Category Archives: Illinois Tourism

Exploring the Charms of a Used Bookstore

We don’t need anymore books! My wife and I have more volumes shelved, stacked, and stuffed throughout our home than we could ever hope to read during whatever remains of our respective lives. Adding more to the overflow is just not logical. This truth has never stopped us from regularly going out on our book hunts, mind you. So far it hasn’t even slowed us down. And few things are more alluring in these pursuits than a good used bookstore, those celebrated purveyors of used and antiquarian printed matter. The best of these establishments are full of character and sometimes a few characters, too. The structure in which these are found doesn’t much matter. We have discovered awesome booksellers in strip malls, repurposed warehouses, and wonderfully timeworn buildings. The real magic, the allure of a good used bookshop, is always on the inside.

We will often incorporate book hunting day treks into our birthday celebrations, anniversary celebrations, and spontaneous “let’s get out of here” days. Such was the case recently when we decided to celebrate Karen’s birthday and Valentine’s Day with a little daytime road trip down to Springfield, Illinois to checkout a shop called Prairie Archives.

On the way down, we stopped at Wally’s, a travel-themed mega fuel center, convenience store, gift shop, popcorn stand and more, with really clean restrooms. The only Illinois location is just off Interstate 55 near Pontiac. Road travelers who appreciate places like Sapp Bros. Travel Centers and Iowa 80, aka The World’s Largest Truckstop, will also appreciate Wally’s. Try the popcorn.

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Prairie Archives is nestled in a row of shops on the Old State Capitol Plaza. The Old State Capitol Historic Site, the centerpiece of this plaza, is currently closed for restoration and site improvement projects. Visitors can’t get much more downtown that this location, but motor vehicles are not allowed anywhere on the plaza, which includes Washington and Adams Streets between 5th and 6th Streets. As such, it’s not possible to park in front of Prairie Archives or on the portions of 5th and 6th Streets adjacent to the plaza. Parking anywhere near the plaza can be, shall we say, interesting. This presented a potential challenge for my wife, who uses a mobility scooter to traverse distances of any consequence, but we were optimistic.

We thought we had it made when we drove down the tight entrance ramp into an underground parking garage directly beneath the plaza. With the Old Capitol Building closed, there seemed to be plenty of vacant parking spaces down there, including an ADA spot right next to the Adams Street pedestrian exit. Alas, when we tried to exit there, we discovered an “out of order” sign on the elevator, which would have been the only ADA-friendly exit available. We even tried buzzing the locked door beneath the temporarily closed Old Capitol Site, and eventually a guy came out apologizing and letting us know there was no safe way for Karen to get out of that underground garage. Fortunately, they didn’t charge us for parking.

Did I mention that the down ramp into the garage is tight? Baby, that’s nothing compared to the up ramp, which is not only tighter than the down ramp, but also blind until the very point of exit. Once out, we began circling city blocks and eventually snatched an ADA space with a two-hour parking limit, as opposed to the fifteen minute spots that are common in this area. From what we were told, they don’t seem to enforce the meters by the old capitol, but they strictly enforce those time limits. Go figure. In any case, we had our space and only had to walk a couple or so blocks up 6th Street, which took us past some official-looking state and federal offices as well as the Lincoln-Herndon Law Offices, the only remaining building in which Abraham Lincoln maintained a law office, also closed for renovation as of this writing.

Moments later, we were at our destination. The storefront facade of Prairie Archives is meticulously maintained but also a bit misleading. At first glance, a first-time visitor might be fooled into thinking that this is just a small shop, a quick in-and-out for most book browsers. Oh, but fooled is the right word! Once inside, visitors will discover that the shop goes on and on from front to back, with additional rooms off one side, all of it covered with volumes and volumes of books. Printed art, too.

As is the case with all good used bookstores, the bookshelves at Prairie Archives are tall, plentiful, and full. I found my head starting to spin as I attempted to look over all the titles in my favorite sections, but I was grinning the whole time. Every so often I came across a card sticking out of a row telling patrons that there were over 20,000 more books shelved elsewhere and that the staff is always glad to look up specific titles in their database, to see if they are available. That friendly staff, by the way, quickly became one of my favorite things about this shop. They were always available to answer questions, explain the layout, and more.

There is also a friendly shop mascot, a smallish, cream-colored Golden Retriever named Lola, who greeted us when we arrived and checked up on us a couple of times while we were browsing. Never intrusive, Lola would just calmly approach to make sure we were okay and to see if we wanted to pet her. Of course we always wanted to pet her. Then she would wander off in search of other patrons. Karen and I are both extremely fond of shop animals, be they dogs, cats, birds, or something completely different. Shop pets tend to add character and enrich the customer experience. They tell us something about the owner, too. This is something you will never find in a big chain store.

Visiting bookstores has always felt like an adventure to me. This goes all the way back to my childhood years. My family was never wealthy and there were plenty of times growing up when my folks had to say “no” to this or that thing that I wanted them to buy for me. But to the best of my recollection, they never said no to getting a book. I had an aunt who sometimes took me to downtown Chicago and we would often stop at Kroch’s & Brentano’s, which was then the largest bookstore in the city. She always allowed me to choose a book and so I discovered the joy of bookstore browsing at a very young age.

As I was perusing the various aisles and side rooms at Prairie Archives, I began to wonder about the people who never visit places like this, the ones who don’t gain any pleasure or satisfaction from browsing bookstores, libraries, and such. Or worse yet, those who can’t. Isn’t it sad to realize that there are a substantial number of people in our society who will never know what they have missed in life. From fiction to nonfiction, classics to current events, poetry to comic books (and what a collection this place has), there are entire worlds and endless possibilities shelved in places like this, just waiting to be discovered by ordinary people like you and me..

I left with only addition to my personal collection, The Portable Oscar Wilde. The Viking Portable Library is a series that originated during World War II. The compilations were intended to be carried by soldiers fighting in the war, who were forced to move around often and travel light. The series itself continued growing into the 1970s and my particular paperback was published in 1981. It’s in remarkable condition and provides well over 700 pages of Wilde’s works. Not bad for five bucks, eh? My wife, as usual, came away with a handful of finds, including two more books from a children’s series that she has been collecting for decades. We were in there for well over ninety minutes and both came away quite satisfied.

There are at least three big used bookstores within about an hour of each other in this part of the state. We could easily have visited two that day, but as we intended to get home (about 180 miles) ahead of an approaching winter storm, we opted to head back after this one. We have been to one of the others, twice in fact, but Prairie Archives is the only one I have presented here thus far. Could someone visit all three in a single day? Yes, I’m sure they could, but it would be a long day indeed, as this would require arriving at the first store when it opens and likely leaving the third at or around closing time. Could be a fun overnight road trip, though. Or you could just be like us and keep coming back. Ha!

More to come. And as always, thanks for hanging with me.

