October Oklahoma Ride

My mood or how I’m feeling at the time rarely, if ever, has an impact on whether I jump on the bike and ride or not. What puts my butt in the saddle is how I know I’ll feel once I’m on the bike. That's the feeling I look forward to. I don't do all day and cross country rides because I want to get away. I do them because I want to explore the countryside and experience whatever the ride might bring, good and bad. Trust me when I tell you I’ve been caught in some hellacious storms over the years and I don’t recall ever thinking, “Great, this is cool. Most of the time my thinking is more along the lines of, “What the hell am I doing out in this mess? I hope I get back home in one piece.”

I love the feeling of experiencing the open road from the saddle of my Harley. I love the feeling of not having an agenda…just ride until you see something interesting and stop, or simply stop for the heck of it. I love seeing things that I never would have seen from a plane or a car and I especially love the discoveries made on the back roads of America. These are typically things that don’t really matter much in the broad scheme of things, but I find them to be thought-provoking, exciting and sometimes just weird.

An example is a barn I passed in West Virginia with the Mail Pouch Chewing Tobacco sign painted on the side. “Why would that be interesting?” you might ask. Because my wife’s grandfather, Pappy, chewed Mail Pouch and always had a sleeve of it in his pocket. The sight of that old barn brought back terrific memories of Pappy and good times with family.

A sample of some of the backroads I've traveled. This one is in Virginia riding with a buddy along the river and the railroad tracks. Great ride, great day.

I have the same reaction to old country stores (my grandmother ran a country store for years when I was growing up in south Alabama) and old Pepsi signs (my grandfather drove a delivery truck for Pepsi for years). You don’t see those sights from an airplane and rarely see them from the interstate when traveling at 75 mph in a car. But, from the seat of a Harley, cruising along at 45 mph (Ok, I'm usually going faster than 45) on a peaceful country road, the world opens up to you and you can see everything your old tired eyes choose to take in.

Don’t get me wrong. I spend an inordinate amount of time planning most of my rides. I scour maps and look at dozens of potential routes trying to find the one that gives me the most “bang for buck”. I use the Ride Planner feature on Harley-Davidson.com to plot out the ride in detail. I make sure I take into consideration a wide variety of things like: when I need to be somewhere, how far I’d like to get on a given day, what type of road I’ll be traveling, etc. All of that comes into play in making sure I leave enough time in the day to simply enjoy riding. I leave that well devised plan with my wife, Renee, so if I fail to turn up some day, she’ll have some idea of where to tell the cops to look for my body. But, I almost always deviate from the planned route regardless of how thoroughly researched, thought out and brilliant I may have thought it was when I put it together.

Most of my map and Internet analysis goes into trying to find interesting things to see or places to visit. For example, the trip to Oklahoma included plans to stop at the West Virginia State Capitol, visit Marshall University and the University of Kentucky, and a few other stops along the way. I hardly ever actually stop at all of the places I find and when I do stop it’s for the least amount of time possible, but it’s nice to have those options floating out there in case I get a wild hair to take advantage of one of them.

I got my gear loaded on the bike and headed for Winchester, Virginia and the local Harley dealer there, Grove’s Winchester H-D. I had checked the brake pads a few days before and realized the rear pads were basically gone. I figured it was a good idea to get them replaced before heading out for 2500 miles on the open road. I was at Grove’s by 2:45 and as we did the walk around on the bike, I realized a needed a new rear tire too. Luckily, they were able to take care of the rear pads and tire. Unfortunately, once they got the pads off the rear, they realized the rotor had been grooved and it needed to be replaced too.

It’s my own fault. I had the bike at an independent shop a couple of weeks before for a 10k service. I asked them to give the bike a thorough going over and let me know if they found anything needing repair. They never mentioned the pads or the worn tire. I put another two or three weeks worth of riding on them (for me that can be another 1000 miles) before I noticed they were worn out. I won’t name the shop, but I won’t be taking the bike back there for service again. Lesson learned. I’m responsible for the maintenance of my bike and I was a dumb-ass for expecting someone else to pay as close attention to it as I should have been.

So, with new rotor, pads and tire (and my wallet $400 lighter), I hit the road about 4PM and started west. I made a quick stop in Stephens City, Virginia to gas up and by 4:10 I was officially on my way. I departed Stephens City going west and hit Middle Road which runs to the southwest and hits VA-55 a few miles northwest of Strasburg, Virginia. Ten more miles on VA-55 and I was crossing into West Virginia and VA-55 became WV-55.

VA55/WV55 as it winds its way through the Virginias.

Another five miles on WV-55 and I hit the first of many excellent, four-lane highways brought to you by Senator Robert C. Byrd (Democrat – WV) known as the Robert C. Byrd Appalachian Highway System (since I’ll be ranting a bit about this, I decided to shorten the reference to AHS). He’s been in the US Senate since January 1959 and was a representative for the state of WV before that. That’s more than 50 years in Congress. Did our forefathers really expect people to make politics their careers? I don’t think so. Back in their day it was a hardship to be in Congress, but they did it out of service to their country. Now it’s a damn lifelong career (Sorry, I digress).

Byrd must have funneled billions into West Virginia. As best as I can tell, everyone in the state must be employed by the Department of Transportation or subcontractors to DOT. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the ability to scream across West Virginia on an excellent highway, but there wasn’t nearly enough traffic to warrant a highway like this. Good to see our federal tax dollars at work.

My first stretch of the AHS ran for 21 miles from Wardensville to Moorefield. I realize you’ve probably never heard of either place unless you’ve traveled this stretch of the AHS, which is exactly my point about Byrd’s pork barrel highway projects in his home state. West of Moorefield WV-55 runs along the south fork of the Potomac River and winds its way toward Petersburg. My intent was to get some pictures as I rode, but I knew I had bad weather out in front of me and I wanted to get as far as I could. I resolved to use the return ride to capture this part of WV. So, you'll have to take my word that the ride across WV was pleasant enough. I passed a small hair salon in Petersburg and a cute stylist was locking the door to head home. It made me wonder if I might need a haircut on my way back home. I’d need to plan my return to pass through before 5PM.

Another example of "the road less traveled" from one of my Virginia rides.

I ran into the first spats of rain as I rode into Elkins, WV. I needed fuel, so I topped off the tank and used the stop as an opportunity to throw on my rain suit. It rained off and on from Elkins to Buckhannon, but not enough to keep me off the road. The sun was fading (racing the sun is always one of my favorite parts about my rides), but since I was making good time and the rain hadn't started in earnest yet, I decided to keep riding and make it to Weston before stopping for the night. Luckily the road from Elkins all the way to I-79 was another fine stretch of the AHS so I knew I’d have good roads even if the weather turned worse. I rode into Weston believing I could get a little further down the road and decided to set my sights for Charleston. It was only about 100 miles further and if I could get to Charleston it would put me in great shape for the next day.

I jumped on I-79 and headed south at 75-plus mph (no sense in riding on the interstate if you're not going to make good time). Within 20 miles the rain was coming down in buckets and the tractor-trailer traffic on I-79 made it white out conditions. To make matters worse, some of the clouds seemed to be sitting on the highway. There were periods where I just rode along in complete blindness hoping I was keeping the bike somewhere in the vicinity my lane. I had the emergency lights flashing and was riding at a slow speed, but still wasn’t sure if I was staying on the road or going to get hit from behind at any minute.

Bandit has advised me in the past that I should write about what I’m thinking as I’m out on these rides. Well, at that moment I was thinking, “So, this is how I’m going to die.” I rode blind for the next 10 miles waiting for an exit that indicated there was some form of life or at least a cover of some sort I could hide under for a while. Mile marker 67 advertised a couple of hotels and I decided it was the perfect place to spend a night. I was 30 miles closer to Charleston, but soaked to the bone and tense as the strings in a professional tennis racquet.

I took the Flatwoods exit and decided to call it a night. It was only a little after 8PM, but riding blind was getting old very fast. There were a couple of motels at the exit along with a couple of gas stations and, of course, a McDonalds. As luck would have it, I wound up at the expensive hotel. I should have left when they told me their rate was $89 a night, but I didn’t want to get back out in the weather, plus the clerk across the counter was really cute. So, I sucked it up and paid my money.

The hotel had a restaurant on the premises and everyone of the waitress were cute as all get out as well. The restaurant had a prime rib buffet special going on that night, so I peeled off my wet clothes, put on some dry ones and made my way down to scarf up a big ass hunk of red meat. After gorging myself on prime rib and a Coors Light, I wandered back to my room, checked in with the family and let them know where I was spending the night.

By this time, I had forgotten about the crappy weather, the trucks blowing past me, the blind riding, and all the bad stuff. My thoughts were on how much I enjoyed being on the road, what a great ride it had been through eastern West Virginia, and looking forward to the next day of riding. I had a great beginning to another adventure in the books, so I wrote down some notes from that day's ride and rolled over to catch some shuteye.

One could look at the decision to continue past Weston as a mistake. Had I stopped in Weston, I would have stayed relatively dry and not put myself in the middle of a storm. But, that's just part of riding cross country. If you have somewhere to go, you suck it up and keep riding regardless of the weather. Little did I know, but that 10 miles of rainstorm was only an appetizer for what Mother Nature had in store for me the next day.

