I headed west out of Sioux Falls on I-90. It is a somewhat bland drive, but a few pretty areas can be found if you watch really carefully, with an eagle eye If you blink you might miss something worthwhile! What you will definitely see is a whole lot of signs advertising Wall Drug, in Wall SD. The signs are probably more entertaining than the place itself.

In mid-state I headed north to find a state campground someone in Yankton recommended. It was a challenge to get to due to road construction that had completely closed the only road to it. I took a long and somewhat arduous detour on dirt roads that were poorly marked. At times I had no idea if I was still headed in the right direction. Eventually I made it through the maze of farm roads to the end of the detour. It turned out to be worth the tough drive.

West Bend State Park is so named because it is on a huge twist in the Missouri River. The park is on the Crow Creek Indian Reservation, one of many Native American reservations in South Dakota. It is so far out in the boonies that the silence at night was absolute. It was also sparsely populated due to the road closures and the fact that it was the middle of the week.

I found a campsite that was only a few feet from the water. As I sat there in the evening, I watched herons working the waters, getting an evening meal of fish. Later a nearly full moon came up over the bluffs across the river dappling the rippling waters from different angles as it rose into the sky. It turned out to be a truly memorable night.

The next day I hopped on the bike and rode westward into Pierre, which is the South Dakota State capitol. It is also the area where a number of movies have been filmed, including Dancing with Wolves.

I took a great ride down Highway 1806, a small country road that hugs the Missouri River. I believe I traveled 40 miles over a course of nearly 2 hours without encountering a single vehicle. Pretty impressive! I take that back, I did encounter a couple tractors and combines moving from field to field. The drivers waved and looked happy to see something other than the wheat and hay they were working on. And each other.

The return trip took me up Highway 83 through the length of the Fort Pierre National Grassland that extends for many miles south of Pierre. Lush grasses of many varieties cover the rolling hills. The gusty winds made incredible waving patterns in the grasses. I stopped for a coffee break at a high spot that allowed me to watch the swirling movements of the grasses for a while. It was a pretty incredible sight. And it was a great ride.

As I passed through Pierre returning to the campground, there were a lot of bikers passing through on their pilgrimage to the Sturgis Rally. The thunder of the large groups echoed noisily in the otherwise quiet little town.

The next morning I decamped and drove the rig down back down Highway 83 to I-90 and headed west for Interior, South Dakota, I chose this spot because it is nestled within a few miles of the Badlands National Park. Once settled in, I hopped on the bike and headed into the park. I realized quickly that the somewhat tolerable weather (mid 90's) I'd had the past few days was now over. It was darn hot and humid! 102 degrees at 1:00 PM and very high humidity. Well, as long as I'm moving on the bike it is all right by me!

The Badlands is a park of incredible beauty. What makes it even more special is that the road through the park puts you in intimate contact with the eroded hills you pass by.

Human nature being what it is, I am still amazed by the behavior of some of the visitors. I was riding along slightly under the speed limit of 35, taking in the great visual stimulation of the eroded hills and jagged spikes. I was quickly forced to notice the folks in SUV's and other cars that roared up behind me, tailgating dangerously until I pulled over and let them pass.

They rushed ahead, only to stop at the next scenic pullout. Then they rolled down their windows, cameras poking out to capture a few memories before the air conditioner lost the battle with the heat. Up went the windows and off they roared in search of the next scenic pullout. What they missed in the middle is the whole show. These folks had license plates from states as far away as Florida, so they had traveled a very long way to see this wondrous place. Yet they approached it as if the only thing worth seeing was the highlights available at the scenic pullouts. People are strange, I continue to learn.

I continued through the park and made my way into the town of Wall, famous for its Drug Store. It lived down to my expectations. As I sat on a bench looking back towards the Badlands, I saw that a thunderhead that had been building to the east had grown to monstrous proportions in a very strange manner. It looked like a mushroom cloud from an atomic explosion. Everyone around me was talking about it, so I was not alone in my observation.

I then realized that it was also located basically between my campsite and me! So I decided to move my bootie and head back. I stopped and tried to get a shot of this enormous thunderhead. I think it was so huge that I may not have captured it. We'll see.

As I rode back through the park the storm grew in magnitude and intensity. Huge bolts of lightning were erupting from the dark gray interior. Sheets of rain and hail were descending down behind the Badland hills. As is often the case, I could not really tell the distance properly, so I didn't know if I was due to ride through these downbursts.