Visit to a Japanese Garden

In the journey called life, my path has been rather rocky lately. And as the effects of life are cumulative, you might say I had been gathering rocks for a while. The care of one’s self is, I believe, a critical aspect of any life lived well. As the saying goes, one cannot pour from an empty cup. So for the sake of my mind, body, and spirit—in other words, my whole person—I need to get away and be with myself every so often. This was one of those times.

After a week filled with rainy days and unpleasant chores, I noticed the approach of something I don’t often see: an open Sunday, free of appointments, commitments, or deadlines. Without hesitation, I called dibs on myself for the entire day and made plans to not be around. When that Sunday morning arrived, I opened my eyes and smiled from within, giving thanks for the day, for my life, and for everything that goes with it. Then, after performing my daily hygiene and grooming routine, I set off for a bit of quality alone time.

Roughly two hours from my home in the exurbs of Chicago lies the Anderson Japanese Gardens of Rockford, Illinois. Established in 1978 by Rockford businessman John Anderson, the current property occupies about 12 acres and features the work of the renowned Japanese landscape architect Hoichi Kurisu. This site has achieved recognition as one of the top Japanese gardens in North America. I made my first visit to the gardens on August 30 of 2009, with a motorcycle club over which I had been presiding at the time, based on the recommendation of a dear friend and riding buddy of mine named Vern. By sheer coincidence, I returned with another dear friend, again by motorcycle, on the exact same date in 2019. If memory serves, Vern and I returned with my son somewhere between those two visits, again by motorcycle.

This visit was to be a first on several counts. I had never been to Anderson Japanese Gardens during the fall season; I had never gone alone; and although I hadn’t realized this before now, I had never gone there by automobile. The day proved to be bright and sunny, albeit seasonably cool, exactly as had been forecast. My anticipation built as I drove on.

Upon arriving, I began to question my choice of going on a Sunday, which in hindsight was also a first. The main parking lot was nearly full, again a first, but I found a partially shaded space, walked to the welcome center entrance, bought my admission, and entered the garden. Yes, there were more people there than I had hoped to find, but I wouldn’t say it was crowded. In addition, most of the people I encountered seemed genuinely pleased to be there. Nearly everyone was smiling and the older folks, like myself, were visibly acknowledging and saying hi as we passed one another. Some even offered me helpful advice like, “There are fewer steps if you go that way.” I know, I know, old people talk. Still, I was grateful for the tip.

Using the map provided at the admission counter, I walked the entire garden. In fact, I walked some parts twice. Due to the number of visitors, I wasn’t likely to find a quiet spot where one could sit for a while and take it all in, a pleasant experience here. The garden is intended to be a place of healing and the three primary elements of any Japanese garden—stone, water, and living plants—all work toward that end.

As an aside, have you ever meditated with a tree? I mentioned this concept briefly in my post “The Things That Nearly Didn’t Happen” last year, but without much detail. Imagine sitting in view of a beautiful tree, or perhaps more than one, meditating. As you breathe in and out, fully in the moment, you see, feel, and hear a gentle breeze moving the branches and leaves on the tree. In that moment, both you and the tree are experiencing that breeze. Both you and the tree are breathing that air, although not exactly the same way. To be in that state of awareness, of oneness with the creation that surrounds you, is both peaceful and powerful. Gardens like this are designed for such experiences.

I did manage to do some simple breathing meditation as I wandered about. The fall colors were splendid, especially on such a sunny day. The ponds and waterfalls reflected the bright sunlight, yet remained peaceful elements of the gardens. While I would prefer to visit on a weekday, when the grounds are less populated, despite the number of visitors on this Sunday, I felt no desire to rush through or to leave before I had finished my experience. In all candor, I did not encounter one rude person there. Quite the opposite, in fact, I encountered more polite, even friendly, people than I would normally expect to find within a hundred miles of my home. Even the small children were, for the most part, well-behaved. In case you are wondering, yes, it feels odd that being surrounded by nice people is so noteworthy. What a sad commentary on our society!

Speaking of young people, it so happens that Anderson Japanese Gardens was hosting The Path of Pumpkins, an exhibit/competition of carved and decorated pumpkins submitted by schools in the region. Along with my admission sticker, I was given a ballot card on which to vote for whichever school I felt had submitted the best entries. The top three schools win cash prizes. I did cast my vote before leaving, but it was not an easy choice. There is apparently a good deal of artistic talent at the participating schools!

In all, I spent better than an hour and a half at the gardens, probably the longest I’ve ever stayed there. The reason I stayed so long is twofold. First, I wasn’t there with a group or with anybody, for that matter, so the only schedule I had to keep was my own, and I had none. And second, having no set schedule or agenda, I retraced a few areas just because I wanted to experience them one more time before leaving. As it turns out, I departed not a moment too soon. Just as I was rolling out of the parking lot, I observed an enormous, unmarked tour bus unloading a large number of people who had formed a queue waiting to get through the doors of the welcome center. Perfect timing, I’d say!

Before heading toward home, I opted to have something good for lunch. Prior to making this trip, I consulted a dear friend who had lived in Rockford and she provided two worthwhile suggestions. At first glance, both seemed a bit pricey, especially for a guy who would be eating alone and not trying to impress anyone, but as I have maintained for decades now, there is no substitute for local knowledge. I opted to try Baker Street Burgers, which oddly enough is located on Alpine Road (ooh a mystery). BSB is a charming place with a warm, friendly, and attentive staff. I would urge potential customers to arrive hungry, as I had. All the burger offerings are over the top and generously portioned. My order arrived looking like one of those advertisements that the fast food giants are now being sued over for not living up to the images. This thing was gorgeous and oh, so delicious!

And so ended my visit to Rockford for a delightful Japanese garden experience followed by an equally delightful early afternoon meal. I’m sure I’ll be back. As always, thanks for hanging with me.

Bits of 66

Part of a mural at the Rt 66 Museum in Pontiac

I was surprised when my phone dinged one Friday evening in late September, alerting me to an unexpected text from my friend Mark.

“You riding tomorrow?”

“I don’t have a plan… Whatchagot?”

“Nothing except looks to be an exceptional day to ride.”

Mark and I are both seasoned motorcyclists who appreciate how quickly the riding season can conclude as the fall season progresses toward winter. We texted back and forth a few times, sharing possibilities, and then decided to meet up near my home for a familiar run down old Route 66.

Technically, the Mother Road began at the intersection of Jackson Boulevard and Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago. Me, I’ve always picked it up from Joliet and turned around in Pontiac. It’s a nice little day ride for motorcyclists. I’ve written about various aspects of this little stretch of the Mother Road before and for the sake of not being redundant, I strive to share some different angles each time. Please, enjoy the ride…

After meeting up with Mark and part of his family near my home in Plainfield, we picked up old Route 66 in the city of Joliet, as part of modern day Illinois Highway 53. As we rode out of Joliet and south toward Elwood, I thought about my mother-and-father-in-law, who drove out to California via Route 66 on their honeymoon, back in the late 1940’s. While on their trip, Jack (my father-in-law) shot some footage using an 8mm move camera that he had. Some years ago, as a gift, my wife and I had the films transferred onto VHS tapes, the modern technology of the day. I enjoyed watching all that footage and listening to my in-laws tell stories about their trip. That experience is what sparked my genuine interest in the Mother Road. Prior to that, Route 66 was just the name of a TV show from the 1960’s when I was growing up.

