Packing, and repacking…and doing it all over again

We leave in five days. Five days of finishing up chores around the house, being with my wife, playing with the dogs, frantically trying to get ahead at work so my teammates aren’t buried…and packing.

Packing for an adventure is an art form. Last year I thought I had it all figured out, then I discovered Kriega bags. I had been happy with my Motofizz bag, except that it wasn’t waterproof. And when you are exposed to torrential rains as we have been (the eight inches that fell in three hours in Ontario when we had no place to hide comes to mind) that becomes a pretty significant exception. I’m extremely impressed with the quality and versatility of these new bags.

But they forced me to reconfigure my packing scheme.

Not that it’s a bad thing. I like the weight distribution much better now, and the fact that nothing light and easily picked up is anywhere near Barley’s memory foam mattress. You may remember that he is somewhat protective of his turf, and has a history of picking up and heaving over the side anything – no matter how critically important – that falls upon his sovereign territory.

In the Touratech tankbag are small incidentals that I need to reach in a hurry: change for toll booths, a cheap point and shoot camera, chapstick, eyeglass cleaner and sunglasses. My left sidecase is full of clothing, the right food. The left Wunderlich sidecase topper contains snacks, a flashlight, maps and owners manuals. The righthand sidecase topper contains dog stuff: treats, rabies certificate, veterinary meds, brushes and combs, and a tick key to remove any of those pests I find on my dog.

The Kriega bags go right behind me in lieu of a passenger seat. On the bottom is a US 30 bag (30 liters) containing my Marmot summer-weight sleeping bag, Exped 7 insulated sleeping pad, military surplus poncho liner and a sleeping bag liner. In hot weather I’ll use one or both of the liners; in cold weather I’ll use them inside the sleeping bag.  The smaller US 20 bag on top contains two compression bags. One contains hot weather gear and the other cold weather layers. The tiny red bag on top of the pile contains my emergency medical gear. I don’t take much. As a former Independent Duty Corpsman and a graduate of the Camp Lejeune School of Barbaric Medicine I’ve learned to do much with little.

Inside the topcase is a small Igloo cooler, bulk supplies of eyeglass cleaner and poop bags,   a magical concoction that softens dead bug carcasses and makes removing them from the windshield or helmet visor easier, a quart of engine oil, and a few microfiber towels. The cooler holds our lunch should it need to be kept cool. One of the best deals on the road is Subway. I’ll buy a foot long sub, share half with Barley at lunch and put the other half in the cooler for later. On truly hot days I’ll buy a five pound bag of ice in the morning, fill the cooler and all our water bottles with it, plus if it’s really insufferably hot I’ll stuff some in a ten liter water bladder which I place on Barley’s bed under a towel. When he gets uncomfortable he’ll lay on top of it and let it absorbs some of his excess body heat. By late morning when the heat really builds the ice in the cooler begins to melt. At every rest stop I’ll give Barley cool water (which he drinks more readily than warm) and dip a washcloth in the ice water to rub onto his belly. He enjoys that so much he’ll go belly up whenever he sees a washcloth in my hand.

Electronics go in the locked trunk along with Barley’s backpack. Well, it’s actually my daypack but is filled with his stuff: treats, fresh water, water bowl, poop spade and bags, toys, another tick key, and a brush. Every time he gets out of the sidecar the pack goes with us so we are prepared for just about anything.

In the nose of the sidecar is heavy stuff he can’t possibly pick up and give the old heave-ho: Our Nemo Losi three person three season tent, a sixteen foot Noah’s Tarp with sturdy poles, and my Kermit chair. I like the Nemo tent and chose the three person version because Barley runs in his dreams, and those claws raked my back more than a few times in a smaller tent. Nemo also offers paw liners for their tents, an insert that snaps in place to protect the tent floor from sharp claws. It’s a well built, roomy and airy tent that meets our needs very well. The tarp is for shade mostly, though I made the poles long enough that I can set up the tarp in a driving rain first, then set up the tent under the protection of the tarp.