I awoke on Day 2 and immediately turned on The Weather Channel. It wasn’t raining in Flatwoods, but the front I was worried about was now stretched across the US from Buffalo, NY to Abilene, TX and made a beautifully symmetrical arc right across my path. As a matter of fact, it appeared to flow south from Buffalo down into Ohio where it began to swing more to the west, basically stretching it across the entire state of Kentucky. Guess where I was going to be riding today…you got it…across Kentucky.

I was rain free for the first hour as I rode from Flatwoods to Charleston. The ride down was beautiful though. I left about 6:30AM and the sun wasn’t up yet. But, as I rode south on I-79, I could see the sun trying to peak over the mountains on my left. It was an odd ride too. The weather was really funky. As I rode in and out of the various hallows and valleys the temperature would change dramatically going from warm to cold. The windshield would fog over as I rode into the warmer, damp air and defrost as I came back up into the cooler, dryer air.

I planned to stop in Charleston and snap a picture of the state capitol (remember my well thought out ride plan). For some reason, that sounded like a good idea on this ride. But, the rain started as I was entering Charleston. So, instead of heading into town via I-77S/64E, I merged onto I-64 and went west. I decided to keep moving as long as I could and push to get as far as I could. I knew I was going to spend most of the day in the rain and the further west I could go the sooner I was going to break out on the other side of the front to dryer, but colder weather.

Once the rain started it seemed to come in waves. It would pour down rain for 20 or 30 miles then slack off. In some instances the rain came down so hard, I just took the next exit and waited it out at a gas station. Within 15 or 20 minutes it usually slacked off and I was on my way again. One of my rain stops included breakfast at the Waffle House just across the state line at exit 191 in Kentucky. Another stop included a gas station (around mile marker 156 I think) where wouldn’t you know it; another set of cute girls worked the cash register and the food counter.

My Electra Glide Standard at one of the many wet stops I made on Day 2.

By the time I rolled into Lexington, Kentucky the rain had tapered off, but everything was wet. My plan was to ride through the University of Kentucky and get a picture of their stadium (since Alabama beat the Wildcats there the weekend before). Somehow I missed the turn to take me to the university, so I just kept riding west. Unfortunately, the rain kept coming on and off as I passed through town and instead of being on US-60 through town, I wound up on US-68 going southwest versus west.

I realized my mistake, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to get things corrected. It was time to consult a map. I saw a gas station and shopping center to my right as I passed under the loop that circles 3 quarters of Lexington from the north side to the southeast side. That looked like a good place to pull over and get my bearings.

As I approached the traffic light to make my right turn, the rear tire locked up and began to skid. I was going slow, but between the rain and oil in that right turn lane, there simply wasn’t anything to grip. I let up and the tire began to roll again. I applied the brake and it locked up again. I repeated the release and brake routine again with the same result. By this time I was sliding right into the cars making a left turn from the oncoming lanes. My thoughts again harkened back to, “So this is how I’m going to die” as I slid closer and closer to the cars. I got the bike stopped inches from the turning cars and looked down at the beautiful rainbow colors where the oil and rain were mixed in a thick slippery mess.

Get this! Not a single car turning left even appeared to see me or recognize that I was sliding right into them, even though I was at least a car length beyond the stop line for the light. Three more cars turned left while I was sitting inches from where they were driving and not a single one made eye contact, honked, or even appeared to know I existed.

I sure scared the hell out of the guy driving the pickup truck behind me. I know he must have thought I didn’t have a prayer as he watched the bike skid and fishtail into the intersection. But, I have a very diligent guardian angel and she must have been protecting me again. I'm sure she’s got to be getting tired of watching out for me though.

I got my bearings (and cleaned out my britches) and made my way to the Blue Grass Parkway. My route to the parkway took me past the CastlePost, a luxury inn and event location a few miles west of Lexington on US-60. It caught my eye and since the rain was taking a break, I stopped quickly for a picture. The sight of a castle rising up out of the Kentucky horse farms was more than I could ignore. I understand room rates at CastlePost run from $375 to $1250 a night. Needless to say, I didn't make a reservation.

CastlePost from US-60.

By the time I hit the Blue Grass Parkway, it was pouring down rain again. I found myself repeating my experience from the night before as I rode in whiteout conditions with limited visibility and every passing car and truck making matters worse. It was then that I realized my real mistake was choosing the half helmet for the ride versus sucking it up and donning the full face. Between the rain on the windshield and my glasses, plus the spray from vehicles ahead and/or beside me, I couldn't see the lane markers, much less anything else. Blue Grass Parkway is a great road and you can usually make great time across Kentucky with it as your chosen path, but today it required stops about every 30 miles to wait out the latest downpour.

One of my stops was at the exit off the Parkway for US-31E. I had offered to stop by the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln for a friend. She's writing her thesis on Lincoln, so I promised to stop and get her some pictures. I didn't count on the shitty weather when I made the promise and it was going to take me a few miles out of my way. I called Kim to see if she really wanted the pictures. She did and since a promise is a promise, I headed south on US-31E on my way to Hodgenville and the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace National Historic Site.

The park included a short movie about Lincoln's birthplace and the site, but I didn't want to lose the additional time. Instead, I walked around and snapped a few pictures of the memorial (it was under renovations, so you couldn't go inside), the site of the Old Boundary Oak that once marked the property boundary, the sinking springs which gave the farm it's name, and some replica cabins they had to give you feel for the type of cabin the families in the area might have lived in.

Replica cabin at the Lincoln Birthplace NHS, but I doubt they had glass windows.

There really wasn't much to see at the NHS, so after taking a few pictures I was back on the road. I was able to take Kentucky state highway 84 west out of Hodgenville to shortcut a little of my return to the Parkway. KY-84 took me through a little town called Sonora. As I putted my way through town I spotted a horse and buggy coming my direction. I turned right before they reached me, but I pulled into a parking lot just around the corner hoping I might be able to retrieve the camera before they got to me. The horse was moving faster than I thought and they appeared at the corner before I got the camera out. The funny thing was the kids in the buggy were just as interested in getting a look at me as I was at getting a picture of them. We exchanged waves as they continued on their way and I saddled up to continue my journey west.

I jumped back on the Parkway, now called the Western Kentucky Parkway and continued my ride in and out of the rain storms. I crossed into the Central Time Zone a few miles after getting back on the Parkway. Another 140 miles or so on the Parkway and I merged onto I-24 west near the Land Between the Lakes. I-24 provided my rain soaked carcass with a route into Paducah, KY. I made it to Paducah about 5 o'clock where I planned to get back on US-60 west. I was hoping to get as far as Sikeston, Missouri before stopping for the night.

Even though it wasn't raining in Paducah, I noticed another wall of dark clouds west and northwest of town as I rode west on US-60. The wind was picking up and I knew I was about to hit another series of nasty storms. Within a few miles I was fighting a howling crosswind and the skies were growing darker. Even though I still had some daylight left, I made a command decision at the time that 12 hours and 525 miles of riding in the rain was enough, so I made a u-turn and rode back into Paducah where I found a warm and dry Motel 6 calling my name.

This is what your hand looks like after 12 hours of riding in the rain.

There was a Hardee's next door to the Motel 6, so I wandered over there, still in my wet clothes and grabbed some food. As I perused the Hardee's menu, I realized there wasn't a single healthy thing on it. My kind of place. I ordered a burger, onion rings and a drink and moseyed back to the room to peel off my clothes and start drying out.

I spread clothes across any surface I could find near the heater in hope that most of it would be dry by the morning. The most important piece of equipment, my boots, were given a prominent spot sitting upside down on the heater capturing as much of the heat as they could. I really didn't want to slip my feet into cold, wet boots the next morning.

I ate my wonderful Hardee's dinner, jotted down some notes from the ride, and called it another day. I woke early the next morning to find everything nice and dry and when I slip my boots on, oh man, they were warm and toasty. SWEET!

The temperature in Paducah was 47 degrees when I rode out of town at 6:30 that morning of Day 3. Even though it was cold, at least today I wouldn't have to ride in the rain. I had another 540 miles to go to reach my destination of Bristow, Oklahoma. About 330 miles of that would be on US highways across southern Missouri. The remaining 110 miles would be on I-44 and Oklahoma's pain in the butt turnpikes. The only upside was I knew I'd be able to make good time.

US-60 crosses the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers near Cairo, Illinois. I always enjoy crossing the Mississippi River on my rides. It's symbolic of a major milestone whether you're riding east or west. On this ride, I got the opportunity to see the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi where it forms a massive river south of Cairo. I can't explain why, but I love this spot in the US. I think it's because of the energy and power of the two rivers. Maybe all of the water inside of me gets stirring too when it's this this close to the flow of the river, but whatever it is, I love this spot.

The confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers at Fort Defiance State Park south of Cairo, Illinois with the Ohio River bridge in the background.

The Mississippi River bridge at Fort Defiance.

I rode into Poplar Bluff, MO and the bank thermometer showed 44 degrees. At least the temperature was mainly holding steady. US-60 west and U-67 north merge for a short distance in Poplar Bluff. Unfortunately, I was enjoying the ride and scenery and missed the turnoff for US-60. I rode another 16 miles on US-67 north before I realized something wasn't quite right about my direction. I knew I should have been headed west by now. I pulled off the road to consult my map.

