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Wild Motorcycle Tales

By Walter F. Kern

Here's a story from Walter F. Kern. I wrote this story after my 6000 mile tour from New Jersey to Cody, Wyoming and back in 1993. I was 55 years old at the time and had been riding only four years, as had my wife. Some experienced riders wouldn't think much of this but taking this trip was a giant leap from my comfort zone and it truly was a wild adventure for Jane and me. Anyone who rides and has never taken a long motorcycle trip may be inspired after they read this to start planning one or giving up the thought altogether. I just found this story after going through pictures Jane had taken on the trip. I did not change a word of this story and I have included 11 pictures we took on the trip.

Got your own story? Send it to me.

First Tour

First Tour
by Walter Kern

"REMEMBER WHEN MOTORCYCLES WERE DANGEROUS AND SEX WAS SAFE?" This '90s truism was emblazoned across the T-shirt worn by our friend Carmela as we sat in a restaurant in Lewes, Delaware on Halloween, 1992. My wife Jane and I had ridden down to Lewes from Freehold, New Jersey on our motorcycles to attend a polar bear motorcycle club meeting. We were new to motorcycling having only taken up the sport four years ago after we had entered our fifties. We started out by taking a course sponsored by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation. It was a speedy progression from obtaining our licenses, to Jane's joining a women's riding club - the Spokes-Women - to taking longer rides, to attending out-of- state rallies, and most recently, joining the AMA sponsored polar bear club that rides every Sunday throughout the Winter.

Carmela had ridden down with us. We sat there talking about how rapidly Jane and I had immersed ourselves in motorcycling. Carmela leaned over to me and said, "I'm planning to ride out to Cody, Wyoming next August to attend a rally. Want to come along?" Well, we had gone to several rallies as far away as Lancaster, PA, a distance of 130 miles but Cody was an unfathomable 2,500 miles away! The suggestion, however, did strike a cord somewhere within me and I began to ponder the consequences and the pitfalls of such a journey.

Jane and I were neophytes at motorcycling and we didn't even have bikes that were designed for long distance travel. It wasn't long before we made the decision to make the trip and began in earnest to plan for the adventure. I told Jane, "If we survive this trip, we'll either want to keep doing it or we'll never want to go again."

We purchased two identical 1990 Honda PCs in November and used them throughout the rest of the polar bear riding season. We plotted out our course west and realized that two other significant events would be taking place during our travel time: the Blackhills Motor Classic held at Sturgis, South Dakota and the 150th anniversary of the Oregon Trail. As it turned out, we also had to contend with the flooding in the Midwest.

As the time neared to start our journey, Carmela had decided to drop out but another couple, Harry and Donna, and our good friend Warren, 66, had decided to join us. Our caravan was to consist of four motorcycles and five people. Our ground rules were few. We would stop every hundred miles to get gas and take a break. We would ride until about 5 PM and then look for a motel. We would travel the interstates to make time because our primary goal was to sightsee in the South Dakota and Wyoming areas. I had one goal: get to Cody. Jane had another goal: get to the Grand Teton Mountains south of Yellowstone Park.

We began our adventure August 7 on a foggy, misty morning traveling down 1195 to meet our companions at the first rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike. We rode hard the first two days and arrived weary in our hometown of Normal, Illinois, 900 miles from New Jersey.

We stayed at the home of Jane's sister, Carol. It was Carol and her husband Jack who were the inspiration for my making the original decision to take up motorcycling. We had listened to their many motorcycle stories over the years on visits to Illinois and spent many evenings looking longingly at their classic BMW motorcycles. Finally, four years ago, I asked Jane if she would like to learn to ride and her enthusiastic "yes" response started us down the path that had led to this trip. One of my dreams was to see Jane and her ~ sister ride their motorcycles together. That dream was soon realized on the third day of our adventure as they took a fifty mile ride through the Illinois countryside.

On the next day we left Illinois and crossed the Mississippi River at Davenport, Iowa. We witnessed firsthand the fury of that mighty river. Next came the flooded area at Des Moines, Iowa where people were still trying to put their lives back together.

