May 6, 2015
Copyright(c) 2015, Jim Beachy
It looks like a stormy afternoon and evening in northern Virginia. Since we have a short day and thus the opportunity to avoid mid-afternoon storms, we roll out of Roanoke, VA in time to be home before the storms, but still fashionably late at about 9:30 AM. The sky is lightly overcast and the temperature is 70 F.
As Interstates go, I-81 is more interesting than many. It presents a constantly-changing vista, and the sometimes misty mountains on both sides of the Shendandoah Valley are usually visible in sharp contrast to the rolling farmland of the valley. Two days ago while traversing the wooded rolling hills of Alabama, I mentioned something of this to Kitty.
"I'm not bored!" she responded.
I looked around for a few seconds. We were on what by most accounts would be called a "boring" stretch of Interstate, leading straight ahead through interminable wooded surroundings that many would pass through with barely a glance, and be glad to be done with it when something changes.
"There are tiny multicolored flowers by the roadside. I like that the road has shoulders between us and the ditches on each side. The leaves on the trees are different shades of green. Those white flowering bushes smell good."
"So, life is what you make it?" I asked.
This exchange represents a microcosm of our rides. Of course we love the dramatic Rocky Mountain scene or a surf-blasted rocky seascape as well as the next person. But it's impossible to be at these places all the time. So why not make the best of the distances between those spectacular scenes? That's one of the reasons we ride: If only the best scenes matter, let's just hop on a plane, go see it, and go home again. To us, that seems like a really narrow life view that leaves so much potential on the "never did that" list. We believe that every scene has interest, and we try to take something of value from every situation, because every situation offers something.
I prefer two-lane roads when traveling two-up with Kitty, but when it's time to make an Interstatement, or when you have to go somewhere fast, the Gold Wing may be unparalleled in that category. Of course, riders of other marquees may differ, but then, I'm the one writing the blog.
Less than an hour and a half into our trek, we pull off at Staunton, VA for a comfort break, and I fuel with a half tank remaining. It could be our last stop.
But the day is growing warmer, and so are we under the liners we'd inserted into our mesh jackets. So we pull off into a rest stop to remove the liners.
At rest stops and hotels, people almost always want to talk, especially when we travel as a couple. It's an interesting dynamic, and wen traveling solo not nearly as many people approach me. I think Kitty's presence helps people see us as a "safe" couple and encourages folks to initiate conversation. They fall into two categories: First, those who ride a motorcycle and want to talk about motorycling, compare notes, seek common shared experiences. The other category is those who don't ride, who are curious about what it's like to ride cross-country for thousands of miles on a motorcycle.
The first group always wants to talk about shared experiences, a conversation without a lot of questions. Here are some of the questions we hear from the second group, the non-riders, the casual "that seems like fun" or "I wish i could do that" group.
The most common question is "What's it like pulling that trailer?" My answer is always the same: On the road, you would not know it's back there except that it appears in the mirrors. It exacts a fuel mileage toll of around 15%. I can feel a little of its weight when starting or slowing. And I always joke "You have to remember to drive 6 feet from the gas pump before making your turn!" Actually, that isn't a joke. It's important! And, then there's the backing-up-the-trailer thing. For aspiring trailer-pullers, I'd recommend practicing in your driveway. When all your neighbors are gone. It does take a bit of practice. Every time I back into or out of a parking space, I still make it a game to see if I can get the bike and trailer aligned perfectly and pointing in the direction we want to travel.
I'm often asked "Do you wear contact lenses?" Yes. And I have less trouble wearing them on the road than in an office with dry, cool air blowing over my face all day. We wear full-face helmets, and behind those and the big windshield, there is not much wind unless the face shield is open.
"What do you do when it rains?" I sometimes answer "Wish I were at home in bed." But not really. We have high-quality rain gear made especially for motorcycle riding. This means that the pants and jacket sleeves are extra long, awkwardly so off the bike, but when in riding position, they are perfect. The suits are built to take the buffeting of many days at road speed in the rain should that be necessary. We recently switched to TourMaster (http://www.tourmaster.com) two-piece suits which we have yet to test, as we didn't hit any rain on this trip. It is rare indeed that rain has changed our route, although we occasionally avoid severe weather by hanging out somewhere safe. But there was that time in New England, coming home from the Gaspe Peninsula, when... well, that's another story, actually already written in another blog segment.
"How do you keep your feet dry?" We both have Cruiserworks waterproof boots (http://www.cruiserworks.com), although I recently learned that they've discontinued the women's boot line. These 12-inch boots are made for motorcycling with grippy oil-resistant tread on the soles and reinforced arch support to minimize fatigue and vibration from long hours with feet on the pegs. They look like any high-quality leather boot that you could wear into a restaurant, but they are absolutely waterproof. They are expensive, but one of the best motorcycle apparel investments we've ever made.
Under sunny skies, we make the turn at I-81 Mile Marker 300 onto I-66 when XM Weather makes a sublimely ridiculous announcement in the headset: "Weather alert. Precipitation in the area. Clear, with rain in the area." I check the weather screen and sure enough, behind us, working in the mountains of West Virginia, are the beginnings of pop-up showers that often occur due to uneven cooling and heating of the atmosphere. There's no rain in our intended path.
We arrive at home by mid-afternoon and slowly unpack. We've been in six states on our short-for-us tour of 2,707 miles: Virginia, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, and Georgia. This has been the only tour I can recall where we had no rainy weather, instead riding for all 11 days almost always in brilliant sunshine. In another unusual twist, temperatures have been unusually pleasant, with the highest noted temperatures hovering at 84 F and one brief foray to 86 F.
An hour later the entire area around home is being pelted by dime-sized hail and torrential downpours.
GPS Track for Day 11
GPS Track for Entire Trip of 2,707 Miles
GPS Elevation Graph
Below is the GPS elevation graph of the entire trip. It literally represents a cross-section of elevation above sea level for the tour. I've included it because of several interesting features.
First, the striking identical "bookends" with exactly the same elevation profile. This happens when the same route is taken on both outbound and inbound legs of the tour; in this case, it is the profile of the segment between home and Knoxville, TN, where the route was almost exactly the same in both directions.
Second, the profile of Tennessee's Cumberland Plateau is visible between the 500- and 600-mile distance markers, with a dramatic elevation change from about 800 feet to 2,000 feet.
Last, spanning mileage markers of about 950 to 1,150 miles, you will notice the extraordinarily flat profile of the Mississippi Delta, where the elevation showed a gradual decrease of only about 100 feet in 200 miles of travel. Is it any wonder the Mississippi River winds about like a snake in that part of the country? Just after that, between 1,150 and 1,200 miles, you can see the brief rise into the wooded hills north of Vicksburg, MS, and then the return to near sea level. And from this point, only about 100 feet above sea level, the Mississippi still travels well over 300 miles until it empties into the Gulf of Mexico. Awesomely flat land!
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