OFF MY BUCKET LIST

ROAD TRIP

OFF MY BUCKET LIST

words + images: Lance Lamberton

I don’t remember exactly when I got the notion to take my 2009 Harley Road King Classic cross country, but once the idea nally took hold, there was no denying it. I also felt such a mega journey would be a nice book end to the one I took in 1974 from New York to Alaska after I had just graduated college.

So, on July 15, 2021, I started the rst leg of my trip from Atlanta to Chattanooga, TN. Given the heat and humidity of the ride (after all, this is the southeast in the middle of July) I was glad it was a short one. The goal for the next day was to go hang gliding. Basically, what this entails is being towed up to an altitude of 3,000 feet by an ultra-light, then released to oat gently down to earth. It also requires doing so in tandem with an experienced guide. To do otherwise would be suicide. Regardless, it was exhilarating and can’t wait to go again.

The rest of the day I headed north through Tennessee into Kentucky on my way to Louisville to stay with my two brothers-in-law. Fortunately, I had enough time to check out the Corvette Museum in Bowling Green, which is where the iconic sportscars are made.

The following morning, I headed west towards Peoria, IL where I stayed at the home of a friend. In the interest of economy, and to achieve my goal of reconnecting with friends and family at every opportunity, I planned my trip to be a “house guest” every chance I could. The course I charted was through southern Indiana starting off on 150 West from Louisville until it split off onto Indiana State 56 where it went through bucolic countryside including a fair number of twist and turns where suggested speeds ranged from 15 to 30 mph. When I got to the Illinois border, I deferred to my GPS which took me on some really obscure back roads until it nally linked up to I-74 where it was then a straight shot to Peoria. It was a long day in the saddle, covering 406 miles, so I experienced my rst of what would soon to be many days of physical exhaustion.

The next day I headed towards Omaha, NE to stay and visit with my cousin Trish. My goal was to traverse the southern portion of Iowa along US route 34 to avoid going interstate wherever possible. But the decades old map I was using was not working for me and I found myself constantly lost and having to back track, so that what I hoped would be “the scenic

route” turned into the scenic nightmare. Finally, I turned myself over to the GPS, which of course quickly took me to the interstate. Thus, in what normally should have got me to my cousin’s house around 7:30 pm, ended up being 10:30 instead. Not fun.

At this point I was really beat, so I welcomed the chance to just chill for a couple of days before continuing my trek. Eventually however, the call of the road would beckon. And besides, I was too far gone to turn back now. Next stop was Valentine, in northwest Nebraska. The contrast in topography between Omaha and Valentine is quite stark, gradually changing from rich lush farmland, to gently rolling hills and open grassland. There was no mistaking it now. I was not in Georgia anymore.

The following day I set my destination to Rapid City, South Dakota, to attend Freedomfest, the largest annual gathering of libertarians in the world. Along the way I stopped to see the Badlands, the rst of what would be many visits to national parks in the west. It is a place of eerie and majestic beauty, with landscapes that give you the feeling you might be on the moon. Photos do not do it justice. It is a place to see for yourself rsthand.

It was then on to Rapid City, where after spending a few days at Freedomfest, I set my sights for Devil’s Tower in the very northeastern corner of Wyoming. My curiosity to see it was peaked decades ago when I saw the movie, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It stands out in stark contrast to the land around it and can be seen from miles around. The Tower soars over 800 feet from its considerable base. It is easy to see why Spielberg choose it as the site for his movie’s climax.

After leaving the Tower I took state route 50 to 387 and booked a room in Riverton, which is roughly in the geographical center of Wyoming. The next day I headed west to check out the Grand Teton’s and there encountered my rst major disappointment of the trip. It wasn’t that the Tetons aren’t amazing, rising up thousands of feet from a at plain. But the extensive forest res throughout the West during this year enveloped the mountains with a thick and heavy haze, such that I could only barely make out the outline of the range. No decent photo op there. As a consolation prize, I did run into a large herd of Bison along the side of the road.

From there it was north to Yellowstone via route 89 along Yellowstone

Lake and then east on US 16 to Cody WY. Here I encountered some beautiful and rugged mountain scenery, albeit somewhat marred by limited visibility due to the forest res. The road also consisted of many long, sweeping curves well suited for cruiser bikes like mine.

From Cody I went north on WY 120 with the intent of heading towards Great Falls, MT to hook up for a family reunion. Since I was running ahead of schedule I decided to take a meandering route over roads that I had never been and ended up on some really spectacular and challenging topography. From 120 I took a left hand turn onto MT 308 West at the tiny burg of Belfry. From there I took US 212 South, which to my utter surprise took me up and over Beartooth Pass at 10,940 feet. As you can expect, the road was replete with switchbacks and sheer drops of thousands of feet on both sides. With my fear of heights, I white knuckled it the whole way through and said more than one little prayer. The road eventually took me back to Yellowstone where I entered the park at Silver Gate.