The first time I ever ran this part of Route 66 was via motorcycle, following a gentleman named Jim, who had ridden the entirety of the Mother Road on an organized tour. Jim took great pleasure in sharing this local portion of Route 66, from Joliet to Pontiac. He frequently included a stop at the Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery in Elwood, to which he referred as his future home. We briefly rolled through the cemetery on this run, but did not stop and took no photographs. I will say it’s a solemn site to behold.

Where we did begin taking photos was in the town of Gardner, which is home to two structures of historic significance. One is a two-celled jailhouse that was built in 1906 and used until the 1930’s. The other is a streetcar-style diner that has been preserved and donated to the town. I had been to the jail once before but for some reason hadn’t walked over to look at the diner. Both structures are worth stopping to see.

We also stopped at a restored Standard Oil station outside of Odell. This is a must-see for anyone into historic filling station architecture. I should also point out that there is another significant gas station in Dwight. Although that one isn’t as architecturally interesting as this Standard station, it holds its own place as the last operating Texaco station on Route 66.

There is another interesting stretch during which you will see segments of an older road running parallel to the current two-lane blacktop. That’s the original Mother Road and there is at least one spot where you can legally pull onto a piece of it and take photos. There is an old barn off in the distance with a Meramec Caverns ad painted on the side of it. We didn’t stop this time but it’s there and you’ll see it.

I frequently conclude my excursions on this portion of the Mother Road at the Route 66 Association of Illinois Hall of Fame & Museum in Pontiac. It’s worth stopping for, if you’re at all into this sort of thing. With two floors of exhibits inside and a few goodies outside as well. Check out the VW bus as well as the hippie land yacht that once belonged to the late artist Bob Waldmire. Or the 1960’s radio station replica. Or the 1940’s home display. I just eat this stuff up every time I go there.

It’s not that there isn’t more to see further downstate — or across the rest of the USA to California, for that matter. I’ve seen other bits of historic Route 66, including an excellent museum down in Lebanon, MO. But the stretch of it that I’ve described here is my little bit of old Route 66.

Acres Inn on the square in Pontiac IL

Before heading back toward home, my friends and I walked over to the square in downtown Pontiac for a bite of lunch at the Acres Inn. Although the dining room was closed due to pandemic precautions, they did offer curbside ordering and outdoor seating. For a relatively small café and beer bar, Acres Inn offers a nice variety of items on their menu. I thoroughly enjoyed my smashed double cheeseburger, accompanied by house-made potato chips — I’m a sucker for homemade chips — and washed down with a lovely craft lager.

The sun was shining and there was much laughter in the air as we enjoyed our meal together. After that, we walked back to the bikes, rolled out toward Interstate 55, and headed for home. Before the rest of my group peeled off, a couple of exits before mine, I immersed myself in the sensations of riding the open road on a sunny and warm afternoon realizing that Mark had been right all along. It really had been an exceptional day to ride.

As always, thanks for hanging with me.

Something Worth Doing

 

As I indicated I would do last week (see For the Love of Poopy’s), I met up with a couple of friends last Saturday morning and rode out to Poopy’s in Savanna,  This post is going to be short on pictures and videos because (a) the only pillion photographer who matters was not on board to take the road shots, which I only wish I could share with you and (b) it never strikes me to take advantage of some photo ops when they arise. But in lieu of excellent visuals, I will share my story, if only because it seems to be worth telling.

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The two gents I rode with are experienced riders whom I got to know from two different facets of my life on two wheels. “Johnny B” is a retired music teacher who lives in the next town over from mine but whom I met as a regular attendee of the Midwest Motorcycle Rally, which is held hundreds of miles from our respective homes. Still, I’m glad we met. John has a knack for knowing which roads to take and where the good food is to be had. this is something that comes from experience. He may not be one to smile and pose for the camera but John is an asset to any riding group and has helped me out on more than one occasion.

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Mark and I go back, not only in terms of years but also in terms of our previous lives. He was a motorcycle mechanic — and a darned good one — at Fox Valley Cycles, the best Honda motorcycle dealership in west suburban Chicagoland and also the sponsor of the Illini Free Spirit Riders, of which I was once president. Mark and I have both moved on since then but have somehow managed to remain friends for the decade-plus that has since followed.

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We met up at a gas station, where I introduced my two friends to each other, and then headed out on US Highway 30, aka the Lincoln Highway, toward the Mississippi River and Savanna, home of Poopy’s Pub and Grub. Skies were sunny and the temperature was seventyish, with just the slightest cool breeze.

Folks, this was the first ride of any real distance I have taken this year. I could get into why but that would detract from the real story here. Just know that I went, that I needed to go, and that it was wonderful. There’s just something about being out on the road with friends. I can’t begin to tell you how quickly my day-to-day concerns faded away as I motored on, cool breeze in my face, iTunes blasting out on my sound system. As I am known to do, I greeted all the farm animals as I rode past..
“Hello, dairy cows!”
“Hi, horses!”
“Well hello there, beef cattle!”

There was this one point along US 30 where a group of turbines from an upcoming wind farm seemed to have been set up perfectly along our line of sight as we approached, the huge blades moving to some unheard symphony of flowing air mass. As much as I wish I could share photos or a video clip with you, I was equally glad nobody was there to hear me moments later when I’d caught my self singing along at the top of my lungs to whatever song had been blasting out on my stereo. I probably wasn’t singing in tune but what can I say, I’d been caught up in the moment.

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In what seemed like no time at all, we’d run the 115 miles or so to arrive at “Illinois’ Biggest Biker destination.” Interestingly enough, Poopy’s wasn’t all that crowded when we pulled in, right around the 11:00 hour, which made it easy for our merry trio to claim some prime seating along the main outdoor bar. Perched upon our padded toilet seat bar stools, we ate, drank, traded stories and people watched. It just felt so great to be alive!

 

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All the while, more and more bikes were pulling in, but the area never felt overcrowded, mainly because there is a lot of room outside (and even in) at Poopy’s. Nobody was wearing a mask but then again, nobody was in my face, either. I was okay with that.

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As we sat there chatting and admiring the young, beautiful bartenders who were working harder and harder to take care of everybody, I spotted Andy Pesek, who had organized the “Poopy’s COVID Relief” event, enjoying what looked like a fine cigar while seated at a card table that had been set up by one of the big garage doors, all of which had been opened on such a pleasant, sunny day. I walked over and introduced myself before dropping my donation envelope into the bucket on the table.

That’s pretty much it as far as the “event” goes. There was no big, formal parade, no raucus anti-tyranny rally, no political ranting of any kind that me and my half-deaf ears could pick up. What I did hear was plenty of laughter. I think most people understood why we were there — to enjoy the day and enjoy life while supporting a unique business that we had come to love and appreciate.

