Recollection: Rides Before the Blog
Rides from the Past.
From time to time I get inspired, and like to recall some rides I had been on before I kept a blog. These listings will be different, as they will offer little or no specific directions, and may include stories from other rides, too.
This one will deal mostly with a trip to the national rally for Cruiser Club, USA. The rally is always held in June, and I believe this one was in 2001, and held at the chapter located in Farmvile,Virginia. My brother and I had gone on motorcycle trips together before, some with our father in tow, and one even had my brother's brother in law along on the journey. My brother was now mounted atop the bike that the law once owned.
We were leaving Indianapolis, Indiana, with the thought of following the National Road, US 40, to Cumberland, Maryland. That would be our overnight destination. This was before either of us had delved into the world of GPS, as they were just catching on, and with high price tags. So armed with an array of maps and atlases, we headed off, knowing we would have to stop, pull them out, and find out how long ago that wrong turn was.
As I think about the first leg eastward, I am reminded of a trip east to another incarnation of the rally, this time in North Carolina, near Greensboro. We would start out on SR 52, just a few miles south, but it stretched more south as it treks east. Not more that 20 miles into that trip, I saw a black spot flapping off the side of the road. The small bird dove in front of the bike, then quickly veered away. Not quick enough, and as I held the bike straight and at speed, I followed the winged creature as it headed toward my body. I grimaced, thinking that the beak, the talons, or something was going to pierce my skin. I had no idea how I would react. I felt the feathered beast graze my knee, and the body tumble along my thigh. It turned out to be no big deal.
When you travel off the beaten path, one thing you notice is the array of town names that you encounter. I had always thought that US 40 was refereed to as Cumberland Road because it passes through the gap, and to Cumberland, Maryland. Low and behold, this trip starts us in Cumberland. Just east of Indianapolis, along US 40, is the burg of Cumberland, Indiana. Makes me wonder how many people stopped here, think they had made it to the roads nickname.
We traveled further east, being slowed below the 55 mile per hour speed limit for town named Greenfield, Dublin, and Cambridge. At times it is hard to know if you are in the Midwest, or Britannia. We pass through Richmond, Indiana, the last town we ride through before we change states and enter Ohio.
As we passed through Dayton, Ohio, I am reminded of a trip that my brother and I took before we joined up with the Cruiser Club, and made these yearly escapades to the rally. We left from Lafayette, Indiana to overnight in Sandusky, Ohio, where we would spend the next day at Cedar Point, an amusement park that is the Holy Land for Roller Coaster fans. We were surprised that they had motorcycle specific parking. This was Monday, and there was not a huge crowd, but they still insisted on packing up at the gate, just before they flew open. My sibling and I sat on a park bench, watching the mass move it's way to the newest rides, to wait for another 30 minutes for them to open. After 15 minutes, we breezed in, and headed the opposite way of the crowd.
My brother is taller and bigger than I am, and so some of the coasters were not accommodating to someone of his stature. One of the major ones was Millennium Force. It had a harness that pulls over your head, and latches you in. My brother was way too tall for that. I waited in line, and climbed aboard the train, the second row from the very front. The younger man in front of me marveled at the first hill, running nearly straight up in front of us, 31 stories in front of us. His machismo rung in his voice and enthusiasm. With the ride full, the elevator style lift system latched on, and began towing us the 308 feet. I had a young lady sitting next to me, probably not even old enough to drive. The car crested the hill, slowly increasing speed, leaving those of us in the front hanging, the rails gone from our view. The hands of the young man in front of me went from the sky to the hand grips. His low voice strained to a higher pitch. For the rest of the ride, I would think the little girl was in front of me, not beside me. So much for the posturing.
So this brings me to my first "Sometimes People Get it". When I told people of my 95 mile per hour coaster ride, they would away ask, "Were you scared?" After a little thought, I would answer. "I got there on one of the most dangerous modes of transportation? Why would I have been scared by a type of ride that fewer deaths in year occur riding them than people using toothpicks?" And how do you manage to kill yourself using a toothpick?
So after a full day, we threw our legs over the bikes, and headed further east to Cleveland. Even with help of the natives, we were hard pressed to find a hotel. There is one at virtually every exit off the highway in Indiana, but Cleveland, none to be found! We went to Cleveland to see a Car and Motorcycle Museum, one that apparently no one knew about. Even a NAPA Car Parts store not more than five minutes from the place. Needless to say, the display of about 12 motorbikes was a let down, and we were ready to get the heck out of Cleveland!
