Pirsig Day 1 and 2. (July 8-9)

I leave cousin Jo Ann Musumeci behind, and head West.

It is now the first real day of the Robert Pirsig recreation (such as it will be) and I am thinking a lot about the book now. I had such a great time seeing old friends and discovering (re-discovering) a relative, but now it is time to get "serious."

After leaving Minneapolis one of the first things that I notice is that the terrain is beginning to really flatten out. The low rolling hills  around the Mississippi give way to a flat plane. This is still extremely agrarian country and the roads have begun to straighten and level,as well; when I think of farm country I think of rural Maryland, to the west of Frederick, or perhaps, more appropriately, the Eastern Panhandle of Maryland and Delaware through which I rode coming back from the shore. What we don't realize in the east is that even in the lower panhandle of the Delmarva Peninsula, as flat as it is, the eye is always stopped by the tree line or a rise or town: here the fields go on forever. As the country flattens out,  I've become aware that one can see much farther than I've ever been accustomed to seeing. I know that Montana is called "big sky" country but I feel as though I am already there. 

Not too far along in Minnesota, I take advantage of a rest stop, and it is extremely well-appointed, and i take some time out to chat with Mike, the maintenance superintendent of the rest stop. he admires my bike, and tells me how he and his wife go to Sturgis each year. We have a lovely conversation - motorcycles, not zen - and I get all the bugs cleaned off my visor (the bugs will become a constant as I get into the Plains states...)

I remember driving through Ireland and commenting on the fact that around every turn it seems, a castle or ruin would rise up from the terrain... in the West Plains castle ruins are replaced by the structures of agriculture, which rise like modern castles out of the glass-flat landscape. You can see from incredibly far away the shape rising up from the horizon and it grows and grows until you're upon it, and it is a silo, or grain elevator, or some other structure of modern agrarian economy sized to a scale that I've never seen before. Another thing I have noticed is that the roads often follow rail lines and the railway accommodates trains of a size I have also never seen. Across western Minnesota I pace a train to the south that seems to be at least 3 miles long. There is the occasional overpass, but for the most part the land flattens out to a Euclidean plan and eventually the only variation is the modulation of green denoted by the planting of different crops. 

From a distance, this looked just like a medieval castle...

Even in this terrain I am surprised to discover that the landscape can take 180 degree turn with almost no warning; halfway through my ride I realize that a breeze has picked up; the breeze becomes wind but I have never ridden in a crosswind like this before. I remember many years ago, in the 80's,  on a beach trip, we had to evacuate the shore because of an oncoming hurricane. My friend Jason had ridden his motorcycle to the beach, and, as we were evacuating inland, he was out in front of us and we marveled at the sight of him riding in a straight line but leaned over at almost a 30° angle just to keep some tracking off the road because of the winds. This is what the second half of my day is like -  the wind is a constant 90° to my direction of travel and at least 40 mph all the time.

Shortly after the wind picks up, I am surprised to see a small lake to my right, then another to my left, and soon I am completely surrounded buy water on both sides; I realize I am traversing the Lake country of western Minnesota and the eastern Dakotas.

Not too long after leaving Minneapolis, the heat becomes oppressive again. My first destination is Ellendale,  North Dakota, but I make my first variation from the Pirsig route early on to avoid a storm to the north, and I wind up in Aberdeen, South Dakota, by  following Rte. 12 pretty much exactly parallel to Ellendale to the north. As I'm driving, I can see the storm dumping to the north, and when I meet up with riders who were also following the "ZAMM" trail (as they call it) they tell me that they barely managed to avoid the storm that included tornadoes and devastating hail. I hope Pirsig will forgive me, but I am relieved for my decision. I phone ahead to get a reservation in Aberdeen, and get a room in a motel that is also housing quite a few members of what I believe to be Army National Guard. 

