Back on the road and headed to the barn

Sunday morning, August 9, it was time to get everything cleaned up, loaded back into the reunion trailer, and get back on the road.  I helped a little but needed to get gone.  I got loaded up, said my good byes, got and gave hugs and headed out.  It was another beautiful day and would be great riding although I’d be running a lot of I-5 down into California. 

As far as Interstates go, 5 isn’t a bad one either.  The traffic was okay, and it runs through some nice country, too.  As I rode through Medford, Oregon, there was smoke, a lot of it and really thick.

It sure seems like there are a lot of fires ... everywhere.

More wild fires.  This time it was way bad and I held my shirt collar up to my nose as I rode through it.  Maybe I should have stopped and wet a headband to put around my nose, but I didn’t want to stop.  Bull headed.  I just plowed on.  Eventually I got through it, but never saw the fires themselves.  I was glad the road was open as I wanted to be ahead of Joe and Verlie.  I knew there was a lot of ground to cover before getting back to Phoenix.

During the day I stopped for gas at a Fred Meyers.  It was a long line and I decided to go to the Chevron across the street.  Wouldn’t you know it.  I was on an uphill grade, my bike was horizontal across it, I tried to turn and got the front end too cranked around.  It started to go over.  While I ordinarily wouldn’t have had a problem keeping it upright, my left foot was on one of those drain grates.  I looked down and watched as my foot slowly slid from right to left, and the bike gently landed on its side.  Crap.  That’s the first time for this bike to tip over.  I tried to pick it up but my foot was on the grate so there was no traction.  A nice young gentleman came and helped me get it upright.  I do depend upon the kindness of strangers.  I got back on and went to Chevron.  Note to self.  Watch out for grates when moving the bike.  They are not your friend.  Nor are gravel and grass as I already know. 

Always take the opportunity to stop and photograph the beautiful flowers.

Near Mount Shasta I veered from 5 and hit 89.  I was to follow this one until I got somewhere.  The somewhere happened to be Burney Falls for the night at a nice little motel called Green Gables.  I’ve seen some of these and had wanted to try one out.  It was a keeper in my motel listings.  What I didn’t realize was that I should have gone from 89 to Susanville on 44 and gone down 395.  I’d find that out the next morning.  Whoops.  More time and miles.  I was following numbers rather than names.  I should have listened better.

When I got up Monday morning, August 10, I got back onto 89.  It takes you through Lassen Volcanic National Park.  Oh.  Maybe I should have gone to Susanville.  But I was now in, it was slow going but I wasn’t going to backtrack.  This is another beautiful park, and I got to use my park pass again, the one I’ve purchased three times.  I knew I couldn’t spend a lot of time here, but did stop to take photos here and there.  The road is a great one for motorcycles, and I wish I’d had more time.  I’ll just have to come back.

Lassen Peak erupted in May 1914, after a 27,000-year hiatus.  It cleared everything in its path ... pastures, homes, forests.  It was the only active erupting volcano in the United States.

This is a view from the other side.  The lake was beautiful and like glass that day.

Continuing volcanic activity feeds the hot water systems in the park.  Sulphur Works, as well as other areas, have become habitats for minute life forms that have adapted to high temperatures and extreme acidity.

Once out of the park I knew I’d been passed by Joe and Verlie.  As it turns out, they’d passed me while I was sleeping in Burney as they kept going until 4 a.m.  I was sawing a whole lot of California logs at that point.  Today was a long day mostly caused by going through the park, and I ended up in Beatty, Nevada, at a Motel 6.  Ordinarily this motel chain is not on my radar as I don’t like them, but it was the first place I came to, and as it turned out, I found out everything else in town was booked.  What? 

One of my reasons for not liking Motel 6 is that usually the rooms are sub-par and they charge for Internet.  I was pleasantly surprised as the room had had a makeover and was quite nice and exceptionally clean.  However, when asking for a WiFi password I was told it would be $5.  It used to be $2.99.  I said I didn’t need it that bad.  EXCEPT, if you’re over 60 or 62, whatever, it’s free.  I was in.  I took my free passcode, but I was so tired I never brought my computer online.  Night night.

Tuesday, August 11, was the final push to Phoenix.  I had to get there as my flight home was booked for Wednesday, the 12^th, and I had things that had to be done before leaving.  I needed to wash clothes that would be left behind, wash my bike and pack.