It’s not much fun camping when everything you own, including your dog, is wet.

UNDERWAY FOR OREGON!

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

The BigHorn Range

We left Sheridan WY at five o’clock the next morning. Hwy 14ALT turned out to be surprisingly close to our hotel; in retrospect we should have kept going the previous day, as we easily could have reached Sibley Lake before sunset. And Sibley Lake was beautiful! We rode past the campground – one of the nicer campgrounds we’d seen so far – and parked next to the mist-shrouded lake. Ducks swam lazily in the reflected sunlight as steam rose from the water. A fisherman stood on a short pier, not seeming to care if anything was biting. Barley and I shared breakfast, then played fetch a couple of times till he picked up rodent scent and started hunting.

We continued west through open range, slowing now and then for grazing livestock, a few horses but mostly cattle. The cattle were not very alert at the early hour, and a few times we had to slow to a crawl as youngsters stood in the road, their rumps facing the warmth of the rising sun. By mid-morning we began descending a long twisty section of highway into a vast desert visible beyond. Halfway down we were stopped by a couple hundred cattle being driven up the highway. I pulled to the side of the road and turned off the engine. Six cowboys – one of them a child of five or so wearing brand new miniature chaps and an equally new cowboy hat – were driving the cattle up the road from one pasture to another.

Barley watched carefully as we were surrounded by cattle that skittered past as they eyed us suspiciously. As the last beefer darted past us, the child rode up on his horse, tipped his wide-brimmed hat with pride, and motioned downhill toward the desert beyond.

“It’s safe now, mister,” he informed me with all the gravity of a first-grader. “You can go on.”

Hot. Dry. We pressed on at 80mph in a posted 75 zone, covering miles of high desert before I saw a large body of water ahead. Water in the midst of a desiccated landscape. But as I rounded the last corner and approached the lake I noticed a construction zone with warnings that delays may be expected. Sure enough, ahead was a flagger. Her sign read STOP. Crud! We slowed to a crawl, and stopped about thirty feet from her. She nodded at me, then peered through the nose-besmudged windscreen of the sidecar. A puzzled smile took form on her tanned face. Barley woofed a greeting. Her smile erupted into a full-scale expression of delight.

“Screw the traffic!” she said, abandoning her station. “Can I say hello to your dog?”

She fussed over Barley, her fingers tipped in yellow fluorescent nail polish that matched her safety vest perfectly. A big rig approached from behind us. She retrieved her sign and held it up just long enough to ensure the truck was going to stop, then returned to fussing over Barley. He wagged happily until her radio crackled to life, letting her know the path was clear and her traffic could go. Reluctantly she resumed her position and waved us on.

“You made my day!” she called after us. “Be safe!”

Riding with Barley is like spreading pixie dust. People react. Some with laughter, nearly all with smiles. And those smiles warm my soul. The fact that doing something I love, with such a fun and loyal companion at my side, creates joy around us just seems too good to be true. I grinned all the way to the high desert town of Powell, Wyoming, where we pulled into a McDonald’s for lunch. There was a large group of Harleys in the parking lot, so I pulled right up next to them. Harley riders seem to love dogs, and this group was no exception. We were peppered with questions; Barley grunted happily as a pretty woman scratched his butt. They watched him as I went inside to get some chow. Not the healthiest, but Barley loves their fries.

As I rejoined my dog the group mounted up and departed as a pack. Barley and I sat in the shade of a solitary tree and shared our meal. The small strip of grass bordering the highway is the only patch of green I can see. Anywhere. I read the headlines through the nearly opaque plastic window of a nearby newspaper stand: AREA GRATEFUL FOR RECENT RAIN: 0.1 INCH REPORTED. Back home in Vermont, my wife tells me, there have been torrential thunderstorms nearly every day since our departure. Three counties lost roads. Roads not just closed for repairs, but missing entire sections. But here it’s dry. Desert dry.

