Trip Resumed...With Complications

With all the family business related to the funeral of my mother-in-law tended to, I met up with the second wave of my traveling companions and loaded my ST on the box trailer headed for North Carolina.

After a delicious hamburger dinner at Eddie's house, he, Robert, and I headed north, departing the home base around 7:45 pm. The trailer was loaded just right as far as weight distribution with four bikes inside and it tracked perfectly behind Eddie's truck.

About 100 miles up the road Eddie pulled into a rest area to check on the bikes to make sure they were riding okay. Good thing he did so because my ST had somehow managed to turnover to the left and was resting on Robert's Harley-Davidson. Luckily there was no damage done to either bike and we were able to right the ST and re-strap her in a more secure (so we thought!) fashion. Problem fixed, we resumed our northward travels.

Throughout the night we made several stops for gas, breaks, food (Eddie & Robert, not I!), and a nap that was cut all too short by a convenience store clerk that banged on the truck window and demanded we vacate the premises.

Eddie searched in vain for nearly two hours for a Huddle House before finally succumbing to his hunger pangs and settling for a meal at one of the many Waffle House restaurants that seem to dominate Interstate exits. Both Eddie and Robert reported being dissatisfied with both the cleanliness (or lack thereof) of the restaurant and the food that they were served. See, I knew what I was doing when I opted to nap in the truck while they ate!

Somewhere in far northern Georgia it was my turn to drive again and I held that position until we arrived in Dillsboro/Sylva, NC, where we proceeded directly to the Huddle House so that I could have breakfast. Of course, I was not alone in this repast as my two traveling companions had more than recovered from their earlier (otherwise known as “first”) breakfast, and they had no problem whatsoever tackling the rare – but ever popular -- “second breakfast”.

With this whole Huddle House breakfast thing behind us, Eddie took over the driving duties in order to get us up the mountain and to position the trailer in the cramped conditions one finds at mountain cabins.

Having been a long-distance truck driver for many years, Eddie is supremely qualified to handle complex backing duties in cramped conditions. And, I must add, Eddie did an excellent job of getting that big truck/trailer rig into place at one of the two cabins where we are staying for the week. Of course, once the trailer was positioned was when we discovered some misery.

You see, my ST1300 had fallen over to the left again. I was absolutely shocked to find that my bike had fallen over a second time on a single trip. In fact, the first fall was surprising enough, but to have it happen twice in the same trip was absolutely shocking. And, sadly, this time we weren't so lucky in the damage department.

This second fall resulted in one of the small side plates on my ST popping off and falling to the trailer floor. Luckily, this plate was not damaged and the little plastic rivet that secures it in place was also unharmed, so it was a quick fix. There was some scratching and scuffing of the body plastic in the vicinity of this plate that won't be easy to fix, but I can live with it. Because of the rain, I have not removed the ST from the trailer to check for other damage, but I am hopeful that the ST is otherwise intact.

That brings us to the saddest portion of this tale of woe: Robert's Harley.

In the second fall, my ST landed on Robert's bike and the left handlebar weight on my ST went straight into the top of the Harley's front fender with all the force that a 600+-pound bike can muster in a short fall. The end result is a nasty dent in the top of the Harley fender that cracked the clear-coat and the paint all the way to bare metal. In short, the fender is toast; it will require massive repair or replacement. Fortunately, the Harley is ridable so Robert doesn't have to miss out on any riding that we do; he just has to do it on a blemished motorcycle.

The cause of the second fall appears to be rooted in not getting enough compression on the front forks of the ST. I opine thus because the strap holding the bike's right front came completely unhooked from the metal loop in the trailer floor. I surmise that the bike must have been compressed on its forks by a dip in the road that we hit at speed, which in turn would have caused the strap to loosen enough to let the hook come out of the loop.

No matter how it happened, the end results are not pretty and I feel pretty bad about Robert's beautiful Harley taking a beating at the hands of my ST. I am also a bit concerned about the condition of the ST and what I may find once she is rolled out of the trailer. I am optimistic, mind you, but a bit concerned nonetheless.

