Yearly Archives: 2016

Epic Journey Day Eight — Last Full Day and Night in Portland


Day eight was to have begun fairly early, with my son John coming to the hotel at 6:45 to take my wife, my sister and I into the city to attend mass at his church. But we had worn him out so badly the night before, he fell sound asleep before setting his alarm. So when 7:00 AM had come and gone with no John, Karen called, waking him up, and we hurried over to Our Lady of the Lake, near our hotel, and John met us there as quickly as he could. 


After church John went home to retrieve his motorcycle while Karen, Maria and I went back to the hotel to regroup with Eddie and get ready for another day of fun and adventure. We departed not long afterward and took some curvy, uneven two-lane road out to McMinnville, where we ate breakfast and/or lunch at the Wild Wood Cafe. I had a lunch. From the yummy sounds everyone else was making, breakfast was better. 


The highlight of this day was our visit to the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum, home to many flying craft, such as the examples pictured above. But the real attraction is this huge craft called the Spruce Goose, a wooden plane owned by Howard Hughes. That thing is huge!

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We could have spent more time there, but we opted to catch a few final photos outside and then move on. 


At this point, Eddie peeled off from our group to try and connect with a cousin of his in Eugene. John and I motored out, with the chase vehicle following closely, to visit a winery that actively supports the theater community in Portland, including the Portland Actors Conservatory. 


The winery was called Willakenzie Estates. We spent no small amount of time here and walked away with a few bottles to take home. 


But for hotel pit stops, we only had one more thing to cover, the last supper. We went to the Bunk Bar, which makes pretty good sandwiches. Nothing fancy, but it was on the list of places John wanted to show us. A very good friend of his, named Jacob, also joined us. 


And so aother day ends. Tomorrow we visit Multnomah Falls and then depart for home. 

Epic Journey Day Seven — Mt. Hood and Much More


Day seven had us back on the motorcycles for a mix of riding that ranged from urban streets to mountain roads. For openers, we rode into Portland proper to check out a unique coffee bar and motorcycle shop called See See Motor Coffee Co. This is a unique place and a must-see for any motorcycle enthusiast who finds him/herself in Portland.


Bikers of all denominations come here to drink coffee, eat breakfast or a light lunch, buy cycle parts or novelties, and perhaps most of all, talk about motorcycles. We stopped in for breakfast when coffee bar was open, but the shop was not, so we ate, drank, and planned to return and buy some See See merchandise.

By the time we left, the number of bikes parked outside had multiplied, as had the number of people hanging out, both inside and out. As I approached my own ride, a gentleman in a cowboy hat walked up and began asking me about Miss Scarlett, my ’12 Victory Vision Tour. He also shared stories of the bikes he has owned and/or built over the years. As we talked, I tried to figure out the gentleman’s accent, which seemed at once western and eastern. Turns out he was originally from the Bronx, but had not lived there for many years. I enjoyed talking to that guy. Even though we had never met before, we were not total strangers. That is, we knew something about each other by virtue of where we had found ourselves hanging out that morning. It’s a biker thing.

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From there we headed out of the city on US 26, toward the mountain we couldn’t even see as we rode past it last Thursday in the pouring rain. Today we saw Mt. Hood in all its glory. Had a great time riding toward it and around it via Highways 26 and 35. We also enjoyed the roads and scenery afforded us in the Mt. Hood National Forest. But the high point occurred when John led us off the road and down to this paved (not a given around here) scenic pull-off.

Besides being able to see the top of this majestic snow-capped mountain, we also happened upon a mountain stream that was tracing the path of a massive avalanche that had occurred here in 2006. That turned into a thing in itself, but we had to be cautious getting to and from the rushing stream, as most of the rocks were quite loose, having only been placed there about ten years ago by said avalanche, which had been set off by a storm called the Pineapple Express.

Then there were the few other people, some with dogs, who stopped while we were there. John and Eddie spent some time talking to a man who had been in these parts back when Mt. St. Helens erupted in 1980, and watched it happen—from a great distance, of course.

