I returned to Toronto on Aug 19, much earlier than anticipated. Managing time proves to be a major benefit when travelling alone.

The last memorable image was the sunset from outside my room at the Crest Motel in Ashland,Wisconsin. Not a bad view for $45 night's stay. The following morning looked like this:

The final two days from Ashland, Wisconsin, through Sault St. Marie, Sudbury and Perry Sound were spent in heavy rain. This is quite a contrast to the mostly wonderful weather throughout the former part of the trip. My protective gear did not stand up to the test and within a short time I was drenched but cheerful.

True adventures take on different experiences, some predictable, some most unexpected. But each motorcycling adventure enriches your life in a way that nothing else could.

Gary, third from left, Paul on the far right

In many ways this trip was similar to those already taken, whether with Paul or Gary, who were both present in the picture above but are no longer with us. Many of the roads I have travelled before, with either one of these gentlemen, but each time I travel that way I develop a different perspective and appreciation for the way things are.

The economic times of the recent years have created certain difficulties for Americans. This is evident when your travel takes you off the beaten path - the gas stations that have become ghost stations, the motels where the only occupants are weeds and tall grass. But, the Wall-Marts of the nation are thriving. And there is plenty of food, good food, thank goodness.

Travelling on a motorcycle without the liability of a radio, hand held camera, cell phone, or blue tooth communication technology is a bliss. Multitasking while riding a motorcycle is recipe for disaster and takes away what true enjoyment of motorcycling is about. What can be better than listening to the sound and feeling the rhythm of your motor while observing the nature around you. It would be the next best thing to flying. Of course those that don't ride a Harley wouldn't know the sound and rhythm of a motor - pity.

And this completes another motorcycle odyssey to the American west, at least for this year.

The bottom line:

- the scenery was priceless;

- cost of accommodations ranged between $39 and $69 per night;

- food, most of which I would describe as excellent but simple, run between $5 and $25 per meal (14 oz New York cut at Uncle Joe's Steak House in Havre, Montana);

- the beast had sipped gas at about 42 miles/gal on average during the nearly 6000 mile trip, did not   consume one drop of oil, did not fail to start once nor did it overheat in the desert, and at the odometer crossed over 63000 miles (100000 kms).

Not bad for American crap.

Everyone loved my Fulmer Captain America helmet.

God bless America, and God bless Paul.

Are you still with me?

So, my computer crapped out and I was unable to post more info about my trip. But while I collect my thoughts you may want to take a glimpse at the following attachment which might remind you of Paul in a humorous way. Left click on the link below.

YouTube - The Shangri-Las - Leader Of The Pack (The Steve Allen Show)

Guess which one is the turkey?

What an amazing breakfast Elaine prepares. But, you have to wait until 9 am to get it. So I sacrificed two hours of riding time so that the beast in me can get fed. And what a country smorgasbord. With belly full, I continued along highway 1 to Eureka through the giant redwood forest. What a visual smorgasbord. I am ecstatic. I am starting to feel more comfortable through the twisties but I must be careful not to become overconfident.

This is what I remember from my early lessons in the sixties with old Yvon Du Hamel, who operated a riding school at that time: When you are on the race course you can push the limits, because everyone is going in the same direction and focusing on the same thing. When you are on the public road you should never exceed 80% of your skill level, leaving 20% for evasive action, should the need arise. Imagine going around a sharp blind corner when suddenly coming from the opposite direction is someone half way in your lane. Now imagine that the lane you're in is not protected by a barrier and the drop to the ocean is only a few of hundred feet. Do you still want to explore hwy 1 in northern California? How about the next Ride to Remember fellas.

Finally, the road relaxes west of Eureka and I can take a breather. Actually, I am starting to find this rather boring. But not for long. Shortly after I enter Oregon I turn off onto Interstate 84 which follows the Columbia river gorge. The ride is somewhat relaxing while the scenery is spectacular. I took some time to explore the historical US 30 with its white picket barriers, Gothic bridges and several spectacular water falls. I am now resting in a small town, Connell, WA in preparation for tomorrow's ascent to the Glacier National Park - Highway to the Sun. Weather permitting, that is.

