Living the Dream: Harley Woman: Tales from the Open Road

By R.M. Singhose

Jim and Rose Singhose are no strangers to the road. Theyve been riding Harley-Davidsons for over forty years, and they arent even close to being finished. In 2003, there was little need for discussion: they would attend the one-hundredth birthday celebration of their favorite bikes. They would head to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to celebrate with all the other Harley enthusiasts. Of course, there were bound to be some speed bumps along the way.

Living the Dream is book three in the Harley Woman series, and it follows Jim and Rose for 13,000 miles, from Oregon to Canada, through Milwaukee, and back again. Along the way, they make a spur-of-the-moment decision to head to Prince Edward Island forwhat elselobster! Later, Rose gets stopped by suspicious customs officials who want to know what shes doing in Canada.

Some people might say its crazy to spend so much time on the road. For Rose, theres never any trepidation about a ride on her Harley. Instead of counting the miles away from home, shes comfortable counting the states they cross. Living the biker dream is filled with adventure, the occasional nuisance, and maybe some dangerbut for Rose, its all worth it to feel the wind in her face and freedom in her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475926521

R.M. Singhose

R.M. Singhose was first introduced to the Harley-Davidson culture in 1966. Her husband, Jim, began riding in 1952. Since retirement they have ridden over 100,000 miles across North America, camping and meeting fascinating people. Everything in her books is based on her daily road journal. She likes to say, “These stories are so crazy, I couldn’t make them up if I tried.”

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Copyright © 2012

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Cover photo: Author and husband near their home in Cottage Grove, Ore.

Photo supplied by Julie & Brinsley Photography

All interior photos supplied by the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2651-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2653-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2652-1 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 5/17/2012

Contents

Living The Dream

Fire & Flood

Where’s My Shotgun?

Nice Buffalo

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Two Dummies

A Lot Of Bull In Greybull

Peanuts & Bourbon

Black Hills And Blue Skies

Four Old Guys & One Indian

Wolves & Lady Luck

Sand Castles & Jackalopes

Cannon Balls And Big Red Tomaters

Old Cars & Elvis Too

It’s Not All For The Birds

Going Back In Time

Taking In The Opera

Where Will You Meet Your Waterloo?

No Deere Today

What Are The Odds?

Ya Gotta Kiss A Lot Of Frogs

The Scenic Route

The Party Begins

The Oldest Trick In The Book

Parades – Bands – Old Bikes & New

Made In America

On The Road Again

Where To Go? North, Of Course

Rough Riding Canadian Style

A New Dawn

Prince Edward Island

Nova Scotia

Frost On The Pumpkin

Heading For The Barn

So This Is Where All The Bears Hang Out

A Tour You Could Die For

Another Day In Paradise

Henry Ford – A Man Of Incredible Foresight

Nice To See Ya Go

More Cars – But Oh What Cars!

The Land Of Lincoln

Sleeping With The Dead

Cow Towns & Trains

The Wizard’s Got Nothin’ On These Guys

Happy Birthday To Me

The Morning After

Stinky Aliens

Reno

Street Vibrations

The Home Stretch

The following pages contain a true account of our journey from our home near Cottage Grove, Oregon to Prince Edward Island, Canada during the summer of 2003 when we began our odyssey to attend Harley-Davidson’s 100th Anniversary in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

When we left that party we were far from satisfied with our travels and decided, on a whim, to head further east to find us a lobster. By the time we made a huge loop through Canada, where we followed the St. Lawrence River all the way to the St. Lawrence Bay, dropped down into the United States through Maine and made our way back to Oregon, we had traveled over 13,000 miles and were gone from home nearly two months.

The names of the people we met along the way have been changed in order to protect individual privacies. Those of our friends are not changed. They don’t get any privacy.

I will admit to a bit of literary license when it comes to dialogue; however, anyone who knows us will attest that we do talk to each other the way I’ve written.

All of the places and events you will read about are factual. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

I’d like to dedicate this book to the important men in my life; my Dad, Noel St Germain, and my older brother, John; both of whom we lost way too soon to cancer. Also to my other older brothers; Steve, who taught me how to ‘flinch’ properly and Dave who taught me that if I wanted it bad enough I had to pay the price. Dave is the one who granted me one-way motorcycle rides. The walk back home was always a grumbling experience. He also taught me how much fun it was to play in the dirt.

