This summer, I went on a two week motorcycle trip out west. I didn't make reservations, plan a route or set up a schedule. Hey, if you want schedules, stay at work. There are plenty there. Joel Cavell was my riding partner. Our plans were simple. Two bikes, two riders and a pair of cameras to document our trip. This is the first time I've planned to stop and take pictures during the trip. Usually I just ride.

For two weeks before departure, I put in long hours at work, trying to finish a project so that I can actually leave on my vacation, so I never have a chance to lay everything out and pack. The night before departure, I do my laundry and just stuff the clean clothes into two large rucksacks along with my sleeping bag, towels, etc.

July 31 Houston, Texas to Pecos, Texas

Forget packing, we're gone! I just load everything on my bike and ride over to meet Joel. This is the most I have ever loaded on the bike. It feels and looks like a truck going down the road. When I arrive at Joel's house, he is still loading his bike and having similar problems. As we get on the interstate, I think about stopping at San Antonio and UPS-ing half of the stuff on my bike back home.

We join the Pasadena chapter on their way to the River Run and ride to Grumpy's in Flatonia where we part company. After several gas stops, we stop in Fort Stockton. We discuss riding on to Pecos. Joel says:

1. bad road
2. sun in our eyes
3. boring
4. tired

I say:

1. good road
2. going north (the sun's setting in the west)
3. so what
4. I feel great

OK, so the:

1. road has fresh gravel, someone must have phoned ahead to tell them we were coming
2. the road is going northwest (into the sun)
3. it IS boring
4. it is late and the day is hot

We arrive in Pecos ready to stop for the night. Now it's time to eat greasy fried foods. Joel announces that he is on the diet of tomorrow (he'll diet tomorrow). I think I'll try that diet. I repack and by rolling the clothes, manage to get the contents of both rucksacks into just one. Forget UPS-ing this stuff. Maybe I'll just throw it away and buy new stuff as I go.

August 1 Pecos, Texas to Corona, New Mexico

Breakfast and you know what? I am still on the diet of tomorrow. At last a diet I can stick with for the rest of my life.

As we approach Lincoln, the road winds through the mountains and plays dodge'em with the thunderstorms. We don't ever quite ride into a storm, but I get tired of watching the thunderstorms and the road at the same time. Once the rain suits are on, we can concentrate on the road. We finally find rain in Lincoln, the first rain of the trip. A harbinger of what's to come.

We ride eight miles down a gravel road to spend the night with Mark and Debbie, some friends of Joel's. Brrr. I hate gravel roads on a motorcycle. Especially a heavily loaded motorcycle. Their hospitality is worth the white knuckles and numb fingers.

I repack a little bit more. I finally get everything where it belongs. The center of gravity is lower and everything is packed a lot more compactly. Maybe I'm just getting used to driving a truck.

August 2 Corona, New Mexico to Navajo Lake, New Mexico

Santa Fe is a disappointment. Narrow congested roads. Tourists everywhere. No parking. The lunch stop at market square does not work out. This is what we left Houston to avoid. We retreat out to the open road.

At a small town, Joel stops to take some pictures. An old Indian walking across the road stops to admire the bikes. He then draws a six-gun (toy, loaded with caps) and empties it at some dogs. He reholsters the gun after spinning the gun on his finger, grins and crosses the road.

The camping at Navajo Lake is great! We park on a rock shelf overlooking the lake. The moon is so bright that I can read and write by it (the handwriting in my log book gets a little shaky here). I spread my sleeping bag on a picnic table under the open sky so I can watch the stars. The moon is too bright for the stars. I too tired to watch long anyway.

August 3 Navajo Lake, New Mexico to Mexican Hat, Utah

We ride through Monument Valley and stop for lunch at Goulding's. Joel laments the development of the area since his last visit twenty years ago. The majority of the tourists are from Germany. We hear little English being spoken in the restaurant.

