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Saturday, 25th Dec 2009 |
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This is the first Christmas
that I haven't ridden
the Motorcycle. I love Texas; no trickle charger, no fuel
stabilizer, no storing the bike until Spring because in Fort Worth,  Spring
is never more than 6 days away. This year though, winter
came on
Christmas. I was stuck in the house, so if I can't
ride at least
I can write about riding. I have been doing a lot more bicycle riding than motorcycle riding since I am hoping to do a half Ironman this year. My last ride worth writing about was this summer. I was going to go to Deal's Gap again but my sister blew me off. She said something like, "Been there, done that, got the T-shirt." It isn't the destination it's the ride I decided that I would ride to my old hometown. I don't really think of it as home anymore since I left in 1976 and never looked back but most of the family lives there and both of my brothers and one of my sisters ride bikes so I figured it was a pretty good destination. It isn't the destination it's the ride It also allows me (forces me) to turn off the computer, ignore the mobile phone, hard to hear at 75 miles an hour, and harder to answer. I have to let the e-mail pile up to a ridiculous level, but I figure never do today what can be put off until tomorrow. I plot out the route with the first stop being St. Louis which is about an 18 hour ride. I start off very early and head Northeast. I have flown a lot over the years. I've been to almost every major city that I'll hit on this trip but the normal route I take is to walk out of Terminal 1, or A or B or whatever, get on the rental car bus, pick up the car, and head to the Marriott. Flying doesn't give you the sense of the country. Every town I fly into seems the same. Everything has the same feel to it. I travel so much that my car can find its own way to the airport. I get out at the terminal, slow my heart rate and the whole thing has an out of body experience to it. I walk into the terminal check out security to see if the rabble are slowing things up. I print out a second copy of my boarding pass since it's easier to slide into the front pocket of my shirt, pull my license out of my wallet and slide it into the same pocket. I pull out my one quart bag with my three ounce tube of toothpaste and place it on top of my bag of cables, chargers and hand held electronics. I kick off my shoes slide them in front of my computer, then the computer bag and finally my carry on. This allows me to slip on my shoes and slide my toothpaste and electronics back in the bag and then head to the Admirals Club. I update my email, drink a cup of tea, and eat an apple. 34 minutes before the flight leaves a I walk to the gate sit across from my gate and board when they call for Platinum members. I sit in second exit row window because the seat in front of it can't recline and I don't like to look at the top of someones head for two hours. I do my email, read some work stuff, then finish with some historical novel that I bought, base more on the number of pages then on the content of the book. I get off the plane, board the shuttle bus and raise my heart rate as I start the rental car. Traveling by motorcycle is completely different my heart rate never drops below 120. I forget about work, email, college, and listen to the engine. I spend every minute reading the mind of every stupid driver on the road and they're all stupid. I know what they're going to do because, I think of the dumbest thing they could do then smile when they do it. It's like "Obi-Wan Kenobi" but instead of saying, "These aren't the droids you're looking for." I'm saying, "Why don't you to cut in front of me across three lanes of traffic and get off at the exit you just passed." Drivers seem to want to pass me doing 95 mph then push into my lane and slow to 65 mph. I see them on their phones, texting their kids, eating a burger and drinking a coke while driving with their knees. In an airport I'm part of the walking dead, on a motorcycle I'm alive with the fear of being killed by some crazed motorist mad at the world and emboldened by having two tons of metal cocooned around him with his heart rate slowed and his mind a thousand miles away. Flying verses Riding Flying around the country gives you a strange sense of distance, on the motorcycle