Embracing America on a Hog and a Hack Without Reservations

By Susie Puckett and Cheryl Seitz

If adventure came knocking, would you have the courage to open the door? That was the question Susie had to answer. She was very comfortably established in her hometown routine, semiretired and serene. So it was with some misgivings that she agreed to take a tour around the perimeter of the United States with her husband, Bob. The conveyance? His new dream machine, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle with a sidecar added just for her. With no former riding experience and no little anxiety, she goes along for the ride. She learns a bit about the country, its people, and some very important things about herself. Come along for a virtual ride! But dont get too comfortable, because one day, it might be your door that adventure finds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512722772

Susie Puckett

The author is at home in central Arizona where the Sonoran Desert provides stunning vistas for her camera. She has been married to her high school sweetheart for forty-four years, has three children and eight grandchildren residing in Idaho, California and in Florida that she misses like crazy.

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Copyright © 2015 Susie Puckett.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Cover photo taken near Sandpoint, Idaho with Lake Pend Oreille and Warren Island in the background.

Cover Photography by Melissa Bond

ISBN: 978-1-5127-2278-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-2279-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-2277-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920157

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/11/2015

CONTENTS

Introduction

Dedication

In Memory

Big Decisions—Or Why Would I Do That?

The Northern Leg—Or Baby, It’s Cold Outside

The Eastern Leg—Or Wall-to-Wall People

The Southern Leg—In the Sun and the Rain

The Western Leg—The Home Stretch

Acknowledgments

INTRODUCTION

It’s a long way around the perimeter of the contiguous forty-eight states, particularly when avoiding the interstate highways, but instead preferring the ‘roads less traveled’. In the fall of the year, weather can be punishing and unpredictable; especially if you’re confronting it all perched in an open, unprotected sidecar attached to a Harley.

Ride along as one woman goes the distance, overcomes personal obstacles and gains new insight into her own innate strengths and abilities. The rain will drench you, the wind will whip past your cheeks, and the ice will freeze in the creases of your leathers as you proceed through everyday America in a ‘hack on a hog’.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all the family, friends, and the many joyful strangers who shared our appreciation for the spirit in which we rode to experience out great nation.

IN MEMORY

As we collaborated on this book Susie and I became increasingly aware that the adventurous spirit she had shown throughout her experiences was due in no small part to two women of deep faith who had played important roles in her life. So it is with great love and humility that Susie remembers her mother, Mabel Stilwell, whose quiet strength and perseverance will always be felt and valued. And Susie’s dear friend, Mary Neuder, will always be an incomparable role model. She lived life with joy and courage and her determination never wavered, even as she faced the life limiting disease ALS.

BIG DECISIONS—OR WHY WOULD I DO THAT?

It certainly didn’t look like the sort of place to inspire. The group of modular units my husband called home when he was away on the job sat huddled on the ground, low and squat. The sparse and dirty windows existed as if only to rebuke the chaotic view of big, unidentifiable machines and their various disconnected parts. Shunned by any respectable tree or plant, the yard was adorned only by the muddied boot prints of its many male inhabitants. There were no pleasant images to distract the eye or mar the message that here, work was king.

I loved visiting. It was like being back at sixth-grade vacation camp, when two weeks of shaking spiders out of sleeping bags and reeking of mosquito repellant couldn’t dim the excitement of testing one’s youthful mettle under Spartan conditions. I had been here several times over the eleven years that Bob had been employed by Earth Movers of Fairbanks, a company that performed contract work for the Alyeska Pipeline Company in Valdez, Alaska. The visits helped both of us feel a little more connected in spite of the long separations. This would be the last such trip. My husband was going to retire.

Ah, retirement! Strike up a conversation with any member of the working public whose children are old enough to negotiate their own bedtimes, and soon talk turns to how good life will be in the great someday. It doesn’t take long to discover that everyone has a different vision of that glorious day, but all are pretty much agreed on one aspect. It will be the exact opposite of their current daily grinds.

With the magic day approaching, Bob had chosen his moment to impart to me his own thoughts on the subject as we sat in the cramped dormitory-style room he bunked in. Never one to mince words, he asked, What would you think about accompanying me on a Harley trip all around the country?