So, today is Friday the 13Th. I wonder how many of you will do the pilgrimage to Port Dover. Sadly, our friend Les wasn't able to make it. After six weeks, his steed is still sitting at Brian Olsen's shop having it's engine overhauled. Now, our sadly missed Paul wouldn't put up with this nonsense. He would burn the bike down, just like he did his LT, and take Brian's garage with it.

I stopped at Carson City for the night. Just another Nevada gambling paradise. I check-in at Motel 6 for $39.95. By the time I set up my computer, make a few calls, take a shower, it is close to 9 pm. I am really hungry now. I head downstairs to the front desk to ask for advise. "Sorry sir everything closes at 9 pm except the casino restaurants". Bummer. I go hungry that night. Next morning, 6:30 am, famished, I depart for the corner of Height and Ashbury in San Francisco. I continue along hwy 50 through South Lake Tahoe looking for real food. Suddenly, around the bend, there it is, the Zephyr Cove Restaurant, open at 6 am daily overlooking the lake. A fine meal of country fried steak with scrambled eggs and home fries mixed with onions and green peppers makes my morning. This meal would clearly pass the Paul and Eddie test of culinary excess.

Highway 50 winds itself through spectacular countryside all the way to Sacramento, and then it is a drag through the suburbia and industrial waste of San Jose and Oakland. It is cold, damp and extremely windy. Entry to San Francisco through the Golden Gate bridge is $4. Traffic at the toll gate is awful, but thanks to the law allowing motorcycles to split lanes I go through pronto. Surprisingly, the car drivers accept this with a smile and often clear the way. I would not want to try this maneuver in moving traffic.

Height and Ashbury. Not much has changed. Most people here are still on drugs but look old and worn out after 40 years of homelessness. Quick lunch at the Green Door Cafe and I'm gone. Motorcycling in SF is crazy. Imagine having to stop at at a red light on a 30 degree incline.

I head for Highway 1 just north of Sausalito. I was not thinking straight. If you can imagine the suicide turn at the Forks of the Credit, multiplied a thousand times, you might be close. I am so tense and exhausted that I have to stop for the night at the end of 20 miles. It is not just the turns but the drastic changes in elevation with long drops to the ocean on one side and solid rock on the other. With the level of concentration dedicated to the operation of the bike who has time to observe the beauty of the coast line. Naturally, while I am crapping my pants, Paul would have been taking pictures from the seat of his moving bike, which would come out perfectly clear without the help of an image stabilizer.

The lodging along Highway 1 caters to a different type of tourist best described as one driving a Porsche or Mercedes, with unlimited spending credit cards. I manage, however, to spend the night in comfort at the Olena Historical Inn, and tonight at the Elk Cove Inn.

Ah, the Elk Cove Inn. This is the place where Ducky and I spent a few nights some 12 to 14 years ago on the wonderful Mendicino coast. The dogs, Asta and Boomer, have passed on, but Elaine still runs the place. Elaine, in the meantime, has put on an addition, sold the place taking back a heavy mortgage, took it back when the buyer defaulted two years later, got divorced and remarried. Not much has changed. The breakfast is still great. Since this establishment is rated as a romantic get-a-way, and all the rooms are equipped with King size beds, it is unlikely a place that Paul and I would share. On the other hand, while I am in the lap of luxury, Paul could camp on the beach below.

Andy and I parted company Saturday morning in Rapid City, WY. Andy headed back to Jackson and I pointed my iron beast towards hwy 50, the loneliest highway in America. On the way, I encountered hordes of bikers on their way to Sturgis, many were women riding mostly Hogs, and not just the small Sportsters. I'm talking Electra Glides.

Highway 50 extends from Utah, south of Salt Lake City, to California, west of San Francisco. It runs through some of the most beautiful and desolate territory in the U.S. The highway would serpentine through the mountain passes and straighten out like an arrow in the basins. This process repeats itself over and over. I am exhilarated. There are feelings of vulnerability, loneliness and peace that are overwhelming me, specifically since I am travelling alone. Only from time to time there is a lonely car but more often a motorcycle passing by. Speed limits are posted at 70 mph but you are doing 75-80 with ease and no one seems to care. Towns are spaced out at between 60-115 miles so that gas replenishment becomes critical. Mornings are cold but later that day the furnace doors open at lower elevation. Temperatures must exceed 110 degrees.