real distance is easy to understand. My first fuel stop is Texarkana which is pretty close, a little less than 250 miles or about three and half hours away. Fayetteville is just another 325 miles up the road. I smile as I ride pass the University of Arkansas, I'm thinking of sending my son there and I've just ridden there getting in just around noon so I know I can get there and back in a day, if I have to go to motivate him to stop wasting my money. I blow past the Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport which I have flown into a number of times and head toward Missouri. I'm across the border surprisingly fast. I never knew that Missouri was so close to Bentonville. I picked St. Louis because a good friend of mine lives there and I'm too cheap to pay for a hotel. I haven't stopped for anything but fuel and don't want to waste daylight grabbing a bad meal at a truck stop so I eat a protein bar and drink Gatorade. I bought the protein bar because it had no sugar, as I'm eating it I notice that it has 34 grams of Carbohydrates and 27 grams of Sugar Alcohols. Sugar Alcohol is a powerful Laxative and while it doesn't spike your blood sugar it my not be the best choice for a guy trying to put a couple thousand miles on the motorcycle. I'm too cheap to toss it away so I figure, "What the hell." I make it into St. Louis with daylight to spare. I call Bill an hour or so out of town and tell him that I'll make in that night. Bill and Judi take me out to dinner so all in all it's a pretty sweet deal. I save the cost of a hotel, and stick them with the bill for my meal, much cheaper than flying. I thank them and warn them that I'm going to be hitting the road early then crawl off to bed. At 4:30 a.m. I sneak the motorcycle out of their garage and hit the road. I'm not quite half way yet and I'll be doing a little more back road and a little less super slab today. It's dark but I'm awake and the traffic is light. I'd like to get through Indianapolis before rush hour. The miles and towns tick off; Terre Haute, Indianapolis, Dayton, Springfield, Columbus... I have a back up plan to stay with my sister-in-law in Cleveland if I get caught in bad weather but the sun is shining so I blow past Cleveland and head toward Erie, PA.  It's a route I know well.
I
was stationed at Fort Knox, KY and use to hock my TV, fill the car with
gas and come home to hook up with my girlfriend every weekend. I'd
leave the base around 5 p.m on Friday and get into Rochester
around 6 the
next morning. Cheryl would give me gas money so I
could get
back to Kentucky on
Sunday around 11:30 p.m. I'd jump out of Helicopters all
week
then hock the TV again and be back on the road the
following Friday.
She finally
married me just to save the gas money. Erie is near the border so I'm quickly into New York which also means I hit my first toll road. I hate toll roads. They seem especially wrong for a motorcycle, it's not like I can dig into my cup holder and hand them some coins. I have to stop pull off my gloves get the toll ticket which means I have to find a place to put it where I can dig it back out when I repeat the process and painfully pull out my wallet at the next toll booth. I mapped out a way around them which extends my time on the bike by three hours and saves me four dollars and fifty cents. It also allows me to see the farms of New York. The photo isn't real but it's the way I remember it. I've planned to stay with my brother Jim but have a back up plan to stay with my older brother Bob just in case I piss off Juli. It's hard to do since she is a sweet heart but I could do it. I forget to call Bob so the poor guy waits up for me to come in. I'm surprised Joette even lets me in the house the next day but she is also very nice and puts up with Bob so must be very forgiving. Southern Upstate New York I'll be in New York about a little less than two weeks. My sister thinks it funny that I plan on riding every day but I'd think it was funny if I didn't. I didn't ride up from Texas to park my bike in my Brother's garage. I was hoping to ride with my brothers and sister but Jim has to work and it looks like rain so my sister and I plan on riding later in the week. I have already checked out the best motorcycle roads online and head off to ride the Finger Lakes.  I
get a kick out the
little towns and signs on the way down to do some really fun motorcycle
roads.
