Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Journey to Georgia It was the Friday before Christmas, the first day of winter, and I was itching for a "long" ride. How was I going to "scratch" the itch? Well, might as well spend the day riding over to West Georgia, and look for something interesting. I told my wife eating supper at Applebee's the night before- "Gonna take a ride tomorrow" "so that's why you took me out to eat tonight?" "well........" The morning was bright out my window, but I decided to stay in bed, and let the sun take care of the morning chill. When I finally got up, I logged on to my computer to read the weather headlines. "Present temp 48 degrees, warming to the 60s, Sunny, Wind out the west at 8mph." Great day for a ride. I got out my atlas and looked at various routes. "Lets see, I can ride to Plains, and check out Jimmy Carters' hometown, then I can ride to over to the Civil War prison site at Andersonville." I wrote down my routes, placed them in my map pocket, and stuck it down on the left arm of my Roadcrafter. I gathered my phone, camera, clear lens glasses, and the thinsulate vest, just in case. I stuffed everything in my right saddlebag, and warmed the ST up. I rolled back the trip meter as I left the driveway. I filled the ST's tank at Entec. Taking 5.3 gallons on board. Perhaps one day someone will come up with a way to refill while you are in flight. A guy can just pull up behind a tanker, and do like the fly boys. I take I-65 south to Montgomery, I glance down at the clock-9:05am. "Dang I should have been gone 30 minutes ago." The morning commute is over, and I have no problem in Montgomery finding Taylor Road, and hooking up with 231 South. The sun is bright and warm, and I feel good with just a sweatshirt under the Roadcrafter. I have my medium weight gloves on. I ride 231 for 11 miles and merge over to U.S. 82 West. U.S. 82 will take me all the way to Georgia. I think about this highway, if I turn around and go west I can ride it all the way to New Mexico. Maybe one day I will do that, just for the hell of it. The highway is quiet and rural, and I settle in for a nice ride past farms and woods. I see several pickups parked on the shoulder and log roads. Their owners in tree stands stalking deer. This is going to be a spectacular day weather wise. The air is cool and crisp, nothing like the hot, humid, hazy air of summer. I always said winter was the best time to ride down here. I pass a white farm house trimmed in red and green wreaths. A Santa and reindeer are out front. I have been on this road more then a few times, but what road in Alabama have I not? The bright morning sun is shinning through the trees, and as I ride along the flashes of daylight to shadows, feels as if I am blinking my eyes over and over. In what seems like no time I cover 50 miles and find myself in Union Springs. I stop for a butt break at a crossroads BP station in the center of town. I pick up a Mountain Dew and crackers. I was unable to find a Moon Pie. What kind of store does NOT stock Moon Pies? This is not Arizona I think to myself. Riding through town I see a sign pointing to the "Bird Dog Statue." Hmmm that needs checking out. In the center of town I find a statue of a Bird Dog, standing on a marble stand. Very nice. Union Springs claims to be the Bird Dog Capital of the world. The city is home to the Super Bowl of field trials.
I stay on U.S. 82 out of Union Springs and ride on to Eufaula. The highway is smooth and traffic is on the low side. I passed a empty log truck, that had a expired tag. Passing through Midway I noticed a junk dealer with a yard sale sign out front. Makes me wonder about the yard sales back home. The place had more then a few victims er shoppers when I passed by. Eufaula is located right on the lake. A pretty town, but not resort like. A nice lake side community. I cross the Chattahooche into Georgetown, Georgia and leave US 82 for SR 27, another great road. The road is smooth, and the few cars I come up behind are easy to pass. SR 27 takes me past pine thickets and farms. A great road to ride if you are ever in the area. I stop for a light in Lumpkin and see my first sign for Plains. Riding along 27, I review my Christmas shopping list. I still have to get my brother something. There is nothing like the solitude of the open road to bring things into focus. I stop in Richland at a local buffet restaurant, called "Our Place." The food is ok but the heater is jacked up to 100, and its too warm. I am the coldest natured guy you ever met, and if I say its too warm, normal folks will be roasting. I see one of those National Park signs near the restaurant noting the Carter Historical Site is 17 miles. I wonder if President Carter ever ate in "Our Place?" As I was getting my earplugs back in, I noticed a 18 wheeler in the parking lot with Indiana plates. The driver was playing with his dog in the grass, throwing a tennis ball for him to fetch. I watched with interest from my saddle. When they finished he opened the door and the little mutt jumped back in, then watched his master walk all the way to the restaurant. I thought to myself, what a loyal and steady traveling companion. The last 17 miles into Plains take me past peanut farms and quiet Georgia towns. It was a nice ride. Most of my forays into Georgia have something to do with Atlanta, so this is a pleasant change. Just west of Plains a marker points to a county road. It will take me to the Carter boyhood home. I turn right and go check it out. Shortly after I turn off 27 I find the quiet, rural farm house. A white, wood frame building, with a screened front porch, just a few feet off the road. I turn off, and ride up to the farm. A park road takes me around