minnesota klr trip september 2004 - part 2
Posted: Mon Mar 07, 2005 5:37 pm
Minnesota KLR Trip September 2004
Friday, September 10th 2004 Day Two:
I woke up after one sleep cycle @5:30am and had no desire to stay in
bed. It was a new day, and it certainly promised to be better than
the one before. I'm out of there all showered and refreshed @6am and
made a huge dent in their `continental' breakfast. As the other
guests started to trickle into the lounge, I got some strange looks
after my 5th plate. What ??? I have a long day ahead of me and I run
on fuel just like my bikes. It probably don't help that I'm as wide
as a fridge, 6' tall, and ~240lbs.
As I don't have any transportation and Aero-stitch is ~30blocks or
2.63 miles from the hotel and they open at 7am, I need to get
huffing. The weather is gorgeous with temps in the 50's so I lace up
my tall hunting boots, take off my sweater, don my 70lbs backpack,
and head due NE. Duluth seems like a very nice town. Reminds me of
home (Iceland) and the people are starting to wake up, and head to
their mostly blue collar jobs. I like the attitude that flows from
the streets. The way people look at you with less judgment than I'm
used to. I stay warm by marching hard, keeping up the pace, and I'm
sure glad I got those new inserts in my boots.
When I arrive at Aero-stitch it's just past 7am and some of the
workers are hovering outside finishing off that pre-work cigarette.
Yep, definitely very much like home. I'm welcomed by a mostly female
workforce with open arms and warm embrace. They sure know how to
make a guy feel welcome here at Aero-Stitch. They are impressed by
my hike from the hotel, and plain determination and exuberance at
this early morning hour. I get a special place in the corner for all
my stuff (Backpack/Leather-Jacket/Helmet/Tent/Sleeping-Bag/etc..)
and the mayhem ensues. I have been pouring over Aero-stitch
catalogs, and their website for some time now, and I mostly know
what I want, and I'm not one to dilly-dally. So I have about 3 of
them running every witch way to get stuff like gloves, scarf's, bike
thermometer, boots, waterproof over-gloves, etc.. while one is
evaluating my size. They bring a basic suit out and I try it on. My
voice increases a couple of octaves as I slip it over my shoulders,
and they smile and shake their heads.. "You will have to go with the
largest suite we make" they announce with entirely too much pleasure.
After getting properly fitted for a once piece road-crafter in blue
and black, I try on their boots only to find that my enormous legs
don't accommodate the combat touring boots. They inform me that
combat lites are coming that they would not be as tall. I put in an
order for a pair of lites as I start eyeballing the wolfman tank-
bag. After about 10 minutes of inspection, I'm sold on the wolfman,
and we start to tally up my stuff. It's around this time that other
customers start trickling in, and now I'm down to one person
catering to all my needs 
The suit order is put into the computer
+ all the alterations and my father and brother in-law finally
arrived.
After ranting and raving about Aero-Stitch and all their products,
and how you get a walk-in discount, I have them buying stuff as
well. My brother-in-law gets a wolfman as well, as well as some
other stuff. I finally notice that it's almost 9am, so I call the
bike shop and check on their progress. They inform me that they have
done nothing so far, and that there are other customers ahead of me.
This is not good news, as I had explicitly negotiated with the
service manager a week earlier that I would get quick service due to
my time constraints. But I had totally forgotten how people in rural
towns like Duluth are just not in nearly as much a hurry as I have
gotten used too in suburbia. Their definition of `quick service'
just don't jive with what I have come to expect, so I lower my
expectations accordingly and take a few deep breaths. This is still
not going to be as easy as I had anticipated.
The lovely people at Aero-Stitch offered to give me a ride to the
bike shop, as there was no room for my and all my cargo on my
brother-in-law and father-in-law's bikes. I can not speak highly
enough of their work ethic, and commitment and service to their
customers. The bike shop, however, is a different story. They are
downright rude and very uncooperative at first, but that seems to
get better as we start spending money at their place. Some quarts of
oil, chain-lube, face-shield cleaner, etc.. I had called them and
ordered tires for the KLR about a week earlier. All the tires that I
wanted could not be had in time for my trip, but Dunlop's 607's were
available in Michigan, and thus could arrive in time. So in my
ignorance I had decided on the 607, having absolutely no idea how
they would perform. I was pleasantly surprised later on.
Once the bike shop had its priorities straightened out, we headed
across the street for an early lunch while the tires were being
mounted. Lunch was very good, and came in huge portions, perfect for
my appetite level. We could watch the progress on the bike across
the street and they finally rolled out the finished product @1pm.