From there we headed back to Dayton. Yeah, it has been long strange trip in this writing too, but I brought it back home, or at least to the route for you. We wanted to visit Wright Patterson Air Force Base. It has several hangers full of a history of aircraft. My first trip to the Air Force Base could have been a lot more adventurous than it was. I was in my pick-up truck, visiting a friend that lived in Dayton. He had advised me of a back way into the base. After being on a long winding wooded road, I arrived behind two cars waiting at a gate. Two guards, with the arm bands marked "MP" and a shoulder cradling an M-16 waved the cars through. When in Rome, I thought. I waved and drove on through. Thinking what a great country this is. This was way pre-September 11, 2001. After cruising the air force base, one suspected of having alien technology, I about gave up on finding a museum. I found the annex, and have touring, was told if I was not active on this base, I need to get off, and get to the real museum! That would not have been a phone call I wanted to make to my parents!
For this trip to Virginia, we had no time to stop and looks at other forms of transportation. We pressed on for what was to be a 400 mile day. We tried to stay true to US 40 on this trip, but going through Columbus, Ohio was better done on the Interstate, so we hoped on I-70. We could see this highway most of the trip, sometimes we were moving slower, sometimes faster, and sometimes the highway traffic was not moving at all!
As we pulled into Zanesville, Ohio, and filled up the tanks, I had noticed that a bolt was missing from my exhaust. That would explain the back firing I was getting out of my 2000 Honda Shadow Sabre. Luckily, this town has a Honda Dealership, and was able to supply the nuts, and lock washers to hold the system on. With that fixed, and not putting us too behind schedule, we headed out. It would be a lot of miles to make it through Pennsylvania and into Maryland. We found the hotel, checked in, and went out for dinner.
Day two would show us to Farmville, Virginia. It was not going to be a lot of miles, but we knew it would take most of the day, as we were going to head down Skyine Drive. This is a good "Sometimes I Should Get It" moment. Whenever I plan a "short" day, that will be the most time we ride on a trip. It could be 150 mile day amidst a week of 400 mile days, and it will take more time.
So we headed south for the town of Front Royal, the north end of Skyline Drive. Confusion at a city intersection early on our trip would force us to re-plan the rest of the day will out in the field. OK, I will admit it, we got lost. We happened upon a small town that had a Hardware Store, and a One Pump Gas Station. Our tanks were not empty, but our heads were as to where we were, and how to get back on path. With my atlas in hand, and a road in mind, I stepped into the service station. I showed the man where I thought we were, it was an educated guess, and where we wanted to be. "Oh no, you don't want to go that way. The road is curvy!" As he told me this, my brother stepped in. "I didn't come 500 miles away from Indiana to ride on a straight road," I answered. The guy seemed to get it. He sized the both of us up, as he ran through the map in his head. "OK," He said, "Here is how you get there. When I take this route in my truck, it take me about an hour and 15 minutes. You two on those bikes, if you are not there in 45 minutes, you are lost again."
It had seemed as though he got it. It is like when I am out, I ask the front desk at the hotel, where is a good place to eat. I never specify the cuisine, as I want that left open. If the reply is a chain that is plentiful in the Midwest, I am quick to specify that I am looking for a non-chain, mom and pop kind of place. Then, I am usually directed to a quality eatery, my kind of eatery, that is.
With this knowledge we headed out, and for more than 45 minutes. In fact, it was about twice that. One of the roads he suggested was out for repair, and the detour bit us. We had a long straight stretch, heading north, with the mountains rising just to the right of us. Rocky hills that we need to get over to get to our destination.
