A Fool's Progress: Welcome to the East Coast, here's your snorkel

So, where did I leave you hanging?

Oh right, North Dakota. I was chasing a line of tornado-laced Thunderstorms.

North Dakota is actually quite pretty. Grasslands Monument in particular is stunning with wind blown hills and small buttes. I really enjoyed all of the open space and barren landscapes. I was still waiting for the boring midwest everyone warned me about. As I sit in this kitchen in Pennsylvania, I can say that ND is far less boring than other places.

After chasing the storms I made it to just outside Fargo.

Oh I just realized that I covered all of that.

After getting up outside Fargo I polished off the rest of ND and pushed into Minnesota. The changes in scenery were dramatic. Before long I was seeing more plain old corn fields and the occasional forest. I wasnt sure what was nagging me about the forests until I finally twigged to it; the forests were not dominated by pine and spruce trees. That was odd to me. All my life I have been around forests where the leafy trees were the minority. The skies stayed dramatic and overcast. One moment they threatened rain, another they cast beams of light at the earth. I was told that the storm I had been following did throw some tornados on the ground to the south of my route. I hope people nmade it through ok.

I dont have much else to say about Minnesota except that I knew I was there by the steady repetition of hillcrest, lake, hillcrest. Yup land of 10,000 lakes alright. Back home in Alaska there are a hundred times as many lakes...but you cant see them from a road, so Minnesota gets the nod for "lakiest" . I also discovered that truckers are a chatty lot. Run into one at a rest area and they will often look for an excuse to chat. A couple times I had to almost rudely pull myself away to get back on the road. But, like police officers who are interested in a chat, I dont try to excuse myself too quickly....having the good will of those folks is not a bad idea. Truth be told, I rarely mind. People are interesting, have good information to pass along and have interesting stories to tell. Not to mention, I am used to the "Guzzi Delay Factor" (to crib a term from the Ural folks)

The GDF is part and parcel of owning a Guzzi. They are attractive and unusual bikes and so people often approach to find out more. And as a Guzzi rider you can either go with it and be friendly or you can be a grouchy prick. The former is easier and more pleasant; not to mention it opens doors to information and sights you might miss otherwise. It was one of these Guzzi-curious travelers who clued me in that the Ohio State Patrol were pretty lenient up to about 72 mph (posted is 65) as long as you werent being a jerk otherwise.

I crossed Minnesota off my list by the end of the day and got near Eau Claire Wosconsin. My days were showing lower mileage. The excitement was wearing off and this type of moto travel goes completely against my travel style. Just making miles on an interstate is not my chosen mode. I can turn a 200 mile ride into an all day event as I let my curiosity take over and lead me to things I normally dont get a chance to see. I'm like a dog that got loose from the tether and takes off zig-zagging all over the neighborhood and woods, following his nose and peeing on everything; only to return home hours later wagging his tail and covered in mud and stickers. So just chasing mile markers was wearing thin on me.

The weasther seemed good and so I went looking for a camp site. The friendly folks at the tourist center (found at the first exit over the state line in near every state) loaded me up with maps and lists of campgrounds. Right near Eau Claire I headed north on back farm roads looking for Coon Fork campground. Here the landscape canged again. After zig zagging through some corn fields and farms, I found myself in pine barrens; thick stands of thin pine trees in very sandy soil. Oh this was so much better than I-94....

I stopped in a small town about 10 miles off 94 to get some dinner makings and directions to Coon Fork. A guzzi curious feller chatted me up and I pressed him for camp info. He told me that the cost for campig was around 35 dollars per night. What little hair I had stood on end. A couple other people I encountered could not confirm or deny the price. Sheesh. Forsyth and the Howdy Hotel was sounding pretty good about now.

Adfter loading up my goodies and riding another 5 miles or so on back pine barren roads, I got to the camp site. The cost was actually 13 dollars. The 35 was for full RV hookups and passes to the boat ramp. Apparently that is what almost everyone opts for. I guess the guy somehow missed that I was solo on a bike.

I got to camp just as it was getting dark. I quickly doused myself and prime clothing spots with bug spray to keep the skeeters and ticks at bay. By the time the tent was up, it was full dark. With home erected, it was time to make dinner. I finally had a chance to try out my new cookware. The menu for the evening was to be fried spam with cheese on wheat. One important lesson... It is near impossible to fry on camp cookware. The stuff is too thin and so the metal gets welding hot at the first touch of the flame. So you end up either waving the pan over the flame or using water to keep the hotspots down. I did the latter. The cheese was a particular product of Wisconsin: "Cheese Product with Salami"...yes there were small bits of what appeared to be salami embedded in the cheese. The review? Ok. Not worth visiting just to try.

