New Hampshire

Like their New England brethren in Boston, riders in the town of North Hampton, New Hampshire have found themselves facing a law biased against them. In this case, the lawmakers of the town have passed a law requiring all motorcycles produced after 1982 to have stickers on their exhausts indicating that they meet EPA noise standards (currently 80 decibels or lower). Again, as in the Boston case, the town is requiring a much stricter standard than that of the state of New Hampshire itself. New Hampshire only requires motorcycle exhausts to meet a reading of 106 decibels or lower to pass State Inspection.

Were this noise standard applied to the community in general, rather than just motorcycles, things like lawnmowers, subway trains, train whistles, city traffic while sitting inside a vehicle, AND a telephone dial tone would all fail to meet the 80 decibel limit, not to mention the sound of Slayer coming through Chris Callen's office audio system. For several reasons, local law enforcement officials have expressed reservations about enforcing the law. For one, officers have commented that EPA stickers can be difficult to verify, as the regulation requires their placement to be on the bottom of a motorcycle. As well, the town's police chief noted that, because the ordinance makes an effort to circumvent an existing state law, it's virtually unenforceable.

The true tragedy behind this story comes in where the keepers of the noise, represented here by the town of North Hampton and the group New Hampshire Citizens Against Loud Motorcycles (CALM), lose sight of all reason for the sake of their single-minded initiative. In this case, what's lost in their zeal to "end the noise," is the fact that there are several motorcycle dealerships in North Hampton, together employing roughly 100 people. In a suit filed against the town, one dealer stated that, with the new ordinance in place, most of the dealership's used bike inventory has now become illegal. In times like these, when good work can be hard to find, one would think folks might look past their issues with motorcycles so that 100 people in their hometown can keep their jobs. One would think!

Until next time, keep the shiny side up, and please stay informed about what's happening in the wonderful world on two wheels!!!



I g "I was about to throw in the towel somewhere in Arizona, when I talked to a buddy back home who the trip was off. He mentioned to me on the phone that it was his life-long dream to seethe Grand C as much video as I could to bring back for him. I called daily with details to fill his wande

Article By: JJ Phipps Photos By: J J Phipps & Chris Callen iMt*3k hen we left off last month, I had met up with another Hoka Hey rider, Greg Darby, in Arizona. We proceeded to ride together to our third checkpoint at Flaming Gorge H-D in Wyoming. Once arriving, I left Greg and went on as he had to go over his bike and have it serviced; I was pretty sure I'd see him again. Now I know Wyoming has some good areas to ride in which is why I'm going to rate it higher than Oklahoma but not by much. After getting back at it, I rode on nothing but straight, boring roads with high crosswinds and increasing elevation making it extremely cold. The heat I can handle, but I despise cold weather especially when I'm not expecting it. Civilization was nowhere to be found for the longest time causing the fear of running out of gas to set in. I made it to Casper where I packed it in for the night. I was tired, cold, and disgusted because I hadn't ridden half as far as I planned and I was starting to really miss my wife and children. I called her to check in which only made things worse, but after I hung up with her, I had a message from a longtime close friend who had left me some good words of encouragement. It's funny how the right things can come at the right time.

The next morning, I continued the ride of boredom into South Dakota where things got better. We had the privilege of going to Chief Oliver Red Cloud's home which turned out to be a surprise checkpoint: Checkpoint 4. I had buffalo stew and Indian pudding for the first time and was honored to be at his home. We were invited to stay and rest up but I decided to get back on the road.

Our route led us thru The Badlands, Spearfish Canyon, and Deadwood before taking us to another small part of Wyoming then into Montana. I tried to make it through the straight and unexciting part before stopping and actually spent the night on an Indian reservation outside of Billings. Once into the mountains, Montana was very impressive and the roads were in good shape too. While cruising along, taking everything in, I noticed a black fairing coming up behind me that looked familiar. Sure enough it was Greg. Montana was a very enjoyable, relaxing ride. I was hoping to see a bear on this trip but so far, no luck. We cruised on in to our next checkpoint at Montana H-D in Missoula: Checkpoint 5 -1351.6 miles.

When we got our next map, I was not happy. The organizers had added an additional fifteen hundred miles to our route. I had paced myself to arrive a few days early in Homer because my wife was flying in on July 2nd and I wanted to sightsee before leaving Alaska. My pace was for seven thousand to seventy five hundred miles, not eighty five hundred miles plus. Oh well, shit happens so shut up and ride, I told myself.

