By Michael Stivale

Aug. 26, 2018: After pulling out the last soggy sock from my pack, I couldn’t help but smile as I looked down on a tripmeter that read 13,619 miles. Then I wearily made my way inside to catch my breath for the first time in two months.

Rewind 63 days.

I was sitting in my driveway, tying the last few pieces of gear to my bike, preparing for the two months that lay ahead. I had planned this trip over the course of about a year and a half, and the departure day was finally upon me. It was to be two months on the road travelling what I had originally estimated to be 11,000 miles through 30 states and one Canadian province.

Most of the trip was planned around national parks, with the occasional city mixed in. This worked perfectly, because I was planning on finding the places with the least cell service.

The next day (June 26) was a culmination of nervous energy and excitement as I crossed the Hudson River, leaving Peekskill, N.Y., in the rearview mirrors of my 2018 Harley-Davidson FXLR.

The first stop was Buffalo to visit some old college friends before I made my way through Ontario and, then, to Michigan.

On Day 3, the plans were basically thrown out the window, when I decided to take the ferry across Lake Michigan, rather than ride around the lake and go through Chicago.

After arriving in Milwaukee and talking to the locals, I realized I would be improvising most of this trip because each conversation revealed more hidden gems of the area.

Lesson learned: It was way more fun to fly by the seat of my pants than stick to a plan.

As I was leaving Milwaukee, I hit a ferocious thunderstorm. To my surprise, in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin, I was able to take refuge in a friendly couple’s garage.

Handing me a beer, the husband said, “It’s not every day a guy from New York pulls in your garage on a bike.”

Finally dry and full of optimism after the chance encounter, I headed west to South Dakota.

Hitting the Black Hills when it is not Sturgis Motorcycle Rally week was one of the better decisions of my trip. I was able to fully enjoy all the roads and scenery without all the congestion.

From South Dakota, I camped my way through Yellowstone, Grand Teton and Glacier National Parks—not without a few bear encounters, of course.

Being from Westchester, N.Y., I don’t think about bears too often. Even though the road I was on happened to be called Beartooth Highway, it still didn’t quite register.

Following a long ride from Greybull, Wyo., through the epic snowcapped mountains, I landed in Cooke City, Mont. After pricing out a few rooms, I decided a free campground was the way to go.

After hanging out at the campground across the street, I came back to my tent, crawled into my sleeping bag and jotted down some details about the day. As I was writing, I heard some rustling outside the tent. A dog? A raccoon? No big deal.

But, as it got closer, the silhouette revealed that it was quite a bit larger than a dog. I thought, “You had a good run, but this is where it ends, a midnight snack for a bear in the middle of Montana.”

I watched as it circled the tent a few times padding at the sides, probably wondering if dinner was ready yet. Then, in a curious turn of events, the silhouette stopped and lay down next to the tent.

As quietly as I could, I slid to the corner of the tent opposite the bear, found my knife and cut a hole. Then I slowly crawled out and tiptoed past the beast. I got about 50 feet away, and, wearing nothing but my skivvies, I sprinted to the outhouse at the end of the road.

I got a refreshing two hours of sleep that night. In the morning, I cautiously patrolled the campground. No bear. That morning was the fastest my bike was packed for the rest of the trip.

Luckily, the rest of my bear sightings were from a distance while driving through Yellowstone and Glacier national parks.

The Rocky Mountains offered two of the best roads of the trip: Beartooth Highway and Going-to-the-Sun Road. Beartooth Highway climbs and winds to nearly 11,000 feet, with stunning mountain views around every curve. I even rode past some shirtless summer skiers in the middle of July.

Thoroughly enjoying my ride through the mountains, I crossed into Idaho, where I became acquainted with a man from Chicago. We rode the rest of the way together through Idaho and Washington and on to Seattle.

Reaching Seattle marked the end of the first leg of my journey. It was a mini-accomplishment reaching the Pacific Ocean on a motorcycle. Once I left New York, the West Coast felt like the destination.

Riding The Coast

Now, I was able to ride U.S. Route 101 and California Route 1 like I had always dreamed.

Although I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have any Bigfoot encounters, the ride was even better than I expected. Heading south from Seattle, I reached the winding coastal highway along the rocky Oregon coast. Route 101 then tracked back in through the massive Redwoods and down into the foggy Bay Area of California.

Staying along the coast through Big Sur, there was a heavy mist draped over the cliffs. The ocean below was invisible. The only evidence of the great Pacific was the sound of breaking waves and the distant calls of elephant seals. The landscape made for epic sunrises and sunsets as I made my way down the coast to Orange County.