Soon we were in Nebraska and found ourselves close to the original Oregon Trail where thousands of settlers had surmounted unbelievable odds to make new homes in the West. We stopped in the little town of Dannebrog, Nebraska, population 350, made famous by the monthly television report, "A Postcard from Nebraska," by Roger Welsch on the CBS Sunday Morning News. Jane went into a tiny cafe called the "Drive Inn" on the edge of town to use the bathroom. She walked in and asked if they had a public restroom. The proprietor said, "No, but you can go right back through the kitchen and use our bathroom." Jane said, "Are you serious. I don't want to impose." The proprietor insisted. After Jane had returned, she said, "You know, you are all famous. I watch all the stories about Dannebrog on TV." The proprietor replied, "Did you see that last show about the ice cream social? My wife made the ice cream." Jane said, "I also saw the segment about the potato soup contest. They said they ran out of potatoes in town because everybody was making potato soup." "Yeah," said the proprietor, "My wife won third place in that." Jane really felt welcome in Dannebrog and couldn't stop talking about the people she met there.

We traveled on Route 2 through the Sand Hills region of Nebraska heading northwest toward South Dakota. This region was my personal favorite. We probably saw 10 cars in 50 miles - such a pleasure coming from New Jersey - and we just spread out our bikes and looked all around at the beautiful rolling horse and cattle ranches, the clear blue streams and lakes and occasional 100-car coal trains heading East from Wyoming.

We encountered only one bad motel experience on the trip. It occurred in a tiny town in Nebraska. The only motel in town was operated out of a gas station. The room had a door without a lock, a 10 inch black- and-white TV with three flickering channels, a bathroom fixture turned on and off using a wrench, and numerous bugs. When Jane turned down the bedspread, a grasshopper jumped out. "We are sleeping in the same bed tonight," she said. "If anything bites me, it's going to bite you too."

On the next day, we passed into South Dakota and headed toward Mount Rushmore. We stayed in the Rapid City area for the next four days enjoying the sights of Mount Rushmore, Custer State Park, the Badlands, and Sturgis.

About this time, our group decided to split up. Harry and Donna decided to pursue the Glacier National Park region while Warren, Jane and I would stick together.

We were told that Sturgis hosted over 200,000 motorcyclists during this, its fifty third year. Jane was excited as I led the group into Sturgis and turned down Main Street. In reality, motorcyclists can be found everywhere within an 80 mile radius of Sturgis. We saw motorcyclists on every road forming long caravans in both directions. The town of Deadwood had a specially 'marked-off area downtown for motorcycles and there were thousands of bikes there. Mount Rushmore was similarly inundated. Even the Wall Drugstore and the Badlands which were over 70 miles away were saturated with riders. At Sturgis and throughout its environs, motorcycles were ubiquitously present and automobiles were in the minority. Originally, we only expected to stop in Sturgis to look around and get a T-shirt. However, we ended up returning two more times to complete the purchase of a leather jacket containing an air-brushed picture of a polar bear that Jane so desperately wanted.

When we were at Custer State Park we were surprised when we encountered a herd of 500 buffalo grazing across the road in front of our motorcycles. We were told to give them all the room they wanted. This is especially true when you're riding a vulnerable motorcycle and trying to stop to take closeup pictures while you hear the snorting and stomping of numerous seven foot tall, 2000 pound buffalo just 30 feet in front and to the side of you.

Having survived the encounter, we pressed on into Wyoming heading for Cody. We stopped at the Devil's Tower. We met other motorcyclists from all over. One group from Hawaii met us at the foot of the Tower. They had shipped their bikes over from Hawaii and were near the end of their trip after covering a western loop.

Wyoming was breathtaking and more beautiful than we had ever imagined. We spent six days at or near the rally site in Cody including jaunts to Yellowstone National Park just 52 miles away.

