A great opportunity presented itself to me in the middle of August 1998. My granddaughter needed to relocate to the northwest and she was fearful of driving a large rental truck plus towing a car all the way to Tacoma, WA. I agreed to do it for her. All she had to do was leave room for a couple of motorcycles.

I decided to call a friend of mine to see if he would be interested in making the trip with me. After much discussion, my friend and I agreed to take our big bikes. I have a CB1000 and he has a V-Max. No trouble returning to Tennessee on that type of iron.

I picked up the truck on Tuesday, August 11th. When I called my friend to give him our estimated departure time, my friend suddenly had a change of heart and started making excuses as to why he couldn’t make the trip after all. None of them sounded good enough to miss a trip like this. Knowing him like I do and knowing that he is almost always ready for a new adventure, I began to suspect that the new girlfriend in his life was coming between him and his bike.

Refusing to let this setback put a damper on my trip, I decided to turn it into a new challenge. I have a 1992 CB250 Nighthawk that I use for short trips, plus local riding. At the time it had 11,500 miles on the clock. This bike has never let me down. A few years ago, my wife and I toured the state of Arkansas on my Nighthawk and her 250 Rebel. She had just finished her Safe Riders Course and was still learning to ride. We rode about 250 miles a day, but her learning to ride and our trip to Arkansas is another story, maybe some other time.

I got the 14 foot box van and tow dolly loaded late Tuesday night. My 250 Nighthawk was right in back of the truck for easy access. Very nice. Bright and early Wednesday morning I pulled out , late of course. I left Murfreesboro on I-24 headed towards Nashville and up to Paducah Kentucky. From there I headed west on US 60 across the double bridges where the Ohio and Mississippi meet at Cairo Illinois. The view of these rivers is really beautiful.

From there to the river delta of Missouri, I passed about 100 miles of flat terrain until I reached the large rolling hills in Springfield Missouri. From there I went up to Omaha and took I-80 to Rock Springs, Wyoming.

To break the boredom, I took some back roads that parallel I-80 in Nebraska. That’s when the fear or stupidity of what I was about to do began to set in. I got to thinking of how easy it would have been to load my CB 1000. It has full weather protection, big road burner, and 800 miles a day is easy. I’ve done it many times.

Fortunately, about that time, I passed some bicycle riders who were crossing the USA on backroads, covering about 200 miles per day. I still can’t believe they can do that. Riding back from Seattle on my Nighthawk suddenly seemed like a piece of cake.

In Wyoming, you can take US 30 from Little America to Pocatello, Idaho, missing the Salt Lake area. It’s a very nice road and offers excellent scenery. From there on to the Blue Mountains of Oregon on I-80. This road maintains a fairly steep grade all the way into Pendleton, Oregon. It’s worth every mile of it. The view of Mt. Hood is fantastic.

From there, I took I-84, which runs beside the Columbia river for about 150 to 200 miles. Then over to I-5 and up to Tacoma. Upon arriving Saturday evening, My granddaughter, her husband, and I unloaded their belongings and I got some much needed rest. I was already dreaming about my trip home on the 250 Nighthawk. I really wanted to stay until Monday, but like most riders, I got the itch to load up and let her roll.

Sunday morning, I was out early checking my gear. I have soft Vetter saddle bags, filled with Wheels of Man cold weather suit, Brooks leather jacket, Fieldsheer two piece rain suit in one side. On the other side was a small Coleman stove, coffee pot, cooking gear, tools, chain lube, spare tube, small air pump. On the passenger seat, I put a quick set tent, sleeping bag and a small duffel bag of clothes. Now I’m ready.

Heading out of Tacoma on side streets, I was looking for Hwy. 410. It will take you to Yakima by way of Mt. Rainier. I was told that it had not rained in Tacoma for weeks, well guess what? It starts raining. I didn’t ride 20 miles, before I had to stop and put on my rain suit and away we go. I rode in the rain all the way to the pass which has an elevation of 5400 feet. My 250 didn’t miss a beat. I had no loss of power at all, even though I thought the elevation would affect it. I was surprised. At the top, I put my jacket on under my rainsuit. It was so cold, my knees were knocking the gas tank. You could see the snow packs and almost reach out and touch them. My one consolation was that it had finally quit raining. I think it just got too cold to rain.

The road through the pass had changed to gravel & mud , somehow I knew that would happen. To add to my challenge, I had to cover about a six mile stretch behind motor homes, travel trailers, and VW micro busses . I finally made it to Yakima. All right. I’m on my way now.

