Wyoming

can you see the tank crack that kills? (just around the center glow)

disassembled again

Getting towed


Yellowstone Scooters, Casper, WY


The lady birds

Gary, Tara & Brie

Gary & Tara outside their house

Herds of antelope

Oil Fields

The Pony Express?

Antelope

Herds of Antelope

going for the artistic shot

Where the rubber meets the road

Plateaus

My favorite state sign yet

Aaaah...the grand state of Wyoming...where roppers, bangers and wranglers rule. The wildlife is so close you can literally reach out and touch it - our as the locals would probably say, so close you could shoot it. Upon arriving in Wyoming and leaving the black hills, I began to see the topography gradually change from coniferous trees and rocky hills to yellow and orange grassy slopes scattered with sage brush, plateaus and endless sky. Southwestern Wyoming is drastically different than the Wyoming that is advertised to us easterners; the land isn't the lush wild uptopia of Yellowstone and the Tetons....rather it's much more dry, harsh and unforgiving...but equally beautiful in its own respect. I was thrilled to see the many herds of wild big horn antelope running in tandem with me as I road along side the open ranges. On one occasion, I came face to face with a huge male antelope standing in the middle of the road. I scurried for my camera almost in a panic, trying to get that front cover National Geographic shot, but my clumsiness and nervousness prevented me from getting to the camera quickly enough, and he quickly bolted back out into the sage brush.

My first day into Wyoming was long and laborious...I road somewhere between 300 and 350 miles and finally arrived into Casper late in the day. I hadn't figured out yet where I was going to sleep that night, but I saw signs for a KOA in the town just outside Casper called Bar Nunn. To my dismay, the KOA was located just off the highway and was more of an inner city compound for gypsies and drifters then a place for outdoor camping. For just $30 bucks a night, you can get a lovely corner of concrete, next to a busy highway and street lights, butt up between a winnebago of empty nesters and a rag-tag group of lost souls....no thanks. I got turned around after I passed the Krap of America campground and found myself riding through a housing development...the road was smooth and comfortable then...BANG! I hit a speed dip that came out of nowhere...just seconds before I noticed it, I braced myself and slightly stood up on the scooter to counter the impact then yelled out "WTF!" - (the words, not the acronym). I turned around and saw the yellow DIP sign hidden behind a tree branch. I pulled over to catch my breath...I was only driving about 20 mph, yet the impact almost threw me off the bike. Annoyed and disgruntled, I quickly got out of Bar Nunn and tried to find another campground a little more primative and private. As I road into Casper, I decided to refill my fuel tank and reserve tanks before I made the extra 20 mile track outside the city to more suitable campground. As soon as I pulled over, a lady walked up to me and said, "Sir, do you know you're leaking gas...?" I looked down and their was gasoline all over the ground. I immediately got off my scooter and couldn't believe what I saw....the fuel tank cracked again, probably from the speed bump I hit. This time the gas wasn't just dripping but had a steady stream of liquid pouring out all over my engine....feeling defeated, I put my head down and hands over my my face. Not again. Getting this fixed put me out two days and $320 (including repairs + hotel) in Pierre and now I travled only about 600 miles and I was facing the same issue. So much for an relatively inexpensive cost-saving cross country trip....

Going to a more primative and natural campground was now out of the question. Whether I wanted to or not, I was staying in Casper for the night. I found an RV campground just up the road and parked the scooter to set up camp, complain to myself, and figure out my next step. This campsite was a little better than the KOA yet was still a concrete jungle. That night I went to sleep to the sound of passing semi's, train horns, and RV wheels grinding against the gravel ground as visitors came and left the campground.

I woke up early and eager to get out of my cold sleeping bag and get some coffee so I could rejuvinate and plot out my alternatives for getting this gas leak repaired. The night before I sent out emails to the Wyoming authorized dealers for Genuine Scooters, the Genuine factory, and the dealer where I bought my scooter from in South Philly...hoping that someone would give me some direction on how to handle this issue and get it fixed.

