I am cheesed off, putting it politely! Somehow, I managed to delete an almost complete post on my iPad and cannot find a way to retrieve it! 🤬🤬 As you might imagine I do not feel like starting all over again, so this episode might be short.
Sat 17 Aug 2024
After breakfast with Mack and Ute, I called the bank to try to resolve the debit card issue. I arranged for a new card to be sent to my address for Mon/Tue next. The missing PIN could wait till I had the new card in my hand.
So somewhat later than planned, I left headed for Kansas City, MO. Shortly after leaving I experienced the first inconsiderate drivers, in a hurry to get to wherever, pulling out in front or pushing up behind. If I was looking for the back roads of America, I found them today. The lettered roads of Missouri – officially designated as supplemental routes – take you through areas that were once, as evidenced by the cemeteries dotted along the route, home to small communities, now swallowed whole by commercial farms; I don’t think it possible to get more back and still remain on tar. En route I inadvertently crossed over the famed Route 66.
I stopped in a little town – America doesn’t have villages – called Drexel. The wide main street was deserted on this Saturday afternoon, so I had no issues parking under forbidding sign.
I finally arrived in KCMO, to meet Chuck House, my host for the night. Chuck ha an interesting background; US marine, motorcycle cop, and noted tattoo artist. I saw one of his designs, being prepared for someone’s back; even for a tattoo philistine like me, it is impressive. It will take him about 60 hours work to complete and the actual tattooing will be done over, perhaps 2 years!
Kansas is apparently famous for it’s B-B-Qs so we went out to the No 1 BBQ bar. It was closed due to a power outage. The No 2 bar was pretty good anyway, and we left replete, with enough to take home for another meal.
After a few beers and a tour of the converted church Chuck shares with two, clearly, very artistic friends, I was ready for bed.
Sun 18 Aug 2024
Chuck was coming with me for part of the way and had contacted his friend Peter to join us. He arrived just as we were finishing breakfast, on a very smart looking Royal Enfield. While I thought we were heading out immediately, Chuck had other ideas and led us to Wyandotte Country Park for a photo shoot.
Whilst there, we discussed my front-end wobble, which seemed to have become much worse recently. Last evening, Chuck had suggested going to a community workshop in KCMO, where, he was sure, someone would be able to help resolve the issue; I had refused as I wanted to get moving as early as possible. However now I decided this may be my best, and last, chance to get some expert on-the-ground advice and assistance.
This would be another one of those decisions on the odyssey which at first appeared as a setback or delay, but turned into an enjoyable and memorable experience.
Hickory Union Moto is community workshop or garage, the only one in Kansas City.The idea is to guide owners through whatever project they wish, from a simple oil change to a custom build the level of assistance and support depends on eh knowledge and ability of the member.
Tiered membership works like a gym for motorcycles with the staff being the personal trainers. They “ are here to take the fear out of motorcycle builds, maintenance, and mechanics.”
When I arrived, chief mechanic, David, gave me his immediate attention. He diagnosed the issue as loose steering head bearings, even though I told him these had already been tightened three times since rebuild. In no time the necessary bits were moved exposing a less than hand tight steering bearing cap! This had obviously worked loose over the miles, because, believe me it was tight when I left it. The loosening explained the progressive increase in the head-shake.
With the thing tightened, David took if for a ride and pronounced it “fine”; I took it for a ride and pronounced it “different”. After fifty kilometres or so, I also though it was fine.
The members who were there were of all ages and in all shapes and sizes; their bikes also. These were not the shiny showroom models covered in chrome and/or plastic seen glittering in dealers’ windows or lounging outside the local coffee shop – I’m talking about the bikes now – but cherished machines that were lovingly cared for and ridden for pleasure. Everyone was clearly and enthusiast, and everyone made me feel very welcome.
After an enjoyable few hours and a slice of pizza to “carry me home”, as my Granny used to say, I was on my way, several hours late, but on a bike that now felt as it should.
Chuck left me at Leavenworth, just after the Fort and Penitentiary and I headed on alone. The weather was looking iffy as I headed west but fortunately before the advancing storm reached me the road turned north towards brighter skies. This happened several times over a short period; I’d be heading towards the rain and the road would turn 90º keeping me moe or less dry. I was essentially riding the edge of the storm, and the only downside was the blustery wind, which blew me all over the place and increased considerably the noise in my helmet.
