Wind in the Hair
Recalling cross-country motorcycle trips in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Wanderlust is something that never leaves you. Once you experience that crisp breeze in your hair, the warm sun on your face, and the world stretching out before you, you’ll never be the same. There’s a freedom to exploring, an unmatched sense of independence and curiosity that abounds whenever you set foot or tire in a place you’ve never been. Many people were introduced to adventuring through their friends or family, and your humble author here is no different. Road trips and traveling was always something that came naturally for my family, and my father Carl was usually the one at the helm of the car. But before he’d parked himself behind the wheel of the inevitable family-hauler, he’d explored America not on four wheels but on two.
Carl stands next to a sign deep in the heart of the Colorado Rockies. The sign reads, “Howardsville, established 1875. Western Colorado’s first county seat and post office.”
Born into a long line of humble farmers, Carl sought out something beyond the family’s Nebraskan acreage. He’d go on to complete his Master’s Degree in Ag Education, become an agriculture teacher, cross country coach, and eventually a loan officer in a small farm town. Banking work was less of an insult to the body than coaching endurance sports, welding, livestock judging, and soils; which was especially handy since it was around this time that my sister and I came along. Throughout his life the prairie wind and freedom of the Great American Desert instilled a deep sense of curiosity, always wondering what was over the next hill. In the 1970s and 1980s he began taking trips across the nation, with only his tent, bedroll, and essentials strapped to a motorcycle. Always a fiercely devoted family man, Carl and his wife Laurie have always made it a point to take my sister and I on several long-distance road trips, allowing us to experience the country from a young age. During these trips his tales of adventures on a motorcycle would come up occasionally. It was a time in his life that always fascinated me, and I finally got a chance to sit down with him and conduct a proper interview to peek into what two-wheeled travel was like all those years ago.
Carl never used saddlebags or a motorcycle trailer. All of his gear, sleeping bag, tent, and equipment was strapped to the rear seat and bar. The White Stag pup tent is the one I still use on my camping trips, and the decades-old patches are still waterproof.
What got you interested in long-distance road trips?
“Well there were simply a lot of parts of the United States that I hadn’t ever seen. Motorcycling at the time was a lot cheaper than a car, because you could get close to 30 mpg on a motorcycle.” Carl’s weathered Nebraskan face, etched with wrinkles from age and raising two young’uns, smirks as he says this. While 30 mpg seems abysmally subpar by today’s fuel mileage standards, consider that an economy car in the early ‘80s with a small fuel injected V6 could still return as poor as 18 mpg even on the highway. Times have certainly changed.
“There was also a sense of freedom; that wind in your hair is something that has to be experienced to be appreciated.”
What’s the biggest difference between road trips on a motorcycle vs. in a car?
“In the place where I grew up in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, if you passed a car on the highway you’d wave. As time went on, people in cars tended to start just ignoring each other. But on a motorcycle, if you passed another motorcycle, you’d wave. And they’d always wave. There was a sense of something shared, a common goal going down the road. It was a sense of comradery.
“In the United States generally if you were riding a Japanese bike there was a bit of a stigma that you weren’t as good as a Harley or Indian owner. But at least you were still on a bike. The vernacular around motorcyclists of the day was, ‘At least you’re not in a cage,’ referring to, of course, an enclosed car.”
What minimalist packing tips did you learn while camping from your bike?
“You don’t need to take near as much stuff as you thought you did. I’ve never had saddlebags; anything I had, I strapped onto the back of the motorcycle. Sleeping bag, tent, and a few clothes is about all you needed. A few cooking utensils as well, but I had a little backpacker gasoline stove and that got me where I needed to be.” Today’s camp stoves run off of small canisters of propane, which are completely sealed and generally contain just enough fuel for a single meal.
Was waterproofing an issue?
Carl chuckles at this one before responding. “I think on every trip I went on there was one day of rain. So after about the second trip I bought a good rain suit. Garbage bags work great to keep your sleeping bag and tent dry. They wear out in the wind, but they’re way cheaper than the waterproof bags the camping companies wanted to sell you.”
This steeple is just into Canada, not far from the border. Years ago the church that stood here burned down, and the legend holds that when the smoke cleared, this steeple alone was sitting straight up among the ashes.
You’ve been into Canada on your motorcycle. What was crossing the border into another country like back then vs. today’s post-9/11 travel?
