Nine Days On Two Wheels


SATURDAY FEB 28
Germantown OH to East Ridge TN


This is the story of two friends who decided to ride to Key West Florida and Daytona Bike Week from Ohio; in February.

It was 12 degrees when I left the house to meet Mark, my riding partner, for breakfast. The bike felt heavy because I hadn't been on it for a few months. It's been a relatively mild winter but not really mild enough to consistently ride. I used the perceived weight of the bike to remind me that my riding skills weren't what they were when I parked the bike in November. I made a mental note to ride conservatively. As I let the clutch out on my Road King, I took one last look at the house with my truck and motorcycle trailer in the driveway. I had it full of fuel and ready to go should we have a catastrophic breakdown that required rescue. Being a motorcycle rider also means being a friend who will go to someone's house, grab a pickup and some ramps (or a trailer), then drive hundreds of miles to pick up a friend who's current adventure was broken down on the side of the road. As I pulled away I wondered why our bikes weren't in that trailer.

Despite my wondering, I knew why. I've never done anything the easy way (read the smart way). It's been that way all my life. A lot of guys joined the service after high school so I joined the Marines; how hard could be? Apparently, harder than I reckoned but it did serve me well on many, many levels.

As I rode out of my small town I became painfully aware that my electric jacket liner and gloves seemed useless. Not completely unexpected but I had hoped that the cold would wait a while before making its dominance known. Donna followed me in her car as she was going to have breakfast with us before we set out on the road.

We met Mark for breakfast and I was anxious to get on the road. I knew what was ahead of us and I wanted to get it done. Donna took a few snapshots of us and we wheeled out of the parking lot headed for I-75 South. As soon as we got on the highway the cold made itself known once again but I put it out of my mind. There would be no relief for quite some time. I told myself that every mile we rode south it would be warmer. I didn't put my GPS on the bike because I didn't want a constant reminder of how far we had to go or how long it was taking to get there.

For me, research and planning has always very low on my list. There are many things I've accomplished that I would've never done had I taken the time to do a little research. I've always preferred to eat my elephant one, get bigger as you chew, bite at a time. By then it's either too late to quit or I've told too many people things like "I'm gonna ride to the Arctic Circle". I had no idea there was a 4th time zone on the North American continent until I rode past the sign. High adventure aside, more tines than I can count, this method of operating has caught me flat-footed. But, being in those inevitable positions has allowed me to develop my problem solving skills to the point of being rather cavalier about the details. I'm sure it's a Darwinian principle at work; designed to weed out the less intelligent from the herd. These are just some of the things you think of as you roll down the highway in 12 degrees F with a 75mph wind chill.

Speaking of which, it was not totally lost on the folks traveling alongside us in cars that there were two nuts riding motorcycles on a day that it wouldn't even get up to freezing. The truckers are always the best, they know why you're doing it. Many are probably riders too but most of them have that same thing riders have, that lust for the road and the desire to be on it; to try and find the end of it. They're usually the most alert drivers on the road and rightfully so. They're in command of up to 80 thousand pounds of metal rolling down the road. Like a train engineer without the benefit of tracks; a tough job in my mind.

The occasional wave or thumbs up from a trucker is always well received. For me it's vindication that I'm not completely crazy and that someone else gets it. Many, many times, truckers have been my only riding companions.

Then there comes that moment. It's that moment I was talking about earlier. That moment where I realize I may have bitten off more than I can chew. On this day it was the clear and cognizant reaction we got from young girls driving compact cars too fast and to close to the back of other vehicles; while texting. When I saw them stop texting, slow down and actually look at us I knew we were doing something extraordinary or extremely stupid. Given my history, I was pretty sure I knew which.

We stopped for fuel a couple times and it did indeed get warmer. Not Florida warm mind you, but warm enough to make me think "this ain't so bad" and I got downright giddy when the sun broke through the clouds and shined directly on us. As the sun started to set we had a roadside conference and decided to find a place to stay for the night. A few miles down the road we pulled off and found fuel, a place to stay and a restaurant with a buffet all right next to each other. Divine intervention in my play book. We parked the bikes, set to unloading gear and walked to supper. A great day of riding despite the inauspicious start. It reminded me of something an old mega miler rider once told me; he said "If you don't ride the bad days; how will you ever know when you've got it good?"

Indeed.


SUNDAY MARCH 1
East Ridge TN to Magdalene FL (just north of Tampa)

As I always do, I woke up early and tended to my bike and gear. Out on the road, the machine and gear required to ride it take precedence over everything else. As I cleaned the windshield I heard birds chirping; it was refreshing to hear the sounds of warmth that have been gone in Ohio for what seems like ages. The sound of birds in the morning lift my spirits; the same way sunshine does. My absolute favorite sound is that of the cicadas buzzing. They only come out in the summer and summer is my favorite time of the year.

On a long motorcycle trip you have time to think your own thoughts. Time to sort out the hows and whys of what makes you tick; good and bad. Long ago I figured out why I love summer. Yes the warmth is good but my deep seated joy in summer comes from the fact that I was not a good student in school.

For me, school was a penitentiary. A place that stood in the way of a good time and more importantly, sent written word back to the home office about lackluster performance or bad behavior; of which I was the industry standard. When summer came, I knew it would be day after fun filled day without someone telling me I was "doing it wrong" or wasn't devoting enough attention or myself to the task at hand. Every summer that's come in my life has been a celebration of freedom for me and I guess that's what makes me happy about birds singing, the sun shining an cicadas buzzing.