I spent the night at the Utah-Nevada border in what might be called a trailer trash community. I had no connectivity to Internet or cellular network. I was finally able to reach Ducky via a phone card through the motel room phone - how archaic. Nearby there is a small oasis called Baker. There I found Terry Marasco who runs Silver Jack Inn & Lectrolux Cafe a small eclectic establishment with fine food and conversation. I liked dinner so much that I returned for breakfast the next morning. There I met two fellow riders of senior status, Ed from Toronto and Brian from somewhere Iowa. The two met on Internet talking motorcycle trash, and have travelled together since. Ed often hangs out at the Sunday morning vintage meet at Sammy's at Souffville and Woodbine.

As I left that morning I remembered that Paul's accident took place nearby. I did not know for sure where, but according to Judy it was eerily within 20 miles of my path, our planned path.

Ah yes, Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. You'll love it or hate it. This year is the 70th anniversary. This year will also be the year hosting the greatest entertainment ever - Bob Dylan, Ozzy Osborne, Motley Crue, Daugherty, Guns n'Roses, and many others. Harley-Davidson has staged its greatest showing ever, and it is impressive.

Harley is the main game in town. They came from everywhere. Andy, who came to visit from Jackson WY, and I met a group from England staying at the same motel in Rock Springs. The Harley riders are primarily American patriots, veterans, blue collar red neck types, looking like outlaws. They cannot be distinguished from the dentists, doctors, lawyers, other professionals and movie stars who also look like outlaws. Rarely, you will notice a typical BMW rider dressed in a full face helmet and space suit. There are also a number of Jap bike riders who are trying to look like outlaws. And for the benefit of Ken the Visionary and Jerry the Spider-man, there were a few Visions and Can-Am Spyders.

This year the rally is non-stop for pipe installers. Economy will be hot during those two weeks and the largest attendance ever is expected. There is not another small town that has become so well known and profited so much from a single event that's lasted for 70 years and enriched every one's life in Sturgis. God bless America.

Take a look at the pictures for a small sample of the excitement. Take note of the picture of Paul and me from our last year's trip. Also worth noting is the picture of Booger, Kitty and Mousey. Paul and I saw the trio on our route 66 trip four years ago in Bisbee, AZ.

I suppose that you are all waiting patiently for my latest posting. My apologies. My mind was preoccupied with less important things.

Tuesday did not turn out as planned. With my bike loaded I headed for my usual randez-vous at Starbucks for a quick fix and a schmooze with buddies, before heading for the final day of Shiva at Judy's. I don't know what made me look at the front tire, but there it was, a fat screw planted right smack in the middle. In frustration, I decided to pull the sucker out. Under normal circumstances that would have been a bad move, but I was lucky. The screw did not penetrate the tire and therefore did not cause an immediate leak. However, knowing how important tires are to ensure safe operation of the bike, I decided to replace the tire. My trusty mechanic, Brian Olsen, in Georgetown was able to accommodate me. After a hefty breakfast - thank you Judy - and the Rabbi's kind words, we went for the traditional walk around the block in a symbolic gesture to bring the family out of morning and into the community. At the end, the small but well meaning group departed and quickly scattered in different directions. That left Ken and me heading west to Brian's for a quick tire change. At 2:30 we left for the US border. Paul would have approved.

Surprisingly, by early evening we reached Flint, MI. Ken with the help of his connections booked us into the Marriott Suites at an amazing $45. From now on I want to travel with Ken. That evening, the dinner at Tee Bonez Tavern on lake Ponemah in Fenton, near Flint, was excellent, and so were the waitresses in bikinis. The steaks we ordered were garnished with caramelized onions and sun dried tomatoes, and were accompanied with mixed string beans done to perfection. Paul would have approved.

Next morning Ken and I separated. Ken motored back to Toronto and I headed directly into heavy rain and gusty winds of Illinois. by the time I got to Davenport , Iowa I was exhausted.

This morning (5:30am) I am off for Sturgis, SD, a distance of about 800 miles. This was the easiest 800 miles I remember, filled with magnificent sunshine, blue skies, sweet smelling prairie fields and hordes of bikers travelling to and from the Sturgis mecca. I am here and Paul would have approved.