I do not look forward to riding into Phoenix but it’s a necessary evil.  The heat is usually triple-digit and can sear the skin off your bones.  I already was gearing up to drink lots of water with Propel and electrolytes in it.  I’d also stop often to refuel my body.  This morning in Beatty, though, it was cool, and I needed a few layers, including my sweatshirt.  I’ve made a point of mostly not wearing my jacket, although I could have a few times, including today.  Off I rode, headed toward Las Vegas, before heading east into Arizona and to Kingman, then on down and into Phoenix.  The ride wasn’t bad as there was some cloud cover mostly.  I’d gotten lucky. 

Wickenburg would be my last gas stop before heading down into the hellhole they call Phoenix.  About 20 miles out I hit wind.  This was no ordinary wind, but a monsoon.  The wind came at me from all directions, pushing me about left, right, and back again.  I was fighting to keep the bike on the road, and it was all I could do.  It scared me, but there was nowhere to stop.  No building, no gas station, nothing.  I had to keep going because if I tried to stop the bike would be knocked over while I tried to park it.  The big trucks offered nothing more than more wind to fight.  I didn’t know how long this was going to continue, but then it became worse.  Rain.  Actually, just a shower, but it was like someone was pouring buckets of water over me.  It splattered so hard the skin was ripped from my face, and I ducked down behind the windshield.  Mercifully, the rain only continued for a few minutes, just long enough to get my pants wet from the knees down.  This did not constitute riding in the rain.  However, the wind did not let up, and I continued to fight the bike for miles.  Just as I got to the outskirts of Wickenburg, it stopped, as suddenly as it started.  I stopped at a gas station, glad for the respite and for a moment to gather myself together.  At least there had been enough traffic so that if I had gone off the road someone would have seen it, and hopefully stopped to help.  Strangers again. 

At the gas station, a guy from the red pickup truck behind me came up and started in on his spiel.  His mom in Las Vegas was sick, yada, yada, yada.  I said I’m not giving you any money.  He said he wasn’t asking for any, but if I could put a gallon of gas in his truck.  I said that wouldn’t get him very far.  Sure.  But I did, filling it up … 2.something gallons.  I commented that he sure didn’t need much.  He said he tried to keep it over half.  Yada, yada, yada.  A scam?  Probably, but it was my good deed for the day.  His truck cost more than my motorcycle, I’m sure of that.  And if it was a scam, he can live with it.

On into Phoenix.  Whoa.  There’s cloud cover.  It lasted until I got to the barn, and continued as we washed my bike.  I must be living right this trip.  All my clothes got washed, I got packed, we had some dinner and a bit of a visit, and then it was time to get to bed as my flight was leaving at 7:45 a.m.  Who booked an early flight like that?  I did.  Only because if I chose something else it would give me a horrendously long layover and I’d arrive at some ungodly late hour.  Better early than late on this trip.

Wednesday morning, August 12, came way too early, but I was anxious now to get to the airport, get on the flight and get home. 

My first flight went smooth and on time to Seattle.  Once in Seattle I found out from my dear Facebook that friend Robin was on a flight coming in, just several gates down from where I’d depart.  We’d most likely not meet up as my flight was to board and hers wasn’t at the gate.  A huge storm had come through depositing rain and hail, giving us a lightning display and treating us to loud rumbling thunder.  That stopped any flights from coming or going.  Robin told me that from her flight that was parked on the tarmac.  Our flight agents gave us that information after a bit of time.  Our plane wasn’t even at the boarding gate, so maybe it would work. 

Yahoo.  They’d called my row of numbers to board, but I looked to my left and there was Robin.  I ran over to give her a hug and to exchange a few words, then she had to go, and I had to get on board.  My flight was about an hour late getting out due to the storm as they had to give us a different aircraft at another gate nearby.  But all was well, and I had the entire row to myself.  So, I’m working on this, and my phone is plugged in and charging so I can call Biker Bill once we land.  Home sweet home.  I’m nearly there.

Reunion time

I got up Thursday morning, August 6, and knew I had to get to Mount Hood Village where the Hunt family reunion was taking place.  In looking at the weather for the day, I was glad I hadn’t stayed at Baker City.  The temperature this morning was 39 degrees versus 46 degrees in Ontario.  I’d told Verlie I’d be there today, so there wouldn’t be much leisure time.  We’d be in contact throughout the day so she’d know where I was and how close I was getting. 