While sitting there trying to figure out a shortcut back to US-60, a family in two vehicles pulled up next to me in hopes I could help them figure out how to get to their destination near Lake Wappapello State Park. I saw signs for the park south of where we were sitting, so the best I could do is point them that direction and wish them luck.

I could see a shortcut on the map, but because it was a small map, I couldn't be sure of the road numbers. I turned around and headed back the way I came in hopes I'd spot a road with a number I recognized. Alas, it was not to be. I rode all the way back the 16 miles I had come and turned onto US-60 west where I should have in the first place. Great, I managed to take myself 32 miles out of the way. For someone who studies maps like I do, this really burned my butt. I spent the next 32 miles fuming over being a dumb-butt. But, eventually I got over it.

One thing I noticed as I passed across southern Missouri was that the roads were all labeled after letters, such as highway D, highway K, etc. I eventually past one called highway P and wondered what it would be like to live at Number 1, P Road. Get it? Number 1 (as in I have to go Number 1) and P Road (as in pee). Oh well, when you've been on the road a couple of days, you take your entertainment where you can get it. It cracked me up for several miles.

The sun finally came out somewhere around Van Buren, MO and other than my missed turn and passing a couple of horses and buggies east of Springfield the ride into and across southern Missouri was mostly uneventful. I caught I-44 west in Springfield and rode 80-plus mph from there to Bristow, stopping for gas once and to pay tolls twice. I rolled into Bristow about 3:30 where my wife and her family were waiting. We were all gathering there for her parents 50^th wedding anniversary. I made into town with a day to spare. I love it when a plan comes together.

I'll follow this story up with another about the return ride. I managed to stop for more pictures and see more sights on my way back. So, I'll plop that segment out on the blog ASAP.

Shenandoah Ride - August 2009

I decided I needed a ride, so I jumped on the bike and headed out to get a few more stamps for my Motorcycle Grand Tour of Virginia passport. The goal of the tour is to visit 58 stops all around Virginia. Prior to this ride, I had 47 of the stops covered and this ride would give me another 4 to check off the list. Since one of my stops was on Skyline Drive, I headed that direction first.

Skyline Drive runs 105 miles north and south along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Shenandoah National Park. As a matter of fact, the Appalachian Trail runs along the ridge with Skyline Drive and crosses it from time to time. I caught Skyline Drive at the Thornton Gap entrance off of US-211 between Sperryville and Luray and headed south. My plan was to ride Skyline Drive south to US-33 (about 35 miles) and take it west to catch a couple of more stops on the tour.

Marys Rock Tunnel on Skyline Drive

When I rolled up to the park entrance, I was reaching for my wallet ready to pay my $10 entrance fee only to find out it was a "free weekend". Cool! In less than a mile you enter Marys Rock Tunnel. It's not a long tunnel (700 ft), but the other side opens up into one of the many fantastic views you find along Skyline. The pic below gives you an idea of the view and a little history assuming you can read the sign.

The view from the south side of Marys Rock Tunnel

A few more miles south just past the Thorofare Mountain Overlook you reach the highest point on Skyline at 3680 feet above sea level. I was headed for Skyland Resort, the first stop on my tour list for this ride. Skyland Resort is near the highest point on the drive and was founded in 1888 by George Freeman Pollock Jr. Pollock built the original camp as a summer retreat to get away from the heat and humidity of Washington, DC. Skyland Resort now provides lodging, from nice to rustic, with easy access to the Appalachian Trail and Skyline. It looked like a nice place and one of these days I'll have to take Renee up there for a weekend.

Another view from Skyline Drive

A little further south and I was able to get a view of Old Rag Mountain to the east. Old Rag climbs 3268 feet and several friends and I hiked up part of it a few weeks ago. It was raining, so we weren't able to make it to the top. The last mile or so of the climb is over the rock slide and the rain made the rocks too slippery for this old man. Luckily, the most agile of our group deemed them too slippery and dangerous, so I didn't have to embarrass myself by trying to lug my fat butt up and over them.

Looking out over the Virginia countryside

South of Old Rag, is Hawksbill Mountain, the highest point in the park at 4051 feet. I continued my roll south, snapping pictures as I rode. I was headed for the Swift Run Gap exit at US-33 to hit the next stop at Massanutten Water Park. Below are a few more pics from Skyline Drive. In addition to the ones I took on this trip, I've added a few from a ride we took in July where we came across a black bear walking along Skyline. By the time we got up to him, he headed up the hill through the woods, but it was pretty cool getting to see him that close.

A view of Skyline drive from in front of the bike and behind (note the mirror view) - Not a bad shot for riding along at 40 mph and snapping pictures

The black spot on the left side of the road is a black bear ambling down Skyline Drive

He decided to leave the road and head uphill as we got too close for his liking

Our oldest son is named Jeremy, so we need to get a shot of Jeremys Run Overlook

Another shot from Skyline

With a couple of miles to go before the Swift Run Gap, the gray skies finally decided to start raining on me. I stopped and threw on my rain jacket, just so it could stop about a mile further down the road. So, one more stop at the exit to shed the jacket and I was back on my way west to Massanutten Water Park where I got another stamp in my tour passport.

From Massanutten I continued west on US-33 to Harrisonburg where I made a stop at Blue Ridge Powersports for another stamp. I was only there for a few minutes, but the people at Blue Ridge greeted me warmly when I walked in, took an interest in the stops I had covered on the tour, and made a point of saying "goodbye" as I left. It seemed like a pretty good group of people. I'll go back and visit them again when I'm down that way.

I jumped on I-81 north for the 20 mile ride to New Market, Virginia where I grabbed some lunch at the local McDonalds. I took US-11 north out of New Market and cruised to Shenandoah Caverns for another stamp. I parked the bike out front and was greeted on the sidewalk by a little old lady who worked there. She was working the ticket counter, which was where I needed to get my stamp, but at the moment, she was outside taking a smoke break.

Her greeting to me was, "Baby, you here to get a stamp?"
"Yes, mam", I replied.
"Do you mind if I get a couple more drags off this cigarette before we go in and take care of that?", she asked me.
"No, mam. You feel free to smoke the whole thing as far as I'm concerned.", I offered.

Her and I became good buddies with that simple exchange. After a few minutes of chit chat and one cigarette later, we went inside and got that stamp taken care of. I was back on the bike a few minutes later and headed to one of my favorite places in the Shenandoah Valley, Meems Bottom Covered Bridge.

One of my first rides when I got to Virginia was to Meems Bottom Covered Bridge. It crosses over the north fork of the Shenandoah River and is about 200 feet long. The original bridge was built in 1893. It served traffic for more than 80 years until Halloween night in 1976 when vandals burnt the bridge. Luckily the state rebuilt the bridge and it re-opened to traffic in 1979.

This particular summer day had a group of kids playing in the river below. So amid the cool breeze and shade on a hot summer day, you could hear the laughter and shouts of kids enjoying life. What a neat place to just stop and smell the roses.

After a few minutes of relaxing at the bridge, I decided it was time to head for home. I rode back to US-11 and took it north through Mount Jackson and into Edinburg. I turned east in Edinburg and rode along Edinburg Gap Road to one of my favorite roads in the valley, Fort Valley Road. I turned north on Fort Valley Road and took it into Front Royal where I grabbed I-66 east and made quick time the remaining 40 miles home.

As usual, another good day in the saddle. Plus, I ended the day with 51 of the 58 stamps I need to complete the Motorcycle Grand Tour of Virginia. Five of the seven remaining stops are within 20 miles of home, so I should be able to nail those any time I decide to fight the northern Virginia traffic. The other 2 are on the coast and I'll be making that ride in a couple of weeks.

Man, I love to ride.

It is a slow day in the East Texas town of Madisonville. It is raining, and the little town looks totally deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt and everybody lives on credit.

On this particular day a rich tourist from the East is driving through town.

He enters the only hotel in the sleepy town and lays a hundred dollar bill on the desk stating he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one to spend the night.

As soon as the man walks up the stairs, the hotel proprietor takes the hundred dollar bill and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher.

The butcher takes the $100 and runs down the street to pay his debt to the pig farmer.

The pig farmer then takes the $100 and heads off to pay his debt to the supplier of feed and fuel.

The guy at the Farmer's Co-op takes the $100 and runs to pay his debt to the local prostitute, who has also been facing hard times and has lately had to offer her "services" on credit..

The hooker runs to the hotel and pays off her debt with the $100 to the hotel proprietor, paying for the rooms that she had rented when she brought clients to that establishment.

The hotel proprietor then lays the $100 bill back on the counter so the rich traveler will not suspect anything. At that moment the traveler from the East walks back down the stairs, after inspecting the rooms..

He picks up the $100 bill and states that the rooms are not satisfactory...... Pockets the money and walks out the door and leaves town.

No one earned anything.. However the whole town is now out of debt, and looks to the future with a lot of optimism.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how the United States Government is conducting business.

If that doesn't scare the hell out of you, then I don't know what will.

Weekend Ride to Virginia Beach

Under the mantra of "Any Excuse for a Ride" I signed up for a couple of contests this summer to get out and visit several places of interest around the state of Virginia. One contest is in conjunction with the Virginia State HOG Rally where you get a passport and collect stamps from the Virginia Harley-Davidson dealers across the state. The other is sponsored by the Virginia Hospitality and Travel Association and is called the Motorcycle Grand Tour of Virginia (MGTV).

The MGTV operates similar to the HOG rally contest in that you receive a passport and get it stamped by various businesses across the state, including several of the Harley dealers, but not all. The HOG passport has to be turned in on June 20, while the MGTV passport isn't due until November. Depending on the number of stamps you get, you're up for a variety of prizes.

My wife, Renee, and I made a ride a couple of weekends ago and I collected a few stamps for some of the places that were relatively near by. I can get a little obsessive, compulsive about these kinds of things and knew after the first weekend it wasn't likely I would stop until I have every stamp in both passports.

So, with passports secured in the pocket of my vest, I hopped on the Electra Glide and headed out for another weekend ride. I got a later start than I had hoped on Saturday morning and didn't get on the road until about 8:45. This put me about 45 minutes later than I really wanted to be and proved to be an important 45 minutes before the day was out.

I rolled out of Haymarket and cruised down a familiar route using US-15 and US-17. My first stop was at Fredericksburg Motorsports. The ride to Fredericksburg was uneventful and other than being a little cloudy, prospects looked good for a fine day of riding.

From Fredericksburg, I had to travel about 35 miles down I-95 to King's Dominion Amusement Park. I hate riding on interstates (I'm sure I've mentioned this before). But, I needed to make up my lost 45 minutes and I-95 was as good a way as any to do that. The parking fee at King's Dominion is $10, but I explained my reason for visiting and luckily one of the parking managers was nearby to confirm I didn't need to pay. I made the quick walk to Guest Services and stop number 2 was in the book.

The next stop required another 12 miles of I-95, but so far, the traffic on I-95 was behaving. In other words, no one had tried to run me over yet. I pulled into Richmond Harley-Davidson admidst their open house. The crowds were just beginning to arrive, so I was able to get in, get my stamp and get out without too much difficulty.

Another 10 miles of I-95 dumped me into the downtown Richmond area where I had 3 stops within about 3 miles of each other. Eaglerider Central Virigina was located in an interesting part of town on Boulevard (that's right, just Boulevard), known locally as "The Boulevard". There are a couple of BBQ restaurants and a smokin' tattoo parlor across the street. I made a mental note to visit again if the opportunity presented itself.

I took The Boulevard a couple more blocks and turned left onto Broad Street. I noticed a nice statue/monument just past Broad and I should have made a point to snap a picture of it, but as usual I kept riding. I believe the statue was of Robert E. Lee on Traveler, but it could have been Stonewall Jackson on horseback. A future visit will have to confirm my suspections as I didn't bother to go back by. I know, I'm a nimrod. I didn't take any pictures the entire first day. (This translates to a few pages of text, but there are pictures for day two, just hang in there or quickly scroll down, look at the pictures and get on with your life!)

A couple of miles down the road was the Jefferson Hotel. Unfortunately, I made my way down Broad Street along with the thousands of families and friends attending graduation ceremonies at Virginia Commonwealth University. It was slow going, but not too bad. After a few extra minutes of sitting in traffic, I popped out the other side and arrived at the Jefferson. Nice place. If I come back to visit the area and make up for the things I was bypassing on this trip, The Jefferson would be a nice place to stay, assuming I can afford it.

From the Jefferson it was a short half mile run to the Richmond Region Visitor Center where a sweet little old lady excused herself from some guests and came over to stamp my passport. She politely told the others to give her a minute while she took care of the biker. I don't know if that meant I rated above the other guests or if she just wanted to get me out of her Visitor Center before I scared away the others. Either way, I got my stamp and hit the door.

Next stop was the South Richmond Harley-Davidson Shop on Hull Street Road. (They seem to have a problem with giving streets normal names in Richmond). I was using my GPS on this ride since I didn't want to have to memorize directions for 17 different stops. So, of course the GPS took me on the toll road, which by the way, wasn't marked as a toll road until the sign announcing the 70 cents toll appeared. 70 cents! Who the hell comes up with a toll of 70 cents! Unless you're riding around with 2 dimes and 2 quarters, or God forbid, 7 dimes or 14 nickles or the various combinations thereof, 70 cents means not only digging around for money, but having to deal with the change too. What a pain in the ass!

I stopped, put the bike in neutral, dug my wallet out of my back pocket, managed to peel a $1 bill out of it with my gloves on, passed it to the attendant, got my 30 cents change back, stuffed that into my front vest pocket, (Oh yeah, that reminds me, I got some change in that vest pocket), put the bike back in gear and rolled on. Did I mention this was a pain in the ass?!

I continued on down this fine toll road only to discover another toll plaza about 5 miles further. And guess what!? The toll was another 70 cents. You have got to be kidding me! To save paper, please refer to the paragraph above explaining the next few minutes of my life. (For all the blonds that might read this be sure to skip this paragraph when you re-read the paragraph above. I don't want you stuck in an infinite loop.)

Done, good, glad to have you back. So, off I go again on this wonderful toll road finally reaching my exit. Of course, there's another toll booth only this time it's 50 cents. Cool, I have 2 quarters in my vest pocket from the previous change. No problem, except that no matter how hard I try, I cannot retrieve those 2 quarters with my gloves on...dammit!

So, put the bike in neutral (actually it was already in neutral), pull off my left glove, dig into my front vest pocket, pull out (no, not the 2 quarters, but 1 quarter and 1 dime, along with some paper I didn't even know was in there), dig some more, finally retrieve the second quarter, hand over my 2 quarters to the nice lady, put my glove back on (see I didn't have to get any change this time), put the bike in gear and roll on. Ay yi yi!

I got my stamp at South Richmond H-D and (avoiding anymore toll roads) headed for Prince George, Virginia and Colonial H-D. The day was becoming more overcast as I traveled south and east. The temperature was pretty comfortable, but it was beginning to look like it could rain at any time. I decided to do a little shopping at Colonial and found a t-shirt to add to the collection along with a nice heavy denim long-sleeved shirt that could double as a light jacket later tonight and tomorrow morning when it would be a little cooler. Burcham Cycles (the next stop) was within eyesight of Colonial, so a quick run there ensured a couple more stamps in the passports.

By the time I left Burcham's it was a little past 2 in the afternoon and the day was beginning to slip away. I had 3 more Harley dealers I needed to hit before 5 and they were all in the Virginia Beach area about 80 miles away. I had 2 stops scheduled before reaching the first of the dealers, so I needed to get going.

I made the 35 mile run to Wakefield and stopped at the Virginia Diner, a local favorite and popular tourist stop for people headed to Virginia Beach. It was also featured on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives with Guy Fieri on the Food Channel. Even though I knew time was short, I decided to have a grilled ham and cheese sandwich at the Diner before getting my passport stamped and continuing.

By this time it was 3PM and I still had a good hour to go before hitting the first of the 3 Harley shops. That only left me with an hour to get to the other 2. I decided to bypass my next stop based on the decision to work it into the equation on Sunday. I called Hampton Roads H-D to see if they were open on Sunday. If they were, I could easily move them to Sunday's ride and head straight for Bayside and Southside H-D. Of course, as luck would have it, Hampton Roads H-D was closed on Sunday.

So, I made a command level decision. I would go from Virginia Diner to Bayside H-D and then, depending on the time available, see if I could get Hampton Roads and Southside in before they closed. This turned out to be one of a couple of mistakes I would make over the course of the next 24 hours.

I arrived at Bayside H-D about 5 minutes before 4. I got my passport stamped and asked about the possibility of making it to Hampton Roads and Southside H-D within an hour. "No chance", was the reply. Then came a piece of news that made me kick myself for the next couple of hours. Bayside is open on Sundays. I could have bee-lined for Hampton Roads and probably made it to Southside in time if I had only known I could move Bayside to the Sunday stops. What a dumbass!

Now I had to decide which dealer to hit next. I decided on Hampton Roads using the following screwed up logic. If I had to come back to Virginia Beach next week Renee was going to be furious with me. So, to eliminate the pain that was going to cause me, I would invite Renee to come with me. Since Renee loves the beach, I would offer her a ride to the beach and she could enjoy the day at the beach while I took care of a visit to the H-D dealer to get my precious stamp. Since that was the plan, I decided to head for Hampton Roads now and return to Southside (closer to the beach) next week. Good plan, huh?

I jumped on the bike and hauled ass to Hampton Roads H-D, about 37 miles away. I made it there in time and got my stamps, plus a pair of H-D jeans that were on sale. Cheaper than normal, but not cheap. They tried to sell me a t-shirt, but I have so many H-D tees that I only buy them now if I really like the name of the store. Hampton Roads H-D didn't trip my trigger, so I begged off on the t-shirt.

I decided to go ahead and make a run for Southside. I had a hotel room booked near there anyway, so I figured, what the heck, I might be able to get there before everyone left the building and might get lucky. It was another 40 miles or so to Southside and I didn't get there until 5:30. As I past the front of the store, I saw people were still inside.

I parked the bike and walked to the front door. I met a lady on her way out of the store. I explained my situation to her and while she listened patiently, she sent me packing; politely, but packing nonetheless. She told me the Motorclothes girls were gone and the stamp was locked up. However, she graciously (tongue in cheek) offered their assistance on Monday.

As things stood right now, I was going to have a stamp from every H-D dealer in the Commonwealth of Virginia in my HOG passport except Southside. Southside H-D just lept to the top of my Shit List. But, it was my fault not theirs, so what're you gonna do? I'll figure out something between now and next week. (I actually came up with a great solution to the problem and assuming Southside comes through, they'll be officially removed from the Shit List. I can't tell you what it is until I'm sure it works.)

Bummed out and rejected, mumbling under my breath, I made my way to the hotel to relax a little and take a shower before going to grab some dinner. As luck would have it (or good planning on my part) the local Hooters was only a mile up the road. After the shower, I headed for a cold beer at Hooters. I stopped for gas on the way and received an interesting call from Renee.

Renee and Pata in happier times

She was still in the backyard of our house when she called to tell me our Husky/Malamute mix, named Pata, (Hey he had it when we got him from the shelter. No, I don't know what it means and I'm not even entirely sure how to pronounce it.) had made the great escape and was out terrorizing the neighborhood. The other two times this has happened he had his collar on and within an hour we received a call letting us know where we could go pick him up. This time though he had backpedaled on Renee and slipped his head out of his collar. You have to understand that since shedding his undercoat for the summer, his head is about 4 inches thinner now. Anyway, he was loose and running without id. This could only be trouble.

Once Pata gets loose it's balls to the wall. He runs in a straight line as fast as he can go. No stopping to sniff, no peeing, just run like hell. So, knowing there wasn't a thing she could do, I told her not to worry about him and he'd turn up eventually. We rescued him from a shelter and as part of the deal they implanted him with a chip for identification. It was only a matter of time before he'd reappear assuming he didn't get his ass shot while foraging through the neighborhood.

This put a bit of a damper on the evening, so I visited Hooters for a beer (That's right, a single beer) and headed back to the hotel. There was a Lone Star Steakhouse next door to the hotel, so I decided to have dinner there. A couple of beers and a nice steak put an end to a pretty good day of riding, although, I have to admit, I was a little worried about the dog.

Early morning, but could have been sunrise, (if I had been there a couple of hours earlier) on the Chesapeake Bay

I awoke Sunday morning to clear skies and after wiping the dew off the bike from the 90% humidity, I got day two underway. First stop this morning was the Sea Gull Pier Restaurant on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel (CBBT). Of course, there's a toll to cross the CBBT and it ain't cheap. I stopped at the booth and was instructed to hand over 12 hard-earned dollars. Holy cow! I told the kind lady I was only going to the restaurant and would be returning. "Oh, I see, then it's only $12", she said. "Do I have to pay another $12 when I return", I asked. "No, not if you're only going to the restaurant", she replied. Damn, these toll booths are beginning to get on my last nerve. $12 lighter, I was off to breakfast at the Sea Gull Pier Restaurant.

My only reason for going to CBBT was to get a stamp from this damned restaurant. But, I have to admit, even the short 3 mile ride to the restaurant was pretty pleasurable riding over the water with the sun rising on my right. CBBT is almost 23 miles of bridges and tunnels crossing the Chesapeake Bay and was built without any local, state or federal tax dollars. Hell, in today's stimulus package mentality, that's pretty impressive.

The sign at the restaurant on CBBT, note the Sea Gull Pier Restaurant at the northbound entrance to the first tunnel (lower left) - It's like you're there with me

After razzing the waitresses a bit, I had a simple breakfast of 1 egg sunnyside up, ham and wheat toast. I scarfed down breakfast, snapped a few pictures, and headed for the bike to return to Virginia Beach and the other 12 or so stops planned for the day.

The Electra Glide ready to roll, looking back toward Virginia Beach from the CBBT

I jumped on the bike and headed for Frank's Truck Stop in Chesapeake, Virginia, just south of Hampton Roads. I didn't realize until Monday evening that...

I FAILED TO GET MY PASSPORT STAMPED AT THE SEA GULL PIER RESTAURANT!!! SHIIIITTTTT!!!

You have got to be kidding me. A $12 toll and no damn stamp. I am an ass! Oh well, I have an excuse to make another ride to the CBBT again sometime before November. It just means my Sea Gull Pier Restaurant stamp will cost me $24 assuming they don't raise the toll between now and then. Thank God I didn't realize I had screwed up until Monday or I would probably still be trying to beg my way back on the CBBT without having to pay another $12.

There isn't much to say about Frank's Truck Stop except that I got my stamp. From there it was on to Smithfield Station (one of the stops I skipped, along with Frank's, on Saturday when I was trying to get to the Harley dealers.) Smithfield Station is a nice restaurant and inn right on a tributary to the James River. It was a really pretty place that I'll have to visit again with Renee. Another stamp and I was on my way, still oblivious to my failed CBBT stamp.

Smithfield Station - I wanted my friends in LA (Lower Alabama) to see we have spectacular river fronts and views here in Virginia too

Another view of the river in Smithfield

From Smithfield Station it was back up to the Hampton Roads and Newport News area to collect a series of stamps. First stop was the Newport News Visitor Center where I was pleasantly greeted by the two ladies working the desk. I think they were just bored out of their minds on a Sunday morning, but we chatted for few minutes, I got my stamp and off I went none the worse for wear.

It was the next three stops that led me to the Virginia promised land. I can understand why the area around Yorktown, Jamestown and Williamsburg was settled 400-plus years ago. Yorktown was terrific. Small, quaint, and it had a nice little beach on the York River that was pretty nice. And, the best part, right across the street from the beach was the Yorktown Pub. This is the perfect spot for Renee and me. She can lay on the beach and I can sit in the barstool across the street.

The beach at Yorktown

And equally impressive, the Yorktown Pub across the street from the beach

I parked the bike in the, get this, FREE, parking garage and wandered off to find my three stops in Yorktown, all within easy walking distance. First stop, Historic Yorktown, which I expected to find in an ancient old building, but instead turned out to be the local Baskin-Robbins ice cream parlor. Still, I got my stamp and headed to the next stop, the Riverwalk Restaurant and Rivah Cafe.

The schooner Alliance pulling away from the dock in Yorktown

It was only about 11 AM at this time and the restaurant wasn't open yet, but the gift shop next door was. So, the lady in the gift shop peaked into the restaurant and saw people inside. She unlocked the door separating the two and sent me in to collect my stamp. Now that's service. Take note Southside H-D.

The Riverwalk area in Yorktown

And, like all good plans, this series of stops saved the best for last. You guessed it. The third stop in Yorktown was the Yorktown Pub. They had just opened and still there were already 8 or 10 customers who beat me into the place. I had a cold cream ale and talked with the waitresses who were gearing up for a busy day. From there it was on to a few more stops as I started making my way back to Northern Virginia and the bustling city of Haymarket.

I had three stops left. Two of them were good for stamps and one was just 'cause. The "just 'cause" stop was first on the list, Revolutionary Harley-Davidson. Remember my comment about only buying t-shirts if the named sounded good. This name sounded good. Too bad their t-shirts and decals sucked. It was a strike out.

Next stop was Berret's Seafood Restaurant and Taphouse Grill in Williamsburg. Since it was lunch time, I considered grabbing a seat at the bar in Berret's and having some lunch. But, when I walked up to the Hostess stand the guy there was so snobby about stamping my passport, I decided to say, "Screw it" and rode out. I guess he didn't want "my kind" in his restaurant. Not sure and don't care! Well, apparently I do care, but I'm over it, maybe.

I did ride around Williamsburg a bit and snapped a couple of pictures from the bike.

The fort area in Williamsburg from the seat of the bike on a slow roll

From Old Williamsburg it was off to New Williamsburg and the Prime Outlet Mall for the last stamp of the trip. I rode into the mall and found the food court and guest services so I could collect that last stamp of the day. Mission accomplished it was on the bike and I-64 west back to Richmond. I circled Richmond to the north on I-295 and jumped off at US-33 to take the path less traveled back home.

I chose this route because I couldn't resist passing through Bumpass, Virginia. What a great name! I'm going to have to find out how that place got its name. Anyway, Buckner Road to Pottiesville Road (I swear I'm not making these names up) and then Kentucky Springs Road, along Lake Anna, dumped me onto US-522 where I turned north. I made a quick stop for a bag of Doritos and a Gatorade and then made a beeline for home. I still had a missing dog to deal with.

That story ends on a positive note, unless you're Renee and can't stand the dog. We got a call Sunday afternoon letting us know he was at the county animal shelter. I was able to pick him up on Monday and he's back home tormenting Renee all over again.

Long story made just a little bit longer: Great weekend ride of slightly more than 600 miles. Lots of fun and very refreshing to get out and ride even though Pata's excursion added a little stress into it. But, all's well that ends well.

Hooters Run to Biketoberfest

The following is an excerpt of the article I wrote for Bikernet.com about one of our rides from Texas to Daytona Beach for Biketoberfest in October 2005. Check out www.bikernet.com for more ride stories and great information about the motorcycle industry and protecting our rights and freedoms as bikers and Americans.

Hooters Run to Biketoberfest

Some 3,126 miles later I arrived home already wondering when the next ride will begin. This ride was necessitated by a visit to Biketoberfest in Daytona Beach, Florida. And since the basic characteristics of a good ride do not include the most direct route, this one was no exception. It involved a 700-plus mile first day through central Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama; a 400 mile second day down to central Florida where we “worked” for a few days; and finally a 150-mile run to Daytona Beach to experience an evening of Biketoberfest.

The return trip was stretched into 3 days, but covered almost 2000 miles.

It required a run up the western portion of Georgia; a stretch across southern Tennessee before cutting down through northwestern Mississippi; catching a small portion of extreme southwest Arkansas; then hauling ass through the middle of Louisiana and back to Texas. While not the finest ride I’ve ever put together, it certainly qualified as a good one.

Here's how it all went down. I started out early on a Saturday morning and met my riding partner, Jerry, in Crosby, Texas at 6:00 AM. We gassed up and headed out, but needed to make one quick stop at Jerry’s because he thought he forgot to lock his front door. After ensuring the security of his humble abode, we made tracks for Alabama. The planned route took us through southeastern Texas; crossing into Louisiana at Burr Ferry; through Alexandria and on to Natchez, Mississippi where we picked up US-84 all the way to Dothan, Alabama.

Southeastern Texas and western Louisiana were still showing the effects of Hurricane Rita. It was interesting to see where the eye of the storm crossed. You could tell because of the direction of the fallen trees. As we approached the areas hardest hit by the storm, the trees were uprooted and laying with the roots to the north and the tops to the south. As you progressed, the direction began to take on an east to west angle indicating this would have been where the eye crossed. Finally, once past the path of the eye, the trees fell in a south to north direction.

We made a stop at Renegade Harley-Davidson in Alexandria, Louisiana. I figured a Harley dealer with a name like “Renegade” must have some bad-ass tee shirts available. Apparently, we arrived just after a big sale. The t-shirt selection was sparse. Jerry managed to find one to his liking, but it was a wasted stop for me. Oh well, a .500 batting average in baseball would be considered exceptional.

I believe every love bug in the United States must come from the Catahoula National Wildlife Refuge northeast of Alexandria because we plastered the windshields, headlights, fenders, highway bars, pants legs, etc. with thousands of them. Strangely enough, once we passed through that area, the bug problem was non-existent. We still returned home with bugs from eight states caked to the bikes, but we never encountered another bug infestation the likes of Catahoula.

We picked up US-84 about 35 miles west of Natchez, Mississippi and it became our road of choice for the rest of the day. Crossing Mississippi was much like our run through Texas and western Louisiana, but this time it was Hurricane Katrina that left the calling card. As we approached Laurel, Mississippi, we again got a good idea of the power and path of the storm. The path of the fallen trees matched what we had seen earlier.

Typically, I would take state highways and small back roads, but we needed to make it to Dothan and I figured US-84 would help us make better time. Considering that I-10 was our alternative for a fast route, US-84 worked out just fine. Several stretches of 84 are four-lane and most of the two-lane sections usually have a passing lane every few miles.

The ride across Mississippi and Alabama was uneventful except for one minor episode where I had a brain fart and almost wound up a hood ornament.

We were cruising through a rural section in western Alabama. As we topped a hill, I saw a slow moving car ahead, but misjudged just how slow it was moving. As I got closer, I realized they weren’t moving at all, and I was running about 75 mph. I hit the brakes initially, but quickly grasped the notion that there was no way I was going to stop. So, instead, I twisted the throttle and began to pass to the left.

I already knew no one was approaching from the other direction, so passing the slower car should have been routine. Unfortunately, just as I got about two car lengths from him, I noticed his left turn signal flashing; uh-oh! I ripped the throttle to the stop, slid to the left side of the lane, and slipped just past his front bumper as he made his turn. I think he was totally oblivious of me until he heard and felt the roar of my pipes as I brushed past him.

I don’t know who it scared more; me or him. Actually, it really didn’t scare me much. I was committed to the left of him and I was either going to make it or not. There wasn’t any time to contemplate hitting him or getting hit by him. Afterwards, Jerry and I talked about it and neither of us ever saw brakes lights or a turn signal until we were right on him. It was in the afternoon and I can only guess that the angle of the sun made it impossible to see his taillights. Either way, I lived to see another day and put a few more miles under my butt.

The only other incident that day occurred about 45 minutes out of Dothan when some kid in a tiny, foreign, piece of shit car decided to honk, no make that “beep”, his horn at Jerry as we were leaving a traffic light. By that time we had been on the road about 16 hours and the last thing either of us was in the mood for was some pimple-faced kid being a smart ass.

We hit the brakes immediately, dismounted and moseyed back to teach the kid some manners.

After assuring him that if he ever beeped that pussy horn of his at a biker again, he’d hear that noise every time he farted, we were on our way.

I seem to plan my rides with Jerry around stops at Hooters. We’ve visited a bunch of Hooters all around the U.S. That was the reason for Dothan being our destination. It was the closest Hooters I could find on our route. For me, that wound up being a 750 mile ride; with Jerry pushing 700 miles. All those miles for a Hooters that wound up being lackluster.

I’m no super stud, but I don’t go around in tight little orange shorts and a tank top either. These girls needed to hit the gym, a lot! It seems Dothan grows ‘em a little sturdier than some of the other Hooters I’ve visited. Probably so’s they can help with the farmin’ and stuff. (I grew up in Alabama, so I can make fun of us if I want to.)

The second day of the ride we headed out of Dothan, still on US-84 to Bainbridge, Georgia. We made our way to Tallahassee by way of some back roads out of Bainbridge. Our ultimate goal was to get on US-19 in Drifton, Florida and take it south to Spring Hill, Florida. I know, if you look at a map, there was really no reason to go through Tallahassee. Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. There’s a Hooters in Tallahassee and we arrived there at 11:30 AM, just in time for lunch; one would think.

As we entered the front door we were greeted with not the usual, “Welcome to Hooters”, but instead with, “We don’t open until noon, guys.” We were faced with a 30 minute wait or to continue down the road. We’ve been to this Hooters a few times and knew the girls would be cute, but 30 minutes of down time; no way! We were off again with what amounted to two failed Hooters attempts in less than 24 hours. This was getting depressing.

Our hotel reservations for the week were in Lakeland, Florida. This would give us easy access to our clients in Orlando and Bartow. But, our interim destination was Spring Hill. Why Spring Hill, you might ask?

You guessed it. There’s another Hooters there!

We made great time on the ride down US-19 to Spring Hill. Since we had skipped lunch and Spring Hill was another 200 miles down the road from Tallahassee, we were more than ready for the next Hooters stop. I missed the Spring Hill Hooters initially. I think it was because I had some psycho woman in a mini-van trying to run me over at about the same time we passed it. So, it took us an extra 20 minutes to realize we missed it, turn around and make our way back. I couldn’t possibly screw up three Hooters stops in a row, could I?

Yep! The girls were fine, but the food was awful. And, as luck would have it, our waitress’ boyfriend was there, so she couldn’t be bothered with a couple of grungy bikers. After some really bad wings, (I know, how can Hooters screw up wings?) pouring our own beer all through lunch, and enduring the Tampa Bay versus Miami game on TV (Spring Hill is only about 40 miles north of Tampa), we decided to make a run for our final destination.

I had us booked into a hotel that was walking distance to the Lakeland Hooters. We just had to walk through the McDonald’s parking lot and bodda-boom, bodda-bing, we were there. Great planning, if I do say so myself. But, as they say, “the best laid plans of mice and men”.

When we arrived at our hotel in Lakeland, we were informed that the hotel was experiencing difficulties with their high-speed internet access and that if we needed to use it, it worked best in the lobby. This wasn’t going to work for us because we both need internet access to effectively do our work and keep up with Bikernet, but we thought we’d give it a try. So we checked in and after a short break to clean up and relax a little, we made the hike over to Hooters.

We’ve strolled through the Lakeland Hooters doors several times before while working in the area. We knew we could count on them to redeem the Hooters experience. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out as well as we would have liked. Somehow we managed to get another inattentive waitress. The food was good, but the service left something to be desired. Just as we were about to give up on Hooters, we decided to pay our tab and go sit at the bar where the bartender seemed to be having a good time. That move saved the day. The bartender was excellent. She made sure everyone at the bar was having fun and provided great service. Our faith in Hooters was renewed.

Jerry "working" at Hooters with a little help from his friends.

We made an attempt to utilize the high-speed internet access at the hotel, but access proved to be shaky at best. I called and talked to the manager who asked us to give them a little more time to get things straightened out. The situation still hadn’t improved by 11:00 AM the next day, so we moved on.

The decision to move was a pain because we had shipped our business clothes to the hotel so we wouldn’t have to pack them on the bikes. Now we had to transfer hotels and lug all of that crap between the two. By the time we pulled out of the parking lot of the first hotel, we looked like a couple of gypsy bikers lugging everything we owned.

We had meetings scheduled in Orlando, Monday afternoon, so we headed that way shortly after getting settled in at the new hotel. We rode to Orlando in our business clothes. I felt like a real dumbass as we passed three other bikers, who were in proper riding gear, and here we were riding along in our dress pants and shirts. Luckily, Jerry was smart enough to suggest we take a change of clothes for the trip back. After our meeting, we headed over to a nearby bar and changed into our riding clothes; enjoyed a couple of cold beers; then rolled back to Lakeland. This put us on I-4 right about 5:30 PM. Just in time for rush hour.

We made great time getting back to Lakeland thanks to some nifty riding by both of us. Jerry took the lead and when we found ourselves in traffic that prevented us riding together, we would take different lanes and just work our way through independently. This worked out great and we never found ourselves separated by more than a car or two at any given time. We made the 50 mile ride back to Lakeland in about 45 minutes. If you’ve ever been on I-4 at 5:30 in the evening you can appreciate that feat.

By Tuesday, the news was full of reports on Hurricane Wilma and the expectation that she was on a direct path towards us. We planned a run to Daytona Beach for Biketoberfest on Friday and it appeared Wilma was going to squash that notion. I planned an evacuation route for us that kept us off of the interstates and made additional hotel reservations, just in case. Since Jerry and I both were in Houston during the evacuation for Hurricane Rita, the last thing I wanted was to get trapped in miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic escaping Florida.

Hurricane Wilma decided to stall over the Yucatan and batter Mexico for a couple of days. This meant she wasn’t arriving in Florida until Monday of the next week, so we were able to switch to Plan A and hit Biketoberfest. Our hotel for Friday night was just north of Daytona Beach. We could have taken I-4 to I-95 and made the 150 mile run in less than three hours, but I took back roads and turned it into about a 3 1/2 hour ride. It wasn’t bad except for a few miles where we had to pass through the suburbs of northwest Orlando.

We checked into the hotel and unloaded our gear. As we reached the top of the stairs we were greeted by a wild-eyed rottweiler barking insanely at us through the window of his hotel room, which coincidentally, was right next door to us. We attempted to relax a little before leaving for Daytona, but that dog barked incessantly the whole time we were there. It made us a little leery about what we could expect all night long, but what the hell. We just jumped on the bikes and got our Friday night party started.

We only had one night in Daytona Beach, but it was worth it. I’ve been to Bike Week a couple of times and Biketoberfest is a scaled-down bike week, with a lot fewer people. A night of drinking, eating, looking at beer tub girls, and drinking, checking out accessories and looking at more beer tub girls, and drinking, eating some more, and looking at beer tub girls does a fellow good. I highly recommend it.

We bypassed Destination Daytona, even though that was the main attraction for Biketoberfest. It was packed and we didn’t want to waste a lot of time sitting in lines, etc. Instead, we made our way to the Broken Spoke Saloon in Ormond Beach.

The Spoke is one of the bars we always hit when we go to Bike Week. It’s one of our favorites.

It was still pretty early in the evening so action was slow. We wandered around and took a look at the various vendors. We made a mental note to pick up some cold weather gloves, since by now we knew we were going to be heading into chilly weather on the way back.

We left the Spoke and headed in to Main Street to see what was happening. We wandered up and down Main Street and ultimately landed in Harry’s Outback. Harry’s Outback usually has a good band and great beer tub girls. They didn’t disappoint at Biketoberfest (most of the beer tub girls pictured here were at Harry's). We had some dinner and enjoyed the sights and sounds for a couple of hours.

Since the Spoke was right on our way back to the hotel we decided another stop there would do us some good. By this time, things were rockin’ and we killed a little more time. We even managed to remember to buy the gloves we had looked at earlier. We made one more stop at the local Waffle House for a good old fashioned greasy spoon breakfast in the early morning hours before heading back to the hotel. Where, surprisingly, the dog next door had settled down and we didn’t hear a single bark out of him all night.

Saturday morning arrived and it was time to head back to Texas. Again, if you look at a map, you’ll notice that Chattanooga, Tennessee really isn't on the way from Daytona Beach to Houston. However, Chattanooga was that night's destination because, you guessed it again; the best Hooters we've ever visited is in Chattanooga. I figured we might as well work in a visit while we were in the area. Hell, it couldn't be more than a few hundred miles out of our way.

I had a pretty good back roads route worked out that would get us to Chattanooga and take us through, or near, a couple of interesting stops. Unfortunately, one of the “short cuts” I picked turned out to be more of a challenge than I expected. Even though I knew some parts of the road were "unpaved”, I chose to take this route anyway.

It was only 7 miles; how bad could it be?

Shit! For anyone who knows northeast Florida and extreme southern Georgia, you’ll know what I mean when I say the road wasn’t dirt, it was sand! I almost dropped my bike in the first quarter of a mile and looked back in my mirror just in time to see Jerry go down. Smart men would have turned around right there and backtracked to the main highway. The “smart men” element didn’t exist for Jerry and me. We were, “gonna beat this goddamn road!”

Time for a break after about 30 minutes of sand and dirt.

Seven miles and almost an hour later we found ourselves worn out and at the edge of the highway. Seven miles of slipping and sliding, bumping and bouncing, rockin’ and rollin’, and we had reached our goal. But, we didn’t drop a bike again! We taught that road a serious lesson! And, lost a good 30 to 40 minutes of time. The shortest distance between two points may be a straight line, but it isn’t always the fastest. “Smart men”; I gotta bring a couple of those along next time.

About half way and more sand and dirt to look forward to.

On the upside, we made it to Valdosta, Georgia about 1:00 PM and had some lunch at Hooters. This time the Hooters girls were very friendly, and mostly cute, and the food was pretty good. Unfortunately, we were way behind schedule and needed to make up some time. This meant we would have to skip the next scheduled Hooters stop in Albany and ditch the plan to stop and visit the Andersonville National Historic Site.

Andersonville was the site of one of the worst POW camps during the Civil War. I hated to miss seeing it, but there just wasn’t enough time. Too many men suffered and died there to allow it only a few minutes of my time. I hope to get the chance to visit it in the future and give it the respect it deserves.

By the time we made it to Newnan, Georgia, it was obvious we were making terrible time. It was also obvious that we had passed through the first of two cold fronts we knew were making their way south. The weather was turning colder and we were still 150 miles from Chattanooga. We were forced to make the dreadful decision to jump on the interstates and get there as fast as we could. Not to mention skip a stop at the Hooters in Newnan.

This meant taking I-85 into the suburbs of Atlanta, sneaking around the west side on I-285 and then making a beeline for Chattanooga on I-75. All was well initially on I-85. We cruised along at 80 mph until we reached I-285 where the exit was closed due to construction. This required a relatively painless detour and ultimately, we found ourselves headed in the right direction on I-285.

Of course, I was bitching the whole way. I hate riding on interstates!

We made it several miles north on I-75 before pulling off the interstate and thawing out. The temperature continued to drop as we rode further north. We made one more thawing stop close to Chattanooga and ultimately arrived at our hotel which just happened to be less than two miles from Hooters.

The Hooters in Chattanooga on Brainerd Road is my all-time favorite. Every girl is gorgeous, friendly and I haven’t had a bad meal there yet. They didn’t let us down. Auburn was playing LSU and the White Sox were beginning their sweep of the Astros (Sorry, Houston fans). The bartender, Ashley, took terrific care of us. She just couldn’t believe we had gone hundreds of miles out of our way just to visit her Hooters (pun intended). It turned out to be a great night of sports, beer, and babes.

We woke up Sunday morning to sunny skies, but some very chilly air. Luckily, we were able to sleep in that morning because within about 30 minutes of our departure we were going to gain an hour by crossing into the Central Time Zone. This gave us the opportunity to let things warm up before heading out.

I entered the breakfast room at the hotel to grab a quick bite and some hot coffee. It was full of normal people, but there was one little boy who was fascinated by the chaps and leather jacket I was wearing. He was too scared to talk to me directly, but I noticed him asking his dad about me. I went over and talked to him a little and explained that the chaps helped keep me warm and provided a little protection for my legs. He was peering out the window as I rode off. Perhaps he was a biker in the making!

The ride west out of Chattanooga on I-24 is one of the few interstate rides I enjoy. It’s a great stretch of road in the Tennessee hills. Thank goodness, because there isn’t any better way to peel out of Chattanooga to the west. Even though I like that stretch of I-24, I still had us exiting as soon as possible and hitting TN-156. TN-156 parallels I-24 to the northwest, but is an excellent road. It’s full of twisties and rambling turns as we climbed into and out of the hills. A mist, similar to what you see in the Great Smokey Mountains greeted us as we ascended and descended the hills.

Eventually, we tee-boned into US-41A and followed it into Winchester, Tennessee. From Winchester, we took TN- 50 west a few miles to Mansford Road. Again, Mansford Road was a picturesque narrow road running through Tims Ford State Park and along the Tims Ford Lake. There was minimum traffic and the road was full of gentle curves and rolling hills.

Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee.

Mansford Road dumped us out on TN-55 just north of our intended first stop, the Jack Daniels’ Distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee. As you have probably guessed by now, we really didn’t have time to take the tour of the distillery. But, we did get to stop and snap a few pictures of the grounds and give our butts a short break. Lynchburg hosted the Jack Daniels’ Bar-B- Q Championships just before our visit, so most of the masses left town by the time we arrived. I didn’t see much of it, but Lynchburg seemed to be a cool little town. Sorry Bandit, it was Sunday and the county is dry, so I couldn’t grab you a bottle.

Our second Tennessee stop was scheduled to be Lawrenceburg; one time home of Davey Crockett. We took TN-129 out of Lynchburg. TN-129 didn’t disappoint either. Again, it was a great run of about 30 miles of very limited traffic, sweeping curves and rolling hills. This was my way of running cross country. I loved it and wound up getting a terrific shot of Jerry cruising down a hill and through the trees. This was one of my favorite stretches of road, Too bad it didn’t go all the way across Tennessee. I don’t think I would have left it, if it had.

Jerry cruising down TN-129.

TN-129 led us to US-31A and US-31A took us into Pulaski. We picked up US-64 in Pulaski and on into Lawrenceburg. The town square in Lawrenceburg contains a picturesque pavilion and statue of David Crockett. I could have sworn that I read somewhere that there was an old cabin of Davey’s just off the town square, but I must have been wrong. The best we could do was find the Old Jail Museum about two blocks away.

We decided to grab lunch in Lawrenceburg. Since there wasnt a Hooters in town we picked the Catfish Dock Company Restaurant. Man, the hush puppies were really good. I had the fried catfish and Jerry tried the bar-b-q pork chops. We both had a dynamite meal and headed out to make our way on down the road.

As soon as we stepped out of the restaurant we faced the second front, the icy one. It was apparent it was making its way into Lawrenceburg. The clouds had rolled in and the wind was blowing strong from the west. We bundled up, turned the bikes directly into that biting wind and pounded on toward Adamsville. It got colder with every mile. Luckily, we managed to avoid any serious rain. There was a heavy mist in the air, but we never experienced anything more than a few drops of rain at any one time.

The bikes in front of the Buford T. Pusser Memorial Park.

Our third stop on this wintry looking day was Adamsville. Adamsville is the home town of Buford T. Pusser, the sheriff of “Walking Tall” fame. His home is now a museum dedicated to his memory. We made a quick visit and snapped a picture of the bikes in front of the Buford Pusser Memorial Park then turned back to the east to our next destination, the Shiloh National Military Park.

Shiloh is the location of one of the bloodiest battles in the western theatre of the Civil War. More than 20,000 men were killed or wounded during the two-day battle there. It was a major victory for Ulysses Grant even though he was on the verge of defeat before reinforcements entered the picture late on the first day.

The park spreads out over hundreds of acres. Needless to say, time didn’t allow us the opportunity to fully explore the park or even follow the entire tour route. We did get a chance to dismount, take a few pictures, and prepare ourselves for the final push to Memphis. This is another park that I would like to visit again. Like Gettysburg, it helps to understand the flow of the battle. With this knowledge, you can almost bring the battle to life as you wander around the battlefield.

Jerry riding past the cannon in Shiloh National Military Park.

Our run from Shiloh to Memphis was by way of TN-57. A few miles east of Pocahontas, Tennessee, Jerry found himself with a flatbed wrecker on his tail. We were running 70 to 75 mph at the time, so it seemed odd that we weren’t moving fast enough for the wrecker. Eventually, I saw him begin passing Jerry and I backed off the throttle to allow him to get in front of me also. As he passed, I decided if he could run 80, so could we. We fell in behind the wrecker and off we went.

We didn’t rumble more than a few miles before we realized why the wrecker was in such a hurry. As we approached the top of a hill, one of the local volunteers held us back while the wrecker proceeded to assist in clearing an accident. We looked down the embankment to our right and saw a small compact car sitting sideways in the trees, missing a front fender and dangling the front bumper.

According to our traffic control volunteer, the old lady driving the car had either fallen asleep or blacked out just as she approached an on-coming pickup pulling a travel trailer. She crossed the centerline, barely clipped the rear bumper of the pickup and smashed into the side of the travel trailer. As best as I could tell, she must have slid to the edge of the highway and down the embankment without rolling. By the time we arrived, they had loaded her in the ambulance and were transporting her to a local hospital. The trailer was still hooked to the hitch, so the people in the pickup must have gotten one hell of a jolt when she hit it.

We made another stop in Collierville, at the local Wal-Mart, to pick up some warmer clothes. We anticipated a brisk morning on Monday and figured we’d better be prepared. Not to mention, night was falling and it was already pretty damn cold. We seem to find ourselves hitting a Wal-Mart on almost every trip we take in the fall. This one was no exception.

Memphis presented us with another Hooters stop for dinner. As luck would have it, the Sunday night NFL game had been played earlier due to Hurricane Wilma and the only thing on was the Astros-White Sox, Game 2 of the World Series. We were able to watch a good chunk of the game and left with the Astros leading. It wasn’t until we arrived at our hotel at the Grand Casino in Tunica, Mississippi that we found out the White Sox had won with a walk off homer in the bottom of the ninth inning.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot the Hooters critique. Our waitress, Heather, was new, but very pretty and friendly. There weren’t many customers in the store, so it made it easy to grab good service. The food was good too, so all in all, the Memphis Hooters scored pretty well on our scale.

When I made reservations at the Grand Casino Hotel, the intent was to get there and enjoy drinks and gambling. However, we spent too much time watching the Astros game and arrived later than we would have liked. We decided to pass on the casino and just get a good night’s rest. We were already aware that Monday was going to start out cold and we had almost 600 miles back to Houston.

The morning temperature lived up to our expectations. It was in the upper 30s, but at least the sun was shining brightly. We pulled out of the hotel (They allowed us to park the bikes right by the front doors. Damn nice, I must say.) and headed south on US-61 toward Greenville, Mississippi. We started the morning out right with a 95 mile run to Cleveland, Mississippi where we stopped for breakfast.

We left Cleveland and continued to Leland where we picked up US-82 and headed into Arkansas. Northwestern Mississippi, southeastern Arkansas and northeastern Louisiana must produce a huge portion of the country’s cotton crop. We passed one cotton field after another, most of them recently picked. Tractor-trailer-sized bales of cotton sat waiting to be taken to the gins. Jerry even picked up some of the cotton on the side of the road as a souvenir.

Our stint in Arkansas was less than 50 miles, but it added another state to the trip making it eight states in all. We took US-165 south into Louisiana and arrived in West Monroe about 1:00 PM. Just in time for lunch and, what a coincidence, there was a Hooters just a couple of miles down the interstate. Again, it was sparsely populated given that the lunch hour had passed, so we got a tasty lunch and fine-looking service. Our waitress was a self-proclaimed biker chick, so she enjoyed hearing about our trip and checking out the bikes.

After lunch we made a charge for Alexandria and Renegade Harley-Davidson again. Jerry noticed the night before that his Road King was running a low on oil, so he wanted to see about adding a quart of synthetic as soon as he could. We knew Renegade was open on Monday, since the sales girl the previous weekend had encouraged us to return on Monday and check out the new shipment of tee-shirts due to arrive. As it turned out, we could have stopped a Bleu Bayou Harley-Davidson in Monroe. They’re also open on Monday, but I didn’t figure that out until I was back in Houston.

Jerry snagged his quart of oil and I found a tee-shirt to add to my collection, so the stop at Renegade was worthwhile. It was right on our way and didn’t take too long. However, we were still racing the sun. I was hoping to make it to I-10 before sunset and it was already pushing 5:00 PM. I-10 sat 85 miles south of us on what would mostly be two-lane highway passing through several small towns.

Our circuitous route from Texas to Florida and back.

Needless to say, any time we weren’t in town, we pushed the bikes hard. Passing wasn’t a problem as there was usually a clear line of sight and little traffic. We made good time and reached I-10 just after the sun had dipped below the western horizon.

I really hate I-10 across Louisiana.

But, if you’re trying to make up time and traveling from the east to southeast Texas, there’s really no better way to go. We took a quick break at the first exit on I-10; then began the mad dash to Texas. We had about 70 miles to Beaumont, Texas and knew from previous trips that we could get a hot bowl of seafood gumbo and a cold beer at the Papadeaux Seafood Kitchen there.

Other than getting the hell beat out of us by the constant bumps and humps of I-10, the ride across southwest Louisiana was uneventful. As is always the case, I let out a quick “yeehaw” as I crossed back into Texas. I’ve lived in Texas for almost 23 years and I really love this state. It always feels good to return to Texas!

We made our gumbo and beer stop and topped off the tanks. At this point, Jerry was 60 miles from home and I was 110. We agreed that if I followed him off the freeway when he exited, we’d stop for a quick break, but if not, we’d see each other the next day at work. I decided to stay in the saddle and make a break for home. I made it to the house in about an hour and 40 minutes non-stop.

Like I said, we’ve had better trips, but I’d rather spend a day in the saddle than doing much anything else. The trip was just another one to add to the collection. We’ve done the trip over to Florida just about every way there is to do it. Now it’s time to go north or west, so I guess I need to get to work on a Sturgis trip, a Laughlin River Run, a Las Vegas Bike Fest, or something like that.