TORQUE OF THE MATTER The King is Dead! Long live

The King is Dead! Long live the King!

By Wes Fleming #87301

MY BLUE ’05 GS HAD 52,000 MILES ON IT

when I became its third owner. A friend bought it new, traded it in after a couple of years, and the second owner—also a friend—bought it a few weeks later. Unfortunately, he wrecked it twice, once into a deer and once into a tree, so it was fully repaired but a little worse for wear when it came into my life.

The ‘05 R 1200 GS came standard with the first-generation partially integrated servo-assisted ABS system, which many of us call “whizzy” brakes. There wasn’t much else in the way of tech-forward rider aids on that bike, though from a technological standpoint, it was a big leap forward for BMW, what with the CAN bus electronics and overall improved designs of the cylinder heads, six-speed transmission and the more robust final drive with its “lifetime” lubrication. I liked the Vario side and top cases, but eventually replaced the side cases with Jesse aluminum panniers to take advantage of their top-opening convenience and rugged good looks.

Between 2010 and 2021, I put a mere 38,000 miles on the bike, but it seemed like the bike was always breaking down. A few months after I bought it, the drive shaft came apart, destroying the final drive in the process. It leaked fuel, first from the top (main) pump assembly and then from the side pump assembly— both faults later addressed by recalls. The aluminum rear wheel carrier cracked on both my original final drive and later on the replacement final drive as well. I went through several fuel strips before getting one that never went bad. I can’t use fifth gear for more than 30 seconds because the computer freaks out and requires a reset before the bike will start again; it only ever starts in neutral despite my replacing every ignition-related safety sensor on the bike. One of the shocks exploded, which led to an Öhlins upgrade.

The clutch also failed, leading to the most extensive, expensive,

frustrating and dramatic repair I’ve ever undertaken on any motorcycle. The last time I rode it, it greeted me with a flashing ABS light and rear brake circuit error codes, an early sign of failure in the ABS unit which can’t be easily rebuilt and costs a mint to replace. I’ve written about many of the problems I had with the ’05 GS right here in BMW Owners News, so regular readers are familiar and no doubt laughed uproariously when they saw my ad on the MOA Marketplace trying to sell the bike and its decade of accumulated parts.

With a cross-country trip planned for summer 2021—see you at the rally in Great Falls!—I wasn’t convinced the ’05 GS would be the right bike for the trip. I felt bad for losing faith in the motorcycle, but I decided it was time to move on to another bike. I joked about buying a Harley-Davidson Pan America in my April 2021 column, but after considering the second American-made adventure bike for a hot minute, I seriously looked at the S 1000 XR, going so far as to test ride two of them.

Despite liking nearly everything about the XR, I couldn’t quite close a deal on one. The GSes are simply more plentiful, easier to find in standard configurations and less likely to command a premium compared to the XR. My two unshakable requirements were no servo brakes and no dry clutch; no servo brakes knocked out 1150s and the 2005-06 1200s and no dry clutch eliminated the rest of the R-GS models up to 2013. I didn’t think an F 800 would be enough for me, knew I couldn’t afford a used 1250, and 850s aren’t plentiful enough on the used market to find a good deal, so that meant my target was a water-cooled 1200. I started looking, assisted in the endeavor by George Mangicaro, my compatriot and mentor in all things motorcycle mechanic-y, and indeed it was George who saw an ad on ADVrider for a 2015 R 1200 GS—blue, with 52,000 miles on it and currently on its second owner. Given those coincidences with my ’05 GS, I practically decided to buy the bike before speaking with its owner.

Matthew—who is now an MOA member—is from Virginia, just 75 miles from me, but due to the pandemic is working remotely from his girlfriend’s place in Los Angeles. We spoke on the phone, texted and traded emails setting the deal up. You can get many of the details of the deal in a video on YouTube at [[insert Bitly link to the video]]. Matthew wanted a smaller, more nimble motorcycle for riding around super-congested LA, and he didn’t have the space for two bikes.

Getting the bike from Los Angeles to Richmond, Virginia, wasn’t a big deal. Matthew recommended Haul Bikes (aka Daily Direct), the company he used to ship the bike from Virginia to California when he moved out there. I dealt with Haul Bikes in 2010 when my sidecar rig broke down in Colorado, so I was familiar, but I still did my due diligence, researching a number of companies before engaging with Haul Bikes. Haul Bikes had the best price-to-comfort ratio; they were neither the cheapest nor the most expensive, but for my $600, I felt quite confident Haul Bikes would transport the motorcycle carefully enough for it to arrive unbroken. I still chipped in for the zero-deductible insurance, just in case.