I was also thinking about the fact that I had left the camper with the ceiling vents cranked wide open, since the heat was so intense.

Although I felt the pressure of beating this storm, I couldn't pass through the Badlands without again appreciating the incredible natural beauty. It was even more intense since I was riding towards the dark, angry clouds of the storm to the east, yet the sun was shining from the west onto the tan-colored hills. The contrast made the sight most impressive. Equally notable was the fact that I could hear the thunder over the sounds of my bike, which is saying a lot.

It was nip and tuck. I made it through the park to the turn south towards my camp without getting more than a few fat drops of rain. I could see that cars coming from the north were soaking wet, telling me the real precipitation was not far away. I beat feet south. And I just barely made it. I got the bike into the Hog Sty trailer just as the rain hit with a vengeance. And I got the camper's roof vents closed before the interior got a through cleaning the hard way.

After narrowly escaping the wrath of the afternoon thunderstorm, we pretty much got drenched for a while, though I consider us fortunate that the storm did not drop much hail. I took advantage of the inclement weather to watch the Mariners play an outstanding game against the Cleveland Indians. Jeez, the Mariners are good. Fundamental baseball executed professionally and consistently by all the players on the team. They have a saying going around back there now - "Every night a different hero". It's sort of a shame that the national sports media still shortchanges the M's in favor of the big name players who are often playing on losing teams. Well, let's just see what happens at the end of the season!

The next morning I was ready to depart for the last leg to Sturgis. In my usual morning routine when breaking camp on a warm morning, I went outside wearing shorts and no shirt to deal with the water hose, power connection, satellite dish, etc. I had only taken a few steps when I realized I was being assaulted by swarms of mosquitoes! They had not been there the night before, probably due to the rain. They were sure there now!

I retreated into the camper. I probably looked ridiculous waving a towel around trying to deal with the nasty insects that had followed me inside. I know I missed some of them as I changed into a long-sleeved shirt and dungarees. I then went out and de-camped at a record-breaking pace and got out of this bug-infested area. I had the windows wide open as I drove down the freeway at 75 mph trying to shoo out the bugs that had hitched a ride.

As I drove west towards Rapid City and Sturgis, I came over a hill and saw something ahead that I hadn't seen in a long, long while. Mountains! In the distance was a range of mountains! Extraordinary! It was of course the Black Hills, and even though they call them hills they are really mountains, some of them over 7,000 feet.

The annual Sturgis Rally is in its 61^st year. For many years it was host to a smaller crowd of devoted bikers. In the last 20 years the number of attendees had risen sharply to the present 300,000 plus bikers. Though Harleys are the most prevalent, every kind of bike is represented.

I made it to Sturgis by late morning, and continued 15 miles west to Spearfish, where I was going to camp. It seemed to take forever to get settled in, because so many bikers were arriving. I had decided almost a month ago to stay at a KOA in Spearfish for a couple reasons. I needed another batch of mail (bills) to be sent to me by ever-helpful Deano.

Another reason is that most of the other campgrounds hosting the biker visitors don't discourage the rowdier segment of bikers from partying all night long. The last time I'd been here in 1996 I had a couple sleepless nights. The KOA firmly discouraged this behavior, a fact that I verified before making the reservation.

Here is something I can state without fear of contradiction: If you do not appreciate the sound of a huge number of Harley Davidson Motorcycles with thundering exhaust pipes rumbling constantly in your immediate vicinity all day and night, you should definitely NOT come anywhere near the town of Sturgis, South Dakota during the second week of August.

What a scene! Sturgis is an otherwise small, sleepy Midwest town at the fringes of the Black Hills tourist area. The downtown is about 8 blocks long. And during the Rally, they devote this entirely to the bikes.

The bikes are parked in four rows, one at each curb and two in the middle of the road, leaving 2 lanes between the curb bikes and the ones in the middle. In these lanes is where the constant parade of thundering bikes ride.

It is an opportunity for the bikers to showboat. Some simply enjoy making noise, constantly revving their engines equipped with unquestionably illegal straight pipes that make the storefront windows rattle. Many of the bikes are show-quality bikes, not suitable for doing much real riding on the highway. These draw a lot of attention.

The people are on parade as well. I have never seen so many folks who would give you the willies if you met them on a dark alley at night. A large number of them sport multiple body piercings, elaborate tattoos, black leather and chains, and generally look quite intimidating. And you should see some of the GUYS!