We had breakfast, packed the bikes and got on the road. My machine felt good under me and it was humming along without effort. I thought about the bike for a moment, a Harley Davidson Road King and said to myself that I liked this elemental machine. On paper, a Harley Davidson motorcycle doesn't make sense. On the road it's another story. I've owned and ridden many different brands and types of motorcycles and I've never ridden another that had something that couldn't be quantified with a specification. Something about this bike feels "right", despite its limitations rooted in a design that goes back over 100 years.

Despite my satisfaction with this metal horse; I looked around as we glided down the road and thought what I've always thought. I said it long before the guy who has as many Tour de France wins as I do; "it's not about the bike". For a number of reasons, traveling by motorcycle makes you realize that the brand or type of bike doesn't matter. The experience is all that matters and the machine is just the vehicle to accomplish it, pardon the metaphor. I know this to be true from talking to others who journey on two wheels. They have come to the same conclusion independent of the other without collusion. These kindred souls have a greater desire to possess the experience as opposed to a material possession. This is the story of my life and it was playing well as we rode south to yet warmer temperatures.

On occasion, I travel with a GPS mounted on the handlebars. A GPS can be one handy thing to have when you're looking for a specific location. That said, a GPS can make you miss things you wished you'd have seen or even make you unaware of how you got to where you are. I've heard it said many times that the highway is a very boring ride. As far as roads go, I would tend to agree that a straight road with multi lanes all traveling in one direction isn't as engaging as my favorite twisty two lane. But if you allow yourself, there's plenty to see. The landscape, sky, others traveling alongside in cars and trucks; even the billboards are capable of telling you more than "gas, food and lodging" ahead. I had this thought as we passed a billboard ad for the;

7th Annual Mine Rescue Competition.

I knew mining was dangerous, but a competition devoted to rescuing those who do it? And the 7th Annual mind you; this was apparently something that had validity. I reminded myself how lucky I was that I didn't have to work in those kind of conditions. I told myself the next time I met a miner I would shake their hand.

We rolled into Atlanta dry and came out wet. Not soaking wet, just damp, cool, misty wet. When we got on the south side of town we met with a bit of a traffic jam due to a crash. In my mind, an accident is something that happens through no fault of your own; I've never had one of those, I've just had crashes. The stop and go traffic was an opportunity to practice low speed handling so I used the time wisely and soon we were on our way.

We stopped for fuel and a little lunch down the road and caught up with family and friends back home via texts and email. As much as I malign technology, the smart phone is one handy thing to have. In years and decades past, my friends and loved ones only had hope that I was OK while traveling to far flung places on two wheels. My only contact with them was via postcards and the occasional prepaid calling card call. I always felt a little guilty that they had to live with the nagging feeling that something might have happened to me while I was having the time of my life. The smart phone with text and email has relieved me of that. In seconds I can let one or more people know where I am, how I'm doing and even share a photo of the scenery; provided I'm in an area with service. This isn't always the case but it certainly allows me greater contact with those I care about than ever before.

The word from back home was that a pretty good snowstorm had hit after we left, which made the conditions we were in to seem a little better. I did give some thought to our return trip but dismissed it with the same cavalier attitude I've always had. I knew whatever the conditions, I would figure something out. These were the problems I was designed to solve; not how many apples would Sam have if he gave half to a friend who gave him 18% of them back. Count the apples you have left to verify for cripes sake. As a small boy I remember once asking a teacher didn't she have enough other "real" problems that would keep her from the made up ones?

We rolled down the road toward the Tampa area, our nights destination. Traffic got heavy and the sun started to set. As we got closer to where we wanted to stay the rain started coming down but not really in earnest. A quick exit and we found a motel straightway; unpacked the bikes, walked to dinner and went back to the room. We laid our plans for the next day or so and I went to sleep, satisfied that our adventure was going well.


MONDAY MARCH 2
Magdalene FL to Key Largo FL

Day three started with breakfast at IHOP. Mark was anxious to go over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge and wanted to savor the view. I must agree, it is a very beautiful structure. In my mind, there are very few roads or bridges that rate asking for money to be on; this one however, earns it's keep. Designed similar to a bridge in France, it replaced the original bridge that collapsed in 1980. I remember being in Key West at the time as a US Marine working the Cuban Boat Lift rescue mission. If memory serves me correctly I think thirty or more people died in the tragedy.

As we approached the bridge everything was in the right place. The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect and there was virtually no wind. Clearly, this was one of the reasons we came to Florida. After the bridge we continued to ride south heading for the Naples area where we would exit the highway and get on US 41 headed for Florida City. Mark and I were working well together on the road. He's getting to the point where he knows what I'm going to do before I do it. I've ridden with a lot of people but have had but a scant few who traveled the way I do more than once. That said, I know my way is not most people's idea of a good time. Given that, I've ridden more solo miles and trips than most.

The other thing about motorcycle friends and companions is that motorcycling isn't a life long passion for most people. Usually it's either something they did when they were young and have gotten back into it or it's something they started later in life with no prior experience. Interests and priorities change and so does the motorcycle circle of friends. There are those that have ridden all their lives and will continue to do so until the day they die. They're always around and can be counted on for a ride most anytime.

There are a few, as mentioned before, that come to it later in life and kick themselves for not doing it sooner. They can be the most rabid. They love riding so much they're afraid they're going to miss something so they ride every chance they get. Evidenced in the fact that Mark rode out of Ohio on a freezing winter day. I think he will ride the rest of his life like myself and a few others.

Motorcycle friends can be counted upon even when they aren't with you. Just south of Naples we stopped for fuel on a connector road that led to US 41. Mark's Gold Wing sounded like it was dieseling (continuing to run even though the key was off). It had gotten pretty hot when we were stuck in traffic just prior to that. I made sure the key was off, put the bike in gear and let the clutch out while braking to kill it. After fueling, his bike wouldn't start; it was completely dead. We pushed the bike into the shade and I used my volt meter to see how much juice the battery had; just over 5 volts.