Matthew had a great idea on how to run the transaction, and I appreciated his creativity. I sent him a cashier’s check for half the purchase price up front—my leap of faith—and he sent me the Nav V unit and the bike’s paperwork, except the title. When Haul Bikes came to pick up the bike in LA, he sent me video of them loading the bike on the truck. I overnighted him another cashier’s check to complete payment, and at the same time he sent the title to me. With the title in hand, I was able to make an appointment with the DMV to get the paperwork squared away and transfer the plate from my ’05 GS to the ’15 GS. After that, I waited about a week before the bike arrived and I could ride it.

I called my nearest dealer (Morton’s BMW, Fredericksburg, Virginia) and had them look the bike up in BMW’s system. Their service writer Andy verified the work Matthew told me had been done just a few hundred miles before the sale, including the fork recall service. Whether it was sloppy work during the fork recall or Haul Bikes cinching the bike down by its handlebars, I noticed oil on the fork sliders and seals. Instead of trying to figure out where the fault was and seek recompense, I chose to eat the price of a new set of fork seals, about $50. You can see a video of the fork seal replacement on the MOA’s YouTube channel.

I had experience with a 2015 R 1200 RT, so I already knew what to expect from the quick shifter and other technological upgrades BMW made with the first-generation liquid-cooled boxers, and my first few rides on the bike helped me get used to slightly different ergonomics and vastly different performance compared to my ’05 GS. Starting next month, I’ll begin looking at the technology of the water-cooled boxers and the changes and upgrades I’ll make to the ’15 GS, starting with a suspension upgrade to get more life out of the stock Dynamic ESA system.

One thing I decided this time around is to take better care of my motorcycle—not just maintenance, but in all aspects. Instead of haphazardly bolting on this or that, I’m going to carefully consider what I want from the bike from the beginning, before it even arrives. I’m going to do my best to keep it clean and corrosion-free, and not let things slide until next time. It’s the most money I’ve ever spent on a used vehicle of any sort, and I want to ride it until it’s time to someday pick up a 2025 GS; maybe they’ll be hybrid electrics by then!

What Kind of Rider am I?

By Matt Wank #217542

What kind of rider am I? That’s a question I never even thought about asking myself until 2010, when I began riding. The twowheeled world was so far from my mind before then that if I were asked what kind of rider I was, I probably would have replied, “Writer? I barely even read!”

I read a bit more now, most recently finishing The Perfect Vehicle by Melissa Holbrook Pierson after seeing Ron Davis’ recommendation in his February 2021 BMW Owners News article “All you’ll ever need.” In her book, Pierson’s recollections and explanations of different riders and her own experiences got me thinking about what sort of rider I was. Because I own a BMW F 650 GS, I must be a 50-year-old adventure rider. But wait, I also have a Yamaha YZF-R6, so I must also be a 20-year-old with a death wish. These are oversimplifications, yet my thoughts led me back to 2010 when I first decided to get my M endorsement.

During my Motorcycle Safety Foundation course, I recall once having trouble finding the friction zone and trying to shift into second gear without stalling. With my head stuffed into a tight, full-face helmet, that was the first time I thought about what kind of rider I was. But it was in a fear of failure sort of way.

After finally reaching third gear, accompanied by the scolding of the instructor, I finally passed the MSF course and spent the next month practicing aboard a friend’s Honda Shadow 750. One day, as I attempted to pull into my driveway ahead of two pedestrians approaching the driveway, I found myself losing the race and braking hard during the middle of that turn to avoid something much worse. Using all of my strength to keep the bike upright as the disapproving pedestrians walked by, I again thought to myself

from within my borrowed full-face helmet what kind of rider I was—this time in a concern for my carelessness hurting others kind of way.