I bedded down just in time for the rain to start. It rained on and off all night. This was also my first experience with humidity. Everything was damp. Ever-y-thing. I didnt mind so much. In fact so far I havent minded the humidity much at all. True I would hate doing lots of physical work in the stuff. But hanging out and riding and such is just fine. I like it better than blistering heat.

The next morning I brewed up a cup of java and got the gear loaded. I had arrived too late to do any wandering; so it wasnt until I was geared up and on my way out that I discovered showers. Oh heck...what's another hour? So I got myself off the bike, unlimbered cleaning supplies and dug up clean clothes. Twenty Five cents for a 10 minute hot shower. Bargain. I left a couple quarters on the box just for giggles..give someone a small boost for the morning. Not that any of my neighbors looked poor. But what the heck...a small kindness...and if he used one quarter and pocketed the other...then he would be broadcasting to the universe that he is a bastard.

The morning ride was foggy and humid. The fog and low clouds painting a dramatic picture across the landscape. I pointed my GPS at the next city I was heading for and it cheerfully sent me down backroads and even a dirt trail to get back to I-94 a full 50 miles down the highway. This brought me out to a town known as Black River Falls. About there I found what was causing the odd exhaust leak noise: The front motor mount bolt had lost the matching nut. A quick trip to the hardware store got me a new nut and I was back on the road. I thought the motor felt smoother than normal. Hmm Maybe Guzzi might want to look at rubber spacers on the mounts? Nah. Probably cause more trouble than it solves.

Wisconsin and Illinois were largely uneventful until I started dealing with Chicago and Gary. I had already decided that I did not have time to go up and around the top of Wisconsin and down through Michigain. I could have if I really pushed it. I decided I didnt want to. So...now we had to deal with Chicago. As usual I stopped in at the tourist info site at exit 1 in Illinois and started asking. The lady there was cheerful and helpful. She loaded me with maps and a suggested route taking me down 39 to 80 and then heading east again through Joliet and then through Gary. That was in order to avoid the massive construction projects in Chicago.

Now Illinois also had the first toll roads. I found it ironic that in the construction zones on the toll roads, I saw signs proclaiming it was tax dollars at work. Really? Then why did I just pay to get on the road?

After the first toll plaza I spotted a pair of bikes stopped by the road. I pulled over to see if they needed help. When I saw the map, I knew it was just a route conference. But lo and behold one of the bikes was a 2000 Guzzi V11 sport. And that is how I met Steve on his Guzzi and Bob on a VFR (I think?) We chatted a moment about the route I was taking and Steve noted that the secondary highway the tourist lady aimed me at would be taking me through some stop and go traffic in neighborhoods that could contain locals who might view me as prey.

A moment here - I have no problems with people. I have had no problems wandering through some less than stellar neighborhoods. But I aint stupid. The big red bike with all of its gear and my pale face would offer me no opportunity to blend in or appear as anything but a potential victim. This has zero to do with skin color or anything else. I probably could have gone through without any problem and even met some nice folks...but I just wouldnt feel comfortable doing so with what anmounted to a sign saying "Rider most likely carrying lots of cash". Sorry folks...just due caution. I prefer to blend a bit better.

So Steve told me that the construction zone was really only about 5 miles long outside Gary. Hell, no problem. And I would be hitting it after dark anyways...so the traffic should be comparatively light.

So off I went. Soon Steve caught up to and passed me. I unlimbered the camera and tried to find a chance to get a picture of him on his bike. He finally moved to the right lane and I grabbed the left to move up and grab a picture. Steve sort of looked at me like I was crazy. No sooner had I snapped when I learned why he was looking at me oddly. I had just missed the exit to continue on 39 south and was now on 90 aimed straight at the heart of Chicago. Now I had to go through another toll plaza with no way to turn around until I got to a "services plaza" a few miles down the tollway. Back throuogh the toll plaza: a 10 mile detour just cot me 1.60. Damn.

The remainder of Illinois and into Indiana were uneventful. The construction was a non-issue; just rough pavement that I had just paid money for the priveledge of riding on. The longest delay was actually at the toll plaza because on the order of 100 trucks plus the usual cars were trying to get through 2 gates. Good planning there.

I motored on until I got past Gary and pulled off to grab a hotel. The exit had a sign for a motel with 25 buck rooms. Hot diggity. 10 miles down the raod I found the place. Now I have no troubles with a fleabag motel..but this was well below my threshold. I draw the line at partially dismantled vehicles and four foot high weeds in the lot. It indicates that my bike wouldnt be very secure. I headed back and found anice little joint for a few bucks more. No amenaties but I was given the room right next to the office and nice secure parking. After unloading I went down the raod for a beer and a sandwich. In the bar I met a fellow from Ohio who had just gone through the heart of Chicago. Apparently my route was the better choice.