. If this was a political move to gain our trust, it was working. Everything in Montana is a fer piece apart so the use of wheels is a handy alternative to hoofing it. With a parting glance I see Pat smile as he relays the morning schedule. Hey guys, breakfast is about 8am, see ya there. I knew he was up to no good, but we were tired and numb from the 650mile day we conquered, and an invite for home cooked food first thing in the morning would make for pleasant dreams.

Lenny, Trap and myself awoke the next morning, showered and jumped in the van for the 30 second trip to the main house for a big Farmer’s Style Breakfast hosted by Frmrpat’s and Plowboy’s families, with us, the internet biker dudes, as the guests of honor. They fed us well, almost like the fattening of the calves before the slaughter. After breakfast they wasted no time in dishing out the chores. I knew there was a catch to such hospitality. Seems a few of the Spring calves missed the branding and needed to be rounded up. We loaded a couple quads onto a flatbed, hooked up one of the farm rigs and were off. A couple miles down the road we came to the staging point, the herd was grazing just ahead. Seeing as Plowboy and I loaded the quads, it was only fitting we did the off load. Plow being much more familiar with his machines and a bit on the ‘playful’ side decided to see if he could push me and my machine off the trailer before I got it started. Almost, but no cigar! I got it fired up and shot backwards just in time. Ever run a quad off a trailer in full reverse with no ramps and just a dung hill to catch those large flotation tires??? I have now! This bit of playfulness would be a warning sign of things yet to come.

Seems there’s a talent to herding cattle, and to at least a small part, I thought I had a feel for it, until I met ‘The Bull’. (For you ‘City Folks’ we are Honorary Farmer Dudes now). A Bull is not a cow or a calf, he’s THE MAN, BIG CHEESE, KING. There were 3 of these Bulls in the herd, seemed like more. They had been separated from the ‘Harem’ for most the year until earlier in the week when they were thrown into the herd of a hundred or more and told to ‘have at it’. Well you can imagine their unwillingness to ‘share’ their Harem with the likes of anybody. Seems the one Bull I ran up on was a bit tired. Well, I wonder why. He just snorted and slowly, almost with a limp, sauntered away in indignation. Guess I’ll just follow him as he lead me back to his ‘Girls’, wasn’t like he was going to let me herd him anywhere, anytime soon.

While I was over the hill playing with the big dude the rest of the guys were trying to locate and cut out the few calves that still needed branding and ‘some other chore’ that was not detailed to us just yet. I told you to pay close attention! As I caught up to the other quad with Plow atop and the two trucks, Frmr and his Uncle in one and Strider1 and Trap in the other, this all reminded me of the demolition derby’s I use to watch on T.V. Trucks going this way and that, 2 quads dodging the trucks and cutting between cows all the time looking for the sorry calf that so successfully alluded the Bro’s the previous week. “There he is” yells Plow, the one with the golden color and white stripes, etc…. he was spotted. We converged and after a few minutes of ducking and weaving Plow ropes him, leaps off his quad in a manner resembling an actual cowboy at the rodeo(I was impressed), and drops the calf. I spun my quad around in time to watch Plow land on the calf and immediately start a series of tumbles with the calf ending up on top, but upside down(where’s my camera when I needed it?). Plow still had the rope in hand and the calf still had the loop around it’s neck, but somehow Plow just didn’t look in control. I mean he was still under the calf looking up. So I jumped off the quad and immediately grabbed an end of the rope and jerked the calf away. Plow looks up at me and says, “Why did ya do that? I had him!” I’m sure that’s what it looked like to all of us in the real world too!!!

By now we have all converged on the scene. Frmrpat fires up the generator on his truck to ready the branding iron while Plow grabs a few tools and some rubber bands and commences to instruct us “Once City Folks’ on what is going to happen next. Seems it’s time to turn this young base singing calf into a soprano. The rest seems a bit foggie to me and I expect there are a few pictures out there to document the event, but all I can say is I had great sympathy for this calf. Been there done that. What I do remember is getting kicked, pooped on and laughing until I almost cried knowing that this was the ultimate plan of the Farmer Bro’s from day one. What gave me that feeling? Maybe it was the Frmr’s readiness with his digital camera even before the surgical procedure was accomplished. Maybe it was Plow’s setting up of the picture so all parties were well documented. It could even be the fact that they mistakenly missed the branding and ‘clipping’ of 3 calves that were held over until we arrived. One for Strider1, one for Trap and one for me. How thoughtful! I told you to watch these guys closely, they may live out in the sticks, but it just gives them more time to plan these lil adventures with less distractions!!!

