MACH 15: Day 3 - Slow-Down Guy

Tuesday Day 3

April 28, 2015

Copyright(c) Jim Beachy, 2015

Last night when I posted a brief travel update on Facebook, our long-time friend Sheryl posted a message that she and her husband Judson live near Lenoir, TN, where we were staying.  I responded with a private message and we set up a meeting point.

Thus by 8:30 AM, we have packed up and ridden the chilly half mile to the Cracker Barrel restaurant Sheryl suggested last night.  The temperature is 42 F.  Sheryl and Judson find us in the country store, and she is fairly jumping up and down with excitement; we haven't seen each other since 2009, she says.  Over eggs, bacon, coffee, biscuits and gravy, we talk about old times and new, the good, the bad, and ugly.

By the time we say good-bye and I load the day's route to the GPS, the sky is a sun-kissed brilliant blue and the temperature has risen to 59 F.  This is another remarkably low-mileage day and I'm hoping to take our time, maybe find a few photos, maybe find a few stopping points.  This is my third attempt to ride US 70 across Tennessee, and I think the third time's a charm.

Leaving Lenoir to the west, US 70 is a comfortable two-lane road with pleasant sweeping turns and a few technical apex turns where the sharp curve also switches from uphill to downhill.  Look sharp for those!

The gentle curves invite a rhythm of leaning and countersteering (on a motorcycle, you "push right to go right, push left to go left"), all the while keeping the eyes level with the horizon, and out of this emerges for the first time in quite a while, the alter ego known as "Slow-down Guy."  I've described my two alter egos before in other writings:  Solo Guy is the one who streaks from coast to coast in 50 hours, or rides 1,000 miles a day just because he can, just for the sheer joy of the Long Road, probably for the same reason the dog sticks his head out of that pickup truck window.  Slow-down Guy emerges only when traveling two-up with Kitty, because the time with Kitty is sometimes best savored without the intrusion of Solo Guy's mad-dash mentality.  Slow-down guy would rarely exceed the speed limit, because why would anyone want to?

And it's Slow-down Guy that gently, joyfully, allows the big bike to lead itself around the sweeping curves and undulating hills.  No hurry today, no sense of the need to cover time or distance, just a sense of being in the moment with Kitty, the exhilaration of the crisp morning and the winding road among the early green Tennessee hills and valleys sometimes dotted with large herds of black cattle grazing contently on the lush spring grasses.

As we stop for a photo opportunity along the winding road, I am dismounting from the bike with a characteristic little hop on my left foot.  My riding boot catches a little offset in the macadam at the side of the road, and I go sprawling backward onto my side and elbow.  Fortunately my leather jacket has armor panels and elbow pads, so no harm done, but I will likely have some sore muscles tomorrow!  This points out one reason Kitty is often reticent to do hiking or climbing adventures:  If I were to be incapacitated due to an ankle sprain or a broken foot, she would need help to get the bike to wherever it needs to go.  So I always try to be careful!

Elevation graph - Cumberland Plateau

Running parallel to I-40, we pass the iconic power plant on the Tennessee River and see the ramparts of the Cumberland Plateau to the north.  I-40 attacks the climb to the Plateau quite a while before US 70, which continues for some miles running through the valley.  Eventually, though, after about 30 miles, we begin the climb to the Plateau in earnest, and a good bit more more attention to the technical 

aspects of the ride is warranted: These curves are a lot tighter, and we have left behind the gentle sweeping curves of the valleys.  The Cumberland Plateau is described as the longest hardwood plateau in the world, running from Alabama through Tennessee and into Kentucky.  It's about 1,000 feet higher than the surrounding terrain, and is clearly evident in the GPS track log graph from the day's trip.  We ride about 50 miles before returning to the level of the river valleys that crisscross Tennessee.  In the lower elevations, the temperature hovers around 68 F.

Taken through windshield

US 70 sometimes turns into a four-lane highway, sometimes with a medial strip and other times not, for the most part winding through the forested hills. At a fuel stop, I decide to reroute to stay farther south from Nashville, and find my GPS map is outdated:  Rt 840 ends on my map, but continues in real life.  I stay on 840 for about five more miles, meanwhile with my poor GPS voice going crazy trying to recalculate for roads that aren't in its memory.

Eventually we find a really, really back road winding along a small stream, and thus to Dickson, TN, where we find a motel next to a restaurant.  We've gained an hour and the GPS time has automatically compensated, so it's about 3:30 local time when we stop.  "This may be a record," I tell Kitty.  "I don't know that we've ever stopped this early!"  She agrees.

