The feeling of being involved in an event like this can hardly be expressed. It was far greater and much more than I ever expected.
Imagine the sound of hundreds of Harleys before dawn, 4 abreast, with riders that are chomping at the bit to take off on the longest-biggest Harley-Davidson motorcycle ride in the history. One that would take you through 18 states, 4 of them twice, 3 provinces twice, and would cross 2 countries in just 2 weeks.
One where the riders were expected to sleep on the ground next to their bikes, just as the Indian warriors slept next to their horses on the open range. One where so much unknown lay ahead and was on the minds of all. One where the riders not only understood the potential for fun, adventure, greatness even wealth, but also understood the dangers and the potential for great disaster.
These early photos are a little larger to help you see, but next to my bike, the orange FX, is Doug's bike. We just received our first of 7 maps and if you look close, Doug is standing there reading his. The camera cannot show what we were able to see with our eyes. Bikes and riders, 4 abreast for a hundred yards in each direction.
Mike standing next to Eve. Eve is a nurse from Tucson, Arizona. The next time I would see her would be in Watson Lake, British Columbia, where I would eat my first of two restaurant meals. Eve was there doing the same and the next time I would see her would be in Fairbanks, Alaska. I would find her sleeping on the side of a dirt road, alone and in a shallow ditch, next to her bike.
Looking north. Four rows of bikes as far as I can see. This run is about 100 yards long. The photo below is the same, except looking west toward the starting gate. If you look closely, you can see the "START" banner, just to the right of the lighted palm tree.
We were to take off at sunrise. Something to do with an Indian tradition that I didn't quite understand. The start time was set at 6:45 in the morning. We were to be in our positions (unassigned) by 6:00. But as you can imagine, we were all packed up the night before and by 4:00 in the morning, you could already hear the roar of engines as riders began moving into place. Mike, Doug and I were in line at about 5:15 and were fairly near the front of the pack. Maybe within the first 150 motorcycles of the front. The police were already there, their top-lights were already flashing red and blue and the lines were filling in fast from that point on.
Staged at 4 motorcycles abreast, around the buildings, weaving behind and under the Marriott and through the many parking lots there, were 750+ riders just waiting for the opportunity to leave.
(The shots of the riders coin was taken inside and without a flash. They are blurry, sorry. If I make the picture bigger, its worse.)
No longer able to hold the riders back until sunrise, Jim Red Cloud and the Key West Police Department, made the decision to let us go. It was now 6:00. When the flag was lifted, the roar of bikes began to build as more and more bikes were fired up.
The PD went ahead of us and blocked intersections, waving us through and the riders rode under the START banner and onto the street in a long line of twos.
Were we orderly, quiet and respectful of others who were sleeping? Not really. The bubbling excitement in each of us, the roaring of the motorcycles all around us was as if it was a drug in our system and when we hit the street to begin our long anticipated, once in a lifetime adventure, a lot of throttles were opened up and a lot of loud pipes shattered the morning calm.
I don't know how long the departure took but it seemed to take a long time for me to just reach the START banner. As I listened to the roar of the motorcycles, I remember thinking, "I bet the residents in the Marriott will be very glad to see us finally gone."
The riders were very respectful to the Marriott staff and to the Marriott patrons. No one got out of hand or caused any trouble that I know of or heard of. But unless you love the sound of a Harley, listening to over 700 Harleys at 6:00 in the morning, I suppose could effect your morning attitude. ...I suppose anyway.
To my great surprise, there were people along the streets of Key West and scattered all along the road to the main land of Florida. They were in groups of two or three to groups of 50 or 100. They were waving and cheering us on. I was so shocked, so very surprised and yet so very appreciative of them being there. I felt like some kind of a hero. Like someone special. No longer was I just a part of a bunch of mad-yackys on Harley's, suddenly we were someone special and the community came out to greet us and cheer us on. I couldn't help but think that we launched 45 minutes before the announced time. What would have been the turnout if we had left 45 minutes later?
Suddenly the event took on a whole new feeling inside me. It had moved up the scale a few clicks and I wanted to stop and take pictures, but I couldn't get myself to pull over and stop the feeling their waving and cheering us on was creating inside me.
(Taken from my truck as I drove toward Key West on Highway 1, the road from Florida Main-land to Key West. These were taken before the event, on the way to the event. This to just show you two of the bridges that connects the sting of islands together.)