A group of BMW riders made a valiant effort at trying to jump Mark's bike but I knew there was no way that bike was going to stay running. It was a new battery or we were dead in the water. They were amused that it wasn't the Harley that had broken down; I took the ribbing all in good fun.

Mark got right to taking care of things and I phoned one of those motorcycle friends you can count on. Don is the most knowledgeable person I know who understands all model year Gold Wings and potential problems. I asked him if this particular model would engage the starter during low battery voltage and he replied yes. That made me realize the noise I heard was the starter engaging and not dieseling or a cooling fan running. I told Don where we were and within minutes he had located an Auto Zone within just a few miles, made contact, found a battery in stock and gave me the name of the person at the store who had it waiting on me. Mark pulled the old battery while I rode over and fetched the new one. After I arrived back at the filling station Mark installed the new battery, buttoned everything up and we boogied on down the road like nothing happened. I was happy how well the three of us worked as a team and took care of things.

We traveled south and east on 41 through some beautiful everglade marshes. I turned us south toward Homestead and Florida City in hopes of finding a room in the latter. Traffic on the two lane road was painfully slow and when we finally reached Florida City I turned south on US 1 by mistake. The hotel we were looking for was north of that juncture. I realized my mistake right away but wasn't able to reconcile it because of the retaining walls. We stopped for fuel in Key Largo and decided to spend the night. Mark found us a room, we settled on Subway for supper and finished the day.

 

TUESDAY MARCH 3
Key Largo FL to Key West FL

We had a good breakfast at the hotel and I snapped a few photos of the palm trees and boats nearby. I always come back from these epic trips with great stories but virtually no photographs. I guess it's because stopping to take photographs breaks the magic of the moment and they never really capture it anyway. So I settle for snapshots when I think about getting them, then file the images and experiences in my mind. I can call them up almost at will and experience them again whenever and wherever I want. However, the only real way I've found to capture the things I've seen and experienced while riding is writing them in a journal such as this. While a well taken photograph is a thing of beauty, it can not tell of the struggles and joys that preceded it; nor the elation of the moment.

We got out on US 1 and rode a lazy pace just soaking in the beauty. This was why we nearly froze to get down here; we had indeed arrived. The water on both sides of the road was azure blue and the birds were fishing for breakfast in earnest. I saw a pelican gliding at almost a standstill into the wind hunting for something to snack on in the water. It felt like I could reach out and touch him.

As the miles passed, we drew closer to Key West. I hadn't spent any real time in Key West in almost thirty five years, when I was assigned there during my time in the Corps. Mark had put in the location of the Southern Most Point in the USA bollard in the GPS so he led us there only to find people waiting in a line a block long to have their photo taken. I wondered if they knew that it wasn't really the southern most point; it was really further south west at Fort Zachary Taylor.

We passed on the photo and went to the motel which was a traditional stucco-deco affair and quite pleasing to the eye. We decided to split up and meet on Duval Street later for dinner; this allowed me to go scout the Navy bases, Trumbo Point and Truman Annex. They were just where I remembered them to be but the guards at the gates wouldn't let me in. In this day and age it's quite understandable. I took photos of the signs (which was permissible) and called the job done.

After I took the photos at Trumbo Point I thought about my time there before. I looked through the fence at the place where we processed and contained thousands upon thousands of Cuban refugees, 124,779 to be exact. There were many good people that came to America during that time and I was fortunate to meet some of them. I, along with most of the other Marines in my unit worked in the section that had the largest concentration of men who were or had been in prison. It seems that Castro felt the refugee operation would be a good time to offload some of his prisoners.

Our job was to manage and house these people in tents until their status for immigration could be determined or when they would be transferred to Fort Indiantown Gap Pennsylvania or Fort Chaffee Arkansas and housed until deportation. We knew what they didn't; that they would probably never become US citizens because of their pasts. I never once told any of them they were going to Miami, which they pronounced "Meeami", but I never denied it. We also knew that some of these men were very dangerous and having them on their best behavior was beneficial to us. Especially given the fact that we spent long days and nights in the fenced in area (known as the 2C Section if I remember correctly) and carried no firearms.

As I stood at the gate of Truman Annex I remembered being driven in trucks everyday between the two installations. They weren't really far apart but the ride in the summer sun was blistering because the trucks had no canvas over the beds. You had to cover every inch of your skin to keep from being burned.

The barracks we were housed in at Truman Annex were old Navy units that had been mothballed. I remember thinking at the time that the stuff other services quit using or throw away was better than what we ever had before. On our time off we were free to snorkel on our own private beach or go into town and enjoy ourselves. I spent almost all my time exploring the part of Key West they now call Old Town.

On one of my first nights in town I went to a small pizza shop on the south side of Duval Street for something to eat. The fellow running the place made it a point to tell me all the things I needed to do and see. The one thing he was adamant about was going to the pier at the end of Duval for the sunset and I remember thinking; "Dude I've seen the sunset on the Red Sea, in North and East Africa, in the mountains and great plains of the USA. You want me to go to a concrete dock and watch the sun go down?"

Despite my cynicism I walked west to the pier just before sunset. There were jugglers, acrobats, singers, fire eaters and all manner of street performers you could think of. As the sun started to set, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked west. It was almost as if you could see that big orange ball falling over the horizon while colors of the water and sky changed hues. When the sun slipped past the horizon everyone clapped and cheered and some people hugged each other. It was indeed the best sunset I had ever seen in my life because I was able to see it happening. I went back nearly every night for this amazing performance.

