Tuesday, April 30, 2002 Bangor, Maine
Today is the day! We're going to finish our Four Corners Tour. So
it's taken us nearly the full allotted time, so what. We've had fun, seen a lot of country, met some
really great people, and experienced quite a few new things (some of which we could have happily done without).
After breakfast and refueling the bikes, we hit the road at 9:30 AM with the sun coming up through a hazy
sky and the temperature already up to 46°.
Once north of Bangor, you start to feel like you're in the north woods of Maine. It
even reminded me a little of some of the highways near Anchorage. We spotted a sheriff's car at
the Howland exit, and no more LEO's until we were through Madawaska.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Observation:
In order to avoid gaining undue attention from the local constabulary,
it has become my habit as I travel to observe the customs of the area residents regarding strict (or
not so strict) adherence to posted speed limits.
The speed limit in Maine is obviously a subject of local interpretation.
In the southern part, traffic seems to move at, or within 5 mph of, the posted limit. And no wonder,
as examples of Maine's finest are seemingly omnipresent. However, as one moves farther north, and
further from the large population centers of the Boston suburbs, it appears drivers are on the honor
system, and LEO's are few, and VERY far between. The inevitable result is... highway anarchy (but
rapid progress). Bowing to the wisdom expressed in the phrase "When in Rome..." Russ and I
attempted to stay with the flow of traffic. At 80 or so we managed to keep most of the 18-wheelers
in sight, but were occasionally passed by empty logging trucks.
Once on US-1 out of Houlton, the rules changed. The speed limit
dropped to 55 mph, and for a few miles it was observed. At first there were small towns in fairly
close proximity, so that it was futile to build up speed, as it was soon time to slow for the next hamlet.
It didn't take long to catch on to the technique employed by "Maine-iacs" of the region, to wit: One
waited until his own vehicle was abreast of the lowered speed limit sign before releasing the throttle,
not a foot sooner. The minor municipality was transited at a speed precisely 10 mph above that shown
on the signs, and as soon as a sign showing a higher limit was viewed, that speed became the target.
This rewarded those with superior eyesight and more rapid acceleration.
Another peculiarity became apparent within a few dozen miles, that being that
any driven speed MUST end with the numeral "5". For most lengths of the highway that simply meant
adding the 10 mph mentioned earlier to the posted speed limit, i.e. 55 mph speed limits were driven at
65 mph. In the event some newly-graduated, inexperienced traffic engineer calculated the speed limit
should be 50 mph, the locals took it upon themselves to correct this glaring error, and added the missing
5 mph to the 10 mph that was understood to be included in the "proper" speed, and still drove at 65 mph.
It was obvious that the people of Maine have certain laws that MUST be obeyed, regardless of
state statutes.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The ride from Bangor to Madawaska was pleasant and uneventful (which,
in many cases, adds to its pleasantness). The sun was shining through a light haze, but still
providing some welcome warmth. The temperature was comfortable, and the highway was good, if not
great. Russ was a little ahead of me arriving in Madawaska (now that he was riding the Triumph,
that began to happen more often) and was already parked in front of the post office when I rode up.
I recorded the following in my log upon my arrival at the Madawaska P.
O.: Time: 14:15 EST, odo. 94765.6 (after leaving home with a reading of 84024.7), trip odo.
10,739, GPS 10,489. And there's still the little matter of the ride home. Thinking about it,
I find I'm glad that there are still several thousand miles to go before I'm back home and the ride is
over. It will still be a while before I begin suffering the letdown that accompanies parking the
bike once more.
The people of Madawaska lived up to the reputation that they seem to be
gaining among the long distance motorcycling crowd. Several of the residents walked up to us,
parked at the curb in front of the post office, and queried whether we were doing a Four Corners Tour.
This is the only place we've been where the locals seem to have any knowledge of this event, and they seem
to embrace it wholeheartedly. Perhaps they've felt neglected and forgotten way up there in northern
Maine, and this tour is their one and only claim to fame. Regardless of the reason, we felt welcomed
and appreciated by everyone who spoke with us.
Photos taken, final proofs mailed off, visiting over, we rode farther
into town and stopped at a Dairy Queen-type place (we couldn't stop at a real one, as neither of us was
riding a Gold Wing) to have some lunch. Checking our maps, and glancing at the sky to determine
the potential weather, we decided to ride on west to Fort Kent, and then take Rt. 11 south through the
middle of the state. It turned out to be a good decision, as 11 is a good road, and a most welcome
respite from the interstates we'd been traveling on for too many thousands of miles already.
All good things must come to an end, and at Sherman we rejoined I-95 to
finish our ride back to the motel at Bangor, where we settled in for a good night's rest after our
celebratory dinner.
Wednesday, May 1, 2002 Bangor, Maine
The feeling of elation at having completed the Four Corners is still with us,
and we're feeling positive as we load up to head west. Russ has never been to Niagara Falls, and I
haven't visited the site since October of 1997, so we're headed for that attraction next. At this
point I haven't made up my mind positively whether to ride back to Seattle, or to turn north in North
Dakota to take the shortcut home. I'm doing my best to rationalize the run across to Seattle as
I know I want to prolong the trip for as long as possible. Since I'd left my cold weather gear in
Seattle, and it will still be a bit chilly on the Alcan, riding to get that clothing will probably serve
as my excuse.
