Crawfish Caper, Day 6

Together
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Copyright(c) 2010, Jim Beachy

I check the Weather Channel and see that there will be no escaping the rain for me on this day. Here in Kingsport, Tennessee, it’s 62F now, and I reflect on how to dress for the day’s ride. I’m wearing just a T-shirt
(well, not just a T-shirt!), and with the rain gear, I often add only one layer: An old sweatshirt that always travels with me in the right-hand saddlebag. Kitty always laughs when I wear this thing and won’t let me wear it in public because we got it probably 20 years ago in Ocean City, Maryland during a cold snap in August; it has something like a big square target on the back. In addition to the sweatshirt, if the weather is chilly, I also take out the jacket liner from my leather jacket and put it on under the sweatshirt, thus adding another layer of effective insulation. I imagine the weather will get cooler as I ride into the rain, so I add the insulated jacket liner and the sweatshirt even though I’m instantly too warm.

I chat with Blair and Blair and learn that they are heading for Memphis today and have likewise decided to dress in their rain gear even though it’s not raining at the moment here.

I have not cleaned the bike so it is adorned with filthy water spots from yesterday’s ride. I fight my instinct to clean them off. It’s like a Pavlovian response to me: See water spots, clean. See fingerprints, clean. See dust on finish, brush with lambs-wool duster. At end of day, wax and polish.

As I back out of my parking space, I notice that the front wheel leaves a tire track and I realize it’s because last evening in the darkness, I parked right in the middle of a giant grease slick — the accumulated engine
droppings of countless cars parked in that same parking space! So now my front wheel is covered with oil! Even as I gently apply the front brake to stop my backwards progress, it slides! And as soon as I move forward, my
rear wheel will also covered with oil, having picked up the oil track the front wheel has graciously laid down. The pavement is dry, but even so, I am more than extraordinarily careful as I ease out of the parking lot, onto
the street, and navigate to the on-ramp of northbound I-81. I imagine that in a few miles the oil is off the tires, but I’m very cautious for quite a few miles before leaning into any corners or lane changes.

I stop for fuel within the first 40 miles. Solo Guy doesn’t always fuel up when he starts the day unless it’s with a group or an Ironbutt timed run. It’s still 62F and I’ve been riding with my rain suit open at the top to
keep cool. After fueling I run to the men’s rest room. There’s a sign that says “No key required. If the door is locked, someone is inside.” I knock on the door and get no response, so I push the door open and walk inside,
and am startled to find someone already there. Then I realize that he is more startled than I, because I’m wearing my full rain gear and haven’t removed my helmet. To an unsuspecting men’s bathroom user, I must look like someone from outer space!

The rain starts in earnest 120 miles into Virginia on I-81. It’s heavy, sustained, and unabated. I’d forgotten to treat my Tulsa windshield at the first fuel stop; the accumulated pounding of falling rain and road spray from 300 miles of Interstate travel has taken its tolland the windshield isn’t clearing as well as I’d like. Nevertheless, I’m able to ride at speed and decide to wait until the next fuel stop to re-apply the “210” windshield polish I routinely use on my windshield.

Now I’m glad I added the extra layer of my jacket liner, as the temperature drops to 45F and stays there for the duration of the trip. I’m warm and dry as I ride out the miles toward home. My hands are a little chilly, though. I use SealSkinz gloves (http://www.sealskinz.com), from a company that manufactures diving suits. These gloves are extremely competent wet-weather riding gloves, completely dry, with gripper dots on the palms and fingers to provide a great feel for the control surfaces on the handlebars. However, they do not offer much insulation and they have an outer layer that is, ironically enough, water-absorbent, which leads to additional heat loss by evaporation. It’s the only negative I’ve found in these otherwise spectacular gloves: They don’t provide much heat retention at 50F or below in rain.

I run north on I-81 in moderate to heavy rain to Mile Marker 300, where I-66 splits off for what is usually my last 50-mile leg on a homeward journey. One benefit of the rain is that the Shenandoah Valley, which only 5 days ago
reeked with the stench of manure spread onto the fields, now has only faint vestiges of that odor. At one point on I-66, always the coldest spot in the area, the temperature drops to 39F. I would not be dressed for sustained riding in this temperature! The rain finally stops about 18 miles from home and I finish the ride on wet pavement but without rain.

I’ve ridden 370 miles today, most of it in rain. About 600 miles of rain in the last two days, in fact. I don’t mind riding in rain but it’s never as relaxing as a sunny day: You have only one chance to get it right on a motorcycle, and a moment’s lapse or a moment’s misjudgment can have disastrous consequences. The vinyl rain cover for the passenger backrest has blown off somewhere on I-66 so I’ll have to see about ordering a new one. I had checked the antifreeze level at Kevin’s house in Mississippi, and while it was down a little, the level was ok. I’ll top it off before the next trip.

And who knew, when fighting 95-degree temperatures on I-20 down there in Mississippi, that I’d be riding in 40-degree temperatures several days later! If there’s a lesson to be learned here, it’s that I had no lessons learned. I was prepared with multiple layers of clothing and rain gear. If I came close to the edge of comfort for riding in the weather I encountered, it was the gloves. For sustained riding in temperatures below 50F, I would take a heavier pair of gloves and my old Aerostich “lobster-claw” gauntlets, which are three-fingered waterproof gauntlets that will fit over a heavier
glove and do an admirable job in keeping the hands warm and dry. SealSkinz gloves are unsurpassed in dexterity and operation of control surfaces, but the lobster-claws can offer comfortable wet-weather riding in a much wider range of temperatures.

I pull into the driveway and Kitty runs out to greet me. “I’ve been a little troubled, leaving you alone on Mother’s Day,” I say.

“It’s ok,” she says. “I’m just glad you could see your friends and spend a little time with our family.” She has a hot cup of Gevalia coffee waiting.

I pull the bike into the garage without cleaning it.

In Nova Scotia a couple years ago, in a delightful rustic out-of-the-way inn called the Shipwright Inn, Kitty and I saw a sign that eventually became the title of that trip: “Together is the Best Place to Be.” It resonates with
us. Solo Guy enjoys his time and space, and revels in the opportunity to do a ride where he can do just as he pleases. But at the end of the trip, at the end of the day, at the end of anything, I always want to come home to
Kitty.

“Together” works better for me than anything!