I could see mountains ahead. We approached Chief Joseph Byway by noon, turned north and began climbing. We turned right on 212 and began our ride to the legendary Beartooth Pass. The scenery got better the higher we go. We pulled in at Top of the World Store for the obligatory sticker. Barley was very well-behaved as we entered the store…then noticed stuffed animals which he immediately tried to retrieve. Stuffed animals are his Achilles Heel. I hurriedly purchased a sticker and removed my dog.

Outside were several motorcyclists, mostly Harleys but with a smattering of Gold Wings tossed in, all having a good time. Three more pulled up, scowling at the world as they did their vest-clad Charles Bronson stern and forbidding routine. The tough guy thing is foreign to me. If not for my full-face helmet the world would notice that I grin and laugh as I ride. Not these three. One takes a look at my protective gear and scowls even more.

“If I was so afraid of riding,” he announced to the world, ”I’d give it up”.

“If I rode as slow as you,” I responded, “I wouldn’t need any gear.” The fun-loving group behind me cracked up at that. I mounted up and moved on. A couple miles ahead we hit the dreaded CONSTRUCTION ZONE sign, followed by FLAGGER AHEAD. Just our luck, the STOP sign ws facing us! There was only one small sedan in front of us. Clearly we had just missed our turn. I turned off the engine as it looked like we’d be there a while. Two more cars pulled up behind us, then the three scowling Harleys. They blipped their throttles to express their displeasure.

We were in marshy area. It was lovely, and the sky was an incredible cerulean blue. But there were mosquitoes by the thousands! As they swarmed around me I simply shut my helmet visor. After buzzing around me but finding no opening in my armor they gave up and moved to the Harley riders behind me. I watched the show in my rearview mirror as the riders began swatting furiously. It was hopeless, however. Their leather vests and branded doo-rags offered no protection at all. It would have made a great commercial for Off! Insect Repellent!

Finally, we were released. I quickly passed the sedan and left the crowd behind. We climbed higher and higher, the views becoming more breathtaking with each curve. Up, up, above the timberline and still climbing. I pulled over several times for photos and to let Barley stretch. He peed at one stop two miles up, oblivious of the view behind him.

How many dogs have peed two miles up?

We crossed into Montana at well over ten thousand feet, then started descending toward the town of Red Lodge. I can’t think of enough superlatives to describe the scenery we rode through. Let’s just say I would travel another two thousand miles for the chance to ride that stretch again!

Red Lodge. More high desert. More hot and dry. More dips in cool streams and rivers. We took the back way to the town of Columbus MT, and pulled over in a town park that offered free camping on the banks of the Yellowstone River. It was too early to stop for the day, however, and the park appeared to be occupied by long-term regulars, so we rode to nearby I-90 and slabbed another ninety minutes to the town of Livingston. Out came the iPhone, up came the Kayak ap. I found a fairly-priced hotel with decent reviews, called, got a room, and navigated the last few miles to their lobby.

Dog. Bike. Self. Uploaded the day’s digital photos. Bedtime.

GO ON TO LOLO PASS, MT RAINIER, AND MT ST HELENS

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

One Response to Beartooth Pass

The Black Hills: Rushmore and Needles

The early morning leg from Wall to Rapid City was, well, very flat. It was probably just as well that we did much of it before sunrise. The pine-covered Black Hills appeared as a black smudge on the horizon in the morning light, and grew larger and more distinct as we approached. By seven o’clock we reached them – flat to hills with no preamble. By eight we reached Mount Rushmore.

Just as well, really, as the infrastructure supporting the attraction was overstated, as many popular tourist destinations seem to be. It felt like entering a large parking garage in any mega-city, with walkways designed to channel the masses. And like I said before, I’m not a fan of crowds. So we drove on, continuing on 16ALT. And there we discovered the magic of Rushmore! The views from Iron Mountain, framed by conifers and softened by privacy, were simply stunning! Several times we exited narrow tunnels to find the monument framed by the stone walls. We had the mountain to ourselves at that hour and took advantage of it by playing among the massive stones at the summit, absolutely carefree.