We stop at a motel in Mexican Hat. A sign in the bathroom reads "Stop, do not use towels to wash cars or shoes. Ask for rags at the office." Guess I'll have to explain that it was just a dirty biker's face, not a car or shoe that messed up the washcloth. If you stop at the motel, the sign will now read "Do not use towels to wash cars, shoes or bikers. Ask for rags at the office." My washcloth is on display in the Mexican Hat Museum, like the Turin Shroud. After showering, Joel goes to the office to get ice. The manager doesn't recognize him until he explains that he has washed up. "Oh, you're one of the bikers!" she says.

At Gooseneck State Park, we meet a fellow from Southern Germany on a BMW Paris-Dakar. He has been in the U.S. for two months and has one more month left to explore. His English is sparse, but much better than my Hogan's Heroes German. We admire his bike as he proudly points out his customizations. Some topics don't need a lot of words.

August 4 Mexican Hat, Utah to Escalante, Utah

We are approaching a cliff face with a gravel (Brrr!) road with a 10% grade and switch backs. This may be my last entry. I'll have to have a talk with Geno when (if) I get back to Houston about the roads that the NW Road Captain is choosing. The following is my last will and testament:

I, Mike Green, being of sound body (so far) and dubious mental condition, leave all of my worldly possessions ...

Surprise! I lived. We ride through Natural Bridge National Monument and run into our friend from Germany again. The fine for walking on the bridge is a tempting $15. A picture of one of us on the bridge on our bike would be worth the money. Maybe next time.

We stop near Hanksville to put our raingear on again. Never expected to see so much rain out west. We ride through Capitol Reef Park in the rain, never stopping. We ride in the rain to Escalante and stop at a motel to dry out. The manager at the motel smiles when we ask about a restaurant that turns out to be the hangout for the town's high schoolers. She says the food is lousy, but there are lots of young girls. Her smile widens when she tells us about the girls. Hey! I'm not THAT old! It could happen.

August 5 Escalante, Utah to Beaver, Utah

OOPS! Set my watch alarm to 5:30 AM Houston time. After showers, dressing, etc., I look at my watch and realize it is now 5:30 local time. Sorry Joel.

What can I say? Bryce Canyon is fantastic, otherworldly. I can't forgive myself for not coming through here on previous trips. Zion is a zoo! Way too many people and it got worse as the day went on. A pack of Hell's Angels ride by. They don't wave back. When we leave Zion, there are no parking spaces and cars have jammed the lots. There are many Germans and Japanese in the park. Big tour buses bring them in continuously. Americans are outnumbered. Still, it's good to see them coming to the US. to spend their vacation money.

August 6 Beaver, Utah to Austin, Nevada

We ride to the old Frisco mining town. It is fenced off and run down. Just ruined buildings and graveyard ruled by jackrabbits and lizards.

Back on the road, we run into a little construction when we get into Nevada. We talk to a flag person while we wait our turn to ride on the gravel (Brrr) remains of the road. Joel informs me that they always use cute young ladies as flag people. Next time, I'm going to call the highway department, so I can include the roads under construction in my route.

The landscape becomes predictable. Rain in the ridge, dry in the basin, another ridge in ten to fifteen miles and more rain. I decide to ride through a backlit streamer of rain with the addition of just my jacket. Bad call. I stop again to put on the full face helmet and chaps. Everywhere we go, the rains are waiting. This continues until we get to Austin. (No, we're not lost. Austin, Nevada.) Tonight is the first rain they've had in Austin all summer.

Goals. They are important in life. We don't have one at the moment. After some discussion, we decide that we will pass on the west coast. Sturgis is our new goal.

August 7 Austin, Nevada to Elko, Nevada

We stop at the Harley dealer in Reno for essential supplies: T-shirts. On the way back east on interstate 80, we overtake some eastbound tumbleweeds. Not big enough to cause any damage, but an interesting challenge to get past them.