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One highpoint of my day occurred while I was walking across the premises and spotted a face that I had seen before, on the news as well as social media. He smiled as I look at him and so I felt compelled to ask, “Are you Poopy?”

His smile grew as he nodded at me, responding, “I’m Poopy.”

We chatted briefly and I thanked Mr. Promenschenkel for having shared my last blog post the week before. He seemed pleased to give me a moment of his time and came across as being quite genuine. Just as we were about to head our separate ways, I asked if we could get a quick photo. Poopy clapped an arm on my shoulder and exclaimed, “Sure, let’s do it!” The resulting selfie came out a little blurred but mere words can’t express how much I appreciated our chance meeting.

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All the while, more and more bikes rolled in. We departed well before mid-afternoon. Part of me wanted to stay and check out the live music, maybe see if the bikini pool bar next to the stage area would liven up, but a larger part of me wanted to ride home sober. And that’s what we did.

My only regret? I did not reapply sunblock before making the return trip. My face, neck, and especially my arms got a little burned but not so bad. I think John, Mark and I had a nice day together. Things being as they are, I’m just not sure what the rest of this riding season holds for me but if I can get even a few more rides in like this one, I will be so grateful.

Thanks for hanging with me.

For the Love of Poopy’s

Located on Illinois Route 84 near the southern edge of the city of Savanna, Poopy’s bills itself as “Illinois’ Biggest Biker Destination” and for good reason. The place is huge. The place is fun. And the place has earned its reputation as a worthy venue for motorcyclists to visit for food, beverages, and a wide variety of entertainment. Its owner, Kevin Promenschenkel, earned the nickname “Poopy” at a young age when a wayward bird let him have it, twice, during a Little League baseball game. The name stuck and the rest, as they say, is history.

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Well it seems history is being made again. Promenschenkel has been busy doing everything in his power to keep his business afloat during these trying times, including participating in a lawsuit against the state, asking his loyal customers to support him by ordering Poopy’s merchandise online, and most recently, opening the venue for Memorial Day weekend — a major weekend for his business, filled with events and entertainment. This was a violation of our governor’s current stay-at-home order, but with the support of county and local authorities, not to mention many loyal bikers who came from miles around, Poopy’s did indeed open. In addition to all this, a motorcycle fundraising run has been organized to provide direct relief to Poopy in this time of need.  I intend to participate in that fundraiser, assuming Mother Nature cooperates and I have people willing to ride out to Savanna with me. I am doing this not because I have excess cash to give away but because I have a great deal of respect for Kevin Promenschenkel, am sympathetic to his situation, and feel compelled to help him out in this small way.

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I’ve been stopping at Poopy’s since September of 2011. That’s the year my son went away to college in the Quad Cities area. A week or two after he left, I found myself missing the kid something awful and so decided to pay him a visit. My ride at the time was a silver metallic 2007 Honda ST1300, a sport touring rig that made short work of my 130-ish mile run out to the Mississippi River. After picking up my son, I asked if he had any interest in checking out this “Poopy’s” place that we’d heard others talk about. At the time, he wasn’t yet old enough to have anything stronger than a coke but the allure of visiting a real biker bar must have pressed his button that day. “Sure!” my son exclaimed and within minutes, he was onboard and we were headed north toward Savanna.

I should pause here and mention that Poopy’s is anything but a typical biker bar. Poopy’s is a destination, an experience unto itself. Sure, it has a bar — several, in fact — plus a restaurant featuring numerous namesake-themed items (e.g. “The Big Poop”), a gift shop, a parts counter, and more. They even had a tattoo parlor on the premises back when I first began going there. The outdoor portion of Poopy’s includes a sizable entertainment stage with overhead catwalk, a pool bar, even a campground. They host vehicle shows, combat sports events, and many, many concerts. As I said, Poopy’s is an experience unto itself and I have developed a deep sense of appreciation for this venue — and the man who built it — from the first time I set foot on the premises.

My son and I had ourselves a grand old time that day. Using my phone, our waitress took a great photo of us while we waited for our lunch. We walked the premises, admired the unique decor and ambiance, bought a few souvenirs, including my lucky Poopy’s bottle opener, and vowed to return.

And so we have returned a number of times. Not nearly often enough, because I don’t live nearby, but whenever the opportunity presents itself — and always with friends. I’ve made lunch stops, brunch stops, and “you just gotta’ come and check this place out” stops. And Poopy’s never disappoints.

My last trip there was a few years ago. My most favorite pillion companion in the world and I had ridden out to Iowa over Labor Day weekend to meet up with some friends from a few different states. During a wonderful all-day ride that we took, the group  had planned to visit Poopy’s for a mid-afternoon lunch. As we approached and entered the parking lot, my beloved friend rolled video, creating a very nice memento. We sat outside for quite some time, enjoying the live music, good food, and each other’s excellent company on that fine late-summer afternoon. Indeed, it’s been too long since I have enjoyed such a time at Poopy’s.

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And so on Saturday, June 6, 2020, I hope to join whatever companions I can assemble and ride west for the day. My motives have been questioned on several counts by different individuals. Without naming names, here are their questions and my answers.

  • Aren’t you afraid of getting sick… or worse?
    No. As the result of having worked in an essential service industry, I never stopped working during this pandemic. I have taken reasonable precautions, both at work and at home. And yes, I wear a bandanna face covering every time I go to the grocery store, pharmacy, etc. I will not likely go indoors on this trip and if I do, I’ll just don my bandanna. Also, as an avid motorcyclist, I am accustomed to tolerating a certain amount of risk. Believe me, it’s not that I don’t care whether I die. It’s that I dread not living during whatever time I have left on this earth.
  • But Poopy is a blatant Trump fan! Are you one, too???
    Does it matter? This is a fundraiser event for Poopy’s, not a political rally. Okay, here’s the plain truth: As an admitted member of the exhausted majority, I despise both the Democrat and Republican parties with a passion and in all candor, my opinion of “45” is less than glowing right now. But I am a real Poopy’s fan and therefore a fan of the man who has put so much of himself into that institution. Although I have never met Poopy in person, I like him and I suspect that if we drank together long enough, we would depart as friends. In short, I respect Kevin Promenschenkel and given that I, too, would not have been prepared to go more than a few weeks without an income stream, I am inclined to help him.
  • You’re just a badass biker with no respect for authority. I hope you get sick!
    Good day to you, too, ma’am! Yes, I am a biker. No, I am not. Okay, it depends on whom you ask and how that person defines the term. I am an avid motorcyclist and I have ridden across the country. My current ride is a 2012 Victory Vision Tour, a big-inch “full dresser” American V-twin, and I am no more loyal to any one motorcycle brand than I am to any political party. So there we are. If you fault me for riding a motorcycle, for respecting other riders regardless of what they ride, or for advocating for motorcyclist rights in general, then I am guilty as charged and your opinion does not move me.