Eventually we would arrive at the mouth of Skyline Drive. We had a quick bite to eat, refueled the steel horses, and then headed down the scenic parkway. We would make occasional stops at overlooks, but also kept careful watch on the clock. We were traversing the Smokie Mountains, and we could see the namesake flowing up the tree covered rises. The sun was still shining, and we meandered our way south. As I rounded a shallow curve, I saw a small deer, standing about 18 inches tall, in the ditch on the right side of the road. I slowed, and moved to the center of the road. As he looked up, he jumped to the edge of the road. I scanned the asphalt further down the road, there was no on-coming traffic. I moved the bike left, to the edge of the road in the oncoming lane, slowing as I did. I made my way passed the little creature. I was nearly lugging in first gear, and I slowly began to accelerate, as I remembered my sibling was behind me on his bike. As I moved back into a proper position on the road, I continued my slow increase in speed. My brother was still a regular safe distance behind me. I searched the limited range of my mirrors, but couldn't see the little deer anywhere. Figuring that he had darted back into the woods, I turned down the throttle, drew in the clutch, and shifted to second gear. The needle on the speedometer crept up slowly. I searched again for the wildlife. Revving my way through second gear, and decided I need to increase my search pattern. I looked down, and to my right, where the exhaust opens to the environment. To my amazement, that little dear was there, running its little heart out along beside me, its ears tuned to the pipes. I was now about to shift to third gear. My fear increasing that mom, or even worse, dad was around somewhere. I turned to the road in front of me, and made my gear change. When I turned around, the deer was gone, apparently disappearing into the woods.
After several more miles, the smoke was now rolling across the pavement. It would not be long before the smoke would not turn to fire, but to water. The rain started slow at first, and then increased. We had time to put on rain gear, but the heavy rain made it hard to see. As we would meander to the west, the rain would pick up, then turning back east, sunlight was on the road ahead. It seemed as we drove south, so moved the sun. We spent the rest of the ride on Skyline Drive in the rain.
After the parkway ended, we headed off on more curvy Virginia Roads to get to our destinations. The road was full of tight turns mixed with long sweepers. We never noticed how fast we dried out along the route. We arrived at the hotel, and I had discovered the leather gloves I had purchased were not of the highest quality. The dye had run, and my hands were now black. It would take a few days before they would return to normal.
So that leads me to another moment of me not getting it. A few years later, after I had run through several other types of gloves for riding, and either wearing them out, or loosing them, my brother and I were headed through New York City to another Gathering of Eagles. You guessed it, I had forgotten, or hoped all the dye that was going to run had run, and wore them on my into Philadelphia. Once again, I was the black handed man at the rally.
If you look up Farmville, Virginia on a map, and you will have to, just like we had to, you will see it is small town. So small, that about 80 bikes rumbling around was a major show. The first night we found ourselves taking over a local bar. Not being satisfied with just being Patrons, as it was only our group of about 100, and a birthday party for an 80 year old resident. Well she got quite a surprise when most of the group gathered as near her table as possible, and sang "Happy Birthday."
Other than that, we were asked the same round of questions at nearly every stop in town. "Where ya'all from?" In which our answer was Indiana. "Where ya'all headed? And we would answer honestly, "Here". After a brief pause, and a look of awe on the quizer's face, would be faced with the third and final inquisition. "Why?" The answer could vary, but usually was an explanation of the rally.
Up to this point, I had not traveled that much at all, let alone on a motorcycle, So it was decided before we ventured off that we would take at least one day and venture out on our own. It was Friday, and we were headed to the coast, and Virginia Beach. We weren't looking to even out our farmer's tans, just ride along the shoreline.
As we pulled into town, I saw a Visitor's Center. We pulled in, parked, and stepped into the very cool air conditioned bureau. There was a younger man behind the counter. I approached, and told him that we had only a little bit of time, needed to eat lunch, and wanted to know what we couldn't miss in town, if we could only see one thing. Not only did he point into the direction of an attraction, but gave us very good directions, editing them after he found out we were on motorcycles. His guidance ended with a parking location.
We followed the along the path, and upon making one turn in town, we were faced down by military might of the past. Parked in the harbor, was the USS Wisconsin Battleship. The large barrels pointing right down the headlight of the bike. Kudos to be passed out, the Battleship Tour, even the little cafe was great. It hit the spot for time, and for our needs. With that all done, we headed back to Farmville. Or so we thought.
We had to pass through Richmond, Virginia on our way back, and somehow, we lost the highway we were on as we snaked our way through town. After 40 minutes, we found ourselves back the same point we lost the road. I looked down the cross street, and spied a highway sign. As we rounded the corner, my brother saw the turn sign we had missed on our first lap, positioned about 30 feet up the pole! So our short day trip to the beach and back ended up being about 14 hour odyssey. Like I said, the fewer the miles, the longer the day.