I win $8 in a little casino in Fallon when we stop for lunch. I cross the street and win big at an ATM and get $200. Back on the road again. Another pack of Hell's Angels passes us on the interstate. They don't wave back either. In Winnemucca, we stop for A&W root beer. Joel figures that we are the only ones going to Sturgis who would rather drink A&W than Miller. I inform him that Rod Leggett would prefer A&W over Miller. I hope Joel forgets to mention this to Rod (I am bluffing on this one).

Good news! More construction and more flag girls! We roll into Elko and stop at the KOA. On one side, there is a fellow from Manitoba on a Gold Wing. On the other side, there is a bearded fellow on a Heritage. He tells us that he is expecting eleven more people to share his campsite. The KOA is serving up a steak dinner, so we go for the steaks and eat, waiting for the pack. The pack finally rolls in after dark with drag pipes, two prospects who get a lot of good-natured ribbing, but no colors and no trouble. They are friendly people having a good time on the way to Sturgis.

August 8 Elko, Nevada to Idaho Falls, Idaho

I wake at 5 AM with the pack. There is lots of cursing and moaning from the previous night's drinking, punctuated with loud pipes. Felt like we were camping out with the NW chapter.

Observation: You know you're out west when there are cattle guards at the freeway entrances.

The Craters Of The Moon is volcanic flows that interrupt the grasses. The black lava is bare and lifeless. Only a few scattered plants have managed to find a foothold at all.

As we approach Idaho Falls, we see a pickup truck do a flip and leave the road just ahead of us. There's been an accident. By the time we verify that there no one is seriously injured (lucky people!) and I have dug my phone out of my saddlebag, two other people have already called 911 on their phones. The police are on the scene in five minutes. I wonder how many lives have been saved by cellular phones? They're everywhere.

I call my sister when we get to the motel in Idaho Falls. I ask her where she is and why she hadn't told me she had moved. She moved from Idaho Falls to Fayetteville, Tennessee a month ago. O.K., I already knew she had moved.

August 9 Idaho Falls, Idaho to Cody, Wyoming

We go to MacDonald's for breakfast. There are a lot of Harleys on trailers. Throughout the trip, we see lots of Harleys being hauled to Sturgis on trailers and in pickup trucks. There must be a lot of first-rate Harley mechanics in Sturgis working overtime to get them back on the road for the ride on Main Street.

Actually, it reminds me of Leica cameras. Leicas are some of the finest cameras made. Unfortunately, they are too popular with collectors with lots of money. Most of them collect dust in a collector's case instead of taking pictures. Harleys are great for riding. Too bad so many spend so much of their travel time on a trailer instead of making their own way down the road.

We ride through Yellowstone. More and more bikes. The park is crowded with other vehicles as well. The scents alternate between pine trees, wild flowers and sulfur from the geysers. I was overwhelmed by Bryce and Zion. Yellowstone surpasses them all. The mountains, streams, geysers and hot springs in real life transcend any pictures I have seen of them.

The ride from Yellowstone to Cody is fantastic. If you must limit yourself to one entrance to the park, make sure you use the eastern one through Cody. All of the motels are booked except for the expensive ones. We ride to the KOA outside of Cody. Rain is threatening again.

I really begin to wonder if Sturgis is really worth fighting the crowds for. Thermopolis is to the south and Colorado beckons as well. We decide to ride to Devil's tower. If we can find a place to stay there, we will be within striking distance of Sturgis.

August 10 Cody, Wyoming to Devil's Tower, Wyoming

At Bighorn National Forest, Joel stops at a turnoff. I decide to turn around on the steep road (10% grade), drive back and see what's up. Big mistake. Before you can say "Wrong lean angle, Mike," the bike is lying on its side. No damage, but Joel has to help me lift the loaded bike.

In Gillette, Joel loses his electronics and the bike won't start after we stop for gas. After investigation, we determine that the battery is the culprit. When Joel pulls the battery, he discovers that it has no water in it. He reinstalls the battery, adds water and the battery works a lot better. The voltage is bit high while the bike is running. We'll have to check the voltage regulator and watch the electrolyte level.

