Day Eight

Having ridden the last day in the mountains and knowing that the only thing between us and home was a ride across the prairies with the Mississippi River being the only significant landmark between Cheyenne and the garage in which my trusty steed would find rest and relief from my constant urging, there was a palpable lack of a sense of urgency in my preparations for the day. The sun came up without having the opportunity to shine a ray on the face of one of its most ardent admirers. The word lethargy took on the likeness of a superlative when applied to me that day.

I masked this by preparing my bike while Dirk was firing off his last few emails and getting my bike prepared for the road well ahead of him. I sat on the bench outside the motel, feet in the sun and the rest of me in the shade with neither valley nor mountain interrupting my eye’s search for the horizon. Today, I could see all nine miles that the curvature of the earth allowed. The knowledge that the next two day offered, nay, guaranteed that same certainty weighed heavily on me as I considered the reality that if, only if we turned west instead of east, inside of two hours we would be enjoying the twisties that the Laramie Mountain could serve up.

But, my experience told me that my rear tire would soon tire of pushing the considerable silhouette of my bike through the air, of keeping it off the ground as I flung all five hundred odd pounds of aluminum, steel and plastic at corners with a free abandon that mirrored, to some, the crazed dance of a wayward warthog. No, this tire would serve the rest of its useful life in the vertical plane as I made my way across the plains.

Dirk was soon ready and we were on our way. We had gotten into the rhythm of riding from tank to tank, stopping only to take pictures and with the plains offering nothing more than beans, grains and cattle to capture in the lens it was highly unlikely that we would stop for photos and that this would be a tank-to-tank day.

I tired easily and after the first hundred miles or so I had to stop for a quick rest and then I was able to ride through the rest of the first tank. After that I had to stop again after about another hundred miles to reduce the layers I was wearing and I was thankful that Dirk had to answer some emails and make a couple of calls because that meant a longer break but that was soon over.

As we were approaching the end of the second tank Dirk signaled that he was hungry and shortly after that I saw a billboard advertising Cracker Barrel about ten miles up the road. We made it there before we fainted. It was hot and muggy and we were tired and road weary and, while looking forward to returning home, not all that pleased to be leaving the mountains. After lunch and coffee we were both pretty perked up for the remaining 250 miles to Iowa City. That part passed pretty much without issue and we made just one stop for gas before we rode in under cover of darkness. My tire had made it all the way here without the cords showing. The reason we had chosen Iowa City was there is a good BMW dealership there and I would go to get my tire changed in the morning if need be.

Thankfully, I could start the next day knowing that I had enough rubber on there to at least get me into Indiana.

As was becoming normal on this trip most places were closed for the night when we pulled into town but there was an eatery in the strip mall next to the hotel that was open reasonably late so we went over for a bite and some bitter. They had a domestic beer special of buy one and get one free so I, naturally, availed myself of that opportunity to sample the best from the house of Busch and ordered a couple of pints of Bud ...... naturally followed by another order when the food came.

It also turned out to be a karaoke joint and we had to sit through excruciatingly poor renditions of songs mangled quite far beyond recognition by folks who didn’t stand a chance to make it to auditions to American Idol.

Last bite chewed and last swallow quaffed we put the aural pain behind us and headed for the hotel to settle in for the night before the last day on the road. From here the pair would be broken up into single rider formation for the last few hundred miles.