At dinner, the waitress automatically asks if she can bring us some drinks, then automatically launches into an apologetic disclaimer that they have no liquor or wine until this Friday.  Apparently Tennessee has a new law that requires every patron who is served alcohol to present an ID.  Apparently the bartender there served alcohol to a minor without asking for ID; the bartender was fired and in punishment, the State of Tennessee has decreed that the restaurant may not serve liquor for a period of two weeks.  Apparently Tennessee takes their new law very seriously!  Meanwhile, the cedar-plank salmon is extraordinary.

So ends another slow-down day wherein Slow-down Guy emerges under a crisp and brilliant sky to pilot his Gold Wing for 200 miles along the miles of US 70 as it winds among the Tennessee hills.

GPS Track (gray)

MACH 15: Day 2 - Don't Judge Me

Monday April 27, 2015

Copyright (c) 2015, Jim Beachy

Last night when we got back from dinner, the cup of strong coffee and a cookie seemed like an extraordinarily good idea.  By 7:00 AM, after trying unsuccessfully all night to calculate the Poisson probability of exactly 7 injuries in a basketball game when the average number of injuries is 2, well, not so much.  Why would a Poisson distribution come to trouble my hoped-for sleep?  I have no clue.  Don't judge me.

By the time we have breakfast and I take care of some travel insurance issues resulting from a hacked credit card several weeks ago, it's after 10:00 AM when we make the turn out of the hotel parking lot and make our way to I-81 south.  It seems warm, about 63 F, but I know we are heading into some higher elevations where it will be cooler; and, standing around in the sunshine dictates that extra layer or two for when you're cutting into the wind at 70 mph.  Usually we are on the road well before this time.  Please don't judge me.

In less than a half hour, the temperature has dropped to 52 F and then dipped to 50 F, so every layer is welcome, as are the heated seats and grips.  Kitty is riding a bit chilled this morning at these temperatures; the passenger always gets the worst of it, as the big fairing's still air pocket starts to collapse around her shoulders and creates wind turbulence that creeps around the edges of a chilly morning.

At this elevation, the trees are noticeably retarded in their springtime leafing ritual, and the redbuds have scarcely started pushing their purple blooms.  It's hilly here and we are running the speed limit of 70 mph on cruise control.  When riding two-up and towing a trailer, the added wind resistance at higher speed takes a dramatic toll on fuel mileage, and this morning 70 mph seems just about right for a lazy day.  Please don't judge me.

A UPS semi runs up beside us, then hits a grade and has to drop back.  We seesaw back and forth a few times over the next five miles or so, and Kitty notices that the driver waves at us each time.  I haven't had the CB on this morning but decide he might want to talk to us.

I key up the mic.  "Good morning, Mr. UPS.  How are you doing this fine morning?  Gold Wing callin'."

He comes back immediately and with gusto.  "Doin' mighty fine, mighty fine this morning, Gold Wing.  That is one mighty fine lookin' rig you got there! Where you headed?"

"Headed for Vicksburg to eat some crawfish!

We chat for a minutes until he hits a hill and eventually we're out of range.  He explains that he has a 1995 Gold Wing, the 10th Anniversary Edition so he always looks out for bikes on the road.

At our first fuel stop, Kitty decides to put on her balaclava, so I dig it out from underneath our warm-weather mesh jackets housed in the left saddlebag.  It's simply a satin hood with a face cutout; we each have one but I've rarely used mine.  I've always said this makes her look like a monk; after we're back on the road cruising at 70 mph, she says it makes a big difference and she feels a lot warmer.  We have electric gear but didn't bring it for a southern trip in late April, and I feel a little guilty for having left it behind.  Even without electrics, though, our rain gear could add another valuable layer should we need it.


At the fuel stop, I'd arbitrarily decided to reroute and run US 11 between Bristol, TN/VA and Knoxville, TN, a distance of roughly 100 miles.  I've never been on that segment; we'd asked a woman who came up to chat if she knew that route, and she did, telling us it was a nice road.

So we prepare to take the first exit in Tennessee, Exit 74-B, to US 11 south.  Not a mile before the exit, we catch up to the UPS driver who'd apparently passed us at our fuel stop.

"So you'll be in Vicksburg tomorrow night?" he asks.

"No, no, no, we're taking all the slow roads in Tennessee and then wondering along the Mississippi River to Vicksburg.  We'll plan to be there by Thursday evening."

"Well, you have a safe ride!  Have a blessed day, and God be with you!"

"Hey, He is, and we talk to Him every day!" is my last transmission.

US 11 runs to the west of Kingsport. I tell Kitty, "I'm in the mood for a funky hometown restaurant.  If you see one that doesn't have a gravel parking lot, feel free to point it out."  At that moment we pass a little place called Katy's, which looks funky enough and hometown-ish enough, but has a deep gravel parking lot so it's off limits for us on our big bike.  We settle for MacDonald's.  Don't judge us.