Now, in further reflecting on this matter of double falls on a single trip, I am given to consider that this is either another bad omen that is telling my I should have stayed home, or it is the ST's way of reminding me that she is a highway bike built to log miles and not meant to be sequestered into a trailer. Or, perhaps, it is just a sign that I have been stressed and pushed to much to meet deadlines and commitments related to this trip and the resumption of same that put me in the trailering mode.

No matter what the deeper meaning may actually be...if there is even a deeper meaning at work here...I have decided to be extra vigilant and careful for the coming week of riding these beautiful mountains. About seven years ago I was bitten pretty hard by a semi-famous dragon that calls these parts home. The lessons of that incident are not far from my mind as I type these words and contemplate the variables that have brought me to this moment and put my bike over on her left side twice in the same night. My attentions shall be keen, my caution appropriate to the situation, and my limits shall be kept firmly in my mind as we embark on our week of mountain riding.

The other three guys (Boyd, Glenn, Lloyd) should join us here at the cabins later today. It will be good to meet up with them again and hear their tales of what I missed these past three days as they worked their way southward from Front Royal, Virginia.

Trip Interrupted...The Run for Home

I awoke at 6 a.m. on Tuesday morning in Pooler, GA, to find a couple of voicemail messages on my cellphone.  They were from my wife advising that her mother had passed away during the night.  That meant my northern progress was halted and I needed to turn south and head for home.  After some discussion with my riding partners it was decided that we would all pass on the Mighty 8th Air Force Museum (more on that in a minute) and go our separate ways; me heading home via the fastest route possible (Interstates all the way, baby!) and them continuing northward to Virginia.

After having what must be the sorriest, cheapest, most pathetic continental breakfast in modern America, I packed up my stuff, loaded the bike, and made my final preparations to depart for home.  The other fellas did the same and decided upon a basic strategy that altered the originally proposed route and stops. Instead of heading up to central North Carolina for an overnight, they elected to press as far north into Virginia as they could to position themselves within easy striking distance of Front Royal, VA, and Skyline Drive. Once they were loaded up, I bid them adieu and wished them well in their travels. It was really odd watching them roll out and knowing I was no longer going to be riding with them. What was more odd was the weird sensation I got watching those guys roll out to finish "MY TRIP"!!!


The "MY TRIP" plan looks like this: Ride from home to Pooler, GA and visit
the Mighty 8th Air Force Museum. Ride from Pooler to my sister's home in
central NC for an overnight stay and visit. Ride from there to Front
Royal, VA to reach the northernmost point of the Skyline Drive. Then,
ride the complete length of Skyline Drive until it meets up with the Blue
Ridge Parkway.  Having done that portion of the ride, the next phase of
the plan is to continue the southerly trek on the Blue Ridge Parkway,
riding the entire length of that great motorcycling road.  In this
current version of the plan I would have then joined other friends in
Sylva, NC, for a week of riding in that area of the southern
Appalachians.

This is "MY TRIP" because I have been trying to make it for the past two years, but something always derails me from succeeding. In most cases my attempts have fallen apart at various points in the planning and scheduling process. However, the last two attempts have failed in the final and early moments of execution, respectively.

My most recent attempt at making this trip was this past October (2008) when I planned to set out on my own, make the aforementioned loop with a second sister visit in south-central PA thrown in for good measure, before meeting up with my riding buddies in the High Country around Boone, NC.  That trip fell apart only two days from departure for reasons that were beyond my control.  I had the bike packed and ready to go, but ended up instead having to put her on a trailer a week later and pulling her up to the NC rendezvous.

Then there is this attempt in which I actually made it to the museum's neighborhood before being recalled for reasons that are once again beyond my control.  I am starting to think that there is something about this trip that has the fates working hard to keep me from making it. Oh, well, like they say, the third time is the charm!  October is looking good for another attempt!!!

Okay, so that's the background on the whole trip plan.

With my riding pals saddled up and gone north, I finished my travel preparations and loaded up the bike to set out for home. After gassing up and activating a long playlist on my iPod, I turned south on I-95 and headed for home at 9:45 a.m.

The entire trip of 352.1 miles from the gas station in Pooler to my home in Florida was made with only one stop for gas about 24 miles north of Daytona Beach, FL, where I also took on some water and a peanut bar for myself.

