What It Is, Is a Harley

You hear him before you see him, always. You hear that sound, that unmistakable rumble of an American made exhaust system and you know it's a big one. I don't know about you, but every time I hear a Harley coming down the street I always turn and watch it go by. You can't always tell who's riding it because here in Oregon it's mandatory by law to wear a helmet. But I can tell when it's him. It's that damn grin of his. It's not "an illegal smile" of the John Prine song, but it's really close to it. And when my friend Dan Dreier is riding his Harley-Davidson he's grinning. Always grinning.

What it is, is a dream

Dan Dreier has gone through a metamorphosis recently that's nothing short of remarkable. We all go through somewhat of a melancholic reaction when we approach the age of 60, but when Dan turned 60 in September of 2006 something happened in him. His friend Dave Barton sort of instigated the whole thing. Dave rode a motorcycle and had told Dan the joys of tooling around the countryside, and Dan realized that in 60 years he'd never in his life been on one. What happened one afternoon was somewhat of an intense experience for Dan, because that was the day he first saw her, tucked away in the corner of the showroom of Greg Coen Motor Co., in Springfield. A brand new 2007 Harley-Davidson Softail Deluxe. Now here's where the craziness starts. The very next day, without ever being on a big motorcycle in his entire life, Dan went back to Coen's and bought it. $20,000. Just like that. His friend Dave had to ride it home for him.

Dan was born on September 13, 1946, and as a baby moved to Cedar Falls, Iowa with his parents. His father was a professor at the University of Northern Iowa, and his mother was a loving and hard-working woman who raised 5 children. But it was on his grandparents' farm where Dan got his first taste of riding out in the open, literally. Dan's beloved Granddad would let him stand on the front of the seat between his Granddad's knees and steer the old John Deere tractor. It was of course a thrilling thing for a young man, and much later in life he would compare that time to his motorcycle riding: the wind in his face, the noise of the engine, and the feeling of doing something a little bit "naughty."

It was a week before Dan even attempted to ride. He took a short motorcycle course at the local community college and before long was riding, somewhat gingerly, all over town. But this metamorphosis thing still had Dan in it's grip. He took his brand new bike back to Coen's and upgraded it from a 96 cubic-inch engine to a more powerful 103 cubic-inch. Dan's a bit hard of hearing, so he had them change the roaring stock muffler to a thundering Vance Hines exhaust system, capable of rattling windows 2 blocks in any direction. He kept upgrading, and when he was finally satisfied, another $20,000 had been invested.

Dan's brother Jim, after being told of all this Harley madness, gently reminded him that their mother, all her life, had disapproved of noisy dangerous motorcycles, and the news of Dan's recent purchase might make her a bit upset. So, in a stroke of Iowan genius, Dan named his new Harley after her. What sensible mid-western mother could be upset with something named after her? And thus was born The Mighty Mary Ellen.

What it is, is a trip

Now most of us would be happy to take our new machine on the occasional trip to the coast or the mountains, when the weather was nice. But my friend Dan had something more in mind. A lot more. A hell of a lot more. In June of 2008 Dan and The Mighty Mary Ellen (referred to in his e-mail journals as The MME) set out on the first of what he calls his Major Motorcycle Pilgrimage Across America (MMPAA, no, I'm not making that up.) What he did was, he drew this enormous "X" on a map of the West Coast of the United States, and rode 10,000 miles in a few weeks, averaging 500 miles A DAY. Now, remember, Dan had only been riding a motorcycle for several months in his whole life, and also remember that Dan is about to turn 63 years old, but he does have one thing in his advantage: Bus driver butt. I'll explain that one to you some other time.

In June of 2009, Dan and Mary Ellen traveled the entire 12,000 miles of U.S. Highway 20 from Newport, Oregon to Boston, Mass., then around the perimeter of Maine, then south to Key West, Florida, then to New Orleans, then home again through Cedar Falls, Iowa to visit the original Mary Ellen. All in all, it took him his entire 4 week vacation, again at 500 miles a day. But the really cool thing for the rest of us, is that Dan took his laptop with him and wrote us a steady stream of reports from the road, some of which I pass on to you.