During the 50-mile descent to Bristol and onto US 11, the temperature has climbed to 70 F, representing a temperature change of 20 degrees from this morning.  At our second fuel stop, I opt to remove a layer of clothing, as I'm getting pretty warm in these temps.  Kitty holds steadfastly to all her layers and her balaclava.

US 11 is a pleasant if not spectacular ride after we get through Kingsport.  It's a gently winding four-lane highway that passes through a rolling valley flanked on either side by smallish but extremely steep hills.  I now begin to understand why there are few connecting roads between US 11 and I-81; a note that if you choose this route, you are pretty well committed for most of the distance to Knoxville.  At times the route takes us close to the Holston River that winds sinuously through the valley, and then again across Cherokee Lake.  The flat surface of the river and the lake coupled with the steepness of the surrounding hills offers a scenic and interesting contrast.  At Bean Station, the highway becomes a pleasant two-lane route for the remaining 40 miles or so to Knoxville.

I have not scoped out this route at all, having arbitrarily picked a waypoint with the bike's onboard GPS system, so I only presume US 11 will join the little I-640 beltway we usually take around Knoxville.  Well, I'm mighty surprised when we reach that point and US 11 simply passes underneath the bypass and connects directly to I-40 right through the heart of Knoxville, a route I've avoided for years.  I brace myself for the dreaded Knoxville traffic, and... it's a breeze!  In 10 minutes we're through the heart of Knoxville and exiting on the south side at 55 mph.

"You must have prayed that God would part the Red Sea!" I tell Kitty in the headset.

When we arrive at the hotel in Lenoir City, after a beautiful if sometimes chilly ride of just under 300 miles, I retrieve the luggage cart to load out our stuff.  Kitty just shakes her head and says "That's pathetic!"  All I can say is, don't judge me.  Or, maybe, judge for yourself.

GPS Track (gray) and Elevation Graph

MACH 15: Day 1 - To Go or Not To Go

MACH 15: Day 1
Sunday April 26, 2015
Copyright (C) 2015, Jim Beachy

3-day, 4-day, 5-day plans.  MACH.15.  Between 1,100 and 1,200 miles separate our home and Vicksburg, MS where the great Mississippi Area Crawfish Hunt will commence later this week.  Kitty and I have ridden that distance many times in two days of two-up Interstate riding but that's not our preference.  Give us a winding two-lane road in the countryside any day.

At last year's MACH.14, we had a slow-down two-lane route planned, but had to abandon it after hunkering down in Cleveland, TN for several days amid vicious tornado-spawning storms that moved through the area.  We spent one night gathered in the hotel stairwells for safety.  Because of the delay, we had to abandon our two-lane slow-down plans and finish the segment to Vicksburg on the Interstate.

Our good friend (actually, everyone's good friend) Roger Riley was the original MACH organizer, but was unable to attend last year because of illness.  We spent an evening passing around a Skype-enabled laptop talking to him while he lay in his hospital bed.  A week later he was gone.  Having just gotten home from that ride with Kitty after wandering around in West Texas for a while, when I heard of Roger's untimely death I jumped right back on the bike and rode the 850 miles or so west to Missouri for the memorial service.  This year, the event will continue at his wife Marlene's request, but it will not be the same without him.

Nevertheless, I've spent some time again planning a two-lane route, but this time with contingencies should we run into severe weather.  3-day, 4-day, and 5-day plans.  Yesterday while at Dad's I looked at the weather and thought we'd be into the 4-day plan because of heavy fronts moving through, but by this morning the front had moved through and we decided to execute the 5-day slow-down plan starting today.  Five days to ride 1,138 miles might be the lowest planned daily mileage we've ever done on any trip, even our slow-down trips.  After Vicksburg, we plan to slide on over to Gulfport, MS to see our son and family, and then probably an Interstate ride home from there. I need to conserve a few vacation days for another planned ride in June (stay tuned - not a slow-down ride!) and for some other family time in July.

"Clickety-click" says Kitty in the headset.  For years she would say "And there we go" when she was seated on the bike, plugged in, and ready to go. Her announcement has morphed into "Clickety-click" in honor of the small click heard on both our headsets when she plugs in her helmet.  Secretly, I miss the older time-honored phrase just a little.

But it still serves the same purpose, so at 12:54, after video-streaming our church service, we ease into the street and turn left at the first turn.  It's mostly sunny and 63 degrees F.  It's just a short 210 mile jaunt to Roanoke, VA where we plan to stay when this half-day ride ends.  We discuss whether to take US 11, a pleasant scenic route that parallels I-81, but somehow we stay on I-81 after making the 50-mile run on I-66 west.