Obviously my husband, Jim, has to be included in this list. A long time women’s libber, he continued my education in the matter of playing in the dirt by ‘letting’ me do such things as drive log truck, spot the trees for timber falling, chop wood, run log loaders, and become a truck and heavy equipment mechanic.

These men all had a hand in helping me to grow up without fear of getting dirty and toughening me up for the wonderful journeys I would be taking on my Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

Thanks guys for letting me play with the boys.

                                                     Rose Mary

PREFACE

An editor once told me that I should be showing my readers more of myself in these books. He felt that I should bring out my fear and trepidation upon embarking on these cross-country journeys.

How the heck can I show my readers a lot of fear and trepidation when it doesn’t exit?

We don’t think of the miles separating us from home. I know it sounds kind of weird but we now think in terms of how many states we have to cross to get somewhere. A couple or three states doesn’t sound like all that much.

Are we worried that we may have a break down or other catastrophe? Nope, sorry guys but those things are the furthest things from our minds.

I should tell you that I am fortunate to have married a mechanical genius. Jim is the kind of guy who can fix anything. He is an expert at jury-rigging something up if the proper parts are not available. Both of us are able to ‘make do’ if we have to. A future book in the series will attest to that when I ride my trike all the way home from New York to Oregon with a swing-arm bushing out. It was the slowest ride I’d ever made in my life. To do otherwise would have meant a two-week delay on the road. With winter closing in, that was not acceptable so… I rode the darn thing home like it was. A cleansing bath, courtesy of Hurricane Ike, was included in the deal.

We had such a good time when we attended both the 95th Anniversary at Milwaukee, Wisconsin (Blue Clouds, book one in the series); and the kickoff party in Atlanta, Georgia (Finding America, book two) that it went without saying we would be riding to Harley-Davidson’s 100th anniversary in 2003.

The ride we’re taking you on this time is the ultimate dream of every biker I know. We covered over 13,000 miles of this great country and our wonderful neighbor to the north, Canada. We enjoyed great weather and fantastic experiences.

What started out as a trip to Harley-Davidson’s 100th anniversary birthday party ended up with us heading to Prince Edward Island.

When we left the big rally we were totally not done havin’ fun. We decided it wouldn’t be that much further to ride to the east coast to go find us a lobster.

The spontaneity of this ride will never be surpassed.

Another question I’ve heard from my readers is don’t you get into big fights when things are going badly the way they were in the first book Blue Clouds.

Heck no. Why in the world would we fight about things we have no control over? Fighting would not have stopped the persistent rain that nearly drowned us for over 5,000 miles of our 6,000 mile journey.

Jim and I are so much of the same mindset that we seldom get testy on a ride. What can I say, we’re both just plain nuts and we enjoy our idiocy to the fullest.

We hope you will enjoy this ride with us to Go get a Lobster.

                                                 Rose Mary & Jim Singhose

A LITTLE ABOUT US

August 14, 2003

Jim walked out to the bike shop dressed in full riding gear. He had on long johns underneath his blue jeans and Harley sweatshirt. On top of that he wore leather chaps and a leather Harley-Davidson jacket that has seen a lot of road miles. Much of the black has faded out and his proud eagle patch on the back is getting a wee bit threadbare. The stories it could tell; I’ve seen it crusted with grasshoppers and washed by downpours. I watched it roll down the freeway with Jim inside it and his bike on top of it. It did its job and kept him safe gaining only a few minor scratches to add to what was already there. It’s been tossed into the corner of the tent and hung from hooks in motel rooms to dry out. It’s been used as a pillow, a sleeping pad when our air mattress went flat and an extra cover for our feet on a cold night.

He’s wearing his favorite boots. The soles have been replaced three times now. A hole has been worn through the top of the left one from working his shifting lever over thousands of miles. He cut off a piece of leather belting and used six copper rivets to attach it over the hole. He loves telling people they are custom made, one of a kind genuine Harley-Davidson boots. While they may be genuine Harley Davidson boots, I defy anyone to find another pair like them for sale in the shops. He stands close to six foot when he has them on.