From there we moved on to the Needles Highway, a narrow ribbon of asphalt dancing among stone spires and views that cause your gaze to linger. I briefly thought of turning around and riding the Wildlife Loop, but the memory of Barley taunting the bison bull was still very fresh in my mind.

Reluctantly, I left the Black Hills behind. We dropped into the town of Spearfish with a longing for junk food. We refueled, then pulled into a KFC for lunch. We were lounging on the grass in the shade of a small tree when a pickup pulled in next to us. The driver, wearing a huge grin, introduces himself as Mike. He recognized our rig from my posts on ADVRider.com. With the eye of a machinist he examined my sidecar’s sub-frame and swaybar, taking mental notes for his own rig. “You’ve got to ride Spearfish Canyon,” he said as we shook hands goodbye. “It’s like a miniature Lolo Pass.”

We had already visited the towns of Lead and Deadwood, both overdone in that garish sameness, neither catering to riders so much as the chromed cruiser barhopping crowd. There was a good hotel a few miles ahead in Belle Fourche, we had time, so I took Mike’s advice. Wow! It was a fantastic detour, the sort of ride you don’t discover without the input of a local rider! From there we rode to the hotel in Belle Fourche, which appeared to be the shining star of that little town. But it was still early afternoon, not yet two, so we crossed into Wyoming and pressed on to Devil’s Tower.

I could see right away why the Native Americans considered it a sacred site. Ringed with tourist kitch, however, I found it prettier from a distance. And it was too hot to camp, mid-nineties and parched. So we dropped south on a straight road that stretched to the horizon, visible now and then as it topped a small rise in the distance, then followed I-90 to Sheridan, Wyoming. The goal was to get more vastness behind us, to position us for a morning ride to Big Horn.

We refueled, had dinner, and found a reasonable hotel using the Kayak ap on my iPhone. I fed, watered, and groomed Barley. Checked the rig and covered it for the night. Showered and uploaded photos. Dog. Bike. Self.

Always.

ON TO BIG HORN, CHIEF JOSEPH BYWAY, AND BEARTOOTH PASS

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

Another early start. Up at four and on the road by five. By sunrise we’d traversed a few rolling hills, then more flatness. The rising sun at my back forced me to redirect my mirrors so I wasn’t blinded by the reflection. Barley napped on his memory foam mattress,  recognizing an indecent hour when he saw one.

By mid-morning I could see the dark shape of the Black Hills in the distance. As a Vermonter I’m fascinated by distant horizons. Back home we see only one valley at a time; the horizon is the forested hillside a few miles in front of us. But out here the views were endless!

Noon arrived in the form of persistent showers as we reached the entrance to Badlands National Park. I sprang for a National Park Service Annual Pass as the plan was to visit enough of them to warrant the sticker price. We’re in, and instantly surrounded by a surreal landscape, a tortured place of wild colors and shapes! I pulled into the first parking area we came to and dismounted, attending to the needs of dog, bike, and self – in that order. Barley sniffed the air, catching the scent of junk food coming from a nearby car. “Kiri!” I tell him. “To me!” He trotted to my side and sat on my foot, looking up at me expectantly. I grabbed his pack and together we headed for a group of tourists expressing wonder at something just over a nearby hump of Technicolor.

The footing was slick, very slick, and I kept Barley on a tight lead as we clambered up next to the others. We were standing on the edge of a vertical drop of perhaps two hundred feet; below us the ground twisted and turned like a head of brain coral, the colors muted by the overcast but still remarkable. “Jeezum Crow!” I muttered, an expression any New Englander can relate to.

Barley was utterly unimpressed. He sniffed the air, and picking up the faint scent of rodent turned back to follow it through the thick grass. I redirected him to the parking lot where I spent twenty minutes trying to get the mud off my boots. The showers had moistened the ground, transforming it into the greasiest, slimiest, most clinging slop I’d ever encountered! It adhered to the soles of my boots three inches thick. The sensation was of walking with raw liver strapped to your feet, but raw liver that sticks like freshly discarded chewing gum! All around us tourists were struggling to free themselves of the stuff lest they bring it into the cars and RVs; most of them gave up and either removed their footware or tied plastic shopping bags over them.

