After assuring our Facebook friends and followers that Todd was not going to die, we set off from Anamosa with at least three days to ride before we were expected to arrive in Denver. We had plans to hit some notable sites: Sturgis, Mount Rushmore, Devil’s Tower, Crazy Horse Monument, and others. The trials and tribulations began in earnest over these next few days, but we persevered.

How about THAT chicken strip?

Leaving Anamosa early on Monday afternoon, we hit a mix of two-lane and interstate highway, heading west across the state of Iowa.  The skies had cleared, but the wind was picking up.  We found ourselves leaning sideways at semi-illegal speeds on the open highway.  A constant 30mph crosswind from the south kept us fighting the handlebars, and wore a strip in our front tires about an inch left of center.  Long fuel breaks made it easier to get back on and deal with the effort of fighting the wind that threatened to pick my VFR up like a para-sail and toss it in front of the next truck I passed.  The hotel in Sioux City that night was a welcomed comfort, and we arrived not long after riding into the sunset.

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What can I say about the National Motorcycle Museum in Anamosa, Iowa?  It’s a museum. Full of motorcycles.

The museum is filled with all types of motorcycles, but mostly vintage pieces. There are a few items from movies (like one of the surviving Captain America bikes from “Easy Rider”), as well as one of Evel Kneivel’s bikes and one-off show pieces from Arlen Ness.  There are a few sections that pay homage to personalities that made motorcycling popular, such as the first women’s motorcycle club in the USA. There is the Roadog, a huge one-off machine that looks like a two-wheeled freight train. The most impressive display is a mocked-up section of board-track, displaying the race bikes from the days when brave men raced on a banked wooden oval.

All in all, it’s very diverse. But to be honest, I didn’t take any notes, so it would be futile to try and recount any of the displays in detail.  If I told you all the ins and outs of the displays, along with the high-resolution photos, there would be little reason to visit.  However, if you are anywhere near the area, or are planning a trip across the plains states, this is a great place to spend a few hours.

One thing I will never forget about the National Motorcycle Museum, is that there is an emergency medical clinic right across the street…

Images of asphalt passing by my feet at break-neck speeds, sounds of four thumping cylinders revving harmoniously, and the smell of cooked beef haunted my brain until finally my iPhone’s alarm stirred me out of my sleep.  It was 7:30am and we were in Chicago! Checkout wasn’t until at least 11, but we had a city to meet.  Our bikes were across town, so we’d have to hoof it.

Walking around Chicago

Street clothes and walking shoes on, cameras hanging from our necks, we were in full tourist mode as we wandered out of the River Hotel and onto the streets of downtown Chicago. We wandered near the river walk, and eventually found ourselves down by the Navy Pier. It was a nice lazy Sunday morning, gazing out over Lake Michigan, gazing in at the Chicago skyline, and snapping dozens of photos of both.  After about two hours of walking and picture-taking, we were nearly back to the hotel and Art was on his way to pick us up. By 11:30am the bikes were loaded, we had checked out of the hotel, and were ready to roll.

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Why did we want to get to Chicago on the first day?  Todd was coming from his home in Laurel, Maryland (about halfway between D.C. and Baltimore) and I left from my girlfriend Michele’s house near Pottsville, PA, with plans to make it to Chicago in time for dinner at Morton’s Steak House.  Lofty, for sure, but so were our plans for the rest of the trip.  There were difficult times, but we pulled it off.  All of it.

Hot coffee on a cold morning in Breezewood, PA

The decision to make Chicago by the end of Day One was a mutual one, prompted by Todd’s desire to kick-off the trip with a magnificent dinner at Morton’s, and my philosophy that anything short of Chicago could be considered weekend-trip territory.  So, to make the first day’s dinner memorable, and to avoid wasting epic-vacation time in areas we could see in a long weekend, we both headed out from our points of origin around o’dark-thirty on Saturday, September 18th, 2010.  Two icy hours of highway riding later, we were chatting over hot coffee at a Sheetz fuel station in Breezewood, PA, just off I-76 (the Pennsylvania Turnpike), still under the night sky.

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