My most recent trip was my fourth Tour of Honor run in four years. Among other things, this trip included a visit with family, the challenge of competition, new sights and experiences, and an opportunity to remember and honor our nation’s heroes. This trip too was in my own head and heart dedicated to the memory of my mother. She was the one that really taught me of honor and dedication to your family and pride in your country. She was the one that taught me that all God gave me deserved to be honored, appreciated, and if need be, fought for. And she was the one that taught me the value in honoring those who signed a blank check to our nation and many paid with their very lives. So, the woman who was so curious about my riding and all it meant to me was along for the trip, if only in my heart.
As I started the planning process weeks before the sites were released, I looked at maps many times, I shopped for “road food” and I made tentative plans to visit with friends and family. I’m getting better about the plans I make. I find myself remembering my parents telling me as a kid, “Don’t let your eyes be bigger than your stomach.” My initial plans are always much like when I would fill that plate of food as a youngster. I always try to pack in as much scenery, as many roads, and all the visits I can. Invariably, in the end, there is never enough time or energy to do it all. I am getting better at paring back even before I ever leave. But there are always compromises that must be made.
Since I couldn’t leave until April 3 despite the April 1 start date for the TOH, I had a couple of days to mull over a real route. I planned a relatively straight shot from my home in Kingman, AZ to my cousin’s home in Boise, ID. I only stopped off in Boulder City, NV at the Veterans Memorial Cemetery to visit the Iraq and Afghanistan War Veterans Memorial.
Passing through Buhl I stopped at a rest stop and was tickled to see what I think was a large groundhog run across the road. I knew I was in a very different place from home. Yes, there are parts of Idaho that resemble a high desert. But there is so much that is wet and green. Soon enough though I was on I-84 and blasting west. I was chasing the sun. It was just dark as I pulled up into my cousin’s driveway.
It wasn’t but a few seconds before I heard voice that I knew was Peggy despite not having seen or spoken with her in over 30 years. Right behind her was the very young Imy who was thrilled to point out that I had a motorcycle, that it was dark out, and that the neighbor had a big rock in their yard. Next was my cousin Ted who has found ways to make a couple cameo appearances in my life over the years.
More family was waiting inside and it was such a joy to be there in their midst. I would have been happy to sit up all night and talk. But, they had to leave or go to bed and in reality so did I. Peggy and I picked up the talking the next morning following each other back and forth as we took turns preparing for our respective days. Finally I was an hour and a half past my planned departure and she had to leave for work, so I was on my way. A little fiddling with the apps on my phone and I had a route locked in for the nearby POW-MIA memorial in Boise.
Then I quickly headed northwest to the small town of Payette. As I rode through farm country, the rain began.
When I got to Payette, I didn’t have the advantage of satellite or street views, but I turned a corner and saw my next stop dead ahead.
I had spent a number of hours on the road already, but thanks to my ambitious route, Kellogg was only my second stop that would count toward an Idaho trophy.
I continued south and went through two snow flurries. I decided I should watch for a hotel. But, by the time I made this decision there were no hotels to be found. But, the third snow flurry turned into something much heavier. And, very suddenly, the snow began to stick to the bike and the road. I was on high alert watching the road, and paying attention to every bit of feedback through the grips. Sure enough, after just a few miles, I could tell I was starting to lose traction. I headed for the shoulder of the road and came to a stop to think for a minute. I was considering trying to turn the bike around and head back downhill but having stopped the bike killed what little traction I had and I could tell moving it at all would be dangerous. I was going to walk around and see if I could set up camp on the other side of the guard rail. But, just as I turned off the bike, a large pickup came around the bend behind me.