It's considerably chillier than I'd envisioned.  While packing the bike and trailer, it always seems warm, and thoughts creep in about whether we really need the jacket liner or an extra layer.  But experience has taught us to always dress at least one layer heavier than seems warranted while packing.  And so it is.  We've brought both our leather jackets and our mesh jackets.  Just because we can.  The trailer enables us to do that:  One set of jackets in the left saddlebag, wear the other set, with the rest of our gear stowed carefully in the California Sidecar Excel trailer.  I'm glad I put the liner back into the leather jacket I'm wearing.

Heading south on I-81, the mountains to the east are showing some early Virginia green along the lower flanks, and what appears to be nearly bare trees on the upper elevations.  The stunning feature of today's ride is the prolific redbud trees in full bloom.  Their purple buds are everywhere among the light tree growth interspersed with the open, rolling green fields of the Shenandoah Valley.  Sometimes they seem to form a majestic purple gauntlet for us to ride through.

After a stop for fuel and a bite to eat near Staunton, VA, cloud cover has moved in and the temperature has dropped from about 61 F to 55 F.  I've had the engine cowl heat vents on all day, but now I also turn up the heated handgrips and seat.  Kitty has had her heated seat activated all day.  When I got this Gold Wing, I scoffed at the idea of heated grips and heated seat.  "What could that do to keep a rider warm?" I thought.  "You're still out there in the wind, and it's not like heating up your car in an enclosed space."  Well, those thoughts were put to rest the first time I actually used the heated components.  I can't explain why, but the introduction of an external heat source, even if just to the palms and fingers of the hands along with the seat and back rest, creates a completely different riding environment.  Before long I've gone from nearly shivering (I really should have added another t-shirt layer) to feeling warm and comfy at 53 F.

We stop as planned in Roanoke, VA after our short 200-plus mile sprint, clean the bike's windshield, cover the bike and trailer, and find a really excellent Mexican restaurant within walking distance.

Tomorrow is scripted as another short 300-mile day on Interstates.  I'm signing off now to see if I can find some non-Interstate routes that will get us to the same place by nightfall tomorrow.

See you then.

GPS Track Log

MACH 14: Day 14 - A Mother's Day

Day 14: A Mother’s Day

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Copyright(c) 2014, Jim Beachy

“Happy Mother’s Day!” are my first words to Kitty.  It’s Mother’s Day 2014, and like quite a few other Mother’s Day, we are on the road somewhere.  Sometimes just starting a trip, sometimes, as today, on the homeward segment.  It is indeed fortunate for me that what Kitty wants for Mother’s Day is a motorcycle ride!

We have only 345 miles for today to reach home, so once again it’s a lazy breakfast and a late 10:00 AM start before we roll out on I-81 north, which actually runs more east and west in these parts of Virginia as it tracks through the valley between the Appalachian ridges.  

It’s a foggy morning after the night’s rain, and on the XM Weather radar large orange areas of fog overlay the map.  Visibility is fine, though, and the world looks a little mysterious, slightly out of focus, a little fuzzy around the edges.  With temperatures in the 70s, most of it lifts off to the mountains in an hour of riding.

Compared to our trip southward exactly two weeks ago, the trees are much greener, trees are almost fully leaved, clothed in the new green of springtime.  That same green color has clawed its way up the mountain sides to all but the highest peaks, where it will take still longer for foliage to develop.

When I travel by myself, I often spend hours listening to Sirius XM Radio.  This is great because there’s virtually any kind of music, sports, comedy, news, or talk radio one could desire, and it stays with you wherever you go until you decide it’s time for something else.  When traveling to Key West, the Jimmy Buffet channel seems just the ticket.  Or how about some good old southern rock when rolling through Alabama -- hardly anything better in the genre than Lynyrd Skynyrd and Sweet Home Alabama with that iconic guitar riff in the headsets -- or some bluegrass or mountain music while roaming in the Appalachian mountains.  Or when in Georgia, maybe even some funky country music on the Outlaw Country channel.  And it’s hard not to think of country music when navigating the expansive two-lane roads of Texas.

Of the 18 presets I can set on my system, the first three are Channel 63 The Message (contemporary Christian),  Channel 66 Watercolors (so-called “smooth jazz”), and Channel 31 Coffee House (acoustic covers and original singer-songwriter material).  I have 15 other presets with a wide variety of material plus dozens and dozens of other channels at my fingertips.

When Kitty and I travel together, she tends to prefer riding without music although I often have the CB active.  Today, though, she asks for The Message channel.  On Sundays, this channel plays less contemporary Christian music and more praise-oriented music.  As we roll toward the Shendandoah Valley, the songs are like Singalong Sunday:  Songs we used to perform years ago in our church band with various worship leaders, covers of songs we recognize but don’t know the performing artist, along with more current music and special Mother’s Day inserts.  I have to wonder how many songs have been written in the past 30 years!

