Alaska 2004
 
 

Day 01

July 9

 
 

I thought this day would never get here for hope deferred makes the heart sick. The Redbird is packed, polished, pruned and ready to pull out. My alarm goes off at 4:30 AM but I am already wired and ready to roll. A quick shower, a little pig meat and hen fruit, a big kiss for the missus, a post on the site and I'm off like a dirty shirt. I love to meet fellow riders along the way and will try to see as many as I can during this trip. I've been blessed to meet and hug quite a few along the roads of America and I consider it a great honor. This trip will be no exception. Looking at what state lines I have left to shoot for the second time, I pick a route up through Kentucky and through Indiana, across Iowa and then on to meet Rex Petersen (who had left me in the middle of nowhere in a driving rainstorm! ;-)) and Tom in Omaha for supper. After my post - "Last one to Omaha is a rotten egg" - I know I do not have much time to fool around. I snag my Indiana sign quickly and move on.

 
   
 

When my reserve light comes on I figured I'd better get some gas or I will be pushing the Redbird. I finally find some gas in Somewhere Illinois where farmers are sitting around the store talking about what to use on pond weeds. The clerk notices my bike and gear and my flag flying in the wind -

"Where are you headed?" he asks.

"Alaska - with a few stops in between" I say with a grin.

"Alaska?" he responds with a question as if I was a few pounds short of a full feed bag.

I just smile and begin to walk back to the bike. The farmers all turn their heads toward me like wind vanes in a full prairie blow. I can tell by the look on their grizzled faces I might as well have said I was headed for the moon for it seemed closer to them than Alaska. I wonder if they ever think about traveling. Or was killing pond weeds as exciting as it ever gets for them. Life is an adventure only if we are willing to make it one and sad is the man that only dreams of adventure. But it's another two tanks before supper so I know I'd better get it in the wind. With my favorite bluegrass tunes and the hum of the Redbird to keep me company, I click off the miles before the reserve light comes on again. I've never run her out of gas and sure don't plan to today. I hate to stop once I'm in road mode, so I try to plan fuel, food, and bathroom breaks all at the same time. It's close to lunch and I figure I'll take a break. I find an old reliable Cracker Barrel in Columbia, Missouri. My waitress is Shamon and she is curious about where I'm headed.

"I'm up to Alaska, then down to California and back to Tennessee. If you could hurry up the kitchen I'd be much obliged."

I'll learn on this trip that the reaction is always one of almost disbelief.

"Well, at least that'll be cooler than here" she says with a faraway look in her eyes.

She rushes off to get my order in and I sit patiently waitin' for my ½ gallon of tea and pound of sweet and low. It has been hotter than blazes and the thoughts of cooler weather sure seems good to me. Thankfully, the food comes quickly, and I wash it down with all the tea I can get. I know it's still a pretty good haul to Omaha, but sometimes you just got to feed the beast. The heat has taken it's weary toll, so I take the extra time. I leave Peter Menard a quick voicemail to let him know where I am and think for a moment how he will wish he was here while he kicks his desk. With a little careful planning, my next stop should be Omaha. I gas the Redbird plumb up to the neck, squeezing in every drop I can get in. As I approach the Iowa border, I look for the sign. It's become a habit - count down the miles and watch for a place to pull off. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's dangerous but I manage to sort it out. This one will be a cakewalk and I'm glad. I do the drill, take the shot of the Redbird at the line and I'm off in a flash.

 
   
  Sure enough, I'm able to make it to the place where I am to hook up with Rex and Tom. As I pull into the lot, looks like I am the rotten egg. Rats, I had a hunch it would be that way. Tom has been there a little while and Rex beats me there by 5 minutes.
 
 
 
 

"Where do you want to eat?" he asks.

"Somewhere good and local - I can eat the chain places when I'm at the house" I tell him.

Since he's seen me eat on several occasions, and he feels bad about abandoning me in the rain in the middle of nowhere Nebraska the last time, Rex has a great place picked out for dinner - Petrows.

 
   
 

It's the kind of place that only the locals know and where you had better be wearing big britches if you plan on being comfortable after the meal. It's great to see Rex and Tom again and we enjoy great fellowship over great food. We wind up our ball of twine and walk outside. Then Rex says -

"Wait a minute, I've got something for you" and produces a small ice chest.

I'm thinking "We're all full as a tick and this sure is a funny time to be breaking out ice cream."

In his chest full of dry ice he has brought GooGoos as a special present for us. We all have a good laugh about that and I stash them in my saddlebags.

 
   
  What a man and what a gentleman Rex is and I hate to leave. But Tom and I still have to make Sioux Falls before our heads hit a pillow, So we mount up and head back to the slab. With 185 more miles to go, we get after it. The sunset is gorgeous canvas of reds and purples that only the Master Painter can provide. It's a fitting backdrop to contemplate how blessed I am to have met so many great and kind folks thanks to a website run by a fellow in Norway. When we finally arrive at the motel, we check our odometers. We both have 905 miles on them - but I came from Nashville, Tennessee and he came from Avon Lake, Ohio. This will not be the last time such unusual things happen on this trip.