back, and I park the ST, and stroll the area. A quiet place. Markers give a brief description of Carter's life on the farm. Very simple and down to earth. I never cared one iota for his politics, but I have a new found respect for the man. Only in America, can a poor, common man, work his way up, and become President. When a guy makes it to President, everything he touches becomes historic. I think about how this obscure farm of West Georgia, will now be remembered forever, as the home of the 39th President. I was the only visitor in the area. I guess everyone has something else to do on the Friday before Christmas. I leave the farm and ride into Plains. I now have images to put with all the talk of where Carter came from. He still lives and maintains his home in Plains. Located just off Main Street. The gas station his brother, Billy, ran is still there. The town is nothing more then a peanut gin and a few stores. I wonder what it was like in this place when he was in office? While I was taking pictures a old black man, came up to me- " My father use to work for the President's father on the farm. I can remember playing with Jimmy when we were boys." "really?" "yeah" I wonder how many tourist he had that conversation with? I was ready for him to offer- "you can take my pic for a dollar." I leave Plains and move out for Andersonville. It is mid afternoon now. Still not much traffic, and having a great ride. SR 27 takes me Americus. The town has a nicely renovated downtown business district. It is decorated tastefully with Christmas lights and trees. Ten miles later I wheel into Andersonville and my mood changes. Andersonville was a Confederate prison camp. Many Union soldiers suffered and died here. Northern states that lost sons here, have markers dotting the surrounding countryside. The camp is now a quiet field. I ride around the perimeter reading the signs. The place was huge. Thousands of captured troops were imprisoned here. I feel bad about what happened here, but the south could not feed and care for its own people late in the war, none the less 15,000 prisoners, much was beyond the army's control. I rode through the National Cemetery located in the park. The lines of white stones always leave a impression on me. I spot a white marker of a young soldier from Alabama killed in March 1943. World War II years. I thank him for his sacrifice, and ride out of the park. Freedom sometimes demands a high price. If you doubt it, visit the National Cemetery in Andersonville. I ride SR 49 north to SR 26 and turn west for home. The road takes me through the West Georgia town of Ellaville. Not much there. I push on west in the growing shadows of the years shortest day in terms of light. It is only 3pm, and already the sun is fading. Today is winter solstice. Each day after today, will grow longer by a minute or two till June, when we will have the years longest day. A cycle repeated for millions of years. A fact that can make a guy feel insignificant. No matter what happens, the days will grow longer till June. I think about that as I ride, and decide not to guess why it is so, just that it is, so accept it, and enjoy it. Entering Buena Vista, I wave at a number of patrons as I ride by a club called the "Poor Man's Place." The name definitely fit the clientele. Near Cusseta, I turn north on U.S. 280 and decide to ride till my gas light comes on. I need to get home. Columbus, Georgia home of Fort Benning. The highway skirts the outside of the base. A BIG base. I was sitting at a red light, and noticed I was next to a family in a van. They were loaded down with presents, and luggage. They were from North Carolina. Ever notice a Army base will be surrounded by car lots, tattoo joints, and naked bars? Traffic is heavy and it takes almost 30 minutes before I can escape to clear roads. I finally get away from the sprawl and make way for I-85. My gas light comes on, but that's ok as I am only 20 miles from Opelika and I-85. I dread arriving at I-85. That stretch of road this time of day will be blinding. The road appears as if cut straight to the sun. It feels like I am always on this road, at this time of day. 431 is 4 lane to I-85 and I make good time. I stopped for gas and a Mountain Dew at a Texaco mega mart in Opelika. I was standing out front when I saw a van pull in displaying this bumper sticker- "I went to hell, but it was full so I came back." I jump on 85 for the last 80 miles home. I was right, the sun is blinding. I can't see a thing. The glare is brutal. I am looking straight into a low sun as I ride. The tinted shield of the Arai is not very effective in such direct light. Riding up hill, it looks as if the sun is just sitting there on the top. I worry a blinded driver will run over me, so I keep a careful check on my mirrors. As the sun slips below the trees I crank it up and soon find myself entering the rush hour in Montgomery. Not much I can do but suffer through it. It is dark as I ride the last 10 miles home. Man, this has been a awesome ride I think to myself. Traffic is heavy as I make it through East Prattville. Wal Mart looks to be a zoo. I turn into my neighborhood and as I ride down to my house, I see a black Accord coming at me. I recognize it as my wife's and we stop in the middle of the street to talk- "have a good ride?" "yeah it was awesome, so where ya goin?" "Wal mart, left take out pizza in the oven." "HAVE FUN" I rode in the garage, and parked my bike. I covered 368 amazing miles. A nice way to start the holidays. Note: I am learning a new camera and I accidentally exposed my film. As a result, I lost the pictures of the Carter Farm and Andersonville. Sorry. But hey I am getting better!
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