What is interesting to note is that when you gather this many bikers together, their uniqueness becomes ordinary. Bikers, and Harley riders in specific, have chosen to join a minority group in modern society. Harley Bikers choose to adopt a sort of "outlaw" image, even if they are investment bankers or software executives.

Here at Sturgis, we are surrounded by so very many who dress the same, that the uniqueness they enjoy in the rest of the world disappears due to sheer numbers. "Normal" looking folks are the ones who stand out here at the Sturgis Rally. Or else the really, truly odd or bizarre ones. Some wore outlandish costumes. A few wore, well, not much of anything.

There are a large number of "venerable" bikers, whose expressions tell you they've seen a lot over the years, and are slightly disdainful of the new breed of younger bikers. I'm also certain they were quietly amused by the antics of the "rubbies" (Rich Urban Bikers).

I hung around absorbing the rich atmosphere for the better part of the afternoon. The heat was pretty intense here in town, so I eventually decided to hit the road to cool off. It was quite an adventure riding out of Sturgis towards Deadwood with so many other bikes sharing the road. As I rode the twisty Deadwood Canyon road, the opposite lane was filled with an almost nonstop parade of thundering bikes headed into Sturgis. Really quite a scene!

Sturgis is at around 3,500 feet in elevation, while Deadwood is another 1,000 feet higher, so the temperature was slightly more moderate at 99 degrees. I postponed a walking tour of the town for another day, deciding to head back to camp as dusk drew near.

Part of the reason for this is that there are way too many fellow bikers who choose to visit the many taverns in the area, then get back on their bikes to ride to another. And the vendors encourage this activity, of course. So by dusk there are a large number of bikers in various states of intoxication on the roads. This is not an activity I support in any way, shape or manner. And I do not wish to be out on the road with these folks. I'll do my night riding out in areas where Bambi is my main fear.

Sleeping here can be an unsettled affair. Even though the KOA bars loud partying, they do not stop people from coming and going on their bikes at any hour. So until around 1:00 it was darn noisy, with folks sitting there revving up their engines for a while before roaring off down the road. Being an early riser, I was tempted to noisily warm up my own bike at 5:00 AM in retribution, but held myself back. Besides, others did just that by 6:00 AM.

The morning was bright and sunny, and it let us know early on that it was going to be another scorcher. I headed in to Sturgis fairly early to do my shopping for souvenir T-shirts before the crowds and the heat both got too thick. Apparently I wasn't early enough to escape either of them.

T-shirts are a very accurate barometer of the typical biker. If you are looking for small size, you can just forget it. Medium T's (my size) are very rare, but diligent shopping can result in a few lucky finds. Large sizes are still not too common. XL size is where you start seeing the real volumes. But the high curve is somewhere around 2XL Most shops carry a large assortment of 3XL. And I saw a lot of sizes running up to 5XL. Bikers tend to the large. I remember that Jay Leno (a biker himself, and no lightweight) was entertaining a crowd in Daytona at Bike Week and said, "I really love coming here - You guys all make me look skinny!"

By pre-arrangement I met some friends in town. These are mostly people I have been communicating with for over 3 years via the Internet. But this is the first time I have had a chance to meet them. It was really great to put faces to folks I actually have known quite well for several years.

Before noon we headed out to the road through Spearfish Canyon. This is an exquisite road winding through a very scenic canyon. What I liked about it was the speed limit is only 35, so you can have the time to appreciate the scenery. What many others apparently did NOT like about the road was that the speed limit was only 35. They couldn't resist passing dangerously on the twisty roads, in a furious hurry to get to wherever they were heading. Go figure.

The road leads eventually to the small town of Lead, a mining town near Deadwood. There is a huge open pit gold mine smack dab in the middle of town. The pit is no longer mined, but they still delve down into tunnels deep into the ground. There's also a huge processing facility that takes all the materials and gleans the small amounts of gold it contains. They offer a tour bus ride down into the inactive mining pit. Not finding this particularly interesting, we headed south on highway 385.

This is another road that is truly beautiful, winding through some spectacular areas and climbing up and down over modest summits of the Black Hills. Since we were up at higher altitudes, the temperature was just about perfect. It was probably in the mid-80's, with a nice gentle breeze.