You can see the storm I dodged off to the right (North)

This becomes my first attempt to strike up conversation, but it is completely ineffectual as they make it very clear that they are not allowed to (nor predisposed) to discuss politics or the state of the world, (much as one young woman (a corporal, I think) looked as though she would very much like to. I have booked the motel online but find, when I get there, that my confirmation number does not match -  although they have my reservation - and the night clerk cannot help me. I throw up my hands and pay again, unpack the bike,  and crash like a stone. I wake into oppressive heat, and attempt to deal with the overcharge with the day manager, as the night clerk suggested I do. UPDATE: Status still pending as of 7/13. The trip to Aberdeen has been a little brutal: over 300 miles on the straight edge roads and blistering heat, leaning half the way just to keep the bike from going off into one of the lakes. My next stop is Lemmon, North Dakota and it promises more of the same: this will prove to be one of my toughest but most rewarding rides, almost 350 miles. But I know that along this ride I'm going to cross the Missouri River, and  my connection with Robert Pirsig's narration will deepen as we enter reservation territory.

I stop for lunch in Bowdle, ND, and take a moment to wander through the town. Such as it is. While everything natural is much larger out here, everything "human", it sometimes feels, is smaller. It's hot as hell, and the only sound outside the Bowdle luncheonette is the flag rope clanging against the pole across the street. Then, I am off to Mobridge to cross the great river.

The GoPro has remained the bane of my existence: I simply did not spend enough time trying to familiarize myself with the function before I left, the Bluetooth connection with the phone app I am trying to used to control it is dodgy, and I suspect that the speeds I am traveling are too high for it to remain reliably focused ahead of me...  but I vow to get video as I crossed the Missouri, as this is a moment that Pirsig has emphasized in the narrative and I know that the terrain is going to change dramatically after the crossing. This will also be my first time in "reservation territory" and I am looking forward just seeing what that will feel like, in this time of political upheaval, partisan division,  conversations about race, etc.  out of procreation I cannot help but reflect on the fact that before any other divisions occurred, our nation, as we know it today,  was built on the backs of the native populations we displaced. As a white man traveling into "Indian" territory I'm mildly apprehensive but fascinated to see what the culture looks like in the 21st-century.  

I cross the Missouri at Mobridge, just as Pirsig did,  and as I wind my way up the bank on the far side change in the terrain is dramatic. Every mile I travel west from the Missouri I'm increasingly aware of being in the High Plains. I'm entering the landscape that shaped the mythos of the American West. I seek lodging in Lemmon, where Pirsig stayed, but nothing is available, and so I move on until I can find a room. I find a room just a little further on in Hettinger,  and bunk down for the night; from Hettinger, I will move into Montana on the following day. At a gas station in Hettinger, I meet Marcus and John, two fellow travelers, who are also on cycles and tracing the Pirsig route for this, the fiftieth anniversary of the original ride.

The Missouri comes into sight

Now, that's a pretty river...

Look: Hills!!!

Also - I finally saw cows.

THE HIGH COUNTRY.

7/13/18 (Originally)

Okay. Two things.This is the first post I am attempting to write using voice to text; and I am doing this post out of order because I want to get it down as quickly as I can - there are several posts still being edited that come between the "bang bang kiss kiss" post and this. Also, if you are reading this first please notice that I have finished editing "bang bang kiss kiss" and added photographs. Yes, I know that it has been almost a week - I'm just exhausted. God, am I exhausted.

I realize now, thinking about it, that yesterday is a day I have been anticipating since I first conceived of this journey. Although Pirsig does not mention it by name, it is clear from reading the book that the route they follow take them over the Beartooth Pass. Now, if you are motorcyclist, you know that the Beartooth Highway is on the the "top three roads to ride" list of any motorcyclist. The Tail of the Dragon on the border between North Carolina and Tennessee is another, and the third will vary, probably, depending on where the motorcyclist lives. I have now ridden two of the three, and I can tell you, with no lack of certainty, that if I had to do one again (and again) it would be the Beartooth Highway. One of the challenges of riding the highway, is, of course, that it is only possible about three months out of the year: when we traversed the pass, I saw some of the heavy machinery, off to the side of the road, that they used to clear the pass when it becomes possible, and let me tell you: that is some seriously heavy equipment. But, anyway, I have been posting (on Facebook) some shares from "ZMMQuality: On Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" a Facebook page to which I belong.

Photo of Chris, John and Sylvia at Beartooth Pass
ZMM Quality

They have been posting every day since the anniversary of the beginning of Pirsig's ride and there is a photo there from their time, going across the Beartooth pass. Pirsig really launches into the philosophical portion of the book at this point, and it becomes clear that he is drawing an analogy between the "High Country" and what he calls the "High Country of the Mind"

It all makes sense now.

