BMWMOA Rally: Spokane, WA 2004

In the summer of 2004, my very able riding partner Stacy and I rode 4,000+ miles to/from the BMWMOA national rally in Spokane, Washington.

We had a blast, and covered so much of the western U.S. And, of course, there was so much of it we couldn't see in just 10 days of riding.

I put together a thumbnail version with the photo set (click on the picture of the laden K to see those), and a *long* trip report follows.

One very loaded K12, ready to head west! I've put a photo set on a photo sharing site, click the K to go there.

Bring it on.

After 10 days to/from the BMWOA national rally in Spokane, WA in July, 2004, my best riding partner Stacy and I feel like we can handle most things on the road.

We rode over 4100 miles round trip to this event, and had a blast, even as we dealt with challenges along the way: bees, chopped up roadways, thunderstorms, windstorms. We also were able to experience this amazing country, very rapid transit, glorious mountain vistas, and exotic animals. And that’s what I’ll cover in this trip report.

I’ll talk a lot about Stacy, it was her first “really long” trip via motorcycle, and I couldn’t have asked for a better co-pilot…so good, that we were married just over a year later on September 3, 2005! Stacy’s a motorcyclist also, rides a R6 and an EX250, so she’s aware and comfortable with traffic conditions, leaning into curves, and is a great extra set of eyes for road hazards (“Yo, Lowell, wake up…that’s a friggen’ stopped car ahead!”).

We left St. Louis on Saturday morning July 10 about 7am, planning to reach Mitchell, SD for the night, having packed the K a couple of nights before. We left from Wentzville, so we chose to just head north on US61 to US36 to get across Missouri; I’d used that route on my SS1000 a few years ago, and I really like that transit across versus all the truck traffic on I-70. This is a mellow route, US61 is four-lane divided, then US36 goes two-lane but little traffic and plenty of passing opportunities when (rarely) needed.

We made our turn on I-29 north, making great headway since we’d decided on LDR-style gas stops (gas, elimination, water, snacks…no sit-down meals). We’d just left an Iowa gas stop where we pulled back onto I-29 behind a large semi spewing particles from a loose flap on the back corner. I was just about to pass him when I got a serious shoulder tap from Stacy. I glanced back, and got the “hurry up” sign, so I wicked up to “brisk” and got around. As I passed, I got the picture: the semi was from a local apiary, those particles were BEES escaping their now 65-mph hives and bouncing off me, the K, and my completely-bee-allergic-and-averse co-pilot. Yowsers, Stacy turns white at the sight of ONE nearby bee, she was now being pelted with hundreds…thank goodness for riding gear!

More routine interstate travel followed, through the turn at Sioux City, now later afternoon and heading west on I-90 where we started to experience some occasionally thrilling crosswind blasts, and elevated temperatures. We found a rest area to shed the mesh-suit rain liners we’d put on in Iowa, that helped cool us off on our final leg to Mitchell, arriving about 5:30. Just in time for a quick shower, some soaking in a the hot tub, and then a cruise into town for dinner. That was a good plan, and worked until we swimsuited-up and headed for the hot tub only to find it completely filled with septuagenarians…not good, since Stacy in swimwear is pretty eye-opening and likely to be heart-stopping with this crowd. We returned for riding clothes, changed, headed into “downtown” Mitchell, past the Corn Palace, and had a very nice dinner at The Depot (www.mitchelldepot.com): burgers, onion rings, homemade pie for dessert. Tasty.

July 11, Sunday

Leaving the next morning, we began what would be a theme each morning on the road: how to stay *warm* in mesh gear. We’d outfitted ourselves in Joe Rocket Phoenix mesh suits in anticipation of crossing the prairie (twice) in mid-July 90 degree weather, but we found this morning (and in ones subsequent) that staying warm these first few hours of each day was a puzzle. They have rain liners, and while these block the wind, they didn’t insulate...we had fleece jackets for inside, but these didn’t block wind by themselves, and were pretty bulky to use under *two* outer jackets. We did our best, moderating speed to 65’ish for the first hour or so until the sun had a chance to warm things up.