We took the loop road, stopping now and then for photos. I tried to keep the lens of the helmetcam dry, but it was a losing battle. I spotted a sign pointing to a large colony of prairie dogs and decided it would be a nice spot to get some closeups with the big Nikon. Barley wouldn’t hear of it! Prairie dogs are rodents, and in his opinion rodents are good only for one thing.

“Death to you!” he raged as we pulled up, the mere sight of them causing him to hurl canine epithets at the entire colony. “Death to you and your relatives! Death to all of you!” My mild-mannered golden retriever had turned into Cujo…

I have often preached that if you travel with a dog, that dog should be well trained. And that even the best trained dog may hold a surprise or two, so one should always be prepared to leave, to spare the public the spectacle of a misbehaving dog. Well, Barley is exceptionally well trained, but he definitely surprised me that day. The fact that the prairie dogs were insulting him in turn didn’t help, but the bottom line was that Barley lost his focus.

I put him back in the sidecar and left the area.

There was a little town by the name of Scenic, South Dakota, accessible by a dirt road. Now I knew from reading ride reports that there was nothing particularly scenic about Scenic, but as an adventure rider the thought of twenty miles of dirt road leading nowhere held a certain amount of appeal. So we headed that way. After a few miles we crossed a cattle grating, a sure sign of free range animals. There was also a sign warning people to not approach the bison.

Barley saw the bull before I did, or rather he recognized it as something other than a large bush before I did. I heard his growl, a deep, fierce, primal thing coming up from his broad chest. So did the bull. As he turned his attention to us Barley erupted into his Cujo imitation once more, hurling every threat and curse in his vocabulary at the remarkably large creature. I believe he even insulted its mother.

Because that’s when the bison charged!

There is something truly magnificent about a creature the size of Volkswagen minibus coming your way with bad intent. I had always imagined them about the size of a dairy cow, but this thing was so much bigger than even the largest steer at the county fair that I couldn’t imagine anything short of a Abrams tank standing up to it! I hurriedly stuffed the camera back into my tankbag and put the sidecar in a sliding 180, retreating back the way we came as fast as possible. Barley leaned out the side of his ride, continuing to tell the bull exactly what he’d do if he ever got a chance.

More guts than brains, my loyal dog!

At any rate, those two back-to-back episodes forced me to reconsider our plans for the night. The plan had been to continue south to the Wildlife Loop and pitch our tent at one of the campgrounds in the area. But the road, and the campground, were frequently visited by deer, bison, and bears. Not a good idea! So we did one more pass through the Badlands hoping the showers would stop (they didn’t), pausing for photos at some scenic overlooks while tourists turned their cameras on my dog instead of the landscape, then headed to the nearby town of Wall, South Dakota in search of a room with no wild animals to worry about.

Wall Drug was pretty much the only game in town. I’d seen their billboards for at least two hundred miles. So after finding a room and schlepping all our gear inside, Barley and I walked the few blocks over to see what it was all about.

It was an utter dud.

To be fair, one of the fundamental truths I’ve discovered about myself is that I’m not a huge fan of crowds or tourist traps. Wall Drug turned out to be a very crowded tourist trap. Imagine a hodge-podge collection of every conceivable bit of junk under one roof, and you pretty much have it. So we headed back to the hotel where I groomed Barley and checked him for parasites, then uploaded photos, checked my maps, and went to bed.

ON TO SOUTH DAKOTA AND WYOMING

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

A Pause in Wisconsin, Then West Again

Susan and Steve are nice people who raise very sweet golden retrievers. Having just moved to a smaller home with a sunroom still under construction, their golden girls were confined to wire crates except for regular exercise periods. As Barley and I walked in the house was filled with the sound of excited tails banging against those crates! BANG, BANG, BANG! When last we visited I fell in love with an adorable female pup named Shine. I would have taken her home if there had been a way to smuggle her out from under Susan’s watchful eye. And there she was, all grown up with her first litter on the ground. Sweet as ever, she pushed herself into my lap and leaned into my chest, absorbing all the tenderness I had to offer.