The two-lane country road was absolutely packed with bikes. Not enough that there were traffic jams, although this can happen at times during Sturgis Rally Week. With the thunderous noise from the bikes I am certain that Bambi and all her relatives and friends were long gone from the area. The road leads eventually to Mount Rushmore, but it was getting a bit late in the afternoon to stretch the day for a visit there. Besides, along the road were a large number of permanent and temporary establishments luring the bikes in with promises of cold beer. These places were well attended, unfortunately, so we had another good reason to head back.

I made it back an hour before dusk and spent a very pleasant evening talking with my neighbors, a group of folks from northern Minnesota. They expounded at length on the great beauty of their state, repeatedly trying to change the topic when I brought up the subject of the winters there. They did finally did admit that the winters were intolerable, but claim that the rest of the year makes up for it. I remain dubious. Especially when one of them who worked in construction said that they would only stop working if it got below minus 20 degrees. Hmmm...

The next morning I met my friends again and we set out earlier so we could make the "tunnel loop" and see Mount Rushmore. We headed down Highway 385 again, and it was just as spectacular. We turned off onto Highway 87 at Hill City. This road is the beginning of the so-called "tunnel loop" with Highway 16A being the second half. Along these roads there are a bunch of very small tunnels carved out of solid rock. They are one-lane tunnels, and several are so narrow or the roof so low that most RV's cannot travel this road.

This is classic bike territory. Twisty mountain roads winding through heartbreakingly beautiful alpine woods. The potently strong smell of the pine trees was wonderful. There were several sections where there were a series of sharp hairpin turns that you had to negotiate at less than 10 miles per hour.

On one of these, my friends and I saw a bike go down. Fortunately it turned out all right for bike and rider. I happened to be in the lead of our little group at the time, and there was another small group directly in front of us. Two bikes ahead of me I watched as a guy tried to make his way around a particularly steep and sharp turn. He looked a little wobbly as he entered the turn.

Right at the sharpest part of the turn, it looked to me like he hadn't downshifted into first gear, and the wobbling increased. Even as I saw his brake light come on, I knew he was in a bit of trouble. He kind of wobbled very slowly to the point where he was almost stopped, and the bike simply fell over onto its side. A most gentle landing, actually.

But we were in a bad spot, in the middle of a hairpin turn on a steep slope. We all made sure to give the necessary hand signals to any riders or drivers behind us so everyone stopped. Others ahead of us stopped the down-slope traffic. I noticed that behind us a young, foolish kid in a Jetta pulled out to drive around the scene. A huge Biker dude stepped right in front of the moving car. He shooed the kid back. The bug-eyed kid did just as he was told. For the rest of the incident, four big, ugly-looking Bikers stood casually around the Jetta, chatting with each other as the kid sat there trying to look invisible.

So now we had this monster bike lying on its side in the middle of a steep mountain road. I wrestled my bike to a spot where I could park it safely, along with the rest of my friends. By the time I made it over to the bike and the guy, it was verified that he was completely unhurt, other than his ego. A quick check of the bike seemed to indicate it was relatively unscathed as well.

I've never had to get an 800-pound bike up off the ground, and wondered how we were going to do it. A couple of us started to discuss the problem, when a guy not too much bigger than me stepped up to the bike without a word spoken. He put the kickstand into the down position (it was pointed at the sky since the bike was lying on its right side) and grabbed the left side handlebar. He placed his foot on the foot pedal and kind of jumped up then used his body weight to lever the bike up off the ground. As it came to near vertical he slowed the movement slightly, reached over for the brake on the right handlebar, and it came to rest right onto the kickstand! The niftiest maneuver I've ever seen! And a most excellent use of gravity, rather than the brute force I had in mind.

Everyone got straightened out and on our way. In a while we came to the first of the tunnels. It was a bizarre scene. About a hundred bikers and a few cars were parked around the entrance to the tunnel, some in the road waiting to go through, but most were parked and off their bikes. We were a little confused about what was going on.

It turns out that part of the delay was waiting for traffic from the opposite direction to use the tunnel for a while, since it is a one-lane tunnel. But the main reason for the spectators is that the more audacious (and foolish) bikers were waiting at the entrance to the tunnel until the traffic ahead cleared. Then they would rev their engines and speed crazily through the tunnel causing an ungodly amount of noise.

The onlookers seemed to be easily amused by this stupid maneuver. I wasn't. We waited our turn and finally made it through the tunnel, which turned out to be around 200 feet long and totally unlit. It was very narrow and almost felt claustrophobic. It should come as no surprise that no one in our group tried the silly stunts some of the others had done. Yet the sound of our "normal" travel through the tunnel was most gratifying.