This was slated to be our longest day of the trip, over 700 miles to Lewistown, MT, and with a lot of first-time-for-us stuff. Mid-late morning, we came to the Badlands area which Stacy hadn’t seen since childhood. Pulling off into the scenic overlook, we found a handful of other BMW’s headed west, got our picture taken by them (thanks!), and looked at the Badlands way off in the distance. Hmmm…seeing them this far away isn’t what I had in mind…so, schedule be hanged, we exited for Badlands NP, paid our admission, and went touring and photo-shooting. This area still amazes me, a lunar landscape here on Earth, so very unusual.

A first for both of us was riding eastern Montana, with no one around for miles and miles. Heading NW on US212, I had my first experience of riding with “no one” around: just us on the K, the fencelines, and the horizon. We covered a lot of this ground pretty rapidly, went almost an hour without any traffic going by, and it was getting plenty warm in the mid-afternoon as we made our gas stop in Broadus. That’s when Stacy mentioned being a little light-headed…uh-huh…not enough liquids, dammit. She’s not a big liquid drinker, from this point on I became even more of a nag about drinking as much as she could stand at each gas stop. And then some.

Still heading west, we crossed some foothills and open ranchland gave way to more forested scenery, to our delight with the occasional llama ranch thrown in. We’d been buzzing quickly when, wham, suddenly US212 ceased being paved, and we found ourselves on graded gravel…for the next 20 miles! The mighty K is a bit squirmy on gravel, especially two-up and loaded for travel as we were, so it was pretty anxious going for the first mile or two until I got the feel of it. It didn’t help that I kept smelling burning rubber, or that the clouds looked like they could open up any time, thus giving us wet, slimy gravel to try to master. About 15 miles in, the burning rubber smell was sourced to the vehicle kicking up a cloud in front of us, a late-model Explorer with a thoroughly shredded tire on the left rear.

We picked up pavement just a quarter-mile from the junction with I-90, and looked over to the left to see…the Little Big Horn monument and grounds. Nice timing. We stopped for refueling there and to get out some rain gear, connected with our routing through Billings, and continued to make our way mostly north, finally, and now with small towns popping up pretty frequently. At Roundup, we stopped again for fuel, and to decide what to do about the storm front that lay ahead, very dark and looking pretty angry. A couple of other BMW riders were inside with coffee, they’d decided to wait it out, no rush. I didn’t like my K’s low-beam, so I was hoping to get to Lewistown before I needed to rely on it to find my way there. So we decided to push on, rain-geared and ready.

We rode under most of the storm, or at least its front edge for awhile, and seeing lightning that went horizontal from cloud to cloud, almost like a canopy over us. Weird, and a little disturbing, as Stacy and I and the K were some of the highest points on the road as it gained elevation.

The hail started just after the lightning display, OUCH, that smarts! My helmet and shoulder padding took most of it, but dang that hurts on gloved hands, especially the knuckles. We slowed to about 30-35 or so, not much traffic so not worrying too much about getting smacked from behind. Probably no more than 4-5 miles of hailstorm, but that was plenty…then the downpour, really a frog-choker, for another 10 miles or so.

We caught up to a Harley guy just 10 miles from Lewistown, riding in typical colors, and of course he’d just come through that as well, nearly gear free. No thanks. Now past the front, in sunshine yet and with that clear air that follows a thunderstorm, we finished our last miles to Lewistown, indeed still in (mostly) sunlight. We unpacked our gear into the Super8, tucked the K in for the night, grabbed some quick showers to get refreshed, then walked over to the Pizza Hut next door for some grain beverage and cuisine-on-a-crust. A couple pitchers later, we were ready to call it a night and did so.

July 12, Monday

Beautiful weather greeted us on this day that we were to ride through Glacier National Park on our way to Spokane, along with a couple of South Carolina R1100S’s parked near us in the Super8 lot. We chinned with those riders, heading to Spokane, through Glacier, just as we were, as we loaded the mighty K for another day of rapid transit.

A lament of Stacy’s was that, in two days of riding through Dances With Wolves country, she’d not yet seen any bison on-the-hoof, a big disappointment. So one hope for today’s ride, along with visions of mountain majesty along Going to the Sun Road, was to get to see a herd or two of these high plains icons.

We made our way west and northwest via US 87 and 89, again mostly ranching country and a nice variety of terrain. Light traffic again made for good elapsed time, the mighty K doing a good job of the two-up hustle. Stacy surprised a kid at our mid-morning gas and Frappacino stop; dismounting and un-helmeting, the kid blurts out, “Mama…it’s a GIRL” which cracked us up. I guess he didn’t expect a female inside all that armored Joe Rocket and full-face, but he was very friendly, about five, and Stacy filled him in on traveling by motorcycle.

