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.
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.
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.
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.
It 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.
The 16th annual 
Last 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.
Temps 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.
In 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.
Not 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.
During 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.
It 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.
We 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 
Back 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 
We 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.
Before 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 
Once we got back to my 2012 Victory Vision Tour, affectionately named Miss Scarlett, it was time to head toward Delavan, home of 
positive 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.
e 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.
We had just a little bit of time left together, but what to do with it? We headed for 
Petrifying 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.
The 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.
Next in the chronological order of things would be the birth of my wife. I can’t get into those particulars without getting into trouble. To put things into perspective, let me just say that we were married over 30 years ago and leave it at that. I do need to tell you some things about Karen, though, things that are highly relevant to this story.
Relatively young in the grand scheme of things, the origins of the 
For her birthday supper, Karen had requested the 
I wouldn’t call the Hofbräuhaus romantic, but it is a fun place. The food is great, the beer is quite good, and they have live entertainment. It can be a bit loud, especially if your table is close to the stage, but it’s a good time. I would definitely go back. Try the warm pretzel for openers. Imported from Germany the thing is about as big as a dinner plate and comes with a cheese spread and two different types of mustard. Goes very well with a stein of beer.
Friday night was all about celebration and romance, but Saturday was fun, too—just in a different way. We got up uncharacteristically early for a Saturday, enjoyed a very nice breakfast buffet at the hotel’s restaurant, checked out of our room, and then took the heated sky bridge from the hotel directly into the convention center. The show had just opened and since I had already bought our tickets, we were able to walk right in without having to stand in line.
The best time to attend the International Motorcycle Show in Chicago is on Friday. The show opens in the afternoon, while many people are at work, and runs until 8:00 PM. There are fewer people, and the manufacturer and vendor reps are fresh. Since 2003, I’ve been able to do that once, and only because I was unemployed at the time. But for those who can go on Friday, I recommend it. The second best day to go is on Sunday. It’s way more crowded than on Friday, but still isn’t too bad during the early hours. The key to doing the IMS on Saturday, probably the busiest day of the three, is to get there when it opens, move as best you can, and try to be done by early afternoon. That’s exactly what we did and by the time we left, around 1:00 PM, the line to get in was intimidating.
Karen and I have always viewed the IMS as having two essential two parts, the bike manufacturers and the merchandise vendors. There are other categories, namely the brand-oriented owners clubs, organizations and charities, motorcycle events and tourism, custom bike displays and contests, seminars and demonstrations, some sort of stunt show, and the motorcycle dealership exhibitors. All are nice, but we have always been about the bikes themselves and the product vendors.
As for the bikes, I always like to see what’s new, and because I try to keep up with developments from the major manufacturers, I often arrive looking for specific models. But my perspective has changed entirely since I began attending this show. In 2003 I had never owned a motorcycle and wasn’t entirely sure I ever would. I went to the show wide-eyed and salivating, but left knowing that a purchase wasn’t imminent. Or so I thought.
From a North American touring standpoint, my current ride is near the top of the food chain. There are other “full dresser” touring bikes, each with its own set of pluses and minuses, and I look at every one of them each year. But for the last two years now, I leave the show without wishing I could afford a different bike than the one I own. I may dream of a new accessory or two, but that’s the extent of it. I’m in a good place.
I am grateful to Karen for having thought up this getaway weekend, which provided some much-needed “us” time and helped me not to dwell on the first-time absence of my son. Such is the power of love and motorcycles. As far as I know, our son will miss the show next year, too. Will we do the same thing again? You’re asking the wrong person.
It 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.
Toward 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?
I 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.
From 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.
Now 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.
It’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?
The 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.
But 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.
Was I nervous? Not at all. I was scared. But we did it! And together with all the other motorcyclists, we raised $325,092 for pediatric brain tumor research that day. Thus began a new tradition for Teresa and me. My daughter and I have been raising money for pediatric brain tumor research by actively participating in the Chicagoland Ride for Kids every year since 2003.
And so it continues, year after year. Me, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And now you know why. Thanks for listening.
This Is MGD Time 
