Day 8 - Motorcycle - Heal Thyself!

If you needed a sandwich for that other long post, you might as well order out pizza and put on your fuzzy bunny slippers before reading this one.

Got to bed last night around 1 a.m. and woke up to a beautiful morning a little before 7. I lounged some, checking a couple of websites, sending a couple emails, and then got everything tidied up. I didn't know if I was going to be spending another night in Lake City, or if I'd be heading down the road, but I went ahead and packed everything up so it was ready to load on the bike. I put everything back in the Jeep before going in to grab a bite of breakfast from the continental buffet (their toaster does English muffins beautifully!).

I'd just finished an orange and was rinsing my hands when my phone rang. It was Dennis, calling to see what we were going to do. He said the sight glass now appeared to be full of oil, and he asked to take the bike out for a spin to see if he could notice anything. When I got up to the house, he'd just gotten back. He said it ran ok, but it didn't seem like it had a lot of power. I had to chuckle. For a man who has a Ducati Monster S2R, my leetle bike might seem a bit underpowered. I rode it down the highway for a couple of miles and torqued the snot out of the throttle, and it ran like nobody's business. I did a u-turn and went back to his house (up the washboard gravel drive...nothing like a little off-roading in a Ninja :) and from there I followed him to the bike shop he'd mentioned the night before.

When I re-read my post from last night, I must put in a point of clarification. Dennis did not imply that the shop might try to pull a fast one unless he intervened. He was just trying to reassure someone from out of town that the folks from the little town were there to help out. (Please also remember that it was somewhere north of midnight when I finished that entry).

The aforementioned bike shop was a Honda dealership in Frontenac, MN, which is adjacent to Lake City. Chris Wise came up front and listened to my tale of woe. The main thing we were wanting to do was to get an oil change to homogenize the oil (since it was only pasteurized at this point) and to see how much oil was actually in the bike. When I rode it the seven or eight miles to the shop, the bike never hesitated. Chris went to the back to clear out a work space for the bike and took it right back. The filters he had for the Hondas were interchangeable with mine, so it was only a few minutes for him to get the oil changed. He drained over five quarts of oil from the bike, so it hadn't leaked any (and got majorly overfilled the night before).

While the bike was in the back, I chatted with Dennis some, asking about his business. Ever heard of HoneyCrisp apples? Up until probably 2007, his orchards (Pepin Heights) had the dominant market share for this apple, and have only recently been displaced by growers in Washington state who are planting trees by the square mile. You know how it is when someone is really passionate about their work and you can tell it interests them and they know all the nooks and crannies? That was Dennis Courtier...he loves his work, and I learned more about apples this morning than I thought I ever could. Everything from business models, to propagation methods, to the history behind the orchard he bought in 1978 (it had been in the family, and the sentinel line of trees forming the windbreak on top were planted decades ago by his maternal grandfather). I never knew that apple varieties were considered intellectual property, and that trees that produce particular varieties cannot be called by the same name as the fruit. I never knew that if you plant a seed from a particular apple, you will not grow the same type of apple the seed came from. Root stock and grafting. About traditional orchards, planting 40 trees to the acre, and newer methods which use a dwarf tree that tops out at about eight or nine feet, maximizes sun exposure on the leaves (and planting rows north to south to equalize that exposure as the day progresses), and allows for somewhere around 600 trees per acre. About using minimal pesticides, and being certified as sustainable agriculture. About realizing the ecosystem that goes with the trees, and mowing ever other row between the trees every other time, so there is always some home for the beneficial bugs who like the tall grass.

Dennis went off to his office while I waited for the bike to be finished up, which was only another 15 minutes or so. Chris rode the bike back around to the side of the building, as much puzzled now as before. It was running fine, with no evident leaks or major problems. The consensus was that maybe I just got some bad gas, or some kind of gunk in a fuel line that blew through, or the vent got temporarily clogged. I'd been riding in rain for 60 miles as well, so there's the possibility that a monkey wrench magically appeared with that as well. I went up front to settle up, and he charged me only for the filter and oil, donating his labor to the trip, for which I thanked him (then and now :). If you're ever going through Frontenac, MN, be sure to stop in and say hi!

After I got the bike back, I rode down to the Pepin Heights main office to get my luggage back and Dennis drove me up to the orchard atop the bluff so I could get some fabulous shots for the blog, as well as to give me the insider's tour. I have a bit of a green thumb, and love being around people who know plants, and I like to pick their brains and ask questions. It was like I was on the world's best field trip, and frankly, I would have missed out on a rare treat had my bike not broken down :)

When the tour was done, Dennis had to go consult with someone about a few trees, and I readied the bike for the next leg of the trip. I got a sympathetic ear from Pennie, the office manager (who also rides) while tying up my last loose ends. Throughout my adventures in Lake City, I also got to make another friend, named Rose. She is Mr. Courtier's twelve year old Springer Spaniel, and if you looked up the definition of sweetheart in the dictionary, you'd see her picture in Technicolor. When we were touring the orchards, she rode along in the Jeep, in the little Rose-sized cave down in the passenger's side foot area. I think she's only known major affection in her life and it shows. Be a good girl, Rosie!

