When I woke in the Dubuque, Iowa motel room it was raining and the bike wore it’s cover.  So I went back to bed.  The 1st nap of the day is always the best.  I was very glad I’d spent the money for a room.  Next time I looked out the rain had stopped so I started getting everything together.  By the time I packed, ate free motel food and fired up there were patches of blue in the Western sky.  This was going to be another grand day.

Route 20 west about a hundred miles to Waterloo and then a right turn North on 63 got me headed back towards Interstate 90.  Somewhere along that route I got this feeling.  I don’t remember where exactly but something came over me as I tooled along in the sunshine, on road that I’d never seen.  This was my 3rd day riding and I felt like I was in heaven.  Partly the sensation came from knowing that there was so much more ahead.  I can only describe it as being a part of the world I was seeing with contentment and confidence that I find no where else.  I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.  It’s almost like a drug.

I crossed into Minnesota and started to get a little antsy.  I’d been enjoying myself and my putt through Iowa for about 24 hours by then and started getting ready to put some faster miles behind me.  I don’t really get that special feeling at 70 miles an hour but you’ve got to come off your binge sometime.  Before long I was headed west on Interstate 90 with the sun in my face and the world whizzing by.

Around supper time I started getting a little tired.  I never thought it would get old but after 3 beautiful days in the sunshine I was ready to sit in the shade for a minute or 2.  I rolled off the Interstate at the next rest area eyeing up the trees for a likely spot.  This particular rest stop seemed to be a good choice.  I was able to park in the shade.  After using the facilities and taking a little walk to stretch out I unrolled a sleeping bag in a small, sheltered depression with soft looking grass and actually nodded off for a while.

When I awoke the sun was ready to set.  I felt refreshed, if a little stiff, and walked around to loosen things up.  Two older ladies with their young niece had been parked in the rest area with their motor home when I had pulled in and were still there.  I think they planned to stay for the night.  I struck up a conversation with one of them and she seemed amazed by what I was doing, riding alone across the country and all.  She gave me a banana and a muffin.  I promised to eat them later, down the road.  With coffee in my thermos from the machine, I packed up and headed out.

Before long it was dark.  The ride seemed more pleasant than during the blazing afternoon.  It was cooler, but not cold.  The air seemed softer.  There was no blinding sun making me squint.  Traffic began to thin out.  Contrary to my normal preference for riding on secondary roads, I recommend Interstates for night riding.  They tend to be fenced.  This and the fact that trees and brush are cut well back from the pavement lessens the danger from roaming animals.  I know it’s more dangerous riding at night but I was really enjoying the change.

Sometime after midnight passed behind me along with the miles, I reached the eastern border of South Dakota.  It looked pretty much the same as Minnesota in the dark.  Late night gas looked scarce on the map so I stopped and filled up in Sioux Falls and then Mitchell even though I still had better than half a tank.  I pretty much had the road to myself.  So much so that I dropped my speed to 55 just so I could enjoy a putt instead of a mad dash.  The road was arrow straight. 

I remember only a few times where I would notice a tiny spark of light in my mirror.  I would take my speed up to 65 then.  I didn’t want to get run over.  At that speed the overtaking vehicle would still catch up, pass me and disappear into the darkness ahead.  It was never a tractor trailer.  They had all gone to sleep for the night.  Occasionally a single set of headlights came and went in the east bound lanes but other than those few brief interruptions the road was all mine.

It was still dark when I got to Chamberlain and wound my way into that big rest stop that overlooks the Missouri River.  There were a lot of cars in the parking lot but everyone must have been slumbering inside them.  I unpacked my food & drink and made my way behind the building where I found a path that lead to the edge of the hill.  I could see the lights from the town below and the bridge that is Interstate 90.  To me it appeared to be a gateway to the west.  I found a railing along the path that I could use as a makeshift stand up table where I enjoyed my breakfast, courtesy of the traveling sisters at the rest stop.  The sky was just beginning to lighten.  I’m having difficulty describing the peaceful fulfillment of that moment.  It’s one of the sweetest memories I have at a time when I was alone.

Just then a half dozen motorcycles fired up down in town.  They were quite a way off so the sound was not particularly loud.  The rhythmic potato-potato-potato of multiple Harley Davison engines idling seemed to weave into a sort of music that gave me a thrill.   On the edge of that hill with a gift of food, the landscape towards the far off horizon outlined in the strengthening light, the motorcycle melody sang of adventure and possibilities.  Eventually they were warmed up and a string of lights crossed the bridge and entered the hills beyond.  The song now was more full-bodied and powerful.  The lights from the motorcycles disappeared before the reverberating sound with it’s echoes could no longer be heard.

My belly was fed and it seemed my heart and soul were too. I returned to the bike invigorated physically and spiritually, prepared to embrace the new day.  Dawn broke beautifully as it became my turn to cross the bridge and I headed into a land that felt shiny and new.