We make one fuel stop near Lexington sometime after 1:00 PM, consume a protein bar and an apple each, and are back on our way on this beautiful Mother’s Day with what are now white fluffy clouds floating lazily in a seamless blue sky.

I think back over the trip.  I believe this was the first time in all our travels that we had to hunker down and change our itinerary because of severe weather.  Each of our rain suits leaked a little, and in the hours of riding through the Texas downpours we ended up with wet rear ends; we knew this ahead of time (they are very old one-piece Motoport rain suits); I’d tried to order new ones but the matching styles I wanted weren’t available in the men’s and women’s sizes we needed.  One of the best things I ever did for motorcycle traveling is to invest is a pair of Cruiserworks waterproof boots for both of us.  Expensive, yes.  But absolutely comfortable, made for motorcycling, and never a hint of moisture inside even during extended periods in the most rigorous wet conditions.  For rain riding, we have waterproof SealSkinz gloves (now branded as Hanz) with little gripper dots on the palm and underside of the fingers.  In my case, I learned that I need to be more careful in pulling up the cuff under the rain gear; water wicked up under the cuffs and eventually the entire inside of the gloves were wet.  It takes about two days to air dry these things and they can’t be hurried.  The Honda-branded Joe Rocket mesh jackets are far more versatile than I had envisioned.  With the thin 2-layer liner and a sweatshirt, I rode comfortably in 60-degree temperatures, while Kitty was a little chilly at that temperature dressed similarly, but the heated seat helped that a lot.  The passenger always gets more wind than the rider so it’s always colder back there in cool weather.

The bike and trailer performed flawlessly and as expected.  After almost 19,000 miles on this bike, I’m still astonished at how comfortable, strong, smooth, and stable it is, and how well Honda has incorporated creature comforts like GPS and XM, heated seats, heated grips, cruise control, tire pressure monitoring system, and effortless suspension adjustment into the essential DNA of the motorcycle.

We roll the final miles down I-66, onto US 29, and finally into our driveway.  It’s 3:57 PM.  I check the mileage and we’ve ridden 3,833 miles in eight states of these great United States.

And so this ride on this Mother’s Day draws to a successful close.  I cherish these moments and can hardly wait for the next time I hear Kitty’s voice in my headset:  “And there we go!”, or a more succinct and contemporary version, “Click-click!”

MACH 14: Day 13 - The Road Less Interesting

Day 13:  The Road Less Interesting

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Copyright(c) 2014, Jim Beachy

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in Tennessee, and I --

I took the the road less interesting,

And that has made all the difference

-- Apologies to Robert Frost

Any thoughts I have of recovering some scenic riding miles on US 70 through Tennessee are obliterated by a quick check  of the local weather radar:  On US 70, north of Jackson where we would be riding, there is a large red radar weather splotch that persists for the entire time we eat breakfast and pack up.  I abandon all thoughts of riding this road.  It will wait for another trip.

This leaves us with… The Road Less Interesting.  I am not prone to labeling any road uninteresting, let alone boring, but I-40 through Tennessee, I-85 through North Carolina, and I-95 between, say, Moncton, ME and Miami, FL come dangerously close.  I seem to recall it is 509 miles in Tennessee from Memphis to Bristol via Interstate.  On our journey homeward today, it will be our lot to ride 425 of those miles.

And so we roll eastward a little before 9:00 AM, 70 mph, holding the Interstate past the exit where we would divert to US 70.  The sky is gray and cloudy, unrelenting, and were it not for the weather radar I would once again be doing the Dance of the Rain Suit.  But except for the cell to the north, there is no rain in the picture for the next several hours.  Way off to the east, on the other end of the state near Knoxville, there’s a large front but it’s moving eastward and I estimate it will be out of the area by the time we reach Knoxville.

The Road Less Interesting runs today under a gray sky, but the temperature is perfect, fluctuating between 75 F and flirting with 80.  Under the liners in our mesh jackets, Kitty is wearing a t-shirt plus a thin long-sleeved shirt, and I’m wearing my LD Comfort “arms” and a t-shirt.  Both of us ride for hours in total comfort.

The Cumberland Plateau, part of the Appalachian mountain range, traverses Tennessee roughly halfway between Nashville and Knoxville, rising from several hundred feet above sea level on the west to about 2500 feet on the eastern side.  It features rock outcroppings, sandstone cliffs, some spectacular valleys and outlooks.  Unfortunately, on The Road Less Interesting, only occasional hints of these are visible.

I have been monitoring the weather radar all day.  Hours after leaving Jackson, I’m shocked that our friend Red Splotch is tracking with us at roughly the same speed, 70 mph, just sitting 40 miles or so to the north, in parallel to our track, its baleful red eye daring us to try to ride US 70.

