Day 2
June 3, 2001
Near Hannibal, Missouri
I was really looking forward to getting on the road. Day 1 had been a 700+
mile slog across 5 states. Today I take the back roads, and have a
leisurely 350-400 mile ride across Northern Missouri and Iowa to look forward
to.
I fired the ST up in the pre dawn light, looking for SR 15. It would be the only
road needed to take me to Iowa.
I was leaving Mark Twain State Park. I had slept well the night before,
even though I was still excited about being on a long trip.
The surrounding countryside was eerily quiet on this Sunday morning. I was
riding along county roads, working my way to SR 15. These roads were
seldom seen by tourists. The farms and homes I rode past were quiet, as
their residents were sleeping in this fine morning.
I rounded a curve and saw a doe leap across. I was riding under the speed
limit, and she was no threat. Living in Alabama taught me long ago to be
deer cautious in the early morning hours.
I got on SR 15 and started the ride to Iowa. I estimated a 60 mile ride to
the state line.
Riding north to Iowa put me in a perfect position to witness a inspiring sunrise
to my right. I rode along watching the sun creep up over the horizon,
placing the surrounding farmland ablaze in a quartz sunlight.
SR 15 is miles of straight road, followed by sharp right turns, followed by
sharp left turns, then lining me back up with the original line. I guess
not all landowners were easy to buy out, so the State of Missouri just
constructed the road around them.
It was shaping up to be a great day to ride. I could not have asked for
better weather, and there was not a interstate for miles.
I crossed into Iowa, and in the crossroad town of Milton I stopped for
gas. I was taken aback at the price. A stunning 2.10 a gallon for an
ethanol swirl 87 octane. My ST has been on a steady diet of 93 since I
brought it home in December. I found out on this day, it was going to be
too expensive to fill the ST with premium, so I went to 87. Honda assured me the
ST will run just fine on 87. I will soon find out. Gas averaged 60
cent a gallon more then back home.
It was still early in the morning, and the town slept. The local patrol
car was sitting in front of the police station.
After leaving Milton I took US 63 North. Roads and highways in this part
of the country only run east-west, north-south. Church traffic was
beginning to stir about, and I would pass them with a quick "twist of the
wrist."
I had no particular place to be, and no set time to get there. I had the
road to myself, and laid back to watch the scenery pass by. I passed by
farms that stretched as far as I could see. In Alabama if a guy has a 500
acre farm, he has a BIG farm. In Iowa that makes a good front yard.
I see many crops but being the city boy I am I can't name them. Well, I can
identify corn, but little else.
In Bloomfield, I make a wrong turn but quickly notice it, and use a cemetery to
turn around. Riding past the headstones, I wonder how they are so clean
and shiny after so many years. Many markers are almost 100 years old and
they look as if they were set yesterday. They reflected the sunlight back
at me with a dazzling rainbow effect. The shiny rose colored stone they
use unlike any I have ever seen anywhere else.
I am no hurry on this day, so I took a break in Ottumwa. Local places are always
more fun, but sadly I don't always get to stop at them, and I regret it. I
get a Mountain Dew and make small talk with the owner, who seems more interested
in the radio, then chatting with a guy from Alabama. I took the hint and
got back on the road.
On a quiet stretch of US 63, south of Oskaloosa, I saw a young man on a bicycle
at the end of his farm's road. His eyes were glued on me as I rode
past. I beeped my horn and flicked my hand up, but he did not wave
back. I told myself he was too awestruck at the sleek, and quiet machine
gliding by to wave.
I settled in for the long ride to Waterloo, and my next route change.
The county seat of Tama County is Toledo. Passing through the city, I
wondered why they would name a town in Iowa the same as a city in Ohio.
Perhaps it was the other way around?
The remaining miles to Waterloo were pleasant and slow. I rode along at 60
mph waving to farmers on tractors, and singing 70s songs.
In Voorhies (as in Jason, Friday The 13th fame) motorcycles were
everywhere. At first I thought it was Gold Wing club out for a ride, but I
was seeing too many other brands for that to be the case. It was near
lunch time, and I saw many bikes in front of a cafe so I stopped to eat.
I pulled in the parking lot and the ST caused a commotion. Other riders gathered
around me and fired off questions. What kind of bike? Where ya from?
Where ya goin? "I thought it was a BMW" I heard one guy
say. Another asked, "what kind of riding suit is that?"
The riders informed me they were in the middle of poker run that had originated
in Waterloo. They escorted me inside for lunch and insisted I dine with
them.
