Buggy in the backroads near Tioga PA.

I met Linda and Dennis on a Golden Retriever forum where we had exchanged advice and

I met Linda and Dennis on a Golden Retriever forum where we had exchanged advice and pleasantries. Barley reminded them of a beloved golden they had lost some time before, and when I asked for information about dog-friendly campgrounds in north-central Pennsylvania, they offered use of their camp a short distance north of scenic Route 6. I was looking for a safe place to pitch our tent, but they wouldn’t hear of it; the camp was mine for the night. I tried to protest, but the thought of a hot shower and a roof over my head in case of rain was just too good an offer to pass. And so it was to that camp we were headed on our home stretch.

We arrived late in the afternoon, having finished an easy crossing of Ohio and Pennsylvania on forested back roads. I unlocked the gate, pulled through, and locked it back in place behind us. Up a curved gravel driveway to a shaded camp with – Barley whined in anticipation – a large pond! No sooner had I let him out than he caught and ate a mouse. I was toying with the idea of sleeping in the carport instead of invading their privacy when a car pulled up to the camp. Inside were the grinning faces of my hosts, a couple I would soon feel I had known for years. Barley bonded to them instantly.

And that is one of the unexpected blessings of the long distance traveler. You meet the most wonderful people on the road, people who share kindness small and large, people you expect to stay in touch with for the rest of your life.

2011: LESSONS LEARNED

Next stop: online friends in Janesville, Wisconsin, a few miles above the border with Illinois close to Madison. We rolled south-southwest through verdant farmland, crossed the Mississippi River into Iowa, rolled through a few small farming towns before our very presence seemed to bother a shirtless, toothless, skinny man driving a huge Cadillac. He paced us for miles, glaring at us from one lane over in a sort of stupefied fury I would learn was typically driven by meth. We crossed the mighty river again. He turned left so I turned right and accelerated sharply to put him behind us.

The Great River Route is fun for about twenty minutes. The scenery doesn’t quite change often enough, the pavement doesn’t have a lot of curves to it, and the majority of businesses have either Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn in the name. I turned west again to run through rolling hills covered in crops. We pulled up at Susan and Stephen’s home on the outskirts of Janesville late in the afternoon to a chorus of barking from home and kennel.

Dog people: this was going to be good.

For a busy woman, Susan has vast reserves of energy. She raises dogs, kennels dogs, trains with dogs, hunts with dogs, manhandles cattle, manages to care for two very young and curious granddaughters. Inside the house was a young bitch named Shine. Shine liked me so much she peed every time I looked at her, puddled every time I touched her.  Susan spent much of her time yelling, “Don’t touch the…ah, let me get a paper towel!”

Shine had way too much energy for Barley. He wanted to hunt. She wanted him to love her. She’d flounce in coquettishly and “accidentally” bump into him. He’d give a low warning growl. Mice were more interesting. But she finally overdid it and found herself Alpha rolled in a flash! Barley had had enough. At least he didn’t draw any blood, I told myself, so Shine must have still had a bit of puppy license left in her.

We packed up in the minivan for a trip to an area treasure, the New Glarus Brewery. I love beer and I love clever marketing; this place had both. We took the tour and drank the samples: Cow Tipper Ale, Flying Squirrel, Two Naked Ladies. I bought a case, plus a few bottles of red ale made from cherries for the wife, shipped some clothing home to make room for it, and stowed it securely in the sidecar for transport back home.

With thank you hugs for Susan and Stephen we were back on the road the next day, the Fourth of July. We hooked around a big city below us, taking backroads all the way to El Paso, Illinois, then turned east on US 24 across Illinois and Indiana. It became US 224 somewhere before Ohio, and it was a hotel in Ohio where we stopped for the night. We had seen a lot of corn that day. Acres of corn. Miles of corn. Lots.

We also saw something beautiful and unexpected…

Barley sat up in the sidecar, facing forward, his nose busily working a scent I was completely unaware of. I scanned my surroundings – fields of corn stretched to the horizon in every direction, US 24 a straight line endlessly in front of me. There was a small rise coming up, just high enough that I couldn’t see over it even when standing on the pegs. I rolled off the throttle, having learned to trust my dog. The BMW quivered slightly beneath me as it bled off speed. We topped the rise.

