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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Ghost Ride Alabama folklore tells of a ghost in the Pickens County Courthouse window, located in the West Alabama town of Carrollton. Hearing the story more then a few times, I decided to check it out. Actual preparation for the ride began 2 days prior, when I visited the local library to check a few facts, and to gain background on the figure in the window. The story can be found in the book, "13 Alabama Ghosts", by Kathryn Tucker. I wanted to sort out fact from fiction. After all, a guy can hear all kinds of stuff. In the library, I found out there is indeed a face stamped in the top window of the Pickens County Courthouse. The short version goes like this: In the late 1800s Henry Wells was sentenced for murder, and moved to the top floor of the courthouse for safekeeping, because a mob gathered on the street below. A fierce electrical storm then blew in. They are common in Alabama on hot, sultry summer nights. The condemned man watched the gathering crowd below, then shouted out his innocence, informing them they were going to pay for such injustice. Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning streaked across the sky, lighting the windows of the courthouse. A collective gasp went out from the mob, as the face of Henry Wells was suddenly illuminated for all to see. A gaunt looking man with piercing eyes. The intense, bright light, burned the face of Henry Wells in the glass, and legend says it can still be seen there today. Let's go find out. Carrollton is located in West Alabama, just a few miles from the Mississippi State Line, 140 miles west of Prattville. The morning was warm, and partly cloudy as I filled up the ST at the Exxon station located at Main and Memorial. Weather-guessers are calling for afternoon temps to climb into the 70s. Mild winters rank right up there with low taxes, for reasons to live in Alabama. With my gas tank full, I take U.S. 82 west out of town. I can ride this highway all the to Central New Mexico, if I was so inclined. Perhaps one day. I break away from the city, and get comfortable in the saddle. I don't plan on stopping till I reach Tuscaloosa, 100 miles to the west. U.S. 82 is one of the primary east-west corridors in Alabama, and carries a lot of truck traffic. They were out in numbers on this fine day. I fall behind a 18 wheeler that appears to have a rock stuck between the rear tandem tires. A truck lane comes into view and I bolt around, when something breaks off, and bounces along the road. My eyes signal my brain-"lookout! A chunk of rock!" I have no idea where it will go. I press on, and think I have the rock missed when it strikes my left knee. More like I ran into it, then it hit me. Thankfully, the Roadcrafter is heavily padded in the knees, and I barely feel it when it strikes. This stretch of highway leading to Chilton County is dangerous. Riding west on 82, the ST takes me pass the fatal accident scenes from a 23 year career. I remember the location of each on 82. Like Henry Wells' face in the window, images of fatal accidents are lasered in my memory. I count the locations of 10 fatal accidents. I also try to recall, the accidents attended by my brother firefighters. Wrecks I was not on the scene of, but know about. It only confirms how dangerous this highway is. I cross into Chilton County 30 miles later. The county is famous for its peaches. Fruit stands dot the highway as it rolls through the countryside. I ride by stand after stand, but almost all of them are closed till spring. The city of Maplesville annexed a portion of 82 to gather revenue. Funny, the speed limit drops to 45 when a guy rides through the "city limits", which is noting more then a gas station. Maplesville is actually located a few miles north of 82, but using 82 to garner revenue proved just to much to resist I guess. I escaped without being handed a receipt. In fact, didn't even see a cruiser. Just east of Centreville, I see a man walking east bound in the east bound lane. He is pulling a trailer. What???? No Clue is coming??!!? I pull off, and find myself talking to John Rhodes. He is walking from Miami to Seattle and back AGAIN. He is in the final leg of his journey. "No, I am NOT Forrest Gump" "Did I say you was?"