In the end, I think it would be a dirty shame if Poopy’s were to disappear as the result of this horrific pandemic event and the shut-down of our economy — indeed of our society as we know it. I’m sure many businesses will not return as the result, through no fault of the independent owners themselves. So if I can help out one of them, this one in particular, by riding with friends for a few hundred miles on a Saturday and dropping some money in the till, I will gladly do so.

Whether you agree with me or not, I respect you for having read this far. And as always, thank you for hanging with me.

Ups and Downs – Part 3 of 3

Wait

Continued from Ups and Downs – Part 2 of 3

You may recall from reading my Rendezvous Run posts last June (Days One, Two, Three, and Four) that while the decline and fall of my day job as I knew it was unfolding—indeeed, weeks before I’d gone frolicking with my friends at the Midwest Motorcycle Rally in La Crosse—my son John had journeyed from his current home in Portland to the Quad Cities of Illinois in order to take his first professional theater gig with the newly formed Mississippi Bend Players in Rock Island. On Friday, July 21, which turned out to be our collective day of termination for my now-former colleagues and me, I was scheduled to lead a small group of friends on an overnight motorcycle ride to see my son’s professional debut at the premiere of Wait Until Dark. And that’s exactly what I did.

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By the close of business Thursday, July 20, I had dotted my i’s, crossed my t’s, bid my farewells, shed my tears, exchanged hugs, turned in my key, and walked away. Within hours, my friend Ann had come down from her Wisconsin home to prepare for the following day. On Friday morning, Ann and I packed up my bike and headed out to Yorkville, where we would rendezvous with two more friends, Eddie and Vern, who would be riding out with us on their respective Gold Wing touring bikes. My wife Karen, who does not ride, had gone to work that morning and would be meeting us in Moline later that day.

As long as it didn’t rain, our plan had been to meander, rather than travel via Interstate 80, the fastest, most direct route to our destination. It got plenty warm and humid, but it never rained during our ride, so we meandered. From Yorkville, we took Illinois 71 southwest through Ottawa, over the Illinois River and west along a brief but fun set of twisties past Starved Rock State Park. Just for fun, I took the group up Illinois 178 to North Utica, past the west entrance to Starved Rock, back over the river and east along Dee Bennett Road, along the north bank of the river, to the Army Corps of Engineers’ Illinois Waterway Visitor Center, overlooking the lock and dam directly across the river from Starved Rock. Everybody and their brother regularly goes to Satrved Rock, myself included. Far fewer check out the observation deck across the river. The Visitor Center provides some interesting information about the Illinois Waterway, past and present, and if you hang around long enough, you can observe commercial and recreational watercraft locking through.

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Our next stop was in Princeton for lunch and a visit to an historic covered bridge just outside of town. We decided to take a chance on Rodeo Tacos and did okay there. It wasn’t anything fancy or over-the-top, but the place was clean, the food was freshly prepared, and the lady who took care of us was pleasant, if a bit laid back. While walking there from where we had parked the bikes, we came upon Myrtle’s Pie, formerly Myrtle’s Cafe & Pie. We would have had lunch there, but there was a notice on the door proclaiming that Myrtle’s no longer serves lunch, “unless you are having pie for lunch.” While eating our Mexican food up the street, we all agreed to save room for pie. What an awesome decision that turned out to be! Eddie and Vern split a slice of banana cream while Ann and I split a slice of strawberry rhubarb, warmed and served with a scoop of ice cream. It was all I could do to not lick the plate clean. I raved about Myrtle’s for the rest of the weekend, even though Ann thought our pie had been a litttle too sweet for strawberry rhubarb.

The red covered bridge is just off Illinois 26 north of town. Originally built in 1863 and rehabbed in 1973, this bridge is still in use today. We pulled off the road to walk around and take a few pictures. Only two or three vehicles passed through while we were there, which made it easier for us to take our time and look at everything. Before we left, Eddie decided to take his Gold Wing across the bridge and back, just for grins. Being the shutterbug that she is, Ann immediately positioned herself to capture the crossing on video, so I captured her doing so. This was just one of several fun moments our little group had enjoyed throughout the day.

Stage Set - Teresa photo

The reminder of our journey was less than eventful. In fact, it was slightly miserable. By mid-afternoon, the temperature and humidity had both risen considerably. Because we were already north of Princeton, we opted to take Illinois 92 west to the Quad Cities. This turned out to be not the greatest idea I’d hatched that day. Highway 92 is extraordinarily straight, a characteristic that grows boring rather quickly when traveling by motorcycle. In effect I had condemned us to traveling on a road no more interesting than Interstate 80 would have been, only at a lower rate of speed with the hot sun beating down on us and our sweat glands working overtime. Under these conditions, it becomes all too easy to succumb to road hypnosis. We made it to the hotel alright, arriving almost immediatley after my wife had pulled in with her minivan, but we were all pretty beat and in dire need of freshening up.

Because foul weather had made its way into the forecast, we all opted to go over to the Brunner Theater Center together in the air conditioned comfort of Karen’s minivan. Once inside the center, we ran into Phil McKinley, the Broadway director and Augustana College graduate who played no small part in the founding of the Mississippi Bend Players (he was also a long-standing director the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus). Karen and I knew Mr. McKinley because he has directed our son John in a magnificent-yet-disturbing produciton of a play called A Green River, first in 2012 at Augustana College in Rock Island and again in 2013 at the historic Pabst Theater for the for the 47th annual Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival Region III in Milwaukee (see story here). We also got to reconnect with Jeff Coussens, who directed Wait Until Dark. A professor at Augustana, Mr Coussens also directed John in a number of collegiate theater performances.

What can I tell you about the experience of being able to witness my son’s first-ever professional theatrical performance? Everything else I’ve covered in this Ups and Downs sequence pales by comparison. That performance was the culmination of a process that had begun when the kid was in middle school. Then came the high school performances, followed by the college performances, each milestone dwarfing the last. A theater minor became a theater major—I could write a small book about that turning point alone. Then came his studies at the Portland Actors Conservatory, over two thousand miles from home, a two-year program during which I was not able to see even one of his performances, each of which was surely heads above his already impresssive college performances. So there I sat, watching this thriller unfold with my son playing the nastiest villain in the story—and quite well, I might add. It was a proud moment.

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After the show, we ran up the street to Legends Corner, a nice little bar and restaurant, for a late-night meal and drinks. John rode his motorcycle over to join us and was the center of attention, fielding everyones questions and savoring the glow. The boy made my night, though, when he announced that he would be free for a period of hours the following day, if we wanted to get together for a ride. I was all smiles at the very suggestion.