Once again I thought of ways to smuggle her home…

Evansville, Wisconsin is a lovely town with a concentration of blondes far exceeding anything Vermont has to offer. The town was having its annual Fourth of July Celebration, so we all piled into a car and headed to the town park. Have you ever had one of those moments where you found yourself in a place where everybody seemed to know and like each other? That was Evansville! Elderly women introducing me to middle aged men: “This is Joe. He was one of my best students back in second grade. His father sold me my first car. His mother married my cousin, Sven.”

Delightful!

Back at the house it was time for me to meet Shine’s pups. Few things are as fun as sitting in a room surrounded by golden retriever puppies. Some attacked my cuffs and laces. One climbed up and covered my nose with kisses. Another tried to suck on my beard. Two curled up in my lap and went to sleep. I held one up thinking it would fit nicely into my tankbag…

Throughout the night whenever I reached out to caress Barley, his tail would thump softly on the floor. It was a happy sound, immediately echoed by the wagging tails of Susan’s girls banging on their wire crates. BANG, BANG, BANG! We were awake at five o’clock Saturday morning. Good thing my hosts were earlybirds as well! Breakfast, more puppy time, a goodbye to Susan, Steve and Shine, and we were on our way.

While gassing up in town another sidecar pulled in. It was my buddy, Bert, whom I had met two years ago at a rally in Chippewa Falls! We caught each other up, then he offered to lead us on a more scenic route than the one I had planned. So we followed him down the brick-paved streets of Evansville, through dairy country and past the New Glarus Brewery, past vast fields of mostly corn till he pulled over next to a park on Highway 18. “Stay on 18 into Iowa,” he shouted. “Then if you need to make better time you can angle up to I-90.” With a bear hug and hearty slaps on the back we parted. I hope someday to return the favor if Bert ever rides east.

We crossed the Mississippi River, not so massive this far north but still pretty impressive. Recent rains had left everything green. We stayed on Hwy 18 for nearly two hundred miles, entering what I called The Great Flatness. But the Flatness was populated by some truly nice people. Barley and I were taking a break in one small town’s park when a man in a pickup spotted us. He backed up and rolled down his window explaining that his son had been following us on Facebook. With a wave he wished us a safe journey and welcomed us to Iowa. Pretty cool!

By early afternoon it was hot and humid. Damned hot and humid! Oh, and flat. Did I mention The Flatness? We crossed into South Dakota feeling the effects and pulled into a rest area for a break. Inside was a small tourism kiosk with a remarkably knowledgeable attendant behind the counter. She helped us find a hotel for the night in nearby Sioux Falls. Another short ride to the Super 8 where Barley camped out next to the air conditioning unit while I uploaded the day’s photos. A brief trip outside for Barley to pee, and me to groom him, then back to the room and bed.

In the morning, still dark at 4am, I placed Barley’s vest on top of the luggage and forgot to stow it before we got underway. As I drove slowly through a construction zone I saw something fly up behind me, but paid little attention thinking it was a bit of roadside debris. One hundred and fifty miles to the west, as I pulled over to feed and exercise my dog, I realized it had been his vest containing my medical and his veterinary information. Out came the iPhone. A quick search came up with a phone number for the Sioux Falls Police Department. I called, not really sure what I was asking for, but after listening to my situation Officer Claussen dispatched a patrol car to the road I had taken from the hotel. He called back several minutes later to inform me the vest had been found exactly where I thought it might have been, took down my address, and mailed it to me at his own expense, refusing to even consider reimbursement. “Pay it forward,” he told me. It was a touch of kindness that was completely unexpected, but typified the warmth of the people we met on the road.

ON TO WALL DRUG AND THE BADLANDS

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

I was surprised, as I got up at 5am, how nonchalant I felt. In years past, the days leading up to our departure were marked by a low-key anxiety. What had I forgotten? Did my contingency plans cover every possible issue? Was my roughed out travel plan realistic?