He tells me God came to him in a dream, and asked him to walk. He didn't say why, just said, "Do it, and I will take care of you" The dreams haunted him for a year. Therapy did not help. Each dream connected with another. One dream speaks of a red cart, another speaks of Seattle, another of a great river, another of a thin man in yellow. He says, "only when I looked at the dreams as a whole did I get the picture. Once I accomplished that, I was at peace". He then asked God how he was to carry out such a feat, as he weighed over 300 lbs. He said the Lord responded, "GO JOHN, AND I WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU, FEAR NOT". He left Miami with nothing more then his camping stuff, along the way he has received more then enough donations to finance the trip. John Rhodes was no longer the mentally fragile, 300lb man of before, but a trimmed and weathered man, with a strong fortitude. He is much different then No Clue. No Clue walked across the country just for the heck of it. John Rhodes is doing it because of a higher calling. So far he has raised several thousand dollars for the Diabetes Association. He was very eccentric, but they said Noah was crazy, so with that in mind, I push on west. West of Centreville, U.S. 82 becomes 4 lane, and the ST creeps up to 75 mph. The partly cloudy morning is warm, and riding is fun. Arriving in the college town of Tuscaloosa, I stray off the marked routes for 82, and take a short cut to the by pass. It's 11:20am, and time for lunch. The city and by pass are busy this day. The by pass offers a myriad of restaurants and fast food places, but today there is ONLY one choice. Hooters. Something about long distance riders, firefighters, and Hooters. All go together, like peanut butter and jelly.
I take a seat in the non-smoking section, and a pleasant waitress named Crystal quickly comes to take my order for a hamburger. She pulls up the stool next to me and asks me where I am from, then asks- "So what brings you this way?" "Riding over to Carrollton to see the ghost in the window." "really?" "yeah, know anything about it?" "well yeah! I don't live far from there. There is in fact a ghost window at the courthouse." Crystal goes on tell me, she is going to vet school, when she finishes junior college. The secret to success with a Hooters waitress? Treat them with genuine interest, avoid comments about the "uniform" they wear, and understand it is their job to flirt with the male patrons. I watch ESPN, eat lunch, read the sports, and chat with a surprisingly intelligent young lady. I would call that a nice way to spend 45 minutes. I continue west on 82 out of Tuscaloosa. This portion of the highway is in transformation, the highway takes turns from 2 to 4 lanes over the next 20 miles. I jump ahead of slow moving trucks and vans, when I reach the 4 lane areas. The once partly cloudy skies are mostly cloudy now, and getting thicker the farther west I ride. I roll down from the crest of a hill to a intersection at the bottom. The right shoulder is adorned with flowers, crosses, and other items. I have seen many road side shrines before, but this one is something else. I double back and turn in to the gas mart on the corner. My curiosity is piqued. All of these mementos are related to one accident? Is this intersection so dangerous it has borne witness to this many fatalities?
I walk in the gas mart and ask the clerk- "All those markers represent a fatality?" " Pretty much, but I am sure there are multiple shrines for a few. Two people were killed there not long ago. It is a very dangerous intersection. The State needs to do something there." "yeah, no kiddin" I hit the road for the last few miles to Carrollton. The crew clearing trees for the road expansion, piled pine trees, high in numerous stacks. The burning piles of wood are giving off lots of smoke. This cloudy, warm and humid day, causes the smoke to hang low, like a fog. I turn south on SR 86, and see a sign: Carrollton 15 miles. The road is narrow and traffic laden. There is a mix of big new farmhouses, with run down 1 and 2 room bungalows. After 137 miles I reach Carrollton. I am near my objective now. The courthouse is in the center of town and all roads lead to it. I don't believe in ghosts, but maybe my mind is about to be changed. The road takes me around the courthouse and I scan the windows. Crystal told me the window in question is on the north side, very top. I take a right then a left, and there it is! They have a arrow pointing to it to make sure you don't miss it. But what's this?? The window in question is boarded up! A smiley face painted on the front. WHAT!!?? I came all this way for this? I see a guy exit a law office across the street and zip over to him.
