7,200 Miles on a Harley

"Didn't you get on each other's nerves after being so close together for such a long period of time?"

"How can you pack so much in such a small space?"

"It's amazing you can still walk straight."

And the most commonly asked question: "Didn't your butt hurt?"

These are examples of some of the comments I heard after my husband Tim and I returned from our 7,226 mile summer of 2000 Harley Davidson excursion: destination Memphis, Tennessee.

So how do two people make preparations for a long motorcycle trip and coexist in harmony? All I know is what works for us. And my perspective, of course, is that of a passenger.

Packing for a long trip is indeed, a challenge. There are so many factors to consider when planning on what to take - your destination, activities, and when you'll be traveling. One must change one's thinking process from, "What do I want to take?" to "What do I need to take?"

Focus on the type of trip you will be taking. As Dale Borgeson writes in his article Motorcycle Touring for Beginners, "Trip planning can either be a big deal or trivial, depending on your style. Some people need to plan every detail and pick every nit. I think these people are anal, but they seem to enjoy it."

I tend to agree with him, but it is good to have a general idea of your travel style and where you are going. Do you want to just "haul ass" and go full-throttle until you arrive at your destination?

Travel editor Mary Cruse and her gang of motorcyclists roar through the wild landscape of America during their epic summer odyssey. photo courtesy of Mary Cruise

Packing was fairly simple: One extra pair of jeans, one denim long-sleeved shirt, one long-sleeved cotton T-shirt, two high-necked sleeveless shirts, two short-sleeved T-shirts, swimsuit, one pair of shorts, four underpants, three socks of varying thickness, and a black polyester mini-skirt.

Light-colored clothing is a good idea when traveling in the summer months - otherwise you will be baked like a Christmas goose. Perhaps the second part of that analogy is more "fitting" for selecting comfortable undergarments, which is also very important on a motorcycle.

My footwear consisted of Teva hiking sandals and a pair of hiking boots, which I wore on the bike and used for hiking. Other essentials included cotton scarves, sweat-proof sunscreen, toiletries, cell phone, maps, AAA Tour books, roadside geology books, camera, journal, address book, film, etc.

Our accommodation requirements were pretty basic. We wanted a place with a warm shower, a comfortable bed with no mystery stains on the bedspread, and clean carpet or flooring so you don't feel like you have to keep your socks on or else your feet will stick to something - or get nibbled on by something else. Of course, a pool and a hot tub are a definite bonus after a long day in the saddle.

Comfort depends on the motorcycle. Harley Davidson has been making rubber-mounted (less vibration, better shocks) touring bikes since the mid-'80s. This makes the ride much smoother than the old shake, rattle and roll days. So, contrary to what some of the women who write letters to biker magazines like Easyrider may say, the experience is not like sitting on a 7-foot vibrator. (That's one of those good news/ bad news, sort-of deals.)

One major decision concerns wearing a helmet. The idea of the wind in your hair (or across your scalp) and the feeling of freedom are both very appealing. I take photos as we barrel down the highway, so not wearing a helmet would open up my range of view, but it's about priorities.

Helmet laws vary in each state. The California law, which went into effect 1992, requires all riders and passengers to wear helmets. According to the California Highway Patrol, motorcycle fatalities decreased 38 percent between '91 and '93. The Department of Transportation reaffirms the safety of helmets, stating that "riders wearing a helmet have a 29 percent better chance of surviving a crash than riders without a helmet."

When driving about 15 mph through Yellowstone National Park, for example, it is so tempting to say, "Go for it; it would feel great." But all it takes is one yahoo tourist gawking at an elk to put an end to any feeling you would ever have again.

Weather is another safety and comfort consideration, especially if traveling in the southwestern United States in June. The weather can be variable, vicious and volatile. It is the time of year referred to as the "monsoon season." One minute the sky will be a bright blue, with temperatures in the high 90s, or even the 100s. Then suddenly it changes. Within an hour, the sky blackens as if a large demon is waking from a deep sleep and is rising up to block the bright heat of the sun with the breadth of its back. The demon claps its hands, roars loudly, and spews out fiery spit unto the earth.

Thunderstorms and lightning are unnerving enough when you are in a car, but on a motorcycle it is much more of a religious experience. Please God, watch over us and don't let us die today.

This is especially true when driving on an interstate with semis barreling down the glistening ribbon of asphalt at a splashing 60 to 70 mph. When the roads are dry, the truckers may excel their insanity to 85 mph. Then there is the wind and the vacuum factor caused by the multi-ton, multi-wheeled vehicles racing by a two-wheeled mass totaling around 1,300 pounds (including passengers and cargo).

When traveling on a motorcycle, the most important things to be are to be open-minded, flexible and positive. "To be" sounds so Zen, but so much is determined by one's state of mind.

Here is an example of flexibility: If you've already done the math - and realize that San Francisco to Washington, D.C., is only 2,840 miles, and Memphis is not as far as Washington - you may wonder where the 7,226 miles came from. Our original trip plan was 5,026 miles.

Although the weather had been favorable during most of our trip, we were heading into some potentially damaging and dangerous weather. Less then a week into our trip, tornado warnings were posted across Oklahoma and Arkansas. That was our plan-A route, directly across I-40.

After hours of watching the Weather Channel, reading and rereading the AAA Tour Books, and examining the maps, we made our decision. We would blast our way to Albuquerque, south to visit the UFO museum in Roswell, then to Carlsbad Caverns, I-10 southeast to Corpus Christi, up and over to New Orleans, then north to Memphis. This alternative route added about an extra 900 miles to the trip.

I'm glad we took the detour - it was incredible. The drive along the coastal rural roads of Texas and Louisiana were worth it.