What was intended to be just a quick stop turned into quite a visit, but nobody seemed to mind. Me, I was happy as a clam (assuming clams are very happy), because to me, things like this feel exactly like a vacation should. I love it!


Next stop, lunch. My son John has developed this uncanny ability to pick great places at which to eat, and this was no exception. We were running along on 35 when John suddenly slowed up, signaled right, and pulled off toward what looked like a small logging operation of some sort. But before we entered their unsaved lot, he veered left and led us into a small, paved lot for the Saw Tooth Roadhouse.

How did he even see this place?! Tucked away in the middle of nowhere, this place serves up some awesome food. We all ate our fill, talking with the owner from time to time—a great guy, by all indications. Had John been there before? Nope. He pulled off on a whim. We were amazed.


The next leg of our day trip was pretty amazing, too. We rode up to a visitor information center on the banks of the Hood River. Just across the river lay the state of Washington. One of the staff members suggested that we could cross the river via the toll bridge, just beyond where we were standing, then ride west for about 20 miles on the Washington side, before crossing back into Oregon on the Bridge of the Gods. We thought that sounded like a cool idea, so we did exactly that.

While running west on the Washington side, I noticed a freight train motoring east between us and the river. As the engine passed John’s position and approached mine, I raised my right arm in the direction of the locomotive in a friendly waving gesture. The engineer responded with a single blast of the train’s mighty horns. I found out later that the horn blast had started my son almost to the point of jumping off his motorcycle. I found that rather amusing. John, not so much.


We returned to Portland and stopped at See See Motor Coffee Co. about a half hour before closing, to check out the shop and buy our souvenirs. The atmosphere was still the same—people outside, people inside, all talking bikes in some way, shape or form. On my way in, two tattooed guys sipping iced drinks at a picnic table outside struck up a conversation with me, first about me and my bike, then about the differences between Chicago and Portland (one of them had just been to Chicago). We were strangers, but not. It’s a biker thing.

On my way out, I noticed my son John talking to one of the two guys with whom I had chatted on my way in. I went to the street to get a closer look at a custom (pictured above) that had caught my eye on the way in. Within moments my son calls me over. Turns out the guy he’d been talking to had built the bike. I asked him a few questions, which he gladly answered.

From there we ran back to the hotel in Lake Oswego, freshened up, hopped in the van and went back into Portland for supper. I couldn’t help but notice Mt. Hood in the distance as we drove over one of Portland’s many bridges.

On this day, supper was not just a lucky pick. The My Thai Bistro is a favorite restaurant of John’s, and we soon found out why. The food was excellent, and so were the staff, who seemed to know John on sight. Karen snapped a photo of John with the owner.

This had been an awesome day.

Epic Journey Day Six — First Full Day in Portland


In all candor, after five consecutive full days on the bikes, over 2,000 miles worth, I was ready for a day off. That day was today. John rode his Honda over to our hotel, a 15-minute trip, and then parked it in the underground garage, next to mine and Eddie’s, for the day. Then we all piled into the minivan and John took us into Portland proper for the day. 

Compared to Chicago, Portland seems far less big-city-like. The buildings aren’t as tall and what tall buildings they have aren’t as dense. Traffic can be slow, but drivers on the whole seem more courteous. Vehicles from both directions will stop suddenly if a pedestrian steps into the street. Try that one in Chicago sometime. Or even the Chicago suburbs. You’ll probably make the news. Portland is also greener, in every sense of the word. For whatever it’s worth, according to my son, Portland tops the list of cities to which people are moving. Even the maintenance man at our hotel, a fellow motorcycle enthusiast, told me that he prefers Portland to Southern California, where he had lived before. 

Unfortunately, Portland also has a substantial and highly visible homeless population. This may be the result of tolerance as well as climate. But for whatever reason, they are there, they are human beings, and just like anyplace else, some are very nice, some aren’t very nice, and some appear to have substantial problems beyond being homeless. 