From Yakima, I rode a short stretch of I-80 to Pasco, Washington, then took Hwy. 124 as a short cut to Hwy. 12 which took me to Lewiston, Idaho. There were wheat fields all the way to Idaho. What a surprise! The wheat had just been cut, the beautiful rolling hills were golden brown, and the sun to my back was getting low on the horizon, but still shining on the hills making them glow even more! Fantastic. What a sight. Made my way into Lewiston right at sunset. The camp area where I had planned to stay was a little too far out of town to get a good meal, so I decided to go to Motel 6. At the price of $36.00, I think they should change the name to Motel 36.

Day two started out with bright sunshine, but cool , about 37 degrees. I started out of Lewiston with my jacket on, but had to change to my cold weather suit before I got out of town. The sun was deceiving.

I had run 400 miles the previous day. I felt good and was ready to get with it. Heading east, Hwy. 12 wanders its way through the Nez Perce Indian reservation with the Lochsa river to your right and moderate size mountains on both sides. It was a beautiful ride up to Lolo pass on the Montana border , however it was not as spectacular as I dreamed it would be. There were no snow capped mountains or jagged peaks as I had expected. Well that was okay. I always heard that coming into Missoula, Montana was

one of the most beautiful sites in the country. I was somewhat disappointed. Coming into Missoula on Hwy. 12 & 93 did not provide a very good view as I felt stuck down in the Bitterroot Valley. Later I found out the best view is coming in on I-90 from the west.

It was 2:00 PM when I got to Missoula. There was still too much daylight left to stop. On to I-90 I went. The speed limit is posted as follows. "Prudent & Reasonable". Man they were moving on . I stuck to the right lane and maintained 60 to 65 mph. I’m laying claim to be the only one that has crossed Montana wide open & flat out.

Montana is a long state, 700 miles across, population 800,000 plus, and a lot of bears, so say some local residents at my last gas stop in Butte. Also spoke to two riders at that stop , they were on there way back to LA. One was riding a GS BMW, the other a 850 Lemans Moto Guzzi. They turned out to be a father & son team coming back from Alaska. These folks were loaded with more gear than I had in the rental truck!

Their path to Alaska took them to Prince Rupert. There they took a state ferry to Seward. Cost was said to be $250.00. Not bad at all. From there, they headed to Fairbanks, down to Whitehorse, over to the Alaska hwy through British Columbia, and down to Montana. Their report on Alaska was fantastic. Both of them made respectable comments about my ride. We all got back on I-90 , it only took them about four minutes to be out of site.

Thirty miles from Bozeman it started raining, huge thunderstorms. You could see the cloud tops, probably 30000 feet. It looked like the jet steam was ripping off the tops. This forced me to spend one more night in a motel. I found a mom & pop motel in Bozeman called the Rainbow Inn. That seemed appropriate, as by now there was an incredible rainbow that seemed to cover the entire Montana sky. The day ended with another 400 miles on the clock.

As I am not early riser, day three started about 8:00. A couple of donuts, some coffee in the lobby, and I’m ready to get started. A little chain lube, same procedure as the day before. No chain adjustment required. Back on to I-90 with the Black Hills of South Dakota my next destination.

East from Billings the terrain gets a little flat. All you can see is sky. Must be why its called big sky country. At the city of Crow Agency, I took Hwy 212 east through the Little Big Horn battlefield. The terrain gets a little hilly here, and there are hardly any trees at all. I got to wondering if the bureaucrats back east had sent General Custer out here as some sort of punishment. I really couldn’t see any reason for being here. Wonder if he felt that way also?

Twenty miles from the Wyoming boarder, to my surprise I run out of blacktop. More road repairs, all gravel. I had to follow an escort truck through the area for 20 miles. The worst of it was that I was bringing up the rear behind four cars and three tractor trailer rigs. After about six miles, construction workers put a water truck in the lead, turning the road into mud. At that point, I wondered if Alaska would be this way also. My little 250 was caked with mud. Not to worry. After I hit the South Dakota state line, the rain started. I was not surprised, You could really see it coming for the last two hours.

Belle Fourche is the first city on 212 in South Dakota. I Started looking for another Motel 6. On the sign it said $59.95. Well so much for economy. Skies were clearing, so I proceeded on to Spearfish, finding a city campground that was very nice. It didn’t take long to setup camp. I had another 400 mile day on the clock. Took a quick shower that was badly need after all the mud & dust of the day. Had a little supper downtown at a meat and three. I noticed all the waitress had the same accent as the actors in the movie Fargo! Sounded a little strange to me. I wonder what they thought when I dropped a few yawls on them?

Day four. Made a little coffee. Relaxed with a cup or three. Broke camp, packed up, and headed for Deadwood in search of a little breakfast. Found it for $0.79 cents at a local casino. Not one to take a chance, I took advantage of there meal deal and left. I win! The casinos in Deadwood seem to take away from the small town western charm.

