Therapy They Call ATL

I’ve recently had the pleasure of completing my 4^th ATL trip, and I have to say that it just seems to keep getting better each time. I think this trip was a bit extra special for me because I was able to spend more miles in the Upper Peninsula and wax a bit nostalgic with the memories I have covering those same miles as a kid in the back seat of my dad’s F250.

In addition to family vacations to the UP, I took a solo road trip (in a car) from New Jersey to Marquette, MI that totally changed my life. I was 19 at the time, it was the end of March and I had just come out of a somewhat tumultuous relationship. I had 2 weeks between leaving the job I had running a copy machine at a title insurance company to taking my first “I/T” job as a desktop support person at a local power supply engineering/manufacturing company. With little more than some clothes and CD’s, I decided to make (what seemed like at the time) a long trip. This obviously wasn’t an ATL, but a lot of what I stopped to see was very similar in some respects to what we saw in this year’s Figure-8 and I would like to think that maybe this journey for me (even though it was caged) was perhaps somewhat similar to Tad and Otter’s first ATL. I had no idea what to expect, and I know everyone in my family thought I was nuts, but it was just something I had to do. The clarity, peace of mind and drive to make my life into “something” that I returned with from this trip served me well for many years. I remember taking many turns down snowy unknown roads, just to see what was at the end, knowing full well that if I got stuck, I was pretty screwed…. Areas of the UP can be pretty barren in the summer, let alone almost the dead of winter.

Pulling into the lower Taquamennon Falls area, the gate was closed to the main parking area, but the upper parking area was open. When I slowly opened my door, I was struck by how eerily quiet it was. There I am, the only car I’d seen for miles, standing in the middle of this snow covered parking lot, no wind, no noises, about to take a long hike down to the river to see some falls. I’ll be honest; I wasn’t totally comfortable in this situation… My mind started to wander and I began to imagine all sorts of horrific things that could happen to me while I was trekking down through the snow. Talk about a misplaced imagination, I grew up in Detroit for crisesakes. But no one would find me for weeks, I thought! I managed to pull myself together enough to begin enjoying my surroundings and when I finally did make it to the falls, I sat there for at least an hour and just listening to the rushing water… getting a chuckle out of how I thought it was root beer as a kid, and even a bigger laugh of how outrageous my thoughts had been earlier.

I covered a great deal of the UP east of Marquette. Lots of lighthouses, Pictured Rocks, lots of smaller falls I’d found denoted on a map I’d picked up, and miles and miles of lakeshore. As I said, it was a life changing experience for me, and I think it’s just another reason why I am able to so easily center myself when I’m up there.

But back to the ATL at hand….

I had high expectations for this ATL, and especially having not done an ATL in a few years only increased my expectations, to the point where I was wondering if I wasn’t giving it a fair chance. The reality of it is, that this trip really far exceeded my expectations. Throw in big handfuls of awesome people, a heaping portion of incredible vistas and large sweeping turns, a dash of ham and that wanderlust spirit that’s inside each and every one of us, put it in the oven, bake at 3fitty for 6 days, smother it with some hot tub and beer icing and sprinkle on the Shepherd boys’ stories, and OMFG!! If that isn't a recipe for instant unforgettable memories, I don't know what is.

Day 3, ATL 2005 was particularly special. It started out with a bang (ok, so maybe it was more a slow hissing) as Eric quickly found out that his rear tire was flat. What could have been a very stressful time for him, was quickly (in typical ATL fasion) turned into a laughing riot. Sprite "I ride with a bottomless pit of spare parts" Shepherd had a patch kit at the ready and Kurt went to work. Lots of jokes were flying around as lots of managers shouted directions Kurt’s way. After a short time, Eric was putting air in the tire and after a quick inspection that proved it was at least holding air for the time being, we were on our way. After a lengthy stop for breakfast where they have the biggest damn cinnamon rolls I've ever seen, we finally made our way up to Copper Harbor.

