Well, the sunrise finally comes on the morning I have been waiting 34 years for. Since the first time I sat on a motorcycle, I dreamed about going out west to see the country, riding the highways and meeting the people. This kind of thinking was far beyond anyone's imagination in the small southern town of Lewisburg, Tennessee where I grew up. You might as well have talked about going to the moon as riding a motorcycle to California. Nobody from there had ever done such a thing so must be nigh well impossible. I knew one day it would happen, just didn't know how long I would have to wait. I always figure he who aims at nothing usually hits it, so I set my sights where I wanted to hit. Many times I had made the trip, tracing the routes over the map pages, dreaming of the sights and sounds, calculating mileage and times, savoring places to see and be. But it seemed that duties and finances always intervened and threatened to turn out the lights. Now standing on the threshold, I was facing another challenge - degenerative arthritis in both hands. The doctor had just shot my right hand full of cortisone the day before and told me to keep it on ice for two days. He recommended surgery as the only alternative to the ever-increasing pain. But opportunity seldom knocks the second time so I knew I would do what I had to do. I didn't chop this far to hang up the ax just cause the head was a little dull! Maybe the wind would work as well as the ice anyway.

Finally we're on the road, making quick work of I24, as we blast across Tennessee and up to Kentucky just under the radar limits. And as I usually do, I stop for a picture of the state line.

One of my riding goals is to have a picture of every state line in the US that my ST has crossed. And this trip will provide many such pictures – at least 18! The temperatures are rising, but we both have water bottles on board thanks to Doug's prudent suggestion and we drink and drive, though not the type that would hurt you. When we get to highway 60 in Kentucky, we take it as a shortcut across to pick up I55 to St. Louis. Highway 60 is a little two lane that some truckers know about, cutting across a island and the rivers. As we hurry along, we can see blue herons standing in the shallow waters looking for lunch. Other wildlife is lurking in the shadows of the underbrush. Quite a visual treat to be on a back road instead of the impersonal interstate where the only wildlife rides on 18 wheels and has a CB radio and the alligators are made of black rubber. Backroads would be my choice always, but we have far too many miles to cover today. Highway 60 passes far too quickly and we are back on the slab. As we get on the other side of St. Louis, we decide to do lunch as we gas up.

I ask the clerk, an older lady - “Y'all got any idea where a hungry man might get a bite to eat?”

She smiles a St. Louis smile as if to say ‘You're not from here are you?' “Sure, Denny's is just over the interstate at the top of the hill on the right.”

I thank her and we head for some grub. It is cool and convenient and great relief from the heat of the day. The food's not bad but our plates come mixed up. But the waitress is trying real hard so we fix it ourselves. As we sit there eating, there is a family in the next booth with a little girl in a high chair, apparently adopted from overseas. She has the biggest, prettiest brown eyes and they are fixed on me. Guess she has never seen a real hillbilly with a bad case of helmet hair in her short life of just over a year. But she's a real sucker for a big smile and we carry on quite a conversation with our eyes and faces that nobody understands except me and her. But time is passing, and we need to hit the road. I pause a minute at the little girl's chair, pat her head and chat a bit with her parents of parenting and the joy and heartbreak of kids and such. Then it's back out into the heat and on the road again. The STs gobble up I70 like a hungry horse in search of the feed bucket. It's trips like these that make you really appreciate the versatility of the ST and it's ability to do many things well. Kansas City comes and goes as quick as a summer storm, but the heat grows more oppressive. We head north on I29 toward Nebraska, as if reeled in by an invisible fisherman. Just north of St. Joseph, Missouri I see a side road labeled 159 that appears to take us to a state park. We peel off and ride for a few miles and there is a sign – Big Lake State Park. I don't know how big the lake is, but we are over 700 miles for the day and the heat is taking a toll and even a small big lake will do. We wind our way to the place and find they have a few campsites left, We grab one next to the lake and set up our gear. It would be the cheapest paid accommodations of the trip - $8.00 for the both of us.

The lady ranger comes by to collect our due. I asked her a little bit about the lake.

“Well, it's not spring or river fed and so it's probably a little slimy” she warns us.

I laugh and reply, “Well, I grew up in the country and it wouldn't be the first time for me!”

We both laugh, she takes the money and putts off in her golf cart. I look over at Doug –

“Just as soon as we get pitched, I'm headed for that water – slime or no slime!”

With the tents up and the bikes parked, in I go in my pajama bottoms and flip-flops. I didn't think to bring trunks, but I figure I can get just as wet in PJs as I can in anything else and they are handy. Doug decides that the water would be nice so we both have a pleasant time until a storm appears dark on the horizon. When the lightning starts, we decide to hightail it for the shore and the tents. But the storm is a long time coming and the heat presses down like a heavy weight. Nothing like wallowing in your own sweat for hours. But at last the blessed rain comes and with it relief. The temperatures drop to a pleasant level and it's lights out for me. But with the rain comes a 4:30 AM surprise. I awake to a loud THUMP and immediately figure a branch had fallen out of a tree. Then Doug gives the news “Hey Phil, your bike just fell over into the picnic table”. What a rude awakening with visions of busted mirrors and a cracked windshield dancing through my head. But mercy took the day as the RedBird is resting quietly with the bench between the right mirror and the windshield and on the tipover wing. Other than us both getting a double hernia lifting the bike up in our BVDs, the bike is pretty much intact. Having made one trip already with a busted windshield, I was not looking forward to another one! So we both settle down for a few more winks before we start the long journey to Rapid City, South Dakota to meet up with my friend Coop. It will be a day that almost proves to be our undoing.