On a late June morning we fired up the bikes and rode out of Kalispell, Montana, expecting great things at Glacier National Park. Early indications didn’t encourage us. The chill cut deep, even through our leathers and layers of clothing, and we had to endure 30 miles of mostly urban traffic before approaching the park. So far, the shivers from cold and the frustrations from traffic seemed like a typical day. Nothing awesome, just unpleasant conditions. Then we entered Glacier...Read More
The year? 1974. The era? The Watergate frenzy peaked as people wondered if the Nixon presidency could survive the flood of revelations about the break in. Earlier in the day, I finagled a private tour of the Rhode Island State Capitol to see its charter—the first American colony to have full religious liberty, signed by the King of England himself.
As I looked at the charter in a back room, the nearby telex chattered—Nixon scheduled a major address that evening, called Vice President Gerald Ford back to DC, and reportedly would resign. In early evening I rode the Honda into Groton CN not long before the speech, and spotted “The Grotto,” a long, low bar. One that had a TV. Free. A wall separated the dark bar from the entry, so I turned right and peered inside. Kind of a redneck crowd, where a long-haired hippie biker might not be welcome.