Category Archives: Friends

The Waiting


As you can see, Miss Scarlett is all cleaned up for our next adventure, which begins for me in a matter of hours, so this post will be short and sweet. Tomorrow morning I will be up bright and early and head north for the Midwest Motorcycle Rally in La Crosse, Wisconsin. But first I’m picking up my on-board photographer, trusty sidekick, and passenger of choice, also known as my dear friend Ann.

Last winter I deftly executed my tried and true strategy of begging and pleading with her to attend the rally. Ann ultimately succumbed to this strategy and agreed to go, if only to shut me up. But in any case, I am all too happy to have her along. And you should be, too, because I’m sure the photography you will see here over the next few days will be better than what you might have gotten from me alone. So for the next three to four days, I will chronicle our road trip and our experiences at the rally. This should be fun!

Some of you may recall that back when I was writing for the Wisconsin and Northern Illinois edition of Thunder Roads magazine, I wrote a piece about the first MMR I attended. Sadly, the “TRWINOIL” edition ceased operations a while back, but I saved that article and have included a photo image of it below. If you click the image and zoom in, you should be able to read the original article.

As always, thanks for hanging with me.

Midwest Motorcycle Rally

Contemplating Bonneville

Two different friends of mine have asked me about this place over the past few days, so I want to share some thoughts with you, while they are still fresh in my mind. Of all the places we’d visited during our recent epic road trip to Portland, Oregon, the Bonneville Salt Flats was among the least touristy, yet it stands out as having been one of my most memorable stops. It was significant to me, personally, that we stopped there. In fact I took our group a hundred miles out of our way en route to Portland, just to see this landmark, which is located in far-western Utah, just before the Nevada border.

Three things have happened that made Bonneville a bucket list item for me. First, in February of 2005, my family and I had the pleasure of meeting AMA Flat Track racing legend Chris Carr at the International Motorcycle Show in Rosemont, Illinois. We hadn’t realized it at the time, but Chris was soon to become a land speed record holder. More on that to come.

Then in 2006 a movie called The World’s Fastest Indian was released. Starring Sir Anthony Hopkins, this film is based on a true story about Burt Munro,  a New Zealander who set several land speed records at Bonneville in the 1960’s, aboard his highly modified (and streamlined) 1920 Indian Scout. It’s a delightful film, and fairly true to the original story, from what I’ve been able to learn about it. This really piqued my interest in seeing Bonneville firsthand.

This third thing seems quite remarkable in retrospect. Also in 2006, Chris Carr set a land speed record at Bonneville, piloting the BUB Seven Streamliner, the first motorcycle to go over 350 miles per hour. In February of 2007, the BUB Seven was on display at the International Motorcycle Show in Rosemont. My then-13-year-old son John was so taken with this machine, he waited patiently to talk with Motorcycle Hall of Fame inductee Denis Manning, the owner and designer of the BUB Seven.

I had no idea what the kid had in mind, but I had to smile when Mr. Manning turned to greet John, who looked up at him and said, “Can I ask you something?” Then pointing to the sleek orange streamliner, he continued, “Where did you ever get the idea for that thing?”

“Well, uh…” he began, then turned to me and inquired, “Do you have a few minutes?” I smiled back and nodded my approval. Denis Manning then proceeded to tell my son about how he had become interested in land speed racing at a young age, when his dad had taken him to Bonneville.  “Every other kid my age wanted to be Mickey Mantle. I wanted to be Mickey Thompson,” he chortled. He went on and told my son about his racing efforts, and then about designing and building machines that could go fast. Denis had a stack of rolled up posters he had been handing out at the show, but instead of giving John one of those, he said, “Wait a minute,” and then reaching down for an flat, unsigned poster, he asked, “What’s your name?” Denis Manning then proceeded to autograph a poster of the BUB Seven to John, adding his personal advice to “always follow your dreams.”

I just stood there and watched this interaction between Denis Manning and my young son. I’m sure other people, enthusiasts who knew who Denis Manning was, were made to wait while these two had their conversation. I’m not entirely sure who was more inspired by that, John or me.