The next morning, Eddie and Vern took off early for home. Karen, Ann and I had breakfast, checked out, and waited for John to ride over to our hotel. Once he did, we headed for the river, to a small park I used to enjoy visiting while John was a student at Augie. Whenever I had time to kill by myself, I would end up there. It was cool to see it again because I hadn’t expected to. From there we headed west on U.S. Highway 6 for Geneseo and had lunch at Raelyn’s Pub & Eatery. It seemed like a popular place, the staff was very friendly and helpful, and the food was good as well as abundant. I had their Voodoo Burger and was very satisfied. My best advice is to go there hungry.

After lunch we said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways. John hopped on his Honda and headed back to Rock Island; Karen pointed her van east and took I-80 home the fast way; Ann and I meandered back aboard Miss Scarlett and were the last to arrive at our destination. In hindsight, that wasn’t the brightest idea, as Ann still had a long drive ahead of her to get back to her own home. Still, it had been an awesome weekend, a true high point among all the ups and downs.

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So, I did it again the following weekend, only with a different group of motorcyclists. I didn’t even have to lead this time. My friend John took us south of the Illinois River and out to LaSalle for lunch at the Uptown Grill. It was a good pick for “polished casual American cuisine” with a somewhat upscale atmosphere, digital tablet menus, friendly (if a bit sparse) waitstaff, and nicely prepared food. On my recommendation, we saved room for dessert and took an indirect route to Princeton for—you guessed it—pie at Myrtle’s. This time I had the Dutch apple, served warm with a scoop of ice cream. I do not recall what everyone else had, but there was a lot of eating going on. I am reasonably sure that was not my last trip to Myrtle’s.

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So as not to repeat my mistake of the prior weekend, we took U.S. 6 from Princeton all the way to our hotel this time. Highway 6 is simply a more pleasant road than IL 92, but it also didn’t hurt that the temps were cooler and the air less humid, too. We arrived at the hotel with plenty of time to freshen up before heading over to the Augustana campus. This time we went to Legends before going to the theater. It was nice to kick back with friends and enjoy a couple of drinks together. Meanwhile, my wife Karen drove in from Kenosha, where she had gone that morning to take her mom to a funeral. My eldest sister also came in with our nephew and his ladyfriend. Another friend of the family, who had attended Augie with John, had also driven in for the show. We all met in the lobby before going in. Yes, John had a pretty decent group of fans in the audience that night.

The play was even better the second time around. I enjoyed it thouroughly. Some of us stuck around for the “show after the show,” an extra bit of fun held in the black box theater upstairs that night. John did a little song and dance there, quite a departure from the dark character he had played in Wait Until Dark.

The only downside of that second weekend was that I didn’t get to spend nearly as much time with my son as I had the first time around. But life is that way. Ups and downs.

The story doesn’t end here—John still has more tech work to complete before his gig is over, my search for the next big thing is still gaining momentum, and this magical summer is far from over—but this is where I choose to to conclude my three-part perspective on the recent ups and downs of my life. As I look back on these recent events, I realize two things about these figurative hills and valleys. First, despite outward appearances, these circumstances that have come to pass are not really ups and downs in and of themselves. Life, death, taxes, heat, cold, and so on are in essence neutral. We attach certain values that make otherwise flat terrain seem to ride and fall beneath our feet. That’s how ups and downs come into being.

The other, perhaps more important thing is that these ups and downs are neither detours nor detractions from the journey that is life. Rather, these ups and downs are the journey that is life. What a shame it would be to realize this only after we have drawn near the end of that wonderous journey.

Here’s to the ups and downs. To life! Thanks for hanging with me.

Ups and Downs – Part 1 of 3

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Literally and figuratively speaking, the past few weeks have been filled with ups and downs for me. Life is like that sometimes. Take July 12, for instance. It was a Wednesday, a work day for many, but for me it was the start of a five-day vacation weekend—a major up. I was out early and on my way to La Crosse, Wisconsin for the 10th Anniversary Midwest Motorcycle Rally, an extended weekend of two-wheel recreation with some of the nicest people I have ever met—many of whom I only see once a year. Along the way that morning, I was to pick up my pillion companion and long-time friend, Ann, and I was quite anxious to do so, but Mother Nature had other plans.

Having seen that I would likely encounter rain before I got as far as Milwaukee, I had donned my rain gear and a full-face modular helmet before I even left home. A little rain is no big thing to an avid touring rider. If you travel by motorcycle long and far enough, sooner or later you will encounter weather. After I had passed O’Hare International Airport, I did indeed encounter rain, which started out light and got progressively heavier as I continued toward Wisconsin. By the time I got to Lake County, the skies had become quite dark, the wind had picked up, and elaborate lighting displays had begun to crisscross the skies around me. I opted to take shelter at the Lake Forest Oasis.

All things considered, I had made the prudent choice. Torrential rains, accompanied by copious amounts of wind and lightning, continued for some time. When it seemed like the weather had lightened up a bit, I texted a meteorologist friend of mine, just to make sure it was safe to continue. The news was not good. A second line of storms had been intensifying and was about to sweep in right behind the first. I would not be going anyplace soon. I had been messaging Ann all along and she was very supportive of my staying put, but I was not too choked up about my 90-minute layover.

Of course the rain finally cleared, never to be seen again during that trip. About 90 minutes later, I picked up Ann and after packing up the bike, we meandered on to La Crosse. Once there, after checking into our respective rooms and freshening up, we went for a swim and then caught up with some other early arrivers. Four years ago, I began going to the rally a day early on the advice of an experienced rally-goer. It was good advice because getting there a day early means having all day to get there and no scheduled activities to worry about immediately upon arriving. That suits me well.

Before the rally officially got underway on Thursday, July 13, Ann and I did a little riding of our own, mainly to test a little video cam that Ann had acquired. This device is capable of capturing tons of raw footage, making it an excellent addition to Ann’s existing photography/videography arsenal. Between that little gadget and our mobile smart phones, we were pretty much ready to capture our rally experiences that weekend.

Gary RudyAnd what a rally it was! We got to see plenty of old friends and made new ones as well. A number of us paid our annual visit to Rudy’s Drive-In, a La Crosse institution since 1933. I always enjoy kibbutzing with Rudy’s third-generation grand poo-bah Gary Rudy because he is just a great person to be around, but also because he rides a Victory Vision motorcycle, as do I. Rudy’s is a classic drive-in with roller skating carhops, top-shelf root beer floats, the whole nine yards. It’s where I go when I’m in La Crosse at the right time of year.

35811082052_a7ce08f3ee_oAfter hanging out at Rudy’s, we went back to our hotel and waited for sundown, so that we could partake in another MMR tradition, the Bug Run, a local jaunt to the top of Grandad Bluff, which overlooks the entire city and surrounding area. It’s a breathtaking view, especially at night. But that left me wondering, what does Grandad Bluff look like during the day? I had only ever been up there during the annual Bug Run, in the dark. Hmmm…

It turns out I hadn’t needed to wonder long at all because the following day we were scheduled to do the “Sweet Temptations” ride with my friend Dave Keene, author of Cruisin’ The Back Roads, a guide book to some of the best rides to be found in west central and southwestern Wisconsin. Dave is a very capable ride guide and even if I had known nothing else about the day he had planned, I could still be confident that we were in for a great day of riding. We started out with a fantastic ride along some picturesque Wisconsin back roads that led to Sweet Temptations, a positively delightful cafe and bakery in Whitehall. Their baked goods are their centerpiece, of course, but their menu items are also noteworthy. The Reuben sandwich I enjoyed there has got to be among the best I’ve ever had. Ann and I hadn’t really saved room for dessert, but we had some anyway. The place is that good.