He’s gotten a start on his salt and pepper beard. It’s at that stiff, bristly, scratch-your-woman’s face off, stage. Jim never shaves on our rides. I love his beard, once it grows long enough to soften up. He says it keeps his face warm in the winter and prevents sunburn in the summer.

When he gets rigged up in his riding gear, I think of that song Big Bad John, specifically the part where Big John is broad at the shoulders and narrow at the hip and one hell of a man.

Jim has been riding Harley-Davidson motorcycles since 1952. It shows in the way he approaches his bike. If my description of him makes it sound like I’m still crazy about that old biker, you got that right.

I trot behind him, trying to keep up but that’s impossible for me. I stand close to 5’ 2" with my boots on. When I stand next to my bike, I’m not much taller than my windshield. I prefer to stand behind that bike when it’s photo time. I’m rather short and round; not something I can say I’m proud of. Hey, I’m working on it; the only problem is I’ve been working on it since I was ten. Ah well…

I was born with red hair; I try to keep the color close to what I was born with. I am in my fifties after all, what can you expect? I’m told I have a temper to match that red hair but I don’t see it that way. Sometimes a discussion needs to be ended and I usually know how to do it. Unless the transgression is serious, I tend to get over being mad pretty fast.

I get depressed sometimes, like anyone else, but I’m a chronic singer, not a good one, just chronic. You can’t stay sad when a song is twirling around in your head. One of my favorites when I’m down is Neil Diamond’s, Song Sung Blue. That one will bring me out of wherever my head is at the time. I’m also fond of Roger Miller’s, You Can’t Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd and Willie Nelson’s, On The Road Again.

When I love something or someone it’s with a passion right down to my toes.

I’ve got a bit of a gimp when I walk, the result of four knee surgeries. I have a little balance problem from time to time, the aftermath of an old head injury when I was younger. That’s why I ride a trike. It’s just plain safer and more practical. It’s a heck of a feeling to put your foot down at a stoplight and not have a good leg to stand on. Crashing sucks and is a very embarrassing consequence detrimental to both my bike and me.

I’ve got all the same gear on that Jim does. It’s a nippy forty-five degrees this morning. I hate having to wear all that gear; the long johns in particular. They bind around my bad knees, a painful problem. I feel like a little kid all bundled up to go out and play in the snow.

My black leather jacket has a large blue rose air brushed on the back. I had it done at a rally back in ‘93 to match my old 1976 Iron head Sportster that has blue roses painted on the fenders.

On this trip I will be riding my bright, shiny, patriot red 97 Harley-Davidson Sportster. Jim mounted a Lehman Trike Kit on the back in 1998. That was the best thing he could ever have done for me. The bike handles like a dream and is a joy to ride.

I like my shiny things. My trike has bullet studs all down the top edge of the fenders and across the back. There’s a practical reason for those fender studs. I call them hemorrhoid ticklers. We put them on my new bike soon after I caught a fellow sitting on my fender. It’s incredible what people think it’s ok to do.

I etched roses on the outside corners of my mirrors and a small angel in the middle of my speedometer. Foot long fringes hang off my handlebars with silver beads interspersed throughout. A St. Christopher medallion is attached to a heart shaped medallion on my right front fork.

Somebody told me that St. Christopher is no longer the patron saint of travelers. I’m sticking with him; he’s done ok by me. The angel and the St. Christopher medal are necessary to cover my butt. I bought my Sportster on Friday the 13th; it had one hundred and thirteen miles on it and thirteen spokes in the front wheel. Not that I’m superstitious or anything. Not much, ask Jim on that one. On the cross bar below my oil filter hangs a spirit bell. It’s a tradition here in the Northwest and is supposed to ward off road gremlins. It must work because I haven’t hit any yet.

Jim put on his white beanie helmet complete with stickers proclaiming, smile if your not wearing panties and I like my women a little on the trashy side.

