Blogging this adventure has been a wonderful way to organize and document my memories made along the way as well as be able to share them with friends and family and beyond. Hell, living vicariously through Dallas has never been easier! But flat out they take too much time when you're doing 10+ hours on the road then going out and making stories. From here on out I'll be clumping days together so I can keep y'all updated at a more reasonable pace, and still be able to go out and rage like our fore-fathers on their fore-choppers did.
Started the day by folding my blankets and picking up my new friends' living room the best I could. Best I could do for them after they rained drinks on me and kept me from getting rained on by mother nature. Checked oil and air, marveled at my lost highway peg from the day before, and it was time to split.
The drive through Iowa was again corny for miles on end, but at least this time there were some little rivers and streams I'd ride a bridge over. These longer stretches give me time to clear my head and enjoy being in the open. Riding on open road with no traffic but that of a Mid-West breeze provides a sense of freedom that you don't see too much of living in LA. Loud, fast, tank stands, and skid marks are fun and all, but so is just cruising, watching, and feeling the land around you without having to worry about traffic or whatnot. Long thoughts made the 300 mile ride breeze by, and before I could notice the humidity, I was talking to my dads old pal Roland in Cedar Rapids who found me on the almighty FB a couple years back. He and his wife hooked me up with a big steak and potato dinner, and Roland told me stories of my pop that I never knew before, and how I would run away a lot when I was too young to remember. Probably makes sense why I'm cross country going solo. I don't talk much about growing up and whatnot, but talking with him was a nice reminder of how where I came from, both metaphorically and geography. Some chit chat in the morning and I was Chicago bound! But wait, is that the National Motorcycle Museum?
Long story short, those were some of the greatest motorcycles I've ever seen. I could have come here and gone home and still have had a great trip. The American Pickers live about 60 miles away, and come in there quite often. Off across the Mississippi, but not before I found out the hard way that lane splitting in corn country is frowned upon. The angry glare from a single finger waving inbred farm hand proved both this, and his IQ.
My cousin Chris from down by San Diego was with his girlfriend Alice in Chicago, so they offered me a bed at her parents house. Chicago pizza topped off the ride, and we went hopping around the city shortly after. Downtown Chicago was pretty epic with lots of unique architecture. After climbing a lion statue, Officer Frankindouche called me off and asked me where I was from. "CALIFORNIA!" "FIGURES!" he harped back in a typical chunky Chicago cop voice before he squeeled to "GET OUTTA HEA!" Night Complete.
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