When we hit the main-land, there began the thousands of wrong turns we would begin making. I'm luckier than most, I would only make a few hundred, increasing my journey to Homer, Alaska by 600 miles. Not bad actually, some ended up increasing their journey by 1500 miles. One poor fellow would end up in Colorado, looking for a town in New Mexico.
Hitting the main-land would also begin tragedy. I don't know how many riders went down, I don't think anyone does. I have heard 16 to 23. Finding out would be near impossible. We went through too many towns, cities, states, and provinces. Too many jurisdictions to go through to get an accurate count. However, I did see 4 on my first day riding through Southern Florida, on way to Daytona.
The scene of our first fatality. There is not a rider out there that does not understand the dangers of riding bikes. That everytime you throw your leg over a bike and leave, you may not come back. There is not one that does not understand that in an instant, life as you know it can change forever for you. Honestly, there is no logical reason to ride bikes. There is only a feeling of feeling like a low flying angel, cruising through the living and every changing art gallery of the Lord. Evenso, it hurts when you see another rider go down. Any rider, anytime, it hurts.
Hitting the main-land also brought the beautiful roads through the beautiful country. All the roads were secondary roads and rural routes Incredible riding. Hitting the main-land also brought with it the storms. The one before this one, got my legs and feet wet. This one? Well, ...riding in dry underwear is for wimps.
(After we hit the main-land, the large groups broke off and split up into small groups, each having their own thought and plan. Here, we have been detoured around our 4th rider-involved accident on the first day, and we had not even made it to our first check point. This watering hole, shortly after leaving Alligator Alley and 300 yards from the 4th accident scene, became a good place to not only pull over and take a break, but to reflect on the need to ride safe.)
Our first night, our first check point, was the Harley-Davidson dealership in Daytona, Florida. We traveled someplace between 600 and 800 miles that day. I arrived at 1:30 in the morning. Normally, it would have been only a 400+ mile ride, but with all the turns and U-turns and routing through the countryside, it was 650+ miles for me and it was also a 19.5 hour ride.
Months prior to this event, there were 3 City of Mesa Employees to enter this event. Travis Metcalf was the first, Dave Mouser was the second and I was the third. A month prior to the event, Travis retired from the PD, leaving me and Dave. Dave rode over 750 miles that first day. All the turns and U-turns and rural routes were more than he signed up for and he turned and went home the following day, leaving me as the only rider who worked for the City of Mesa, Arizona. Many went home that first day. It WAS a lot of riding to only make it 400 miles north. Even for me, who was nothing but totally stoked about this event, it was more than I signed up for too and it was a turning point for me as well.
I entered, I came, to chase a dream I had since I was 14 and in the 9th grade. To ride to Alaska on a Sportster. I never came to chase the gold. To me the gold was in the journey. The memories and the adventure. So when I signed in at Daytona, I told "Doc" one of the organizers, that I only wanted to chase my dreams and not be held to a "treasure map" of turns etc. until I arrived at the "X". He told me that was fine, that it would only disqualify me from winning the gold, not from the event. I told him we had a deal.
From that point on, the adventure turned into high gear for me. I literally began living and feeling as the movie character Jim Bronson (Michael Parks) was portraying. A free man, following the wind and his own decisions to turn this way or that and just living on the road, passing through hundreds of towns and cities, meeting people, becoming a part of their life for a while and then moving on. If I ever ride this ride again, that is exactly how I will do it again. From the beginning, that was my goal, but following the others out of Key West, who were after the gold, made the ride a bunch of work. A job. But riding for the dream, made it an unforgettable adventure.
Daytona Harley-Davidson was good enough to let us sleep in their parking lot. I did. The guy in the center of the photo is; yours truly. Some of the guys complained about sleeping on the ground next to their bikes. To me it only added to the adventure. It made the journey a non-stop dream with every minute filled with excitement. I savored every day, every hour, every moment and keep it stored in my mind even still. Even now, I still live the dream, the journey, the adventure, and will be forever grateful to the Hoka Hey organizers for living their dream of one day in their lives, seeing 1000 motorcycles ride across America.
By the way, the pair of pants and shirt you see me in, is the same pair of pants and shirt I came home in 29 days later. Like my yellow bandanna, I wore them every day. Yes, I took them off and washed them (twice) and yes, ...I did change my socks and underwear a little more often.
Samuel
click on "4-States-Twice" to continue journey