As I made my way along I-84, I could see smoke in the distance, then smoke all over the road.  Then I came up on flames on the hillside in the distance.  I stopped to take a photo.  The previous evening I’d talked to someone who said it shouldn’t take long to burn out as there was nothing but dry grass in the area.  I believe he was mostly right, but there was sure a lot of blackened area, and I guess, not much anyone could really do about it although I saw fire-fighting equipment and fighters in various roadside areas.  I rode on, just happy to continue on my journey.

Open flames near the road made me want to go, and go fast to get away from it so I didn't get caught by more road closures.

Interstate-84 is a rather nice ride, even if it is a big road.  It runs along the picturesque Columbia River, with lots of birds to view and tugs pushing barges.  It has some nice sweeping turns, and a few places where I needed to stop to take a photo, or two.  But enough dallying at The Dalles.

This is beautiful, even tugs and barges, and wind generators.

I would be leaving 84, and heading up Highways 35 and 26, both of which are listed as scenic.  They’re my favorites, and while I try to follow that type of road mostly, sometimes ya just gotta make some time and take the big Interstates.  But running the Interstates uses a lot of gas if you’re riding the posted speeds.  I try to stay under, but on some of the really big ones you have to run hard with the big dogs in order to not get run over.  This one wasn’t too bad, and so I enjoyed the ride before hitting the smaller roads.

Mt. Hood in the distance, and where I was headed.

I was coming up on 50,000 miles on the bike, and knew I needed a service.  I’d called a shop near Mount Hood but was told they didn’t have a 4-hour increment available until the following week when I’d be back in Phoenix.  They offered to do an oil change and look over the bike to make sure there was nothing obviously out-of-whack.  I figured that was better than nothing, and I’ll do the big one on the next trip.

Verlie and I made contact.  She and Joe were headed into Portland to do grocery shopping for the reunion meals.  I later found out there were five carts, fully loaded and over the top -- loaves of bread and rolls, dozens of eggs, cartons of milk and cream (think home-made ice cream), 40 pounds of potatoes, tri-tip beef for smoking, chicken and buttermilk for soaking, onions, jalapenos, asparagus, dill pickle slices, soda and the list goes on.  What a shopping trip … and a thousand bucks or so spent to keep everyone more than well-fed.  I was also told that many of the check-out lines shut down to avoid checking them out … haha!!!

I went from Highway 35 on down Highway 26 looking for Mount Hood Village so I’d know where it was.  The phone GPS kept saying to turn, but there was nowhere to turn, and in making a couple of roundabouts in the middle of the road, going the wrong way on a one-way, and then nearly dumping the bike turning around, I decided to hell with it, and headed to the shop, thinking I’d worry about my final destination later, when Joe and Verlie could guide me in to wherever I needed to be.

As I rode toward the shop, I ended up passing Mount Hood Village, where I needed to be for the reunion.  I made a note of the milepost number so I’d hopefully find it again later.    Down the road I went, following the GPS directions and easily finding Latus Harley-Davidson.  Sometimes the GPS works miraculously, usually in towns and cities.  The shop took the bike in immediately for its oil change and once-over.  I hardy had time to try on a couple of shirts.  Good grief, how am I supposed to shop when you’re so efficient, guys? 

Yep, I found them.

 Joe and Verlie were already back at camp when I arrived.  I was glad to finally be there, happy to be off the road and being a part of the reunion.  While I’m not blood, Joe is one of my brothers, and Verlie is a sister to me.  She and I have known each other well since 1987, and Joe has been a part of my inner circle since the early-90s.  Biker Bill and I introduced them, and they ended up married. 

Camp cooks ...

 They introduced me to a variety of family members.  It was going to be hectic with more and more people arriving Friday and Saturday.  I tried really hard to remember names and hoped to meet people a few at a time.  I’m not so good at names anymore, so it would be a challenge.

Yes, dogs are family members, too.

I drug out my camera, and decided I could contribute not only by helping with whatever chores they could find for me, but with photography.  Many times there are not enough photos taken, and the memories only live on in the brain or the photos are on many cameras and phones but not organized in one place for folks.  The plan would be that I would give my memory card to Brad, Joe’s son, and he would make CDs for people at the end.  That was the perfect plan.  And worked well.  Plus I love to take photos, and there would be loads of opportunities.