The cafe specialized in chicken and burgers. It was my kind of
place. I ordered the chicken plate. All white. It was at this
time I learned in this part of the country chicken was broasted and pressurized,
and not fried. It was very tasty. The burgers also looked
good. I don't recall the name of this culinary gem, but "mama"
was in it somewhere.
As I passed through Waterloo, I kept thinking about the battle and Napoleon.
As I rode across Iowa, I was saddened by the state of decline the towns of the
mid west are in. Dying and drying up, how much longer can they hang on
while their residents flee farm life for work and life in the cities? I
later found out Iowa's towns are in better shape then those in East Colorado, or
Kansas.
I left US 63 for US 218 just north of Waterloo. US 218 took me all the way
to Minnesota.
I watched the miles effortlessly roll on the trip meter. The day was flying by,
and I felt like I was on vacation for the first time.
I motored up 218 till I noticed a hand made sign somewhere north of Waverly, it
read "Church Cookout and Picnic Ahead". Even though I was not
hungry, I was curious, and I knew it would be a good way to meet a few
people. I geared down when the church came into view. The red brick
church, with the white steeple, stood alone in the Iowa fields. A few
trees dotted the surrounding grounds. I could see smoke coming off a long
line of grills, and ladies in bright colored dresses tending to tables.
The men were glued around a shade tree. Kids were running to and
fro. The scene was a Norman Rockwell if I ever saw one.
I found a out of the way place to park the ST and shut it down. I could
feel everyone's stare. "WHO IS THIS??" was in the mind of a hundred
different people. I smiled and walked up to a table-
" I saw the sign and its lunch time"
" oh yeah, hot dog or hamburger?"
"hot dog m'am"
"sure"
"how much?"
"well we don't really charge, but if you want to make donation just put it
in the jar"
I stuffed a 10 dollar bill into a large plastic jar, and looked for a place to
sit. I spied a empty table and sat down. I knew it would not be
long, and sure enough a couple of middle aged men came over. Quickly I was
in a conversation with 2, third generation farmers. They spoke to me about the
difficulty of farming but, bottom line, they loved it too much to ever quit.
Soon a few others came over, and I was surrounded by nice people, with a genuine
interest about who I was. I took some pictures, and they took pictures,
undoubtedly to one day weave stories about the man from Alabama that rode in for
lunch one day.
An hour later I said I had to get back on the road. A lady gave me a bag
of chocolate chip cookies to take with me. Just before I threw my leg over the
ST, I saw 3 young ladies, obviously farmers daughters, looking at the ST and
giggling. I knew they wanted to ask something. I motioned for them
to come over.-
"did y'all wanna ask something?"
"does everybody in Alabama talk like you"
"pretty much, y'all should come south one day and find out"
They ran off giggling in the way only teenage girls can do.
I am quickly learning the number 1 topic of conversation on
this trip is not the ST, but my accent.
I left the church with a warm glow. The people there, are the people that
make this country work. It was a honor to be allowed to look in a small
window of their lives.
US 218 makes it way north to Minnesota by a series of steps. I ride west
awhile, then make a right turn north. Then I ride north awhile and make a left
turn west for awhile. I repeated this all the way to the state line.
I stopped in Lyle, Minnesota at a local grocery store to buy a few things for
supper. My goal for the day is a state campground called Myre Big Island,
near Albert Lee.
I reached I-90 in the mid afternoon, and soon found myself riding into the
park. I stopped at the Ranger office and was advised it was open house, no
fee to camp. "Really?" "yeah just go pick ya a place
out". What a great day this has been, "how much better can it
get?" I asked myself.
Myre Park is a great park. Clean, roomy and scenic. I have the
choice of 70 great tent sites. I pick a spot out under a tree with lots of
soft grass.
The sun was still high in the sky, and I after I got my tent and bed ready,
I went for a walk.
The campground host and I were the only campers on this night. I had the
place to myself. The host even dropped off a load of firewood for later.
I put down 433 relaxing, and contented miles today.
I rode into Albert Lee and made a Wal Mart run. I picked up Milk Duds, a
pen, a sweatshirt, Pringles, a phone card, and a USA Today.
It was still light when I got back to the park. I got out Coleman stove
and warmed up a can of corned beef hash for supper with a side dish of
Pringles. Not gourmet but tasty.
I cleaned up my mess kit and walked to the showers. Very clean, and with
lots of hot water.
I stopped to chat with the campground host on the way back.
Back at the tent I made a fire, and made notes in my journal, the popping and
crackling of my fire keeping me company. It was a fitting end to a most
rewarding day. This day proved to be what motorcycle touring is all about. I had
a great ride, and met lots of great people. A day I will long remember.
