Picture and a Ride
February 2001
I was recently thumbing through the pictures of my first real motorcycle
trip, circa 1973. Looking at the pictures, I came across the last pic I took
while on that trip. A snapshot of my Honda 350 Four straddling the Miss.-Alabama
state line. I got out my atlas and looked up the area in question-Mississippi SR
14 and Alabama SR 17. Near Aliceville. No doubt about it.
Could I find the exact spot again 28 years later? Sounds like a good excuse for
a ride. I seldom ride West Alabama, and estimated a trip to the Mississippi
border to be 350 miles, round trip. A LONG ride on a CB 350F but on a ST, a
stroll to the store.
I got off shift at 8am and took off for home. It was mid winter, temps in the
50s, but with a bright sun, and clear blue skies. A great day for a ride.
I changed into riding gear, threw my winter gloves in the saddlebag just in
case, and took off.
I filled the ST just before leaving the city limits at a Standard station with
pay at the pump convenience. As I was filling up, a slow moving pick up truck
loaded with furniture, went by with a string of inpatient motorists locked down
behind it. It was going west on SR 14, my direction.
SR 14 is old stomping grounds. Rural, it can be busy or slow. Highway 14
connects my hometown with Selma, and a nice 40 mile ride.
I quickly close in on the furniture pickup centipede. The truck is moving along
at 45 mph with 4 cars behind it. I know there is a truck lane a mile ahead, but
will it be long enough for me to take all 5 vehicles? Depends on how quick the
cages can get around, I tell myself.
I get a break as one of the cages turns off.
The truck lane arrives and I jump out to make hay while I can, making sure I am
not cut off by any cage, I quickly get up to 90 and take all 4 vehicles. I am
around the truck before any of the cages realize there is a pass lane. I relish
at having such power on hand anytime I want it.
The remaining 30 miles to Selma passed quickly. I roll past farms and woodlands.
A few miles east of Selma I checked my speed, as the Alabama State Trooper
Academy is located in Selma. They sometimes conduct radar class for recruits at
the expense of unwary motorists along this stretch.
Passing through Selma, I cannot help but note the decline of the city in the
last 10 years. It is losing population every year, with my hometown of
Prattville being the primary culprit.
West of Selma SR 14 flattens out. I am now entering perhaps the most rural
section of Alabama. The road is smooth, and line of sight is excellent, and I
have trouble keeping the ST anywhere near the speed limit.
I quickly overtake a Camry with 2 youngsters waving earnestly as I go around. I
wave back and their heads follow me as I pass, I can feel their eyes on my back
as I disappear in the distance.
Nearing Marion, I topped a hill and 3 white crosses to my right flash by.
Checking my rear, I slowed to find a place to turn around. I finally found a
place a quarter mile later and doubled back to the scene of the roadside shrine.
Sure enough I find 3 crosses, names and dates inscribed. A pair of siblings I
assume by the names and ages, and perhaps a friend. I check around and find the
spot to be on a blind hill, with a slight curve. I guess the accident taking
these lives to be at least a 2 vehicle. Sobered by what I saw, I continue west.
I pass Marion Military Academy and see cadets, clad in their gray and white
uniforms, on their way to class.
Having covered 80 miles or so, I think about taking a break, but decide to keep
going, putting it on hold till I get 100 miles under my belt.
I ride through the sleepy old south towns of Greensboro and Camden. They are
complete with courthouse squares, and and old cemeteries. Life here has not
changed much the last 50 yrs.
I waved back at a farmer and 2 helpers hitching a trailer to a wore out looking
6 wheel truck. I wondered about the cargo they were going to load when they got
it hooked up.
After 125 miles I begin looking for a place to break. At the crossroads of SR 14
and 39 I find Rollan Stop and Shop. No one notices the quiet ST as I idle
through the dirt parking lot. When I walk in the store all eyes turn to me. I
must look like a alien in my fancy riding gear and helmet. The smell of fresh
chicken frying is too much, I get a breast, and wing, complete with Mt Dew and
take it outside to dine in style. I find a milk crate and sit down in the warm
sun. Now this is living. A bread man making a delivery to the store asks-
"from around here?"
"nooooo just out for a ride"
"must be nice"
"it is"
I saddle back up, and check my atlas. I am 40 miles away from my goal. I will
soon be on the route I used on that trip in 73. I get a nice feeling as I go
through the gears on my way to that spot in the picture.
On SR 17 I begin to look in earnest for something familiar. The road, landscape,
and landmarks mean nothing to me.
I recalled a gas station at SR 17 and County road 1 back in 1973. The reason I
remember it so well, is I limped into it almost out of gas. I vividly recall the
350F sputtering for me to turn the fuel petcock to reserve (remember those?)20
miles earlier. I also recall it days of the of the FIRST oil crisis. Gas
had steadily being going up all that summer, and by the time I left for my trip
in August, it stood at 48 cent a gallon. That station saved my ass in 73, noway
I forget it.
The reason I can't find the station it is no longer there. I find the crossroads
easily enough, but no station. I pull to the side for a closer look. Upon closer
inspection, I note a concrete island, no pumps. The only evidence that a station
ever existed there.
I am only a few miles from the spot in question now. My memory is correct that
this area is remote.
I find the state line. I continue past and double back, to give me the view I
had 28 yrs ago.
I pull off the road along beside the sign. I get out the picture I took in 1973.
Shiny new sign in place of the tiny sign of back then. The back ground in the
old picture is nothing like my present view. The fence in the first picture can
not been seen. Thick underbrush has claimed it. The tiny tree of
back then has grown up. I recall the day that picture was taken to be a hot,
muggy day, in contrast to the cool, crisp day I am presently enjoying.
I took a picture of my present day ST in the same spot. I look around me and not
a car or person for miles. It is very quiet. I stared at the picture for a
minute and my mind flashed back to that kid in 1973 standing in this spot. I was
17 years old, just out of high school. I had my whole life in front of me. I was
returning from a 2000 mile trip and was only concerned about my upcoming
freshman yr in college. That trip in 1973 served as my right of passage into
adulthood.
I could not help but smile as my thumb mashed (southern for press)the starter
button. I took a last look at my surroundings and thought "mission
accomplished".
My trip home was the quickest route. Roads I have traveled many times. Still,
that ride home was one of the best. I was totally lost in thought. Thinking of
things long dormant in the basement of my brain, and how this ride was bringing
them out again.
Eighty miles from home I stopped in the college town of Tuscaloosa for a coke
and key lime pie. A cute waitress spoke "penny for ya thoughts" to
which I responded "baby, I am so lost in thought you don't have time for
the story".
It was almost dark when I pulled the ST in my garage after covering 320 miles
for the day. My wife, home from work, came out to greet me in the
garage,"how was your ride?" I replied "the best, cmere and lemme
tell ya about it."
Things turned out just fine for that kid in 1973.
