First Fall Ride
October 2001
I get off work at 8am, and ride the 1.5 miles home, in cool, dry air. On the
way home I quickly decide "too nice a day to cut grass, going for a
ride".
I park the ST in front of the house, no need to go in the garage, we have places
to go. I pick up the paper on the way in, and toss it to my wife. I quickly get
out of my uniform and into my Roadcrafter and boots.
"hey you were gonna cut grass today"
"puttin that on hold, you DON'T cut grass on a day like today"
"where are YOU going to TODAY?"
"Cheaha Mountain"
"well ok but your takin me out to eat tonight"
I get back on the ST and fire it up. The air is cool and it feels really good. A
hint of fall is in the air, summer is finally letting go. Gone are the days of
hot rides in steam bath like conditions.
I have not been on any 300+ mile rides since returning from California. Just too
hot and muggy, and as result my rides have been short. Not today. Summer is
gone, and Cheaha is a 340 mile round trip ride. I also need some saddle time to
prepare for my upcoming Canada, New England tour. I guess it to be a 5000 mile 2
week ride. Not in Western tour proportions, but still a fair amount of saddle
time, so have to get in "travel shape".
This ride will also give me a chance to brush up on some leaning. Cheaha offers
challenging twisties and switchbacks. The last time I put in some good leans
were in the Colorado Rockies, and even then the roads were wet and icy.
I visit the ATM and get out a few bucks to get me through the day. I also use
this time to check my cell phone battery.
I have been riding Cheaha Mountain since 1974. The mountain was quite
challenging on a Z-1. The big Kaw would beat you to death on the 139 mile to the
Mountain. Once there, its pitiful brakes and suspension all but washed you up
before you could even get started. Bikes have come a long way since then. I can
recall riding to Cheaha and back, in one day, on the Z-1, and upon returning
felt like I was mugged by starving gringos in Tijuana on a Friday night. The
ride just beat me down.
I get on SR 14 to Wetumpka, then turn north on SR 21 for the run to Talladega. I
take the by pass around city, opting for efficiency instead of the scenic route
through the downtown district. There is nothing like small town America on a
beautiful Saturday morning, but there are more towns to see up ahead.
Traffic is moderate up SR 21. Although not twisty, 21 is very scenic. My plan is
to ride 21 the 60 miles to Talledega (yes, as in raceway) from there it will be
a short ride into the hills to Cheaha. The "mountain" is the highest
point in Alabama at 4,300 feet.
I ride with my shield up, relishing the cool air on my face. I see smoke blowing
across the road ahead and trace it back to a guy burning a pile of grass and
sticks 25 yards from the highway. When I pass through the smoke, the smell
reminds me of wildfires I am sometimes called to suppress ( I hate grass fires,
leave that to the guys out west that do it for a living. They pay ME to go to
building fires).
I arrive in the crossroads town of Rockford. The post office flag is at half
mast, same at the courthouse. This would be a theme throughout all the towns I
ride through on this day. Every small town and big city in our state is
decorated with flags. Red, white and blue ribbons on mailboxes, trees, fences
and cars. Most of these people have only seen the WTC on TV, they never gave NYC
a thought till Tuesday. Now, they are revered in thought and prayers. The people
of Alabama say, "NYC was NOT attacked, the USA was" and stand ready to
go to war for it.
I spot a old gas station with 2 old men out front sitting on a bench. A big sign
facing the road reads "Home of the town dog Fred". Curious I pulled
in. From the saddle of the ST I quizzed the men,
"so where's Fred?"
"over yonder" pointing in the bay
I see a old hound sleeping near a air compressor. It takes a Herculean effort
for him to even open his eyes.
"so what does he do?"
"nuttin"
I check up on the way out of the parking lot, and head north.
Ten miles later I enter the beautiful Oak tree lined city of Sylacauga home of
Jim Nabors). The little city is bustling this day. Once again hundreds of flags
sparkle the city.
Just before leaving the city I stop for a early lunch at a KFC. The service is
friendly and efficient, but everything is that way since Tuesday.
I park at a booth in the front so I can watch the traffic go by. I can't stand
eating while facing a wall. I HAVE to see who is coming in and leaving.
A 80ish man and his wife come in. They have 2 youngsters with them. I take them
to be grandchildren. As I got up and zipped up the Roadcrafter he noticed my
American Flag patch on my right sleeve and said-
"like your flag"
"thanks"
I was off to Talladega and the hills a few minutes later. Riding the last 15
miles to Talladega, I contrasted this cool morning with the hot, steamy days of
summer. I also thought about the great ride to New England and Canada coming up
soon.
The ride into Talladega takes too long. I am bogged down by a line of cages. The
driver in the lead car oblivious to all that is behind him.
I ride past the fast food row, and around Wall Mart and find myself turning east
off 21 to make the 21 mile run to the top of the hill. I can see the hills now.