As we ride back out of Maine and into New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and
then New York, we both become aware of a change in our routine. Now, instead of Russ chuckling at
me as I dispense large quantities of gasoline into my two tanks, we find we are having to stop at
approximately 150 mile intervals for Russ to refuel. With the auxiliary fuel cell, I'm able to go
twice as far without needing to stop. Revenge is sweet!
We make good time westward but nevertheless it's dark when we enter Buffalo
on our way to Niagara Falls. As it has been for most of the past five days, rain is falling lightly,
but next to the falls it is hardly discernible from the spray. We can't get out to Goat Island due
to some ongoing construction, but we do get next to the American Falls for some photos, and then cross
the Rainbow Bridge to view the falls from the Canadian side. We are fortunate in that we are here
while the light show is going on, and enjoy the various colors illuminating the falls, the spray, and the
mist above it all. It's late when we finally cross back into the U. S. and head for I-90 again.
For most of this trip the GPS has been little more than an extra odometer,
or a device with which I can mark the locations of our various spills. This night, however, it proves
to have some practical application, as I take Russ on an unintentional midnight tour of downtown Buffalo,
New York. That's what I get for being a cheapskate and wanting to avoid the toll on the short section
of I-190 near the Peace Bridge. The gas wasted riding up and down streets, trying to find our way
back out to the interstate, probably cost several times as much as the toll. But we did get to see
a little more of the state of New York. WAY more than we really wanted to.
Finally back on the interstate, we only rode until we spotted an exit with
a motel near Hamburg, NY and decided to call it quits about half past midnight. Riding in the rain
after being in it for most of the evening wasn't inviting enough to keep going. Besides, we had an
appointment to meet Doug Grosjean Thursday afternoon, and we had plenty of time to get there after a good
night's rest.
Thursday, May 2, 2002 Hamburg, New York
The rain hadn't stopped, but the temperature had risen one degree to 51°F
by 9:15 AM when we mounted up once more for points west. The rain started to lessen as we neared
Cleveland, and just a few miles west of the I-271 split we exited the interstate to find a place to have
a meal and dry out. While dining, a gentleman came up to us and started a conversation. He'd
pulled in to a parking spot next to our bikes and noticed the Alaska license plate on mine. As we
were the only obvious motorcyclists in the place, he spotted us quickly. He questioned us
extensively as to where we were going, where we had been, etc., etc. Asked if we were going to
write a book about our trip. Uh, no. This is just another motorcycle ride, albeit a bit
longer than most we take. Nothing to make a big deal of. We'll leave that to the guys who
ride around the world, or from Deadhorse to Tierra del Fuego or something like that. Heck, we're
just out having a good time.
We were pleased to find that the rain had quit and the skies were looking
brighter when we got back on our bikes. The weather continued to improve as we rode west toward
Toledo, and our planned rendezvous with Doug Grosjean at the Clyde, Ohio Whirlpool offices where he spends
his days.
To get even with Russ for ignoring my plight as I pulled off the road at
the insistence of the Maine trooper, I'm going to tell this one on him. After finishing lunch there
in Ohio, we headed north a few blocks to get back on I-90. We had to cross over the interstate and
go down the westbound on-ramp, as we were headed for the Toledo area and we were still east of Cleveland.
However, I watched as Russ, in the lead, turned east down the eastbound on-ramp and proceed to accelerate
as if to fetch something he'd lost back that way. Maybe the meal on an empty stomach had dulled his
navigational senses, or perhaps he thought he might have missed something in our late-night tour of
Buffalo and wanted to see it again. Anyway, I went to the bottom of the westbound on-ramp and waited
for quite a few minutes until he passed, now going in the proper direction.
Doug knew we were coming, and came out to meet us shortly after we pulled
up in the parking lot. He showed us a bit of what he did there - lots of neat CAD stuff with the
computer - and then took us through the factory for the grand tour. Having been an appliance
repairman in an earlier life, many of the pieces I saw were familiar to me. Made it that much more
interesting. Watching the assembly processes was fascinating for someone of my bent. (Okay,
"twisted" is more like it.)
Doug had made arrangements with his S.O., Sharon, that we would all join
her at Dearborn, Michigan for a dinner party. Russ and Doug headed that way by one route, while I
took another, a little farther west, in order to make a brief personal visit. It was still warm
and light when we left Sharon's house together to convoy over to the "Transylvanian" restaurant.
Now prior to this visit I'd always been impressed with Doug's obvious intelligence, both through private
e-mails we had exchanged and from the many writings he has posted to various lists. But when we
got inside the chosen dining establishment I began to wonder if something darkly sinister lurked just
beneath the surface of this mild appearing rider. How would you feel if you'd been invited, all
unsuspecting, to dine with the Adams family?
Actually, we had a great time, sharing laughs among our small group, and
with the restaurant staff, as we enjoyed a very good meal and great company. It may have been Sharon
who wondered why she had agreed to join this bizarre fest as Russ and I, aided by Doug, shared some of
our motorcycling "treasured memories". Once again, the clock betrayed us, and we headed out the
door to the accompaniment of grateful looks from the staff. A round of photos in the parking lot,
and Russ and I once again hit the interstate headed toward Seattle. Distance was not on the agenda
this night however, as the heavy meal put us both in the mood to stop for the night. We made it west
of Ann Arbor (where a serious accident on the interstate had closed a portion of I-94 and had us once again
taking the Cook's Tour of a city we really had no desire to see) and upon spotting a motel near Exit 159,
we called it a night. At our arrival time of 11:30 PM, the temperature was still 51°F, the exact
temperature we'd started the ride with that morning.