Not wanting to be outdone, my helmet had to compliment Jim’s. I found a sticker that declares I’m slightly trashy. I also have a sticker that says I’m not totally useless, I can be used as a bad example. I’m particularly fond of that one.

Jim hasn’t made any changes to his 1997 purple Dyna Low Rider Harley-Davidson except he bored out the tail pipe with this great big drill bit that he welded onto a long, four foot piece of pipe. He was a bit miffed that my bike had louder pipes. Reaming his stock pipes out to produce a louder, deeper rumble was a ‘have to’ thing for him. He did allow me to hang a spirit bell from the bottom of his frame.

Ok, now you have a pretty good idea what we look like, let’s get the show on the road.

Photo%201.jpg

Rosie on Lil’ Red near Sturgis, South Dakota.

Photo%202.jpg

Jim on his purple Dyna LowRider.

LIVING THE DREAM

We entered the bike shop to finish putting our gear on. Looking down on me with a big smile, Jim pulled on his leather gloves. His brown eyes shone with excitement. I looked up at him with the same excitement in my green eyes; we gave each other a kiss and a hug and climbed on our bikes.

When I say climbed, I really mean it. My bike is packed so high that I have to use the foot peg and frame to get high enough to get my leg over the load.

That kiss before we head out is our insurance. If something should go wrong that day, we will always have the memory of how the day started. It’s a precious ritual that we never start a road trip without. Rarely do we start any day without that little peck and a hug; our way of connecting before the day becomes hectic.

We’d gotten our bikes and ourselves blessed during the Florence Rhododendron Run on the Pacific coast in May. That is just another bit of insurance we like to take advantage of.

Neither of us got much sleep last night but that’s nothing unusual, the excitement of the upcoming journey always makes us that way. Besides that, we’ve both been having problems with our sinuses. It’s definitely time for us to get out of our little valley and find some new air.

Well, old woman, are you ready for this? Jim bent down to give me a big hug.

I am sooooo ready. I’ve been ready since our trip last year when we went to Georgia. (Finding America, Book Two in the series.)

I hit the starter on my bike. My engine roared to life immediately making me feel a hundred percent better. There is something about that raw power beneath me that wakes up my primal soul. I feel the adrenalin rush though my body, seizing me with a joy so powerful I feel like I’m floating on air.

Jim looked at me with a huge grin, turned his engine over and led the way to the highway. We’re facing clear skies that are such a bright blue it makes me think of peacocks and bluebirds.

I thought to myself, I bet there won’t be anything but Blue Clouds this trip. If our last few trips are any indication, we’ve found that our first day out seems to hit us with whatever we can expect along the way. Leave home in the rain, ride in the rain. Leave home when it’s hot, keep the water bottles handy; that sort of thing. This morning couldn’t have been better. It was a bit nippy but we had the gear to take care of that; no worries there.

I’d packed for every kind of climate I could think of. We had the long johns, rain gear, white t-shirts, 50 power sun block, dark goggles, clear goggles and a heater/fan combined with a hundred foot cord; our water bottles were mounted on our handlebars. We might suffer but nothing like our first road trip. We’ll never get caught like we did that time.

I do admit to a little trouble in my mind when we first leave home. While I want and need the journey, it’s hard to leave the kids and grandkids. I hate to let them know this, but that eases with every mile until it’s time to head back home. I’m having too much fun to let problems at home sway me for very long and it’s seldom more than a few miles before good ol’ Willie Nelson starts running though my brain with On The Road Again.

It’s so beautiful riding the McKenzie. The trees make a tunnel that keeps us cool and shaded most of the way. Of course, this morning we could have used a little more heat but it’s still gorgeous. I love the twists and turns riding along the banks of the McKenzie River. This stretch of highway is so restful and easy on the eyes a rider gets into the rhythm of the road immediately.

Jim pulled in at our favorite stop, Sahalie Falls, for a quick break and pit stop.

I got off my bike and stretched, What a fantastic start to our ride.

Are you going to walk down to the falls? asked Jim.

No, I think I’ll stay up here this time. You go, I’ll watch the bikes.

Jim hiked down to the falls while I used the facilities. When I came out, there were some people looking over our bikes.