But this year I didn’t have a care in the world. Anything I might have forgotten could be picked up along the way or done without. Something unforeseen might happen, but we would deal with it. And my travel plan was loose enough to allow endless variations to accommodate road constructions, storms, unseasonable heat, or recommendations by local riders we might meet along the way. We would adapt, improvise, overcome.

Experience is a great comfort.

My biggest concern was how Tulliver would take to being left behind. Kazoo was a Momma’s boy and would be fine at home, but Tully had bonded to me to the point where separation might be painful for him. I hugged my athletic redhead and made Tamara promise to let him sleep in bed if he wished. A lingering hug for my wife, Barley tucked into the hack, a last inspection of bike and sidecar.

Underway into the foggy Vermont morning…

I took the Interstate south sixty miles because of the fog; it’s difficult to see deer in those conditions and the rural roads are full of them. Highways 107, 100 and 4 to Rutland, a jog over to Saratoga Springs, New York. We beat that town’s Independence Day parade by ten minutes. Main Street was packed with spectators awaiting the start of festivities; a few young men of military age missing limbs sat in wheelchairs at the curbside. I rendered a salute but they only had eyes for Barley.

Semper fidelis, my brothers…

It was after I passed through that town bedecked with flags and bunting that I realized I’d forgotten the Contour camera fastened to the side of my helmet! For the rest of the trip there would be few missed photographic opportunities; on the contrary, I would generally remember to turn the camera on, but forget to turn it off for several long minutes.

Amsterdam, Tioga Downs, Oneonta, Binghamton. Somber grey clouds coalescing ahead, but never enough to offer more than a passing shower. Rest stops every ninety minutes. But it felt awkward in that neither Barley nor myself had yet established our rhythm. Again, no surprise. Each year the first couple of days are about getting it together. It occurred to me that if I’d given up before reaching that point on our first trip I’d never have discovered the joy of long distance adventure with Barley.

It became hot and muggy in mid-afternoon, but we pressed on. By 4pm we reached our destination for the day; as we pulled into the camp near Tioga, Pennsylvania, we were met by friends old and new.

I’ve relied on paper maps for years, but with middle age comes fading vision. No longer can I glance at a map for a few seconds while moving, get my bearings, and know exactly where I’m going. So I’ve become semi-dependent on Captain Bligh (my Garmin GPS) and the Bluetooth link to my helmet which allows me to navigate, especially in crowded urban situations, without taking my eyes off the road. But my Bluetooth headset failed the first day out. Troubleshooting failed, as did a hard reset.

Bummer!

We left Tioga early on a Friday morning. In the first thirty miles we noticed a lot of roadkill: six deer, one black bear, eight racoons, four possums, and a skunk. It made me nervous about taking my eyes off the road. By late morning I decided to leave the rural roads in favor of Turnpikes to reach our next stop early. Within minutes we came across a multiple car crash in the lanes heading back east. One vehicle was upside down with the driver’s side caved in. I counted a dozen emergency vehicles at the scene. But our lanes were clear and moving fast. It’s too easy to fall into high mileage mode at those speeds, so I resolved to pull into every rest stop to give Barley a chance to play. We pulled into a Super 8 hotel in Elkhart, Indiana at 5pm. By then Barley had shifted into travel mode. Home was with me. Home was the sidecar, the hotel room, the tent.

We were up at 4am and on the road an hour later. The plan was to be through Chicago before its citizens woke up. Good plan, bad execution. As we approached that massive city the traffic picked up as did the speed. A damaged Con-Way trailer surrounded by traffic cones was augered into the right shoulder, heavily damaged and nearly on its side. “Construction Zone: 45mph,” read a road sign. “Fines doubled.”

Traffic continued at 80mph.

But we passed through the chaos, veered north, and reached Evansville, Wisconsin. More friends in a delightful small city.

A PAUSE IN WISCONSIN, THEN WEST AGAIN

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

Packing, and repacking…and doing it all over again

We leave in five days. Five days of finishing up chores around the house, being with my wife, playing with the dogs, frantically trying to get ahead at work so my teammates aren’t buried…and packing.