“You’d basically pull up to the border, they’d check your identification, and ask if you were taking any firearms into the country. They’d tell you that you could only bring in so much tobacco and alcohol but I never had either one, so that was about it. They’d pass you on through. Coming back in was a little different; the U.S. customs people were a bit more concerned with the alcohol and tobacco questions, but basically they didn’t get too overly concerned back then,”
“It was the same thing with Mexico; they didn’t get real excited. Although I didn’t ever take a motorcycle into Mexico. I just walked across the border, looked around for a bit, and walked back. I’d planned to take my bike, but the insurance agent at the time warned me against it unless I was with a group of three or more. Basically someone would pull out in front of you out of nowhere and you’d crash into them. You’ll end up in jail because they’d consider you guilty, and by the time you get out of jail your bike was either stolen or stripped for parts.” Carl never knew if the warning was based on truth, but he never tried to find out.
How much did an average trip cost?
Carl pauses in nostalgia, trying to grab those distant memories but also remembering the world of gasoline for $0.29/gal.
“The average trip was maybe a couple hundred dollars. My first trip was back in 1975.” In 1973 the big oil embargo skyrocketed prices of fuel, and limits were imposed at the pump. The pivotal years following would spell the death of the muscle car, the temporary exile of the SUV, and the rise of the Japanese market. This fuel crisis likely sparked the interest of motorcycles in many back then. Carl’s largest bike, a 4-cylinder powered Kawasaki, had a capacity of only 5.6 gallons in addition to its superb fuel economy.
“About every trip on the third night I’d pull into a campground because they had a shower. So that cost money. But other than that you could usually set up your tent in somebody’s pasture a mile from the road, or ask to camp in a city park and they’d usually say yes. Church parking lots were also good campsites.”
The International Peace Garden straddles the U.S./Canada border, resting in both the state of North Dakota and the province of Manitoba. The left half of this picture is Canadian, the right half is the United States.
Even with the cost of inflation with owning, insuring, and fueling a bike, is it still a good budget way to see America?
“If you’re traveling alone it probably is. But if you’re with other people, a car is definitely cheaper now. You get almost 30 mpg in practically any car you drive now and you can fit three people in there. Compare that to three people on motorcycles and you’re just spending more per mile.”
What was the biggest mechanical failure you had on the road?
Automobiles are finnicky, especially older ones. I thought for sure that despite the mechanical simplicity of a motorcycle, it would lend itself to some failures and hiccups. Apparently I was wrong.
“I never really had any big mechanical failure. With the old chain and sprocket setup you couldn’t keep the chain lubricated after ten hour rides in the day, and the chain would stretch and the sprocket would get worn. Probably twice in all the trips I took I had to stop and replace the chain and sprocket along the way.”
Carl’s owned four motorcycles in his day, all Kawasakis. First was a KZ500 with a little 3-cylinder, and after that was a KZ400 with a 2-cylinder that was built more for performance than endurance. He took that bike to the Bonneville Salt Flats during a dry spell and was able to let rip wide open down the salt. His next bike was a KZ750 with a twin, and the final motorcycle was a red KZ1100 that he still owns. It’s a beast of a machine with a transverse mounted 4-cylinder engine and a shaft-drive. The shaft drive eliminated his issues with stretched chains and worn sprockets. The red Kawasaki hasn’t made noise in about two years and hasn’t moved under its own power in over ten. With dad stretching past the north end of his 60s and a fresh major back surgery, the kids aren’t too keen on him saddling up on a 600-pound bike anyway.
Any advice on someone who’s looking to get into cross country motorcycle trips?
“Be ready for adverse weather and enjoy the sights and smells. Probably these days motorcyclists might get a little bit more suspicious looks than they did back when I was doing it. I haven’t taken a long trip since 1985 when my wife and I, newly married, took a trip of about 400 miles over several days. Back when I was going solo I’d do 600-800 miles in a single day. But I only had my own backside to worry about getting tired. If you’ve got somebody else to consider you need to make short trips and see if you can handle it, see if it’s what you really want to do.”
Carl’s daily 2015 Camry next to his 1980 Kawasaki KZ1100; machines of transportation from two different eras of his life. The motorcycle usually sits under a gray tarp, so the bike is still in stellar condition.
The gauges are free of cracks and water hasn’t made it past the seals yet. The fuel gauge reads that a half tank still rests in the tank.
Ever since Carl stopped riding he’s kept a thick sheepskin blanket on top of the seat, and the black leather has remained in flawless condition, free from cracks and scuffs.
A ghostly family of spiders has taken up residence underneath the tilting seat, where the battery and rubber intake tract resides.
There’s a lot of great ways to see America. With how fuel efficient vehicles are these days you can easily fill up the tank at the start of your trip and cross two states before the needle starts to peg. You’ll get shelter from the rain, climate control to ease you from the blazing sun or the whistling wind. But if you’re a motorcyclist then you know what Carl’s talking about when he compares bikes to cars by simply saying, “There was a freedom to it.” And that’s something that will never change no matter how hard the passing of time tries.