I met Mark for dinner at Sloppy Joe's then we headed to Mallory Square for the sunset. While the pier had changed a little in terms of development and the vibe was a little more commercial; the feeling in the air was very much the same as I remembered. The street performers were doing their shows as the willing crowds gathered. We watched a young man do a juggling and acrobatic act who was quite good. After the show we found a seat and waited for the sun to set. As the time grew closer the crowd got bigger and it became apparent I needed a better spot to see. I climbed into the fork of a tree and had, no pun intended, a birds eye view. Mark stood on a section of concrete to see over the crowd as well. I have a camera on my phone that is probably better than most cameras I've ever owned. I used it to take photos of that sunset as it slipped past the horizon, just as it had many times before in my presence. What it failed to capture was the moment when the sun fell below the water and everyone clapped and cheered, all grateful for the show they had been honored to see.

We walked back to they motel in the dark and turned in for the night. I was happy to have the opportunity to show my friend a genuine Key West experience the day before his birthday.


WEDNESDAY MARCH 4
Key West FL to Port St Lucie FL

I woke up early in hopes of writing a little and to take a few photos of the motel. As I said before, it's an older stucco-deco design and that architecture epitomizes south Florida for me. Given that, our destination for the day was South Beach, in Miami. We had reservations to stay at one of the old deco hotels on Ocean Drive and then head toward Daytona and Bike Week the following morning.

We went to the Key West bollard to take some photos and I was surprised to see people there just after sun up. We took pictures for the folks who were ahead of and behind us and they reciprocated for Mark and I. As we started to pull away I saw some trash cans on the curb; one of which, was labeled "Only Coconuts". Only in Key West.

As we headed to Pepe's Cafe for breakfast I saw a tree that had vines as thick as roots growing off the branches and down into the ground. I had to stop and get a picture of it. It was rather odd looking and I can't recall seeing anything like it before.

The people of Key West don't appear to be early risers. Just about everyone I saw looked like Mark and I, which is to say tourists. Clearly, the people walking around Key West with skin as brown and weathered as an old Stan Musial ball glove at a garage sale were "locals".

As we rode up the relatively uncluttered streets the chickens walked around freely as did the roosters who were crowing like street performers. They're all over Old Key West and were there thirty five years ago as well. I don't remember the story on them but I do know the one about the six toed cats. Legend has it that Earnest Hemingway received a cat as a gift from a sea captain once. That cat had six toes on each foot as opposed to the customary five. As time went on, the six toed cats proliferated and the island was full of them. When I was there in 1980 the place was lousy with them. They were quite friendly and I remember musing that this was a unique place where a deformity made you a star. Little did I know that one day I would have two cats at home, both with deformed limbs, who eat Boars Head turkey and live like kings.

We arrived at Pepe's and had a great breakfast. It was Mark's birthday and I wanted him to have a good one. After finishing, we rolled out of Key West headed up US 1. As you would expect, the weather was perfect. The water was every color of blue depending on where you looked and the angle of the sun.

At breakfast, Mark and I had discussed music while riding. He and I are completely opposite when it comes to music and riding. I find music to be a distraction and he finds it to be something that helps him focus. That said, I do listen to music as I travel the country on my motorcycle. The music I listen to is in my head and it always matches the rolling panorama and my mood perfectly. The music I was playing on this day was Enya (a female Irish singer) and Christopher Cross. I think I played the latter because he was popular during my time on the island and his music seemed to fit; much the way John Mellencamp goes with riding in southern Indiana.

I saw some people doing the para-sail wake boarding thing on the Atlantic side of the road so I stopped on pullout to snap a few pics. It looked fun and wind was pretty good; the boarders were sometimes picked up off the water and carried a little ways. I'm not a real bad guy at heart but if these folks were gonna attach a big parachute sail to their body, get picked up by the wind and be pulled into the trees, I'm gonna watch. When all that occurred was some good clean fun without injury; I was over it. We jumped back on the bikes and rolled north.

As we passed Key Largo I endeavored to bring my wife Donna to the Keys. She also rides but was unable to get the time off from work; she's the best riding partner I've ever had. Donna is a good rider and never complains about long days in the saddle or bad weather; I'm very proud of her abilities. Thinking of her made me realize that I'm drawn to adventure far from home but always miss my family, friends and the small Ohio town I'm from. I was born there and that's where I'll be buried; in the same place my grandparents and great grandparents are. I've seen a great many sights of the world but none of them compare to the banks of the Big Twin Creek.

Mark navigated us to South Beach via GPS which allowed me to relax and look at the skyline on the way in. I love the architecture of south Florida, new and old. We arrived on Ocean Drive and it was as expected, very deco and clogged with traffic. Yet another opportunity to practice low speed handling drills. The riders from Florida may not be known for being able to ride curves but I don't think I'd ever challenge one to a slow race.

We found the hotel and there was no parking; none. The information we had was there was on site private parking but valet said that "our" parking was six or seven blocks away in an open lot. We rode over to inspect it and found a valet lot where a couple guys were moving cars in and out at a fairly rapid rate. Mark had his heart set on staying in South Beach for his birthday but there was no way I was gonna leave my bike there. It had carried me the fifteen hundred plus miles thus far and was going to take me the additional twelve hundred home. I 'm not a spit and polish guy when it comes to my bikes. They're maintained very well but aren't very clean. In fact, I'd say the only time one of my bikes has had a proper bath is when I've taken one in for warranty service at the dealer. They seem to have a policy of sending it out shiny and new looking. I know whoever does that job at the dealer I go to is sick when they see me roll in. I don't know for sure how hard it is to get five month old bugs off six month old grime but I'm guessing it's a tough job.