Packing for an adventure is an art form. Last year I thought I had it all figured out, then I discovered Kriega bags. I had been happy with my Motofizz bag, except that it wasn’t waterproof. And when you are exposed to torrential rains as we have been (the eight inches that fell in three hours in Ontario when we had no place to hide comes to mind) that becomes a pretty significant exception. I’m extremely impressed with the quality and versatility of these new bags.

But they forced me to reconfigure my packing scheme.

Not that it’s a bad thing. I like the weight distribution much better now, and the fact that nothing light and easily picked up is anywhere near Barley’s memory foam mattress. You may remember that he is somewhat protective of his turf, and has a history of picking up and heaving over the side anything – no matter how critically important – that falls upon his sovereign territory.

In the Touratech tankbag are small incidentals that I need to reach in a hurry: change for toll booths, a cheap point and shoot camera, chapstick, eyeglass cleaner and sunglasses. My left sidecase is full of clothing, the right food. The left Wunderlich sidecase topper contains snacks, a flashlight, maps and owners manuals. The righthand sidecase topper contains dog stuff: treats, rabies certificate, veterinary meds, brushes and combs, and a tick key to remove any of those pests I find on my dog.

The Kriega bags go right behind me in lieu of a passenger seat. On the bottom is a US 30 bag (30 liters) containing my Marmot summer-weight sleeping bag, Exped 7 insulated sleeping pad, military surplus poncho liner and a sleeping bag liner. In hot weather I’ll use one or both of the liners; in cold weather I’ll use them inside the sleeping bag.  The smaller US 20 bag on top contains two compression bags. One contains hot weather gear and the other cold weather layers. The tiny red bag on top of the pile contains my emergency medical gear. I don’t take much. As a former Independent Duty Corpsman and a graduate of the Camp Lejeune School of Barbaric Medicine I’ve learned to do much with little.

Inside the topcase is a small Igloo cooler, bulk supplies of eyeglass cleaner and poop bags,   a magical concoction that softens dead bug carcasses and makes removing them from the windshield or helmet visor easier, a quart of engine oil, and a few microfiber towels. The cooler holds our lunch should it need to be kept cool. One of the best deals on the road is Subway. I’ll buy a foot long sub, share half with Barley at lunch and put the other half in the cooler for later. On truly hot days I’ll buy a five pound bag of ice in the morning, fill the cooler and all our water bottles with it, plus if it’s really insufferably hot I’ll stuff some in a ten liter water bladder which I place on Barley’s bed under a towel. When he gets uncomfortable he’ll lay on top of it and let it absorbs some of his excess body heat. By late morning when the heat really builds the ice in the cooler begins to melt. At every rest stop I’ll give Barley cool water (which he drinks more readily than warm) and dip a washcloth in the ice water to rub onto his belly. He enjoys that so much he’ll go belly up whenever he sees a washcloth in my hand.

Electronics go in the locked trunk along with Barley’s backpack. Well, it’s actually my daypack but is filled with his stuff: treats, fresh water, water bowl, poop spade and bags, toys, another tick key, and a brush. Every time he gets out of the sidecar the pack goes with us so we are prepared for just about anything.

In the nose of the sidecar is heavy stuff he can’t possibly pick up and give the old heave-ho: Our Nemo Losi three person three season tent, a sixteen foot Noah’s Tarp with sturdy poles, and my Kermit chair. I like the Nemo tent and chose the three person version because Barley runs in his dreams, and those claws raked my back more than a few times in a smaller tent. Nemo also offers paw liners for their tents, an insert that snaps in place to protect the tent floor from sharp claws. It’s a well built, roomy and airy tent that meets our needs very well. The tarp is for shade mostly, though I made the poles long enough that I can set up the tarp in a driving rain first, then set up the tent under the protection of the tarp.

It’s not much fun camping when everything you own, including your dog, is wet.

UNDERWAY FOR OREGON!

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES