Just One Dirty Biker.

Winter's here! How To Light A Fire When The Woods Are Wet

2018-11-01T12:25:00.001-07:00

Why people are Rude and Unkind, and why its not about you.

2018-10-27T17:28:00.004-07:00

https://tinybuddha.com/blog/why-people-are-rude-and-unkind-and-why-its-not-about-you/

Downtown Boys - Dancing In The Dark (Official Audio)

2018-09-25T16:57:00.001-07:00

Rubblebucket - "If U C My Enemies" (Official Music Video)

2018-05-25T12:50:00.001-07:00

RODNEY!

2018-03-12T08:23:00.001-07:00

Umm RAD!!! Pitch Pine Resin Torch

2017-12-31T09:30:00.001-08:00

The Story Of Sister Rosetta Tharpe 01

2017-12-18T18:19:00.003-08:00

The Story Of Sister Rosetta Tharpe 01

2017-12-18T18:19:00.001-08:00

Johnny Cash - General Lee

2017-12-01T00:43:00.001-08:00

Cledus Maggard - CB Lingo

2017-11-26T14:37:00.001-08:00

Hunting A Jack Rabbit With A Sniper Rifle

2017-11-01T11:16:00.001-07:00

Get on that bike and ride.

2017-10-25T00:07:00.002-07:00

Through the hot hot blistering summer suns. And through the cold cold blistering winter freezes.
Two wheels rolling through trying elements, is worth all the sunburns and sneezes.

Cowboys money clip.

2017-01-27T19:25:00.002-08:00

Alright folks, I just finished this rad money clip. A nice tribute to the cowboys of the Wild West.

The Shooting Cowboys can be purchased here. Along with some other things I've made.

Thanks for your support.

J.W.

See you on the road.

Forks, Forks, Forks. All the forks.

2017-01-21T18:40:00.002-08:00

Before Christmas I bought myself some fork rebuilding tools: Motion Pro 39mm fork seal driver, Motion Pro 39mm fork cap socket, and Motion Pro fork oil level gauge. I also bought a bench mount Park Tools fork vise. And while I was in a good tool buying mode, I bought a deluxe front wheel chock from K&L. I have yet to fully assemble it, but it's absolutely gorgeous and I'm gonna get a lot of use out of it. I'd been wanting all these tools for a long time, and what can I say, other than the time was right.

After Christmas, I laid into using my new tools. I set aside a good day to get into the project. I had gone to the nearby Harley shop and picked up some upper and lower bushings, some new fork seals, a new fork cap O-ring, 2 lower fork screws w/crush washers, and two bottles of fork oil. Now, I usually go with the regular E oil, which is recommended, but I tend to find that too soft, and so I went with a heavy oil.

After a few years of rough riding, and 2 cross country trips, and living between freezing and extremely hot temperatures, the oils break down over time and use, and part of the reasons in which the functionality of your fork performance is lost. So without meeting the regularly scheduled intervals for normal rider wear and tear, some of us meet those a lot sooner or in some cases later, depending on miles achieved over shorter vs longer periods of time, and according to conditions in which some bikes are stored. All these variables depend on how frequent or infrequent one needs to change their fork oil, or do complete rebuilds.

I put my K&L jack under the front down tubes, and gave it a few cranks. The downtube areas on a frame are typically the strongest area of the frame, and thus recommended lifting points. Keep that in mind when jacking your bike up, rear or front. I take the front wheel off, loosen the pinch screws on the triple trees, and remove the forks. But before removing the forks completely, I loosened the fork cap while secured in the triple tree. Once that cap is loose it's easier to take it off completely. In the vise. While the forks were in the triple trees, I used my compact driver to quickly remove the bottom fork screw which releases it from the damper tube. This is where I drained the fluid from while pumping the fork up and down to drain most of the oil from all the forks compartments. Yeah, there is a drain screw, so that you don't have to replace a lot of the other stuff, like when you just wanna change your oil, which someday I may try out, buuuuuut, I was going with fork rebuild, so this is when it all comes apart.

Fork caps can be a pain to get off, cause the springs under the caps wanna fling those things to timbuktwo while slinging those sharp spring collars into your hands, arms, or face, or whatever flesh they can aim to slice up, when they're not under control. I've had my hand chucked before, and so I know those mean business. What I started doing to protect me from the willy nilly spring collar fling, is I use a thin towel something that allows me to still grasp the fork while ratcheting the cap off, the towel allows the fork cap to come completely loose, while preventing the collar from flinging off, because everything remains contained under the towel and it means I don't have to have any body parts in the way of that thing coming loose.

I get all my parts pulled apart, and laid out on a nice clean towel in the order that they come out of the tube. I wipe them down extremely well, and inspect every item for wear, any patterns, and notice that my bushings have worn down the material on them. They were in definite need of replacing. Good thing I like collecting old fork bushings.

Assembly time. So now I've got all my new parts in place, and everything is clean and ready to go back in the forks and together the way they came out. I get my damper tube and damper tube spring in the upper tube, let it slip through that lower hole, and then line up my bushings orienting them according to my harley training, and I insert the upper tube into the lower fork. I put the lower screw and copper bushing into the hole and get them seeded with the damper tube. With my fork in the fork vise, I torque it to spec, leveraging the lower fork while bracing it with a screw driver through one of my fender holes. Good thing I have those, it makes this process much easier. And it's important that I keep my lower fork oriented in the proper position to how I placed my upper tube into the lower tube because my upper and lower bushings are lined up according to how the fork with compress and rebound, and I don't want to lose that bushing orientation anytime soon.

I'm gonna now say that, a lot of the way things are done right, is all about the details. Taking something apart and putting things together is great and all, but it's in the small details that really make the difference, maximize performance, and longevity in our machines. I take my training seriously, because engineers and professionals have come to these techniques for years before me, and I was the fortunate recipient of these professional and recommended techniques, for best results.
Anyway, that's all I'm gonna say on the subject. Back to the rebuild.

It's now time for the fork oil. With my fork in the vise and my spring removed from the fork, I add the oil and pump the fork until it stops making farting sounds, and until the air has been good and bled out of my fork system, worked into all the holes, primed into all the areas and ready for me to take the final measurement. With my forks compressed I set up my fork bleed level to the right amount to be sucked from the top, based on the recommendation of my Harley Davidson Service Manual, for my year and model of fork. Once those were correctly leveled I then proceeded to place the spring, collar, and cap with new o-ring to seal the deal. The pressure on these springs is immense. and the sharp collars as I mentioned before, is no joke when you're taking them off or putting them back together. So I used a rag to cover the cap, and holding the tube with the rag I get the threads lined up and with all my might, I press down and attempt to get that cap initially threaded with the tube. Sometimes it takes a few tries, but I love my towel method, cause it has repeatedly helped to prevent and avoid the notorious gouging spring collar. hahaha

Well, I got the caps on, and I fed the forks properly oriented into the triple trees working hard to maintain the proper orientation of my bushings upon installation onto the bike. Once they were in the trees, give the cap a final torque. Then I level the tubes to the right fork height spec. I get the wheel, fender, and the brake on. I clean up my tools, get things put away, clean up my area, and admire the fun undertaking of the day. Here's another thing I love about working on bikes, especially mine; every time I work on my bike, it's an opportunity to utilize and practice my skills, keep my skills fresh, and it's basically all about maintaining, maintaining, maintaining.

It's now time to ride, and break in this new fork rebuild. Now I've ridden in more than my share of gnarly storms, and these California storms right now have me waiting this out while we're all getting flooded out, but I've got a week ahead, when I'm taking a few weeks on the road, as soon as it seems theres a break in this storm. I will most likely get stuck in the weather on part of my upcoming trip, but it's what I gotta do. Got some place to go, people to see, places to explore, and I'll be covering some ground. Until then, stay warm, stay dry, stay happy, and in between get wet, get cold, and have a blast doing it. Thanks for reading!

See you on the road.

J.W. Dirty and Free

P.S. I feel like I've been lacking on the moto maintenance stories, because I mostly just do what I gotta do, and then hit the road without writing about it, or getting to it a some point, but I'd like to take more time to chronicle my motor maintenance adventures as much as my riding and exploring ones. And I'd like to do them in this style like I did here today; a "how I did it."

Also, before you go, check out those 3 part videos I posted from Guy on a Buffalo. That shits hilarious. Do it. part 1, 2, and 3, in the posts before this one. So funny.

Guy On A Buffalo - Episode 3: Finale Part 1 (Origins, Villains & The Like)

2017-01-21T14:28:00.001-08:00

Guy On A Buffalo - Episode 2 (Orphans, Cougars & What Not)

2017-01-21T14:27:00.003-08:00

Guy On A Buffalo - Episode 1 (Bears, Indians & Such)

2017-01-21T14:27:00.001-08:00

That one road.

2016-12-31T14:15:00.004-08:00

I left Sacramento, after a wonderful two days visiting an old friend, hugs, warm company, and feeling sane again. For the couple days before that I had been camping and hanging out by myself due to my usual family kerfluffel, and I was biting my time on the road. And although I was headed into the foothills in the direction home that morning, I wanted to take all the time I could, cause home was not exactly where I wanted to go. I knew that I needed to just get lost on whatever small roads I needed and wanted to explore. In my usual fashion, I had looked at a map, and looked for places I'd never driven, roads I'd never explored, and that means, traveling into very unknown territory, just to see whats out there. And even though I've been aware of these places and roads, they're long, slow, windy, and usually not on ones destination routes. So, I set out to do that on this day.
The 16 shoots east out of Sacramento into the Sierra Nevada foothills. It junctions at a mid point of the 49 highway. Otherwise known as the Golden Chain Highway, that runs snakily north and south through the Sierra Nevada foothills all the way from the 70 north of Truckee, all the way down to Oakhurst and meets the 41 that takes you into the south entrance of Yosemite. This Fall I had the honor to ride that the whole way, but today I had new roads to explore. At the junction of the 16 and 49, there is an almost immediate turn off to a small old town called Amador. Which is also what the county is was named after. Now, all the times I'd ridden the 49 I'd never stopped in Amador. I was like, "why the hell not. I've got time to burn." So I made that sudden last minute left into town. Being as it's a small town with tight roads, I rolled creepily slow up and down all the main streets, peering at all the stores, getting a good feel for the town, flipping u-turns into well labeled dead end driveways. I was hungry. But I was looking for something specific. Something quaint. And maybe I was being a little too specific, but sometimes you just know what you want. I sat in my truck on a back street for a sec, idling in the middle of merging streets, like an annoying tourist who doesn't know what they want or where they're going. That's pretty fitting for me. I spied an old sign with a rusty name "Pig Turd Alley." It ran along the opposing side of a stream separating it from the backside of the main street stores. I could only imagine what it used to look like in the hay day of all this towns hustle and bustle. Despite all the charm and intrigue of the historical town, I decided to keep going. Along I rolled to another small, yet more populous old town called Sutter Creek. It boasts a longer boulevard, with brighter appeal, more eateries, boutiques, and easy access sidewalks. Just what I was looking for. My family came here a few years ago for a Mothers Day breakfast. This place has a lot of charm, and is characteristically busy. You bet I stopped. I had a hankering for some deli sandwich, and I wanted to see what the town could muster for me. I stopped in the visitor center on Main Street and asked a professional local what the best place to get a sandwich was. A kind elder man pointed me to a cute small cafe on a corner just down a bit and across the street. I thanked him for his time, and made an A line for that sandwich. I had my pick of tables in the place. So I sat in the right corner window, where I could oversee all the action on Main St. While I worked through my Turkey on sourdough sandwich, I observed a dozen customers come and go over the course of what was probably an hour. I was in no hurry. Mostly had things to work out in my head.
It was about 2pm when I rolled out of town. I had someone on my ass, so I pulled over to let them by. But I had also just seen a sign that said "Daffodil Hill" pointing to a road heading east into the hills. I thought to myself, "I went there once, years ago with my family, and though I barely remember it, I wanted to see it again, for real, for myself, and check out the road on my own to get there. And so I turned around and took that road, and off I was to find Daffodil Hill. I was winding for a while, so much of a while, that I started to doubt the route I was on. "Did I miss the signs? Should I turn around?" I cued up my navigation on my phone, sitting on my speedo dash. My software doesn't work anymore, so I have to refresh it whenever I question my location. Daffodil Hill was just up ahead. It's 13 miles of slow winding remote country foothills, homes on properties sprinkled here and there. And it's easy to feel like you've been driving forever in the wrong direction. I was suddenly there. It was dead of winter, so nothing was blooming, and the sun was in the western setting so the valley was dark, and it felt more like I was back in the dark coastal redwoods. There would be no wandering the property today. It was closed. So where would I go now. I cued up my map again. I saw that Volcano was nearby, and in a southerly direction that I was willing to go. And so I went.
Volcano was another random small town that I remember being dragged years ago, with some friends. Back when my friends thought it would be a good idea to live in the middle of nowhere California. Well, that's Volcano. Another small mining town, with a history of war and gold. This time I parked on the side of the road at the stop sign, in front of an old cannon, and I walked around and checked out the buildings. An old IOOF/Masonic building, an old jail. An outdoor theater behind the remains of an old building front. A park dedicated to the man who ran the mines. The majestic looking INN on the corner, a small old bar that I will most definitely be back for, the main store through old tall doors, and a beautifully appealing bakery. I bought a couple .50 cent cartons of SunnyD, and I was back on that road out of town, in my southerly direction, sipping on my first carton. Just up ahead was the 88, otherwise known as Carson Pass, which takes you between Jackson and Tahoe roughly. I took the split towards Pine Grove in the direction of the 88 towards Jackson, but when I got to the 88, I was like "you know, let's go see that road that takes me down into a place called West Point." A sign along the 88 that I'd driven past so many times, and never gone. I was curious.
This was exciting. I looked at my gas gauge, I was still practically full. I'd have plenty of gas to last me no matter how long it would take me to get through these mountains, and at this point I had decided to shoot this back road all the way from the 88, into the backside of Murphy's. Now what we locals know about these remote areas, is that they're full of the kinda back woods people that will shoot to kill, and live remotely for a reason. Fortunately, that wasn't really on my mind today. And I had enough knives within reach to carve a herd of Buffalo. And when I'm feeling fearless, I'll go anywhere alone. So onto West Point I went. It was windy, and the road was steep in places, so I kept it in 3rd gear mostly, which seems a good gear for the speeds you maintain going around tight corners, long downhills, and suddenly steep uphills. I came to a bridge that goes over a neat deep flowing river, that I imagine is packed in summer with sun bathers and partying locals. And just as quickly as I was down in that ravine, I was climbing steeply up to the top of a ridge and into town.
Now, West Point is a small, very interesting town, properties packed with old things strewn about, a small store, and a bar with no windows called "The Academy Club." I turned around in front of a home with people in a drive way with lots of broken cars, trying not to make eye contact. But I took it all in. The frail asian woman walking out of the house toward her cat. What looked like an old church that was now someones dwelling. The guy at the top of town navigating the hoard of belongings on his property. Nothing had convinced me to move there. I kept rolling. Down the 26. My turn off onto Railroad Flat was up ahead. And that took me to an even smaller town that I'd never heard of called Wilseyville. There was even less here it seemed. Yet still there were inhabitants of these remote territories. Just enough to keep the stores open, and the lights on.
I rolled more quickly through Wilseyville, stopped in front of an old closed building, to read one of those "historic monument plaques" something dedicated to the mining settlers of the area, at the peak of it's operation, and how it dwindled to a few hundred inhabitants due to black fever. I thought to myself "is that any relation to black plague?" As I rolled away from the town, I admired an old wooden fence that marked off a beautiful carved meadow on the edge of a ridge of tall dense trees. What a lovely property. I dreamed of those acres being mine. I was suddenly out of the edge of town, into the windy darkening woods. The sunset was providing enough light in the sky that I didn't need my headlights yet. And I could still admire the sparsely laid properties along the road. I drove for a while. Past some road workers that seemed to be taking a tally of the passing cars. And though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I suddenly got a feeling that I wasn't where I should have been. I started to doubt the direction of my travel, something told me to check the map.
Then there I was, my blue dot hanging far off the route, and I could see that I was near what looked like a small lake. "How the heck did I get off the main road? That's impossible!" I had that inkling, that I needed to turn around, and quickly. You know that feeling. A truck was behind me with its headlights on. I turned down this one road, and turned around in front of a church camp driveway just off Schaad Rd. I checked my route back to the main road, and this time I followed it closely for that turnoff. There was some property being worked on looked like something big was going to happen there. I was curious, but I was losing light and wanted to get back on Railroad Flat. When I found my turn off, I was like, "Well, no wonder I missed it, it dashes down suddenly and to the right. I'm sure lots of people miss that turn." I read the sign of the road I was lost on, "Blue Mountain Rd." (unbeknownst to me this will all soon become relevant)
Railroad Flat took me to the town Railroad Flat, and along that long remote windy road, I passed lots of dreamily eery properties. Questionably abandoned cars on deep lots. Moldy boarded up sheds. The whole lot. I crept by them all. Investigating their purpose, and decay. I came upon properties where people were putting trailers on vacant lots, felled trees, lumbered logs, and lots of off grid living. Soon I was onto Sheep Ranch Road. The terrain was getting steeper and more canyonesque as the topography of hte landscape closes in on Murphy's. The road was more of a one lane that you have to occasionally share with a speeding oncoming local. And so we shared. And I crept in and out of tight turns and canyons. The road got really rough in places, and I could hear all my truck bolts trying to shake lose. I was finally at Murphy's. This is where the road gets familiar.
Not wanting to go home...still....I decided to head up the hill to my buddy Johnny and Allie's house. Once there, I told them about my holiday with my family, the conflicts, the not wanting to go home, the needed space, and then about my travels that day. Johnny goes, "You went through Wilseyville?" The usual "You shouldn't go driving around out there alone without a firearm..." all that same stuff we all know. The usual warnings. And then he brought up the story....of..."Charles Ng and Leonard Lake." I was like "What????" Allie was like "yeah, it's crazy creepy shit." and I was like "how come I never heard of this shit?" We were all drinking.
That night I'd discover that Wilseyville was the notorious location for the serial killings that happened at the hands of two evil men, the years surrounding 1985. And so Allie started looking up the location of the supposed property where they did their killings. Turns out that it all happened at a property on the corner of Blue Mountain and Schaad Rd. That very place where I first had that notion that I was on the wrong road. I was like "Holy Crap! I was right there! Something drew me down that road today. I was meant to go there. And I was meant for you guys to tell me about it today." Needless to say it was a trip to find out about. I also thought about how many of those murdered could have been lost unfortunate travelers who ended up in their back roads snare, easily mistaken for a main road, asking for directions. And all the reason to never go anywhere without means of self defense.
Johnny was a little freaked out about how me and Allie kept talking about it, enthralled. But he had some good points, he said he believes in if you seek things, you'll find things. Which is a good thing to remember. But none of those people who were ensnared in their web of murder were looking for those things, they were just unaware of the evils that lurked behind neighborly eyes, and the sick psychological depths of serial murderer minds. So to this, I say, always be prepared, and if you're prepared you should never be scared. Because fear prevents you from going wherever your freedom wants you and tells you to go. So I say, "go on all roads and travels, and be prepared, never scared."
Some things are calling you. Some things still need to be discovered. Some roads are worth traveling no matter how shady and dangerous they seem. The world is yours. Travel your freedom.

See you on the Road, and Happy New Year.

J.W.

2 Months of Meandering and Home Sweet Home. HWY 49.

2016-10-09T21:03:00.001-07:00

Last week I met my family on the northern coast of California, hiking around trails, grazing beaches for special stones, and seeing an occasional friend, when our schedules coincided. But mostly I was a vegetable, cozy in the rental, with a view of the entire California coast, assembling 3D metal model puzzles and drinking wine. However, my last day I spent hiking beaches and bluffs with my friend Sara, and her friends; dinner at Tomo, my favorite Sushi restaurant in Arcata; bowling in Eureka then running to a concert back in Arcata; browsing the college bars, then back to Eureka for an after-partying. So, at a 5am bedtime, hitting the road at 10am, to ride from Eureka to Truckee, CA that next morning, was my kinda challenge. I'd never been to Truckee, and I had been trying to get up to visit some friends who moved there, for some time now.

Holy cow was Truckee a cute town to roll into at an early evening hour, bustling with restaurant goers, folks who looked like they'd spend their days hiking, mountain biking, fishing, kayaking, and looking high mountain adventurous. Folks were sitting around patio fires sipping beers, faces aglow with boozy smiles. When I got to my friends home and parked my bike, we all shot promptly out to town so that I could take in the experience. Dinner, Breakfast, a day fishing at the lake, lounging, jamming the guitars, and watching E.T. all the way through for the first time, that was my awesome Truckee experience. Thanks Jeremy and Emily!

Today is Sunday, October 9: the day I complete my 2 months on the road meandering across my Northern States Crossing, from my old apartment in Brooklyn, NY to Sonora, CA. But before I left Truckee for Sonora, I decided to ride the entire 49 highway from Vinton, CA to Sonora. I had ridden the 49 from Oakhurst to Placerville, a dozen times, but had never done the 49 past Placerville, where I usually just jumped on the 50 coming to and from Tahoe or Sacramento on various different trips. So this was a real treat finally finding myself in Truckee visiting friends, and only 50 or so miles from the top of the 49. So this morning I rode north up the 89 and took a cut through at Calpine, that wraps around the western edge of a high sierra valley ranch land basin. It was a short jaunt to the top of the basin where I met the 70 and rode east, and another few miles I arrived at Vinton, CA where I met the 49 and with a quick right turn, I was on my official decent south. I had lunch in Sierraville and jammed some conversation and philosophy with some new found acquaintances. Turns out one fella was from Sonora, one gal was on a life journey of solo travel and career adventures, and the woman who worked the cafe owns a shovel head and an iron head, loves to ride and wrench. I'm super glad I stopped and took my time to visit with the locals in that little town. It was quickly 1:30 and I had an entire 49 highway to ride. So, after filling up at the quaint gas stop in town, I was back on my golden chain trail.

An approaching motorcyclist tapped the top of his helmet signaling me to some law enforcement up ahead, which I decided to approach the next few miles with caution, and not like speeding was an option, because all the approaching corners were prefaced with a sign that warned all motorcycles of the extremely treacherously tight curves for the next 15 miles. And for good reason. And no joke on those corners. There was no racing anywhere. I took my time up and through that mountain range, down along that flowing river, imagining all the old miners claims that used to pack these riverbanks and small towns. I took footage rolling through cute towns such as Sierra City, and Downeyville. Quaint historic 1800's buildings still living and breathing with commerce, and tourism.

I made it all the way to Auburn without scraping my pipes or kickstand on any of those mountain curves, but when I got to Auburn and tried jamming around those very first turns heading south, oh, man, there it was, scraaaape, scraaape, screeech, hahaha. I had to take it down a notch cause that tight old road way was really giving me a run for the metal on my bike. Soon as I stopped scraping through corners, I was on a bridge over some gorgeous swimming holes. I can't wait to head back and take some nice refreshing dips in those pools. The rest of the 49 gets pretty normal to me from there. The smooth sweeping familiar curves were in front of me, and I could really make the rest of the 50 or so miles home in good time.

Well, I was home just after the last light was in the dusk sky, and the final mileage on my bike read "81,639 Miles." When I left Brooklyn, my miles read about 74,800. That means I put on a good 6,800 miles or so. I am just now relaxing on the couch, and thinking about my new trek an opportunity to wrench on bikes again. So here we go. Adventure bound. Thanks for reading along as I was able to write my adventures and bring them to you.

See you on the road!

There it is.

2016-09-24T11:12:00.001-07:00

The Northern States Crossing was a success. I rode through a bunch of new states: Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. Made it to my Ghost Town in Montana. Fished across the country in the different states. Camped, lodged, and wung it on my exploration, whilst staying on back roads and cruising through the small towns that make up the fabric of The United States of America. Went from hot humid east coast days, to windy frozen mountaintops. I saw interesting places and met interesting characters, in places that nobody sees or visits anymore, because highways drag everyone on direct routes, more expediently. But the best roads are the two lane roads, that you can stare down forever, or wind through mountain crags, or disappear into miles of winding corn fields in the middle of farmland America, then come out through miles of lava flow. But the best times are always the memories that stick with me the most. Like the mama Buffalo charging me, on that scenic loop through South Dakota. Or the surprise discovery of a grand canyon of desert shelves and cliffs falling into massive lakes, through eastern Washington. Getting wasted in a small town, and not remembering serenading everyone, whist rolling around with my guitar on a kitchen floor. Hanging out on the banks of Lake Eerie fishing with my buddy Pat. Hanging out in Cleveland, making a door sign, and having guitar jam sessions on a porch overlooking abandoned buildings. Camping behind a sign on the edge of Devils Tombstone. Having a hawk fly right next to me. Paragliding from the mountain tops of a ski resort in Idaho. And so many more memories to come, and be made with friends.

I recently had relatives move to the pacific north west, and so I was excited to see their new plots of land and locations. Cousin Kyle lives in the panhandle of Idaho, and cousin Rian lives just on the outskirts of Seattle. I took a slow country road from Kyle's to Rian's on the Scenic 2, which goes from Sandpoint, Idaho, all the way out towards Seattle. I did however jump down to a highway for about 50 miles, because the roads going either way were nowhere near my destination at the hour of night I was pushing. While hanging with my family, I hiked around and got a tour of Kyles large wild acreage of land, went mountain biking with cousin Rian, and I hiked Snoqualamie Falls with my Aunt Kathy. Got to make puzzles with my cousins, and see the cool things that the young'ns are painting, or creating, or making videos of. And Rian was such a sweetie and took me and grabbed me from the airport when I flew to SF for Sam and Seth's very fun filled wedding weekend. So yesterday I was back on the road on a new leg of my cross country trip, this time dropping down the west coast. I decided to use the day to explore and ride through Mount Rainier National Park. Another place that my park pass paid for itself. What a beautiful park, such nice people hiking around, I had lunch at Longmire Lodge, visited the Longmire Museum and picked up a fuzzy little road buddy. My new road pet, a fuzzy squirrel puppet.