After that first month of practice and the accompanying growing pains, I rented a Harley-Davidson Sportster and took a 600-mile trip to do some whitewater rafting while thinking about purchasing the right bike. It was on my way home when I learned first-hand how the Venturi effect and gas pump air diaphragms work as I accidentally sprayed gasoline into my eyes. After a long rinse at the truck stop emergency eyewash station and as I washed fuel off that same borrowed helmet, I again thought, what kind of rider am I? But this time, in an embarrassed for my ignorance kind of way. After concluding that the Sportster was just as uncomfortable as a Sportbike and the more expensive option in the used market, I bought a Yamaha YZF-R6. Not long after buying that bike and while out on a ride, an abrupt end of highway turn caught me by surprise not only because I was unfamiliar with the road but also because I was unfamiliar with how quickly a machine that goes from 0 to 60 in 3.3 seconds can cover ground. After surviving the turn with an unexpected knee-drag, again I thought to myself beneath the steamy visor of my helmet–what kind of rider am I? This time in a concerned for my carelessness, hurting me sort of way.

About a year later, a coworker decided to get his M endorsement after we had been talking about motorcycles for several months. Once he completed the MSF course, I accompanied him to buy his first bike. Just as I did a year earlier, he chose a Sportbike and, for the next month, practiced alone, riding the slow and quiet streets near his home. Then, once he finally felt confident in his abilities, he asked me to join him for a ride. Though I agreed, I laid some ground rules, including that he would lead, and we would ride at his pace, and that at no point should he feel any pressure to go faster just because of me. Things were going well during our ride until we became surrounded by a small group of cars. Not feeling safe despite the slower speed we were traveling, I decided to jump ahead and escape. I soon realized my mistake of accelerating instead of slowing down to let the cars safely move ahead of us. When my friend saw me accelerate, he tried to do the same but got caught up in the sensation of speed. Just as I had done a year earlier,

My friend's 750cc Honda Shadow.

Riding the Tail of the Dragon.

the quickness of his motorcycle surprised him, but instead of being as lucky as I had been, he froze, and his front tire hit the curb, flipping the bike and throwing him off while spraying plastic and metal everywhere. Fortunately, he was unscathed beyond his minor road rash.

On that day, and every time I recall the accident, I ask myself what kind of rider am I? This time in an irresponsible leader kind of way. My coworker’s crash was an eye-opener in several other ways as well. Riding a machine designed to go fast and make tight turns, I realized I needed to do it in the right place and soon after the incident, decided to attend my first track day. There, after the last of six 15-minute sessions totaling about 150 turns, I pitted early. With my legs shaking from fatigue and barely able to properly squeeze the bike, I sat at a picnic table with my heart still racing. I can only compare the adrenalin rush I felt that day to a 60-second freefall from a plane flying at 10,000 feet. As I had many times before, I thought to myself what kind of rider I was, but in a chemicallyinduced, addiction sort of way. After my first track day, I didn’t think about anything except track days for about a month until a friend in Austin, Texas, bought a BMW F 650 GS and invited me to join him on a three-week tour

out west with me aboard a rented F 650 GS. After 4,000 glorious miles, I soon realized I had another motorcycle addiction, and after a few years and a few rented BMWs later, I had my own F 650 GS. Now, every time I walk near my bikes, both sitting side by side in the parking garage of my apartment complex, I’ll ask myself what kind of rider am I? But now, it’s in a confused, split personality kind of way. So, what kind of rider am I? No matter how many times I ask myself that question, I realize I’m still no closer to knowing the answer. Truthfully, I’m not sure it’s something I or any rider needs to know, and regardless of whether I look like an old adventure rider or a young hooligan, it doesn’t mean I’m either.

As much as I value being part of the BMW MOA or any other group for that matter, my membership doesn’t define who I am as a rider, just as none of the common rider definitions genuinely represent the people we are. Despite my inability to discover my rider-type, I’ve found my ride down memory lane invaluable and a journey I should take more often. After all, as motorcycle riders often say, it’s the journey and not the destination that matters.

Am I a rider with a death wish?

D.A.R.T. TRAINING

By Mark Hearon #209373 and Katelyn Hearon #216332

Before D.A.R.T., circa 2017

MARK: “I don’t like [dirt.] It’s all coarse, rough and irritating. And it gets everywhere.”

That infamous line from Anakin Skywalker in “Star Wars: Episode II” summarized my view of off-road riding for my first nine plus-years of motorcycling. Sure, I idolized Charley and Ewan, romanticized about gravel roads surrounded by rock covered mountains, and riding off into the sunset. I also never really pictured myself doing it. That would, after all, require an adventure bike, which as we all know aren’t really dirt bikes—just touring bikes that get really dirty.