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We got a tour of John’s studio apartment, which is currently being used as a set for a web series about a highly disturbed individual. Worry not. Despite indications from his interior decore, my son is not a psychopath. 


We visited Powell’s Book City, a bookstore on steroids, that takes up an entire city block in a four-story building. This place is incredible and perhaps a bit overwhelming, but we spent a couple of awesome hours there and, predictably, came away with a fair number of books. 


Next came our tour of the Portland Actors Conservatory, the whole reason John is out here and subsequently, the whole reason we have taken this epic road trip. 

John seemed very pleased to be showing us his school, and we were positively tickled to be there.


Next came supper and drinks at the Rogue Hall. We had copious amounts of food and several beers, and nobody complained. Seriously, it was quite good. 

That brought us back to the hotel. After helping us get our belongings into our rooms, John took his motorcycle and returned to his apartment. It was an excellent day! 

Epic Journey Day Five — The Long and Winding Road to Portland


Day five was all about two-lane blacktop, national forests, and mountains. We took no interstate highways. We also took all day to cross Oregon, from Ontario to Portland—and that was just fine. 


We were on US 26, which passes through several national forests while going over and around the mountains, three ranges worth—the Blue Mountains, the New Cascades, and the Western or Old Cascades—before descending into the Willamette Valley.  It’s a road filled with twisties and sweepers, but not many towns, and even fewer gas stations, so fuel stops were critical. Oregon is not a self-service “pump your own” state, but stations, at their discretion, will allow motorcyclists to fill their own tanks. 

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My favorite part of the day was our lunch stop in Mitchell, a small (and I mean small) mountain community with a really crappy gas station—only 87 octane gas, plus diesel—and a charming little cafe, where I had one of the tastiest burgers I’ve eaten in a very long time. I was fatigued from chasing my son through the mountains (he likes to zip through the twisties, whereas I prefer to cruise at a relaxed pace), so I did not object to taking our sweet time in Mitchell. It’s a friendly little place where everybody talks to one another, locals and travelers alike. 


Between the mountains and forests, the scenery was simply incredible. I would like to have stopped more, to take photos, but our trip took all day as it was. And besides, I wasn’t leading. 


We were hoping to see Mt. Hood, but it was up in a cloud. A rain cloud. A malicious rain cloud.  Yes, as is often the case in the Pacific Northwest, it was raining over the Old Cascades and the Willamette Valley, where Portland is located. We knew this in advance, so we pulled off and donned our rain gear in bright sunshine. Moments later, we were in the drink. Conditions ranged from a slow, steady rain to a driving torrent. 

It took us over two hours to get through the Old Cascades and across Portland to our hotel in Lake Oswego. My son John had done an admirable job of leading us safely to our destination. 

We have now come well over 2,000 miles. After touring Portland and the surrounding area for a few days, we will begin the journey home, minus my son. 

Epic Journey Day Four — Salt Lake City (Suburbs) to Ontario, Oregon


I woke up in Park City, Utah—a strikingly pretty community not far from Salt Lake City—fully expecting this to be a frustrating, difficult day on the road. I had gone to bed realizing that we still had two full days of travel in order to get to Portland. I had already scheduled a visit to the Bonneville Salt Flats, a detour that would add over 100 miles to the shortest route, and eat up time that we no longer seemed to have. My son had expressed a desire to be in eastern Oregon by day’s end, a goal that I felt was totally unrealistic. And on top of that, our family is not known to be punctual. Before it was over, though, today had become my hands down favorite day of our epic road trip, so far. We did everything we had set out to do, overcame a few challenges, and absolutely did make it into Oregon, with daylight to spare. 

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We viewed the Great Salt Lake without stopping. We rode past it at 70 mph on I-80, en route to Wendover, mainly because we were already pressed for time, but also because we didn’t know there was a viewing area exit until we were speeding past it. I will say that even at 70 mph, the Great Salt Lake is quite impressive. A little over 90 minutes and 100 miles later, we had pulled off at another viewing area, that for the famed Bonneville Salt Flats. There was a large plaque telling visitors about the speedway, which is not visible from that point. But we still got an up-close look at the salt and appreciated the vastness of it all. 