Horses!

There were four beautiful horses cavorting on the highway, their manes and tails rippling in a breeze of their own making. I slowed to a crawl and hit the flashers, pulled the Nikon out of my tank bag and snapped a quick photo. The horses eventually wandered to the side of the highway and began grazing. We passed slowly, then accelerated back to our plains-crossing pace.

“Good dog! Clever dog!” Barley smiled behind his Doggles, then settled back under the shade of his cockpit cover.

We pressed on.

MORE NEW FRIENDS IN PENNSYLVANIA

The next day was OMG hot and humid! We felt the humidity even before dawn, and knew it would be a scorcher. Abandoning plans to check out Lake Michigan to our south, we pointed the nose toward Eau Claire, Wisconsin and stuck to highways. By late morning we were both uncomfortable. At a gas stop in Rhinelander a couple of old men in a beat up Chevy truck gave us thumbs up and friendly grins. I asked if there was a park nearby with some shade trees where we could stretch. The driver started giving directions, but stopped after the sixth change of directions. “Just follow us,” he hollered, and led the way to a tidy little park we would never have found on our own. “Ride safe!” he shouted with a wave, then drove away.

It was a perfect place for a pitstop: restrooms, picnic tables, cold water fountains, mature shade trees overhanging large boulders for Barley to climb on. We rested in the shade, soaking up the relative coolness as we rehydrated. Two adults leading a large group of children on bicycles rode past, then spotted us and turned around. It was a fourth grade class from the local elementary school; their interest in Barley and his rig outweighed their interest in the playground. And so we found ourselves surrounded by little kids, fussing over my dog and his story, the teachers pointing out the protective gear I was wearing and how the bright colors were so much easier to see than dark colors. ATGATT: All The Gear, All The Time. Not a concept you expect to hear from a grade school teacher!

Barley and Trey cooling off in the river

We reached the rally site by mid-afternoon. The temperature was pushing one hundred, and the humidity so high it looked like thin fog. We lingered in the air conditioned registration building, then reluctantly went back outside and rode to the fairgrounds, hoping for a spot of shade. No luck – all the trees were surrounded by tents. So we found a grassy spot and set up camp, but Barley was having a lot of trouble with the conditions. There was a cool river a few hundred yards from our tent, so we walked to it and soaked in the coolness for several hours till the sun was low enough to cast shade. Afterwards we returned to the grounds and sought refuge in the Beer Tent. Barley was carded, but being over 21 in human years was allowed to pass. We reconnected with old friends and met some new pals over cold beer, but it was a tough night. I fanned Barley with my hat, and he fanned me with his tail. Not much sleep was had.

We had a great time the next day despite the heat, though much of our time was spent alternating between the river and the big fans in the vendor buildings. We managed to locate some riders we knew only from online forums, checked out some nifty new accessories, studied what other riders had installed on their bikes, and ate a lot of ice cream. But as the sun began to retreat with no relief from the miserable conditions I knew I could not ask my dog to spend another sleepless night with me. I fired up the laptop, found a hotel about twenty miles away, broke camp and retreated to air conditioned comfort.

That night, in the safety of our room, the world erupted in loud sirens. We went outside and looked to the north, north where the rally grounds were. Huge bolts of dazzling lightning streaked across the sky! The sirens added a sinister flair to the display, and I was glad we had not stayed behind. Within a few minute the high winds and torrential rains reached us, and the entire hotel was buffeted by the storm. (I learned later that the campers had been moved into the solid buildings for protection with instructions to bring only what they needed. Parties broke out spontaneously as a large portion of those critically needed items turned out to be alcohol.)

SOUTHERN WISCONSIN AND TWO NAKED LADIES

Barley generally takes the bed closest to the AC

Up early and on the road by seven o’clock. We refueled in North Bay, then continued west on Highway 17, the Trans-Canada Highway. It was remarkably flat, with vast expanses of solid granite often stretching for miles on end. Now and then we caught a glimpse of Lake Ontario to our left, but by and large it was granite I remember most about that leg.