We rode on through the beautiful wooded countryside, finally arriving at the last tunnel. This one was notable because as you pass through the 100-foot long opening in the sheer rock, Mount Rushmore is visually centered ahead of you through the tunnel and across the valley floor. Quite a sight!

After making our way down the twisty roads to the valley floor, we scooted across to the Mount Rushmore visitor area. This is when we discovered something every visitor to the area should know in advance. The majestic stone carvings on the mountainside all face roughly due south. This means that at this time of year, by early afternoon each face except George Washington is in the shadows! We all took pictures anyway, but I suspect they will be somewhat disappointing.

As we left the visitor area, we rounded a corner and found a small pullout that offered a great profile view of George Washington's face lit brilliantly by the sun. So we stopped to take a couple photos.

It was a glorious ride back, and the late afternoon roads were chock full of bikes. The sound of thundering Harleys was almost constant, and during the two-hour ride I do not think our small group was ever out of sight of other groups of bikes.

We stopped at a small roadside diner that amazingly was not packed with bikers waiting in line for a meal. The place was crowded, but not like most other local eateries. This place served what they called "chuck wagon" food. We would have eaten just about anything at this point, but it turned out to be quite good. What they offered was hearty and tasty beef stew, along with all the biscuits and lemonade you wanted. A great meal! We all agreed that it was probably the fact that they served lemonade and not beer that accounted for the fact that the place was not swarmed with bikers.

Around dusk our group went its separate ways, and I made my way back to the camper just after sunset. The temperature was 103 degrees. That night the low temperature was 83 degrees, so it was a slightly warm evening. Pretty darn comfortable!

The next morning promised to be as hot and sunny as the previous day. I met up with my friends and we discussed the day's ride. We decided to head into Wyoming to go to Devil's Tower. At 10:00 it was already in the high 90's, but it was a spectacular day. We rode west on I-90 for a while, entering Wyoming and stopping in Sundance, home of the film festivals and a dude named Robert.

After a nice coffee break, we headed north on some breathtaking county roads. The rolling hills passed through grasslands and wooded hills. This is open range country, and the signs warned us that livestock might be on the road. They were. We had to slow a few times for cows and even a few buffalo. They did not seem the slightest bit intimidated by the loud exhaust noise of our bikes. I do not know if a cow can feel disdain, but that is surely what it looked like they were feeling as they lumbered leisurely out of our way.

Devil's Tower became the country's first National Monument in 1906. It rises up 1,200 feet from the base and is quite imposing, especially from up close. This is the location used in the movie Close Encounters, and the sight of it brought out myriad lame jokes based on the movie. We decided to have lunch at the base of the tower.

As we were finishing lunch, Mike, one of the fellows in our little group, asked if he could try out some of my coffee, which I had described earlier during the meal. We went out to my bike and I got out my thermos of Starbucks Sumatra. It is my Witches Brew. So strong it can only be stored in a stainless steel thermos. I carefully poured out a small cupful for Mike, taking care not to spill any onto the pavement so I would not cause any damage to the parking lot. His reaction to the first sip was probably about the same as if it had been crankcase oil. To his credit, Mike bravely smiled and praised the Witched Brew, and even finished the small amount I had put in the cup!

Mike and I noticed a biker working on his bike on the side of the road just outside the parking lot. We went over to see if everything was OK. It was not. His battery was dead. So of course we offered to push start him. The guy thanked us and hopped up on his bike. This guy looked like he tipped the scales at well over 300 pounds, and he had just gotten onto an 800-pound bike. Mike and I looked at each other, wondering if we could pull this off.

We gave it our all. The road was flat as a pancake, so gravity was of no help whatsoever. Keep in mind it was also scorching hot, around 105 degrees, with a merciless sun beating down on us. The first try resulted in nothing except two out of breath pushers. Mike and I took deep breaths and really put our all into the next try. No go.

As we walked back towards the bike, I said to Mike, "What do you think the chances are we can convince him that one of US should ride the bike and have HIM help push?" Mike spoke the truth when he replied, "Not in this lifetime."

Luckily, the third try worked, and the guy went happily off down the road with a wave back at us. We scurried back into the air-conditioned restaurant, soaked in sweat and ordered cokes while we recovered. Mike said, "I don't think we could have done that without your Witches Brew!" Right on! A convert!

