They say it's been there all along

I have been working in Enumclaw, Washington for a week now and this is my first glimpse of Mount Rainier. 

If I move my head just right, squint and look through the trees, I have my own view of this mountain from my office. 

Western Washington is well renowned for being wet for which I will attest.

Bikes, Blues and BBQ ... or something like that

"It's not the destination but the ride", the story goes.  Gary, my brother-in-law and I had planned on riding up to Fayetteville, Arkansas last year for the Bikes, Blues and BBQ festival/motorcycle rally but something came up at the last minute that made us back off.

This year, I scheduled a week of vacation for the trip.  No, I'm not all that wound up over BBQ and I've been to a couple of motorcycle rallies which turned out to be pretty boring after you've seen one. As for blues, it's kind of like Cajun or Bluegrass music; after a few renditions of it, you've had enough.  However, it's like my opening line says, it's not where you go, it's how you get there.

Monday, we fired up at the crack of dawn in the general direction of Mena, Arkansas.  Filling up our rides in Krotz Springs, LA, we found our tanks getting very low a couple of hundred miles north and in northern Shreveport.  Pulling over to an Exxon station just north of Cross Lake, we were disappointed to not be able to pump 93 octane gas.  The large tanker truck was there replenishing their supply so they had cut off all pump activity.  Probably a good thing because who knows what trash gets stirred up when the low supply gets refilled.

Anyway, we reasoned that we should move on up the road to another station.  Surely there would be another station...surely, there would be another station...just over the next hill.  As the miles rolled up on the odometers, our gas gauge lights began to flicker.  An executive decision was made to turn around and go back toward Shreveport to find fuel.

As we rolled back south, my bike began to occasionally sputter (I knew the end was near) but kept on the course.  Gary's bike was low too.  Eventually, Boudreaux II wouldn't fire another piston so I found myself pulling to the roadside and putting the kickstand down.  Gary kept on plugging.  After all, why stop if he had gas.  I took off the helmet, walked down to a shady spot by a fence, checked the time on my cell phone and tried to calculate how long it would take him to get the few miles back or run out of gas himself.  After 10, minutes I called.

"Where are you?", I asked,.

"I'm at the Conoco station, gassing up.  I'll bring you some back."  How nice.

Anyway, in about 10 minutes, Gary rolls up with a used plastic jug that once held orange juice in it with a total of 7/10ths of a gallon of gas.  A welcome site.  Enough to get me back down to the station for a fill up.

We were both running relative new bikes and the gas mileage is good but I have to say, if it hadn't been for Gary's bike getting at least one more mile per gallon than mine, we'd either be hitching a ride into town or waiting forever for roadside service on highway 71.

We arrive in Mena, Arkansas later that afternoon, chose a campground and pitched our tents on some pretty rocky ground.  Rocky or not, I was ready for that sleeping bag and grateful it did not rain on us.

The next day, we rode on into Fayetteville and met up with an old friend who had retired from the company 2 or 3 years ago.  Since his retirement, Tom had bought a couple of bikes for himself and had taken a 2 month odyssey from his home in southern Missouri to San Diego and up the coast into Oregon.

Tom gave us the grand tour or the area and we followed him up to a campground near his home in Shell Knob, MO.  After setting up camp, we rode down to one of the local roadhouses and swapped motorcycle war stories before going back to sleep on yet, another pile of rocks.

 At this point, a Motel 6 would have looked like a Waldorf-Astoria.

Wednesday morning, we struck the tents, packed up and rode over to meet Tom and his gracious wife Joann, for breakfast.  It was good to talk and renew acquaintances before taking a ride south through Eureka Springs and on into Fayetteville where the motorcycle rally was in full swing.

We cruised the booths and a few displays before taking a few more rides through all the hoopla of the festival and riding back up to the...ahhhhh.....Marriott.  Man, those beds were comfortable.  We even found a barbeque joint near the hotel.

I'm wondering if the amount of custom trikes on display there in Fayetteville has a message regarding the age of many of the bikers there.

During the night, we began to watch the weather channel and saw a disturbing front beginning to roll in from the west.  A new executive decision the next morning found us all re-packing and checking out of the hotel. Our original plans were to stay in the area another day and night but our calculations said that if we did, we'd be riding at least 650 miles in the rain for the next two days.  While I'm not afraid of a little water, 650 miles and 2 days of it ain't my kind of adventure so we turned our wheels due south and went for it.

I just so happened (likely story), my sainted mother just happened to live a day's ride south of there, so before sundown, Gary and I arrived to partake  of the hospitality of Mrs Ida Belle.  It never gets old seeing her face.

After a good night's rest and a nice sausage and biscuit breakfast, we once again rode hard, escaping foul weather.  Except for a brief 30 minute ride through a northern Louisiana rain shower, it was an easy going 250 mile home putting us in the garage by early afternoon, five days, 1,500 miles and a couple of tender rear ends but entirely worth the effort.