Now you know why in 2016, I led my little band of merry travelers a hundred miles out of our way to see the remnants of a prehistoric salt lake bed. There was nothing special going on there at the time, though there were other people around us, including some visitors from New Zealand, whom John engaged in conversation while we were standing out there, miles from the middle of nowhere. But still, it was a big deal for us to be standing there. We even ate at the same little cafe where the real Burt Munro, and other racing legends like him, hung out during Speed Week at Bonneville.

Bonneville… I’ve been there!

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Grillin’ and Chillin’


Food and cooking have been an integral part of my family life for as long as I can remember. Growing up in a traditional Italian family, our kitchen was the heart of our home and I have many fond memories of life that took place around the family table. When planning to celebrate any special day, the first question out of my mother’s mouth would likely be, “What should we have to eat?” And if it was somebody’s birthday, “What do you want me to make for your birthday?” Good times…


Cooking outside was largely a team effort. My mother would prepare things inside and send the grillables out to my father via me or one of my sisters. She would continue to cook side dishes, additional courses, etc. inside, while my dad tended the grill(s) outside. Following tradition, I observed and helped my father outside, while my sisters helped our mother inside. This is how I first learned to grill. 


Mind you, we didn’t grill in silence, either. Pop and I would discuss all manner of things, catching up on each other’s lives, solving the problems of the world, observing the garden, and so forth. Sometimes there was wine, but my dad was never that big on drinking away from the table. That was a practice I cultivated on my own. 


To this day I derive great pleasure from hanging outside and grilling various meats and vegetables for friends and family, especially if I have somebody out there to keep me company, solve the problems of the world, etc. And there is usually ample wine or beer on hand (my house, my rules). 

Sometimes the simplest things in life are most enjoyable. 

Stress Is but a Response

I often need to remind myself that stress is not a stimulus. It’s not something “out there” that happens to us. Rather, stress is a response to external stimuli—actually one of multiple responses that are possible. So while it may be easier said than done (and practice makes perfect, though your mileage may vary, insert another cliché here), if you want a less stressful life, choose a different response. I want to share three recent instances where something happened that elicited a stress response from me that was not necessary.


Within the first half hour of waking up this morning, I dropped my phone from roughly waist height onto my kitchen floor. The phone landed face down, loudly. The last two times my phone fell to the floor, I ended up having to replace my Zagg Glass screen protector. They come with a lifetime warranty but the customer pays shipping each time and must return the damaged shield.

After the second time, I reconsidered my choice of cases and gave up my ultra-thin metallic case, a classic example of form over function, in favor of a Pelican brand product, similar to one my son had been using for months with excellent results. I should have considered this before allowing my gut to clench up as I retrieved my phone from the floor. The phone was quite intact, as was the Zagg Glass shield. Even the Pelican case was like new, not a mark on it.

So you see, my stress response was unfounded. Going forward I will try to be more careful with my phone and little less concerned when it falls again, as it surely will happen. I will also be a fan of Pelican brand phone cases.


Stress issue number two actually predated the first one by three days, which means it had time to ferment and grow. Last Saturday morning, following my triumphant return home from an epic road trip to Oregon and back, I had taken my motorcycle up to Randy’s Cycle in Marengo. By Saturday afternoon, I noticed something quite new in my garage: a fresh oil stain. I could not tell with certainty where on my bike the oil was leaking from, but my initial thought was that the oil was leaking at the drain plug and finding its way to my gremlin bell before dripping onto my previously oil-free floor.

To say that I became stressed over this discovery would be an understatement. After all, I had brought my favorite shop a motorcycle that did not leak oil and they seemingly sent me home, 57 miles away, with one that did. On top of all that, the shop had already closed before I made this unsettling discovery, and it was a holiday weekend, so the shop would not be open again for three days. So there I was, set up with a holiday weekend and no bike to ride because mine was busy marking territory in my garage—something that this brand is not known for.