From there we got back on I-80 for a short bit, getting right back off at the Bonneville Speedway, where we took photos, topped off our gas tanks, bought souvenirs, and enjoyed lunch at the famed Salt Flats Cafe, which appears in the movie World’s Fastest Indian (see http://m.imdb.com/title/tt0412080).


Speaking of which, our next stop was just over the border, in West Wendover, Nevada, where I captured a photo of Wendover Will, a 63 foot tall neon statue, which also did a cameo appearance in World’s Fastest Indian. 


After that it was time to put some serious miles behind us. We continued west on I-80 to Wells, NV where we picked up US Highway 93 and rode north, through a variety of terrain until we got to Twin Falls, Idaho. Then we picked up I-84 and took that all the way to the seemingly unrealistic target destination of Ontario, OR. 


In all candor, everybody had wanted to stop sooner, but every decent hotel in our price range between Twin Falls and The Oregon border seemed to be booked solid. So we booked the last three rooms at the hotel where I sit writing this and flogged our steeds for a few more hours to get there. 

What an awesome day!

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Epic Journey Day Three — Cheyenne to Salt Lake City (Suburbs)


I started off my day collecting a few items in the entryway of the Little America Hotel in Cheyenne, where we opted to eat breakfast. Since the only other Little America location we’d heard of was the original Little America Travel Center on the other side of the state, we weren’t expecting anything quite as opulent as the place we walked into this morning. I felt resigned to eating a $100 breakfast as we were seated, but was pleasantly surprised at how fairly priced our seemingly high-end breakfast was. After gassing up at the Little America Sinclair Station, we were on our way. 


In no time, we found ourselves climbing in elevation as Interstate 80 took us  through a portion of the Rocky Mountains. I happened to be leading—we trade off leading after every gas stop—and pulled us into a scenic rest area with extensive tourist information as well as a monument to the Lincoln Highway. It was a great stop, but ate up time. Turns out this would become a recurring theme this day. 


The chase vehicle—also known as the blue Grand Caravan containing my wife and my eldest sister—actually did chase us today. The good side of that is that our group got to do everything together. The down side is that it took them every bit as long to reach today’s destination as it did the rest of us on our bikes. 

As we continued on, the natural beauty of south central Wyoming had gradually turned into a rugged beauty. Green gave way to more and more brown. The majority of plant life seemed to be scrub, stuff that can grow around rocks. The wind was harsh and sustained. Dust, sand and gravel seemed to get blown everywhere. Wherever we got off the highway, intersections and parking lots were all partially covered with the stuff.  Gas stops, our lunch stop, everywhere the same. Still we had our fun. 

And the wind never let up. My son’s bike, a Honda 750 Shadow Aero, was the smallest and lightest in the group, so he felt it most. At times John was going straight down the highway heeled over at a substantial angle, and at times, he could not reach the speed limit (usually 75 or 80) due to the strong headwinds and crosswinds. But even Eddie and I with our heavyweight full-on touring bikes found ourselves wrestling an 800-pound gorilla because of the wind. 

We made more stops, mainly for gas, but also just to get off the road and see things. We had fun together, but of course this ate up time. 


Our last stop in Wyoming was at the original Little America Travel Center, where my son had stopped when he drove his old Chrysler sedan to Oregon last year, to begin attending the Portland Actors Conservatory. We shopped, looked around, ate ice cream and refueled. I collected a couple more fiberglass animals. We had much fun, but it ate up time 


As we continued farther west, things got green again, and beautiful. When we crossed into Utah, our surroundings were downright lush. Again, if only I’d had my favorite photographer on board, I could show you some of what I’d seen. 

At last we made it to our hotel, in Park City, a suburb of Salt Lake. It was quite late, too late to do much of anything, but still, we’d had a great day together. 

Epic Journey Day Two — Lincoln to Cheyenne

Following a restful night in Lincoln,  we continued on our journey. The girls took off in our minivan while John, Eddie and I were still packing and prepping the bikes. I guess that makes the van our scout vehicle instead of the chase vehicle.