The service dude shows me the OEM tire, and there is a rather large
3" nail in the shape of a Z embedded in it. Right in the center of
the tread. It had chewed up and destroyed the tube, so it was
replaced as well. I talked them into UPS'ing the tires back to
Oregon, as the front was fine, and I figured that I could use the
rear for hunting and trail-riding rather than the street oriented
607's.
At this time I was again behind schedule, and I was forced to say
farewell to my in-law's as they headed SSE to St. Louis and I headed
west to my first scheduled stop in North Dakota. We finally part
paths, and I head SW on I35 @ around 2:30pm for a 6 hour ride to ND.
I get off the Interstate on highway 210 and cross about half the
state and then 210 turns into HWY-10. This is Amish country and is
quite beautiful. Mostly flat with some rolling hills and endless
farm fields. The KLR is purring quite nicely, and the 607's are
finally getting properly scuffed in. I stop at a Dairy-Queen for a
quick dinner, as I don't have time for real-food. Outside is a black
horse drawn carriage and an Amish Father/Son duo selling weaved
baskets and such. I'm fascinated by this, as I have never seen
anything like this before.
The Amish boy who could not have been more than 5 years old, is
working harder than most adults I work with, as they pack up their
stuff for the day. The Father rolls the carriage over to the horse
in the back and starts to hook him up. At this time, in my
ignorance, I take out my camera and snap a picture, and just as I do
this the boy covers his face with his hands. I did not know what to
think of this until a bystander tells me that some Amish don't like
to have their picture taken. I feel terrible about this and feel the
need to apologize, but alas his dad picks him up and they head down
the road before I get a chance. I don't have time to chase them down
the road so I just tuck my tail between my legs and get back on the
road.
My first scheduled stop in ND is called Ashtabula Lake. There are 2
state campgrounds on the lake and no reservations needed after labor-
day. I ride into the sunset as I approach Fargo keeping my speed at
a reasonable level. There is a lot of construction in Fargo and its
Dark, again, by the time I get through town. I still have about an
hour to go before I turn off the Interstate. I don't know what it is
about this part of the country, but when night falls, it gets
seriously dark. I hit my turnoff @ valley city ND and head north
into nothingness a bit unsure and worried about finding the
campground. It's getting very cold, my teeth are chattering, and
there are deer all over the place. I finally see a sign for the
campground (bald-hill dam) and make my way down to the waters edge.
At the campground there is an unmanned sign-in booth with very
unclear instructions on how to proceed. So with my teeth chattering
and frustration building I decide to take care of it in the morning
on my way out. There is one small light over the sign-in booth and
the clouds are covering the sky. I can hear the small waves rustle
at the lakes shore, but I can't see it. I carefully push the bike
until I'm 30' from the shore and there, on the soft grass, I pitch
my tent for the night. I'm sure glad I figured out this new tent in
the living room before I headed out on this journey, as I was
struggling with a flash-light in my mouth, fumbling with numb
fingers. I finally get the tent up, gear stowed, and I snack on some
beef jerky and water. It's almost 10pm and I feel like I'm alone in
the universe, a million miles from nowhere, with no cell-coverage
As I crawl into my big-bertha sleeping bag and get my fleece stuffed
into my pillow I feel more at piece with God and the universe than I
have in many years. I'm totally not worried about the rest of the
trip, or the wife and kids at home. All is well, and I can't wait
for what the next day will bring. It's just proof that for me that a
hard day motorcycle camping is better than my best day in suburbia.
After a 17 hour day the simple sounds of the small lake waves
splashing lightly on the shore, coupled with the light rustling of
the leaves in the evening wind, was the perfect way to head off to
dream land ..
The suit order is put into the computer
+ all the alterations and my father and brother in-law finally
arrived.
After ranting and raving about Aero-Stitch and all their products,
and how you get a walk-in discount, I have them buying stuff as
well. My brother-in-law gets a wolfman as well, as well as some
other stuff. I finally notice that it's almost 9am, so I call the
bike shop and check on their progress. They inform me that they have
done nothing so far, and that there are other customers ahead of me.
This is not good news, as I had explicitly negotiated with the
service manager a week earlier that I would get quick service due to
my time constraints. But I had totally forgotten how people in rural
towns like Duluth are just not in nearly as much a hurry as I have
gotten used too in suburbia. Their definition of `quick service'
just don't jive with what I have come to expect, so I lower my
expectations accordingly and take a few deep breaths. This is still
not going to be as easy as I had anticipated.