But here’s the thing: I already knew, with certainty, that whatever the problem, whatever the cause, the folks at my shop of choice would make it right. They had done so before, even when the issue wasn’t their doing. I’ve been doing business with Randy Weaver and company for over three years now. They are known to be the best Victory dealer in all of Northern Illinois and in my opinion, that reputation has been well-earned.


So I got up this morning and rode Miss Scarlett back to Marengo. It was a bit of an inconvenience, but not the end of the world, and in point of fact, I had a rather nice ride. Upon arrival, they took my bike in and fixed the problem, which appears to have been unrelated to any work they did Saturday. It seems that on my way home Saturday, a seal where the shifter linkage passes through the engine case popped out of place, causing a slow but steady leak.

I rode the bike home, stopping a few times along the way to check for a leak, parked her in the garage with a dry piece of cardboard underneath the engine case, and checked again every few hours. No leak.

Episode three… I don’t know for sure what prompted me to go looking for my riding vest, but when I did so, I could not find it. No big deal, right? I probably put it down in an unusual place when I got back from Randy’s this morning… Oh, wait, I hadn’t worn it this morning. Well then surely when I had gone over there Saturday… Nope, I wore my jacket Saturday. Perhaps on Friday, when I had concluded my epic road trip? No dice. It had been cold in Minnesota that morning and pretty cool in Wisconsin, too, so I had worn my leather jacket all day.


Alas, I had not worn that vest since last Thursday, when I rode from Rapid City, South Dakota to Worthington, Minnesota. But surely I had brought the vest home… right?

My wife, Karen, called the hotel, but no vest had been turned in. She also called Randy’s, but I could have saved her the trouble, had I known. I messaged my sister, who had been on the trip with us. Then Karen and I took turns going through the van, the motorcycle, all our luggage, and every room in the house, turning everything upside down and inside out like frustrated DEA agents. Nothing.

I plastered the situation across Facebook, with photos. Almost immediately some of my biker friends began spreading the word. I should note that their response was instantaneous and impressive. I began to wonder what might happen if some of my brethren had come across my vest on the back of some unwitting teen. I must confess, that thought made me smile a little. But inside the space between my ears, stress had been building up big time.

At some point, stress had given way to resignation. That is, I had become emotionally resigned to having lost not only my leather vest, but all the pins and patches that I had added to it over the past few years, some of which were no longer replaceable. The effect was immobilizing me and I hated that, because despite whatever emotional and financial attachment I might feel about that vest, it was still just a thing. And things shouldn’t wield that kind of power over us.

The vest had been in my house the whole time. While passing through my bedroom—which had already been ransacked once or twice—something or someone possessed me to check the top of my wife’s dresser one more time. Then, on an apparent whim, I reached around and behind the dresser, thrusting my hand into the narrow abyss between that chest of drawers and a wall… and felt my fingers brush against something leathery.

“Eureka! I found it!” Similar messages were shared in earnest across Facebook and in text messages.

Again the stress—indeed the anguish—had been unfounded, but I didn’t know it at the time. If I could have even delayed the stress response for a while, I’d be better off.

A few parting thoughts:

  • Whether we exercise it or not, we have the power to choose our response to various stimuli.
  • If you’re going to be emotionally charged, like me, consider leading with positive emotions.
  • Pelican phone cases: good stuff.
  • Randy’s Cycle: good people.

Thank you for hanging with me.

After the Smoke Clears


When we returned home from watching some official local fireworks, the air in our subdivision was filled with smoke and the unmistakable aroma of saltpeter. Despite my town’s alleged “zero tolerance” policy regarding illegal fireworks, their use has been quite prevalent for the past two days. I’m cool with that, because I was once young and stupid myself. 

I had this friend—let’s call him Fred—who seemed to have access to all manner of explosive fireworks. Back in the day, he could get me bricks of firecrackers, the kind with Chinese characters on the product label, as well as bottle rockets, Roman candles, and of course, the coveted M80’s which were reputed to have the force of a third of a stick of dynamite. Now who wouldn’t want those?