Descending the east side of the Cumberland Gap, we cross back into the Eastern time zone and the GPS clock automatically resets itself from 1:16 PM to 2:16 PM.  Near here, there’s a brief shining moment where, from the heights of the plateau, the valleys to the southeast are displayed in a glorious vista, but only for a moment.  On The Road Less Interesting, it is so brief that Kitty misses it.  Then down the sweeping Interstate curves to the Cheat River and the giant power plant at water level, producing huge clouds of white water vapor from giant stacks, two of which look to be 300 feet tall.  I wish I could find a place for a picture, but on The Road Less Interesting, there is time only for a traffic check, a lane change, and maintaining the posted speed.

At our second and final fuel stop 20 miles west of Knoxville, we see a couple on a gray BMW K 1600 GTL touring motorcycle, having already fueled and just ready to mount up.  I walk over and chat for a few moments.  They’re from the Jersey coast, heading home as we are.

“We’ll be in Abingdon, VA tonight,” they say.

“Ah, Abingdon.  I hope you can check out a restaurant called the Wildflour Bakery, right on an exit where I think there’s a Holiday Inn Express.  I don’t recall the exit number.”

“We’re staying at the Holiday Inn Express!” says the guy.

“Well, you should check it out.  You can walk there although there’s not really a good path.  That might actually be where we end up,” I say.

We fuel up and while we have a bite to eat, I check the weather on my smartphone.  “Wow, there’s a strong front about a hundred miles west of Abingdon.  We have 150 miles.  It looks like we and the weather might arrive at the same time.”

Nevertheless, inspired by the thought of the Wildflour Bakery (which I call to make sure they are open), we decide to try for Abingdon, VA for the night.  I make a motel reservation by phone and we are off.

By this time we have finally outrun Red Splotch to the north as it claws its way over the Cumberland Gap and loses steam.  However, now we have a new interest, and I keep an eagle eye on the strong red-splotched weather bearing down on Abingdon, and keep trying to estimate which of us will make it to Abingdon first.  Several hours later, the mountains of southwest Virginia slow the front and the red splotches turn to yellow and finally just to normal rain.  I estimate we will probably beat the weather to Abingdon.

And at about 5:30 (having lost an hour in the time zone change), we arrive at what turns out to be Virginia Exit 19 on I-81 and check in to the motel.  The BMW is parked right in front.  As we unpack, the couple walks out, having already showered and changed, heading for the Wildflour Bakery.

“Ah, you’re here!” I say.  “And we’re here!  Go figure - you inspired us!”

I quickly clean the bike and cover it while Kitty showers and changes, and the first large raindrops splatter down.  After I grab a shower, we pick up the umbrellas Kitty thoughtfully brought in from the bike’s trunk and start picking our way between the traffic to the Wildflour Bakery.  The BMW couple is just walking back.

“That was phenomenal!” the woman says.  “A great recommendation!  We’ll be back just to eat at that restaurant!”

The Wildflour is at heart a bakery:  They bake every day and are generally open for breakfast and lunch, but are not open every day for dinner.  It’s housed in a restored Victorian house of 1896 vintage.  The chef creates his concoctions from fresh local fare when possible, so the menu changes with what’s available - farmer’s market fruits and vegetables, local beef and poultry, local red and white wines, even a local olive oil company with 60 flavored varieties.  Everything is made from scratch.  I order a black-and-bleu steak, medium rare, while Kitty orders a salmon dish.  Both orders are served in person by the head chef; both are artfully presented and perfectly prepared.  Veggies are crunchy and delightful, and the sweet whiskey-soaked bread pudding for dessert is the perfect finishing touch.

This place is on my short list of venues for which I would configure trip parameters just to visit.  I’d want to be here for dinner - a meal like this would be too good to waste by simply climbing on a motorcycle and riding away!

We are the last to leave the place, and it is still raining steadily.  As we pay our bill and prepare to walk back to the motel, Debbie, who seems to be one of the servers, says “I can’t let you walk back there in the dark and the rain!  Let me drive you there!  It’ll only take two minutes.”

And that’s how we conclude our last quarter mile of the day:  Crammed into her SUV with assorted other items, content to have spent a quality, wonderful day together.

We’ve traveled 453 perfect miles today, The Road Less Interesting notwithstanding, tank-to-tank with only two stops, both for fuel.  I continue to be amazed at how comfortable this Gold Wing is.  Also amazed that we have only one day left for this ride, a short 330 miles or so home.

Tomorrow will be here all too soon.