I said all that to say this. It isn't that I didn't want my bike to sit outside. It's that I wanted to have a bike, more specifically a complete bike, to ride in the morning. I suggested to Mark that he stay in South Beach for his birthday and I would meet him in Daytona. That way he could still have a great time and we wouldn't lose the non refundable rate we already paid. He wasn't having any of it and I told him I didn't want to be the cause of him missing something he wanted to see. I struggled with it for a little while standing next to the "private parking" and came to the conclusion that I had to push on. Mark had gotten on the phone independent of that and negotiated some kind of a refund, half I think. At that point I would have paid a 150.00 bucks NOT to stay there.

We had a curbside conference and decided to get north, find a place with a motel and a place that served seafood. We hammered up I-95 in heavy traffic until we came to Port St Lucie FL. We secured lodging, loaded our gear into the room and walked to the restaurant. Mark was happy to have his seafood dinner and was excited about getting to Daytona for Bike Week even though we'd both been there before. I was happy that he had a good day despite the South Beach snafu and placed him among the scant few I would travel with again. It's easy to ride with someone when the weather is great and things are going well. It's a little harder to find the ones you want to ride with when things don't go as planned or the weather doesn't cooperate.

The gist of all this is; I defy any rider to tell me in great detail about the last five sunny day, nothing went wrong rides they were on. In contrast, I'll put even money on the fact that every rider can tell me anything I wanna know about the coldest, wettest, longest, hottest and most dangerous rides they've ever been on. In my mind, it's those rides and experiences that prepare you for the next time things don't go as planned.

 

THURSDAY MARCH 5
Port St Lucie FL to Daytona Beach FL

Mark and I had breakfast at the hotel and mapped out the day. I usually have a general idea of where I'm headed and what I want to do on my two wheel journeys. However, I leave a lot to chance and spur of the moment. I've seen things others have missed having a rigid plan and I've put myself in a bind because I wasn't planning far enough ahead. I've had more success than failure with this method and it suits me.

I sometimes chuckle to myself when I hear people planning a motorcycle trip that has them in specific places at specific times, between points A and B. They don't know what they don't know. Heavy rains, high winds, a screw in a tire that has an inner tube, traffic reroute/blockage or just something that looks better than where you're headed. All these things and many more can lay asunder the best laid plans. I prefer a general but fluid plan much like a musician playing and composing music at the same time.

We headed north on I-95 toward Daytona Beach with Mark in the lead. He had the motel address in the GPS and I was feeling a little guilty having him behind my bike given he likes to listen to music. My bike has a two into one pipe for better performance and while it's baffled, it's not as quiet as the stock exhaust. I endeavored to make sure he was up front more often so he didn't have to hear it.

When taking a long trip on a motorcycle I find it hard not to "bond" with the bike. I feel a connection to this thing that without me can't even stand upright. I am a part of it and it is a part of me; both are responsible for the other. I agree to maintain the machine and not do anything stupid with the controls; in return I expect that my machine will not catastrophically fail and do what it can to mitigate anything that isn't beneficial to both of us. Together we arrive safely.

I've had this relationship with every bike I've ever owned and they each have had their own personalities. The Japanese bikes all were willing to do whatever was asked, even if I was wrong. I once had a Ducati that I rode across the US and it was the most cantankerous, finicky machine I ever had. However, on a curvy mountain road she would redeem herself over and over. I would literally forget what a pain in the *** bitch she was when that bike carved those corners and the engine was belting out that 90 degree L twin song.

Of all the motorcycles I've ever owned, none of them have reached the level of connection I have with my Harley Davidsons. I understand completely that my Harley is an inanimate object; a thing and not a being. But despite knowing that, the feeling is there. That feeling is there for millions of others as well. The logical side of me says it's mostly marketing, but marketing can only go so far.

As we rolled yet closer to Daytona, I thought of what we would see there. Thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts of every shape, size, color and sex. From people dressed like swashbuckling pirates and power rangers who look like they're about to cross the Gobi Desert to a guy like me that you wouldn't know rode a motorcycle unless you looked at the toe of his left boot. Every last one of these enthusiasts have a purpose and a place in the motorcycle community as far as I'm concerned.

Take for instance the Harley Davidson enthusiasts who wear everything emboldened with the HD logo, of which there will be many. While not my style, I appreciate the fact that they financially support a company that makes the kind of motorcycles I enjoy. Moreover, the image these customers have in their mind is important to Harley Davidson and they are very careful about changes to the machines they produce. Love em or hate em, no other motorcycle company in the history of mankind has been continuously making and selling motorcycles as long as HD. Sell a hundred T shirts and I can buy oil filters and brake pads cheap. I can also get a part for my older machine many years down the road because of the lack of "progress".

There will also be the old guard there. The Harley riders on their AMF era machines they bought new and continue to ride. I, along with other Harley enthusiasts owe them a debt of gratitude for staying with Harley Davidson when they were making an inferior product. Without their loyalty, Harley Davidson would have ceased to exist because the Japanese machines were better built, more capable and cheaper. In my opinion, the quality of a modern Harley is owed to the competition the Japanese brought in the 60s and 70s. As motorcyclists, we're all part of the big picture; no one better than the other, just different.