Fred almost got his manhood scorched by an errant bottle rocket once. The things are so unpredictable, anyway. To the best of my recollection, I had lit the bottle rocket that went after my pal. We had been using an old coffee can as a place to set off packs of firecrackers and launch one or more bottle rockets at a time. Pretty much the same as always, I staged my little pyrotechnic specimen in the can, pointed away from me and with the fuse hanging over the side of the can. I lit the fuse. After a few seconds of mild hissing, the little bottle rocket shot off with a loud PSHHHHFFFFT, heading straight up before hanging an unexpected curve, not unlike that of a heat-seeking missile, and shooting directly into my friend Fred’s crotch.

In less time than it takes to exclaim “Oh shit,” Fred made a graciously swift backhand sweeping motion across the front of his family jewels, sending the bottle rocket about three feet into the airspace beside him before it went off with a loud BANG. Fred just stood there, looking at me as the smoke cleared. Upon having just witnessed his close call, I took immediate action and began laughing like an idiot. 

To be sure, there were more incidents such as this one, but Fred and I lived through them all, with our respective appendages and organs present and accounted for. If you are reading this, I hope you had a pleasant and safe 4th of July. 

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Epic Journey Day Twelve — Rapid City to Worthington

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Over the past twelve days, I have ridden through some breathtakingly beautiful parts of our country, but could not capture many parts of it because I was riding at the time, with no opportunities to pull off and stop, no digital cams mounted on my helmet or bike, and no photographer riding pillion with me at the time. Every now and then I would stop somewhere and shoot whatever I could. Just know that there was much, much more that I was not able to capture. That was frustrating at times. You know this practically begs for a return trip with a full-on camera crew. 


Speaking of frustration, one potentially frustrating thing about doing a long run like this on a fairly tight schedule is that you will pass right by—or worse yet, right through—other places that are vacation destinations in themselves, but you can’t stop and “do” those places, because there isn’t enough time. In the last few days, I’ve ridden past Yellowstone, past the Devil’s Tower, through the Black Hills without stopping in any of the usual places, and past the Badlands. Today, in my own small way, I tried to compensate for that by stopping at a couple of popular tourist attractions on our way east across South Dakota. 

In the 1930’s some hick drug store on the edge of  the Badlands of South Dakota began advertising free ice water to travelers on a nearby highway… and the rest is history. 

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Yes, we did Wall Drug. We love doing Wall Drug. In fact we ate breakfast there. Then my wife and my sister did some shopping while I photographed a vast assortment of oddities for my collection. The whole affair was very touristy, and so were we. 


Three hours later, we were more than halfway across the state and visiting another classic American tourist attraction, the Mitchell Corn Palace. The Corn Palace is a different kind of touristy, though. Perhaps a greater sense of singular purpose (it’s all about the corn). There is also a lot less stuff for sale here than in Wall.  But again, we love places like this and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. 


 A couple of hours later, we had crossed into Minnesota and stopped for the night in Worthington. If all goes as planned, tomorrow will be the final day of this epic journey. See you then. 

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. 

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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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

Chillin’ in December at Kankakee River State Park

22921273863_4abedfc596_oIt was supposed to have been warmer. The original forecast for December 5, 2015 had included a high temperature at or near 50 degrees, not bad for any December day in Northern Illinois, but the morning fog and cloud cover had hung around much longer than expected. Before I had learned of all this – before I had even gotten out of bed, in fact – I had decided that I would go for at least a short motorcycle ride. Imagine my surprise when I glanced down at my dashboard readouts during a particularly chilly stretch of road and saw 38° F as the ambient temperature.

23252590810_625f47470f_oToward the end of this past riding season, which in these parts frequently happens in November, if not October, I had begun taking rides to some of my favorite local nature spots. Once there I would snap a few photos to show a friend of mine, who has yet to visit these destinations. On a warm November 1, I rode out to Starved Rock State Park and ascended to the namesake bluff. On another unseasonably warm day in November, I rode to Silver Springs State Park and walked around Loon Lake. But where to go on this day, on an allegedly unseasonably warm day in December, one with salt-free roads, no less?