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At the suggestion of a friend, I began collecting roadside oddities, like fiberglass animals, funny signs, etc. last year. When you travel the Interstates all day, roadside oddities are hard to come by, but thanks to one rest area we stopped at, I made quota before noon.


When traveling, I enjoy eating at places that we don’t have back home. I’ve gone almost a thousand miles so far—I don’t want something I could have had without leaving town. This is why we at lunch at a Runza. We don’t have those at home. What’s a Runza? See Runza.com to find out.


On this trip, we measure our progress in gas stops, one roughly every hundred miles. Being in unfamiliar territory, we generally begin looking after ninety miles have passed. I noticed that as we traveled farther west, across Nebraska, the exits were increasingly fewer and farther between. In the far western part of the state, the hundred mile mark came and went with no exit in sight. We did come upon one in time, though. The service station in Dix, NE wasn’t much to look at, but they had gas, and that made it okay.

 

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We made it safely to Cheyenne with daylight to spare and went into town for supper. I wish we could spend ample time in places like this, but we are on a tight schedule.

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There are so many other things I wish I could have photographed for you, but I was doing 80 mph at the time. This is why having a passenger/photographer on board is a very good thing. I miss having mine on this epic road trip.

The Epic Journey Begins

27751296106_468069a9c8_oIt was for me an unusual way to celebrate Father’s Day, but not a bad one. I was to accompany my son as he took his motorcycle back to school with him, from our home in Plainfield, Illinois to Portland, Oregon. A mutual friend of ours named Eddie had also signed on to do the ride with us, and I am grateful for that, as I am not a good alone person. My wife and one of my sisters were making the same journey by minivan, carrying some of our luggage and also acting as a chase vehicle of sorts.

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We began at the R Place restaurant in Morris, Illinois, to discuss some finer points of our trip as well as fill the old cavity. As an added treat, everybody got a free Father’s Day cupcake. Mine was delicious and I expect my blood glucose levels to be back to normal any day now.

We made a lot of gas stops along the way, as dictated by the smallest fuel tank in the group. But that wasn’t all bad because we were also able to hydrate ourselves each time we stopped. It was very warm out. I carried two frozen bottles of water and one cold-but-not-frozen bottle in a freezable carrying case. They held up well and were all emptied by the time our day had ended.

 

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We covered about 475 miles from our rendezvous point, nearly all on Interstate 80. That part was brutal at times, but we still had a lot of laughs. Tomorrow, if all goes as planned, I’ll be checking in with you from Wyoming. Take care.

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Motorcycle Sunday Stories

Sunken Garden AMFThe 16th annual Motorcycle Sunday took place at Phillips Park in Aurora last Sunday. I’ve been going to this event since roughly 2007—I’m no longer certain of the exact year. I do know that I had thought about attending this event for a couple of years before I actually went. I just wasn’t sure if it would be right for me. This seems ridiculous in hindsight, but at the time, I wasn’t sure if a Honda-riding Catholic boy would be welcome there. So I stayed away. But then a friend of mine told me the event was great, that I would indeed be welcome there, and that Fox Valley Cycles, my favorite Honda dealer and sponsor of the Illini Free Spirit Riders (aka my local Honda Riders Club of America chapter), was a regular exhibitor at the event. So I went, I loved it, and I and haven’t missed one since.

I’ve gone on bright, sunny days. I’ve gone in nonstop torrential rains. I’ve gone in the steel gray miserable chill that can sometimes grip Chicagoland at this time of year. I enjoy going. Sometimes I drag friends along and I see a number of friends, old and new, at Motorcycle Sunday every year. I’ve collected some pretty cool stories along the way, too. Let me tell you a few.

In 2010, probably feeling like an idiot about my unfounded former fears, I sent a Facebook Message to the event founder, Pastor Randy Schoof of Warehouse Church.