I then headed west to the Mammoth Hot Springs portion of the park and then back north again on US 89 to Livingston. I attempted to rent a room there but experienced something which may be a consequence of pent-up demand due to the pandemic, i.e., there were no vacancies anywhere to be found. At that point I was too exhausted to keep on trucking to Great Falls, so I took a detour to Bozeman and found a room for the astronomical price of $280 a night. I was not happy, but it’s amazing how much I was willing to spend when deep-down exhaustion sets in.

After a good night’s sleep, I spent part of the day exploring Bozeman, a stereotypical example of what easterners would expect from the “wild west.” As a college town, it has more microbreweries per capita than anything I’ve ever seen, hence the nick name: “Boozeman.” By noon I headed north to Great Falls to hook up with my son and his wife, my cousin and his wife, and to see my last surviving aunt. In fact, the genesis of the idea of doing this trip this year was for this purpose, in that my mother was the daughter of two homesteaders who rst broke the sod of western Montana in 1915. Thus, part of the trip’s purpose was to pay homage to the home that my mother was born in in 1924, and which is still standing today. From Great Falls, we headed to the homestead via US 87 to MT 223. Located a few miles south of US route 2, between the tiny towns of Joplin and Inverness, it is a place of stark and lonely beauty, where the area’s population has actually declined over the past few decades due to the increased mechanization of farming. From there I took US 2 West around Glacier National Park, then soldiered on to Spokane, WA for what was up to then the longest and hottest day of the trip, where I put on 548 miles. Thanks to the day’s 100+ temps, I achieved a new milestone in my quest to achieve total exhaustion. I hoped that that would be as bad as it would get. I would be wrong. Next stop was Seattle where I stayed for a few days with my friend Joe and his family. I welcomed the R&R, but after a three-day rest, it was on to Portland to hang with my sister and her family. Then it was on to Mt. Hood to stay a night with Cousin Mary, where she owns and runs a bistro called The White Elephant, and where from her kitchen window you can see the unobstructed view of the vast and imposing Mt. Hood.

From “the Hood” I then headed south on US 26 and west on OR 242/126

to Eugene. There I experienced the worst of the forest res. My eyes were constantly burning, and the temps were in excess of 100 degrees. However, relief was soon to come once I reached the coastal range and then latched onto US Rte. 101 along the Oregon coast at Florence, where the temps dropped to the cool and comfortable seventies.

My next major destination point was LA to see my son’s new home which he bought with his wife in the heart of the city. After staying at a campground, without a tent, on the Oregon/California border, I headed south and got as far as Santa Rosa, about 50 miles north of San Francisco. I awoke to a sunny and warm day but that was soon to change the closer I got to the Golden Gate Bridge, where I had to stop and put on a wind breaker for the rst time since leaving Georgia. It was that cold. But the Bridge itself was a magni cent sight, shrouded as it was in its trademark fog.

Following 101, I went straight through the city and then struggled through several miles of heavy traf c until I reached Monterey. There I exited 101 to take state rte.1 to San Luis Obispo, where Rte.1 then reconnected with 101. That section of road is probably one the most breathtakingly beautiful anywhere in the World. Blessed by the cooling sea breezes along the Coast, I was treated to vast ocean vistas hundreds of feet down on my right and then sheer rugged mountains towering over me on my left. Building this road was a marvel of engineering genius. I kept saying to myself, “How were they able to cut away a strip of land from these sheer cliffs to build a road like this?”

Alas! All good things must come to an end, and by the time I reached the famous home of Randolph Hearst at San Simeon, the terrain attened out, but still remained a beautiful ride. Soon thereafter it got dark, so I rode as fast as I dared from San Luis Obispo to LA, arriving in the early evening. Since the temps were cool and mild the whole day, I was no worse for wear, and had enough energy to stay up late and visit.

In contemplating the way back home, I had concerns about crossing the Mojave Desert in the daytime. I have a heart condition called cardio myopathy, so I wasn’t sure how well my ticker would hold up against riding for hours in temperatures that often exceeded 110. My solution was to take a long nap in the early evening, and then head east across the desert starting out at 11:30 pm. The plan worked like a charm, cruising as I did through Las Vegas just before dawn.

My destination was a town called Kanab, Utah where I advance booked a room at a charming little place called the Canyons Boutique. The plan was to use this location as my base to explore both the Mt. Zion and Bryce Canyon Parks. Since my room wasn’t ready for occupancy when I arrived, I took off to see Zion. Unlike most parks, where you are at high elevations looking down, Zion is located in a valley, with majestic mountains towering over you. The top attraction is the river walk, where visitors take a shuttle to the beginning of a mile-long trail to the Virgin River, which is then forded at several points till you reach a narrow canyon, with walls towering hundreds of feet above you, and where if the sun hits it just right, creates a wild kaleidoscope of color against the water and rock of the narrow canyon.

