Several
years ago I used to take annual motorcycle trips across the
western U.S. I visited such places as Sturgis, South Dakota
and the annual motorcycle rally there. I went to the
"Hole-in-the-Wall" in Wyoming, where Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid hid out from the law. I also rode all the
way to Las Vegas to meet up with my wife one hot August. It
was like an oven riding across the Nevada desert. When I
stopped in a small desert town for some water, the store clerk
informed me that the temperature was 123 degrees!
Here I am getting ready to take off for a trip with my rain gear on. My motorcyle is a 1983 Yamaha Maxim 750. It’s an awesome bike. I’ve owned it for over 15 years and it’s never failed me.
This
is my pride and joy: my Pontiac Trans Am — the last of the true
American "muscle" cars. I spent over four years
rebuilding the engine and doing all the body and interior
work. The only problem was that for all that time the car took
up all the space in my garage — and my wife had to park her car
outside during some brutal Iowa winters. I had to scrape the
frost and snow off her windows many a morning. But it was
worth it. My dad and I took the Trans Am on a "road
trip" to California a few years ago, and we had a great
time. One evening about a week into the trip, Dad asked me if
I could please slow down just a bit out on the highway. My
foot had been a bit heavy on the accelerator. Well, the very
next morning we were going through Wyoming and I had indeed
backed off the pedal by about 15 MPH. Wouldn't you know,
that's when I got stopped for speeding! I won't tell you how
fast I was going before I slowed down. (At the time there was
no speed limit in Montana.)