Heading north toward Canada the ' beauty of Montana continued till we reached the border. Canada allowed us to cross over with no problems although we had heard they were turn-

A I OX grades!

)m switchbacks Irow gravel road 8 miles ffiSKali, ing people away just for being in the Hoka Hey. One guy was denied access for having a DUI nineteen years ago. Once in Canada we spent the night in the Harley-Davidson of the Kootenays' parking lot outside of the Canadian Rockies in British Columbia. In the morning, Greg found out he had a major problem with his bike that involved replacing the pistons. He didn't know when he would get on the road or if he would be able to even finish. I decided at this time that I was ready to head into Alaska so Greg showed me the shortest route to Homer and off I went, alone. However, when it was time to take the shortcut, I couldn't do it. I had to hit all of the checkpoints and finish this. My dad and mom taught me when I was a kid that when you start it, you finish it, you don't ever quit, and this is something I have passed on to my children so I'd be damned if I wasn't going to finish this thing the right way.

The next part of the route took me into the Canadian Rockies which were nothing short of breathtaking; I've never seen such incredible scenery. They were also nothing short of freezing. It was a great experience to ride up into the snow-capped mountains in June even though I was rained and snowed on. It was up there I finally got to see some bears: one black and two grizzlies. The grizzlies are quite intimidating. Once I got off the mountain at a gas stop, I asked

road. Eventually, I would find that he was okay but the race was over for him.

I was pressing on hard today since I wanted to get to the next stop that was going to be Chief Oliver Red Cloud's home on the Pine Ridge Reservation. I tore ass over desert roads that ranged from a scene out of a Roadrunner cartoon with canyons and caverns that were like another planet. That's when I came into the Red Rock Canyons.

I'm not sure if the organizers realized what this part of the trip would be like for challengers as they reached this point but it was almost like the Ozarks. Mile after mile I wondered if I was ever going to get out of this place or if I was just going in circles. I would eventually make it to Oliver Red Cloud's and this was a time like I had never known; what an honor.

Just before I got there, I stopped and bought a can of tobacco as a gift for the chief. I had originally caught trout through the summer for this purpose but couldn't get them shipped to Florida before we left. When I met the chief, I asked him to pray for the other riders and my friend who was out there. He put his hand on my head and gave me a blessing in Lakota and in English that I will never forget. I sat on the porch and listened to stories from this 97 year old man who had spoke in front of three Untied Nations, Presidents of the United States and had been the Chief of the Lakota nation probably as long as I have been alive. He told me about the Chanupa, the prayer pipe, and its significance to his people. He taught me about sun dance and what the commitment to it means. I hung around for what was probably too long and eventually decided to hit the road. My soul was full and so was my belly, thanks to his family.

Leaving South Dakota was a trip I am familiar with. I run these roads from time to time but nothing could prepare me for the toll this trip was starting to take on me. It was somewhere

Wild Man On The Hoka Hey

It Was The Trip Of A Lifetime, One / Will Never Forget And I'll Tell You Why.

It was about now that I remembered the immortal words of one of my favorite philosophers: Mr. Jim Morrison. "Out here in the perimeter, there are no stars. Out here we are stoned, immaculate." Of course the stoned part was coming in hard from sensory overload. I was taking in sights and sounds, even smells like I never had before. The road seemed to go on forever and the days ran into nights. There were passes I was sure I had traveled just a day ago; not sure what state I was in or what was coming next. There is something so sobering about this much solitude. I mean, I had occasional visits with other riders but for the most part, I was fantastically alone. In the times we live today, we are so connected that I have never had an experience like this and all at once, I understood Morrison. It was like I reached a place where my whole slate was clean. I had no preconceived ideas left, no hostilities, nothing but an eager mind and a weary body.

It was late night, half early morning, when I passed through the Garden of the Gods with not a cloud in the sky. I climbed a 7,000 foot mountain as the road wrapped around, exposing me to two or three thousand foot drops with no guard rail. I passed another bike that was on the road; its rider a sleep in the ditch. Not much later, I saw his headlight in my mirror and he began to race with me up the mountain on single-lane, gravel fire roads. It was so insane it made me break out in laughter. We pulled over a ways up the road and I decided to stop for a while. I took a short nap but just as I fell asleep, another rider stopped. He asked if I was okay and said he was ready for some sleep too. "Just a little longer," he added, and took off.

Hours later, the sun came up and I was getting too warm for sleep so I loaded up and split. I went just 20 miles when I saw the bike of that second rider scattered along the side of the


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