So now it was Saturday, and time to make the two day trek back home again to Indiana. We would begin with myself, my brother, and a couple sharing a bike from the Terre Haute Chapter. She seemed very enthusiastic about the mountain roads we were returning on. He wanted to take it slow, and enjoy the ride. That was until we really got into it. Handling a bike with the extra weight of a passenger can be a blessing and a curse. It is nice to have the company right there on the bike, but it can make a good handling bike become unwieldy. When we stopped for lunch, the other gentleman was in the later category. We had stopped in Seneca Rocks, a place I had visited before, and knew of a good place to eat. Yes, any place I have been, I know a good place to eat. He was scouting a place for a helicopter to land, one that could ferry himself, his female passenger, and his bike out of the mountain passes.
Post lunch was more curvy rocky roads. By the time we had reached the hotel for the night, he had way more than enough, and announced they would travel the super slab the rest of the way home. My brother and I would continue on the route full of less traveled roads. Being just the two of us, we could push the limits of our abilities and that over our bikes. We carved up corner after corner, slicing through the warm air of Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania and Ohio. One stop for gas and a bathroom resulted in a new idea and attitude for me. We were in the middle of nowhere Ohio. It was a late Sunday Morning. My brother had won the coin toss to get the men's room first. The ladies room was free, no one was around, and nature was ringing that bell pretty loudly. I went for it, and dove into the lady's room. It was not a whole lot different than the average men's bathroom at a gas station. Sans the condom machine, but with more toilet paper strewn on the floor. Feeling like a dog in new territory, I felt compelled to leave a sign that a man had been there. Not marking my turf like the average hound, I made sure the seat didn't get put back down after I finished my business.
I was pretty proud of this idea, and when I exited, there was no woman to be found waiting for the facility. My brother exited soon after, and we headed back out on the road. This would not be the last time I would use the other gender's bathroom. I did it in Williamsport, Indiana a few years later, at an Arni's Restaurant. However, when I emerged from this one, I was greeted by an older lady, waiting patiently. She had a stunned looked on her face, that was until she saw the line for the men's room, made up of all my fellow riders, including my father and brother. She was probably amused at the one time in history that the men's line was longer. When she left the area, a few men at the end of the line took my lead, and used the other rest room, too.
So I guess just when I think about that I am surrounded by people who just don't get it, I realize that just maybe, everyone else is surrounded by the same people, and that includes me! Hey, I think I get it, now!
From time to time I get inspired, and like to recall some rides I had been on before I kept a blog. These listings will be different, as they will offer little or no specific directions, and may include stories from other rides, too.
This one will deal mostly with a trip to the national rally for Cruiser Club, USA. The rally is always held in June, and I believe this one was in 2001, and held at the chapter located in Farmvile,Virginia. My brother and I had gone on motorcycle trips together before, some with our father in tow, and one even had my brother's brother in law along on the journey. My brother was now mounted atop the bike that the law once owned.
We were leaving Indianapolis, Indiana, with the thought of following the National Road, US 40, to Cumberland, Maryland. That would be our overnight destination. This was before either of us had delved into the world of GPS, as they were just catching on, and with high price tags. So armed with an array of maps and atlases, we headed off, knowing we would have to stop, pull them out, and find out how long ago that wrong turn was.
As I think about the first leg eastward, I am reminded of a trip east to another incarnation of the rally, this time in North Carolina, near Greensboro. We would start out on SR 52, just a few miles south, but it stretched more south as it treks east. Not more that 20 miles into that trip, I saw a black spot flapping off the side of the road. The small bird dove in front of the bike, then quickly veered away. Not quick enough, and as I held the bike straight and at speed, I followed the winged creature as it headed toward my body. I grimaced, thinking that the beak, the talons, or something was going to pierce my skin. I had no idea how I would react. I felt the feathered beast graze my knee, and the body tumble along my thigh. It turned out to be no big deal.
When you travel off the beaten path, one thing you notice is the array of town names that you encounter. I had always thought that US 40 was refereed to as Cumberland Road because it passes through the gap, and to Cumberland, Maryland. Low and behold, this trip starts us in Cumberland. Just east of Indianapolis, along US 40, is the burg of Cumberland, Indiana. Makes me wonder how many people stopped here, think they had made it to the roads nickname.
We traveled further east, being slowed below the 55 mile per hour speed limit for town named Greenfield, Dublin, and Cambridge. At times it is hard to know if you are in the Midwest, or Britannia. We pass through Richmond, Indiana, the last town we ride through before we change states and enter Ohio.