We reached Sault Ste Marie on the cusp of rush hour, so refueled and continued north without delay, now with Lake Superior to our left. Several miles up the road we came to the practically empty campground at Agawa Bay, our destination for the night. After checking in with the ranger I pulled into our lakefront site and killed the engine. Barley, who loves playing in our quarter acre pond at home, took one look at the lake with an expression that said, “Look at the size of that freaking pond!” and bolted for the water. It had been a warm day, so I shed my riding gear and ran after him, leaping into the crystal clear waters of the largest of the Great Lakes.

Barley exploring the Superior shore

Holy cow, that water was cold!

Barley hadn’t noticed, and happily paddled up and down the shoreline. At one point he saw something moving under the water in front of him. The prey drive kicked in and he lunged at it, coming up with his own paw! He gave me a dirty look, then moved up to the shore. It was pea gravel, not sand, and he happily rolled in it for several minutes. I gathered up some kindling, got a fire going, and carefully added the poorly seasoned wood I’d bought from the ranger. We had dinner, camp food and kibble, lit off the ThermaCell to keep the mosquitoes at bay, and snuggled by the fire watching the sun go down.

The landmark totems at Wawa, Ontario

Rest stop in one of the coves north of Agawa Bay

The next day we stopped at a couple of small rocky coves to the north, had breakfast in the town of Wawa, then continued to follow the shoreline along the north side of this greatest of lakes under constant threat of rain. We outran the weather, refueled in Marathon, then took a side trip to Quimet Canyon. It was there the rain caught us; it would not let go for the rest of the day. Cutting our canyon visit short, we were stopped by the Provincial Police, who instructed us to pull as far to the side of the road as possible. A very wide load was coming down the road.

It was the single blade of a windmill, a massive, gracefully curved thing of beauty that rested on a tandem set of fifty-three foot long flatbed trailers. You can’t grasp the scale of these wonders till you see one up close and personal!

We had intended to camp at Sleeping Giant Provincial Park near Thunder Bay, but by the time we returned to Highway 17 the rainfall increased to torrents, big, fat drops blown sideways by the wind so it worked its way under my helmet and down my collar, between the zipper teeth of Barley’s sidecar cover and soaking him and everything in the tub. Huge bolts of lightning chased us toward Thunder Bay and the open ground we were traversing offered no shelter whatsoever.

We pressed on to Thunder Bay, pulling into a gas station to take shelter under its well-grounded canopy. I used the Web to find a dog-friendly hotel, making a reservation at the first one that had a vacancy. I keyed the address into Captain Bligh, then followed the instructions to the front door. Just my luck – no canopy! We unloaded in the rain so heavy the water in the street overflowed onto the sidewalk. The hotel staff watched passively from the dryness of the lobby; not one offered any help. I felt no pity when Barley shook all over their immaculate lobby, in fact, I took the bellboy’s cart into my room and used it as a drying rack.

Everything we owned was wet except for the laptop and camera gear that was in waterproof bags. I cranked the room temp up to ninety degrees but even so had to use the hotel’s blow dryer in the morning to finish a few odds and ends.

Eyeing the forecast suspiciously, I noticed that rain was likely to continue north of the border, but the storm was clearing to the south. Reluctantly, we abandoned plans to visit the Sleeping Giant on this trip. I fired up the Beemer and turned south, back to the US.

We crossed back into our homeland in Minnesota, welcomed by the most dour and downright rude government employee on the planet. Every question was an accusation, every look stern and disapproving. But you can’t let people like that ruin your day. We pressed on, stopping first at a gravel beach for Barley to play, then at Betty’s Pies for lunch, and finally at the Aerostich warehouse in Duluth.

Aerostich isn’t much to look at, but they make some of the best riding gear on the planet! They also have a great sense of humor, going so far as to put bogus products in their catalog, items with claims and prices so outrageous that no sane person can fail to see the gag. Yet people order them! One of the small items they offer are rigid plates sewn into stuffed caricatures of dead animals. The plates are used to keep a bike’s kickstand from sinking into soft asphalt or dirt, causing the bike to fall over. But Barley saw only that dead frogs and squirrels dotted the warehouse floor. Being a retriever, and a hunting dog to boot, he tracked down and retrieved every single animal in the building!

Barley “retrieving” a dead frog kickstand plate at Aerostich

The staff and customers found him delightful!

ON TO THE SOUTH SHORE