In this place, one has access to what C.S. Lewis referred to as "The Numinous" - a sense of the divine that transcends morality, and simply inspires awe (and, if one is lucky, I think, gratitude).

Red Lodge - a charming "frontier" town.

Yesterday began cool, (what a relief!) I had stopped in Laurel, but I made my way to Red Lodge

John and Marcus at breakfast. I was late, and they were very patient.

to meet Elspeth Payne's friend Randy, and to meet the two other motorcyclists with whom I have occasionally joined on the road: Marcus and John. We are taking different approaches to following Pirsig's passage, but we are also equally aghast that we have not found any other motorcyclists following Pirsig's  route, as far as we can tell on the 50th anniversary of the ride. I suppose we three are the ultimate effete  ninnies of the motorcycling world.  At any rate, on the recommendation of Randy, we all met at the red Lodge Café for a 

hearty breakfast. I hope I remembered to get a photograph of the unbelievably tacky sign outside the café. We enjoyed our breakfast and Randy joined us when we were near completion. We all sat and chatted (as I have been unable to with anyone else - more on that later -  about the state of world affairs. And then Marcus and John headed off on their bikes immediately. I took a brief tour of Red Lodge with Randy who was kind enough to direct me to a Trail outfitters, where I could get a bedroll - I have been traveling with only a sleeping pad to put it inside my tent, and do not have a sleeping bag and Randy was concerned that my neck would be exposed on our trip over the pass, so I am now the proud owner of a BUFF - (Google it).

Randy in front of the bank that Butch Cassidy utterly failed to rob.

But I was also fortunate enough to get a sort of backpackers quilt that I can use as a bed cover should I decide to camp - which, given the cost of motel rooms in this part of the world, I think I will be doing soon.


At any rate, as I noted in the previous blog post I was, upon arriving in Laurel, able to discern the mountains in the distance above the foothills: a ghostly shadow, delineating what I realized would be the first real mountains I have ever seen in my life, hovering over the clear outlines of the foothills. As one nears Red Lodge, they grow in one's field of view precipitously, but, at first for someone who has lived in Central Maryland and traveled extensively up-and-down West Virginia, my response was "meh" - I've seen mountains before.

This looks like West Virginia - what's the big dea-

Oh.

Oh.

They just keep getting bigger.

And bigger.

It doesn't take long for that "meh" impression to be completely and forever dispelled - as we begin to rise up, the majesty of the mountains surrounding us is genuinely awe-inspiring - and those who know me know: I don't say that easily. Additionally,  the realization that we are going to be climbing those (on a motorcycle) is a little bit terrifying. But, the Beartooth Highway is as enjoyable a road for a motorcyclist as one can imagine.

And I realize that if only briefly, on this entire journey,  for ONE day I am going to be the envy of every motorcyclist here. I have endured a constantly sore butt, horrible back spasms and pain,
joint aches and pains in my elbows and shoulders, you name it, all because I chose to bring the bike I brought, that most motorcyclists, who have chosen far more suitable machines for their long-distance trek, do not have to endure - but for one brief day, I am going to be traveling the roads for which my machine was actually designed. And I lick my chops with anticipation.

Beyond that,  words literally fail - something else that will sound odd, coming from me... but:

Following will be the pictures that I was able to take with my phone while I travel the highway, bridged the Pass and came back down. There will be far better photos up on the photograph site, because for the first time, I regularly employed my grown-up camera, and getting those to the web will be more time consuming than this post permits.

Nothing else can possibly do justice to the vistas surrounding the roads I traveled. It is simply one of the two most beautiful places I have ever been (the other being The Dingle Peninsula of Ireland, and parenthetically, in many ways for the same reasons)

But for now I'm going to shut up. I leave you to the photographs.

This is one of those times that I missed a real opportunity - this couple was lovely (they took the picture of me above - and they live in Peoria. I am going THROUGH Peoria - on the way home, in theory - so if I had gotten contact info, I could have met up with them, assuming they were home before me. 

I'm thinking of doing a picture book of the journey - if I do, this will be the last page: sunset selfie.

            (Note: it did...)