Verlie and their baby, Jazzy.

 Finally, it was time to pack it in for the night.  It had been a full day, and the next couple of days would be even more-so. 

Someone was so tired they forgot their shoes.

Friday, August 7, was the first full day of the Hunt reunion.  There was breakfast to be made … and lots of taters to be peeled as each meal includes taters.  Fried taters, tater soup, cheesy taters.  OMG!!!  I’m in tater heaven.

Now them there's some taters.

My day somehow ended up, not only taking pictures, but hanging out with kids.  What’s that, you say?  Kids?  These two were older, Kaylie and Peyton.  They wanted to go down to the river, and I wanted to walk.  So, I was a designated “responsible adult.”  Ha!  If they only knew.  It was probably a half-mile walk to the river, and I was glad to stretch my legs.  The river was great, and the girls wanted to go in.  I was wearing long pants, so that was not an option for me except for getting my feet, shoes and socks wet.  But I was happy to take photos of them having fun. 

Peyton and Kaylie.

Kaylie and I were picking blackberries along the trail.  Many more were eaten.

 After a bit it was time to head back to camp.  Lunch time was looming, and I was hungry for a snack.  Later the girls wanted to go back to the river, so I put on shorts, deciding to be a part of the river, too.  This time I took the little camera just in case disaster struck and I slipped and fell into the water. 

The river was really a pleasant place to come.

 I met some awesome dogs at the river.  A min-pin that was a rescue from a non-responsible breeder who kept it in a kennel so it didn’t learn how to walk on all-four until it was rescued (I HATE irresponsible breeders), an all-white Malemute-shepherd mix and some little white fluff ball named Daisy.  I made friends with all of the dogs, did some wading, some photographing.  It was a perfect day for me, and then it was time to go back.  The girls were not interested in returning to camp, but I had to be firm.  Besides, we were going to the indoor pool later after dinner.  I even swam a bit then, and hit the hot tub.  It would be a great way to end the day, and I knew I’d sleep well.



The Malemute-shepherd mix was a beautiful boy.

But this American bulldog, Jack, took my heart for the weekend.  He's a rescue and deaf.  His personality is wonderful, and I spent a lot of time with him.  In fact, his owner knew he'd better keep an eye on him when I left to be sure he wasn't a motorcycle passenger.

 

What a face.

 

My bike became a clothes hanger for the weekend.

But first, we had to peel more taters.  Tonight’s dinner included deep-fried asparagus, jalapenos, onion rings and dill pickle slices.  I tried the dill pickles (not my favorite), the asparagus which were great, and the onion rings that were the BEST EVER!!!  Hilary was a deep-fried lover’s delight, mixing batter and coating and dropping coated veggies into the big fryer.  She kept it up as long as folks were eating, and even after, so there were plenty of left overs for late arrivals. Plus, there were 70 dozen home-made cookies … snickerdoodles, peanut butter, ranger, chocolate chip and more.  It was one of those nights where you eat til you puke. 

The Bistro menu.

On Saturday, August 8, Verlie and I waitressed for Papa Joe’s Bistro, his breakfast cafe.  Joe, his daughter, Hilary, his brother, Scott, and Brad cooked.  It was short order, with eggs, bacon, taters, burritos, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, toast.  It was loads of fun, especially when you know it’s only for a few short hours.  Hilary had made aprons for us to wear.  Verlie chose purple; I chose blue because it had the cutest ruffle at the bottom.  What a great idea it was, and we were just hostessing with the best of them, serving up chatter and some lip along with the pancakes and bacon.  We could be starring with Flo at Mel’s Diner on TV, ‘cept this was better as it was short-term.  But the pay certainly wasn’t as good.

Some of the breakfast cooks and servers.

There were games for the kids, more river time, more pool time.  Mount Hood Village has something for everyone, and the Hunt reunion folks were enjoying every bit of it.  There’s a golf course, an amusement park close by, the river, the pool, trails for walking.  And the huge trees make everything beautiful.  We had picked and eaten blackberries as we walked, so this whole stay was so very pleasant and I really loved being a part of the reunion. 

You want tri-tip?  I got tri-tip!!

