Customs and Wild Guzzistas, hitting the I-90 Eastwards - Tolden og de Vilde Guzzister, Interstate 90 østpå

The customs went smooth, really smoooooth. Most likely, the main reason is to be tracked all the way back to Russia. Over there we made an awfully good impression and gained respect through our holligongs and great wisdom regarding everything from Nimbus carburetors to outdated harvesting machines. The result of this was a close and good relationship to Prime Rib Minister Vladimir Putin (or Vova as he keep insisting us to call him) and his assistant Dmitry Medvedev which Vova playfully call Mini-Ass. However, the point is that Putin made us a letter of recommendation and sent to his colleague Barrack Von Obama, which is something like the king in the US.

Barrack Von Obama is from a German Nobel family, and his job title is president. That’s just like the king in Norway, Harald, but Von Obama is even more powerful. While Haralds authority is limited to meet the ministers once a week for a cup of coffee and drink a little more than the average Norwegian when he’s travelling, Obama controls pretty much everything over here. It spans from maintenance planning of sewerage systems, to deciding what weather to bring, who to give mayhem in customs and so forth. Pretty much everything, which is good for us as he knew about us and received the letter from Putin.

Von Obama had instructed the custom officers to “Make the boys feel like home. If their speedometers are ok, just let them in. And for God’s sake, talk about lutefisk ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lutefisk ) so they realize we know Norwegian culture and love it.” And so they did.

There were two officers on duty. Both had been down looking at the bikes and Googling Nimbus so they knew what they talked about. Both of them were extremely polite and service minded. One kept on babbling about lutefisk and his Norwegian heritage, the other had some concerns if the bikes were road worthy. The speedometers were missing! We had taken them off for service before shipping, and when we took them out of the hand luggage and showed them everything was fine. They helped us fill in the papers required to get them out of customs area, and gave us a paper with some miscellaneous colored stamps we needed.

After towing my bike around the port a few rounds there were enough power to start it, and then we went back and finished the paperwork with our friends in the customs.
A couple of days before we got the bikes out I had received an email from Greg Field in Seattle, offering us a place to stay and any help we required. Greg did not seem like a serial killer or anything like that, so we happily accepted his offer. The first ride on US soil from customs in Tacoma to Greg in Seattle went well, and it was so dark that we hardly could hear any bad sounds from the bikes.

Greg had Norwegian Akevitt ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akevitt ) waiting for us, so he quickly won our hearts. Besides, he turned out to be a very interesting character; working at a Guzzi shop, author of several impressive motor books with regards to both research, writing and photographing, as well as he had been editing a lot of other historical books on war and tech stuff. And he knew the guys worth knowing in the motorcycle community in the states.

There were some partying during the weekend, and some preparation of the bikes. His neighbor, artist and Guzzist Pete welded our sidecar boxes into one piece again after they had completely fallen apart through Mongolia and Russia, and we replaced quite a few spokes. As the official spokesman of the trip I have now replaced over 40 spokes, gee how I love that shit job.
There was some discussion about where to head from Seattle. Everybody wanted us to head straight south, winter was coming up in the north they said. The more people nagged at me to drop the Midwest the more hell-bent I became to do it. Nobody has ever taken any, or at least not so much, damage by freezing a bit. In worst case you might suffer a bit from hypothermia and gangrene, but that’s just been a part of the proud Norwegian culture through the years. Besides, I had promised my friend Miles in Vermont to drop by, and I had a load of Nimbus spares to deliver to him as well. You really don’t go back on a promise just because the Rocky Mountains are a bit scary to some people.

Tuesday the 24th of November we hit the road eastwards on Interstate 90, in light rain and somewhere about 5 centigrade’s. It was hero or zero time.

Det gik virkelig nemt at få maskinerne gennem tolden, af grunde der kan spores helt tilbage til Rusland. Dér havde vi gjort et godt indtryk pga. vores 'Hålligång' og store viden om alt fra Nimbus karburatorer til gamle mejetærskere. Takket været dette havde vi åfet et varmt og tæt forhold til premiermedister Input og hans assistent Prez Medvedev. Nå, men Input havde ihvertfald sendt en anbefaling af os til Kong Barrack von Obama i USA.

Kong Obama, som bestemmer alt i USA - inklusive kloakvedligeholdelse, vejret og hvem der skal chikaneres i tolden - havde derfor beordret det amerikanske toldvæsen at ”tag godt vare på drengene når de kommer, og slip dem ind hvis deres speedometre er i orden. Og for guds skyld husk at tale pænt om lutfisk ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lutefisk ) så de ved at vi kender og respekterer norsk kultur”. Og det gjorde man så.