First, I walked down to a local restaurant just a mile down the road to get some breakfast. I sat down at the bar section and ordered the veggie omelet and a cup of joe. A few minutes later a man pulled up on his bicycle, walked in, and sat right beside me. He was gnarled looking - his clothes were torn and faded, his beard and hair were overgrown and bushy, and his face was contorted, possibly from a stroke. He asked the waitress how much a coffee would be and she said $1.59...he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crushed, rolled up dollar bill, and a hand full of nickles, dimes and pennies and said, "I think I should have enough" then began counting the change. I felt as though the Lord was telling me to talk to him, but I was timid about initiating the conversation. He overheard me speaking with my girlfriend, Amanda, on the phone and when I hung up, began asking questions about my trip.

We talked about my trip, scooters, the loud trains passing through that part of town, and things to do in Casper....anytime we talked about scooters, he would ask me if they were fast enough to get away from the cops...and then proceeded to tell me that all there is in Casper are prisons and cops. I was thinking this guy must have done some serious time in the slammer. He must have spent so much time in prison and getting arrested by cops that to him, Casper was a sort of Alcatraz! Anyway, I offered to pay for his coffee and breakfast and he declined. He asked me my name, and I said Ernie....he said, "Ernie? that's my name!" and then proceeded to prove it to me by showing me his drivers license (see pic). As I was beginning to leave, he told me I could now pay for his coffee, so I did...then told me that he wasn't getting paid again for another week and hit me up for $5 bucks. I had exactly $5 left in my wallet so I gave it to him.

Funny side note: the waitress at the restaurant bar asked me where I was from and I said Philly...suddenly a loud voice from the other side of the bar screamed, "Philly!? I'm glad I'm not from that hell hole...I'm from Erie, Pennsylvannia. I yelled back, "Are you kidding me, Erie? What's that city you claim, Shitts-burgh? Don't you all walk around all day with coal mining smut all over your faces! She yelled back, "Well its better than getting a knife in your back!"...a long story short, this gregarious woman moved out from Erie 10 years ago and seemed to hate all things Philly...we were teasing one another in good fun and the restaurant patrons seemed to enjoy the quick humorous outbursts.

I got a call from the local authorized dealer in town, Yellowstone Scooters, about 2 pm on Sunday. The owners, Gary and Tara, were on vacation all week and hurried home on Sunday so that they could help me. I got the scooter towed to Yellowstone Scooters by Roadside Assistance and arrived at their place within an hour and a half. Gary was there waiting for me and quickly took the scooter into his shop and began disassembling it. I'm thinking to myself, "What a good guy. He raced home from his vacation to help me out and is working on his day off." Since it was a Sunday and the manufacturer, Genuine Scooters, could not readily send out the replacement parts, Gary used the spare parts from his wife's scooter to fix mine. He replaced the fuel tank and fuel connection lines, added an additional bracket on the back for support, replaced my left mirror which had fallen apart and refueled my tank. In about two hours, the scooter was back to new. Because Gary had helped me in so much, I offered to take him out to dinner, however, he said his wife, Tara, had already cooked and invited me over for dinner instead. I glady accepted.

Before arriving at his house, he asked me if I was okay with dogs and birds. I was thinking sure...I have a dog and love dogs, no big deal...and birds, well birds are caged animals that are harmless. When I walked through the door it was like a scene out of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Two parots flew directly for my face and landed on my shoulders...I let out a high pitched scream for moment, and then realized that they were just birds...and this is what Gary was warning me about. They were lovable animals, I just hadn't expected the intense greeting from them. Their minature German Schnauzer named Brie was a cute playful little thing. Gary, Tara, the lady birds, Brie and I all headed over to the dinner table for a delicious medley of Chicken, Sweet Potatoes, Veggies and Corn Bread...and I must not forget to mention a much Needed Beer.