Needless to say, as an R 1200 RS owner, I passed up my opportunity at GS-style adventure back in 2017 when I put my token in the BMW Financial Services coin slot and hit the play button. Smug and reassured at my own excellent decision making, I had to “... go home and rethink my life” once Kate bought a GS in 2018. I knew nothing about dirt riding, but I knew I would need to if I wanted to keep up, especially since she attended D.A.R.T.

KATELYN: I took a long time to get into motorcycling. A reluctant pillion, I longed for my own machine. Together with Mark, my ever-loving enabler, I spent hours analyzing YouTube videos of different motorcycles so I could make the best possible choice for a long-term first bike. Enter my beautiful G 310 GS, Trixie.

Like Mark, I also idolized Charley and Ewan and romanticized adventure travel. However, I knew my goal was to pick up my confidence and venture further afield. A big bike clearly wasn’t going to permit that at my stage of development.

Well, with Trixie that big day came, and Mark and I went on our first on-road/off-road moto trip in Colorado and New Mexico. That’s when girl met rut. Girl said, “Let me out!” and rut said, “Nope!”

I ate a huge piece of humble pie that day, and while it wasn’t the first time Trixie and I took soil samples together, this time it shook me because Mark and I weren’t near help. In the words of Bill Dragoo, “Bubbah ain’t coming.” I’d gotten us into adventure riding, so I wasn’t about to chicken out. When we got home (in one piece and quite chuffed with ourselves), I went looking for help and found the local liquor store, ahem, I mean D.A.R.T.

During D.A.R.T.

MARK: Dragoo Adventure Rider Training is like an epic fruit-andvegetable juice shot for your brain: It’s highly nutritious, flavorful, and if you’re not prepared for the metaphorical hit to your digestive system, it can cause temporary discomfort. That is to say, it’s mentally challenging. For me, that’s a rather good thing indeed.

In the moment, it can be quite difficult, but deep down you know you’ve done one of the best things you could possibly do for yourself and your ride. Bill, Ben and the support staff of coaches and scouts are nearly constant sources of encouragement. Pats on the back, cheers, rider-specific exercise modifications (e.g., tight turns around every other cone to save energy or pausing at the top of a hill to align for a descent), and even individual remediation are commonplace (i.e., you won’t get left behind). With a strong understanding of different learning styles (kinesthetic, visual, and aural) and a clear adult learning-centric approach, for two days I was transported to the closest thing this former middle school teacher could imagine a perfect classroom might be. KATELYN: This experience represented two major firsts: my first training apart from the MSF license course and my first solo motorcycle trip. Talk about piling it on! I neither wanted to be the only female, nor on the smallest bike. As luck would have it, I was indeed the only female and on the smallest bike. I prayed the guys would go easy on me, kind of like when Po meets the Furious Five for the first time and says, “Well, I’m not a master, but let’s just start at zero, level zero.” I was treated kindly and respectfully by everyone; my fears were entirely unfounded.

We covered everything: bike pick ups, body positioning, figure eights, slow speed races, emergency braking, failed hill climb recoveries, controlled hill ascents and descents, off-camber hills, muddy ruts, and even towing! Everyone had different levels of experience going in, but everyone came out with a grin and a sense of victory.

Bill, Ben, Susan and the support team were simply amazing! They could all see the fear in my eyes, but they also saw my determined spirit and helped draw it out. Bill pulled me aside at one point as my energy was waning and reminded me how many dragons I’d already slayed. It meant more than he could ever know. Not one to be outdone by dad, Ben sensed my rising negative self talk and shouted, “Butterflies, rainbows, puppies and happy thoughts—you got this!” He was right, I did.

After D.A.R.T

MARK: Certificate in hand, my bike covered in red clay and mud, and the smell of Oklahoma prairie grass frying on my header pipes, I felt like a newer, better version of myself. It’s hard to say I truly conquered anything in the physical world that’s unique in adventure riding. It probably isn’t a stretch, however, to say I did conquer one unique thing, and that’s me: my fear, my anxiety and my negative self-talk.

Riding through mud is now something I know I can do. Low traction isn’t something I fear any longer. Clutch control is now something I (metaphorically) worship. As a Tiger 800 XCA owner, I definitely feel like I’ve got the tiger by the tail and I’m not afraid to let it off the leash, either.