23439829282_bd280b257f_oI knew just the right place, another favorite spot of mine. Kankakee River State Park, which straddles both sides of the Kankakee River for about 11 miles, just west of Bourbonnais. I like this particular park for two reasons – three if you count the fact that it’s only 35 miles from my home. First and foremost is the destination, a predominantly forested area that offers walking/hiking trails (many of them paved) and scenic views of the river. But besides the park itself, I really enjoy riding the roads that lead to and from this destination.

23522265556_3942bc42cb_oFrom my home in Plainfield, the quickest way to the fun part is via Interstate 55. I should have known something was up when I could feel colder-than-expected air being forced into my leather jacket through the closed zipper vents. On a motorcycle, you create your own wind chill factors. On a motorcycle going 70 MPH, well, you catch my drift.

Taking the exit for North River Road, I headed toward Wilmington, which is situated on a stretch of Illinois Highway 53 that is also known to be a portion of historic U.S. Route 66. But rather than following the Mother Road, which can occupy me for hours, if not days or weeks, I turned left onto Illinois Highway 102. Once out of Wilmington, 102 gets interesting, with a few nice, sweeping curves and a couple of forested stretches, one of which was the first place I found temperatures were still in the 30’s.

23465904081_aef582a78e_oNow I should point out that I ride a fairly well-protected bike. My Victory Vision, affectionately referred to as Miss Scarlett, pretty much falls into the “full dresser” category. She is fully faired and features, among other accouterments, heated hand grips and dual zone heated seats. So I was not nearly as chilled as I might have been on a less protected machine. But I gotta’ tell you, I was cold.

The entrance into the main portion of Kankakee River State Park is on this road, but there are several other entrances as well, on both side of the river. Some are campground entrances. Others lead to parking lots for fishing and/or hunting areas. Indeed, while I was walking on the more family-oriented portion of the park, I would occasionally hear gunfire erupting from the just across the river.

23439802522_7a169dab83_oIt’s not like it was any warmer at the park than it had been on my way there, but at the average human walking pace of 3 to 4 miles per hour, I was adding no wind chill. With that as my advantage, I spent some time walking along one of the trails, allowing myself to warm up a bit as I took in nature’s beauty all around me. There were other people there, though not many. I don’t consider myself a very good “alone” person, but I do enjoy coming to places like this from time to time, by myself, just to recalibrate my mind a little. In all candor, I would rather have a friend along ten times out of ten, but that’s not always feasible, so why not take advantage of the solitude every once in a while?

22920083404_15b6aefd0b_oThe biker in me prefers not to take the same road out as I took in. Just as Illinois 102 provides a pleasant riding experience along the north banks of the Kankakee, so too does Illinois 113 provide some fun for the ride back along the south banks, leading to the community of Braidwood. There are some nice sweepers on that road, too – and there is nothing quite like the sound of putting a big, honking V-twin motorcycle through the paces on a road like that – but the hunting areas are all on that side of the river, too. The gunfire from those parts, just across the river from me, had been somewhat regular. And I was wearing black.

23252603240_57f9f9900c_oBut my biker side won out and I did cross the river to make my westerly run that afternoon. Where 113 intersects 53 in Braidwood, there is this cool little drive in called the Polk-A-Dot. This is a Route 66 original and I can give testimony that they have good ice cream and also offer a pretty decent little bacon double cheeseburger. I love stopping there, but I did not stop this time, because the sun was already getting ominously low in the sky. So I skedaddled back up the Mother Road and out to I-55 for my quick run home.

By the time I got home, I felt a bit chilled, but I regret nothing. I had gone for a nice little ride in December. I got to visit another favorite haunt of mine before my riding season closes for real. I captured a few good photos, which I sent to a certain friend in order to tempt her to do more rides with me next year. I ran my bike, I cleared my mind, I topped off my tank… I am content.

Until next time…