Unfortunately, I could not enjoy this beautiful sight in person, as my heart condition got the best of me, so while I reached the river and forded it a couple of times (and thoroughly soaked my bike boots in the process), I simply couldn’t go on, and had to slowly struggle back to the shuttle. People saw my plight and offered me food and water on more than one occasion. When the returning shuttle nally appeared in my sight, it was the most welcome one of the day, despite being in one of the most beautiful parks in the nation. The road in and out of the park is a blast, with many turns having suggested posted speeds of 15, 20 and 25 mph.

The next day I set aside to explore Bryce Canyon. I guess the best way to describe Bryce is to compare it to the Grand Canyon. While not nearly so big and vast, it shares the same feature of a river eroding its way through thousands of feet of sedimentary rock and creating some of the most bizarre and striking natural sculptures I have ever seen, through a panoply of rich and varied earth tones and colors. The top of Bryce climbs to 9,110 feet, with numerous spots along the way to stop and take in the views from

many different elevations. It was like nothing I had ever seen. If I was a Mormon, I would swear that God gave us Utah as a reward for our devotion and sacri ce. It’s that beautiful.

After two nights in Kanab, I decided to ride north on US 89 to I-70 East to Moab, a town which appears to exist for the sole purpose of providing services to outdoor recreationists. The following morning, I took on two parks, the rst being the Arches, and then the Canyonlands. The Arches are famous for the huge natural arches formed over eons of time. However, to see them in person required more walking than my heart could handle, so I had to pass on that, but still there was much in the way of great natural beauty to see from the seat of my bike.

My next stop, the Canyonlands, has a special feature all bikers should be made aware of. There is a stretch of road in the park with recommended speeds of 25 mph, but since there is nothing to obscure my view, I could see the road snake along for turn after turn after turn, which emboldened me to go way above the suggested speed since I could see well in advance any traf c coming the opposite way. It’s a thrill, and I highly recommend it. The scenic beauty of the park itself was on a par with Bryce, which means it was really incredible.

Upon leaving Canyonlands I headed south on 191 to 163 in hopes of seeing The Valley of the Gods, the dramatic backdrop of so many westerns. But to do so required taking a dirt road, and my bike, fully loaded, was not well suited for it. Besides, I was alone, had no water with me, it was getting dark, and I had spotty cell phone coverage, so I decided to take a pass. I also wanted to go to the nearby Natural Bridges National Monument, but the road to it off of 191 was closed.

Around sunset I was in Arizona and took 191 south all the way to I-40 east and then checked into a motel in Gallup, N.M. around 10 pm. The following day was a long, hot and dry one. I set my sights for Amarillo but had to stop often to hydrate. There was not much to see from the interstate other than lots of windfarms. While the Texas panhandle leading into Amarillo is as at as a pancake, I was impressed at how rich and vibrant the agriculture is, both with respect to crops and livestock.

The following day I rode from Amarillo to Dallas, TX where I then stayed with my stepson, Paul. I was on the road for 10 hours, and from a physical standpoint it turned out to be far and away the most demanding day of the trip. By the time I reached Dallas I was so exhausted I literally couldn’t walk, talk or even hear. To give an idea on how dehydrated I was, I counted waking up eight times that night to go through ve bottles of cold water.

The next day was spent mostly hanging out at the community pool, but given how hot Dallas is in late August, the water was almost too warm to be refreshing. I lived the whole decade of the nineties in Dallas, and while I have many fond memories, the summers are not one of them.

At this point I was trying to decide the best way to get back home and given that Hurricane Ida was soon to make landfall in Louisiana, I thought I better get going while the getting was good. To avoid getting trapped in that maelstrom, I headed out the next day for Jackson, MS, where the weather report said it was “only” going to get up to 92.

I arrived in Jackson around eight, and had dif culty nding a room, which I suspect might have been related to Ida. Nonetheless, I did nally nd something. The next morning, I got an early start to avoid Ida, and beat her out without encountering any rain. It was a boring anticlimactic ride from Jackson to my home just outside Atlanta, but after six weeks on the road I was anxious to sleep in my own bed and give my body time to recuperate. It was a great adventure, covering 22 states and almost 10,000 miles, and I’m glad to say that I was able to do it given my age and heart condition. Going forward any future motorcycle adventures will be much shorter, but I will always fondly remember this trip as being “the big one.” ,

Lance Lamberton is the former deputy director of the White House Of ce of Policy Information under President Reagan, and who worked as a communications professional for a number of fortune 500 companies that included Exxon and Lockheed Martin, among others. A biker since 1968, he is now retired and lives with his wife in Austell, Georgia, just outside of Atlanta.