He had my instant and complete attention. Stalling for time, I asked, "Do you mean Harley as in Harley-Davidson motorcycle? He just nodded. Visions of tattooed Hell’s Angels came immediately to mind. Around the country? You and me? We?" I tried to put as much space between each question as I thought the discourse would reasonably bear. His instant nod gave me no time to think. He watched my expression, and he waited.

Not wanting to reveal the trepidation his suggestion created in me, I allowed my eyes to wander around the tiny cubicle that Bob had occupied during the years he commuted from our home in northern Idaho. My eyes took in the space, small and almost totally cheerless. The only décor consisted of a couple of family pictures and the Christmas tree. My gaze rested on it for precious seconds.

Though the calendar showed it was the month of April, the little fiber-optic tree still occupied a special place in the room. Its tiny lights cycled first red, then green, and then clear. A few Christmases earlier, I had shipped the tree to Bob in hopes it would evoke some joy of the season since he couldn’t be home with our family. After the holidays passed, he decided to keep the tenuous link to hearth and home. He never turned it off.

Before my heartstrings began to twang too loudly, my mind took a new, even more personal tack. My knowledge of motorcycles could be printed on the head of a pin. I had never ridden one. I knew they were loud. And large. There must be a whole slew of negatives I could produce if my experience weren’t so woefully limited. I just needed time to think. The little fiber-optic tree glowed green and then changed to clear.

I had a great sense of respect for the meager existence that had been my husband’s lot at this end of his rotational commute. The schedule alone was daunting. He awakened at 5:00 a.m., dragged on heavy-duty gear, and then sprinted to the mess hall. Breakfast was served until 7:00 a.m., at which time the doors closed. Those who were tardy learned the lesson quickly or had to be content with their new weight-loss program. Work began at 6:00 a.m. and lasted twelve and a half long hours every day for four weeks straight.

The job was physical, and it was grubby. Bob, an equipment mechanic, was the shop boss. He oversaw a crew of fifteen or so members, the precise number at any given time dependent upon shortness of tempers and the availability of weapons. They were generally a rough and volatile bunch. During the short summers, most of the activity revolved around construction projects. In the winter, massive amounts of inconvenient snow needed to be relocated to allow men and machines to accomplish their tasks. Thrown in for variety was maintenance on the boom boats. These boats serviced the oil tankers that docked at the terminal and collected one hundred thousand or so barrels of oil every hour before raising anchor for other ports.

When each arduous day finally ended at 6:30 p.m., the mess hall once again opened its doors for a well-deserved meal. Those doors slammed shut at 7:30. Latecomers got no sympathy and, more to the point, no dinner. Afterward, before exhaustion took its inevitable hold, Bob would allocate precious time to only two essential tasks. There was laundry to do, and he would call home.

Each night, before he closed his eyes, we would talk on the phone. At least, I would talk, while Bob would usually listen. When you have three teenagers, life is a series of momentous events—some good, some not so much. Barring the disasters, it was a joy to lay out the day in its smallest detail just to be able to share it. There were times when a few words from Dad were needed to resolve a particularly thorny issue among the offspring. Edicts from afar were rare, but they were generally very effective. When the silences from his end would become too long, I would say good-night. I could almost hear Bob’s eyelids come crashing down. Another day ended.

The routine would repeat itself with varying degrees of monotony twenty-seven more times with no breaks, no weekends off. After four weeks, the next two were the Holy Grail, the light at the end of the tunnel when Bob would rotate home. For the next fourteen days, he would catch up on family affairs and attempt to unwind.

For all these years, he had coped with this grueling, mind-numbing schedule. Only now did I discover how he had managed it. He had taken up that all-American pastime that gets many of us through the working day. He had dreamed and planned for his retirement. Despite the insipid surroundings, or maybe because of them, the plan was particularly inspired. The dichotomy couldn’t be more evident. Having been hitched to the proverbial plow for a long time, he wanted to burst from the harness and head for the freedom of the open road with no duties or obligations. I could understand the allure. Okay, so why not in a car?

I like the idea of a Harley, he said. I like the way they sound, the way they look. He proceeded to give me a Harley-Davidson history lesson that chronicled what he called a great American tradition that began when the first one was sold in Milwaukee in 1903. His hand curled around imaginary handlebars; his eyes lit up as he extolled the virtues of the V-twin engine. I could almost hear the potato, potato, potato sound as this mythical art on wheels took shape and circled the confines