After a few hours of branding and the ‘clipping thingy’ we headed back to the house. Frmr, his Uncle and myself ventured out to their firing range to test a few examples from his armory, which pales the entire arsenal of all of Canada. Seems the Bro’s are avid gunmen and have won various awards throughout the state. Let that be a warning if they challenge you on their range. In defense, I did beat both of them once or twice, which may have had a little to do with their guns jamming a time or two, but that was only lame excuses to me. I used every opportunity I could to get on the board with these semi-pro’s.

I did say we gave our bikes a rest that day, but not the Bro’s various toys. While we fired a few thousand rounds the others went to play with Plow’s crotch rocket to see if they could break the land speed record for Montana. They would join us in the great shoot out later. I think Strider1 was amongst the fastest on the Plow’s Rocket Ship, but the stop watch ran low on battery or some such thing. Then there was the Hack. Seems they added a sidecar to a big Yamaha and had much entertainment watching us take turns maneuvering it down the gravel roads. It’s much more stable than our two wheeled variety once you get use to that outside tire having a brake that can spin you like a top! Just when I thought I mastered the controls Plow jumps in the Hack with his daughter and points to their house and says something like ‘mush’. Talk about a crazy and wild ride. It wasn’t far but boy was it adventuresome. You just can’t do that on the streets of Seattle without severe consequences!

Upon arriving at Plow’s house we walked to the barn and commenced pushing, by hand, his little plane onto the grass landing strip, which doubled as his back yard. Plow myself and his daughter jumped in the plane, fired up the engine, performed the mandatory safety checklist and pointed it down hill, directly towards the fence, barbed wire, gravel road crossing and some big culvert, I think. Plow pulls back the throttle, grinned from ear to ear as the plane slowly creeps towards eminent doom. The plane’s roar emulates the sound of a half dozen V-Twins as it bounces across what appeared to be smooth grass as we aim head long for these very solid objects. The closer we got the bigger that fence appeared until, right at the last possible moment, Plow pulls back on the wheel and up she flies just barely clearing that top strand of wire, which I know nicked and spun the landing gear as we brushed over and soared into the Big Sky part of Montana. For those interested Plow flies like he rides. We flew the perimeter of their 10 gazillion acre spread, chased a herd of Gazel or Antelope or whatever they were, even swooped a few deer all the while his daughter was asleep. Her head gently resting against the side of the plane, but solidly strapped in the rear seat……..that girl has iron guts I tell ya! What an exciting flight. The landing was no less adventuresome as we hit a small gust of wind while coming in a tad too low. We gun the motor, then settled down onto that smooth grass that seemed even rougher on the landing.

One last thing, I promised to address those ‘Rodents of Unusual Size’. About midday Mrs. Frmrpat noticed the lack of water at the residence, a repair order went forth and the Frmr plodded out to the pump house to diagnose the problem. He returns, says next to nothing, grabs a gun and departs. By the time the rest of us arrived at the pump house the excess Raccoon population was minus one family including babies. Seems they had nested in the pump house and tore apart some of the wiring. Once relieved of the trespassers we were able to fix the wiring and restore water to the house and surrounding buildings. Life is not dull or boring on the farm!!!!

Lenny and Trap will have to expound on their adventures on the Farmer Boys Spread. I know they have many stories left unwritten that could fill novels. Mine are just a few short recaps of a most adventuresome experience with the Bro’s. If you ever get a chance to visit, do so. Take out a hefty life insurance policy, I’ll volunteer as beneficiary, update your will and don’t forget to keep a daily log as you won’t remember all that takes place, trust me. You have been duly warned

The next day was Tuesday, day 4 of the trip for Lenny and I, as we left Trap to care for the Farmer Bro’s. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but we had roads to conquer and country to discover……………Sturgis here we come!

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

Type @ ya'll later
Night_Wolf

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