These foothills mark the southern most extension of the Appalachians.
A few miles later I turn again and the road gets narrow. It begins to dip and
twist. Very much like Deal's Gap except the road is a far more irregular.
I know this road, I am up here 2-3 times a year. The road is no longer the
smooth ribbon it was 20 years ago. It is now patched and bumpy, so it keeps a
guy honest. The speed limit is 35 and I don't see anyway to do more then that.
I hug the right shoulder. This narrow road is blind and I fear a stray cage
coming at me.
My instincts prove correct as a silver car, making a left hander is way to far
over. I slow even more and take a quick glance to the shoulder to get ready to
ditch it. He breaks back over none to soon, missing me by a few feet. It Scared
me. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had been riding aggressive.
It was a good thing I was not riding fast, or not hugging the right.
The temp is noticeably cooler the higher I go. It feels good.
I meet a white K1100LT accompanied by a Concourse. They were trapped behind a
SUV at 20mph. I waved and they waved back. I also saw 2 750 Nighthawks giving it
hell on their way down.
The curves are so tight, you don't have to be fast to scrape a peg. I reach the
top and pull into the store to take a break. The place is jammed with Harleys,
and a few other cruisers.
I paid my one buck fee to cruise the top, and satisfied having done that, stop
at the store on the way back out.
I am the only rider in full protective gear.
I leave the store and head back down the the mountain to Anniston. The
trip down will the "front side". This road is much like the Cherohala.
Wider, sweeping curves on a smooth road.
I get in some good leans and feel like I am doing good, when I am startled out
of my wits by a squid shooting by. His modified muffler making me jump.
"Where did he come from? Dang I gotta watch my mirrors better". If I
had noticed him behind me I would have moved over for him.
Don't ever be fooled into thinking a sport touring bike can stay with a full on
sport bike in the hands of a competent rider.
I take a long downhill run and make a steep left hander at the bottom. Very easy
to get into trouble on this curve. The guardrail standing testimony to those
that have made that mistake. It is scarred and dented.
Sadly, I leave the hills and take SR 9 to Oxford and Anniston.
Anniston is like I remember it. Congested and full of red lights. It takes 30
minutes to get through.
From Anniston I take US 431 to Gadsden, to stop and see my sister.
I stop for a snack in Ohatchee. I saw 2 guys buying ice and climbing in their
old red car. They wave as they pull out.
The ride into Gadsden is uneventful. Just a routine ride down a 4 lane
uncontrolled access road, which can be very dangerous. 4 lanes means high
speeds, but you also have cars pulling in and out. Deadly combination. Four
lanes without limited access are trouble.
I surprised my sister, on my arrival. I walked in and announced I am on a one
hour layover.
I don't have my clear lens glasses with me, so have to be home before dark. That
means I have to leave Gadsden at 4.
I catch up on things with my sister, hug her, and get back on the road.
I intend to ride 125 miles back home non stop. I am going home another route, I
don't like the same road twice in a day.
The shadows are long now. The days are growing shorter. Fall is definitely here.
The fields are covered in cut and baled hay. Summer was mild this year, with
rain. As a result hay will be bountiful. As look out past the fields to the tree
line, I still can't believe how nice the weather is. I have passed these same
fields, parched and dry with heat waves shimmering. Why can't it stay fall year
round?
I fall in behind a line of cars. I notice a Harley softail 1 car ahead. I back
off and settle in no need to think about passing anyone. Road is too busy, and
too many cars.
I no sooner think that when the Harley jumps over to the other lane to pass.
What is he doing? NOWAY he can pass all these cars. I see the Harley lurch
forward as drops a another gear. Suddenly, I see cars coming at him, and he
still has too far to go.
Somebody is going to HAVE to let him back in.
I can see him get some more throttle, but not much there, he is already wide
open. I begin to cringe- "go brother go". Finally a car lets him back
in, and none to soon.
The time passes quickly, not taken this route to my sisters in a long time.
Years past it was the only route to take. That changed when they finally
finished 459 in Birmingham.
Lincoln, Alabama. The newest home for Honda. The once tiny village is being
transformed into metropolis. Trucks, trains, and hundreds of temporary housing
going up to support the new Civic factory. It is a huge place. They say it will
be coming online soon.
I see the Happy Jacks Motel is STILL closed down. It has been from the time of
my first trip on this road 30 years ago. I don't know how the buildings are
still standing after all this time.
I am forty miles from home and the low gas light begins to flicker. Right on
time. 300 miles is the cue. I decide to ignore the light and do as I intended.
Non-stop 130 miles to the house.
Ten miles later it is no longer a flicker, but a full on beacon.
I arrive in my hometown, with the sun setting, and drop the stand in the garage
after covering 325 miles for the day.
By the way, I took the wife to Red Lobster, when I got home. Holding up my end
of the bargain.