Central California; Fresno, Clovis and Yosemite

It's been a couple of years since I've been near the Yosemite area and so a trip to Fresno/Clovis was a treat, not that either is much of a jewel but it's a great launching place for a weekend at Yosemite or the Sequoia National Forest.

My last (and first) trip to Yosemite was in late winter which meant many of the roads were closed but that also meant that traffic was at a minimum.  Getting an early start Saturday, I was able to get a jump on the crowds but by early afternoon, traffic was becoming insane.

Here's a few photos.  As usual, clicking the photos will increase the size and resolution.

The entrance

August is not the opportune time if you want to see lakes and waterfalls.  For the most part, the streams are shallow and waterfalls non-existent.

The iconic Yosemite Falls were bone dry.

The 3 mile round trip hike to Mirror Lake was less than what I expected and proved to be a dry meadow this time of the year.

While a 3 mile trip wasn't that bad, temperatures began to warm up into the nineties by noon.  Looking back, I kinda wished I had rented one of the bicycles for the sake of speed.

I wish I could tell how I cleverly stalked the wildlife and spent hours setting up for a shot but that would be a gross exaggeration and maybe a downright lie.   A lot of the animals were so used to humans, they appeared to be posing and could often get within inches of them.  Such is the case with this overweight squirrel.  The rules say, "Do Not Feed The Animals" but this one clearly made a living off the soft hearts of the human visitors.

The same held true for this 4 point Mule Deer buck.

Still majestic Half Dome

The Tuolumne Meadows.

Early afternoon, I had all of the people and traffic I could enjoy, so I took the long way back down to Clovis.  

Sunday afternoon, I was close enough to the Sequoia National Forest and Kings Canyon National park so I took a few hours to check out the giant Sequoias.

The General Sherman Tree is not the tallest of the Sequoias but in wood mass, it's supposed to be the biggest.

Fallen logs are an attraction too.

Hume Lake, Sequoia National Forest

I love these mountains but my stay here is only 2 weeks.  I'd love a long(er) term assignment near here in the future.

Blessed Is A Man

...who can ride his Harley to church.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we will boast in the Name of the Lord, our God. - Psalm 20:7

Independence Day, Columbus, Ohio, 4th of July

Columbus has the "Red, White and Boom" festival which actually begins on July 3.

With some new found friends, I went downtown (against my fears and better judgement) to watch the parade and later that night, the fireworks.

Waiting patiently for the parade to begin, attendees lined the sidewalks along with side men selling noise makers and favors.

Some watched from a window above at the downtown YMCA.

Eventually, it all began

Floats were pretty scarce and saw several cleaned up 18 wheelers
from different firms such as Pepsi, Walmart and a few others.
Unions and politicians even paraded, some with their supporters
marching.

Even Jesus (pretty sure that wasn't really Him) was there.

After the parade, we went down to the river to await the fireworks
display at 10:00 PM.  The walkways were a parade within them-
selves.

At 10:00, the fireworks began along with a light rain.

On the real 4th of July, I rode around in the rain, electing to stay
away from the crowds.  Call me "hyper-vigilant"  if you like but
given events in Boston some weeks back, I wanted to not be a
target for terrorism so I chose more serene places for contemplation.

Meet Boudreaux II

The old 2005 Harley Softail was Boudreaux and I thought about just keeping the same name like B B King named every guitar Lucille but a motorcycle eventually develops it's own personality.  Eventually, it may get a new name, but for right now, it's still Boudreaux.  It's basically the same as Old Boudreaux but with a 103 cubic inch engine instead of the 88 ci and a six speed transmission instead of the five.

Old Boudreaux was getting to be a high mileage bike and made me nervous about any long distant run over a few hundred miles. 

A 2012 model with only 2,844 actual miles on it, it's  not even broken in yet.  I'm not too sure about the white sidewalls either.  Oh well, we shall see.

Outrageous

The first of May, I blew into Omaha along with a late season snowstorm.  I think they have not seen a snow in May for 50 or 60 years but I managed to be here for it.
 
On my way up to Logan, Iowa, I counted a half dozen cars that had slid off the highway and were waiting on wreckers to pull them out.  On that day, our high in Logan was a brisk 33° with a light wind.  I'm sure the residents sighed a groan when they had to break out the snow shovels but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Ironically, two weeks later, it hit 103° with another light wind.  That's a 70° change in two weeks.

Incidentally, Iowa was my last state on my bucket list.  I now have visited all 50 states.  How about that?

My Arizona Weekend

There won't be a lot of narrative on this.  Basically, I rose early Saturday morning and headed north taking a detour through Sedona, Flagstaff and to the south rim of the Grand Canyon.

Sunday, I drove up through Page, Arizona across Lake Powell into Utah.

So, here's the pictures.  Click on them to enlarge.

Mountains near Sedona

Mountain near Flagstaff

Overlook at Grand Canyon visitor's center

Deep and wide

Rugged

Colorado River runs through it

My camera could not capture the grandeur

Dangerously close to the edge

Lake Powell / Glen Canyon

South of Page, Arizona

Back to Phoenix