MACH 14: Day 12 - Comfort for the Long Haul

Day 12:  Comfort for the Long Haul

Friday, May 9, 2014

Copyright(c) 2014, Jim Beachy

During the night, strong storms pounded the area around Marshall, TX.  Crusader and the trailer were parked under the motel’s canopy uncovered; I’d left everything uncovered because the cover could easily grind the dirt, sand, and grime into the finish.  Better to have the rig lashed by wind and rain rather than by an inadvertently-created scouring pad.

By morning the cells have moved on and the pavement is mostly dry, and we hope to get an early start to recoup some of the miles we lost yesterday because of bad weather.  Then a weather radar check shows a strong cell just about to hit the area, so we wait around for an hour and have a leisurely breakfast while the ominous black clouds clear the area.  I can’t stand the grit on the bike and trailer, so while we wait I fill a trash can from the motel’s bathroom with water, soak one of my cleaning cloths and gently rinse off the worst of it, then gently dry the surfaces and clean the windshield.

By 9:50, an hour or more after our planned departure, it appears we may be able to sneak out without hitting any yellow or red weather splotches, but we don rain gear because another cell has grown an arm to the north and it appears we might intersect it as we travel north against the storm cell’s eastward trajectory.

But we miss the storm in spite of the thick, low-hanging solid gray clouds, and enjoy the 75 mph speed limit on US 59 as we roll through the northern reaches of the Piney Woods.  “I really wish we could have roads like this all the way home!” says Kitty for the second time in two days.  And I wish I could offer roads like this all the way home.  Perhaps after retirement, when time isn’t a factor, we can do a cross-country trip and never touch an Interstate.  Some 150 miles or so later, after catching I-30 in Texarkana, we stop for fuel in Fulton and peel off the rain gear.  A studied look at the mist and solid overcast would certainly dictate continued wearing of rain gear, but the XM Weather radar on the bike shows no hint of rain in the direction we will be riding.  This proves to be correct - no weather Trickster in the area today!  The temperature varies all day with the thickness of the cloud cover, from 72 F to 77 F, a perfectly pleasant riding temperature with just an extra layer of clothing such as a long-sleeved t-shirt.

We streak northeast across the full breadth of Arkansas, riding past miles and miles of vast flooded (or not) rice fields, the curved contour ditches creating a marvelously complex and graceful pattern as we look out across the flat expanse.

About 100 miles from Memphis and  the Arkansas/Tennessee state line we make our second fuel stop and each have an energy bar.  I’m always surprised, on this bike, how comfortable we are for the long haul.  In the old days, we would need to stop about every 90 miles for a break for Kitty.  Now, Kitty is very physically fit (every day without fail on this trip, when at all feasible, she has awakened early for a date with the gym), and I know that makes a difference.  But something about the seat on this bike, maybe the shape, maybe the degree of firmness, maybe the gel-pad inserts that are built into the stock seat, offers the most comfortable ride we’ve ever experienced.  Hours in the saddle, and when we do stop it’s usually for fuel or bathroom breaks, rarely because we need a break from sitting or a break from the bike.  Three or three-and-a-half hours at a stretch is not unusual.

We decide to stop in Jackson, TN for the night but need one more fuel stop about 40 miles short of the goal.  Were it not for this enforced fuel stop,  today’s ride would have covered 460 miles with only two fuel stops, passing through three major construction zones, in complete comfort, guided by XM Weather inasmuch as we could dress with confidence that there would be no significant rain.  This is an amazing machine!

I’ve routed to a motel that isn’t within walking distance of a restaurant, so we check in and ride back one exit to find a Mexican restaurant.  When we return, I park the rig under the canopy as instructed by the desk clerk, clean the windshield, and do not cover it.  I’m still worried about the grit that I may not have completely removed with my makeshift washing technique.

And my American flag is looking pretty bedraggled.  I’ve displayed an American flag on my right-side antenna since 1997.  This flag was new and mounted the day I brought the bike home, and now, at nearly 19,000 miles of flapping violently in the turbulence that occurs behind the bike’s still air pocket, it is nearing the end of its useful life.  When we get home, I ‘ll order a new one and retire this flag with the others I’ve worn out.  When one of my flags is retired, I carefully put it in a box with the handful of other flag retirees, along with a note about the notable places it has accompanied me.

Tomorrow’s weather is hard to predict - we’ve left our rainsuits loosely folded, ready for instant use if required.  We have just under 800 miles home.

MACH 14: Day 11 - The Worst BBQ in Texas

Day 11:  The Worst BBQ in Texas

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Copyright(c) 2014, Jim Beachy

Early in the morning, Jerry and Ava get the two kids off to school; Kitty goes with them and on the way back they all go for a walk of several miles while I write yesterday’s blog.  It’s a dark and cloudy morning, 77 F, noticeably more humid than yesterday, but not raining.

