Well here it was, the end of July 1977 and time for the three week motorcycle tour for me and my son. It all started after reading "I will fight no more forever" about chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians. I wanted to see the actual locals and get a sense of the hardships endured as they fled the Wallowa Valley of Oregon (their homeland).

This was to be a first in many experiences (two up touring, longest tour ride, camping with my son John and visiting the Northwest USA). Previous tours had included solo riding with friends in the Baja Penninsula and mainland Old Mexico. Since California was in its third year of drought conditions, I was hoping for dry riding weather. It was not to be.

My main concern was with John (13 years old). Just how would he take to sitting still for the miles to come and could I be tolerant of his boyish attitudes which I was sure would try my patience to their limits. Anyway we were committed to whatever happened and determined to see it through come what may.

I had new shocks installed and I had replaced the drive chain in anticipation of the additional load. Now, I felt that the Kawasaki KZ900 was up to the task. I had never had a more maintenance free motorcycle or had a more secure feeling about any other machine to handle its task. This bike had gotten me to the tip of Baja and back on Mexican regular gas without a whimper.

After our gear was assembled and ready, I decided to adjust the rear shocks for the expected load and got my first surprise, my stock spanner wrench no longer fit and the dealers were closed for the day. We would be leaving before the dealers opened in the morning. I wondered if this was an omen of things to come. I decided that I could get a wrench somewhere down the road as we were not leaving the US after all.

The 7:00 am sendoff had come and gone and here we were heading north out of San Jose, California. A sudden realization came over me about what motorcycling was for me. I was not only moving across distance and time here and now, but my mind kept taking side trips to other times associated with the sights and smells playing across my senses. There was the alfalfa smell taking me to a time as a young boy in some grassy field. Another was the odor and temperature that was taking me to a particular time in Oklahoma during football season. No wonder people love to ride as it seems to be a totally mind relaxing time warp. Once aware of this, I couldn’t wait to make my next escape just for the adventure of it. Just to the right was a partially framed house with the wood smell permeating the air and yes, there I was just like that back in the second house that I can ever remember living in with housing going up all around the neighborhood. I recalled the fun of playing in these partially finished houses and what adventures there were. I looked back to see if I could detect John having any of these adventures but he just seemed bored. This must be why you see so many of the older generation taking up riding today.

We had gone about 120 miles when the bottoming of the suspension had begun to unnerve me a little so we decided to stop in Stockton, California and look up a dealer in hopes that he could pre-load the stocks for me. It was still too early and not wanting to delay this adventure, I went to a gas station and borrowed their water pump pliers. After two skinned shocks and one skinned knuckle, we were back on the road.. Up and over Carson Pass and a short trip to Virginia City, Nevada.

It is posted that Mark Twain was held up on a stage coach just out of town when he lived here. We toured the town, played some nickel and penny slots and had a bite to eat.

With our curiosity satisfied we pointed out to Reno, Nevada. Our first planned over night stop.

We opted for the KOA campground and soon had our tent pitched and dinner cooked. This was to be the highest priced campground for the whole trip ($6.50). We visited a local market for the next days breakfast supply (ready made pancake mix).

At first light we were up and cooking breakfast on the bunsen burner stove. This was not a good choice as the store bought pancake batter would not cook completely and we settled for some half cooked pancakes for breakfast. At first light we started out on highway 395. Even though it was August, we made a quick stop to put on our leather jackets until the sun had warmed things up a bit.

By the time we had reached the Oregon border, it was unbearably hot and we were down to short sleeved shirts. This part of Oregon reminded me of Baja California with its intense heat. We stopped in John Day, Oregon for a break and to take on some liquids. John’s spirits had fallen to an all time low and my tolerance for heat had just about reached my limits. We decided that the Wallowa valley (where chief Joseph had started) could wait for another trip at another time. We opted to detour over to Boise, Idaho and into Jackson Hole from there. We would pick up chief Joseph’s trail at Yellowstone Park. Well John’s attitude changed immediately and you would have thought we were on our first days ride.

That evening we made Boise and John had made his first 600 mile in one day ride. I knew then that there was no need to worry about the long ride ahead. Now we were just two bikers in search of adventure.

The KOA in Boise was more reasonable ($4.50) and prettier. It was grassy campground on a lake but included a massive swarm of mosquitoes. John survived the ride but sort of slithered off the bike and I had to coax him into helping with the tent. After a restaurant dinner, we showered and fell to sleep rather quickly. If the mosquitoes were bad that night we will never remember.

We had missed the Wallowa valley, but Idaho proved to be a much cooler ride and John was more content with the conditions. However Idaho did bring one other discomfort which seems to go with the tourist season (road repair). We fended off a lot of tar and pea gravel pellets that was being thrown by all passing vehicles. It is not bad manners in this case if you don’t wave and grin at passing vehicles.

We arrived in Jackson Hole with plenty of time to unload into a motel and go out for a little sight seeing. There is more history there than we had time to explore with some of the prettiest riding country ever encountered. The four corners of the town square is arched with intertwined deer and elk antlers. That night we walked the town and went through the various shops. There were several local artists painting in the different art galleries.

The next morning we headed out through the Teton Park on our way to Yellowstone. We decided to stop at a roadside teepee café for breakfast. Here was breakfast cooked over an open pit barbecue with our own view of the Teton mountains.

After breakfast we had a short leisurely ride to Yellowstone Park. The nice surprise at Yellowstone was that the Teton park permit also allowed entry here.

