Day 1: July 4, 2019

The day began very early, as we need to put down a lot of miles. Over dinner the night before, the three caballeros agreed to be wheels up at 5:00 a.m. And for this group, that is no small feat. Brother Larry, our wrangler, had to get Magellan up and out the door by 5:00. I didn't envy him that task. 

Francois, Magellan and Brother Larry Left Base Camp at 4:58 a.m. We were actually early. No one was more surprised than me. The parting words from Sugar Magnolia (term of endearment to you Grateful Dead fans) as we were walking out the door: "Don't do anything stupid." My response: "I'm riding my Harley to Alaska. What could go wrong."

The heart of the trip really begins in the Canadian Rockies. But to get there, we need three days of hard driving. And for that, we needed to make some compromises by riding Interstate highways. We much prefer the state or US Highways, but they are much slower. 

The most important task for the morning is to feed Magellan. We ride 100 miles, and stop for gas and coffee. Our motorcycles have a very limited range (200 miles tops, and usually shorter depending upon our speed) and our friend from Tennessee gets grumpy if not fed on time. He has a limited range too. 


The ride through western Illinois was typical for farm country. It was a beautiful morning, with mist hanging over the fields.

We crossed into Wisconsin, and the topography began to change - giving way to rolling hills.

We went through a little town where everyone was getting set-up for the Fourth of July parade. People had their portable chairs out, saving their spot for perfect viewing on the big day. We drove through the area where the parade was being organized, and were glad that we weren't a little later or we would have been stuck until the parade concluded.

At Postosi, Wisconsin, we picked up the "Great River Road," a national by-way running along the Mississippi River. The River was still wide at that point, and there was a large amount of barge traffic.

We crossed over into Minnesota.

Minnesota is where we called our first Audible (American football term for changing the plan on the fly) was called. We intended to travel along the Mississippi River to its headwaters. But we didn't have time. Accordingly, we picked up the Interstate Highway and headed north.

What always strikes me about the Midwest are the large billowy clouds. They seem to just hang in the sky: almost as if you could reach up and touch them. And they don't seem to move. They are mesmerizing when riding the boring interstate highways.

Outside of St. Paul, Minnesota, we hit a hard squall - to the point where I was separated from Brother Larry and Magellan. I rode for 250 miles before I finally caught up with them at our first stop, in Fargo, North Dakota.

Today, we rode 731 miles over 14.5 hours. Tomorrow, it is another long ride, into Canada.