The final meal would be smoked tri-tip, cheesy taters, blackberry, peach and apple cobblers made in Dutch ovens over coals, and homemade ice cream made with an ice cream maker Joe constructed using a washing machine engine.  It was quite the contraption. 

These are the Dutch ovens that would be used for making the cobblers.

How long before they're done?

 

Cobbler chefs.

 

Old-fashioned vanilla ice cream coming up.

This weekend was not a dieter’s weekend.  It was a food-lover’s weekend, so what could I do?  To not eat or partake of the wonderful food made specifically for the folks coming to the reunion would be rude.  I did not want to be rude.  And there’s always tomorrow to get back to my good eating habits.

 

Thank you, Joe and Verlie, for inviting me.  I had a blast.

 

Out of the madness and back on the road

It's time to get this trip finished, blog-wise, as, you guessed it, I'm gone again.

On Tuesday, August 4, I woke late, and saw that Biker Bill was online.  I phoned home and chatted for a bit, letting him know I was heading out.  The deer were scarce this morning (did they know I was leaving?), and there was a heavy fog coming in over the mountains.  I watched as I talked with him.  It was moving quickly and by the time we were finished talking it was more than halfway down the hill, and continuing to move in quickly, hiding the mountains on the other side of the valley from sight.

Coffee is nearly always the first order of the day, and I had about three cups.  I always seem to delay getting on the road when I’m with friends.  I’m enjoying myself, chatting, and yet, know if I want to make any miles at all, I’d better get going.  But I did run up to the neighbor’s house around the corner to see the buffalo she’d painted that were standing in her yard.  What a great view from her window … buffalo butt!!!  They’re awesome.

Nothing like a herd of buffalo in your front yard.

This buffalo is dedicated to miners.  Note the mine shaft near the back of the head.

This looks like a rainbow to me.  The colors are beautiful.

Lenny had changed out my bike seat for me.  I’d changed the original police bike air seat for an extended reach, traded it out for a mid-range reach seat, and now have a regular seat from one of his bikes on Harlow.  It’s been better riding, and seems to fit me better, but now the true test is coming … about 1,300 miles.  It will probably be more as I usually make a wrong turn, or two, adding miles to my trips. 

My goal was to be on the road between 8 and 9 a.m.  I made it by 10.  I’d said my good byes to Missy, Lenny and Sam, the yellow Lab. 

Sam was bored with my travel preparations.

I always tear up when saying good bye to my friends, because my friends are family, and I never know for sure when I might see them again.  Missy is now my official photographer and photographed me each day, posting the photos on Facebook so people knew what I was doing and where I was.  My last ride of the visit heading out of their driveway was no exception.  Good bye, my dear friends, good bye.  What a great time we had, and I got to share a little bit of Missy’s first crazy Sturgis with her and Lenny.  Thank you for letting me be a part of that.  See you next trip. 

I knew I had to get several hundred miles away from the Sturgis area if I expected to find a room for the night.  I made it to Riverton, Wyoming.  While it might not have been as far as I’d have liked, it was far enough to get a room.  Yahoo.  That’s always a plus, especially this year when it has seemed more difficult unless you call earlier in the day and make a reservation.  That means work … googling lodging, looking at photos and reviews, and making a call.  You still can’t be 100 percent sure of what you’ll get.  But it’s been okay to really great, except for that one crappy Super 8 on Russell Street in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

On Wednesday, August 5, I’d decided to make it to Baker City, Oregon, meaning I’d finish crossing Wyoming, and get on through Idaho, about a 650-or-so-mile day.  Reaching Baker City didn’t happen.  While I got through Wyoming and across Idaho, my goal was about 75 miles out of reach as I got halted by wild fires.  I had been running I-84, making miles along the white line.  I saw some signs that talked about road closures due to fires.  I talked to people and heard folks were being turned back at Ontario, Oregon, which is just across the Idaho-Oregon border.  I figured I’d better hurry and get a room as there were a lot of people trying to get through and since they couldn’t continue, they’d be looking for rooms.  Yep.  I was quick enough, and as a line formed behind me, everything worked out and I was in for the night, and hoping that the highway would be open in the morning. 

While I needed to make some miles, I made time for a few photos , including a few in places I've been before with Biker Bill.  Grand Tetons.

We've also been through Jackson Hole, Wyoming, a few times.