By the time we got to Yellowstone it was 2:00 pm and to our surprise all campsites were full. It turns out that most are gone before 9:00 am. Also tent camping is limited because of bears in certain areas. Our first night was spent at a motel in West Yellowstone and we made sure to place an early wake up call. West Yellowstone is more of a tourist trap but it did have some good cafes to choose from.

The early wakeup and swift ride to the Yellowstone campsite area barely got us a campsite. Some Harley bikers from the night before gave us theirs as they were leaving.

Within 15 minutes of getting settled in, a Florida couple on a Harley came by looking for a campsite. We offered to let them share our site but they insisted on finding one of their own. Later they were back and more than glad to share our campsite. All campsites were full and it was not even 9:30 yet.

Touring the park by motorcycle was fun and there was never a hassle to find a parking place. However, it was sad to watch the people in their luxurious motor homes with the hassled looks on their faces and screaming children being dragged along. I couldn’t help but admire John as we went from sight to sight, always eager to see what would come next. I wouldn’t have changed places with those motor home people for anything.

We hiked to the bottom of one of the bigger falls and I didn’t think that I would make it back out. I remember John was also dragging on the climb out.

The Kawasaki was holding up well for all the stopping and starting that it was being put through.

John insisted on seeing the moose that the park ranger had mentioned. We had to wait until sunset and go to a certain part of the park but we did manage to see a couple of moose silhouettes and could hear them grazing. Riding through the park after sunset to find a place to eat was a bone chilling experience and John stuck his hands in my jacket pockets to keep them warm as he had no gloves. Even with gloves my hands were pretty well numbed when we finally found a place to eat. We made the restaurant just before closing time.

That night brought one of the many rains to come on the rest of the trip. Lying there with my son in the tent and listening to the rain seemed the most natural thing in the world and I was soon peacefully asleep.

The next morning’s breakfast was a disaster and we learned about high altitude cooking with a bunsen burner campstove. We decided the eggs were never going to cook and opted to pack and leave instead. We headed out for the "Big Hole Battlefield". We stopped for breakfast along the way and John ordered his regular eggs and hash browns. When the hash browns were brought out he mentioned "These aren’t like mother used to make".

On the way we went through Nevada City, and Virginia City, Montana. Although it seemed strange for names in Montana we did stop and have a look around. There was a vintage train (we walked through for a small fee) and the old parts of town. There were the red light cribs and Chinese area with its laundry building. All were built log cabin style and was very well preserved.

We had breakfast at one of those mom and pop dinners along the back roads. John commented that the hash browns weren’t like mom used to make. The motorcycle was performing flawlessly and any seat discomfort was either unnoticed or so slight as to be unnoticeable. Montana seems to have more old abandoned and populated log cabins than any other state that I have been in. I was only able to stop at and photograph a select few of the historical markers so we would have something to read and remind us of where we had been.

John pretending to work on the bike.

I asked John if he wanted to stop but since we were behind our self appointed schedule he wanted to continue in the direction of Great Falls.

65 Miles down the road we could see a sheet of rain about 10 miles ahead so we returned to the camp ground anyway. By this time the stores were all closed so we bought a pound of frozen hamburger off the woman that ran the campgrounds. The campground was only $3.00 but what a luxury. There was fireplace wood at each campsite and all of this on the Blackfoot river right off highway 200. The woman loaned us her charcoal to cook the hamburger. Now frozen hamburger tends to fall off in little pieces as it is cooked and I was eating some of the smaller ones before they fell into the charcoal. John considered this as an attempt to eat more than my share. It’s the little things that are annoying.

I fished a little the next morning without luck and then we started off for the "Bear Paws Battlefield" near Chinook, Montana. We had breakfast at another mom and pop café. When they brought out his burned hash browns John said "Look, just like mother used to make!" I just had to laugh.

The Bear Paws Battleground which was founded and kept up by the Daughters of the American Revolution Society is somewhat run down. Some of the plaques have been removed but you can still see the original rifle pits. This is where Chief Joseph and his band had to give up to General Miles just 15 miles from the Canadian border (their objective).

With diligence, we did manage to discover Chief Joseph’s tent site and the surrender site for pictures.

No rooms were to be had anywhere. We hooked up with two young motorcyclists and they said they had seen an available room a few miles up the road. There was one room left but they would not let the four of us stay in the same room. While we were each trying to be gracious they rented the room out from under us and suggested that we step out of the lobby.

While we were outside discussing our dilemma a young (good looking) man rode down from Mt. Rushmore with his rain suit top ripped off by the hail. He said the hail got so bad that he finally jumped off his motorcycle and took refuge under a tree.

We told him there were no more rooms but he decided to try anyway. The counter girl fell head over heels and the next thing I know the five of us were staying in the last (I think) dry room in Rapid City. I didn’t question it even though he was married. She wound up driving him into town for a six pack for us and some late night talking for them. Her mother finally broke that up when she caught them being a little too chummy.

Next we pushed toward Albuquerque, New Mexico. About 20 miles out of Albuquerque, the sky was looking threatening so we pulled into a rest stop and took cover.

Soon however, we grew impatient and decided to try and make Albuquerque before the rain. Wouldn’t you know, the sky opened no sooner than we hit the interstate. It was so hard that it was like someone was pouring buckets of water on us. We made Albuquerque in spite of it all. After checking into a motel, we heard on the news that Elvis had died (The King was dead).