What it is, is truth

Traveling across Idaho was a smorgasbord of terrain -- farmlands, vast empty spaces, mountains, and even a city or two. Best moment in Idaho? Waiting for a massive herd of cattle to clear the road, complete with dozens of cowboys on horseback, herd dogs working furiously, and even a chuck wagon -- on a Dodge pickup truck, bringing up the rear. There were many hundreds of cattle, maybe a thousand head. It took a LONG time to wait for them and then to slowly drive along side as the herd moved beside the roadway.

The speed limit on Hwy 20 in Idaho is 65 (in good ol Oregon its only 55). It went up to 70 as it crossed the southwest tip of Montana. Traffic was light and I made good time until I reached this cool little park called Yellowstone. Bison on the road a couple of times brought already slow moving traffic to a halt. At one point it was warm enough that I did something I'd never done on a motorcycle, ride without a helmet. No helmet laws in Idaho, Wyoming or Montana, I noticed. I always wear my helmet, even if it isn't required, but since traffic was moving slowly and there was much to see, I went bare headed for ten miles. Then it suddenly got cooler and I put my helmet back on.

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At 4:00 AM in my Valentine, Nebraska motel room, I was awaked by a ferocious thunder storm. Lighting lit up the room through heavy curtains. The thunder could be felt, not to mention heard almost as loud as the Mighty Mary Ellen in the passing lane.

I got up and got ready for the day, determined to depart at daybreak, come hell or high water. I departed at daybreak in both. It was POURING rain and lightning was still giving me strobe light glimpses of the road ahead. My raingear held up well enough. Heated gloves kept my hands warm. Heated socks kept the water in my boots warm. You'd think $130 Harley-Davidson boots would keep the water on the outside. You'd be wrong. They DO keep water on the inside, however.
It was tough going though most of the eastern 250 miles of Nebraska. The biggest difficulty was seeing the road. My goggles were useless as they fogged over on the inside. I changed into my regular glasses and that worked better, as air can circulate around the lens. What I really needed was tiny windshield wipers mounted on my glasses. Want to know what its like to drive though pouring rain on a motorcycle going 65 MPH? First, smear your glasses with, oh, how about . . . Vaseline. Then, have someone stand four feet in front of you, point a garden hose at your face and turn on the water full blast. Fun, I know.

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Highway 20 in eastern Nebraska runs though dozens of small to tiny towns. One had a sign declaring Population 10. You could tell the size of the town by how far the speed limit dropped down to 45 for the smallest, 35 for some, and 25 for others. A few had a town stop sign. Two even had a traffic signal. Dropping the throttle and shifting into lower gears felt like a tip of the hat to these small towns, a sign of respect. I didnt mind at all. If fact, it was a pleasure. Iowa, on the other hand, has demolished any vestige of the old highway and has constructed a freeway-like road that bypasses any and all towns along the way. I was so ready to get to Cedar Falls I didnt really mind the faster travel, but its a shame for those towns to loose their Main Street highway.

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The neighborhoods of greater Chicago are distinct and dramatically different. From affluent to impoverished. For a while there, I didnt see another white person for miles. Traffic seemed to move less efficiently in the poorer neighborhoods, so I spent lots of time sitting at intersections. That gave me a chance to look around. Wow! I tried to imagine a young Barack Obama doing his community organizing here.

The many hours I spent studying my maps really paid off today. The street names and intersections were familiar to me as Highway 20 twisted and turned its way through the cities along the southern tip of Lake Michigan. It felt good when I finally emerged on the Red Arrow Highway and then the Blue Star Highway in Michigan -- roads that hug the lake shore. US 31 took me the rest of the way to my stop here in Ludington.

In each of his e-mails to us, written most often at the end of the day in yet another Mom-and-Pop motel along the way, Dan would assure us that The Mighty Mary Ellen was "parked just outside my window." And each message became more, well...almost religious sounding. Something was happening to Dan. It was like when he was on board this machine, with the wind, and sometimes rain, Dan was finding himself. He was able to be alone with his thoughts, sure, but he was never really alone. He had The Mighty Mary Ellen.