I entered Nebraska and the roads deteriorated. They were constructed in sections, mainly concrete, with a gap between each pair, to allow for expansion I suppose. They were uneven and there was a bump at every join. The result was not unlike riding on Ethiopias corrugated gravel roads. When I got into Omaha itself things were even worse, and then I experienced the worst street ever. It was about two miles long and had a stop sign or a traffic light every 200 metres; the surface was still rutted and lumpy and I went up and down like a yo-yo. I would later refer to these tracks as the “rocking-horse roads”.
Eventually and thankfully, I arrived at Sheryl Concannon’s house at 1830; the 200+ miles had taken me just under 5 hours. She was my BaB hostess for the night. As usual, she made me feel very welcome, showed me my quarters and then offered to cook me some dinner.
When I told Sheryl where I was headed, her eyes lit up. She had green up locally and spent many happy days exploring the Nebraska Sandhills. I didn’t actually know that where I was headed was called that, but I do now. My suggestion that she should accompany me, definitely made her pause for thought, and we agreed to discuss further in the morning.
Mon 19 Aug 2024
This was an early start as Sheryl leaves for work at 0700. Before I departed we reached an agreement. I had to service my bike soon and needed somewhere to have the oil delivered, so she offered her address and garage for this. While I was gone – 3 days – she would think aboutjoing me, if she could get her ducks in a row.
One good thing about an early start is that you get to see some of that morning gold I mentioned a little while back; makes it all worthwhile.
I had planned to stop for breakfast at a little town called Tekamah, and Sheryl had warned that many places might be closed since it was Monday, a common “week-end” day in rural towns. She wasn’t wrong; Tekamah was shut, so if you ever go there on a Monday, bring your own coffee. It’s an ill wind, as they say, and having decided on a DIY breakfast, I found myself a little later, sitting on a hill overlooking America’s longest river, the mighty Mississippi.
At this overlook was a memorial to the Umónhon (Against the Current) people. These were displaced from their homelands when the white settlers arrived and n order to survive had to adopt the white man’s ways. The story as told here made this sound a positive thing, but in reality, today, we would label this ethnic cleansing. The similarity between this story and that of the Chickasaw tribe I learned about on the Trace Parkway was striking.
I continued along the arrow straight Highway 75 that took me around Sioux City and shortly after midday, I was in Larchwood, where I was staying with Curt and his wife Ginger.
I settled in and tried to make friends with two of the dogs. The third, I was warned, had been known to approach in a friendly fashion and then bite, so I kept my distance.
Tue 20 Aug 2024 – Belfast, Minnesota
All I had found out about this Belfast, prior to being here, was that it was a township with a population of 195 in 2000; that is was renamed Belfast, after the original, having previously been called Cresswell, a local post office. The other interesting, at least now, fact, is that it is represented in Congress by someone called Tim Walz!
The weather today was forecast to be dy in the morning with storms in the afternooon, so I set out, unusually taking the interstate to save a little time. I wanted to do the 300 km round trip before the rain came.
As I approached, I decided to visit the town of Fula, located just outside the Belfast Township boundary, for breakfast and to try to find some info, since there was little promise of finding anything in Belfast itself.
I went to the post office in the hope of finding out if there was a sign I could photograph, and was given the contact details for one of the road crew, Jon Saunting. I then visited the town hall and the library, where it was suggested that I should talk to a crew, who wee renovating a railway carriage, at the end of the street. Here I met Marge who made contact with her brother and then asked if I would talk to the local paper people. I agreed and went for breakfast.
The only place everyone thought I might get a named structure was in Lime Creek, a small town actually in the township. This was confirmed definitively by Jon, so I was set to go there. First though, I did a short interview with Norma Dittman from the Fulda Free Press and Murray County News.
I arrived in Lime Creek. There was not a lot there!
I continued 200 metres along the road and there it was, as promised, Belfast Township Hall. It had certainly seen better days, and if it was indeed used as a voting centre during elections, someone would need to cut the grass before November.
Norma had accompanied me to the hall so I manoeuvred the bike carefully and we got some good photos. She then, kindly, waited till I was back on black land (tar), before we said our goodbyes. She promised to do a bit of digging for me as to the reason for the name, and, intriguingly, left me with the comment that she thought Fulda was initially going to be called Belfast!!
On the ride back I thought there was some rain coming but the radar showed a gap if I waited a while. I stopped in McDonald’s for coffee and it was here that I lost the first version of this post. I also overstayed, so when almost home, I ran into the rain I had successfully avoided until then.
Shortly after I arrived, so did UPS with my 3rd bank card. I immediately spotted that I had it, and arranged for, yet another PIN to be sent. I wait.
In the evening we, Curt, Ginger and, of course, myself, went to a local biker bar, where I met some very nice people – just for a change – and had a surprisingly tasty cod supper. The chips were good too. 🙂
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 