Mark led us through light traffic very well and I did my job as his second. Whether in a pair or a small group we, along with the others we ride with back home, let the tail wag the dog. What that means is when traveling on multi lane roads the last rider watches the lead rider for signals or cues of what they need next; IE another lane to the left or right. The last rider sees the signal or the need for a lane change and makes it. Everyone in succession from back to front changes lanes. Using this method, the group maintains its integrity and it's safer because it nearly eliminates the chance of another vehicle entering the group. I prefer groups no larger than five and multiple groups if need be. When using multiple groups, staggered start times and prearranged intermediate and destination points can be arranged. Large groups are hard to manage, tie up traffic and generally open up the possibility of riders hitting each other.

Using this method, Mark and I got up the road at a good rhythm and pace. I watched him at the front to see what he needed and I moved left or right to give it to him, no need for hesitation, just one fluid forward movement. We took the Daytona exit and turned east toward the Speedway. We rode under the familiar "Welcome to Daytona Beach" sign and I told myself I needed to get a photo of it to match the one I have im my mental photo album before we left. We got to the motel in pretty short order and it suited me to a T. It was an older court style motor motel from the 50s or so. Plenty of front door parking, the rooms were well equipped and clean. It doesn't get any better than that as far as I'm concerned.

We settled into the motel and headed for the beach. Even though Mark had been to Daytona before, I wanted him to have the opportunity to ride on the beach where the motorcycles races were held that started the tradition of Bike Week. We went to the beach entrance, paid our ten dollars and rode out onto the sand amongst people sunbathing and playing in the water. The hard packed sand was very rideable but there were places where the sand turned soft and deep like the kind in an old bank lobby ashtray. We rode south on the beach and took a few photos before exiting back onto the road.. That experience would give anyone, regardless of skill level, a true appreciation for the men that raced on that sand from 1937 to 1960.

We headed to a local Kmart for some supplies and then to dinner. We were both excited about the next few days and happy about how our trip was going so far; which is to say very well. We headed back to the motel, caught up with family via text, email and phone and enjoyed the spoils of a short day.


FRIDAY MARCH 6
Daytona Beach Main Street

I got up early and adjusted the clutch on my bike. All the South Florida "slow races" on the freeways took their toll on the friction plates as I refuse to duck walk a motorcycle. If my bike is moving, my feet are up; if I wanted exercise I'd ride my bicycle

I was done with the job in a couple minutes so Mark and I headed out on foot to Main Street for the day. It was cool and damp, which we felt right away given we'd been further south and gotten used to 80 degree temperatures. As we crossed the Speedway Blvd bridge it started to drizzle and I knew we were in for a cold wet day. Mark, who is forever the optimist, pointed out that "it might burn off". Whether it would or wouldn't, it didn't matter. We had ridden the long way to Daytona Bike Week and in a matter of a few blocks were going to be there.

We arrived on Main Street and there weren't many people. I have to admit I've never made the first day of Bike Week so I didn't know if that was good or bad. Northerners who choose to ride their mounts to Daytona tend to wait for the best weather opportunity to leave home. Sometimes a couple extra days waited can make all the difference.

We did some people watching, walked into a couple of stores selling Bike Week T shirts and just about everything else you could think of. Mark was looking at gifts for his wife Lynne and daughters, one of which, Lyndsay, who started riding her own bike last year. Two of my three children learned to ride and I can tell you there is very little that tops riding with a loved one who enjoys riding a motorcycle as much as you.

We stopped at a place called the Lucky Rooster near the east end of Main Street for breakfast. Just a couple mornings before we had breakfast at Pepe's Cafe in Key West where a rooster stood guard over my bike. Ironic I thought.

After we had breakfast I was on the hunt for a hooded sweatshirt. I'm not a souvenir kind of guy but it was getting colder and wetter by the minute. After we found a hoodie and I was sufficiently dressed we stopped in one of the open air bars for Mark to have a drink. This was one of the reasons we walked to Main Street. Mark enjoys a drink now and then and is responsible about it. I don't drink and can't say I know anything about liquor, beer, types, brands or the associated costs. When the bar keep brought Mark his mixed drink in a small plastic cup and asked for fourteen dollars, the look on his face said that a drink was substantially cheaper where he normally drinks.

We walked around a little more and I started shopping in earnest for a shirt for my wife Donna. She also rides and wears protective gear when she does but also enjoys biker clothing as well. Not everyone has to bear a cross like that but I'm happy to make the sacrifice

As I was looking for Donna's shirt we were approached by a woman from Ireland (or at least she said she was) who was very helpful in selecting something. At first I thought she worked there but after a few minutes I realized we were on the crazy train. My mother always taught me to be polite to ladies so I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to extricate myself from the situation. Mark did what any good friend and traveling companion would do in a situation like that; he left, laughing no less.

We did some more people watching from the front porch of a bar and the rain fell a little heavier. The show on Main Street was subdued because of the weather but we did manage to see some pretty unique motorcycles. I took photos of them and bored Mark with the details of why the bikes were special. I could see his eyes glaze over but I kept at it; I was reconciling his non existent rescue earlier.

After spending the day and seeing all we wanted we walked toward the motel in a misty cold rain. We stopped for some dinner on the way and then walked back to the motel. As we settled in for the night we both agreed it had been a great day.



SATURDAY MARCH 7
Daytona Beach Speedway

We woke up to a cool and damp Daytona morning and headed to breakfast near the Speedway. The weather suited me to a T because I was thinking about that cold ride home and how the cooler weather was breaking it to us gently.

After a good meal we headed over to the Daytona International Speedway for the vendor expo. Because we were were early, traffic and parking was easy. Mark was looking to have some LED lighting added to his bike so we went there first. Not long after, we left his bike there for the installation. I was specifically interested in the motorcycle manufacturers tents to see what new models and innovations were out. While I'm not shopping for a bike, I'm always interested to know what's out there.