Days 4-7 - Bang-Bang, Kiss,Kiss.

The Fourth of July was lovely - but Hot as Hades. Christopher kept my string of hearty breakfasts going by rising and making us bangers and eggs, because he loves us, and Elspeth shared her last remaining very good coffee from a lovely press. It''s nice to know I am not the only one who has traded some of his booze elitism for caffeine elitism.

Chris and Elspeth outside their amazing apartment.

Tuesday dawned hot as well, and I had trouble motivating myself to get up and get going. First, there was a shopping trip, while I was still in Chicago, to try and get some items that I had left behind in the rush: a charger for my FitBit, boots, (yes, it's an embarrassing story, but I left my new riding boots at the foot of the steps in my apartment - I was in that much of a rush to get on the road - rode off in my New Balance shoes that I had put on to ease the up and down the steps to load the bike) but Target (and a Kmart) that I found not far from their apartment, to the rescue! Then the process of loading the bike again, in the heat and sticky, from the second floor apartment, and off to the races again. (I left behind items in Chicago, too - I am traversing the midwest "trailing shards of glory"...

UPDATE: CHIRS, KEITH FROM THE DEALERSHIP IN WEST CHICAGO CALLED TO SAY THAT'S WHERE I LEFT MY VISOR SLING. IF YOU HAVE A CHANCE....

Elspeth was insistent that I contact a friend of hers from way back; she made sure of it by giving me this post-it. Also, to see into her mind, see the previous post on my itinerary - I mistakenly left it open for editing while she was about. She's devious. 

UPDATE: YES, ELSPETH, WE MET. SEE FUTURE POST ON RED LODGE, ETC.

The heat was oppressive from Chicago to the outskirts of Wisconsin, but as I made Madison, the air dried, and the sun backed off a little. I arrived at the home of my dear college friend, Carol Cizauskas, and her lovely husband Don, later than I would have preferred, but Carol had ordered a pizza, and made a lovely salad, and we sat out on their patio, caught up, and enjoyed a very nice dinner, despite the mosquitoes. Madison is a very attractive city, with great water views and a kind of cool, college town/capital city vibe, I didn't get to see too much of it, but what I did see was very inviting. 

Don works nights, and very kindly gave up his bed, so I didn't have to couch surf, and I took my time getting up in the a.m., after waking to say goodbye to Carol, and share excellent French-press coffee. (NOTE: motif warning....) I've been blessed to be able to reconnect with loved ones and catch up in the early stages of this venture. I headed out to get breakfast at a place recommended by Carol, called The Weary Traveler (how apropos!) but it turned out to be not open until 11:30, so it was really more of a lunch. 

Carol and I get a goodbye selfie.

I couldn't help myself.

I stayed there quite a while, putting finishing touches on a design submission for a show for next season (Illyria, at Ac=vant-Bard), and then was shocked to find that the restaurant had no wi-fi; that set me off in search of a coffee house that THEY recommended, so I could forward the drawing. That brought me to Mother Fool, a coffee house that has a very college town art house aesthetic (and really good cold brew). Drawing sent, and on with the mission... 

The coffee bar at Mother Fool.

Leaving Madison, I was first really aware of the changes in the landscape. The rolling hills were familiar, but the foliage changed - the greens were more varied and often deeper than we are used to back east, and the native vegetation was all different textures. The one thing I was most aware of, crossing the "Dairy State" is that I saw no cows from the road. Seriously, not a single cow. Either they were all working very, very hard on our collective lactose intolerance, or they were on vacation.

I had been looking forward to this moment, because, as I may have mentioned before, I have never been west of the Mississippi; and this would be the day. I was counting down the miles, and as I cam over the rise, and saw the river below me, I located a spot to pull over, and took as many vistas of the great river as I could... I even imagined I could see an old-fashioned "river boat" up the water a ways. I crossed what had been, for  me, apparently a barrier, with a sense of emerging optimism and excitement - everything from hereon out was New World. (I would find out later that what i has assumed was the "mighty Mississippi" was, in fact, the St. Clair, and that I actualy crossed the "Big River" later on, mistaking it for a creek. Assumptions....)