This guy came up and wanted a photo.  He showed me a badge, a cop.  He liked my police bike.

In Idaho, there was time for a photo or two at Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve.

Once again I’d mostly skirted any major rain storms, and was liking that a lot.  I think I can say that so far, I’ve not ridden in the rain.  Showers, even heavy ones, don’t count as they are quick to come and also go.  I’d stopped to let one go by, and ended up riding in between the one that passed, and another one coming in behind me.  My rate of speed for that was perfect.  I believe that’s because I’m pure of heart mostly.  Woo hoo.  Life is good, even if there is an occasional bit of rain.

STURGIS AND ITS CRAZINESS ... WARNING ... Risque' material ... don't look if you'd be offended

But first, I had to post a deer photo.

Or two.

Today, Monday, August 3, is Sturgis photo day for the Alaskans and former Alaskans.  I don’t know how many will show up.  I know some are still on the road, but I have to be on the road tomorrow, so today is it for the photo I want.

We got on the road and joined the masses … many were coming toward us, many were going with our flow.  It seemed to take forever, and did.  Slow vehicles, some slow bikes, and a steady stream of traffic going both ways.  I can’t help it, though, I’m exhilarated at being a part of it, being in the mix, being in the stream of bikes heading into Sturgis.  I’m loving it.  The whole Sturgis area and its surroundings exude life, fun, excitement.  It’s the Sturgis madness of rally week.

This was the Alaska and former Alaska folks that showed up for the photos in Sturgis. 

We found a little entertainment as we were walking.  Who know Harleys could do fender stands?

They were doing some pretty nice burn outs, too.

Golf cart?  Bar cart for those runs to the bar for a drink, or two?

Sturgis takes on a life of its own during the rally.  People crowd the sidewalks and the shops, restaurants and bars.  The main street is closed off to cars and open only for bikes and bike parking, four deep.  It’s a show room of every bike, every model, every fancy accessory you can imagine, every paint scheme you can only dream about.  It’s fun to wander and peruse … sometimes wondering what on earth would make someone do that?  Others?  It makes you drool.

Cowboy and I both liked this one ... holsters.

We saw some Indians.

I don't know what this is, but it was bright red.  Red rules!!!

Welcome to Sturgis.  See Lenny on the left waving to you?

I had to photograph meat on the grill.  It smelled wonderful.

 

Then we started seeing them ... girls with pasties and paint.

 

 

Lenny was getting a tire on his bike as it was pretty near done.  We wandered, going to the Harley place to get our free pin and then heading over to do a little shopping.  Trying to keep seven of us together was like herding cats, but we managed for quite a while.  Then Grant and Ron went off to get some kind of backrest for his bike, Mac and his lady friend went to look at something, and we ended up at a bar for lunch.  The salads were awesome, fresh, tasty and just perfect.  There was also a bit of entertainment in the next room that I had to check out.

This is what was going on in the next room.  She knew I wanted her photo.

The skeleton on the near bike almost seems to be a twin to the person in pink on the far bike.

Woo hoo.  Bar bike.

It seems unbelievable they'd parade trailer bikes through town.

 

More paint.

This one was my favorite.

There was some ministry going on, too.  I'm not sure they were receptive, but the dog kind of seemed to be paying attention.

No Sturgis visit is complete without seeing the buffalo bike.

I think Lenny was getting tired of shopping.

You always see this in Sturgis.

For Biker Bill.

Bar bike.  I wonder how many hours they spend cleaning these things.  They probably have enough money they can pay someone to do it for them and gas up the bikes, and they just ride them.

I liked the painting on this one.

Another parading trailer of bikes.

Nice tutu.

Our very own colorful Hoka Hey Cowboy.

Then we headed back to pick up Lenny’s bike and ride on back to the barn.  It was getting crazier by the minute with cars and vehicles mixing on the street and highways, heading both directions.  There were even some bikes being towed.  Bet there will be some indignant folks.

Guess you shouldn't have parked there.

We did Interstate as it was getting late and we didn’t want to deal with curvy road and riders and animals.  There were two accidents, one of which involved at least two motorcycles.  We were stopped until the ambulance drove off.  At least the lights and siren were going, making you think there’s a chance.  We saw the bikes shortly after, and they looked bad.

Home loomed into view, and I was glad we were home safe and sound.  So was Sam.