On up to Sturgis. The bikers have been gone for a week now. Everybody seems friendly , but after riding through town, I can’t really see what draws them to this area. I always make Daytona in the spring. There is warm weather, beachfront, plenty of motorcycle shops, sand and surf. I can understand this.

On to Wall, the next stop on my tour. Usually I would not stop, but the billboards are impressive. Also it is time to buy the little woman a gift. As most of us married people know, we cannot return home with out some kind of gift. I do not think mine would let me in without one. Black Hills gold, of course. I pick out a bracelet that weighs about 8 pounds and cost $200,000.00 . I knew she would really like it, but I also knew the little 250 could not handle the extra weight. So I had to settle for the 1 oz, necklace. If only she would have bought me a Goldwing SE to travel on, I’m sure it would have handled the extra load!

I headed for the Badlands next down Hwy 240. I was impressed. It’s about a forty mile ride through the park. The cost is $5.00 for motorcycles and $10.00 cars. Somebody in government finally gave us a break! Multiple layers of colored rock that time, wind and rain has exposed, is such a contract to the rest of the area that it makes a very scenic view.

Upon exiting the park , I picked up State Road 44 east. It wanders through the Lakota Indian Reservation. I fueled up twice at some of the small markets. The people were particularly friendly.

Storm clouds building to the east forced me to head south into Nebraska on State Road 47. Nothing out here, but a few cattle, some lightning, and no place to take cover. Makes you a little nervous when you and a few cattle are the tallest things on the prairie. Called it a day in a little town called O`neill, Nebraska. That completed another 400 mile day.

Day five started with a minor chain adjustment and some lube. The oil was changed twice on this trip at thirteen hundred mile intervals, 1.6 qts. Easy to do. Stop at a quick change place for cars, ask to borrow a small drain pan, and in return, you’ll buy their oil. Just pull the plug, put it back in, filler up and go.

Got moving about 8:30 on Hwy 275 towards Omaha. Turned out to be a 200 mile ride to pick up I-80 in western Iowa . Long hills in this state. The smell of the hog farms just about got to me. Folks around here call it "the smell of money". If it where up to me, I would rather be broke.

When I stopped about 2:30 for lunch, I noticed that I had already run close to 300 miles . I must have really been moving! That is when the foolish Idea of a 1000 mile day crossed my mind. Could it be done on a CB 250? I have ridden 1000 mile days before, back in the 70’s, but always on larger bikes such as a CB750 or Z1900 and in the 80’s on a GS850.

The thought soon passed as my $9:00 hamburger steak arrived. The farm aroma did not seem to bother me now, as I was absolutely starved by this time. I made up for the excessive price by drinking six, maybe seven glasses of ice tea. Also something I had never seen before was taking place around my 250, which I could see out the window. Flies were having a feast of small and large insects that had managed to accumulate on my windshield and head light. We’re not talking about a few, probably 100 to 150. Strange!

Good thing I had finished eating before I noticed what was happening. The flies left pronto, when I got ready to go and fired her.

It was 6:30 by the time I got in to Moline, IL. The adrenaline was really pumping. I knew it was about 260 miles to my mother’s home in Terre Haute IN. From there to my home in Tennessee was 300 miles on the nose. That would make me a 1000 mile day plus.

I pick up I-74 and let her roll (60 mph ), on over to US-63 in Indiana which I reached at midnight. From there, it was only 50 miles to Terre Haute. Now here is the problem. The deer were so thick that I had seen seven in 50 miles. I began to wonder if a 1000 mile day is really worth the risk. I knew there would probably be more deer south of Terre Haute on US-41. With that weighing on my mind, I pulled in my mother’s driveway.

She knew I was coming, as I had called two hours before. The aroma of chocolate chip cookies greeted me at the door. I had arrived at 1:00 am with plenty of time left to go ahead, but the cookies and the milk, plus the site of her spare bedroom did me in. I was sawing logs in less than ten minutes.

In the morning, after a short lecture about my stupidity for riding a motorcycle, same one she has used for the last 40 years of riding, I headed south on US- 41 to Nashville. Thinking back a little, I wondered. If she did not want me riding, why did she buy be a new Cushman Super Eagle when I was eleven years old ?

The last 300 miles was what seemed like a long day. I was really exhausted from the previous day. It had turned out to be 760 miles.

I stopped by the local Honda shop on my back way into town. Nobody commented on all the luggage on my little 250 or the dirt & grime. The bike looked to me like it had been in Alaska. My face was so wind burned that I looked like an American Indian. I got back on my 250 and went on home. No fanfare at all.

The trip ended up being 2760 miles, six days. I would do it again but at a slower pace. !!!!!! want to go !!!!!!!! ?

JIM