The Making of an American Roadtrip

Aint she pretty?

As predicted, when I arrived in Central America the mobile phone service was never as smooth as the Sprint customer care representative said it would be. However, this detail was of a low priority for me when I spoke to her while eating breakfast in Houston's George Bush International Airport. I didn't have any pressing plans that would require me to communicate outside of available Wifi networks, so I filed this in the back of my mind as a "figure it out later" sort of detail.

My humble hostel while staying on Omotepe

A few months later, as I was riding a chicken bus to the small Nicaraguan village of San Jorge, I noticed that I had absolutely zero connectivity while scrolling through photos from my last few days in San Juan Del Sur. Up until this point in the trip, I usually had at least a few packets of data reaching my device from time to time, but now there was nothing. Zero.

A rainbow drops onto Volcan Maderas

After reaching San Jorge I hopped the ferry to the twin volcanoes sitting in the middle of a fresh water lake, a place commonly referred to as Isla de Omotepe. It was when I was sitting on a wooden bench at my small hostel, enjoying a cup of local coffee with my new friends - both human and animal - on this freshwater volcano island that I received quite a surprise. The surprise came in the form of a text message. Not a Facebook message. Not an email. A legitimate text message even as my Samsung Galaxy S6 was currently saying that I had absolutely zero mobile connectivity.

The message was from my old high school buddy, Anthony. He found out he was losing his job and wanted to take advantage of a few weeks during which his ex-wife would be watching the kids. After going back and forth via Facebook messenger once I found some Wifi, we decided on an activity that both of us had long been passionate about: Motorcycles. It was time for another American Roadtrip, and this one would again be on two wheels (my second in as many years). I suppose if Sprint was going to allow one rogue text message to reach my phone, I was glad it was that one.

New Human Friends

New Animal Friend

I returned to the states in June for my college buddy Evan's bachelor party in New Orleans. It was Oyster Fest and the main grounds of the festival had various vendors supplying copious amounts of the slimy shellfish. The weekend was complete with the 2017 ACME Oyster Eating Championship. Watching Michelle Lesco of Tuscon, Arizona upset famed eating champ Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas by ingesting thirty-three dozen, that's 396 individual oysters in eight minutes, was just short of miraculous. We continued to devour grilled oysters and other local cuisine over the following days before the debauchery came to an end, and it was time to say goodbye to these friends until the wedding in July.

mmm...butter.

Upon leaving NOLA, I hopped a greyhound for a short trip north to the small Louisiana town of Denham Springs. To explain why I came to this town requires yet another back story. Almost a month prior while sitting in Lazybones Hostel in Leon, Nicaragua, I met a woman who worked for an international aid organization called All Hands Volunteers, and they were in search of more helpers for flood recovery efforts from a storm the previous year.

I'm clearly following the motto of "All Hands" in this photo.

Apparently, because the storm did not receive an official name, and also because of a little national media spectacle known as the 2016 Presidential election, not many people were aware of the massive flooding near Denham Springs, Louisiana. A natural disaster so damaging that, at the time and depending on certain metrics, it was the second most costliest in our nations's history. Only Superstorm Sandy had claimed more property damage and by some estimates this flooding caused more damage than Katrina. So, if you have a few extra bucks: Donate Here.

During my two weeks in Denham Springs, I kept my eye on Craigslist postings and sales sites around the country for a motorcycle I felt could make the roadtrip that Anthony and I had planned. I have only owned older Japanese models and my previous bike, a 1979 Honda CM400T made a trip from Iowa to San Diego in 2016. So I was willing to gamble on a older bike if it meant paying a little less. Also, as I hadn't worked a full time job in over a year at this point, my financial resources were drying up, so paying a little less was really my only option.

After almost pulling the trigger on a vintage Triumph that was currently being stored in North Carolina, I finally hit pay dirt when a 1982 Yamaha Maxim 650 appeared on my Cedar Rapids, Iowa Craigslist search. After a quick haggle exchange over text, the seller agreed to $860 and I had my buddy Ross go pick it up for me until I returned to Iowa.

A view of the Mississippi River off my wingtip.

I left Denham Springs and the travel logistics were cheaper for me to fly into Chicago and then catch a Megabus back to Iowa. I once again had the opportunity to spend time with one of my favorite couples, Brian and Kate, my go-to contacts for when I visit the Windy City. I'm very grateful for these two in my life, and they usually remind me of why having a partner in crime in this world is not a bad a thing. After exploring the city, Brian and I hit up a Cubs game and made sure to visit the World Series trophy still on display. I figured I better see this thing in case it was another hundred years before they win the next one.

After a five hour Megabus ride, I spent a few weeks back in the Midwest prepping the bike as much as possible to ensure it would make the trip. I had committed myself to only general maintenance items and any larger or more invasive fixes would have to wait until I arrived in Denver at the end of the trip. After a few hundred miles of test driving and some work on the brakes, I felt my new thirty-five year old piece of metal on two wheels would be sufficient enough to hold its own on such a journey. Our destination: Yellowstone.

Lily was sad to see me leave.

We departed Cedar Rapids early in the morning along Ellis Road - a winding road that follows the Cedar River until we reached the outskirts of town - and then we zigzagged our way through the countryside, and passed knee high cornfields, and traveled through the smaller towns of Shellsburg, Vinton, and Dysart. We casually rode west towards the South Dakota border just as the sun was setting over the horizon.

It's hard to really describe the feeling of bliss as your engine rumbles between your legs and you see the sun setting in front of you. I suppose the only negative to this experience is that, if you don't have a windshield on your bike, then you get an up close understanding of just how many bugs come out during dusk in the Midwest in July. Even if you're wearing a full face helmet, it doesn't take long before the smear of bug guts begins to clog your vision through the face shield. However, I'll take this little inconvenience for the freedom that only comes from a single man riding his motorcycle across one-third of the country with a friend.

To be continued...

Anthony patiently waiting for me to re-pack my gear along the road in South Dakota.

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Thanks for reading! Sorry about the hiatus over the Holidays. I was implementing edits on my larger manuscript about my Appalachian Trail hike. My book, External, follows my path along trail - including the people I met and the momma bears I ran into - concurrently with stories from my life that led to my decision to hike 2,189 miles through the woods. I just completed the substantive edits and re-submitted for the line and copy editing phase. This has definitely been a process and a learning curve, but it's been challenging and rewarding! Stay tuned for the rest of the roadtrip and more updates on the book.

-Dustin