So now I'm on the backroads heading south, and covering my old territory the west coast. Dropping down from Seattle, to Portland, to Arcata, and seeing lots of folks and places in between and along the way. In the meantime, in the event of making more road memories, and looking forward to seeing new things, here's to hunting down small towns and staying on those backroads.

See you on the Road.

Thanks for reading!

Dirt Roads over Mountain Passes, Don't mind if I do.

2016-09-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

My buddy Mike texted me about the rain that was hitting Ketchum. Thanks to my non-stop plodding on, I was already a few hours down the road, and that incoming storm was far behind me. Nonetheless, the weather today was steadily cold. Cold in the valleys and really cold on the tops of those mountains. The route that was cut out for me on the map, took me on 30 miles of rugged rocky road cut through this mountain pass between Sun Valley and the 93 scenic Idaho byway. It was slow going and I got a few small spits of rain, but nothing actually really fell to consider it raining. It was more like rain mist from a cloud that was trying to catch me. I was staying just in front of that incoming storm.

The sky was a kaleidoscope of grey clouds, and there was the tiniest patch of blue sky trying to peek through the monotony, steadily about 50 miles in front of me, which I just kept riding towards, but never actually caught. At one point on the ride through that pass, I had to do my business, and I remembered the locals talking about how the bears were out this time of year, gearing up for the winter, and I thought this might be my opportunity to spot a bear, lingering about one of those high mountain streams, or popping out from a bundle of bushes, preferably while I was not indisposed. Unfortunately, the only wildlife I saw on that crossing, was a cow that I played chicken with in the middle of the road. And a bouquet of pheasants meandering a little further down. You never saw pheasants scatter faster.

By the time I got to civilization, I hadn't had a thing to eat all morning, and I was jonsing for some breakfast. So, I stopped at a small wooden cafe in the first town I came to called Challis. I warmed up with a few cups of piping hot coffee, and my go-to on a day like this: a bowl of chili. On the road, and over those passes, I kept warming up my hands on the cylinders. That's pretty much protocol when the finger tips start aching and feeling like pins and needles in the wind chill. Sometimes you don't have enough time for them to fully feel warm enough before grabbing the throttle again, so getting to just grip that hot cup of coffee for as long as I wanted felt soooo nice. I chilled there for a nice while until my core and extremities were feeling normal again, and then it was back to the road.

So there I am riding on the 93 that winds up along the Salmon river. Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe it. It's really something to behold. It's part of the Lewis and Clark trail, and there are little homages to moments in the valleys history along the route. Both deteriorating and remarkably well preserved cabins tell the tale of settlers who at one point sought refuge and homesteaded along the river. It's remarkable. I spied 3 big horned sheep, nestling in the corner grasses on a bank, where a herd of cattle were splattered about, grazing.

Finally, the day wears to a point when you know that the longer you ride, the darker and colder it gets, and that you're gonna pay the same amount for cheap accommodations here, or however many miles further down the road you try to push on. So why not get in a little early, and enjoy the first cozy town that you can land a sweet warm settlement. And in my case, sleeping in doors was my only option in this weather. Well, as soon as I rolled into Darby, Montana, I knew that this was the town. I have a few hundred miles to put in till tomorrow nights destination, so I wasn't really trying to add that to today. Right now, I was gonna get my moneys worth out of some local lodging. Turns out I was lucky with a cozy cabin, this time with heat, and a kitchen. I offloaded the bike, and took a spin back into town, where I found a badass restaurant that specialized in Pizza; just what I had been craving. I grabbed some water, and a soda on the way back to my cabin. And I took a nice long soak under that hot shower. Now, I'm chilling to Tom Petty on the YouTube, while some cheezy television is on in the background, and I'm jotting down my thoughts for the day while sipping a Jack and Coke. I'm stoked.

See you on the Road.

Ketching-Up in Ketchum.

2016-09-10T10:20:00.004-07:00

It wasn’t just any small mountain town with old money and $2500 season lift ticket prices. It was the small mountain town where Ernest Hemingway wrote his famous “For Whom The Bell Tolls.” In fact, I may just be sitting in the very motel where he first started writing it. This motel due to its relative history to Hemingway has since been spared tearing down, in lieu of a larger and more income producing multiplex of apartments. Thank gawd some folks still have sentimental appreciation for American and significant histories. Hemingway evidently wrote a slew of stories here in this little town, which has spawned its modern day Hemingway Festival, which draws writers and literature enthusiasts from all around the globe to participate in its “writer things,” (yes that’s the technical term.) But yes Ketchum, Idaho, the home to Sun Valley: a very historic ski resort town. Boasting top of the line lift boxes, a gorgeous historic lodge at the very top built between 1936-1939, and sky high lift prices, and year round entertainment, this place can draw the cream de la crem. It’s also a great way to maintain the warm rich charm that its history, and its old money have grown to preserve.

I’m here by the graces of the good road, visiting my long time best bud, Mike. He is the head lift Mechanic at Sun Valley, here in Ketchum, Idaho. Yesterday evening I rolled into town after spending the day exploring caves at “Crater on the Moon” National Park. I pulled up to his motel complex and promptly off-roaded up and down all the banks until he popped out of one of the dwellings. I unloaded my bike, and we went to a quaint little Irish pub. I ordered a Guinness, he ordered a Sprite and the dinner was quite the delight. Can I just say, I haven’t drinken Guinness since 2002. After dinner Mike drove us up to the Ski lift and we got to ride the awesome enclosed chair-lift up the mountain, getting a gorgeous view of the night lights in the Valley towns, all the way out as far as little towns were illuminated. I got to meet and visit with some of Mikes co-workers, who were operating the mountain for an evening gala. I got a tour of the historic lodge and we were given free range of the deserts that were left over from the catered event. It was so rad! I'd say my introduction to Ketchum is off to a great start. Thanks Mike!