Hi Randy, I felt compelled to share this with you. I only began attending Motorcycle Sunday a couple or three years ago, mainly because I ride a Honda and wasn’t sure if that would be okay. But also because I’m Catholic and I wasn’t sure of that was okay, either. Came to discover all denominations are welcome, in more ways than one. Now I wouldn’t miss Motorcycle Sunday for the world.

The only thing that could keep me away would be if my dad’s health takes a turn for the worse. He is 88 years old and has been in failing health for some time. Otherwise, see you there!

Best regards,
Michael G. D’Aversa

Randy n Me older MGD

Pastor Randy replied…

Michael, thanks so much for writing…. it’s so cool that you are now a MCS regular! I ride a
Honda too – a VTX 1300 Retro… And it’s cool that you’re a brother in Christ. God’s family is big… and we’re committed to making it even bigger.

I’ll be praying for your dad too!

Blessings in Jesus,
Randy

Randy never said a word about our differences, nor has he done so in any of the six years that have followed. Rather, he pointed to our common ground, and in so doing, he earned my respect and struck up a friendship. We are brothers in Christ as well as biker bros, brethren of the open road.

I love telling that story. Here’s another…

My friend and fellow past president of the Illini Free Spirit Riders, Eddie Cullins, loves to tell this story. As sometimes happens, we found ourselves at a cool, damp, rainy Motorcycle Sunday one year. It seemed as though the rain would never let up.

Attendance was better than one might have expected for such a rainy day, but then Motorcycle Sunday has its diehard fans. I should know; I’m one of them. Hours went by. Phillips Park was quickly turning into a mud field. Then came time for the centerpiece of Motorcycle Sunday, the bike blessing.

We all meandered, stumbled and trudged over to the parking lot and stood by our bikes. A number of area pastors were on hand to assist with the blessing and pray with attendees. Randy Schoof took to the music stage, grabbed the main microphone and began to pray.

Now you have to understand, Pastor Randy is very good at what he does. When he prays over people, as he does every Motorcycle Sunday, Randy doesn’t recite words; he pours his entire self into it, with feeling. It’s a very positive experience in general, but more so on this occasion. As Eddie likes to tell it…

It was pouring rain when Randy started prayin’, but as he went on, the rain just got lighter and lighter. By the time he finished his blessing, the rain had stopped, the sun came out, the temperature rose, and everything (and everybody) began to dry out. And it never rained again that day.

That story gets told every year and it makes people smile every time. Nobody brings down a blessing like Pastor Randy.

Ann n Me MGDLast Sunday I added a new story to my collection. My dear friend and riding companion Ann had driven down from Wisconsin so that she could experience firsthand this Motorcycle Sunday of which I speak so highly. I had so badly wanted Ann’s first experience with Motorcycle Sunday to be one of the sunny, warm variety, but it didn’t quite go that way for us. It had poured rain all day Saturday, but I had it on good authority that Sunday would be dry, if a bit cool.

MGD + VFS by AMFTemps were in the low-to-mid 40’s when Ann and I left Plainfield, and it never got past the low 50’s all day. We were dressed for the weather, so we stayed relatively comfortable for the most part. Once on site at Phillips Park, we did our best to stay warm by moving a lot.

We walked the vendor booths, listened to some live music, ate a little, drank hot coffee, and otherwise managed to enjoy ourselves, Plenty of friends were on hand and I enjoyed introducing them to Ann. Most of them said the same thing, “Well, at least it isn’t raining!” Ann and I soon discovered that any time we stood still for very long, we got chilled. What to do?

Gator MGDIn addition to providing a pleasant park setting for all visitors, Phillips Park also offers a zoo, a water park, and a golf course. We opted to check out the zoo, something I had not yet done, despite the years that I had been attending this event.

What a blast! The zoo turned out to be a nice place to visit and features primarily American wild animals. One of our favorite zoo stops was the reptile house. It was quite warm inside and many of the animals were quite active. They also had a couple of alligators in there, one of which was really, really large.