Jerry has decreed that we should eat breakfast tacos at Rudy’s.  Walking in, the first thing we see is a neon sign declaring “The Worst Bar-B-Q in Texas.”  The breakfast tacos we order contain fluffy scrambled eggs and a choice of cheese, potatoes, bacon, and a long list of other items.  They are amazing.  And purportedly, contrary to the neon declaration, the barbecue is equally as good.

We’re enjoying the morning with our friends, so it’s 10:45 AM when we finally roll eastward.  I’ve planned a 2-lane Texas route that will avoid cities and eventually put us on I-30 at Texarkana on the border of Texas and Arkansas.  I’d like to make about 450 miles today, but with the late start that is doubtful.

A last-minute check of the bike’s weather radar confirms what I already know:  We’ll be riding in concert with a large weather front moving northeast, and while we may start out dry, we will certainly catch up with the rain later today.  So we take time for the Dance of the Rainsuit and for once I remember to take the keys from my pocket before zipping up.

After a quick set of good-byes and topping off the fuel tank, we are off.  Our route roughly follows US 79 as it traverses northeast across Texas.  For the first 160 miles we luck out and dodge between rain cells with only a few splatters on the windshield.  We love riding on Texas 2-lanes, through vast cultivated spreads and past ranches where longhorns or Brahma cattle gaze impassively from the safety of their green fields as we pass.  There remain patches of Indian blanket flowers in patches along the roadside, but mostly the wildflower season has come and gone before us.  “I wish we could ride roads like this all the way home,” says Kitty.  I wistfully agree.

On the XM radar, I keep monitoring the trailing edge of the weather front, which is actually ahead of us, so we’re steadily catching up with the weather as the day progresses.  It appears we will hit rain shortly after crossing I-45, or near the town of Buffalo.

My prediction is spot perfect, and the serious rain starts about 20 miles after we cross I-45.  Rain is moderate to heavy, and I’m mindful that there hasn’t been much rain, and Texas roads when wet are slippery at best.  In addition, on some roads there are slight depressions in the tracks where the trucks run, so in heavy rain there’s standing water.  I rarely ride in the center of a lane, but this is one of those times.  Rain continues steadily, sometimes heavy, sometimes with visibility well under a quarter of a mile, and I find myself riding at 50 mph for many miles at a time, peering through the mist and water droplets that collect on my helmet shield.  My after-market V-Stream windshield is doing a good job of shedding water, but with this much rain it never clears completely.

By the time we make Palestine and Jacksonville I’m feeling the strain of trying to look through the rain and watch for standing water on the road.  In the last 20 miles we’ve seen three serious accidents, all appearing to involve just one vehicle, all with the vehicles spun off the road into a field or a deep ditch.  “Too fast, too much water, too much opportunity for hydroplaning!” I tell Kitty.  Motorcycle tires, with a much different design from car tires, typically do not hydroplane.  A car tire delivers most pressure to the road surface along the sides of the tread surface, leaving opportunity for water to invade the tread in the center of the tire track, thus lifting the tread from the road.  Motorcycle tires deliver most of the road pressure in the center of the tire, a much more stable configuration.

“Two tires against four!” says Kitty.

I could not agree more!  I’m fanatical about my tires and don’t apologize for it.  A friend was once trying to decide on whether to buy a tire before a trip or after he returns.  I computed the value of useful remaining tread life and it was around $10.00.  “Skip lunch.  Buy the tire!” I told my friend.  And I’ve often said that I’m riding in conditions like these with Kitty aboard, the last thought I ever want to cross my mind is “I kinda wish I would have changed that tire!”

So we proceed with caution and without incident.  Still, by the time we near Hendersonville I tell Kitty “I need to take a break.  I’m seeing ghosts in the roadway.”

After a 30-minute break the rain has almost stopped, but I know we’ll run into the same weather some miles up the road.  But I’d like to make Arkansas tonight if we can, so we press on.  Once again the rain intensifies, and by the time we find Hwy 43 north and reach Marshall, it’s after 5:00 PM and I’m ready to call it a day.  We’ve made only 307 miles, leaving us a little more than 1,200 miles to cover in the remaining three days.  I had planned more 2-lane roads though Tennessee heading eastward, and I now think that ride will probably also need to wait for another trip.  With this weather pattern set to continue for perhaps the remainder of the trip, I can envision a lot of Interstate travel in our immediate future.  Much as we love the 2-lane life, in bad weather I’ll take the Interstate every time if I can.

We find a motel and the desk clerk tells us we can park the bike under the canopy.  It is covered in wet sandy grit from the Texas roads, so I refrain from covering it or even cleaning it.

Tonight, we order pizza and eat it in the motel’s dining room.