From there we rode on (and up) to the Mindoro Cut, the largest remaining hand-hewn cut in the US, which also happens to be located at the highest point in the state of Wisconsin. Until then, I’d never heard of the place. But now I’ve been there, along with Ann and all of our riding companions of the day, thanks to Dave.

We enjoyed one more stop before concluding the day’s journey. You guessed it, we ran up to the top of Grandad Bluff, in broad daylight. Yes, the features above and the scenery below were both very different. Dare I say it? Separated only by about 18 hours, our two visits to the bluff were as different as day and night. Ha!

Meanwhile back at the host hotel, folks were gearing up for the Biker Games, an annual tradition sponsored by Mean Machine Cycle Parts of Elkhart, IA, followed by Movie Night, another annual tradition involving motorcycle-related movies shown outside in a laid-back-but-festive BYOB atmosphere. For the second year in a row, Ann and I did movie night in style, with meats, cheeses, assorted other snacks, and red wine shared between us.

On Saturday, July 15, we embarked on our second day-long guided ride, aptly entitled “Twisted Sister,” which was captained by another seasoned biker friend of mine, Greg Carson from Minnesota. You should have seen the smile erupting on my face as we crossed over the Mississippi and into Minnesota for a day of hills, sweepers, and twisties. Ann and I opted out of a last-minute add-on to the ride and returned to the host hotel just minutes ahead of the group, but we thoroughly enjoyed the ride Greg had put together.

Following the ride, we spent Saturday evening with other rally goers at or around the tiki bar at the AmericInn located across the road from our host hotel. We ate, drank, laughed, shared stories of our newly-made memories, and speculated on whether or not we were gathered at the future location of our beloved Midwest Motorcycle Rally. Time will tell.

Dave n Maggie

And then it was over. That next Sunday morning—my first at the rally, I’d always left on Saturday until this year—was all about saying goodbye and going home. By the time I’d gotten myself up and over to the La Crosse Family Restaurant to have breakfast with Ann and some hometown friends of mine, many familiar bikes had already disappeared from the host hotel parking lot. When you spend as much time looking forward to an event like this as I do, no matter how magical the event turns out to be (as this one certainly was). the ending is always bittersweet.

That’s a bit of a downer, right? Well imagine my pleasant surprise when I looked up in response to my name being called out and seeing two rallygoers that I’d not seen in two years waving at me from the booth directly across from my table. Just seeing Dave and Maggie for those few moments washed away any trace of blues I might have been feeling up until that point.

And so Ann and I motored out of La Crosse together that morning, yet alone, free to discuss and savor all the memories we’d gathered over the past four days. We traveled east across the Wisconsin countryside on scenic two-lane blacktop, occasionally losing our intended route but never regretting it because as motorcyclists, we never really become lost; we simply discover alternate routes to wherever we are heading.

The only other down I experienced was after I had to drop Ann off at her home, say goodbye, and head on to my own home some two-plus hours further, alone. But even that wasn’t so bad because I knew we’d be riding together again soon.

As I said at the beginning, the past few weeks have been filled with ups and downs. For the most part, the ups and downs associated with this part of my story were of the geophysical sort. Over the course of four days, my friends and I toured some of the most attractive hills, bluffs, and ridges to be found in the areas we had been touring. Of course you know, there is more to this story. Thanks for hanging with me. Please stick around.

Woodstock Lunch Run

Rain

It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. There had been rain in the forecast for July 3 for most of the week leading up to that day, so I made no plans for any outdoor activities other than to hang close to home, maybe mow my weeds and do a little bit of grilling out if the weather permitted. But as of July 2, the rain chances predicted for the 3rd had diminished. So I reached out to my friend Ann and we began tossing around ideas for a short lunch run. As Ann and I sometimes do, we figured on meeting near the Illinois/Wisconsin border and then taking my bike out for a run to Woodstock, Illinois.

You can imagine my surprise when with no rain expected for the day, I noticed my motorcycle and I getting wet beneath a band of dark gray clouds somewhere between O’Hare International Airport and Kenosha. I made a mental note to thank my favorite meteorologist and pressed on, figuring that any rain I encountered would be short-lived. Even though Mother Nature continued to spit on me after I met up with Ann, a quick check of the updated local forecast revealed that dry conditions would prevail in less than half an hour. So we lingered a bit and then headed west.

Me n Ann

I am pleased to report that the revised forecast remained true. The gloomy, drippy, gray clouds dissipated as they moved on and gave way to brilliant blue skies and friendly, white, fluffy clouds. With my favorite pillion rider behind me, we motored down Green Bay Road to Illinois 173 and headed west, past the Chain O’Lakes area and into McHenry County. We turned south on Greenwood Road and picked up Illinois 120 into Woodstock. The pavement dried out as we rolled along, music pouring forth from the bike’s sound system. I couldn’t help but smile.

 

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Once in Woodstock we stopped for gas and then headed toward the town square. We enjoyed lunch at D.C. Cobb’s, a delightful restaurant and bar located right on the town square. The staff is friendly, the prices are reasonable and the food is good. Come hungry, though, as the portions are fairly large.

Until this day, my only exposure to the city of Woodstock had been while passing through on Illinois 47, to or from Wisconsin. Let me tell you, I had been missing out. The McHenry Couty Seat since 1843 (then called Centerville), Woodstock has a beautiful and historic downtown area featuring a classic town square and two registered landmarks. One is the majestic Woodstock Opera House, which is still used as an entertainment venue today. The other is the Old McHenry County Courthouse, which is now home to various commercial tenants.

Woodstock is also well-known as the location where the movie Groundhog Day, starring Bill Murray, was filmed. I can’t tell you exactly how Woodstock, Illinois was chosen to play the part of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, but I can tell you that Woodstock is still playing that up to this day (see http://www.woodstockgroundhog.org/).  Ann and I enjoyed visiting a few of the more memorable locations that were used in this movie.

By mid-afternoon, we were headed back to our original meeting point. By that time the day had grown more beautiful than ever and part of me had wished it didn’t have to end so soon. We said our goodbyes and then headed for our respective homes.

It had been an awesome day for something Ann and I threw together at the last minute. But I have come to realize that some of the most awesome rides I’ve taken started out exactly that way. Thanks for hanging with me.

A Little Piece of 66

Signs

I had the bike out again today, alone, and decided to revisit a few of my favorite stops along the Illinois portion of historic Route 66. I wasn’t out nearly as long today as I had been yesterday, only 130 miles versus 216, but I still had fun. On the one hand, I did not get rained on, but on the other, it was much warmer today.