As we passed through Dayton, Ohio, I am reminded of a trip that my brother and I took before we joined up with the Cruiser Club, and made these yearly escapades to the rally. We left from Lafayette, Indiana to overnight in Sandusky, Ohio, where we would spend the next day at Cedar Point, an amusement park that is the Holy Land for Roller Coaster fans. We were surprised that they had motorcycle specific parking. This was Monday, and there was not a huge crowd, but they still insisted on packing up at the gate, just before they flew open. My sibling and I sat on a park bench, watching the mass move it's way to the newest rides, to wait for another 30 minutes for them to open. After 15 minutes, we breezed in, and headed the opposite way of the crowd.
My brother is taller and bigger than I am, and so some of the coasters were not accommodating to someone of his stature. One of the major ones was Millennium Force. It had a harness that pulls over your head, and latches you in. My brother was way too tall for that. I waited in line, and climbed aboard the train, the second row from the very front. The younger man in front of me marveled at the first hill, running nearly straight up in front of us, 31 stories in front of us. His machismo rung in his voice and enthusiasm. With the ride full, the elevator style lift system latched on, and began towing us the 308 feet. I had a young lady sitting next to me, probably not even old enough to drive. The car crested the hill, slowly increasing speed, leaving those of us in the front hanging, the rails gone from our view. The hands of the young man in front of me went from the sky to the hand grips. His low voice strained to a higher pitch. For the rest of the ride, I would think the little girl was in front of me, not beside me. So much for the posturing.
So this brings me to my first "Sometimes People Get it". When I told people of my 95 mile per hour coaster ride, they would away ask, "Were you scared?" After a little thought, I would answer. "I got there on one of the most dangerous modes of transportation? Why would I have been scared by a type of ride that fewer deaths in year occur riding them than people using toothpicks?" And how do you manage to kill yourself using a toothpick?
So after a full day, we threw our legs over the bikes, and headed further east to Cleveland. Even with help of the natives, we were hard pressed to find a hotel. There is one at virtually every exit off the highway in Indiana, but Cleveland, none to be found! We went to Cleveland to see a Car and Motorcycle Museum, one that apparently no one knew about. Even a NAPA Car Parts store not more than five minutes from the place. Needless to say, the display of about 12 motorbikes was a let down, and we were ready to get the heck out of Cleveland!
From there we headed back to Dayton. Yeah, it has been long strange trip in this writing too, but I brought it back home, or at least to the route for you. We wanted to visit Wright Patterson Air Force Base. It has several hangers full of a history of aircraft. My first trip to the Air Force Base could have been a lot more adventurous than it was. I was in my pick-up truck, visiting a friend that lived in Dayton. He had advised me of a back way into the base. After being on a long winding wooded road, I arrived behind two cars waiting at a gate. Two guards, with the arm bands marked "MP" and a shoulder cradling an M-16 waved the cars through. When in Rome, I thought. I waved and drove on through. Thinking what a great country this is. This was way pre-September 11, 2001. After cruising the air force base, one suspected of having alien technology, I about gave up on finding a museum. I found the annex, and have touring, was told if I was not active on this base, I need to get off, and get to the real museum! That would not have been a phone call I wanted to make to my parents!
For this trip to Virginia, we had no time to stop and looks at other forms of transportation. We pressed on for what was to be a 400 mile day. We tried to stay true to US 40 on this trip, but going through Columbus, Ohio was better done on the Interstate, so we hoped on I-70. We could see this highway most of the trip, sometimes we were moving slower, sometimes faster, and sometimes the highway traffic was not moving at all!
As we pulled into Zanesville, Ohio, and filled up the tanks, I had noticed that a bolt was missing from my exhaust. That would explain the back firing I was getting out of my 2000 Honda Shadow Sabre. Luckily, this town has a Honda Dealership, and was able to supply the nuts, and lock washers to hold the system on. With that fixed, and not putting us too behind schedule, we headed out. It would be a lot of miles to make it through Pennsylvania and into Maryland. We found the hotel, checked in, and went out for dinner.
Day two would show us to Farmville, Virginia. It was not going to be a lot of miles, but we knew it would take most of the day, as we were going to head down Skyine Drive. This is a good "Sometimes I Should Get It" moment. Whenever I plan a "short" day, that will be the most time we ride on a trip. It could be 150 mile day amidst a week of 400 mile days, and it will take more time.