We’d gone not far past there when, about 500 ft behind a 18-wheeler, we started getting pelted with mud, small pellets of the stuff. The roadway was sorta covered with it, getting kicked up by this truck, and some coming off the top of it was well. All this was registering about the time we noticed *the smell*. Um, no, that’s not mud…but rather, excrement of some type. I wicked it up past him, and got around. That let it begin smelling better, until just another mile or two. Off to the right, perhaps 50-75 ft high and stretching for about a city block, was what we declared to be The World’s Largest Pile of Poo, apparently a poo-collecting station for the neighboring vicinity, from which much fertilizer would ultimately be packaged. What a hoot…what a stench! Glad to be past there, and duly noting that a coin-op car wash for the bike would need to be slated for the very near future.

So as it got to be late morning, we could start seeing mountains in the distance as we rode. Cresting a hill, we got to see a very cool thing, an Indian on horseback with spear, larger than life. And not alive, just a great statue, marking the entrance to Blackfoot Nation, Indian country. We saw a circle of teepees next, likely just for the tourists, and finally, some bison standing herded in a fenced pasture. Now that was more like it!

We bought gas and some drinks in Browning, and noticed all the native American folk coming and going around us (learning later that Browning is the business center of Blackfoot Nation). It was just a few miles more to St. Mary and the inns and shops at the entrance to Glacier National Park. The allure of gourmet ice cream in a waffle cone was too tempting to pass up. We sat, shaded, on the concrete stoop and fortified ourselves with some dairy goodness before heading up to the park.

So nothing really prepares you for seeing Glacier and its magnificent vistas, what a treasure. We’d asked the ranger at the gate about seeing bears, he said that someone sees one every day, and most never see any. Going to the Sun Road is but a few miles, yet we spent part of five hours making the fifty-mile journey, with stops at scenic turnouts, and a pause or two for road construction. We took many postcard-worthy pictures, asked passersby to photograph us, and cataloged many memories. This is an out-of-the-way place, a long ride to get to, and we pinched ourselves that we were here.

We exited at West Glacier, gassed, and started making our way south and west to Spokane, about 300 or so miles away, and far later in the day than we’d planned. Our mapping programs called for that ride through Glacier to take just over an hour, not the five hours we’d spent. At Kalispell, I decided to bail on my plan for the scenic route down US2, thinking that it would be faster, if not necessarily shorter, to take US93 down to I-90 and just blast the rest of the way to our hotel in Liberty Lake, just east of Spokane.

And shorter, it wasn’t. That was a long ride straight south, and leaving us to connect with I-90 quite a bit east still of our destination. There was a good long stretch of US93 that was being repaved, with the dirt/gravel base watered down to hold down the dust. It was doing that admirably, but resulting in some pretty slimy footing, and leaving a very filthy K at the end.

I’d passed up gas stops along the way, thinking I’d find a nice, big truck stop at the junction of US93 and I-90. Arriving there…um, no…nothing. I headed west on I-90, watching the miles accumulate on the trip meter, at beginning to look pretty intently for a gas stop. What I found were a number of exits proudly announced, but then marked “no services” as we got to them. Stacy sensed an issue, as my coping strategy to stretch a tank is slowing to 65’ish…and, we stopped passing trucks, and began drafting them instead. That got her attention...and I got a tap on the shoulder to confirm the “yes, we need gas soon” status. Finally, Superior, MT came into view, with a number of services offered, and no harm done as we filled the tank for the last leg into Spokane.

That ride through the mountains into and through Idaho was remarkable. We were moving right along, hoping to get to Spokane in daylight, but it was fading fast. There are some well-engineered curves through the mountain passes, and Stacy was a great help in getting the K leaned over to negotiate them well. A bit too well, we inadvertently blasted by a county sheriff who was dawdling the in the slow lane, and expected a roadside chat to follow, but not this time. A concern was riding now with my sunglasses still on; the road was becoming dark, then light again as we hid from the sun behind mountains, but there was no place to stop briefly to remove them, and the riding was challenging enough to not allow one-handed, grab-'em-and-stow-'em operation either. We lived through it, and clearing the mountains for a while I found a nice, wide shoulder to pull off and make ready for dusk/dark operation.