After dinner they told me that I was welcomed to sleep over too if I wanted...I was a bit hesitant because I hate to impose or feel like a mooch but they were so nice and sleeping in a bed seemed at lot more appealing that going back to the concrete jungle campground. I stayed the night and felt great for my morning ride the next day.

Morning has broken

Crazy Horse: unfinished
At the top

Reading and Praying

I look like an Afgan hidding in the mountains

Sunrise

That night in the Black Hills was exactly the experience I was looking for. I woke up about 6 am, and immediately put my boots on, grabbed my bible and an apple and began the asent to the top of the mountain. The peak was only about another 600 feet above my tent, but as I began to climb I realized a good amount will have to climbed vertically. I stuffed my bible in the back of my pants and the apple inside my hoodie side pocket and ever so carefully put one foot in front of the other. A few times I thought that the climb was way over my ability...as some of the stretches I had to make from one rock formation to the other were long and required a lot of strength. I got stuck at one point and a little concerned that I was going to fall and break my leg or back but discovered an alternate safer route up the face of the mountain. The view was worth the climb...I could see the entire valley...my tent looked like a little spec below me...and the sun began to rise just as I reached the top. It was one of those moments you wish you could bottle up and return to time and time again.

I've been so busy on this trip merely surviving that I hadn't been reading or praying as much as I orginally planned to. So I used the next half hour of so reading and thanking the Lord for providing me with safety and good people so far along my journey. Even though I've had a few problems along the way, He provided me with the people and resources to overcome the obstacles. Most of all, He has provided me with himself, his presence and comfort.

After my climb, I packed my gear and raced over about 30 miles south to the Crazy Horse sculpture memorial. Cheif Crazy Horse is a warrior hero of the Lakota Indians of the Dakota praires and black hills. He raided frontier settlements and was the cheif leader during the Battle of Little Big Horn. One interesting fact about the memorial is that it is being sculpted completly from private donations...as a silent protest, the Lakota's will not accept any US government grants...apparently there's about 1 billion dollars in untouched funds that the governement has set aside for the Lakota Indians, however they will not use the money. I feel sorry that we desimated their land and culture, and forced them to live on tiny sectioned off parcels of land. How amazing would it be if we could still see them live today as they did for thousands of years prior to European's arrivals into America...

Badlands into the Black Hills

into the wild
around sun set taken from my tent

Mt. Rushmore

Great Faces. Great Places

Who the heck lives in these little towns?

Badlands

WARNING: THIS IS A LONG ONE..

Roughly 200 miles of praire lands and I arrived into the desolote yet beautiful Dakota Badlands. Riding through hundreds of miles of mostly flat grasslands and farms, the badlands came as a nice change of scenery. They kind of remind me of a minature grand canyon, with deep cravases where rivers once ran through and yellow, auburn and white sedimentary rock formations that were piled upwards like sand castles. The pictures I posted give the appearance that I was the only person around, however, there was a good number of people entering the national park and taking pictures. I met someone from Jersey, an older Jewish fellow, who told me he used to ride his 50 cc Vespa in the 60's up and down the black horse pike...until someone hit him and that was the end of that. Anyway, I spent about an hour driving around being wowed by the majesty of it all. It feels as though you are looking back in time when staring into the vast nothingness of the badlands...representing a history of earth's orgins at creation...realizing how ancient the earth is and how we've occupied only a split second of eternity. Did I just mind freak you?....

My only regret is that I didn't spend the night there, camped out underneath the stars, surrounded by this alien world...I think it would have been a special, awe inspiring experience.

But I was on a mission: to get to Mt. Rushmore before sundown. So I pulled back the throttle and zoomed off towards Rapid City. I hadn't eaten anything all day, so I stopped by a Pappa John's on the way and quickly scarffed down an entire 10" pizza...I hadn't had much sustinence since I began the trip....mostly surviving on Nature's Valley bars and apples. The cheese and grease probably went straight to my ham hocks but after eating it I felt like a new man.