So we headed south for the town of Front Royal, the north end of Skyline Drive. Confusion at a city intersection early on our trip would force us to re-plan the rest of the day will out in the field. OK, I will admit it, we got lost. We happened upon a small town that had a Hardware Store, and a One Pump Gas Station. Our tanks were not empty, but our heads were as to where we were, and how to get back on path. With my atlas in hand, and a road in mind, I stepped into the service station. I showed the man where I thought we were, it was an educated guess, and where we wanted to be. "Oh no, you don't want to go that way. The road is curvy!" As he told me this, my brother stepped in. "I didn't come 500 miles away from Indiana to ride on a straight road," I answered. The guy seemed to get it. He sized the both of us up, as he ran through the map in his head. "OK," He said, "Here is how you get there. When I take this route in my truck, it take me about an hour and 15 minutes. You two on those bikes, if you are not there in 45 minutes, you are lost again."
It had seemed as though he got it. It is like when I am out, I ask the front desk at the hotel, where is a good place to eat. I never specify the cuisine, as I want that left open. If the reply is a chain that is plentiful in the Midwest, I am quick to specify that I am looking for a non-chain, mom and pop kind of place. Then, I am usually directed to a quality eatery, my kind of eatery, that is.
With this knowledge we headed out, and for more than 45 minutes. In fact, it was about twice that. One of the roads he suggested was out for repair, and the detour bit us. We had a long straight stretch, heading north, with the mountains rising just to the right of us. Rocky hills that we need to get over to get to our destination.
Eventually we would arrive at the mouth of Skyline Drive. We had a quick bite to eat, refueled the steel horses, and then headed down the scenic parkway. We would make occasional stops at overlooks, but also kept careful watch on the clock. We were traversing the Smokie Mountains, and we could see the namesake flowing up the tree covered rises. The sun was still shining, and we meandered our way south. As I rounded a shallow curve, I saw a small deer, standing about 18 inches tall, in the ditch on the right side of the road. I slowed, and moved to the center of the road. As he looked up, he jumped to the edge of the road. I scanned the asphalt further down the road, there was no on-coming traffic. I moved the bike left, to the edge of the road in the oncoming lane, slowing as I did. I made my way passed the little creature. I was nearly lugging in first gear, and I slowly began to accelerate, as I remembered my sibling was behind me on his bike. As I moved back into a proper position on the road, I continued my slow increase in speed. My brother was still a regular safe distance behind me. I searched the limited range of my mirrors, but couldn't see the little deer anywhere. Figuring that he had darted back into the woods, I turned down the throttle, drew in the clutch, and shifted to second gear. The needle on the speedometer crept up slowly. I searched again for the wildlife. Revving my way through second gear, and decided I need to increase my search pattern. I looked down, and to my right, where the exhaust opens to the environment. To my amazement, that little dear was there, running its little heart out along beside me, its ears tuned to the pipes. I was now about to shift to third gear. My fear increasing that mom, or even worse, dad was around somewhere. I turned to the road in front of me, and made my gear change. When I turned around, the deer was gone, apparently disappearing into the woods.
After several more miles, the smoke was now rolling across the pavement. It would not be long before the smoke would not turn to fire, but to water. The rain started slow at first, and then increased. We had time to put on rain gear, but the heavy rain made it hard to see. As we would meander to the west, the rain would pick up, then turning back east, sunlight was on the road ahead. It seemed as we drove south, so moved the sun. We spent the rest of the ride on Skyline Drive in the rain.
After the parkway ended, we headed off on more curvy Virginia Roads to get to our destinations. The road was full of tight turns mixed with long sweepers. We never noticed how fast we dried out along the route. We arrived at the hotel, and I had discovered the leather gloves I had purchased were not of the highest quality. The dye had run, and my hands were now black. It would take a few days before they would return to normal.
So that leads me to another moment of me not getting it. A few years later, after I had run through several other types of gloves for riding, and either wearing them out, or loosing them, my brother and I were headed through New York City to another Gathering of Eagles. You guessed it, I had forgotten, or hoped all the dye that was going to run had run, and wore them on my into Philadelphia. Once again, I was the black handed man at the rally.
If you look up Farmville, Virginia on a map, and you will have to, just like we had to, you will see it is small town. So small, that about 80 bikes rumbling around was a major show. The first night we found ourselves taking over a local bar. Not being satisfied with just being Patrons, as it was only our group of about 100, and a birthday party for an 80 year old resident. Well she got quite a surprise when most of the group gathered as near her table as possible, and sang "Happy Birthday."
