Day seven had us back on the motorcycles for a mix of riding that ranged from urban streets to mountain roads. For openers, we rode into Portland proper to check out a unique coffee bar and motorcycle shop called See See Motor Coffee Co. This is a unique place and a must-see for any motorcycle enthusiast who finds him/herself in Portland.
Bikers of all denominations come here to drink coffee, eat breakfast or a light lunch, buy cycle parts or novelties, and perhaps most of all, talk about motorcycles. We stopped in for breakfast when coffee bar was open, but the shop was not, so we ate, drank, and planned to return and buy some See See merchandise.
By the time we left, the number of bikes parked outside had multiplied, as had the number of people hanging out, both inside and out. As I approached my own ride, a gentleman in a cowboy hat walked up and began asking me about Miss Scarlett, my ’12 Victory Vision Tour. He also shared stories of the bikes he has owned and/or built over the years. As we talked, I tried to figure out the gentleman’s accent, which seemed at once western and eastern. Turns out he was originally from the Bronx, but had not lived there for many years. I enjoyed talking to that guy. Even though we had never met before, we were not total strangers. That is, we knew something about each other by virtue of where we had found ourselves hanging out that morning. It’s a biker thing.
From there we headed out of the city on US 26, toward the mountain we couldn’t even see as we rode past it last Thursday in the pouring rain. Today we saw Mt. Hood in all its glory. Had a great time riding toward it and around it via Highways 26 and 35. We also enjoyed the roads and scenery afforded us in the Mt. Hood National Forest. But the high point occurred when John led us off the road and down to this paved (not a given around here) scenic pull-off.
Besides being able to see the top of this majestic snow-capped mountain, we also happened upon a mountain stream that was tracing the path of a massive avalanche that had occurred here in 2006. That turned into a thing in itself, but we had to be cautious getting to and from the rushing stream, as most of the rocks were quite loose, having only been placed there about ten years ago by said avalanche, which had been set off by a storm called the Pineapple Express.
Then there were the few other people, some with dogs, who stopped while we were there. John and Eddie spent some time talking to a man who had been in these parts back when Mt. St. Helens erupted in 1980, and watched it happen—from a great distance, of course.
What was intended to be just a quick stop turned into quite a visit, but nobody seemed to mind. Me, I was happy as a clam (assuming clams are very happy), because to me, things like this feel exactly like a vacation should. I love it!
Next stop, lunch. My son John has developed this uncanny ability to pick great places at which to eat, and this was no exception. We were running along on 35 when John suddenly slowed up, signaled right, and pulled off toward what looked like a small logging operation of some sort. But before we entered their unsaved lot, he veered left and led us into a small, paved lot for the Saw Tooth Roadhouse.
How did he even see this place?! Tucked away in the middle of nowhere, this place serves up some awesome food. We all ate our fill, talking with the owner from time to time—a great guy, by all indications. Had John been there before? Nope. He pulled off on a whim. We were amazed.
The next leg of our day trip was pretty amazing, too. We rode up to a visitor information center on the banks of the Hood River. Just across the river lay the state of Washington. One of the staff members suggested that we could cross the river via the toll bridge, just beyond where we were standing, then ride west for about 20 miles on the Washington side, before crossing back into Oregon on the Bridge of the Gods. We thought that sounded like a cool idea, so we did exactly that.
While running west on the Washington side, I noticed a freight train motoring east between us and the river. As the engine passed John’s position and approached mine, I raised my right arm in the direction of the locomotive in a friendly waving gesture. The engineer responded with a single blast of the train’s mighty horns. I found out later that the horn blast had started my son almost to the point of jumping off his motorcycle. I found that rather amusing. John, not so much.
We returned to Portland and stopped at See See Motor Coffee Co. about a half hour before closing, to check out the shop and buy our souvenirs. The atmosphere was still the same—people outside, people inside, all talking bikes in some way, shape or form. On my way in, two tattooed guys sipping iced drinks at a picnic table outside struck up a conversation with me, first about me and my bike, then about the differences between Chicago and Portland (one of them had just been to Chicago). We were strangers, but not. It’s a biker thing.
On my way out, I noticed my son John talking to one of the two guys with whom I had chatted on my way in. I went to the street to get a closer look at a custom (pictured above) that had caught my eye on the way in. Within moments my son calls me over. Turns out the guy he’d been talking to had built the bike. I asked him a few questions, which he gladly answered.
From there we ran back to the hotel in Lake Oswego, freshened up, hopped in the van and went back into Portland for supper. I couldn’t help but notice Mt. Hood in the distance as we drove over one of Portland’s many bridges.
On this day, supper was not just a lucky pick. The My Thai Bistro is a favorite restaurant of John’s, and we soon found out why. The food was excellent, and so were the staff, who seemed to know John on sight. Karen snapped a photo of John with the owner.
This had been an awesome day.
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.
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.
This Is MGD Time 