Impatient for the sun to make an appearance, I headed out in the predawn darkness of a sultry Jacksonville morning. It was fun, to say the least, riding before dawn on a nearly empty freeway, watching for the first signs of dawn to streak across the horizon. Though I was perfectly comfortable, shivers of joy occasionally rippled thought my body. Hugging the MME tightly with my knees, I couldn't help but burst into song -- Oh beautiful, for spacious skies . . . I must have started off in too high key as my throat still hurts from the America, America part. I was singing the Ray Charles version. Mary Ellen provided an excellent percussive bass line. Actually, she purrs along so loud I can barely hear myself sing. (Talk about your basic blessing!)

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On my way home from Parkersburg, I stopped by a big red house on the corner of 26th and College. Five children were playing outside. I stopped to watch them. They didnt see me. One boy was on his bike. He could ride with no hands and liked to ride fast. The childrens father walked home from his job at the college on a curving brick road across the street. He was happy to be home. The mother and a stooped-over grandmother could be seen through the kitchen window. It was a happy, busy, beautiful family. I wished I could talk to them. I wanted to tell them how wonderful they were, what fine parents they had, and how much this place would mean to them someday. I wanted to stay with them, but they faded away.

And sometimes Dan's writing got downright spooky. Like the entry on June 12th that began, "This is the Mighty Mary Ellen speaking." Dan has his motorcycle wax almost poetic on the meaning of life. She refers to Dan as "ODB," Old Danny Boy.

This is the Mighty Mary Ellen speaking. Old Danny Boy is dead tired after a long day in the saddle. He asked me if I would do the journal honors tonight. It seems that Im the one who has all the energy -- as long as ODB keeps my tank filled with premium grade gasoline. We did 540 miles today but it took forever, he said. It took just over 13 hours is what it took. We were stopped at traffic lights in towns and villages, or traffic jams on I-95 after we hit Boston, for much of the day. I didnt mind, but ODB isn't long on patience...

Eastern New York was lots of fun. I loved climbing those steep hills in high gear. I've got more horse power and torque than I know what to do with. We had to pull over before long and ODB put his rain gear on. He tried to convince himself it wasn't going to rain by not wearing his gear. That didnt work. He took it off when the sky cleared up in Massachusetts. Then we stopped by the side of the freeway on our way down to Rhode Island. ODB is getting quite adept at anticipating the rain before it hits. Nothing more embarrassing than waiting by the side of the road while he struggles with his gear in the pouring rain...

Things got rather quiet when we finally hit the end of US 20. We've been following those 20 signs for 3,335 miles. Funny thing was, there wasn't any sign saying, THE END. Nothing. ODB was a bit disappointed, I think. He wanted to take a picture of the other end of the road. The other end of the road turned out to be nothing more than the beginning of another road. Kind of like life, if ya know what I mean.

Dan and Mary Ellen have in 2 short years visited all the lower 48 states. Dan says driving 500 miles is like driving a bus 10 hours a day, but each day with Mary Ellen is "recoverable," a term I think is in reference to his rear end. Before he started, his original plan was to camp out along the way, but after a mere 3 days of that, he gained a whole new respect for inexpensive motels. Arriving in Maine the first time, he unceremoniously shipped all his camping gear home, and that was that.

Next summer, Dan and Mary Ellen plan to travel the entire length of Interstate Highway 50, nicknamed "The Loneliest Road in America," from Sacramento, California to Ocean City, Maryland. Incidentally, there's a Harley dealership in Lewiston, Maine, where Dan stops every trip. He has Mary Ellen serviced there, and the employees joke that of all their regular customers Dan rides the farthest to get service. And Dan's fame locally is spreading. He's currently featured in a television commercial for Greg Coen Motor Co.

I just recently figured out something about myself, thanks to Dan. Every time I see Dan roar by on The Mighty Mary Ellen, with that fantastic, exhilarated grin on his face, I get this strange feeling in my chest, or the pit of my stomach, or both. I didn't know what it was until I re-read all of his e-mail journal. It's a feeling that happens to most all of us from time to time, but as we get older it happens less and less. It's actually, in the case of my friend Dan, a good feeling.

What it is, is envy


Love to all, John Perry