I drove the additional 30 miles to Mt. Rushmore through the black hill's twists and turns and finally arrived at the small quaint town of Keystone nestled at the base of the asent to Rushmore. There wa a gold rush to the Black Hill's in the late 1800's and Keystone is reminiscent of the Old West, staying true to this classic appearance, with saloon-type bars and chuck wagon-type ordiments.

From Keystone, I arrived at Mt. Rushmore in minutes, paid the $10 entrance fee and made my way to the moutain vista....looking upwards at the four president's busts (Washington, Jefferson, Teddy, and Lincoln) I was hoping to discover if the sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, carved a inconspicuous dangling booger from one of the president's nostils...but there was no such luck. From my short knowledge of history, if any of the presidents would have had a hanging booger, it would have been Teddy as he was the least polished of the four, and I imagine, wouldn't have thought to blow his nose as often.

It was getting dark and i needed to find a place to sleep, so I gazed into the heroic eyes of our great president for a few more minutes hoping to get some inspiration (but none came) and sped back down the moutain to Keystone. I couldn't find a campground so I asked a park ranger if he knew of any close by. He told me that everything close by has closed down, but the Black Hills were a National Park and if I went outside the confines of Keystone and I could camp anywhere I wanted. And so came a moment of truth for me. I had a big decision to make: 1) do I step outside my boundaries of camping inside a traditional campground and move out alone into the wilderness, away from people, alone in isolation, far from help and safety, close to the jaws and claws of predators (bears, moutain lions, rattlesnakes) OR 2) do I just get a cheap hotel for the night in Keystone surrounded by the comforts and security of modern life.

My heart and soul pulled me towards option number one yet my fear and rationality pulled me towards option number two. In my head, I could see the two little people fightening over who will win me over. I decided that driving out into the hills alone couldn't hurt and if it seemed too far out and isolated, I could always come back into town and get a room. So I drove about 10 miles and a few more trying to find an ideal spot....I kept going out further and further into the wilderness because I wasn't sure what kind of spot was I really looking for. It was just about dusk, and I pulled over. Suddenly, the fear came back and I wanted to go back into town and make it a safe, easy night...but deep down inside, I couldn't forgive myself for being so unadverturous and fearful....so I tied my scooter to a sign post beside an embankment, and hiked a good 100 yards up the mountain. I found a relatively flat spot among the vertical rocks that protruded from the peaks of the hills. I quickly set up my tent in the dark (with the aid of my headlamp), changed into my thermals, wool socks and hat, hoodie and stretched out my sleeping bag. It was a pefect night. The moon was full and shone brightly, casting elongated blue shadows into the interior of my tent....the stars were crystal clear and sparkled...the winds summoned a gentle breeze...the smell of pine needles surrounded me. I was so happy that little adverturous man inside my head fightening to venture into wild won the battle. The night was cold but I slept like a baby - content, satisfied and hopeful.

Stranded

like superman, my mom sewed my costume
soaked and getting gas

The thorn in my side

Jerry to the rescue

rattlesnake tail

sweet dashboard

Big Bertha

Praire Dogs

Dakota Motor Sports: left to right - Jarome, Hunter, me and Abe.

Buffalo Gap National Grasslands

"I'm stranded at the edge of the world...it's a world I don't know...got nowhere to go....feels like I'm stranded" - Stranded by Van Morrison

I left Madison, South Dakota planning to ride 300 miles to The Badlands National Park. During that very rainy and cold ride through the praires and rolling hills I noticed that my gas mileage seemed to be decreasing. There were no gas stations or towns for about 180 miles, just endless grassy hills....I ended up using a full tank of gas + both my (1) gallon reserves I have stored inside my scooters saddle bags. In Philly, I easily get 90 mpg...out here with strong winds, hills, and extra weight, I'm getting somewhere between 65 - 75 mpg...still really good...but during my ride through SD to the Badlands I was having to refill my tank every 45-50 miles (i have about a (1.1) gallon tank). It really strange and concerning...about 2/3rd's of the way in I decided to pull over and inspect the bike. Underneath the back seat just above the tire, there was this steady dripping of gasonline coming from my gas line. I was loosing gas! I had planned to get to Pierre, SD on (3) gallons of gas, yet they were only getting me 50 miles each gallon for a total of 150 miles...I had 180 miles total to travel! I became really concerned that I was going to run out of gas before I arrived at Pierre and be stuck 20 miles short of the nearest person or gas station. I send up a few prayers and tried my best to converve gas by not hammering on the throttle. Remarkably, I arrived in Pierre on "E" and scurried off to the nearest gas station to fill up.