After the river crossing, it wasn't long before I was passing through St. Paul on my way to Minneapolis, and my cousin Jo Ann's house, Now, Jo Ann Musumeci and I haven't seen each other since I was a young boy, and I was more than a little trepidatious about the reunion. I had no idea what to expect... Suffice to say that:

• She is definitely  a Musumeci
• I should have her genes (and her energy)
• I feel I have not just met a relative, but made a new friend.

We share a number of interests and proclivities, and got on very well - she was an exceptional host, and I hope I was not too burdensome a guest. I also saw, in what I realize now was less than two days, more of Minneapolis than I would have thought possible. Jo Ann is super involved in the city and her neighborhood; she took me down the greenway, and the arts district, and we got to tour a few theatres, not just the Guthrie, and met the artistic director of one of the small theatres when we toured one of the mid-sized theatres where she worked as a box office manager. (Jungle Theatre seems super cool, and the AD of Dark and Stormy Theatre works there. Watch for her - she's a dynamo.) We toured a theatre in a bowling alley, and hit a number of cool restaurants. I walked more in Minneapolis than I have anywhere all summer, and I am still feeling it today ;-)

There is amazing grafitti in Minneapolis

There is a theatre inside this bowling alley

See?

Jungle Theatre is super cool.

All the lobby art is done by the founding director, I am told...

View out the "bridge" of the new Guthrie. My feelings about this whole complex are complicated. (If you have ever heard me rant about the Mead Center, you will get it.)

All the waterways

Other bonuses - Jo Ann is an audiophile, so we listened to a lot of cool music, and she has a garage!!!  I didn't have to unpack and repack the bike, which was a real blessing. While waking up at Jo Ann's on the 8th, and scrolling through my "feed", I discovered that, entirely by accident, I would be setting out from Minneapolis on the "Pirsig" portion of the ride on exactly the same date 50 years later. Omens.

I had known only that Pirsig started in July, and since I decided to start all the way at the shore in Delaware, I didn't want to know what the "correct" date was to leave Minneapolis - my timetable is supposed to have some slack in it. But lo and behold, circumstances conspired ( I actually reworked my schedule so that I could stay longer in Minneapolis and see a friend from college before I left and still spend time with Jo Ann) and I was setting out on the exact day that Pirsig did. Now, I want to make it very clear that I am not going to try and replicate the journey day by day - I am already varying it by typing this from a hotel in Aberdeen, SD, rather than Ellendale, ND (or Oak - it varies, depending on which account you follow) but I zigged to avoid a bad storm system to the north (Pirsig would, I think, approve) and this was also the only hotel room I could find on the fly, using my phone.

Sunday morning dawned bright and lovely in Minneapolis, and I loaded the bike with the few things i had taken off, said my farewells to Jo Ann, with a promise to return to the twin cities, and headed off to met college friend Heather Fraser for breakfast.

I have aged more on this journey than heather has in 35 years. Life is unfair.

Heather and her partner Jonathan and their daughter Erin live in a town to the west  called Golden Valley, and it’s lovely, They sail, and Jonathan was just buying (or selling, I’m unclear) a new boat as I arrived, so he was outside and greeted me first. Heather and I had coffee inside while we caught up, briefly, and fended off their adorable pup, Sparky (I'm sad to say I have forgotten the name of the older, more refined canine.) and then, after Jonathan showed me his cool ’53 Willys Jeep, we headed out for breakfast at the Good Day Cafe. I have been mostly eating breakfasts as my main meal, as you have probably noticed, and the grilled egg sandwich I had at Heathers recommendation was exceptional - as were their version of home fries and the side of oatmeal I had. It was great fun to catch up with her life, and which friends from school we were still in touch with, and Heather had to be wrestled to the ground to even let me leave a tip for the meal - I am feeling awkward on this journey, as everyone feels they have to treat me as a guest, and I am… not great at accepting things. I took a little time to call Bonnie, since it was a Sunday, and after we caught up, I took a deep breath, and shot off into the wild yonder. 

(to be continued)


The WiFi in the Super 8 in Aberdeen SD is horrible. I will amend this and add photos when I get to a real server. If ever.

UPDATE: WIFI IN THE WEST IS A LIE!!!!! A CRUEL JOKE. VIDEO MAY NOT HAPPEN UNTIL I REACH SAN FRANCISCO. A LIE I TELL YOU!!!