Hill climbs, tight U-turns in mud, balancing on one foot peg, even going wide-open-throttle through a miniature bog (which wasn’t planned, I must confess [I didn’t drop it!]) all feature highly on my list of takeaways and sources of untold amounts of helmet giggling on the 150-mile return trip down I-35. If this was Bill’s goal, then the D.A.R.T. hit the bullseye. KATELYN: I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. The coaching, support and encouragement were what I needed to be at my best when the odds felt like they were against me. I left D.A.R.T. raving about it to anyone who would listen, especially Mark, who finally enrolled. He’s now a fellow D.A.R.T.-ling.

I’m not going to lie, I still have some anxiety when it comes to off-road riding, but I now know that I can trust myself and my training and safely enjoy the process. I also surprised myself with what I was able to accomplish, and thanks to Bill and the team I felt like I earned the pannier stickers I collected. The D.A.R.T. sticker went straight on my windscreen because I’m too proud to hide it near the back of my bike.

Mark practicing emergency stopping above and hill stops below.

The Places We’re Going

Newly minted adventure riders are we, and for this duo, that’s a license to explore nature, ourselves and our bikes.

There’s something called a Backcountry Discovery Route (BDR) that sounds like the closest thing to Disneyland we can imagine. Our local BDR is in New Mexico. Once COVID-19 travel restrictions are lifted and we’re vaccinated, that’ll probably be our first adventure trip. Per Bill, I hear a great substitute to adventure riding is arriving at Starbucks while standing on your footpegs because it’s kinda badass. That may just have to suffice for the time being.

It’s Your Turn

Our D.A.R.T. experience wouldn’t have been possible without the Paul B. scholarship fund. Open to all riders, the MOA Foundation will contribute up to $250 toward continuing education for riders. We owe a tremendous level of gratitude to the foundation for supporting our training journey.

If you’re ready to D.A.R.T. over the horizon, you can apply for a grant at bmwmoa.org/page/paulb. To sign up for your own D.A.R.T. experience, reach out to Bill Dragoo at billdragoo.com.

BY MICHAEL BROWN #45061

MASTER TRAVELER-THAT TITLE HAS A GOOD RING TO IT.

Since I was 18, my passion for riding lies in curvy roads and seeing the world from two wheels. I took my first long-distance trip when I was 20, riding from the high plains of Texas to Key West and then back. After that ride, made with no rain suit and only a paper map, not to mention finding hotels in the dark and discovering places I did not know, I was hooked. I am still hooked some three decades later, but now I ride with better gear, more expendable cash and more vacation time.

There are several official Iron Butt Association Riders in our local club, the Dustbowl Beemers, and back in the ‘80s, we five riders made an IBA ride to raise money for the Shiners Hospital. While the IBA has many different rides, the one that piqued my interest was the National Parks Tour, a ride requiring visiting 25 states and 50 sites in less than one year. Initially, I thought I could knock those out in a few months, but things do not always go as planned.

After buying an annual National Parks Pass at Rocky Mountain National Park in July 2019, I thought I had begun, with one state and one National Park down. After returning home, I created a route that I could make over a three-day weekend. One of the IBA requirements is that most sites require proof of the visit, a stamp in your National Parks Passport, which would also mean the visit would need to take place during daylight hours.

Texas has a few National Park sites, but there are two not far from El Paso. I could stop by Carlsbad Caverns National Park as well as Guadalupe Mountains National Park. After El Paso, I rode to the Gila Dwellings National Monument before spending the night in Silver City. The road to the Cliff Dwellings alone is worth writing home about. The next day, I rode AZ 191 from Morenci to Alpine on my way home, another road that needs to be added to any bucket list. That brought my total to three states and six National Park sites in 16 days.

My next route was more involved. I had not seen my Canadian friend Trevor in six years and found out he would be in Virginia

for a week. Planning that route, I found Louisiana has one National Monument close to I-40 I could visit on my way east. I arrived at Poverty Point just before 5 p.m. but quickly realized August is too hot in Louisiana to roam around ATGATT. The next morning, as Vicksburg National Military Park was opening, a park employee asked if BMW made good motorcycles. I told him of course they do, and he asked about the K 1100 RS. I told him those are dang near bulletproof and he was not going to get any younger. I am hoping he took my advice.