We made fairly quick work of our exploration and went back to pick up Mark's bike. He wanted to spend more time at the vendor area and I wanted to hit the swap meet on the other side of the highway. We agreed to meet back at the motel later and I was off. I cruised over to the swap meet, found some gifts for the grand kids and rolled back to the motel. I started preparing my bike and gear for our departure north in the morning. As I packed my gear and prepared my bike I thought of the route home. I tend to think of distance in sections, not really thinking about the destination until it's at the end of the section I'm riding. Kind of like waiting to open a Christmas present even though you know what's inside. Once I arrive home and the journey is ended, it becomes a possession like all the other trips I've been on; my kind of souvenir I guess you could say.

My standard MO for a journey like Daytona FL to my home in Ohio would be a single ride home, no stopping for anything but fuel. The only consideration of time would be when I would arrive at major cities and the resulting traffic pattern. Being this early in the season and that I'm traveling with a friend, I'll change my method to a two day affair. A one day trip of that distance is only a good time to but a few people. No need to end a good trip for Mark with a memory like that. I remember a coast to coast ride from Jacksonville FL to San Diego CA I did with two close riding friends once. We did it in 44 hours, 30 minutes and I remember being surprised that it really wasn't tough at all. With modern motorcycles and good gear it's really nothing more than a bunch of riding.

We ordered a pizza to the room so we wouldn't have to go out. After we ate, we went outside to look at Mark's lights in the dark. They were worth the effort; they increased night time visibility and they looked good as well. I think he was pretty pleased with them. We ended our last night in Daytona, which for me, wasn't the destination. As these kinds of places always are, they're nothing but a stop over. A fun stop over mind you, but a stop over none the less.

I started riding motorized two wheelers before I was 10 years old. My first bike was a mini-bike with a Tecumseh engine and a centrifugal clutch. I remember seeing people riding real motorcycles and thinking the same thing over and over. I thought about what I'd wish for if I ever found a genie in a bottle, you know, the three wishes. I wanted the following three things:

To posses the ability to ride a motorcycle with real gears, a clutch and larger wheels. Those small wheels on my mini-bike were murder on bumpy roads.

A motorcycle with the above mentioned characteristics; it didn't have to be fast; just able to keep up with traffic and take me places. Since I knew I was dreaming, I also wished (as part of that wish) that it would never run out of gasoline.

The third wish was pretty simple. I would wish for a road that never ended. Because I was young and didn't have a license my riding was limited in scope, even though I ventured onto the roads outside the small town I lived in. I wanted to be able to get on a road that went somewhere, and then, somewhere else. That was my third wish.

So that's why Bike Week, Key West, the Grand Canyon, the Pacific Coast Hwy, the Alaskan Canadian Hwy and the Arctic Circle are just secondary to my real destination. My true destination in life is on the seat of a motorcycle going down that road I wished for; and tomorrow, I'd be on it. We turned in for the night in preparation for our journey home.

 

SUNDAY MARCH 8
Daytona Beach FL to Knoxville TN


I woke up early and wrote some of my thoughts of the previous day. My mind is clear in the morning and that's the time I'm most able to put thought to paper. Mark woke up and we set about packing up and leaving the motel for breakfast and then the ride to Knoxville, TN. Having fueled up the day before, we got on the road right after breakfast. We went north on I-95 for a few miles and then west on Florida 40 towards Ocala and I-75. As we rolled west on the two lane, I took in the sights of inland Florida. The road was lined with pine trees interspersed with palm trees. The further inland we went, the taller the pine trees got; it reminded me of being in the Carolinas. Soon there was the occasional hardwood tree with Spanish moss hanging from the branches, an unmistakable sign we were in the American south.


We started seeing motorcycle riders heading in the opposite direction, probably headed to Daytona. I opined that they had not yet arrived there because they were all waving the wave that most fellow riders give each other out on the road. At a rally where you're in the presence of literally thousands of other riders you suspend the rule out of necessity because you'd never have two hands on the bars. These folks seemed to be waving the “We're almost to Daytona” wave, that appeared to be filled with happiness.

We worked our way to I-75 north and started putting down the miles. I had been keeping in touch with another friend who was making basically the same trip as Mark and I, just a week later. Our schedules didn't jive so we went in three groups at different times. I texted Toby, the leader of one of the other groups, about their location and how things were going. At about 1230 hours we passed each other on the highway; Toby saw us but I didn't see them. Apparently at the place where we passed, a law enforcement officer had someone stopped. I pay strict attention to cars in the area of a police traffic stop because people do stupid things when they see the police; even when they're obeying the law.


We continued to ride hard north, only stopping for fuel and snacking when we did. The weather was great and we were making good time. That made me start thinking what I always think; when the weather is good, don't stop. I had a ton of work to do at home and a short period of time to get it done before other obligations would keep me from it. Mark planned ahead and had been working via his computer while we were away. Unfortunately, the things that were waiting on me couldn't be done remotely. As we got closer to Knoxville I started thinking more and more about just riding home as opposed to stopping, the extra day at home would help a lot and I missed Donna as well. At a fuel stop I mentioned to Mark that we could probably do the 900 plus miles to home pretty easy. Given we'd only be a little more than a couple hundred miles from home when we arrived in Knoxville, it didn't seem like much when compared to how far we'd ridden in the last week. I could see that the idea of riding further than he ever had in one day, in the dark, wasn't appealing to Mark and I understood why. As I said, riding long distance on a motorcycle is different than being in a car in every way, including the risk factor when day turns into night. Because of all those things, we stopped in Knoxville Tennessee for the night and went to supper near the motel.