I called Trabuco Canyon my home for about a week, staying with family who knew the area well. So, I got the full SoCal experience. This also gave me the chance to catch my breath and do a much-needed rear tire and oil change.

 

 

After a beautiful ride in through Malibu, I got to endure L.A. rush hour, something I’d rather not do again. But I quickly forgot about the traffic after a trip to Encinitas on my first night. The beach, low riders, motorcycles, and Mexican food… what else does a guy need?

From where I stayed, it was a fun 10-minute ride through the canyon to get to Cook’s Corner. Needless to say, we spent just about every night down there, and a few days too!

We took a day to ride to Hell’s Kitchen and the Lookout Roadhouse along the Ortega Highway. Both restaurants are tucked away in the Santa Ana Mountains, with the lookout overlooking Lake Elsinore. Half the fun is just getting out there through the peaks and canyons of the Ortega Highway.

Since it was my first time in California, I had to check out Venice Beach and Santa Monica.

I ended the SoCal leg of my trip with a day wandering Orange County, from Top of the World Park in Laguna Beach to watching surfers at The Wedge in Newport Beach to watching the sunset at the San Clemente Pier. It felt like a California day done right.

Canyon Carving And Camping

After my SoCal, adventures, I trekked into the desert. It hit nearly 120 degrees on my way through Joshua Tree National Park. The temperatures made sure I was yearning for the chilly Bay Area weather again. Those thoughts quickly passed once I hit the canyons of the Southwest, which provided some of my favorite riding during the entire trip.

I zigzagged across Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico. I rode to the Grand Canyon, then up through Monument Valley, across the Rockies and back down into New Mexico.

I was camping all along the way—from an Arizona restaurant patio to coyote-filled Utah canyons, to the banks of the Rio Grande in New Mexico.

Being near Taos, N.M., I had to take a moment to visit the grave of the man who inspired it all, Dennis Hopper. “Easy Rider” was a huge influence for my taking this trip in the first place. And being able to come full circle and visit some of the filming locations was a very cool experience.

Rainy ride to Georgia

To this point, I had lucked out, only getting maybe three days of rain over the course of about 40 days. That was soon to change as I blitzed through Texas and hit the Gulf Coast. I broke out the rain gear from Dallas all the way to Georgia. Three days in a row of rain. But, I wouldn’t be able to call it a true motorcycle trip without some nasty rain.

Eventually, the sun came out, and I had an awesome weekend riding around Savannah.

A friend let me sleep on her couch for the weekend, but not without “Tom Sawyering” me into painting a house with her.

I took a day to just relax and ride around downtown, taking in the colonial architecture and Spanish-moss-covered oak trees. I enjoyed riding out on the marshy islands off the Savannah coast (Wilmington and Tybee). The laid-back atmosphere and hospitality I experienced in Savannah embodied the true spirit of the South.

I took a trip up to Hilton Head, S.C. Spectacular roads that led from small town to small town pointed the way, all the while hugging the marshy coast. The road eventually opened to a smooth Atlantic beach and a calm ocean. Quite the opposite of the rough Pacific.

Heading Home

It was the middle of August, and I began the trek north. This marked the last leg of the trip. I headed to the Appalachians and followed them into North Carolina and Tennessee. I made it a point to ride through The Great Smoky Mountains, where I had been before. It is one of my favorite areas to ride. And, of course, being in the area I had to hit the “Tail of the Dragon” once more.

I crossed back into the Central Time Zone, going from Sweetwater, Tenn., to Nashville before crossing back again. From there, I went north through Kentucky and to Columbus, Ohio, where I picked up more rain.

It rained from Columbus to Pittsburgh to Gettysburg, Pa. The weather finally broke the morning I was in Gettysburg, and I got two nice days to end the trip, although my gear and clothes never dried.

And, just like that, I was coming up the Palisades Parkway. It was as if I instantly woke up from a two-month dream. In a few days, it was back to reality, my day job as an accountant and weekends as pin-striper.

I was left daydreaming about ripping through canyon roads and camping on mountainsides. It left me craving more, wanting to find more windy roads and local dives. More hidden camping spots and roadside oddities.

There is so much that this great country has to offer. From epic landscapes, to sprawling cities, to genuine people, there is a lot to see out there, and I barely scratched the surface.

My advice: Get out and see it. Hit the small towns and back roads. See for yourself why this is the greatest country in the world.

I would like to extend a huge “thank you” to all the people who helped me out along the way—friends and family who let me couch surf my way across the country. The great times with strangers and friends, alike. Without you, this would never have been possible.

Michael Stivale is an AMA member from Cortlandt Manor, N.Y.