I rolled into my driveway at 3:06 p.m., with the previously mentioned 352.1 miles on the trip meter. If my math is correct, I made the ride in 5.37 hours and averaged a respectable 65.6 MPH in the process. I feel pretty good about that average given that my time includes the gas stop near Daytona, and numerous stretches of slow going for construction along the way. I was also delayed by a wreck in southern Georgia where an entire semi-tractor-trailer rig was overturned and shredded by the guardrails. That truck was literally disintegrated by the shredding action of the rail posts. 

I was also delayed (or slowed down anyway) near Sanford, FL, for about 10 miles of riding through a torrential downpour that limited both vision and traction.

And finally, in eastern Polk County, right in front of Fantasy of Flight, I was delayed by a car fire on the side of I-4. The car had burst into flames just moments before I arrived at that spot.  As I rode westbound I saw a thick column of black smoke rise up just beyond an overpass ahead of me. Knowing I was near Fantasy of Flight I was concerned that a plane had gone down. As I got closer to the smoke column I could tell that it was pretty much in line with the approach path for the attraction's runway; only adding to my concerns about one of the vintage planes having gone down. But, once I got closer I could see that it was a car on fire rather than a plane. I felt an odd sense of relief at seeing that "we" hadn't lost another piece of history in the form of a vintage aircraft. No, instead, it was just a run-of-the-mill compact sedan on fire. And by "on fire" I mean fully engulfed! There was no saving that car as it was burned completely and the tires were already melted.  Fortunately it appeared that everyone made it out of the car safely as there was a small group of people standing about 50 yards west of the vehicle watching it burn.

Like I mentioned earlier, I was on scene pretty much right after the car ignited and this meant that the road wasn't blocked off yet. There were a few vehicles ahead of me and we all slowed down to a crawling pace and moved to the extreme southern edge of the roadway to get past the burning car.  Just as I reached the car and saw that there was no one in distress, the first fire engine arrived and the crew went into action very quickly to extinguish the blaze.

The remainder of my ride was mostly uneventful -- just putting up with typical, overly-aggressive Florida drivers -- and I made it home without further delay.  I am here to support the family in this moment of sorrow and grief.  If things work out I'll load the bike onto my friend's trailer and head north again on Friday to meet up with the fellas in Sylva, NC, for a week of mountain riding.

Here are a few observations from my ride yesterday:

- It is amazing what you can see on a relatively short trip if you pay attention. 350 miles on the Interstate system exposes one to a lot of interesting and diverse sights. You never know what you'll see up ahead.

- There are a lot of interesting people sharing the roadway with you. Take time to look at them as they pass by and try to figure out what their story might be. Very interesting way to pass the miles.

- Interesting people aside, there are a lot of jackasses out there, too. And many of them seem to have little regard or appreciation for the vulnerabilities of motorcycle travel. I was tailgated, cutoff, and generally harassed by more vehicles that I care to recount. What's up with that, people? What amazed me was the number of these jackasses that just don't seem to be able to see a motorcycle even when it is right in front of them or right beside them.  I was cut-off several times and had two severe instances of lane incursion where a car to my right just came over into my lane even though I was at the other driver's side mirror!

- Semi trucks are the scariest! The drivers are really pros and you can pretty much depend on them not to do anything crazy, but I don't like being in their blindspot and I really don't like being stuck beside those big wheels.

- Florida is a horrendously aggressive place to drive on the Interstate highways.  All through Georgia the pace was relaxed and enjoyable. But, no sooner than I crossed into Florida it was like someone dropped the green flag and the race was on. Within five miles of crossing the state line the aggression level of the other drivers seem to shoot up to the point of hyperactivity.  And it continued this way all down I-95 and only seemed to get worse the further west I went on I-4, with the Orlando area being the worst of all.

- Logging miles on a motorcycle is both a physical and a mental test of endurance. You need to be in relatively good shape to stand up to the demands of logging miles without frequent breaks, and you have to have your mindset adjusted to stay alert mile after mile.  I am convinced that a motorcyclist's safety and success in logging hard miles is directly tied to both physcial and mental readiness to undertake the demanding task at hand.  I'm not saying it's difficult, just that it is demanding and you need to be properly prepared for the challenge.

I have my fingers crossed that I'll be able to meet my responsibilities here over the next two days and then be able to head north again to get in that planned week of mountain riding. Tune in here for updates!