Riding through Houghton/Hancock it was a bit misty and the roads were rain covered... a bit disappointing because I knew how much fun the roads up in the peninsula could be. Miracle of miracles, when we actually turned onto 26 things began to brighten up. Ah, that first roadside stop off of 26... All suited up we all made our way down the sandy bluff, some running, some not.. Sprite with the obligatory jump at the bottom into the loose stones. The sun was just beaming warmth into our suits even as the cool winds from Superior were gently stirring that magnificent body of water. We spent a decent amount of time here, just taking it all in. The fresh air, the peaceful waves breaking on the shore…. Could it get any better? After leaving that stop, I knew what was next……

Let me pause for a moment here, and reflect on the Keweenaw. That day, it was as if time stood still. Riding up 41 and making the left turn just before the church, onto 26, it was if we had entered Neverland. Everything about those hours we were out there was completely idyllic. It’s as best as my imagination could ever dream up and then some. Whether it was the company we were in; Eric, Tyrone, Sprite, Patrick, Kim and I, or the absolutely pristine sun, sky, lake, trees, and winding roads, life just doesn’t get any better than that. I emphatically agree with Sprite’s assessment that it was, without a doubt, the best afternoon ever spent on two wheels.

In ATL 2002, Kim, Leigh, Otter and I made our way to the top of Brockway Mountain for the first time, and here we were again! What a ride up to the top! Just a gorgeous road, winding it’s way through the forest. Once to the top….the views.. Oh the views.… Could the weather be any more perfect this year? Up on top the mountain, the air currents were warmer and the sun just as warming as it was down on the beach. Just a few scattered clouds here and there and the bluest of blue skies. We weren’t the only motorcyclists at the top, and Kim quickly introduced herself and struck up a conversation about what we were doing and to find out what they were up to. It was in this exchange that she first learned of Ouimet Canyon in Ontario. These guys swore it was at least as good, if not better than where we were standing right now. We made sure to make a note of this and to add it to our list of must-stop places while traveling along TC-17. The other road we took to go back down the mountain is just as impressive with some absolutely INCREDIBLE vistas where the road drops off very steeply and it seems like you’re just riding off a cliff with the massive lake out in the distance. Just takes your breath away.

On the way up to Brockway Mountain, we passed the Eagle Harbor Lighthouse, and of course I receive the requisite communication from my passenger... the pounding on the back. I knew Kim would want to stop there, so I communicated to Eric that we would stop there on the way back down the peninsula and he agreed it sounded like a good idea. So we blasted back down 26, Tyrone, Eric and Kim and I with Sprite and Patrick at their own pace not too far behind. Shortly after pulling into the parking lot at the lighthouse, Eric pulled in and that when I realized I’d done a very poor job of communicating to the others what my intentions were. Eric reassured me that I shouldn’t worry because Tyrone had stopped and was waiting for Sprite and Patrick and Tyrone knew where to turn.

And so it goes, I take my helmet off and the three of us are chatting when suddenly I hear that unmistakable American rumble. Assuming that sweet sound would be pulling into the parking lot any moment, I thought nothing of it until … wait, what’s this? Where’s he going? That exhaust burble is getting further and further away. After a quick exchange of obligatory, “You going?” “I’ll go!” I jumped on the ST and quickly (well, as quickly as you can in a gravel parking lot on a heavy street bike) tore off down 26 after our riding partners.

After constantly telling myself, “You’re not on your track bike……. DUDE! You’re not on your track bike!”. I did my best to run them down…. I kept thinking, man these guys must be flying, how am I not catching up to them??? PATRICK’S ON A HARLEY! Just after passing some falls, I just happened to catch a glimpse of the same folks we’d met up on Brockway Mountain. Grab a big handful of brake and I swerve in to see if they’d passed by already. Sure enough, they yelled that they had just been by maybe 2 minutes before. 2 MINUTES? WHAT THE….. Grab another big handful of throttle and I can hear those guys cheering, GO GET EM!! More high speed pursuit and I quickly reached the end of 26 where it T’s into 41. A quick look left and I was off, heading south on 41. What seemed like an eternity at carefully proportioned high speeds, I finally see some bikes off in the distance. When I finally ran them down, I couldn’t believe how far away from the damn lighthouse we were. A funny side note, I wish I’d had a camera for the looks on their faces when I passed them without Kim on the back. We all turned around and headed back to Eagle Harbor. Who could turn down yet another run up 26 (knowing full well, they’ll be another run back!)? The weather staying just as nice as it had been for hours, we pulled into the lighthouse and finally explained what had transpired.

The lighthouse grounds themselves weren’t a lot to look at, but still the lake overlook and small harbor were beautiful. We also found some really nice large rock outcroppings that went out into the lake. The guys, of course, climbed out onto the rocks and left poor Kim by herself onshore. Fortunately, she didn’t mind at all (whew!). What ensued on these rocks was nothing short of complete gut busting laughter. We sat there for a very good long time listening to Sprite and Patrick share stories about growing up and perhaps if others had been telling the stories one might have wondered if there was a bit of embellishment, but never with the Shepherd family ... there’s no doubt in my mind that every story was just the honest, absolute hilarious truth. I had to wonder, how the hell did these guys make it through those years? Better yet, how did their parents survive???