Honestly, in my head, the decision was made that I wasn’t going anywhere until morning. But, my heart hadn’t caught up to my head. The kind marine behind the wheel of the pickup talked me through what I needed to grab and encouraged me that yes indeed, I did need to let him take me down the hill. We drove about 15 miles back to a town I had passed. Sure enough with better lights on the same side of the road as the sign, he found a hotel I had missed. He spoke with the manager of the Rocky Knob Lodge in Conner, MT as I unloaded my luggage from the truck. She and her very kind crew made me feel like an old friend. She made sure the plow crew knew to watch for my bike and contacted the state troopers to make sure nobody launched a manhunt looking for the rider that went with that bike on the top of the mountain. Then she arranged for two different people to give me a ride back up the hill in the morning. I rode up with Susie Snowboard, the tech from the Lost Trails Ski Resort.
While I waited for my rides, I took a couple of pictures.
After about 45 minutes, the sun went to hide behind heavy clouds. I couldn’t see that the sun would come out from hiding any time soon so I walked up the road a little ways and decided the traction was much better. I fired up the very willing Red Rocket and took off at a blinding speed of about 10 mph. It probably took about five miles until I was comfortable enough to get close to the speed limit. As the road leveled out below the snow line the rain began again.
I was relieved that I had crossed back into Idaho at the summit of the mountain. It was just an arbitrary line that didn’t move me any closer to the next memorial. I knew this, but it still took away some of the stress of the clock. I did have to get back home after all.
Soon enough though, I was able to turn down a national forest road along the North Fork of the Salmon River.
"Yes, Kimberly is in that direction, but I can’t head there quite yet!"
The plan had me in Ivins, UT with friends hours ago! Now I’d still have to work my way home on Sunday instead of being home in time for church. What would the day hold? When I went to bed, I had no idea. I don’t sleep well at home. I have a schedule that isn’t flexible. Work has requirements on me. It’s never been easy to go to bed before my girls. I am usually the last one to bed and the first one up. So, my apnea has a huge impact on me. But when I’m on the road, my schedule is a guideline. If I have to stay up l adjust the time I wake up to make sure I get complete sleep cycles. I also take naps whenever I need them wherever I need them. I’m even getting better at putting the bike on the center stand and sleeping in the saddle. So despite the demands I put on my body, I in some ways, feel better when I am on the road because I have the freedom to do what I need to do with little concern for others.
Sunday morning proved to fit the model perfectly. I actually felt quite well. So, I enjoyed the views ahead of me as I cut back west to I-15.
Sometimes I watch babies to see how they are observing the world around them. They drink in all the sights and sounds and even touches. Sometimes being on a bike is reminiscent of this. So, as I rolled down I-15 I was enthralled with the feeling of the sun warming me and all the sparkles and shines of a world drying out from early spring rains. It’s no wonder to me then that as I was approaching Washington, UT that I recognized one rider, then a second. I knew I knew them as they were headed north, navigating through construction. As we quickly passed each other, only the trailing rider had time to return my wave. And it was with that wave that these two went from someone I knew I knew to Eric and Cletha. I’ve only met Cletha twice and Eric once, but there is something about them, they are so completely recognizable. Her wave with her hand over her head as her full arm joins in the motion that was a dead giveaway to her identity is emblematic of their warmth and love for friends, whether they are acquainted yet or not. I had missed most of my intended visits due to my over-planning and the weather, so I was thrilled to see them, even if for just a few seconds from a distance. I don’t know if Eric even saw me or if Cletha knew who it was at the time, but I consider them friends and it was a joy to acknowledge them.
Shortly after that, while I was still grinning in my helmet a voice broke in and interrupted my revelry. “In two miles…Take exit.” Ahh, yes that’s right, Washington would be the last memorial I would visit for the trip.
I was able to blast on down through the Arizona Strip and into Nevada. At Mesquite I stopped again, but this time it was due to an equipment failure. The screw holding the left side of my helmet chin bar was gone. I had to remove the other one and stow the chin bar and visor to keep moving. But, it did allow me to prove to my girls that I can be less than completely serious in a picture.
I've traveled here and everywhere
Following the road
I've seen the paintings from the hills
Brushed by the hand of God
The mountains and the canyons reach from sea to shining sea
But I can't wait to get back home
To the ones he made for me
It's anywhere I'll ever go and everywhere I've been
Nothing takes my breath away
Like my carport looking in!