On the Run
Friday May 3, 2018
When the "tent flap" opens this morning, we see it has rained overnight and in fact, it's still a bit misty. Our Friday ride is to start at 10:00 AM.
By the time we've concluded a loud and chatty breakfast, the skies are clearing and we're off for the 10:00 AM ride. As we line up an head out, Kitty counts 21 bikes. Most are Gold Wings, several trikes, several Spyders, several Harley Davidson bikes, and a Honda Shadow. The Shadow is ridden by our friend Skippy, who three years ago had a rare complication of Type II diabetes called diabetic amyotrophy, a debilitating neuropathy that affects leg muscles and is associated with a great deal of pain. At that time he was here in a car and with a walker, and we wondered if we would ever see him on a bike again. But here he was. He doesn't feel confident enough in his recovery to the point of being able to control the heavy Gold Wing at stops, so he opted for the lighter Shadow, but here he is on a motorcycle. It's inspiring.
Putting 21 bikes in one group on the road is not to be taken lightly, and its a complex dance as we try to observe traffic laws and yet keep some semblance of togetherness. But after navigating a few traffic lights and turns, we're all together on two-lane Mississippi roads, on the run to somewhere undisclosed, known only to the leader and the tail gunner. In a quirk of roles, the tail gunner seems to have scouted out the route and is actually guiding the group on CB. It seems we're looking for a military park. After an hour or so we arrive at a location with a sign, but it's a field without entry and no military museum. We take some turns, make some fits and starts, but never do find the place.
One bike has an intermittent starter button problem and won't start when we try to leave after shutting down for a group discussion at a pullover. Someone stays with him and the remainder are waved on.
When we can't find a military museum, we know where to go: The Old Country Store, home of Mr. D's fried chicken. Except somewhere we take a left turn and ride 18 miles in the opposite direction, then need to ride 18 miles back. But it's a nice highway, and nobody seems to mind. When you're on the run, it really doesn't matter. Just happy to be here!
We've been to the Old Country Store many times on our trips to Vicksburg, and it's never a disappointment. Yes, the fried chicken here really is all that! Never greasy, always a light and fluffy batter, it's as good as it gets. It's a rather famous place; here's a link.
Mr. D. always comes out and sings to his customers. "Grandmama was a cornbread cookin' queen" is his staple offering but he sings various other songs as well.
Back at the hotel after our 180-mile ride concludes, I actually get a small nap before it's time to head out for the crawfish dinner. Rain starts to fall just as we arrive, but we park the bikes and get inside before the real rain starts. The new venue this year is the Gumbo pot, as the former venue moved and had some menu changes. Many of us get plates piled high with with four pounds of steaming hot, spicy crawfish, and diligently work our way through them. I've never learned to "Suck dat head" as t-shirts and slogans encourage us to do. We have crawfish restaurants in Virginia, but there's nothing like the real deal, fresh and perfectly seasoned, here in the Deep South. I really would ride 1100 miles to eat crawfish. It's worth it!
Afterwards, the rain has moved out and there's a bonfire in the parking lot (yes, we get the hotel's permission and it's carefully controlled in a metal container) and chat some more.
There's a scheduled group ride at 9:00 AM tomorrow, but that ride will be going north, while we'll be heading south to see our family in Gulfport, MS. So we won't be joining the ride. It looks like rain overnight and spotty rain all day tomorrow, so we bring in our rain gear to the hotel room, reconnect the trailer to the bike (I'd disconnected it and tethered it to a hotel column), test the electrical connection, and make ready to depart in the expected rain tomorrow morning.
And then the aftermath of eating spicy crawfish: I wear contacts when riding because it's such a nuisance to try to work a pair of glasses underneath the helmet. That spicy seasoning on the hands - when taking out a contact, it's like lighting a match in your eye for 10 minutes. Then there's the other eye. But I've found a technique that works fairly well: I wash my hands at least five times and thoroughly dry them. Then, when I remove the contact lens, I'm careful not to touch the eyeball with my finger or thumb. Still, I know that when I put them back in my eyes tomorrow morning, there will be a bit of pain involved for several minutes from residual capsaicin in the pores of the lens and the wetting solution.
I've attached the GPS track of our 180-mile ride because it has more fidelity than the SpotWalla link, which updates only every 10 minutes. GPS updates occur several times per second.
This has been a great day of riding and reconnecting with friends and I'm reluctant to see it come to a close, but we're ready for the next chapter.
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| On the Run |
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