On the last day in Cody we decided to take a short trip to Beartooth Pass. We got ten miles out of Cody when we were stopped by a flag-person directing traffic in a road construction area. There were two vehicles in front of me and Jane behind me. It came our turn and the vehicles in front of me started up and we followed. Within 100 yards I knew we had done something wrong. My bike was swerving all over the road and I thought I was going to fall. By some miracle, I was able to get it stopped but as I looked back, I could see that Jane was on the ground and her motorcycle was laying on its side in the mud. I ran back up the road to help the construction crew who were attempting to upright the bike. Jane had been thrown from the machine across the mud and gravel and was covered from helmet to toe with oozing mud. Jane seemed OK, protected from most of the possible human damage by her leather jacket and full-face helmet. The bike was damaged but was drivable. It took the better part of half an hour for me to get the two bikes back up the road and clean off the mud caked on the wheels and on Jane. The road construction supervisor said,"You can thank that guy from Texas who led you down the wrong road." Jane felt good enough the next day that we rode 300 miles back through Yellowstone and down to the Grand Teton Mountains. Jane's goal had finally been realized. We suffered through a downpour in ~ Yellowstone on the way back to Cody. Jane was afraid that we'd have to pass through the high mountain region of Yellowstone where you ride next to the 3000 foot cliffs without guardrails. Fortunately, the rain stopped before we got to the bad area so the trip back to Cody was uneventful albeit windy and cold.

Now, it was time to make the trip back to New Jersey. Warren decided that he would head back East using a southern route. Jane and I would start back over the 2,500 miles to New Jersey, alone.

We stopped in Minden, Nebraska to visit Harold Warp's Pioneer Village. This consisted of numerous collections of automobiles, clothes, furniture, etc., arranged chronologically depicting the development of the United States.

We also stopped in Amana, Iowa where the famous colonies are located. We had phoned ahead for a reservation in the motel there but as we entered the town, we found the road blocked and no directions on how to get around it. I rode around like an idiot for awhile with Jane close behind. Finally, we backtracked to the place where the road was blocked and I got off the bike to speak to a highway construction person sitting in a truck. She told me to follow the signs back six miles to South Amana. Then, we were to follow the detour signs around a slowly curving road back to Amana. We rode through Upper South Amana, South Amana, West Amana, High Amana, Middle Amana, Little Amana, and finally Amana. If we had continued past Amana, we would have come to East Amana. Along the way, we passed by the plant where Amana appliances are made. We were told that the tourists were staying away this year owing to the flooding of the Iowa river.

At the Colony Inn restaurant in Amana, our waitress Marie was particularly noteworthy since she had the unusual talent of being able to read our minds so we didn't need to tell her what we wanted. She just sized us up and brought out our food without us having to utter a word.

When we got to Indianapolis we encountered a severe thunderstorm. It was dark and windy and the rain was pelting us. Lightning strikes were all around us. I pulled over under an overpass and ran back to where Jane had stopped. ''I'm going to die out here, she cried hysterically." We agreed to pull ahead about a half mile to the next exit. We made it the exit and sat in a McDonalds for over an hour waiting for the storm to subside. After that, we had no rain all the way home.

Jane was finding it more and more difficult to keep up with me on the trip back. She had received some bruises from her fall in Cody and these made travel by motorcycle difficult, but she persevered.

Finally, we crossed the bridge into New Jersey, and headed north on the turnpike toward Freehold. We were exhausted as we pulled into our driveway. The odometer showed we had covered nearly 6000 miles in 24 days. Other than 30 minutes of rain through Yellowstone and the storm at Indianapolis, we had good weather all the way.

Well, it's past Labor day now and we just got through planning some polar bear rides. Jane said, "We have to think about getting a motel room in Lewes, Delaware." I looked at her and replied, "Are you sure you want to go? I'm afraid someone will be there who will suggest that we join them on a ride to Alaska next year." "Yeah," said Jane, "And you know what that means. You can go by yourself!"

Well, we survived the adventure and plan to take some more trips. Jane would like to head out to the Southwest and the Grand Canyon in two years so that may be the next one.

While we were in Illinois, Jane's sister, Carol, told us how much she admired us for taking such a long trip on a first tour. Carol has taken quite a few trips by motorcycle but all starting from Illinois. Thus, almost all her trips are within a thousand miles. She couldn't get over that we had traveled 2,500 miles to get to our destination. I guess that it was something of an accomplishment for us but of course to seasoned tourers it would be considered nothing exceptional. We understand that and know that touring experiences are relative. We hope that as the years go on, we will be able to make many more such trips and share more adventures. Maybe we won't make it to Alaska but wherever we do end up, we expect to continue growing and having fun on our motorcycles. -- Walter F. Kern

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