Other than that, we were asked the same round of questions at nearly every stop in town. "Where ya'all from?" In which our answer was Indiana. "Where ya'all headed? And we would answer honestly, "Here". After a brief pause, and a look of awe on the quizer's face, would be faced with the third and final inquisition. "Why?" The answer could vary, but usually was an explanation of the rally.
Up to this point, I had not traveled that much at all, let alone on a motorcycle, So it was decided before we ventured off that we would take at least one day and venture out on our own. It was Friday, and we were headed to the coast, and Virginia Beach. We weren't looking to even out our farmer's tans, just ride along the shoreline.
As we pulled into town, I saw a Visitor's Center. We pulled in, parked, and stepped into the very cool air conditioned bureau. There was a younger man behind the counter. I approached, and told him that we had only a little bit of time, needed to eat lunch, and wanted to know what we couldn't miss in town, if we could only see one thing. Not only did he point into the direction of an attraction, but gave us very good directions, editing them after he found out we were on motorcycles. His guidance ended with a parking location.
We followed the along the path, and upon making one turn in town, we were faced down by military might of the past. Parked in the harbor, was the USS Wisconsin Battleship. The large barrels pointing right down the headlight of the bike. Kudos to be passed out, the Battleship Tour, even the little cafe was great. It hit the spot for time, and for our needs. With that all done, we headed back to Farmville. Or so we thought.
We had to pass through Richmond, Virginia on our way back, and somehow, we lost the highway we were on as we snaked our way through town. After 40 minutes, we found ourselves back the same point we lost the road. I looked down the cross street, and spied a highway sign. As we rounded the corner, my brother saw the turn sign we had missed on our first lap, positioned about 30 feet up the pole! So our short day trip to the beach and back ended up being about 14 hour odyssey. Like I said, the fewer the miles, the longer the day.
So now it was Saturday, and time to make the two day trek back home again to Indiana. We would begin with myself, my brother, and a couple sharing a bike from the Terre Haute Chapter. She seemed very enthusiastic about the mountain roads we were returning on. He wanted to take it slow, and enjoy the ride. That was until we really got into it. Handling a bike with the extra weight of a passenger can be a blessing and a curse. It is nice to have the company right there on the bike, but it can make a good handling bike become unwieldy. When we stopped for lunch, the other gentleman was in the later category. We had stopped in Seneca Rocks, a place I had visited before, and knew of a good place to eat. Yes, any place I have been, I know a good place to eat. He was scouting a place for a helicopter to land, one that could ferry himself, his female passenger, and his bike out of the mountain passes.
Post lunch was more curvy rocky roads. By the time we had reached the hotel for the night, he had way more than enough, and announced they would travel the super slab the rest of the way home. My brother and I would continue on the route full of less traveled roads. Being just the two of us, we could push the limits of our abilities and that over our bikes. We carved up corner after corner, slicing through the warm air of Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania and Ohio. One stop for gas and a bathroom resulted in a new idea and attitude for me. We were in the middle of nowhere Ohio. It was a late Sunday Morning. My brother had won the coin toss to get the men's room first. The ladies room was free, no one was around, and nature was ringing that bell pretty loudly. I went for it, and dove into the lady's room. It was not a whole lot different than the average men's bathroom at a gas station. Sans the condom machine, but with more toilet paper strewn on the floor. Feeling like a dog in new territory, I felt compelled to leave a sign that a man had been there. Not marking my turf like the average hound, I made sure the seat didn't get put back down after I finished my business.
I was pretty proud of this idea, and when I exited, there was no woman to be found waiting for the facility. My brother exited soon after, and we headed back out on the road. This would not be the last time I would use the other gender's bathroom. I did it in Williamsport, Indiana a few years later, at an Arni's Restaurant. However, when I emerged from this one, I was greeted by an older lady, waiting patiently. She had a stunned looked on her face, that was until she saw the line for the men's room, made up of all my fellow riders, including my father and brother. She was probably amused at the one time in history that the men's line was longer. When she left the area, a few men at the end of the line took my lead, and used the other rest room, too.
So I guess just when I think about that I am surrounded by people who just don't get it, I realize that just maybe, everyone else is surrounded by the same people, and that includes me! Hey, I think I get it, now!
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