Eventually, the time came and we needed to leave Copper Harbor behind us. Shortly after realizing we needed to go, we realized what time it was. Late. Like 5? I don’t recall exactly, I just remember getting that lump in my throat wondering what Kim was going to make of this long trip to Superior. Unfortunately, we hit a bit of rain coming down out of the peninsula and then more rain and wet roads going across on US2. It made for an extremely long ride back and a real mind teaser. 50 miles to go … ride for what seems like it had to have been 60 miles… 34 miles to go … ride more.. 25 miles … ugh, c’mon already. We finally made it to the outskirts of Superior and things got even slower. Speed limit 30 … lots of traffic lights, surface streets, etc etc. To say we were all mentally exhausted is much too kind. But in the end, we all made it to the hotel where we thought we would each be greeted by a big, juicy, flame grilled select piece of beef. Instead, we had to settle for some cardboard, sauce and cheese. No matter, it was food. I was really impressed that Kim held it together as well as she did those last couple of hours. They were grueling. And so there it is… a 1000 foot view of the finest day on 2 wheels with truly incredible friends and best of all, my wife.

I feel so incredibly lucky to be able to share this experience with Kim. How awesome is it that I can come home from ATL and still relive it with the person I love and someone I am with all the time? Great motorcycle trips are always so much more than words can describe. I remember after my first ATL, I did my best to convey the feeling, but it’s just not quite the same as someone who has been there and “gets it”.

Leading up to this trip, Kim and I had a really tough family issue come up, and it had been weighing on my mind for almost a week before ATL. I felt so torn up by what had happened and mustering the courage to face the issue head on had just sapped every last bit of energy I had. Leaving our house at 4am on that beautiful May morning, knowing we’re about to embark on a journey we’ll never forget, I felt like the proverbial rubber band, stretched so tight, just short of breaking…… but the amazing power of 2 wheels, great friends and great roads slowly but surely reduced the stress of it all and by the time we hit the Upper Peninsula, it was all but a memory. Actually, the fact is, (and not in any way to diminish the gravity of the events) sitting out on the rocks up at Eagle Harbor on the Keweenaw Peninsula, it took me several minutes to even recall what it was that had happened…. I was just so far gone from the life we had left behind.

As some of you may know, my brother (aka Cricket) recently moved out West to Seattle. I don’t know if I really ever acknowledged to myself how much having him near us really meant to me (yes, despite how many times I’d LOVE to hit him). A little over a year ago, we offered Cricket his first opportunity to move out of my parents’ house in New Jersey and move to Illinois. We helped him find his first jobs and apartment and Kim took him under her wing to teach him important things like, grocery shopping and how to do laundry. We spent a lot of time working with him, encouraging him, DIScouraging him when it was appropriate (not that he'd ever listen), and being there for him when things got a little out of control (ahem.. broken neck, dislocated and fractured wrist, etc). I wasn’t at all prepared for him to leave after just one year at the Nyquist “Boot Camp for Life”, and I think I needed this trip to sort that out.

I’m going to spill over into an ATL subgroup for a minute and thank each one of the TNDCers for showing a great amount of restraint (even if it wasn’t deserved, because God knows THEY wanted to hit him) towards Cricket and welcoming him into the group for the short time he was here. I’ve said it before, but it really means a lot to me.

Ah, but back to the trip…. It was very disappointing to hear that Russ had to drop out of the trip because from just the few conversations we’d had, I knew he’d be a great guy to chat with along the entire trip. On an interesting note, not only is Rob Umans a neighbor of mine, but my daughter Amanda and his son Mike are in the same grade and have been in school together for years (since 3^rd grade!), in fact their lockers are right next to each other. Marc C., sorry to hear you dropped out, but I can acknowledge the fact that riding without the appropriate gear makes for a terrible trip. We hadn’t talked to you much prior, but that last morning we saw you in Superior was enjoyable and I look forward to seeing you on future ATLs.

Who needs to visit a therapist when things like ATL can repair a broken psyche in such a relatively short period of time? Paul N. mentioned something about not being able to work yesterday… hell, I still can’t bring myself to work now. Thank God, I’m “working” from home. I don’t have a clue how we’re going to do it, but the feeling that I/we need to get out of this corporate rat race has never been stronger, and coming back from ATL just reinforces it.