Once everything was sorted back out on the bike, I pointed the front tire south and pushed on down Highway 61. Today, the weather was gorgeous. A little cool, blue skies and puffy clouds. I was able to enjoy the ride to La Crosse thoroughly, and I made it to the hotel by about 2:15. I was enjoying a night at the Courtyard Marriot courtesy of my brother's frequent business travel with them, and the room was a nice suite with a king sized bed and jacuzzi tub in the corner. I noticed the room faced downtown La Crosse, and a bit hesitant (but figured you don't know unless you ask), I called downstairs to ask if there was a room with a river view I might be able to switch to. The lady who answered the phone said she would check and call right back. Call back, she did, saying they could switch me out, but the room would likely be a little smaller and not have a microwave. I said that was perfectly fine, since I wasn't likely to bring anything back on my motorcycle that would need to be microwaved.

With that statement, a new friendship sprang up between me and Joan, who has ridden for the past 30 years :) I tell you, these biker folks are everywhere! Of course, I had to regale her with tales of my most recent adventures, and she was all excited for me. This turns out to be a very bike-friendly Marriot. They even keep a box out front with pucks cut from plywood for side stands, and rags to wipe bikes down in the morning. In fact, my bike is currently parked under the portico out front, about 25 feet from the main entrance. Joan's husband is named Harley, and he also rides one, and Joan rides a Honda. Hiawatha!

While we were out front, talking about the bike, she asked who I knew in La Crosse, and I mentioned where I worked, and she (as well as the hotel's manager) just happens to know someone pretty well who works there, and was able to give me directions to get to our branch. Crazy! I rode out to the branch and met some folks I'd talked to on the phone before, as well as some new folks. One guy named Jerry had heard about my trip, and was just tickled to hear about the journey. I don't know if he was more enthusiastic, or if I was! You just don't get the same kind of vacation in a car, I tell you!

The branch closed down at 4:30 and I got a quick picture with my curmudgeon of choice (who always has to mention something about me being CORPORATE whenever I call for something). From there, I went up Losey Boulevard to Main Street, headed right and up to Grandad Bluff, which gives you a shot over the whole valley. It really reminded me of some of the nicer parts of the NC moutains up there. Lots of trees that you can just lose yourself in, and these country roads that tantalize. I couldn't ride far, because I still hadn't filled up since the stop south of St. Paul, and didn't want to get out in the middle of nowhere and be stranded by something as stupid as running out of gas. Back in town, I went the other direction on Main Street to the hotel, and had to stop for one house shot. Joan later said it belonged to a mayor of the town at one point. It's a biggie!

I got back around 6:15 and had some free nachos out in the gazebo by the river, enjoying the sights and sounds. When I was heading back up to my room, Joan was heading out and asked if her directions got me to my branch. We talked for a little, and I asked about local eating spots and if it was ok to walk around down there. I wanted to get a shot of the world's largest six pack, which was about five blocks away. I'd had a margarita with my chips and was done riding for the night, so Joan offered to drive me down there for a quick photo op, and I rushed up to my room to get my camera. I got my picture, and then she mentioned another oddity of La Crosse, which is a huge Indian statue down where three rivers (Black, La Crosse, and Mississippi) converge. I took the picture and then noticed the nameplate. One of my pet words is 'Hiawatha!' I use it as my own exclamation to express dismay, excitement, amazement, disgust...it's a pretty flexible word. It was a nice conclusion to the day, for the name of the statue to be...Hiawatha!

Joan dropped me back at the hotel, recommending a local restaurant that delivered, and I took her up on her suggestion...thanks, ma'am! Piggy's was quite good! I settled in to my room with its grand view of the Mississippi River. It turns out they upgraded me to the presidential suite, which I'm pretty sure has more square footage than my house. (That's not an exaggeration, either....very small house :) Tried out the jacuzzi tub to make sure it works, and I'm happy to report all of the jets work nicely.

Tomorrow starts the push for home. I've got to go through Chicago and would like to make it as far as Cincinnati, OH. That's about 575 miles. A little strong, but doable. When my directions were sucked out of my bag in Iowa, that included some notes I had about getting into downtown Chicago for some photo ops. I'll have to call my driver buddy tomorrow who lives in the city and have him go over those instructions again :) It's good to know people!