Anyway, It’s neat getting to live and breath in an historic place. It helps you appreciate, as well as enlighten you to things that you otherwise were unaware. For myself, I never studied literature, so I didn’t get a good exposure to a lot of ancient poets or writers like Ernest Hemingway. I’ve heard the title “For Whom The Bell Tolls” but never read it. I guess you now know whats on my “to read” list.

Ketchum, Idaho: This little valley is steeped in outdoor activities which I can’t wait to delve into over the course of the next few days here. Hot springs, that are actually hot, unlike the luke warm ones in Hot Springs, South Dakota, where everyone kept saying “Hey these are kinda cold.” Fly fishing is on the agenda, since I’ve been drooling all over the picturesque streams, riding all these northern states.

I’m gonna also do some bike maintenance that I’ve been meaning to get to. Primary adjustment/change, and oil and filter change. My tires are showing their age on this trip. I started with a bit more tread than I have now. But I think I’ve got another 2000 miles left in em. Low and Slow, that’s how I go.

It’s just great to hang out with Mike. And it was great just getting to be our old selves. Here’s to reunions, and feeling at home in the company of old friends.

If anyone wants to find me this afternoon, I'll be Paragliding from the top of the mountain. Otherwise, I'll see you on the road.

~J.W Dirty and Free.

Beartooth Highway, Yellowstone, Tetons

2016-09-09T08:09:00.002-07:00

The freezing Glacial winds were whipping up the left side and the right side and across the top, threatening to knock me over its edges at any moment. But I just kept counterbalancing against its attempts along those narrow and no guard-railed lanes, getting a little close to the edges many times. Swearing was an occasional friend of mine. Beartooth Highway.

I just can't believe that I ended up miraculously in a little town called Red Lodge, one evening by complete chance, just looking for a close place to camp. And that the next morning I would find out it was the base and beginning of the Beartooth Highway. This is a notorious highway evidently and I was a fortunate recipient and experiencee of its wild and wooly pathways. And of course I underestimated the time it would take to complete it. It started out fine and normal, climbing slowly up along a beautiful accompanying river and into a mountain valley, steadily getting higher with more picturesque views. The next thing you know, the winds start picking up. Then the switchbacks become more and frequent and tighter. I'd ridden lots of tight roads, but complied with these winds, it became a whole new wonderful experience. When I reached the top of the mountain, it was blowing hard across the top, and I found a patch of gravel to pull over, and access my leather jacket. Folks had been taking pictures of the view and then getting comfortably in their cages and warmly and safely rolling away. I did not have that luxury, nor to leave my bike kick-standed for too long, cause the winds would probably just take it right off of that. I pulled my signature relief move, off the edge of my bike, in the presence of a few tourists, and I got back on the road. Boy was that wind trying. Overall the switchbacks were great, watching for gravel and riding those carefully in the blown out corners. There were a few gnarly spots.

I finally get to this place called Top of the World. A small log cabin with one old pump. Inside it's full of fun stuff like mountain things, furs, sticks, weapons, patches and bumper stickers that say things like "I survived the Beartooth Highway." Yes, I bought that one. I picked up a chocolate bar to give me back the carbs and calories I just burned. And I entertained the staff with some songs that were running through my head at the time. Although I wanted to take more time there, I knew I couldn't. There were dark clouds building over these mountains and all I wanted was to get through and out from under them. They looked like dumping clouds, and the last thing I wanted was that coupled with cold mountain air.

I was still 25 mountain miles from Yellowstone. So I raced on.

I got gas in a cute town where bikers and other folks taking their time to enjoy things were shopping and eating in more log cabinesque dwellings. But those dark clouds made me keep saying "just keep pushing on, you can always stop and set up shelter if it gets too bad." Well as soon as I was on the road the drops came. I always want to see how long they last. Mostly just a little patch of cloud and you can roll through in seconds. You dry quickly on the road anyhow. I kept riding.

I flashed my Park Pass to the woman at the Yellowstone gate, and got my maps. opened them up to the roads I'd be following and placed them on my "dash board," a little place under my handlebar bungee cords and back-up/old bubble shield. It's a great design.

I was counting miles and constantly averaging arrival times with the pace of the tourism traffic. The stop and go, let alone the slow looky-loo traffic. It was fine, and I would have been them, had I not been trying to beat a brewing storm. I made good use of those passing lanes as much as possible. I was still able to take photos and video of the beautiful scenery, rivers, and wildlife from my motorcycle, as I was riding. Photos don't do real life any justice anyway, and I try to take it in for myself as much as possible. Yellowstone is really amazing. I saw tons of folks fly-fishing gorgeous wide streams along the roadway. I hear it's big for Cutthroat Trout. I miss fly-fishing.