Each ATL I’ve done have had such wildly contrasting feels to them. With that first ATL, I just had no idea what to expect (nor what I was in for electrically, yikes!). The way the group (and especially Sprite) went out of their way to make sure I could finish the trip and my broken bike was just awesome. I thought for sure I’d be putting the thing in a truck and driving it home. Despite the need for a couple of push-starts and some re-wiring, by the time I was on TC-17, I had forgotten all about being under a tarp in the pouring rain diagnosing what was wrong with my bike. There’s a song I’ll always associate with that first trip (and ATL in general really) and that was The Black Crowe’s, “Soul Singing” off their Lions album. I remember playing that song repeatedly because it so well expressed the way I was feeling.

My second ATL, which was only a few short weeks after the first, was completed by just myself and my good friend Otter. What a trip… leave Friday after work and come back Sunday evening for a complete ATL, except this time we did it in reverse. Now, keep in mind that I’d only gotten my first bike about a year before, and here I was, striking out on this almost iron-butt tour around the Great Lakes. I remember us pulling onto I-90 to get up to Wisconsin and thinking I must be out of my mind. The first night we pulled into Rhinelander, WI after dark (11ish, I think) and knew we’d be getting up at 4 to get back on the road. I still vividly recall waking up and looking out the hotel window to see Otter standing next to his trusty steed, the VFR, having his first smoke of the day (a habit he’s long since kicked).

The second day after Otter nearly tagged a dog on the way up to Houghton (Sprite, Hooton??) we took a couple of quick pictures in front of the traditional hotel there and got on our way… knowing we needed to get through a good chunk of TC-17. Not far south of Houghton moving at a reasonable pace (70ish?), we came around a gentle bend and were met face to face with one of Michigan’s finest. Immediately after passing us, I made a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw the brake lights come on. I think every time I’ve ever been pulled over, there’s always that quick flash of RUN AWAY, RUN AWAY!, fortunately neither Otter nor I paid any mind (Hmmm… 1977 GL1000 vs. a cop on, to me, relatively foreign roads.. BAD IDEA) to that thought and pulled over onto the shoulder. The trooper was relatively nice about the situation and it was painfully obvious to both Otter and I that it was nothing more than a revenue generating ticket as she immediately dropped the written speed down to 5 over with no prompting from either of us. A quick snap of the camera to seal the moment and we were on our way.... well, sort of. I don’t remember the exact amount of time, but shortly we arrived in Ontonagon. Wait, what? Ontonagon? What the hell are we doing here?? Still smarting from our little brush with the law, we completely missed the VERY OBVIOUS left turn onto 45. Oh well, we weren’t too far out of the way, but on a barn burner, every minute counts.

The rest of the day, despite a tortuous ride across US2 getting out of Michigan and across Wisconsin was pretty uneventful. We spent the night in a small motel across the street from Rosie and Josie’s (the traditional breakfast stop on the regular ATL after Marathon) and were up before dawn broke the following morning. At this point, I think both of us were dragging a bit, finding it difficult to hold a line through those wonderful sweepers on TC-17. A quick stop for some coffee at a gas station where I quickly learned that mixing coffee with a little Mountain Dew, while giving a nice kick in the arse for a quick boost of energy, was just plain wrong (I think I must have been delirious at this point to have even considered this combination).

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment that it hit me, but it hit me like a bucket of cold water over the head….. We needed to make it back home to Chicago today. Wow. That’s a very sobering thought as we’re parked at a gas station in Marathon.

As I referenced earlier, the Oldwing I was riding (1977 Honda Goldwing GL1000) was equipped with a CD player and a couple of speakers. At this particular point in the trip, I popped in one of my Led Zeppelin discs. Otter can probably relay the story better, but at some point we came to a stop due to construction and he pulls up along side me and the “Immigrant Song” is going .. once again, I’m WAYYY far gone, totally removed from the life we’d left.

And so it goes, we rode and rode, and rode some more. Really enjoying being back out on TC-17 again, especially so quickly after my first ATL only weeks earlier. Life was good. I don’t really recall anything too out of the ordinary at either border crossing, and we quickly passed through the Upper Peninsula and down through Mackinaw.