At dinner, a pretty woman catches Joel's eye. After all of the talk of Buffalo Bill at Cody, I think of the old Wild West Shows where they would do trick shooting over their shoulders with a mirror. I think I could have used the way Joel's eyes tracked her to shoot that woman. I probably would have hit her in a vital spot.

We find a campsite at the KOA at Devil's Tower. It is right next to Devil's Tower, really a prime location. We ride to the park and watch the sunset play itself out on the peak. Some mountain climbers finish their descent just as we arrive. They walk past, carrying their ropes and other equipment. I ask what was on the top and they tiredly growl, "Just flat ground." I guess it was a dumb question. At 9:00 PM, they show "Close Encounters Of The Third Kind" on a big screen TV at the KOA. You can watch the show and look past the screen to see the real Devil's Tower.

Joel listens to his radio and hears that highway 14A between Sturgis and Deadwood is closed. Time to go party in Deadwood -- not!

August 11 Devil's Tower, Wyoming to Wheatland, Wyoming

Sturgis! What can I say? More bikes than you thought were in the entire US.! You have to stop waving at the other bikes or ride one handed all day. We arrive at 9:00 A.M. and park on Main Street. We walk around and soak up the sights until noon. We use the back roads to sneak out of town. The streets are almost completely impassable, even to motorcycles.

We ride to Mount Rushmore. The parking lot is jammed with motorcycles. Bikers are everywhere. I can imagine what an unsuspecting tourist will tell the folks back home: "The scenery out west was beautiful, but the entire area has been overrun by bikers."

We return to Wyoming on roads that have been completely destroyed. In Texas, they tear up one side at a time for a mile at a time, routing the traffic past on the other half of the road. In South Dakota and Wyoming, they just tear up the whole road for its entire width and length. You drive on graded dirt. Sometimes they spray water on the dirt to keep the dust down.

August 12 Wheatland, Wyoming to Denver, Colorado

A little rain again. Joel's low beam goes out. At the next gas stop, he has to peel his rain suit off his exhaust pipes. His pipes are now colored with plastic and etched with acid from his battery. Both bikes really look like they've been ridden now.

We ride to Estes Park with the intention of getting into Rocky Mountain National Park. The mountains are obscured by dark gray clouds and it's raining. I don't relish the idea of riding the mountain passes in a storm. Over lunch, we decide to head south toward Denver. Maybe we can ride out of the rain and turn west into the mountains down there.

August 13 Denver, Colorado to Canyon, Texas

In Raton, New Mexico, a fellow from Oklahoma asks if there is a picnic going on. He has seen hundreds of bikers on the road. We tell him about Sturgis. As soon as we turn east out of Raton, we leave the storm clouds behind and Texas greets us with blue skies.

We ride into Palo Duro Canyon at 8:10 P.M. They put on a musical play called "Texas" at 8:30. We make it for the performance. It feels good to be back in Texas. I always feel like I'm "home" when I get back into Texas, even if I'm all the way across the state from Houston. After the play, we set up camp in the dark. I'm asleep almost before I get the tent set up.

August 14 Canyon, Texas to Houston, Texas

Now my home is calling me. Rather than stop in Austin for the night, we push on and get back to Houston after a long day on the road. This is the first time I have arrived home early.

August 15 Houston, Texas

I sleep most of Sunday away. Such luxury! I unload the bike and unpack. Somehow it seems strange to sleep in the same place for two nights and not feel the wind or ride the road.

In fifteen days we covered 5,391 miles. Aside from Joel's voltage regulator, we never had any problems that stopped the bikes. Joel's bike had a series of little problems that were annoying and Joel was a little disappointed that his new Harley wasn't perfect after all. My bike behaved itself, but it's already covered 40,000 miles. There's no need for it to prove itself imperfect.