Somewhere in Yellowstone among the folks stopping to take photos at everything and cars clamoring for parking spots where there were none, I started to get sleet. You know messy snow. I jammed around any holdups. I just kept saying "ain't nobody got time for this." Thats my go to line, when I gotta just do my thing. I finally got through those Yellowstone roads, and they opened up, and dropped down into a valley, and I was suddenly under sunny skies again. I could relax. I had no idea what the Tetons would be like, and I kept looking off into the distance going, are those the dark clouds I'm going under? I'd just have to wait and see. I stopped twice for gas, souvenirs, and talked with fun and engaging folks.

Then I was out of Yellowstone, and rolling through the Tetons. Well not the way I thought it was gonna go, like riding through and over the mountains. Instead the road takes you around the Tetons, from which you can see it's massive features, and smoldering hillsides. It had been under fire recently and a lot of the forest was burned badly. I got some footage as I rolled through its blackened aftermath. Traffic was much smoother through Yellowstone. Even though it did break suddenly for what appeared to be a young Moose at the roadside edge trying to jaywalk, the cute lil bugger. I took the scenic forest backroad, following more folks looking to spot Moose along this route. And I did get to see a cute little Moose butt, disappear into a thick of trees. I just wanted to see more Moosies. I got to Katies cabin with plenty of light still in the sky, or at least the sun was trying to set behind the Tetons, but still definitely up. She's a family friend from the home town and works at the Tetons. We visited for a bit at the cabin and then made a run for some eyedrops and a beer at a nearby watering hole. One and done, we headed back to the cabin and visited some more before sleep was calling us all. I even took a shower. The heat felt nice after a day of freezing through mountain passes. And all the locals didn't think I'd make it to Jackson. Hahaha Made it!

See you on the Road!

~J.W.

Devils Tower and Battle at Little Bighorn! 2016

2016-09-07T21:15:00.000-07:00

Ok so today I was officially back to my solo DirtyFree2016 U.S. adventures. After an awesome day of riding to Devils Tower and getting to camp at it's campground, I was off early to make it out to the infamous Battle at Little Bighorn, up in Montana. I stopped at a rad roadside biker dive for a post breakfast beer, where I tried a lager that is made locally. The bar was dark, dingy, and filled with ancient artifacts affixed to the ceiling. The older woman running the place was tattooed like a leopard, and I was immediately in love. Said she was from Huntington Beach originally. I sat for a spell and chatted her and the cook. Had the place to myself. Then I was back on the road to the battlefield. I'm a sucker for Indian Trading posts, so I pretty much stopped at anything with a Teepee and some furs in front of it. Then before I knew it, after a quick pee down a dirt road in the forest, I was finally at Battle at Little Bighorn. My nifty National Park Pass got me in. I love this thing. Spent a few hours there doing the 5 mile battle tour ride, exploring the museum, and hiking up the hill and around the monuments. What an amazing piece of history. I left with about 2 hours o daylight to ride, but that sun always goes down sooner than one expects, so it got darker, and the weather got colder, with much more crisp content to the air. I rode till it was way to cold to not be wearing a leather jacket. I was waving my arms around for blood flow. But before any leather would go on, I would find myself at a campground in a mountain town in southern Montana, just outside Yellowstone, which would explain the sudden drop in temperature and loss of feeling in my finger tips. I had nothing but help in this charming little town. When I rolled up to get a tent camping spot, the hosts were like "you're kidding right? In this cold weather?" I said "you got anything better in mind?" The lady said "yeah, how bout a cabin?" I said "how much?" She said "30$" and I said "sold." Evidently anyone tenting in these parts freezes to death lately, so the fact that they offered me a cabin for 5$ more than what a tent camping site was gonna cost me, I feel like I just won the lottery. Haha And Maybe that's my mojo for saving the life of a 5 legged spider this morning. It was a great day.

And keeping with the fun devils themed trip, the address of the campground just happened to be "6664" hahaha.

See you on the road!

I Love South Dakota!

2016-09-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

Today was my favorite! Woke up in Keystone, after getting whiskey bent last night at the Red Garter Saloon. Mt. Rushmore was rad yesterday. Surreal seeing it after all these years of life. And the last couple days I've been just soaking up all the scenery and rides and experiences and haven't been posting updates, but here I am. Just finished rolling all over the Custer and Black Hills National and State parks scenic rides, like Spearfish Canyon, and Deadwood, getting to minigolf! Here in South Dakota. I got to do a fair amount of fishing, as I had set out to do. You know at least cast a line in a few gorgeous lakes using a really scary lure. But today right after riding through the gorgeous Needles highway, we jumped onto the Wildlife Scenic Loop through lower Custer state park, and that's where ALL the BUFFALO were. Right up close an personal. So personal that a mama buffalo decided to charge me. And I got to do some epic off-roading to avert her fury. I launched off the roadway into the adjoining field where all the buffalo were grazing. And I rode through an turned around on a gravel road and them headed back to the road. That mama buffalo was still there and there I was facing her. And I knew she'd charge again if I rode by her, so I gestured for a van to roll by and I'd roll around them so that mama buffalo wouldn't see me roll by. But she saw me scurry around and come out from behind it, and she made one last little lunge and I pretty much was just riding and weaving through all the stopped traffic and the thick of the herd surrounding the road. That was so much FUN!!!! Favorite experience so far. And the scenery, the bare rolling hills and sparsely laid forests, the babbling brooks rolling through open fields of grazing buffalo, and single lane bridges. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.

Needles Hwy, Custer State Park, South Dakota.

I'm noticing this slumbering buffalo in the grass ahead of me,
while using natures restroom.

All the BUFFALO. All of em.