Leaving Louisiana, I headed toward Chattanooga, Tennessee, and Lookout Mountain National Battlefield and Chickamauga National Military Park. There is a scarce .54 caliber rifle on display there that Tyler (Texas) Ordinance Works manufactured. Leaving that area, I made my way east across northern Georgia to Clemson, South Carolina, to spend the night and enjoy pizza at the Mellow Mushroom. The next morning, I visited Cowpens National Battlefield, where one of the scenes from the movie “The Patriot” is re-enacted. Trevor and his lovely wife were camped out at Hungry Mother’s State Park, Virginia, right next to a lake. Once I found their campsite, I set up my tent, and we went into town for supper, adult beverages and reminisced about our European motorcycle adventure, along with other riding experiences. The conversation was well past dark thirty before we returned to camp. The following morning, we rode the Back of the Dragon to Tazewell, Tennessee, ate breakfast at the Golden Arches, and ironed out some possible routes. The New River Gorge National River, the longest steel span bridge in the western hemisphere, was on my list.

The next morning, I was up early and headed to River Raisin National Battlefield, America’s greatest defeat in the war of 1812 and located just south of Detroit. I then rode north across the Mackinaw Bridge to Duluth, passing three of the Great Lakes, including Huron, Michigan and Superior along the way. Although not a National Site, I also rode to the northernmost point in the contiguous United States at Angle

Chickamauga Battlefield in Georgia.

Grand Canyon National Park.

Inlet, Minnesota. Upon my return to U.S. soil, I was briefly detained by the U.S. Customs as I suspect there are a few too many Mike Brown’s in the world. Upon my release, I made tracks across Minnesota and into Minot, North Dakota, just past sunset after stopping at the geographical center of North America. The next morning turned cold and wet as I headed to the Beartooth Beemer’s Rendezvous near Red Lodge, Montana. The ride through the Little Missouri River valley on ND-22 has some pretty awesome views.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park and Little Big Horn National Battlefield were somewhat along the way to the rally, which I made in time for supper. I rode the Beartooth Highway with a friend I met and then went through Yellowstone National Park to Mammoth Hot Springs. We had lunch at Fiesta En Jalisco in Livingston before heading back

home that Sunday after ten days on the road. The total for those two months was 21 sites, and 13 states visited!

In September of 2019, I had a long weekend, so I headed for Grants, New Mexico, right after work, hoping for a green chili fix in Albuquerque. After spending the night there, I headed to Desert View Watchtower and Grand Canyon National Park, arriving just before noon. After I picked up a few postcards and had lunch, I doubled back to Cameron, Arizona, and turned north to the impressive Glen Canyon Dam Bridge. From there, I continued to Highway 12 and Bryce Canyon National Park.

My dad, brother and I rode Highway 12 in the late ‘90s, and it is one of the most beautiful and diverse highways in the U.S., truly an All American Road! I made it to Capitol Reef National Park by 7:30 p.m., with its gorgeous red rock, boulder, and mesas, but unfortunately, I was too late for a stamp. I checked in at the RV park and went looking for dinner, but it was late, and I had to settle for the gas station food.

The next morning, I was up before the sun and headed toward Silverton, Colorado, to meet my buddy Tom and his wife. The downside to my early start was missing the rest of Capitol Reef, but the colors as the sun rose through the canyons were fantastic. From there, I gassed up and grabbed a quick breakfast at Hanksville. Utah 95 south crosses the Colorado River at Hite Crossing. After a quick stop at Natural Bridges and Hovenweep National Monuments, I was on my way to Mesa Verde National Park in Cortez, Colorado, as it started to get warm. Riding through Rico, Telluride, Ridgeway and Ouray before meeting Tom and his wife in the old mining town of Silverton, Colorado, kept me cool. That evening, we could have stayed up into the wee hours, but the town pretty much shut down at 10 p.m. As I look back over that day of riding through the high mountain ranges and desert floors, I can say it was one of my top ten riding days!

The next morning, after a great breakfast at the Brown Bear Café, it was 7:25 a.m. and a chilly 36 degrees when I left for home. The Million Dollar Highway to Durango was perfect, but a forest fire left a blanket of thick smoke all the way to Pagosa Springs. Although I have passed within three miles of Capulin Volcano National Monument a dozen times, I had never stopped to see it. Unfortunately for me, the road to the summit had collapsed, and I would not be viewing it this day either. I arrived home in time for dinner, and my impressive total for the three months of riding was 31 sites, and 15 states visited!

October brought cooler temperatures, fall colors and a horse jumping competition with my niece in Wilmington, Ohio. After work, I spent the night with in-laws at Lake Eufaula, Oklahoma. The next day, as I made good time through Memphis and Nashville, I made it to Mammoth Cave National Park in plenty of time before it closed. The Big Room, the largest chamber at

Mammoth Cave National Park.