This is, your last chance. If you want to join me for even a small part of the "Ride for Paul" meet me at Paul and Judy's home, Apt 613, 44 Stubbs Drive, at 10 am tomorrow morning. There will be food, so Judy says. We will depart after the prayers, at approximately 11:30 am and ride west along the Highway of Heroes (401) to the 5th Wheel restaurant in Milton, for more food. We will then hug and go our merry way.

We sat some Shiva, ate a lot of food and shared some stories at Judy's and Paul's apartment.



Judy and Paul had many common interests, one of which was motorcycling. Unbeknownst to most, both Paul and Judy were qualified motorcycling instructors. In preparation for my upcoming trip I decided to review some of the basic techniques important to safe motorcycling. The first thing we must remember is how to properly mount the bike. It is not a wild bronco, but nevertheless proper mounting requires skill and dexterity. I once asked Paul to demonstrate the correct technique, which can be observed in the enclosed video. This method has been adopted by the YOW motorcycle club. It was incorporated into the club safe riding manual, and it is better known as the "oy vey method of taming the beast". Thank you Paul.

A memorial Service celebrating Paul's life filled with family and friends, was held on July, 28 at Congregation Habonim in Toronto. I was honored to be asked to eulogize Paul. Not a tear was spared. I cried out the eulogy as follows: (condensed)

"Family, friends, acquaintances of Paul. Let us celebrate Paul's life. Each of us has been touched by Paul in some way. Some people are flickers of light passing through time while others are a consistent glow for many years. For me Paul was my glow for nearly twenty years. There are moments which I remember that I would like to share with you, which may paint Paul in a way that you might not have seen.

I met Paul through a mutual friend, Peter Foltinski. I saw such strong camaraderie between the two that I was inspired to join them in a conversation. Before too long we would attempt to solve the worlds problems over coffee at Second Cup in Bloor West village. When I found out that Paul was an avid bicyclist I was thrilled. After all I just acquired a bicycle store and I saw a perfect business opportunity. I started organizing bicycle trips which included Paul and a number of locals. Often I would suggest to Paul that a new bike was in order and encouraged him to come to my store for an orientation. Paul agreed. Just as I thought my golden goose has arrived I see Paul pulling up to the coffee shop on a brand new expensive bike - not from my store.

As Paul and I biked along exploring the city I discovered that Paul was quite a warrior. He had strong views on protection of the environment. For example, when he noticed someone throwing out a crumpled piece of paper out of a parked car window, he promptly picked it up and threw it back in, not realizing that there were four strapping dudes behind the blacked out window of the car. And if it wasn't for our speedy departure in high gear I would not be here to tell the story.

It was not long before psoriatic arthritis started to overcome Paul. Cycling became painful as mobility was limited. The warrior that he was, Paul was not ready for a wheelchair. He embarked a lengthy battle with his affliction and with the help a clinical trial drug he miraculously started showing signs of improvement. That was good enough to rekindle his passion for motorcycling which started long before we met. Paul and I begun to travel on our steel horses - first around the block, and then we tackled route 66.

Motorcycling with Paul was always interesting. We never left on time. We generally slept in confined quarters, and we consumed humongous amounts of food. After all our motto was, eat to ride - ride to eat. Paul would always take the bed closest to the toilet. When camping he would seize the warmer sleeping bag. Paul was an active sleeper. One night while camping I woke up to an arm slithering across my chest, the voice next to me whispering "oh, Judy". The following night everything in my possession was separating Paul from me.

Paul left us too soon. For Paul there would be roads untraveled, books unread, jokes untold, love unfulfilled. In spite all all the challenges that his life had dished out, Paul lived. And while most of us will die dying, Paul died living. I will miss him dearly"

Paul Feldman of Toronto died tragically July 21, 2010 in the Nevada desert while engaged in his greatest passion, motorcycle riding. I am his friend. On the 3rd of August, 2010, we were planing to depart for Sturgis, SD motorcycle rally. From there we would travel to San Francisco, CA, then to the Oregon along the coastal highway and back home along the US - Canada border, a total of 5600 miles. We have done several similar trips. This one will not be the same - Paul will not be there. This trip is a celebration of Paul's life - the adventure, the passion, the challenges and hardships, the disappointments and the accomplishments. Gentlemen, start your engines.