You sure have a lot of gear on those bikes. Where are you going? asked one curious fellow. He was dressed in knee length, khaki shorts, a bright orange Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops.

I thought to myself, Oh my, I’ve got a winner here, We’re going to Harley-Davidson’s one hundredth birthday party in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

You are going to ride these bikes all the way to Wisconsin? Hawaiian Punch looked at me with doubt in his eyes.

Heck yeah. We rode them to Georgia last year. We had a ball. We love to travel on our bikes.

Our fellow traveler looked wistful and said, I wish I could do something like that. I’ve always wanted a motorcycle. My wife won’t let me have one.

His wife snorted her disdain. Absolutely not, they are too dangerous and too dirty. You’d have to be crazy to want to do something like that. Her voice was high and whiney. She stood there in baggy shorts, a t-shirt that said ‘I’m with stupid’ and flip-flops on her boney feet, her toenails painted a shade of red that nearly matched my bike.

She turned her attention to me, You rode that bike all the way to Georgia? You stayed in motels didn’t you? She was glaring down on me with a pinched expression on her face that made her look like someone had hit her in the butt with a rotten tomato.

She had just insulted me by telling me I’m crazy and dirty. She was lucky I was in a good mood when I answered her, or that I even bothered to answer at all.

Not any more than we had to. We sleep a lot better when we camp in our tent with our bikes right outside the door. I have a small stove that I can cook on. We save a lot of money that way.

You would never get me to do that. No way. I’d fly there and meet my husband when he showed up.

I looked at the husband with pity in my eyes. You must not have very much fun in your life, living with someone like that. I turned my back and began tying some of my heavy gear on my bike. It had already warmed up enough to get rid of the chaps and sweatshirts.

Well, I never, she snorted.

That’s probably what your problem is, I mumbled, keeping my back turned to her.

Jim came back up the path and gave me an odd look. He’d seen me turn away from those people. What’s up? It’s not like you to cut someone off like that.

You didn’t hear what that woman had to say. She is not our kind of people, she’s more like that gal who came out to our house that time and told me I had to make you clean up all your junk. Remember? I told her you didn’t drink much, you don’t smoke and, as far as I knew, you didn’t cheat on me; you could have all the junk you wanted. She was pretty darn rude and not worth our time. Let’s make some miles.

I started my engine, giving my throttle a little extra twist to make some noise. We pulled out of the rest area without looking back. I was not about to let someone so ignorant and intolerant ruin my day, no way.

We left with the heady knowledge that fun and adventure were waiting for us. I’d hate to be like that woman at the rest stop. What a sad life.

We rode the rest of the day without any undue encounters and arrived at Burns by two in the afternoon.

We were fueling up our bikes when I turned to Jim, Let’s stop for today. I know we’ve only gone two hundred seventy-five miles but I still don’t feel very well and I’m beat.

Me too, how about we get a room tonight? I don’t feel much like setting up camp. Jim hung up the hose and reached for his wallet.

We rode to the other side of Burns where we got a room at the Silver Spur Motel.

This place isn’t bad but, for fifty bucks, it seems like it oughta be better. I tossed my big bag on the bed.

Darn near two bucks a gallon for gas here; this trip is going to be expensive. It cost us thirteen dollars today for gas. I hope fuel is a little cheaper once we get out of Oregon. Jim flopped back on the extra bed and grabbed up the remote while I turned up the air conditioner. The temperature outside was up to ninety-one now. Not bad riding but plenty hot when we stopped.

I can’t wait to get out of these long-johns and take a shower. I headed for the bathroom and a long, cool shower to shake off the heat of the afternoon.

We took a short nap after which I heated up a can of stew with our tiny camp stove. Neither of us was really that hungry; we needed sleep more than anything.

After dinner, we settled down on the bed. We’d better try to camp out tomorrow night, this trip is going to be too expensive by the time we get to Milwaukee, said Jim.

Don’t worry, we’ll feel better tomorrow. I snuggled in close and we were off for the night.

*     *     *

August 15

We both began waking up at the same time. I stretched and yawned, I feel a whole lot better this morning; how about you?

Yeah, me too. I think we just needed to get out of Cottage Grove. They don’t call us the snot capital of the world for nothing.