We talked about the trip and how successful and fun it had been for both of us. Truly, it had been about as trouble free as you can get. We talked about how being out on the road on a motorcycle can change your perception of time. At this point, we had only been gone for eight days but it seemed longer, it always does. Not longer in the “when is this gonna end?” way; longer as in it seemed like twice that long, but in a good way. I've experienced this on every motorcycle trip I've ever taken and can't explain why it's that way, but to my way of thinking it's the best way to travel. Memories are more vivid and lasting than they are by any other method of travel. I have often thought that the acute and apparent danger of seeing the ground and trees fly by while sitting astride two wheels creates a heightened sense of awareness due to the human fight, flight or freeze response.


During dinner Mark talked about the next day's riding plan and I said I needed to head out before daybreak. Mark was planning on leaving a little later because he was in no hurry and there was a chance for rain in the morning. We agreed I would head out early and he would follow suit later. This was the best of all options as I didn't want to be responsible for having someone feeling obligated to follow me through a cold rain, over curvy mountain roads, in the dark. As we turned in for the night, I set my mind to the fact that I was going to get exactly that.


MONDAY MARCH 9
Knoxville TN to Germantown OH


I had a couple cups of instant coffee in the room to clear the cobwebs out of my head. I would need all of my focus for the road ahead and I knew it. A check outside told me that 20% chance of rain was all of 100% and it was cooler than any weather we'd seen in a week. Mark and I said our goodbyes and wished each other a safe journey. I suited up and headed out of the motel lot toward the entrance ramp of I-75 North.

The rain was coming down on the dark road pretty good. Traffic was moderate and given the recent change to Daylight Savings Time it was going to be dark for another hour or so. As I crossed the mountains, foothills really, I needed and used all my attention to see up the road. Just a little further north and I was all alone except for the occasional southbound car or truck. The water on my face shield refracted the headlights and sometimes made me unable to see the road. I did as I always have in that situation; whenever I saw a car coming the other direction I quickly memorized the road ahead and rode it despite not being able to see. I had certainly ridden more challenging conditions than this but it did make me think I should have pushed on the night before to get home early; I would have been in bed when the rain started. That said, leaving Mark in Knoxville would have put an abrupt end to what had been a great trip for him and I didn't want that. If getting a little wet and putting myself on the edge a little was all it was going to cost, then it was worth it.


I rode into a daybreak that was cloudy and overcast. Not having to rely solely on my single headlight made traveling much faster and safer. I made one stop for fuel and rode home without incident. I tanked up at the filling station in the little town where I'm from, as I have since I was a boy. A few blocks later and I was home. I was greeted by my wife Donna, her son Collin and my two cats Gary and Roger. I took a few pictures of my dirty bike and started packing my gear into the house. I had something to eat and told Donna and Collin briefly about my trip, knowing that you can't really convey the experience to someone who wasn't there. The stories and pictures are no different to them than vacation photos of anyplace else they didn't go. This text is a weak effort at conveying what it's like to travel by motorcycle far from home. I hope it gets the point across but in my heart I know it will only seem poignant to those who also worship in the church of the road.


Donna helped me wash and tend to my bike and Collin helped me square away my gear. As we washed my bike I saw the rust on the brake rotors and various nuts and bolts from the salt laden roads. I saw the light scratches on the saddlebags and the tank from the dirt and the light pitting on the rims from the salt in the sand on Daytona Beach. This motorcycle was becoming the kind of bike I like the most; one with a history and stories to tell. I love seeing clean and shiny custom motorcycles like the ones on Main Street in Daytona. However, my favorites are the well worn ones with a little oil seeping here and there and a seat that's nearly worn out and sun faded where the rider doesn't sit. One is no better than the other, just different. We had a good supper and I was glad to be home safe and sound after taking a memorable journey with a friend.



EPILOGUE
If this prose makes you hungry for the road you should follow that feeling and do it. If you can ride a motorcycle reasonably proficiently you can accomplish it just as many others have. It's no more daunting than the first time you learned to use the clutch with your hand and shift with your foot. Once you learn you never forget and once you've taken a trip on two wheels you never lose the urge. As in all things, there's a season for everything. One day my body will no longer be capable of setting out on a dark, rainy and curvy road in a 39 degree rain; but I will long for the days that I could. So keep that in mind when an old man holds you up at a diner or rest stop to tell you of his journeys when all you want to do is get back on your bike and ride. If you have a few minutes to spare, let me relive the greatest moments of my life even though my body will no longer cooperate. But don't feel sorrow or pity; because unlike most, my genie in the bottle three wishes came true.

Everybody dies; not everybody lives.

 

I'm no writer so forgive me for poor spelling and grammar. I took some photos (a couple of which are posted here on the forum) and I'll try to post some of them here. I hate messing around with Photobucket and I'm only marginally literate with the computer, so no promises. That said, for me pictures don't really tell the story; the story tells the story, pardon the pun.

I hope you enjoy the read and that it reminds you of a journey you once took or would like to take one day.

Ride Safe

Allan

 

That was an enjoyable read, Nomadmax. Thanks. I didn't notice any spelling or grammar problems. Funny, a lot of the things you talked about I've also noticed and reading this makes me think about writing about my Sturgis trip 2 years ago. Thing is, I always just figured it would only be interesting to me since probably most of the people here have done it.

 

DG

I enjoy reading about other people's adventures, as you saw, it reminds me of shared experiences. It's kind of like vindication that I'm not crazy, as most of my non riding friends think I am. Even though during the winter we may bicker back and forth about stuff that probably doesn't matter; the folks on this forum are probably alike in many ways.

 

Very true.

 

Thanks for sharing, great story. I should say adventure.

 

Great read. The road is always there...