Private Blessing AMFNot long after Ann and I walked back to the Motorcycle Sunday celebration, it was time for the bike blessing. As we walked out toward the parked bikes, one of the ministers on hand to assist Randy offered to bless our bike. And so it came to pass that on that day, Miss Scarlett, Ann and I were blessed at least twice—first by this gracious minister who prayed over us directly, and then by Pastor Randy, who did his usual stellar job.

Ann n Me AMFDuring the 1:00 PM hour, a 60-mile ride through the countryside was conducted and Ann and I were there for it. Somebody had put together a nice route through the surrounding countryside. With the heated seats and grips on, the windshield up slightly, and my tunes playing, Ann and I remained relatively comfy aboard Miss Scarlett. We peeled off from the group during a gas stop in Newark, though, so that we could get back to Plainfield in time for Ann to head home—a 2.5 hour drive—in a timely fashion.

Despite the cold temps and relative lack of sun, Ann and I had a great time! We laughed a lot and shared some really fun moments. It was also great introducing her to some of my biker friends. Call me an optimist, but I think she’ll be back for Motorcycle Sunday 2017. Time will tell.

 All photos by Ann M. Fischler and Michael G. D’Aversa

Ann & Me: Kenosha to Delavan 4/17/16

RoadIt was destined to be a bad hair day, first by virtue of helmet hair and then by the wind-in-the hair effect. But I knew this day would be magical just the same. My friend (and favorite pillion) Ann and I had been talking about going riding again ever since our last time out on the bike together, which was last November. Even a relatively mild winter in the Midwest doesn’t hold a lot of riding opportunities for two people who live 150 mile apart. So we bided our time, even getting together a few times to attend non-riding events, cook some awesome dishes together, watching the winter crawl by and talking about places we might visit when riding season came around again. On Sunday, April 17, the day we’d been waiting for came.

TrolleyWe met that morning in Pleasant Prairie, on the Wisconsin/Illinois state line, sort of a halfway point for both of us. From there we secured Ann’s car and took the bike over to Kenosha’s Simmons Island Park (http://www.visitkenosha.com/attractions/parks-nature/simmons-island-beach) on the shore of Lake Michigan. As we got closer to the lake, the air got downright crisp, but not uncomfortably so, because we had geared up in anticipation of riding in a fairly broad temperature range that day. When you travel by motorcycle, by virtue of being on the outside of the vehicle, you experience whatever is going on around you firsthand. Wind, rain, beating sun, odors, steep temperature gradients, you name it, you’re not just passing through—you’re in it.

BoardwalkBack when I was a boater, I used to “put in” at Kenosha Harbor, right behind Simmons Island, which was home to the Simmons Mattress factory long before it was repurposed as a recreation area, but that was years ago. Much of it still looked the same, but there’s a nice boardwalk along the beach now. Ann and I strolled the boardwalk in order to get to the Kenosha North Pier Lighthouse, also known as Kenosha Light. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but the Coast Guard auctioned off Kenosha Light as “excess property” in 2011 and it is now under private ownership (see http://kenoshalighthousestudio.com/).

Ann at K LightWe walked out to the end of the pier. A rather historic-looking electric trolley was trundling along the opposite side of the harbor channel at the time. We also saw a number of people fishing off the southern side of the harbor mouth. The pier itself was almost deserted, save for one or two people who came and went as we looked out across Lake Michigan. Despite it still being April, we saw a couple of boats out there, too. One was a cabin cruiser, passing just beyond breakwater. The other was a twin screw sport boat, its hull barely touching the glass-like lake surface as it flew by. Gulls flew overhead. Ann and I just stood there, breathing the crisp air and taking it all in, occasionally offering a few words about some aspect or another of the area that we respectively recalled.

Old LightBefore heading back to the bike, we walked farther south, to the historic Kenosha “Southport” Lighthouse, which stands in remarkably good condition, thanks no doubt to some benefactors who cared enough to want it kept that way. It’s a well-preserved bit of this city’s history that deserves a visit, if you are ever in that area. For a glimpse at the history of Kenosha’s lighthouses, check out http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=240.