"Look at the size of that roadrunner up there," exclaims Tim, referring to this object in the middle of the road. As we got closer, the roadrunner metamorphosed into a six-foot alligator. After that, we saw many pairs of eyes peering out of the canals that ran alongside the road.

Cruse and her husband Tim are prepped and ready to take on the road ahead — all 7,200 miles of it. photo courtesy of Mary Cruse

Without an open mind, we might have missed the world's largest hand-dug well or the world's largest pallasite meteorite. Besides Dodge City and numerous feed lots, those were two most memorable sights in Kansas. Except, of course, for the rugged, aged wooden windmills and the surreal cloud-painted sky.

We didn't stop at a cattle-feed lot - simply passed by them, held our breath, looked straight ahead, and drove by as fast as we safely could. Some of the feed lots seemed to go on for miles, the combined odor of death and dung clinging to the air.

In contrast, a highlight of our trip was the Carlsbad Caverns in southern New Mexico. The caves are huge and magical. We took the self-guided Natural Entrance Route. The trail steeply and circuitously descends 750 feet and led to The Big Room. It seemed as immense as the Superdome, filled with decorations. There are over 30 miles of caves, some connected, others with tiny entrances and pathways, available only to the advanced speleologist or caver. We only saw a small portion of this enchanting dwelling, with incredible stalactites and stalagmites, some weighing tons. It was a dazzling show of nature at work, patiently creating and destroying simultaneously.

An unexpected enchantment was Lake Pontchartrain near New Orleans. There are cypress trees growing in the water as far as the eye could see. Then there is the vibrancy of New Orleans: music filling the air of Bourbon Street, the southern hospitality, soft-shell crab po-boys, and delectable pecan pie.

We headed north and drove along the lush, verdant Mississippi Delta toward my Aunt Lucille's house in Memphis. There is so much history in Memphis. Tim and I had to go to Graceland (of course), the Mississippi River Museum, Lorraine Motel (where Martin Luther King was assassinated), Sun Studios (where Elvis was discovered), and Beale Street to rejoice the birthplace of the blues and home to rock 'n' roll. My cousin, Gary, made an excellent tour guide. After eating too many pork ribs and fried fish, it was time to leave the South - homeward to tofu, miso and sprouts.

It would take novels to describe the beauty and majesty of the Ozarks, the Colorado Rockies, Canyonlands and Arches National Parks, Capital Reef National Park, Lake Powell, Bryce Canyon, and so on. America the beautiful, indeed. We drank in the glorious diversity of the earth.

Then there is the man-made diversity of Las Vegas. By the time we got there we were about a week away from being home. We stayed one night and left early in an attempt to beat the heat. The Holiday Inn Read-A-Board across from our motel was already displaying 82 degrees at 6:30 a.m. Let's get going. And off we went.

It was early in the morning, and I was mentally ready to go through Death Valley. I'd been looking forward to it. I examined the map several times and was certain there would be a gas station near the entrance, and it was only about 79 miles through the desert. Add on another twenty miles or so on each side of the park to the next town. Tim is more cautious than I am.

"Okay, that might be cutting it close," I said, but I was certain there must be a gas station inside the park. "Let's stop at a gas station and ask someone," I suggested.

Cruising down the freeway at about 75 mph, Tim got very concerned about the possibility of running out of gas in Death Valley since we could only get between 125-160 miles per tank. He said, "I don't want to take any chances and run out of gas in the desert..." Nor did I. Thus, this was the beginning of our one and only blow up. Shortly thereafter, some remarks were made that punctured my cheerful, adventuresome self. Something about my being "controlling." Ouch! That is what happens when little things get on your nerves and you don't talk them out at the time. The little things build, and then explode. Open lines of communication should be maintained at all costs to avoid the explosion. In this case, it was too late, and detonation had occurred.

Now, I was feeling ticked off and thinking, Okay fine, I'll just take Greyhound home. Take me to the nearest desolate, seedy bus stop. Anything is better than putting up with this B.S.

This little emotional roller coaster took about 10 minutes. To make a short story shorter, we stopped at a gas station and got the details of if, and how many, gas stations are in Death Valley. There are actually three resorts within the park that provide services, including gas stations.

We talked things out, I stopped stewing, and we both apologized for our part in the "situation." We continued down the road through Death Valley, via Highway 190.

We stopped at Badwater, the lowest point (282 miles below sea level) in the Western Hemisphere. We kept as cool as we could in the 115 degree air by continually misting our clothes with a sprayer. We made it past the Devil's Golf Course, past the Devil's Cornfield, and safely through Death Valley, in plenty of time for a pyro-kinda sunset.

The horizon was incredibly beautiful as we approached Lone Pine for our evening stop. We could see Mt.Whitney in the distance, making the mountainous skyline breathtaking. The cloud-filled sky had cooled us with a gentle rain, so we were actually a little chilly. But the hot tub in our room heated us back up. After a good night's sleep, we were ready to go the next day.

Our final day of the trip was also the longest (465 miles). But it felt good to be heading home. As we drove past Reno and went over Donner Summit, the sights were getting more and more familiar.

For the next six hours or so, I played back the trip in my head. There was so much to reflect on: the beautiful places we had been to, how lucky we had been with the weather, the friendly faces that passed by us, the wonderful food and visiting with family.

I felt so overwhelmed with gratitude. Life, in itself, is a trip. Don't get too tweaked about the little petty things, and don't rush to get to the destination. Enjoy the journey. Be good to each other. After 7,226 miles and 28 days with my husband, I got to know him better. I got to know myself better, as well. I like what I learned and am looking forward to our next trip in the summer of 2001.

Niagara Falls, here we come.