The lovely people at Aero-Stitch offered to give me a ride to the
bike shop, as there was no room for my and all my cargo on my
brother-in-law and father-in-law's bikes. I can not speak highly
enough of their work ethic, and commitment and service to their
customers. The bike shop, however, is a different story. They are
downright rude and very uncooperative at first, but that seems to
get better as we start spending money at their place. Some quarts of
oil, chain-lube, face-shield cleaner, etc.. I had called them and
ordered tires for the KLR about a week earlier. All the tires that I
wanted could not be had in time for my trip, but Dunlop's 607's were
available in Michigan, and thus could arrive in time. So in my
ignorance I had decided on the 607, having absolutely no idea how
they would perform. I was pleasantly surprised later on.
Once the bike shop had its priorities straightened out, we headed
across the street for an early lunch while the tires were being
mounted. Lunch was very good, and came in huge portions, perfect for
my appetite level. We could watch the progress on the bike across
the street and they finally rolled out the finished product @1pm.
The service dude shows me the OEM tire, and there is a rather large
3" nail in the shape of a Z embedded in it. Right in the center of
the tread. It had chewed up and destroyed the tube, so it was
replaced as well. I talked them into UPS'ing the tires back to
Oregon, as the front was fine, and I figured that I could use the
rear for hunting and trail-riding rather than the street oriented
607's.
At this time I was again behind schedule, and I was forced to say
farewell to my in-law's as they headed SSE to St. Louis and I headed
west to my first scheduled stop in North Dakota. We finally part
paths, and I head SW on I35 @ around 2:30pm for a 6 hour ride to ND.
I get off the Interstate on highway 210 and cross about half the
state and then 210 turns into HWY-10. This is Amish country and is
quite beautiful. Mostly flat with some rolling hills and endless
farm fields. The KLR is purring quite nicely, and the 607's are
finally getting properly scuffed in. I stop at a Dairy-Queen for a
quick dinner, as I don't have time for real-food. Outside is a black
horse drawn carriage and an Amish Father/Son duo selling weaved
baskets and such. I'm fascinated by this, as I have never seen
anything like this before.
The Amish boy who could not have been more than 5 years old, is
working harder than most adults I work with, as they pack up their
stuff for the day. The Father rolls the carriage over to the horse
in the back and starts to hook him up. At this time, in my
ignorance, I take out my camera and snap a picture, and just as I do
this the boy covers his face with his hands. I did not know what to
think of this until a bystander tells me that some Amish don't like
to have their picture taken. I feel terrible about this and feel the
need to apologize, but alas his dad picks him up and they head down
the road before I get a chance. I don't have time to chase them down
the road so I just tuck my tail between my legs and get back on the
road.
My first scheduled stop in ND is called Ashtabula Lake. There are 2
state campgrounds on the lake and no reservations needed after labor-
day. I ride into the sunset as I approach Fargo keeping my speed at
a reasonable level. There is a lot of construction in Fargo and its
Dark, again, by the time I get through town. I still have about an
hour to go before I turn off the Interstate. I don't know what it is
about this part of the country, but when night falls, it gets
seriously dark. I hit my turnoff @ valley city ND and head north
into nothingness a bit unsure and worried about finding the
campground. It's getting very cold, my teeth are chattering, and
there are deer all over the place. I finally see a sign for the
campground (bald-hill dam) and make my way down to the waters edge.
At the campground there is an unmanned sign-in booth with very
unclear instructions on how to proceed. So with my teeth chattering
and frustration building I decide to take care of it in the morning
on my way out. There is one small light over the sign-in booth and
the clouds are covering the sky. I can hear the small waves rustle
at the lakes shore, but I can't see it. I carefully push the bike
until I'm 30' from the shore and there, on the soft grass, I pitch
my tent for the night. I'm sure glad I figured out this new tent in
the living room before I headed out on this journey, as I was
struggling with a flash-light in my mouth, fumbling with numb
fingers. I finally get the tent up, gear stowed, and I snack on some
beef jerky and water. It's almost 10pm and I feel like I'm alone in
the universe, a million miles from nowhere, with no cell-coverage
As I crawl into my big-bertha sleeping bag and get my fleece stuffed
into my pillow I feel more at piece with God and the universe than I
have in many years. I'm totally not worried about the rest of the
trip, or the wife and kids at home. All is well, and I can't wait
for what the next day will bring. It's just proof that for me that a
hard day motorcycle camping is better than my best day in suburbia.
After a 17 hour day the simple sounds of the small lake waves
splashing lightly on the shore, coupled with the light rustling of
the leaves in the evening wind, was the perfect way to head off to
dream land ..
Michael T
02 KLR650 A16
85 Venture Royale
AMA222213
lasvegasrider@...
-----Original Message-----
From: bjoggi308 [mailto:bjoggi308@...]
Sent: Monday, March 07, 2005 11:32 AM
To: