I left the house at 5:30AM on the first day of the ride (April 30th) and filled up with gas at the local 7-Eleven. A mouse scurried across the parking lot as I pulled up to the pump. I’m not sure if that is a good omen, bad omen, or no omen at all. So, for future reference, if a mouse runs across your path when you’re pulling up to a gas pump, it might mean absolutely nothing. The temperature was in the mid-30’s, so I had to bundle up to keep from freezing my petunias off. Other than that, it looked like a good day for riding.
I jumped on I-66 and headed west to Winchester, Virginia. I hadn’t gone 5 miles before I noticed that my brand new Harley-Davidson hat had pulled loose from my backpack and was apparently lying in the road somewhere. On second thought, maybe a mouse running in front of you at a gas pump means you’re going to lose your hat. Who knows? Anyway, my hat (that I wore one time and one time only) was gone forever. Not a good start to a 6,000 mile ride. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be much left of my possessions by the time I got to Las Vegas.
In Winchester, I picked up US-50 west. US-50 was my road of choice most of the day. US-50 is one of the great American highways, like Route 66. US-50 runs 3,073 miles from Ocean City, Maryland, on the Atlantic coast to Sacramento, California (or the other way around if you think left to right). The piece between Sacramento and San Francisco has been covered over by the various interstates, but it used to run all the way to San Francisco. The stretch through Nevada is labeled “The Loneliest Road in America”. I've ridden most of US-50 from Ocean City to St. Louis, Missouri and parts of it west of St. Louis, but one of these days, I need to make point of riding from St. Louis to Sacramento and check that off the “Rides To-Do” list.
I topped off the gas tank in Romney, West Virginia, primarily as an excuse to grab a cup of coffee and thaw out. I continued down US-50 for my first scheduled stop at the Nancy Hanks Memorial. The ride to the memorial required me to venture off of US-50 and take a side trip down some of those terrific West Virginia back roads. Knobley, Penneroil and Grayson Gap Roads all proved to be valid reasons for getting off the beaten path. I think I enjoyed the ride to and from the memorial as much as I did the stop at the memorial.
The stone monument at the Nancy Hanks Memorial in West Virginia
Who is Nancy Hanks, you ask? Nancy Hanks was born on February 5, 1784, in Hampshire County, Virginia (what is now Mineral County, West Virginia). She grew up to marry Thomas Lincoln. They had a son named, Abraham. (Now you’re starting to figure it out, huh?) She was Abraham Lincoln’s mom. The Memorial is a tribute to her and consists of a replica log cabin sitting in a pretty dale, along Mike's Run at the foot of New Creek Mountain. Abraham Lincoln was quoted as saying, "God bless my mother. All that I am or ever hope to be I owe to her."
The replica cabin at the Nancy Hanks Memorial
Once back on US-50, I continued west crossing the hills, humps, bumps and mountains that are West Virginia. They say there isn't a level spot in the state and my rides across the state sure support that claim. You are constantly rising and falling as you work your way through passes, gaps and hollows. Their slogan, “West Virginia – Wild and Wonderful” seems right to me. The ride through West Virginia was mostly uneventful. It included a gas stop in Clarksburg and plus another sightseeing stop in Parkersburg.
I squeezed in lunch at Burger King in Parkersburg where a guy sitting outside came over as I brought the bike to a stop. He just wanted to walk over and look at the bike. When he asked where I was headed, he was surprised when I responded, “Las Vegas”. We talked a while about riding cross country and he went back to his lunch and I walked to the counter to order mine.
Parkersburg sits on the western border of West Virginia where the Little Kanawha River flows into the Ohio River. I made a stop at the site of Fort Boreman, an old Civil War site on top of Mount Logan overlooking Parkersburg to the north and into Ohio to the west. Because of the tremendous view, Union soldiers chose this spot for the fort when they occupied Parkersburg in the early 1860's. The overlook on the hill offers extraordinary views of Parkersburg and the Ohio and Little Kanawha Rivers and a decent strategic position in war time.
The view from Fort Boreman overlooking the Ohio River
From Parkersburg, I continued west on US-50 crossing over the Ohio River for the first time on this trip. Eastern Ohio began to flatten out most of the humps and bumps I had grown so fond of while riding in West Virginia. But, the road was still good with enough hills and curves to keep it interesting. I made another gas stop just west of Athens, Ohio. By now it was approaching 2PM and I needed to make a decision about my plan to ride to Dayton, Ohio to visit the Fisher Houses at Wright-Patterson AFB. I knew Chris Stanley, the Executive Director for Fisher/Nightingale Houses, Inc. was expecting me, but I also didn't want to keep him waiting on a Friday evening. We were scheduled to meet at 4:30 and I wanted to be sure I could get there by then.
I gave Chris a call and he insisted I keep to the plan and visit him and his houses. It wasn't until after meeting him that I realized why. He is proud of the work they do at the Fisher/Nightingale Houses at Wright-Patterson and for good reason. So, I jumped on the bike and headed out of Athens toward Chillicothe where I veered off of US-50 and onto US-35 for the northwest swing to Dayton.
The stretch of US-35 from Chillicothe to Dayton is a nice 4-lane, limited access highway that crosses flat farmland. By this time in the day, the wind was blowing hard out of the south, so keeping the bike in a straight line became more and more of a challenge. I'm sure I wore the left half of the tires out riding sideways as I leaned into the wind to keep the bike in my lane.
US-35 was where I had the first encounter with a “jackhole”. First, let me explain what a “jackhole” is. A “jackhole” is a driver that does something stupid. If they didn’t know any better and just made a mistake out of ignorance, then they’re a jackass. If they knew better, but did it anyway, they’re an asshole. Since I can’t always be sure of the exact situation, I’ve come up with the term “jackhole” as a placeholder until confirmation of their status. Unfortunately, for this driver on US-35, he was simply an asshole.
Apparently, the pickup truck passing me in the left lane wasn't going fast enough for this guy, so he decided to pass me on the right hand shoulder. I didn't mind the pass that much even though it is a little unnerving to be on a motorcycle being blown sideways by the wind and have a pickup truck on one side of you and a car on the other with all of us traveling in excess of 70 MPH. It's aggravating enough to have someone do that for no real reason, but what I did mind is all the road grime, sand, rubber, etc. that the jerk blew all over me on his way by. I decided right then that “jackhole” was too kind for this guy and immediately labeled him “Asshole” at the top of my lungs as I stared directly into his driver’s side window.
Regardless, I was able to make good time on US-35 and after a few miles north on I-675; I was making the exit to Wright-Patterson a few minutes ahead of schedule. I pulled into the parking lot for the Twin Base Golf Club and parked the bike. I gave Chris a call and within a few minutes we were standing face-to-face introducing ourselves. Chris gave me a ride onto the base and escorted me on a tour of the two Fisher Houses located at Wright-Patterson in support of the military members and families being treated at the Wright-Patterson Medical Center (WPMC).
The Fisher House at WPMC sits on a quiet residential street within easy walking distance to the WPMC
The WPMC draws patients from around the world. It is the second largest medical center in the Air Force and offers many specialty clinics. They handle high-risk pregnancies and are currently staffed to handle level three newborns (premature babies with multiple life threatening problems). Their oncology specialists are world renown. The WPMC, in partnership with Kettering Hospital, offers state of the art hyperbaric treatments. The chamber is essential for the treatment of some wounds. It is used extensively for diabetic, cancer and burn patients.
The Nightingale House was the first Compassionate Care House in the Department of Defense. It was the dream of Captain Gretchen Lizza, whose son Tony was fighting leukemia. She saw the need for a home-away-from-home at Wright-Patterson AFB. After months of tireless efforts, the Nightingale House opened its doors in May of 1990. Captain Lizza is living proof to all of us that one person really can make a difference.
The Nightingale House at WPMC - the first compassionate care facility in the Department of Defense opened in 1990 before the Fisher House Foundation was formed
Wright-Patterson's Fisher House opened its doors in May of 1994. To date, the Wright-Patterson AFB Fisher and Nightingale Houses have served thousands of families. The average length of stay is eleven days (some guests stay for only a day or two while others stay for two months or more and they’ve had guests stay for up to a year). The Houses run at 100 percent occupancy almost every week with an extensive waiting list. Turning families away is the hardest part of the manager's job.
The Fisher House at WPMC
Recently, construction began on a new Fisher House for Wright-Patterson. The new Fisher House will replace the existing Nightingale House, which will be returned to Military Family Housing. The foundation for the new house has been poured and the lumber for the framing arrived on the same day I did. The new house is located on the grounds directly behind the existing Fisher House on Schlatter Drive, within walking distance of the WPMC.
The new Fisher House under construction at WPMC
The new house is a single story 13 bedroom facility with 13 handicapped-accessible and ADA compliant bathrooms. It is approximately 10,000 square feet with two living rooms, a kitchen and dining room and more laundry capabilities. By moving from the Nightingale House to the new Fisher House, it will also add 1,460 bed nights a year, bringing capacity to 7,665 bed nights a year. This is how your donations to the Fisher House Foundation are serving military members, veterans and their families!
It was a great visit and I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Chris and seeing the Fisher House in action. Chris was a terrific host and couldn't have been nicer in carting me around, showing me the houses and explaining the history. I also learned how important it is for local support to the charities that run the Fisher Houses. Donations to the Fisher House Foundation support construction of new houses, but the operating expenses are covered through the hard work and efforts of the local entities set up to run them. They, too, need your help in time and money, so check out the details of a Fisher House location near you and see how you can help. For those in the Dayton area, you can learn more at http://www.fnhi.org/. You won't regret getting involved! As a matter of fact, the local biker community had a poker run scheduled to raise money for the Fisher Houses in the Dayton/Cincinnati area scheduled for the next day.
After the tour at Wright-Patterson, Chris dropped me off at the bike and I headed for Cincinnati. This meant about 60 miles of mostly interstate riding in rush hour traffic. Chris warned me that the traffic would be heavy, but after I explained that I deal with Washington, DC/Northern Virginia traffic every day and spent 23 years commuting in Houston, Texas, I don’t think he was too worried about me handling their local traffic. Traffic was heavy, but nothing compared to home and Houston.
The GPS decided to stop working as I crossed inside the I-275 loop that wraps around Cincinnati. I like using the GPS in the cities just to keep from wasting time running around in circles looking for a particular address. I knew the Fisher House in Cincinnati was on Vine Street. Plus, Chris had told me it was right next to the Veterans Administration (VA) hospital, so I kept riding on I-75 south watching for a sign indicating the exit for the VA. Lo and behold, there it was and I exited I-75 at Mitchell Avenue and started looking for Vine Street.
I didn't have to go far as Vine Street crossed Mitchell a half a mile down. At right on Vine had me headed in the right direction. I was able to do a quick drive-by for the Fisher House in Cincinnati, but didn't stop. Karrie Hagan is the manager at the Cincinnati Fisher House and we had exchanged email messages. I knew she was headed out of town for the weekend and that I couldn't get there at a reasonable time, so we had already agreed to try for a visit another day.
I decided to take Vine Street south into downtown Cincinnati. I wanted to see the Suspension Bridge over the Ohio River. It was designed and built by John Roebling. I became aware of John Roebling when I read the book, The Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge, by David McCullough. The Suspension Bridge in Cincinnati opened to pedestrians in December 1866, and the 1,057 foot main span was at that time the longest in the world. Not only was the Cincinnati Suspension Bridge the world's longest, but it was also the first to utilize both vertical suspenders and diagonal stays fanning from either tower. This advance was next seen on the Brooklyn Bridge (also designed by John Roebling), which surpassed the Cincinnati bridge in length and almost every other statistical category in 1883.
The Suspension Bridge in Cincinnati was undergoing some renovations, so it didn't provide the best photo op
In addition to a quick picture of the Suspension Bridge, I also snapped a shot of the Paul Brown Stadium (home of the Cincinnati Bengals) since I illegally parked right next to it for the bridge picture. Neither picture was particularly good, but the visit to the bridge was on the list, so mission accomplished.
My vantage point of Paul Brown Stadium from my illegal parking spot
I left Cincinnati via I-75 south, crossing the Ohio River for the second time that day. I passed into Kentucky, took I-275 west past the Cincinnati Northern Kentucky International Airport, and crossed the Ohio River for the third time. This crossing took me from Kentucky to Indiana where I hooked back up with US-50 to continue my trek west. Lawrenceburg, Indiana is the home to casinos now. But, I remember many years back, while working in Cincinnati, I took a trip to Lawrenceburg to going snow skiing at the Perfect North Slopes. Who would have thought you could take a trip to Indiana to go snow skiing, but I remember having a great day. The runs were short, so you would ride to the top of the “mountain” (really just a nice sized hill), ski down and glide back into the lift line, ride up and do it all over again. I skied like that from about 10 in the morning to 4 in the afternoon until my tired legs said, “Enough already!”
I grabbed a diet coke at the McDonalds in Lawrenceburg just to take a break and prepare for the last leg to Seymour, Indiana where I was spending the night. My timing was working out well. It looked like I’d get to Seymour just as the sun was setting. So, after a short break, I was back on the bike and cruising through the casino traffic and making my way deeper into the Indiana, “The Crossroads of America”.
The 65 miles between Lawrenceburg and Seymour were smooth. Traffic was relatively light and US-50 proved to be a nice relaxing ride. The only real issue I encountered was my inability to quit focusing on dead animals and other obstacles in the road. I think I ran over every one of them because I would see it in the road, focus on it, and, sure enough, run right over it. I’m going to blame it on the fact that I was riding into the setting sun, but the reality is, I was just brain-farting on a consistent basis. It was a good thing the day was coming to an end. Apparently, I needed the rest.
After 630 miles, I arrived in Seymour around 8:30 that evening. I filled up the bike with gas and was within sight of the Motel 6, my motel of choice on my rides. Motel 6 is dependable in that the rooms are usually clean and the price is usually right (or cheap, depending on your point of view). I rode over to the Motel 6, got checked in, dumped my stuff on the bed and walked out to get something to eat. My plan was to walk back to the gas station where I had just filled the bike and buy some junk food and a drink and call that “dinner”.
As I was walking down the street, I noticed the twinkling lights of a neon palm tree across US-50. The lights called to me like a morning dove calls to its mate. The closer I got, the better I was able to discern that this oasis in Seymour was none other than Brewskies Grub and Pub. All I needed to do was navigate my way on foot across the 6 lanes that US-50 had now grown to be. I worked my way across US-50, Frogger-style, stepped over the broken down fence meant to keep people from crossing over the highway, and within minutes found myself perched upon a barstool in the center of the bar at Brewskies.
Who wouldn't be attracted to a place this welcoming - Brewskies Grub and Pub in Seymour, IN
It was karaoke night a Brewskies. I have to admit, Seymour has some talent. I guess there should be talent in Seymour since they claim to be the hometown of John Mellencamp. Ok, so there were no John Mellencamps in the lineup, but there were several very good singers and the night turned out to be extremely entertaining. Even the crappy singers gave it all they had in their efforts to entertain the crowd. The kitchen was backed up, so I was forced to drink an extra Coors Light or two while I listened to the music and waited for my order of Buffalo wings.
The guy on the barstool next to me was from Minnesota and had driven down for the Kentucky Derby. Seymour was about 60 miles from Churchill Downs and was the closest he could get for a last minute hotel at a reasonable price. We talked about our respective trips and critiqued the singing talent as the night wore on. I finally wrapped things up and wandered back to the Motel 6 (stepping over the broken fence and “frogging” my way back across US-50) sometime close to 11PM.
The thunder, lightning, wind, rain and tapping of hail against the motel window woke me around 4 the next morning. Every weather prediction I had seen the night before indicated I was going to get wet on Saturday and the storm passing through Seymour said, “Wet is the least of your worries”. Luckily, I had no intention of leaving at 4 in the morning. So, I took a peak at the bike through the window, saw that it was gently swaying in the breeze, but in no real danger, climbed back into bed and went back to sleep for another couple of hours.
By 6 AM the initial line of thunder storms had passed through Seymour and left me with a light rain. I rode the bike around to the front of the motel and loaded it up under the awning to keep dry for as long as I could. I slipped into my rain gear (“Slipped” makes it sound like I did it smoothly, but the reality is, it’s always an adventure putting on the rain gear. You inevitably get one boot caught in the pants leg and, after hopping around a few times, eventually it pops out the other end and presto; you’re in your rain gear.) I pulled out of the Motel 6 and into the rain around 6:20 and began Day 2 of my journey.