At the gas station, a local man came up to me as I was inspecting the gas line a bit further. It was apparent the gas was leaking as it was all over the blacktop. I told him about my predicament, and he gave me the name and number of local motorcyle repair shop just accross Lake Sharpe in Fort Pierre. He said, "tell them "Bird Man" sent you" and then walked off. I thought he said Burn Man or Butt Man or Boob Man or something....then as he drove off in his pick-up, I noticed his licence plate said "Bird Man"

I immediately called the shop, Dakota Motor Sports and rode about 6 miles west across the lake. They were really great...they took my scooter ride in and disassembled it to reach the gas tank and lines. We discovered that it was wasn't the gas line that was broken but a weld surrounding a bolt connected to the bottom of the fuel tank was cracked. The gas was leaking from there down the gas line and out onto the ground. They suggested that I get a entirely new gas tank...the Genuine Scooter shipped it out and I got it two days later. In the meantime, I was stranded in Fort Pierre, SD.

Jarome, the owner of Dakota Motor Sports said to me, "Well, I was gonna drive you to the motel but I think I'm gonna give you my pick-up instead..." I'm thinking, what...really? This guy actually trusts me and is giving me his car to use for the next two days? This would never happen in Philly. Anyway, he showed me over to the pick-up...it was a bona fide 1970-something Ford F-150 XLT. The outside was fadded tan with rust around the perimeter of the car. Starting the car took a bit of witch doctor magic by peforming the following ritual: pumping the gas a few times, rapidly turning the key back and forth, and finally pressing a silver ignition button located under the steering wheel. If all went well on your first try, she started up with a roar, crack, thunder and boom. If not, try again in the reverse order and hope that it works.

The interior was simply classic. There was a big ole bus-type steering wheel, the fabric on the ceiling was torn and hanging, none the dashboard readouts worked including the gas gage, turning signals, oil and battery levels. The rear view mirror was torn off and stored inside the middle counsel compartment. But my favorite part of the entire truck was inside the cigarette ash tray...the tail of a rattle snake...now that's just country! In my head, I immediately named the truck Big Bertha...and we was gonna have a good time together.

For a short time, Big Bertha was amazing. She got took me to wal-mart, k-mart, radio shack, a cafe, and a barber shop. I probably road her about 10 miles total when I had a the great idea to take her for a spin to walgreens...I was sneezing a lot that day and I wanted to begin taking medicine before I got sick. I was driving her for about 3 minutes and then just about as I was going to get on the bridge to cross over Lake Sharpe, she died....had a heart attack or a stroke or something...but there were no vital signs at all. I thought maybe she ran out of gas but I remembered that Jarome assured me that she had plently of gas (his brother recently put in $25 and I added $15) Anyway, here I was once again without a working means of transporation, stuck on a highway not knowing what to do next. Then suddenly the EMT came...his name was Jerry. Jerry saw me on the side of the road, dazed and confused, and just being the good guy that he is, pulled over and offered to tow me into the Perkings Restaurant parking lot. After helping me get into a parking space, he then offered me a ride back to the motel. What a guy...

To make this long story short, Jarome picked me up at the motel the next day in his much newer and nicer vehicle and told me that he bought the truck for $800 bucks and that something probably came loose. In the end, I thought the truck was pretty damn awesome; and the fact that she died on me was kind of funny.

The fuel tank arrived early that morning and the mechanics at the shop got'er all fixed up and looking good. Thanks Jarome, Abe, and Hunter for all your help!