Fat TuesdayOnce we got back to my 2012 Victory Vision Tour, affectionately named Miss Scarlett, it was time to head toward Delavan, home of Fat Tuesdays Kitchen (http://fattuesdayskitchen.com/), a delightful little Cajun/barbecue/soul food restaurant that I had fallen in love with when I stopped there last July. My biker friends and I must have made a Foodpositive impression, because the people there—good people, I might add—still remember me. What a great little place to visit, especially if you are hungry. Ann enjoyed the red beans and rice. I tried their signature Fat Tuesday’s Sandwich, an awesome combination of sweet and spicy that still makes my mouth smile when I think of it. When in Delavan, please stop in for a bite and tell them “MGD” or “that biker Mike” sent you. You will not be sorry, believe me.

We bade our goodbyes and got back on the road, this time hopping Interstate 43 to Highways 11 and 142, respectively, which brought us to the Richard Bong State Recreation Area (http://dnr.wi.gov/topic/parks/name/richardbong/), where we paid our $11 out-of-state entry fee and went walking. Technically we were 50/50 (Ann is a Wisconsin native; I’m the flatlander), but the nice girl at the guard hut went by the vehicle on which we were mounted, which is registered in Illinois. Ah, well…

In contrast to thAnn at Bonge cool air along the lakefront, it was quite warm out near Brighton, at the Bong SRA, a 4,515-acre parcel that was once designated to become an air base, but was abandoned before it was built. There is plenty to do here for the outdoor enthusiast, including hiking trails, horse trails, fishing, hunting, dirt bike and OHV trails, camping and even a small beach. Ann and I had no horse. It was too cold to swim and besides, we had no swimsuits. We had neither fishing tackle nor camping gear. It was not hunting season. And believe me, Miss Scarlett is not a dirt bike by any definition. So we checked out a trail map and went for a short hike.

There is a fair amount of wetland to be found here, so we did encounter a few muddy parts along the course of our walk together. But it was nice to just walk for a while. And despite the beating sun and somewhat humid conditions, we enjoyed ourselves out there. We also saw some wildlife, including ducks, geese, a beaver, a crane (I think) and two small, rambunctious kids (under adult supervision) on the sandy beach. Again we often just stopped to breathe, enjoying each others company as we took it all in.

PetrifyingWe had just a little bit of time left together, but what to do with it? We headed for Petrifying Springs Park (http://www.visitkenosha.com/attractions/parks-nature/petrifying-springs-park), a lovely area just off Green Bay Road in Kenosha County, just north of the city of Kenosha. But alas, I had forgotten the park was on Green Bay Road and headed for Sheridan Road, by the lake, again. Woah! We both commented on the steep drop in temperature, which was substantial, as we rumbled into town on 142.  Ann had a good chuckle when we realized that I had put us on the wrong road—but she remains my favorite pillion and besides, you’re never really lost when you’re on a motorcycle.

Bad HairPetrifying Springs Park, or “Pets” for short, turned out to be a real find. We didn’t have a lot of time to spend here, but we soon found ourselves wishing we had come here earlier. Relative to the other places we had visited that day, there were a lot of people here, and for good reason. This place is beautiful and many area families obviously enjoy going there. Ann and I strolled along the flowing waterway, presumably fed by the artesian well for which this park is named. Several foot bridges cross the stream as trails continue on either side. We had no time to follow the trails, but we couldn’t help but stop for a quick selfie on one of the bridges. It was at that moment that Ann and I both realized how unkempt our hair had become after a day of walking and riding. We may not have looked all that well-groomed at the moment, but the shared laughter sure felt good.

Ann n MGD 04172016The time to part ways and head for home had come all too soon. Ann and I said our goodbyes and exchanged hugs, both quite happy to have shared some time together and pretty darned sure there would be a next time. Roughly 90 minutes later, we were 150 miles apart again, but I have no doubt we were both still grinning ear to ear. Good friendships are like that.

Until next time…

 

Photos by Ann M. Fischler and Michael G. D’Aversa