We rode south in Wyoming for a while, and then found a road that headed back up into the Black Hills. This was a gorgeous route, the terrain merging slowly from grassland prairie to wooded hills, to curvy mountain roads winding through pine-studded hills. We followed this to a "scenic" road to Rapid City. Highway 234 is also known as the Nemo Road. It is narrower than most of the other highways, going appropriately through a tiny town named Nemo. We hit Rapid City late in the evening, and took a nice run up I-90 back to Sturgis.

Several folks in the group were heading out the next day, and I was considering the same, so we all agreed to meet here next year. When I got back and consulted my ever-reliable Weather Channel, it looked like a front was moving through the next day, bringing thunderstorms. It would also bring cooler temperatures, but the forecasters were saying the rain could be off and on for a couple days. I decided to head out in the morning.

There was another factor that drove my decision. I'm going to state this very carefully so I do not jeopardize my status as an avid biker. You can get too much of a good thing if it is all in one large dose. The sound of the thunder of Harleys day and night for 4 solid days was still poetry to my ears, but I was in the mood for some different poetry.

The next morning I headed up into North Dakota then turned eastward. Most of North Dakota is just like South Dakota, except it is further north. Pretty boring...

I crossed the Missouri River again in Bismark, the state capital. At the eastern end of the state I passed through Fargo, the town that lent its name to a great quirky movie. It was a long drive. I went through a lot of CD's, played at loud volume.

I camped that night and learned from the Weather Channel that I had probably made the right choice. A series of thunderstorms kept things pretty wet in southwest South Dakota.

The next day in Minnesota I saw something quite remarkable. As I drove past a state park, there were a long series of warning signs for deer. Nothing unusual in that, except these were not usual. They had little lights on top of each one, and there was one sign every 100 yards for about two miles! Looking closer, I saw what looked like sensors placed near every sign. I'm certain that the sensors detected any deer moving in their vicinity and set off the warning lights on the signs. This must be a major migration route heavily traveled by deer to warrant such investment in warning technology. I would still be careful driving through the area at night!

That was a highlight of driving in Minnesota. To keep myself entertained for a while I mentally counted the types of crops being grown in the fields as I went by. Sugar beets narrowly beat out corn. It was pretty exciting tallying the results.

I made it into Wisconsin after passing near the Twin Cities. I camped on the Mississippi River in a very nice state park called Willow River. I met some folks returning from Sturgis on their way to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I mentioned that I was headed in that direction, so they eagerly gave me some pointers on what to see and do, and where the good rides were. The Weather Channel told me that there had been more rain squalls moving across the Sturgis area all day long. I could only guess that things back there were quite different than while I had been running around in the intense heat.

Speaking of weather, things here in Wisconsin have turned bone-chilling cold! A front moved through just ahead of me and broke the heat wave. While the locals are all praising the relief from the heat, I am shivering in the daytime highs of only 70 degrees and overnight lows in the low 50's. Darn cold! Bone-chilling!

The terrain became more interesting in Wisconsin, with wooded hills and numerous lakes. It was still pretty boring, but the scent of the pine trees and the lush, green hills made for a more interesting drive. I pulled into Fon Du Lac by midday. This is a wonderful area at the southern tip of Lake Winnebago. I set up camp and got the bike ready for an important ride.

I headed south and drove into Milwaukee. Following directions provided by a biker friend, I wound through the city until I ended up at the epicenter of the known universe: World headquarters of the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company! I got a picture of the plant buildings and mumbled a few words under my breath before pushing on towards the Lake Michigan shoreline drive.

I rumbled north along the western shore of the lake. A stiff breeze stirred up a chop in the water, making waves that would allow a chipmunk to do some pretty good surfing. The water was very green and beautiful, though.

After stopping in Sheboygan (what a name!) for gas, I was working my way back towards the freeway when I noticed a mini-van next to me driving very erratically, swerving into my lane and generally threatening to cause an accident. I could see that the driver was on the cell phone, with some paperwork in his hands, chattering away vociferously.

I wanted nothing more than to put him out of MY misery. Unfortunately, society and the law frown on this behavior. So I exercised the powers vested in me by the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company of Milwaukee, Wisconsin and roared off ahead of this freak of nature.

My plans right now are to explore the northeast along the Great Lakes and through New England while headed eventually for the New York City area by month's end for my niece's wedding and a get-together with my family. More to follow...