Italy Valley has a nice twisty stretch, not Deal's Gap
twisty but a lot
more fun than riding a toll road for a couple of hundred
miles. The hills, Eastern forest and scenic lakes reinforce that I'm not in Texas any more. It's funny that I started out in Greece, have ridden through Egypt, Italy, Texas, Naples, Venice, Rome, Middlesex, Dresden, and Cat Elbow Corner, NY. I don't know if Cat Elbow Corner is named after another place like the rest of the towns are but I do like the name. I cut down Italy, through Texas N.Y., past the snowmobile crossing. I'm not sure how that sign gets put up. They put deer crossing signs up after people hit four or more deer on the highway. I didn't see any road killed snowmobiles so I assume they decide another way for snowmobiles.  It's
also about 90°degrees so I don't know if I'll be lucky enough to spot a
snowmobile. I know I'm going south since I run into the rebel flag flying outside of a house with no siding and a couple of dogs laying around the yard. I'm still pretty surprised to see the confederate flag flying in Italy, New York. I was going to knock on the door and introduce myself. I am an honorary Southern, I've lived most of my life in the South or the West and I even have the "Damn Good Yankee" plaque to prove it. You can't be any Army "Grunt" and Platoon Sergeant without picking up a southern accent. I figured even with the Platoon Sergeant Stripes and Fort Worth License plate holder he might not be that friendly and the dogs don't look that impressed with me either so I continue down the road. The poorly made Water Heater's of my youth I work my way around the Finger Lakes. I run Italy Valley Road a couple of times leaning the bike over as far as it will go without pissing off the local LEO's (Law Enforcement Officer). Rochester has a big Italian-American population. When I was a kid a surprisingly large number of Italian restaurants use to blow up. It was always reported as a "Water heater explosion." 
I'd read in the "Democrat
and Chronicle" that a prominent
local Italian businessman was killed today when a water heater exploded
in the restaurant that he frequented. I wonder if my Southern
friend is Italian-American and how good his water heater is. It's getting late in the day and I have been riding since before sun up. I refuse to eat in a chain restaurant so I look for some hole in the wall place. The general store, restaurant, bait shop looks like a good choice. I get a burger, a diet Pepsi, since they don't have Dr.Pepper, and a fried pie. I could have been back in Texas except for the lack of Dr. Pepper. I chat with the lady behind the counter about the money, sex, politics, and religion. It was suppose to rain but the sun has been out all day so I decide to loop around Senca Lake up to Seneca Falls and then down the east side to Ithaca and back to Watkins Glen. I remember as a kid when a trip to Ithaca was a wild adventure, now it's just quick jaunt.  I
know it's a cliché that everything
is bigger in Texas but I normally ride a couple of hundred miles to
beat up FM
4 so this quick trip down to the
Finger Lakes is like the ride I do on Sunday to pick up a
muffin for the wife. It's a lot pettier here and when I ride in Texas I have to be back in the Barn by noon or I start to melt. I want to get back to Jim's house for dinner and take Julie out for a ride on a real motorcycle. My bother has a Harley which is fun for him but it doesn't have a passenger seat. It has a mock seat for looks and Julie has ridden with him it but it couldn't have been much fun. 200 miler I take Julie out for an ice cream and get my brother in trouble since I won't let her wear his helmet since it's not really a helmet. He has a DOT approved helmet but doesn't like to wear it because it doesn't look as good. I have her dig it out and then we ride along the lake to Abbott's. She gets a small cone and I get a hot fudge Sunday, calories don't count when you're on the road. We plan a trip to Buttermilk falls for the next day. I put together the route, it'll bring us back to Italy so I can ride the one really twisty road I've found. Julie will follow in the van with the girls while I, Jim, and our sister Nancy ride down on the bikes. Nancy has been riding longer than both of us and her Harley is just a bit bigger than Jim's. It will be Jim's first 100 mile ride and since we have to ride back the same day he'll double his mileage. We have a good ride down and back. We get back into the city just before sunset. We are just getting into the city traffic when I get passed by a "Loud Pipes Save Lives." Harley. I wave and he returns the wave with a single finger. It must be the Beemer and my "Insane Asylum Yellow" jacket because when he passes my brother with his straight pipes and a 200 mile day under his belt, he gives him a wave and a head nod. I've driven; from California to New York through the Southern States then back to California via Canada, up and down from Georgia to New York a few times, back and forth from Texas to Georgia at least 10 times and from Texas to run Deals Gaps in a couple of days but I get the finger and my "200 miler" brother (which he only rode because I came up from Texas to ride with him) gets the nod. Family The next day I do a quick trip along the lake with my Brother-in-law and Sister. He had an injury and just got the stitches pulled that day. They both have Harley's and look the part so I figure I'm in for a lot more single finger waves today, I'm hoping none of them from Brother-in-law and Sister. We make it back in time for Dinner with the rest of the family.  I
get picked on for losing
too much weight which as you can see from the "Insane Asylum Yellow"
photo might be accurate. I have put a little of the weight back
on but I'm still down 70 pounds, of course that was before I was snowed
in with Christmas cookies, and stockings full of candy.
It's fun to get to see everyone but I understand why I live a couple of thousands miles from these people, my family is nuts. I guess we all feel that way but it's hard to spend any time with these guys and not wonder how we were raised by the same parents in the same house and turned out so different. Not that I think I'm better, I'm the dumbass of the family and I wish I had their skills but I'm pretty comfortable with who I am and I'm pretty happy I live a very long motorcycle ride from these guys. I'm planning my ride home and start to think about making it an "Iron Butt" ride.  I
wasn't going to do
it but then thought since I am going to have to head back down
to Texas and I can't impose on Bill again I might as
well do
the
paper work and go as far as I can in one day. I
could have
gotten a Bun
Burner for the ride up but didn't
get anyone to sign off on forms and I was missing some receipts from a
few of my fuel stops. The
1500 miles isn't hard but keeping track of everything takes
some
of
the fun out of it. My older brother tells me I should head
back
via Canada which since I'm going back to Texas from Rochester,
New
York is a little
counter intuitive. The problem isn't the miles that it adds,
it's
the time. The roads aren't as fast and crossing the border
twice
will put too much time on the clock. If you want to ride a
1000
miles in a day you have to keep moving. Even if you do 90 miles an hour
you'll still only to 1080 miles in 12 hours. It's more a
math
thing
then a riding thing. You can't speed up enough to gain much
distance over time.
You have to just crank the miles out and reduce the number of
stops. That meant fueling the bike and myself at the same place
and staying on the bike as much as I could. I also don't
like riding at night. You don't see as much at night and I've
had to drive
around a lot of stuff that I would have missed in the dark. Ride around the lake I figure my trip around the lake would be a good rehearsal for my Iron Butt ride. I get up at 0-dark-thirty, eat some blueberries and yogurt and head out for a quick ride around Lake Ontario.  I have the day planned out pretty well,
the
weather looks good, a little warm but not bad. I have the
way points mapped into my GPS. This ride will help
me work out my strategy for my
Iron Butt ride but this one won't do it. It will take me at least 17
hours and I'll only put around 600 miles on the bike. I do
want to try starting
very early, getting a lot of miles done before the sun comes up so I
can finish
before the sun sets. I fuel up but don't get a receipt which means I'll have to find another gas station for the Iron Butt ride since they require a printed receipt at the start. * * * THE COMPUTER TIME STAMP WILL BE YOUR OFFICIAL STARTING TIME * * * They also want a receipt from every stop and they want you to stop at least once every 350 miles for gas. My tank will only get me about 250 miles so that isn't a problem but I do need to stop at a station that will give me a receipt and I like to get them from the pump in case the line is too long. The sun comes up but I don't feel too well. I don't think I got enough protein and the early start has me feeling a little light headed, not good if you're riding a motorcycle.  I
decide
to stop and grab another breakfast in Texas, New York. I
figure it's
a sign from God, I need to eat, I'm looking for a place that serves
steak and eggs and I'm riding through Texas on
my way to Watertown. It's really more of a bar than a
restaurant
but it has a sign out front saying Breakfast 4AM so I figure I'm good
to go. I leave my Insane Asylum Yellow
Jacket in the
top case
of my bike and head into the bar. The guy next to me is drinking a scotch which is fine with me but since it's about 6:30 a.m. and I have over 400 miles to go I decide to stick with hot tea and the steak and eggs. I lose 45 minutes but feel a lot better when I get back on the bike. I decide to buy some protein bars the night before my Iron Butt ride and keep them in my tank bag. The trip up to the Thousand Islands is uneventful. I'm a little worried because I have speakers in my helmet and I'm not sure what the border officer will say to me about it. I pull over before the crossing and put my iPod away. I still have my ear plugs in so when I pull up to him I have trouble hearing him. He gives me a hard time asking all kinds of questions which I don't really understand. What are you going to do in Canada? I answer,"I'm riding around Lake Ontario." That doesn't seem to do it for him. He says pleasure or business.  I'm
not sure what kind of business I
could do by riding around the lake on my motorcycle so I answer,
"Pleasure." He asked me how long I'll be in Canada,
I
tell him as long as it takes to ride around the lake. He is
now
convinced I'm messing with him but I really don't know how long it will
take. He asks
again, I pause and say, "five hours." I
paused
because I was trying to work out how far it was and I wanted to make
sure that the time I gave him would mean that I had to speed
to
make it, but at the same time I wanted to
make sure he knew I wouldn't be in Canada long enough to cause any
real trouble. He looks me up and down like I must be some
kind of
terrorists then waves me on. I'm glad to be on my way. I try to stay off Highway 401 which extends the mileage and makes me ride at a slower than I had planned but the traffic on the Highway is freak'n terrible. I don't know what was going on, it was a normal work day but every highway in Canada was jammed. My GPS kept trying to put me back on the QEW but it was a parking lot. I was stuck for an hour at the border and was running low on fuel, plus I was worried that my air cooled engine might overheat so ended up turning the bike off and pushing it along the line. I got to the US Border officer and he was as pleasant as he could be which is unusual since most times it's the U.S. guys that seems to hate the idea of people trying to enter the United States. He asked me if my license really was from Texas and how I got the bike up here to Canada. I told him it took me a couple of days to get here but I was heading back the next day and was hoping to be in Little Rock the following night and be home early the next day. Iron Butt I got up just as early the next day, got Jim and Julie to sign the paperwork showing that I was leaving at 4:36 in the morning and headed Southwest toward Little Rock. I road super slab the whole way because I wanted to make the best time and to ensure that when the committee looked up my route that there would be no way I could have cut a corner. 
Google shows it as 1,136 miles. My GPS showed
it as 1,330 miles for this leg and 4645.2 miles total. My odometer
showed it as 404 miles but you have to add a 1000 miles to it
since it rolled over.
It was dark when I pulled into Little Rock. I still had
plenty of
time but it isn't fun riding in the dark, too much can go wrong.
I knew Cheryl would be getting nervous but didn't want to stop and burn
any
daylight so waited until it was well and truly dark then stopped about
40 miles out of Little Rock. I topped of my fuel and
gave her a quick call saying I was looking for a hotel. An hour or so
later after stopping for my final fuel receipt with my official ending
time I pulled into the cheapest hotel I could find.
The guy
at the front desk wouldn't sign my paperwork telling me that the owner
would be in tomorrow and would have to sign it. That wouldn't work so I
finally talked the a security guard
to sign it for me. I was walking to my room as I wondered,
"Why
does a little hotel like this have a full time security guard?"
It was too late to worry about it so I crawled into bed and
slept
the sleep of the dead.I got up with the sun the next day and rode the last 365 miles to home. I was riding behind three large trucks hauling oversize loads. They were using all three lanes which wasn't pleasing me but as they moved over and I was passing the second truck, three of his tires exploded. They ripped the siding off the house he was hauling, sending shrapnel across the highway and into my path. I was lucky enough to get around it but I was thinking I'm sure glad this didn't happen at night because I would have driven right into it and most likely dumped the bike. I had plenty of time to make it home so stopped for Breakfast at the Walmart in Arkadelphia Arkansas at 07:13 in the morning. I bought some; Kashi Granola, Raspberries, Strawberries, Vita Water Glaceau, and some Beef Jerky for the road. I ate everything but the Beef Jerky in the parking lot and thought how nice it would be get off the super slab and back on great motorcycle roads. I think 400 miles a day is the best I can do and really have fun riding, anything longer is just to save hotel bills or make it home to my own bed. Still I'm really glad I did it and now I officially have an Iron Butt, and most likely a brain made mostly of Iron. |
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