After making some very slow progress through the towns on 31, we weren’t too far from Traverse City when a very interesting thing happened… I started to smell something burning. I remember looking up the road to the vehicles in front of us to see if I could pinpoint which vehicle was producing this terrible stink. Not long after, I realized that it was unlikely to be anyone in front of us and I began to look around on my bike. Thinking that perhaps my boot was resting on the exhaust (right behind where the floorboards ended), I made a quick adjustment and kept riding. At first, I thought the smell had subsided, but it wasn’t but a few miles later that it had returned… and with a vengeance. I think it was about this time that it really hit me that this was definitely coming from me and that I should probably be doing more to figure out what was wrong, and OH BOY did I find out what was wrong. A quick glance down, just behind my right leg, smoke was billowing out of the side of the bike. Oh………..shit………. Ok…. the bike is still running, don’t do anything hasty. Otter was ahead of me by about 3 or 4 bike lengths, and I thought I ought to make him aware of the situation so we could take the appropriate action. A quick flick of the wrist and I was along side him and pointing towards the bike, thinking that as much smoke as I’d seen it would be very obvious WHY I was pointing at my bike. He acknowledged me, and I backed off, awaiting a right signal so we could safely pull over onto the gravel shoulder. While it was probably only a ¼ of a mile, it seemed like a hundred. Otter wasn’t pulling over…. I thought, hmmm… either he didn’t get the hint, or he didn’t think the smoke was anything to worry about. I was worried. Another flick of the wrist, and this time, instead of just pulling up alongside, I zoomed up in front of him, letting him have the full smoke screen while simultaneously indicating in a very fervent manner that I HAVE A PROBLEM HERE!

This got his attention. We pulled off to the side of the road and I quickly dismounted the smoking beast. It didn’t take me long to identify where the problem was, and I quickly took the side panel off that covers the battery. Not only did the side panel have a big melt spot on it, there was a HUGE gooey mess inside the battery compartment where lots of wires were run. After waving off help from a fellow rider passing by, Otter and I went to work on trying to see if there was anything left to salvage. Fortunately, I’d learned my lesson from my ATL trip a few short weeks ago and came totally prepared with wire, soldering iron, service manual with electrical schematics, electrical tape, duct tape, fuses, testers, etc. Thanks to Otter’s cool headed thinking, we quickly identified the gooey mess contained the three yellow wires coming from the alternator and a bunch of other wires that may or may not have been important. Otter managed to carefully piece things back together, and we held our breath as I turned the key.

The bike came back to life, and a quick thumbing of the starter and she was purring again. We let it idle for awhile, stowing the side panel in a Givi. There didn’t seem to be any heat buildup and the bike seemed to be running fine, so we decided to try and at least get to a gas station. We pulled in, filled up and took another good look at the patchwork, and it all seemed to be holding together well enough. At this point, we figured we might as well try and make it as far as we can before the bike dies completely… a lot less miles to truck it home. In this case, fortune smiled on me. We were able to make it back to Schaumburg by about 10pm. What a ride.

To this day, I still don’t think Kim quite understands the purpose or desire to do an ATL in such a short amount of time. After all, what can you possibly take in when you’re constantly moving? I find being on two wheels, regardless of time or space very therapeutic. The time to think, the time to reflect and the time to cleanse the mind. Yeah, at different points in those hundreds and hundreds of mile days, the body starts to complain a bit, but the mental fortitude one strives for to complete such an endeavor really pays off in a sense of accomplishment. But really, even what I’ve written here, still doesn’t really scratch the surface of what that trip still means to me today. The whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.

I took a couple of years off from ATL, and I’m glad I did. I think I needed to push the reset button on why I chose to do ATL in the first place. What is the spirit of ATL? What was the spirit of ATL? Can I be true to either? I don’t pretend to know the answer to any of those questions, but I’ve come to accept and embrace it for what it is today. I think I’ve always been split pretty evenly down the middle as far as what I enjoy most. I love the road and every turn it takes and every destination I find, but I love the people, their stories and their hearts just as much. Not only do I like adding to my own experiences of things and places I’ve seen, but also people, personalities and the admirable traits inside them. I find it rewarding that if I can’t add those things I find admirable to my own repertoire, perhaps due to my own character flaws or whatever, I can sit back and really appreciate the uniqueness and special gifts of others.

Well, it’s been a helluva ride since I first moved to Illinois in 1997, not knowing a soul. Not only did I meet my soul mate and marry into a wonderful family, I’ve been able to have one of the most amazing experiences of my life by becoming a Dad. I’ve made some incredible friendships that I fully expect to last a lifetime. I’ve pushed myself far beyond my own expectations and lived to tell about it. I don’t really want to thank anyone yet, as I think we still all have many miles left ahead of us, and quite frankly, I don’t need to turn this into an award acceptance speech either. Let me just say that I can’t wait for next year (on our own bike, hopefully!) and I look forward to seeing new faces next year and picking up where I left off this year with everyone else.

Godspeed.