I picked up the Mother Road in Wilmington, a little ways south of Joliet. In so doing, I passed up the pretty cool Joliet Area Historical Museum and Route 66 Welcome Center in Downtown Joliet. I did this primarily because I was out to put miles on Miss Scarlett before her 50K service tomorrow, but also because I was alone and prefer to visit museums and such with others. If you haven’t been to the welcome center, do check it out—it’s worth it.

I did make a point, however, of pulling off at the site of the former Launching Pad Drive-In, which has been shuttered since 2010. An attempt to sell the property at auction did not go well and the facility continues to deteriorate. This does not stop visitors from stopping to take photos with the Gemini Giant, one of several fiberglass muffler man statues that can be found along Route 66 and elsewhere. Once, several years ago, my son and I stopped to visit the Gemini Giant and found a sizable group of touring motorcyclists, all on Harley-Davidson bikes. When we got closer to the group, we realized they were all speaking German. I invited my son, who had taken four years of German in high school and even toured Germany in his senior year, to strike up a conversation with some of them, but he declined.

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Continuing south on Illinois 53, I passed the Polk-A-Dot Drive-In, a genuine Route 66 establishment in Braidwood, Illinois. I had just been there for lunch less than a week earlier, so I did not stop today, but I highly recommend the Polk-A-Dot as a place for photo opportunities, classic drive-in fare,  and ice cream treats.

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My next stop was in Dwight, first at an historic Texaco gas station which doubles as a visitors center and then at a real gas station just up the road, because Miss Scarlett had gotten quite low on fuel. The Texaco station is a neat little place to stop. Make a point of talking to the volunteer staff. They tend to be friendly and knowledgeable, as well as helpful.

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From Dwight I rolled on to Odell, where one can find a remarkably well-preserved Standard Station. On the way, I stopped twice, once to shoot a photo of an old barn with a Meramec Caverns ad painted on it and once to shoot some video showing a segment of the original roadway that was once U.S. 66, which shows up between the frontage road, which traces Route 66 and Interstate 55, which essentially replaced it. I apologize for the horrid audio quality of the video. The wind had really picked up during that part of the afternoon.

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I opted to turn around after I got to Pontiac, home to the Route 66 Association Hall of Fame & Museum. I have visited this museum several times and will gladly do so in the future. I did not stop today because time was running short and, well, I was alone. But do make a point of stopping here. Don’t forget to look behind the building as well.

The last photo I snapped today was while I was stopped for a freight train on my way out of Pontiac. There I saw a sign that I had been seeing at railroad crossings all along my trip southward on old Route 66. “TRAINS MAY EXCEED 80 MPH,” the sign cautioned. Indeed, the train for which I had stopped was hauling at a high rate of speed. I didn’t know they could move that quickly, nor have I any clue when they began doing so.

Once I got back out to I-55, I pretty much high-tailed it home, where I drank copious amounts of cold water and promptly fell asleep. It had been a good day.

In all probablility, the next post I write will be from the road. My Rendezvous Run is just around the corner. Thank you, as always, for hanging with me.

My Rock River Wind Therapy

With my Rendezvous Run coming up in just a few days, I felt compelled to spend this weekend doing more than just riding to the store and back. Besides that, my motorcycle goes in for her 50,000 mile service interval first thing Monday morning and I want her to have as close to 50,000 miles on the clock as possible (we were at only 48K and change this morning). And if those two reasons weren’t enough, I just needed to get out in the wind, alone, and take stock of myself. So I rolled Miss Scarlett, my 2012 Victory Vision Tour, out of the garage, picked a direction, and started riding.

Radar

What a great day to be alive! The sky was reasonably blue and clear, with just a few white, fluffy clouds up there as I set out during the noon hour. The warm sun felt fantastic as I motored west on U.S. Highway 52 toward Mendota, Illinois. Traffic was quite light, my bike was running beautifully, my tunes were blasting on the stereo… and then I felt a drop.

At first I thought it might have just been a juicy insect meeting it’s demise on my face as I rolled on down the highway. But then I felt another drop, and another. Yes, despite there having been only a 20% chance of rain this day, I had apparently found myself motoring under part of that 20%. So I hunkered down and motored on. There was no need to pull over and don my rain gear because I could see clear skies just beyond the perimeter of the dark rain cell under which I was passing. By the time I reached Mendota, the sun was shining on me again.

Mendota

As I stopped for gas and a quick bottle of tea, to rehydrate myself, I couldn’t help but notice another juicy-looking cloud mass developing in the distance. I used my phone to check the weather radar and surmised that as long as I didn’t gulp my tea too quickly, that pesky cell would have moved on to the east as I continued north and west on 52, toward Amboy. And that’s exactly what happened.

Amboy

The warm sun was shining once again as I rolled into downtown Amboy, Illinois and pulled up in front of the historic Amboy Pharmacy… or what used to be the Amboy Pharmacy. My heart fell as I saw the empty storefront windows, adorned only with some real estate signs. This place used to be the real deal, with a working ice cream and soda fountain inside and some interesting old-time pharmacy items on display. I had entertained hopes of grabbing a hot fudge sundae there. Instead I took a photo of the empty store, got back on my bike, and motored on out of town.

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The next part was my favorite of the entire day. I ran out to Dixon and picked up Illinois Highway 2, a neat, curvy little road that roughly follows the Rock River into Rockford. I stopped in Grand Detour and again in Oregon to take a few photos of the river. I wish I could have captured a few shots of the road itself, but the best parts of this route have no place to pull off and dismount. Perhaps another time. Oregon, Illinois is where you will find the Black Hawk Statue on a bluff overlooking the river. As I understand it, this statue was intended as a tribute to all Native Americans, but over time came to be associated with the Sauk leader, Chief Black Hawk.

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I had intended to ride up to Rockford before heading home, but Mother Nature had a different idea in mind. As I coninued north along Highway 2, dark clouds once again began to form ahead of me. I took this as an indication that perhaps I should be heading for home, so when I arrived in Byron, I turned east on Illinois Highway 72.

Hightail

At that point, it became a bit of a race. As I headed east on 72, I left dark clouds to my north/northwest. When I reached Interstate Highway 39, I got on and headed south. Long before I reached Interstate Highway 88, I could see a larger, darker cloud mass developing just west/southwest of me—and this baby was definitely dropping substantial rain in places.  When I reached 88, I took the exit and began to head east in earnest, stopping at the DeKalb Oasis only long enough to rehydrate myself (I had begun feeling the effects of dehydration about 30 minutes earlier) and to snap a photo of what appeared to be chasing me home.

As luck would have it, Miss Scarlett was more than capable of staying ahead of that isolated cell. About an hour later, I was home safe, sound, and dry. According to my trip odometer, I had covered 216 miles, not bad for an afternoon run.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, I’ll make another run in preparation for my longer trip, which begins Tuesday, June 6. Needless to say, I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, thanks for hanging with me.