Antietam National Battlefield. Carlsbad Caverns, is considerably larger than Mammoth. Knoxville, Tennessee, is where I laid my head down to sleep after supper.

The next morning, I discovered how popular the Great Smoky Mountain National Park is with tourists. I found it too crowded to experience its wonderful curves, but the views were incredible. Going through Asheville, North Carolina, and toward the Blue Ridge Parkway, I stopped at the Linn Cove Viaduct. My dad and I rode across the viaduct when it was only two years old on our way home from the ‘89 York, Pennsylvania, Rally. From there, I headed north through Mount Rogers National Recreational Area and then on to Martinsburg, West Virginia.

The next morning, crossing the Potomac River told me I was in Maryland. Antietam National Battlefield, home of America’s bloodiest day in history, was mostly devoid of tourists that day. I stopped at the National Cemetery on my way to Pennsylvania and Friendship Hill National Historic Site along the Monongahela River. The slab to Wilmington, Ohio, offered a few moments where the leaves were changing, and the sun was shining most of the way to see my niece jump her horse over unsuspecting barricades—an impressive sight for sure.

To my misfortune, the plant where I work suffered a near-catastrophic event, and my plans to make it to Homestead National Monument in Beatrice, Nebraska, would have to happen on another trip. I was 1,300 miles from home, and I’ve never tried to ride that many miles in one day, but I planned to be at work two days later.

I rode to Dayton Aviation Heritage Site and walked through the doors just as the site opened to make it home. Inside, the wonderful ranger looked at me, nudged her coworker, and said, “This man rides a BMW!” When I asked how she guessed that, she just smiled and said, “Because you have all your gear on.” Apparently, she used to ride an F 650 GS, but her knees would no longer allow that. I explained my dilemma at work, and she told me to follow her next door to the Wright Brothers Cycle Shop, where she gave me a personal tour.

In Springfield, Illinois, Lincoln Home National Historic Site was my next stop before turning south to Gateway National Park and then Oklahoma City. After riding through a horrendous supercell storm in the dark, I made it to work the next morning. The total for my four months was now 46 sites, and 23 states visited.

Though November brought unpredictable winter, a lovely December weekend took me to Fort Davis National Site, which upped my total to 47 sites and 23 states visited. March of 2020 brought COVID-19 which restricted traveling and closed businesses as well as National Parks. I thought this would all pass, and things would return to normal by last summer, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

With June came warmer temperatures and some partial openings, and I visited White Sands National Park in New Mexico and Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park in Colorado.

With more parks and hotels open, I needed a road trip for my July birthday, so I visited Washita Battlefield National Historic Site in Oklahoma in the morning and stopped for lunch before riding into Kansas and Fort Larned National Historic Site. The temperature was hot, riding across Kansas, and after reaching the geographic center of the U.S. in Lebanon, Kansas, cool, indoor seating wasn’t allowed, so a Burger King dinner and a good night’s sleep in Winner, South Dakota, was all I could find. That Saturday, I rode to the Minuteman Missile National Historic Site, Badlands National Park, and then up to Mount Rushmore National Memorial. The Black Hills were outstanding, as were the curves, weather and scenery.

I stopped at the BMW shop in Sturgis but couldn’t find a t-shirt I liked, so I headed to Devils Tower, the first national U.S. monument. There was plenty of daylight left when I arrived at the hotel in Gillette, Wyoming, on Saturday evening. The next morning, I was on the road before sunrise and stopped at Douglas, Wyoming, for coffee and a M.O.A.B (Mother of all Burritos)! Back on the road, I arrived at Fort Laramie National Historic Site before it opened, then knocked out my

Fort Union National Monument.

Utah's Glen Canyon Bridge. last state with a visit to Scotts Bluff National Monument in Gering, Nebraska, before making an uneventful ride back home to Lubbock, Texas.

Traveling in 2020 was difficult, and though fuel and hotels were easy to find, sometimes the only meals available were at the convenience stores. The usual motorcycle traffic in the riding season was thin, with almost all rallies canceled.

Overall, I traveled more than 14,000 miles, accumulated 58 sites and 27 states, experienced one handcuff event, and received no traffic awards. Happiness is not a destination but a journey.

Scotts Bluff, Nebraska.

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