Cottage Grove is located in the very southern tip of the Willamette Valley. We get a lot of pollutants from the rest of the valley funneling right down on our heads. It can be especially bad during the field-burning season when the grass-seed farmers burn off the weeds and straw in their fields.

I cracked out our instant oats for breakfast. We ate, were packed and ready to hit the road by seven.

Did you put your long john bottoms on this morning, Rosie? Jim had come back in the door from tying down his load. It’s pretty nippy out there again today.

Nope, I got way overheated yesterday. I put on extra clothes under my jacket but I’m just going to wear my heavy jeans and chaps on the bottom.

We rode to Ontario where it was time for fuel and peeling off layers.

Didn’t we do this last year? I laughed, pulling my nylon sweater off over my head.

The guys at this service station are going to start recognizing us. Jim rolled up his chaps with mine. He proceeded to tie them on top of my already towering load.

He rolled our jackets together and tied them behind my seat.

I got on my bike. We need to raise the jackets a little. Do you think you can make the roll a bit tighter? The whole wad is pushing me too far forward; I’m plumb off the seat and straddling my gas tank. I put my feet on the foot pegs and pushed back against the pack to try to get a bit more room.

Hold it Rosie. All that’s doing is pushing your load off the back of your bike. Jim rolled the jackets tighter and tied them higher on the pack. Try that.

I settled on my seat and leaned back. That’s a lot better, now I have a good backrest. Thank you. I was ready to roll again. During the short time we were peeling layers and tying down our jackets the heat had climbed to the point it was becoming oppressively hot. We needed to wet down, hit the road and get the air flowing over our bodies.

*     *     *

FIRE & FLOOD

We made it to Arco, Idaho before calling it quits. By this time the heat was nearly unbearable. Our handlebar mounted water bottles had been empty for the last thirty miles. Our drinking supply in the cooler had run out long before that.

Jim pulled in to a small fast food place called Pickles where we each ordered a big glass of ice water and vanilla milkshakes. We were lucky when we got a table situated directly in the airstream from the air conditioner.

The temperature gauge outside reads 112, I don’t think we should go any further today. This heat is about more than I can handle. I watched Jim slouch down in the corner of our booth.

You’re right about that. There’s a motel on that little rise across the road. We’ll head over there as soon as we leave here. Jim took the straw out of his milkshake, raised his glass to his mouth and shook out a glob of ice cream. I did want to make that campground we’d talked about but it’s another 180 miles down the road; we’ve already gone 350 today. We’re not in that big a hurry to get to Milwaukee.

I sucked up some of the sweet, cold concoction while I let my eyes wander around the room. I love this place. If anyone wanted to meet up with us in Arco all we’d have to say is, look for the giant pickle. Look at the décor in here, pickles everywhere.

Jim looked around to see pickle salt and pepper shakers, pickle pictures and pickles on the menu covers. It’s enough to make a guy pucker up, he snorted.

I looked at him and laughed, You’ve got a big blob of milkshake on the end of your nose. You’re not supposed to stick your nose in it.

Jim wiped his nose with the back of his hand then proceeded to take another big gulp of the cold shake.

I don’t know how you can do that. I’m getting an ice cream headache and I’m only sipping through my straw!

When Jim finished his shake I reached over to pour half of mine into his glass. Here, help me out with this, it’s too much for me.

He’s been finishing off my food since our first date back in 1971. We had met for the first time that day. Having exchanged only a couple of letters, we were busy checking each other out. He took me to dinner late that afternoon. I guess I was talking too much and not eating fast enough because I was only half done when he grabbed my plate from me and finished my dinner for me. No way can I say I didn’t know what I was getting in to when we said our I do’s two dates later.

Jim was looking out the window while he slurped down the last of the shake. Look outside, Rosie. It’s brewing up for one heck of a storm. I think we’d better get settled in that motel right now.

We hurried out the door to be met with blast furnace heat that darn near knocked us on our butts. The skies were roiling with huge, black clouds and a wind was beginning to kick up dust.

Hurry Rosie! Jim quickly rode across the street. I was hot on his heels.

He ran inside to get