Also, special kudos to Philly Scooters of Passyunk and Genuine for working together in getting the parts to me quickly!

Marky Mark

I'm sipping coffee at cafe in downtown Pierre, SD. The picture on the outside of the napkin holder reads...." Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. - Mark Twain. " What an inspirational napkin holder! I'm gonna wipe my mouth with at least 2 or 3 of those napkins to hopefully rub off some of that inspiration onto my lips...and hopefully it'll make it's way down to my heart.

I think we all have deep seeded fears and an insatiable need for control that we don't live the life we desire...trapped by these temptations, we mostly live mundane lives of security and routine. Like everyone else, I've fallen victim to this temptation many times in my life. Thankfully though, there are always hidden doors of our hearts that will guide to a place of freedom. We need to listen to that call and follow it.

Oh by the way, I'm going to take this opportunity to show you something really cool. Look at the picture of the scooter at the top of the blog. It was taken by someone named John C. Costello, a photo journalist in Haddonfield, NJ. Just before I left for my trip, I did an early morning test ride with all the equipment and gear packed onto the scooter. As I was paying for my coffee at Jersey Java just off of Haddon Ave, I looked through the window and there was this guy pratically laying on the street taking pictures of my scooter....I'm like, wtf is he doing? In the photo, you can see my bald head peering through the window pane...confused and wondering. It's interesting to see myself from his perspective....it made for a great title picture. JCC, thanks for the stellar photography.

Into South Dakota

From Storm Lake, I traveled north on Rt 59 through Minnesota, then went west on Rt 30 through eastern South Dakota. The ride for the most part was enjoyable. The winds were somewhat calm that day, so I was able to keep a good pace. There was, however, this one stretch of highway for about 50 miles that must have been devasted from trucks...every few feet there was a embossed line of tar patches that made me feel like I was bouncing on a pogo stick at 60 mph. This also paved the way for a disorder of the buttocks I like call "saddle-ass galore"....

The people along the way were really nice. I pulled over a few times to take pictures and twice someone pulled over to check in with me to make sure everything was okay. As i came closer to the SD border, the bug polluation increased significantly. During my trip beginning in NJ, I would have to occasionally pull over when a bug flys up into my helmet. One time in Indiana, a wasp actually made its way into my helmet...it was crawling upwards on the inside of my visor, right next to my nose. Staring at it cross-eyed, I let out a high pitched girly scream and began to swerve back and forth on the road, banging my helmet in attempt to get the stinger-armed critter out of my helmet. The people driving behind me must have thought I was a lunatic....I finally pulled over and got it out. Anyway, I digress...the bugs in SD were abundant...every few minutes there was a Pop...Pop....with the occasional Thunk as they crashed into my visor. There were insect legs, wings, brains and body parts smeared all over the front of my visor and helmet making a medley of green and black guts. It actually became a little difficult to see, but made for a very interesting piece of modern art. In my head, I imagined little Japense guys with WWII attire on flying the bugs directly into my helmet screaming, Kamakazi! And in my head, I was a US battle ship who's mission it was to shoot them down and dodge the bombardment of enemy fire....I know, I'm weird...but it keeps things fun. At the end of the day, the Japenese fighter pilots and their bug airplanes won the war....I reduced the bug population in SD by only .0000000000000001 of 1 trillionth of 1 billionth a percent.

I arrived in Madison, SD about 5 in the evening. That night I stayed with the Thayer family. My friend, Angie Thayer, lived in Philly the past few years and we went to the same church (Liberti Church) in South Philly. She recently moved back home to the beautiful praires of South Dakota. Anywho, she's temporarily staying with her parents...they live on a beautiful lake...there house is very cabin-esque, and my night there felt like vacation. They served up burgers and veggies for dinner and pancakes with rhubarb jelly and eggs in the a.m. Mom, Dad and Angie were super generous and hospitable, thanks ya'll :) My stay there revived me for the next day's ride west to The Badlands National Park.