Der var to toldere på vagt den dag. Begge havde været nede at se på maskinerne og havde derpå 'googlet' dem, så de vidste hvad det drejede sig om. Den ene rablede løs om lutfisk og hans norske aner, mens den anden var bekymret for om maskinerne nu var trafiksikre, for speedometrene manglede nemlig. Før afskibning fra Sydkorea havde vi pillet dem af til servicering, men tog dem nu op af håndbagagen og så var alt godt igen. Tolderne hjalp os med papirerne for at få maskinerne ud af toldområdet, og gav os et nødvendigt dokument med forskellige farvede mærker på. Efter at have trukket min maskine et par omgange rundt på havnen kom der liv i den, hvorefter vi klarede resten af papirarbejdet.

Et par dage før dette kom en email fra Greg Field, der tilbød os et sted at bo og skrue på maskinerne i Seattle. Han virkede ikke som en typisk seriemorder, så vi slog glade til. Det første stykke på amerikansk jord fra Tahoma til Seattle gik fint; det var så mørkt at vi knap kunne høre nogen slemme lyde fra motorcyklerne.

Greg havde norsk akvavit klar til os, hvilket jo er den bedste måde at tale direkte til vore hjerter. Interessant fyr iøvrigt; han arbejdede på et Moto Guzzi værksted, havde skrevet flere motorbøger og taget billeder til dem, og havde også redigeret nogle bøger om krig og om tekniske ting. Og han kendte tilmed de folk der var værd at kende i amerikanske mc-cirkler.

Der blev festet lidt den weekend, og skruet en smule på maskinerne. Naboen - kunstneren og Guzzisten Pete - svejsede vores aluminium sidekasser sammen igen, efter de var faldet helt fra hinanden gennem Mongoliet og Rusland, og vi skiftede en masse eger. Selv har jeg skiftet 40 eger på denne tur, og hvor jeg altså bare hader det arbejde nu.

Det blev også diskuteret hvilken retning vi burde køre fra Seattle. Alle ville have vi satte kursen sydpå, for vinteren var på vej i nord. Men jo mere folk insisterede på at jeg skulle droppe midtvesten, jo mere opsat blev jeg på at køre den vej. Det værste der kunne ske var at jeg fik lidt kuldechok og koldbrand, men det er bare en del af vores stolte norske kultur gennem årene. I øvrigt havde jeg lovet min ven Miles i Vermont at jeg ville kigge forbi, og jeg havde også en masse Nimbus dele med til ham. Man blæser ikke på sine løfter bare fordi Rocky Mountain skræmmer andre folk en smule.

Tirsdag d. 24. november kørte vi østpå ad motorvejen Interstate 90, i småregn og 5 graders varme. Tid at være en helt eller helt lam i roen.

Tormod
tormod.amlien@gmail.com

Klaus finally got back his iron horse.

Og Klaus fik omsider sin jernhest igen.

In the US everything is big, opposed to in Sweden, with reference to the expression "Swedes have short dicks but long memories".

I modsætning til i Sverige, er alting i USA bare stort (med reference til udtrykket "svenskerne har korte pikke men lang hukommelse".)
Pete and his casted bike. It's not only the dice that is cast.

Peter med sin støbte motorcykel.

Note the shark in the ceiling, in Norway it's more common with badgers.

Bemærk hajen der hænger fra loftet. I Norge plejer det at være grævlinge.

Obama, Rolling Anarchy and King Croesus is what they talk about in the states these days.

Shorts are required to adapt to cold weather faster.

Når man arbejder i korte bukser vænner man sig hurtigere til koldt vejr.

One of the few original Guzzi fork lifts around. The steel right hand side plates is Pete's last sculptur project, going to show 5 stages of making a paper plane (not Piper Cub).

En af de få Guzzi gaffeltrucks der eksisterer. Stålpladerne th. for Pete er hans seneste projekt, nemlig at vise fem trin af hvordan man folder en papirflyver.

I accidentally insulted the crew on M/S Tamesis that brought the bikes to the US, by saying it was a flat-bottomed hopper-barge. The crew started to get harrazed by the other ships in the fleet due to this. I'm very sorry about this and will keep the shipping sticker on the way around the world to please them. By the way, I was later enlightned and told the ship was not a hopper-barge, but actually the ferry "Mengsol 2" crossing Lake Mjøsa in the 80's, which was sold off, widened, lengthened and painted orange.

Greg Field, our helpful host.

Greg Field, vores hjælpsomme vært.

Klaus "Knut Harald" Haral Ulvestad. Photo by Greg F.

Greg's girlfriend Jenn, photo by Greg.

Greg's kæreste Jenn.

Test driving the ghost bike "The Infernal Machine".

Testkørsel af spøgelsesmotorcyklen "The Infernal Machine".

One of the small independent shops in the neighbourhood, good some of them survive.
En af de små uafhængige nærbutikker - godt at nogle af dem overlever.

Klaus and Greg in front of the "Space Noodle". Built by the Chinese to the world fair in 1962, symbolizing the new time with activities in space and a future market for chinese noodles, stretching towards space.

Pete escorted us through the Snoqualmie Pass, our first taste of proper winter.

Pete eskortedeos gennem Snoqualmie passet, hvor vi fik den første smag af ægte vinter.