ROAD TO HANA- THE SIDECAR MYSTERY

Cheryl and I have visited four of the Hawaiian islands: Oahu, Kauai, The Big Island, and Maui.

I would rate them as #1 Kauai, #2 The Big Island, #3 Maui, and #4 Oahu. This is based on things that interest me.

On our 25th anniversary, my mom gave us money to visit two of the islands. We chose Kauai and Maui because we enjoyed the vegetation of Kauai and we had not yet visited Maui.

I realize after talking to my friends that many people’s island of choice is Maui although I am not sure why.

The town of Lahaina, which was close to the condo we stayed in, was fun to walk at night and of course the magic show, Warren and Annebelle’s, was an absolute must see. It was terribly sad to watch the 2023 fire destroy the whole town. I hope that it can rapidly be rebuilt to its original glory. I also hope that the 150-year-old banyan tree between Front and Wharf Streets can be nursed back to health.

Cheryl and I brought our own snorkeling gear and found an amazing cove at Kapalua to explore. We also explored Iao Valley State Park which is unique with its tropical vegetation covered volcanic pinnacles.

Midweek, the waves coming into the beaches were too rough for snorkeling. Although the sun was out, there was rain forecast for noontime. I had heard of the ominous Road to Hana.  The guidebook said it was for adventurous travelers only. Reading up on it, the road sounded like our own local Chuckanut Drive along the Whatcom/Skagit County coastline. It had destination hikes and overlooks.

“Let’s drive the road to Hana today,” I said to Cheryl. “We could combine it with my other dream . . . riding a motorcycle with a sidecar.”

“I can see two problems with that,” Cheryl responded. “First, you have never driven a motorcycle with a sidecar and second, I have never ridden in a sidecar with you driving a motorcycle.”

“What’s in Hana?” she asked.

“Well for one thing, Charles Lindbergh.” I spoke.

“Charles Lindbergh is dead,” she most aptly pointed out.

“True,” I said. “For that reason, we aren’t going to need an appointment to go see him. I’m going to check into renting a cycle.”

As it turned out, there was a lot in Lahaina which rented motorcycles with sidecars.

“You can drive it to Hana from Kahului on highway 36. Don’t return via the southern road, #360, it is a bad road. Go back the way you came on 36,” the lot manager warned.

He stared up into the sky. “Supposed to rain today. Sure you want to chance it?”

Looking up into the sunny sky, I could see a black cloud off to the east, but it was a long way off.

“We’ll be fine,” I assured him.

The morning was a warm mid-seventies. Cheryl and I opted for windbreakers and half helmets. As we road to Kahului to start the trip, the warm, humid air felt good on our faces. There were no windscreens on either the bike or the sidecar although the sidecar did have a canopy over the seat. Cheryl’s long blonde hair under the half helmet blew wildly in the humid air. It also began taking on a life of its own due to the moist air. Occasionally I would look over at her and marvel at just how much her head looked like a cotton ball under half a walnut shell, but I thought it best not to tell her.

Off to the east, the black cloud got larger and closer.

The Road to Hana

Why is it famous? It is 64.4 miles of 620 treacherous winding curves; a narrow roadway cut into the side of the steep hillsides which drop into the ocean. There are 59 bridges, many of which are one lane. This requires a lot of stopping to wait for oncoming traffic. On a good day it can take 2.5 hours to drive.

The motorbike took the curves well although having a sidecar attached made the turns feel awkward.

I did seem to notice an irritating squeal coming from the sidecar. Realizing that it wasn’t a wheel bearing I yelled at Cheryl, “Why are you squealing?”

“Slow down, Steve McQueen. It’s a long drop to the ocean,” the cotton ball groused.

At about the ¼ way mark, I’d say that we had already taken at least 100 curves and ten bridges, the first water droplets started falling. Now the sky was completely black overhead.

What exactly is a tropical, off the ocean rain squall? Well, comparing it to rain in NW Washington which comes and stays for days and is usually not more than a drizzle, the tropical rain squall is short in duration but has torrential rain, wild wind shifts, and gusting damage-causing winds.

The Road to Hana has very few pull offs and no shelters to hide under. The rain was now coming down in a gray sheet. The sidecar, sending a rooster tail of water into the air began to squeal again. Looking over at Cheryl through my fogged goggles, I made a mental note to suggest that she consider waterproof eyeliner. Her hair now hung behind her head like a dripping horse tail.

The gusting strong wind was tearing limbs from the jungle forest. The road cut into the hillside allowed rocks, coconuts, and branches to drop from the jungle off the uphill side onto the road.

It was an obstacle course, swerving the bike and sidecar to miss the road debris. Water was flowing off the uphill side of the road in waterfalls crashing onto and covering the whole road. Unable to avoid them, we drove through them.

Over the roar of the bike, the water, and the jungle foliage hitting the road, I could hear Cheryl screaming at me. Looking over, she seemed to be upset that the sidecar was full of water from a waterfall and the waterline was up to her ribs.

“Crimony!” I shouted. “I’m going as fast as I can!”

The rain was now thick as a curtain. It hit the ground and bounced back up eight inches. With nowhere for the deluge to go, it flowed down the road and across the bridges like a river – five inches deep.

Then of course there was the waiting for traffic in the opposite direction to cross the single lane bridges. As they drove past in their cars, most of the adults pointed and waved while the kids in the backseat pressed their noses into the steamed-up windows. I was reminded by Cheryl that we did have a rental car back at the condo.

And then, as quickly as it came, the squall was gone. The sun poked out again and finishing the last curve, we rode into Hana. Both of us were soaked although I was able to shed the rain. I helped Cheryl climb out of the side car and offered to do the bailing if she preferred.

There was a hamburger stand that sold delicious burgers and we sat in the afternoon sun to dry off.

After lunch, with the help of my GPS, we found Charles Lindbergh, the man who made history by flying solo across the Atlantic from New York city to Paris, France. 3600 miles in 33.5 hours. He built a house next to one of his aviation friends in the small town of Kipahula.  His friend, Sam Pryor, was Executive VP of Pan Am. Sam raised apes as part of the family. Lindbergh died in Kipahula from cancer. We found Charles’ grave at the Palapala Hoomau Church cemetery buried between two of the Pryor’s orangutans’ graves.

Now, nearly completely dry, I topped off the fuel tank on the motorcycle and making numerous promises of expensive dinners and jewelry, we drove back the 64.4 miles of 620 treacherous winding curves; over the narrow roadway cut into the side of the steep hillsides which drop into the ocean; and over the 59 bridges, many of which are one lane. This time it took only 2 hours to drive.

Let me tell you, my long legs don’t fit well in a sidecar.

** Title art created with Microsoft Designer**

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