"hey what's the deal?" "the courthouse is under renovation, and they wanna make sure nothing happens to the window" " bummer' "well come back, when its finished, it will be even better. They are even gonna put a sight seeing thing in so you can view it up close"- as he points to a view master looking contraption, the kind you put quarters in at scenic overlooks. The installation is not complete, and the instrument is still covered. Talk about bad timing. I guess when a towns' only claim to fame is a ghost window, all precautions must be taken to preserve it. Disappointed, I return to Tuscaloosa the way I came. It is very cloudy, and I fear it will rain. Riding east on 82 I decide to jump on I-59 when I reach Tuscaloosa, bolt over to Leeds, and take a ride on SR 25. From my present position I guess Leeds to be 100 miles. I make quick work of 82 back into Tuscaloosa, and just west of the city, I take a private toll road to the interstate. The 75 cent fare buys me a quick way around the city. On I-59 I go to 85 mph and dispatch the 60 miles to Birmingham rather quickly. As I near the city I think about taking the 459 loop. A week prior a tanker truck crashed at the I-59, I-20, I-65 interchange. The resulting fire broiled one of the bridges, and the State shut it down. I am not sure which bridge it is, but I take the chance it is not going to be the one I need. I ride by the 459 exit, cause I feel lucky. If it is MY bridge out of service, it could be next year before they find my skeleton hanging on my bike, still trying to get through Birmingham. I am lucky. It is NOT my bridge, and I blast through in full gallop, bound for the east side and Leeds. I didn't get to see the ghost today, but I WILL get to ride Alabama's finest motorcycling road. Riding east, I left the cloudy skies, and found the sun. I clear Birmingham, find the Leeds exit, and take a butt break at a Chevron gas mart. I was right, it was 97 miles from where I made my mental note to here. I stand outside, eat a Twinkie, and wash it down with Mountain Dew. I have to get ready mentally for the ride on 25. SR 25 is a challenging road. Twisty, hilly, with wash outs, and traffic, but a lot of fun. The road is 25 miles in length, north to south.
I ride north through Leeds, the home of Charles Barkley (famous basketball player). He spent a few thousand of his millions and built a park, that sports his name. I make the same wrong turn I always make approaching 25 from the north. I usually come in from the south end. I forget I am suppose to go straight at this intersection, not left. At last I make it to 25 and get ready to lean, but before I can get started, I notice a brother on some kind of cruiser on the side of the road. I double back to check things. I find Claude with his 80s something Honda (which I believe to be a Magna) with fuel line trouble. He said he was going down the road when gas just began spewing. We trace the problem back to the fuel line at the petcock (ain't seen one of those in a loooooong time). The hose had come off. We get it back on, and tighten down on it. He had trouble starting the bike, but when I suggested he choke it, cranked right up. He tossed his hand in the air when he took off north. Ah yes, SR 25. What a road. The road splits and winds it way through the woods, and across Marble Valley. The uphill portion contains very tight turns, and I lean the ST hard. I keep my speed down, and have fun. I don't have to scrape pegs to have fun. I know this road well, but I don't redline it. There are too many houses and intersections, which means there is too much traffic. I learned long ago, if you constantly ride such roads at redline, you will crash. Maybe not today, or next week, but you will. Redline does not leave you any room for error, or the unexpected. I am much more impressed when a brother tells me he has ridden 100,000 accident free miles, as opposed to him telling me," I scraped that last curve at 80." Well yeah, but how many times have you been down the last 25,000 miles?" I approach the series of switchbacks and curves known as the "7 Sisters". I approach sister number 1, pick a low line, lean, then accelerate. Quickly, I throw my weight back to the left and repeat the process, for a fast approaching leftie. This time I pick a low line, and track out near the middle of the lane. Awesome. For a south bound rider, the "Sisters" finish off with a hard left hander at the crest, followed by a series of 3 esses, as you now boogie downhill to a sharp right hander. I meet 2 north bound cruiser guys with German helmets. One of the helmets even has a long point on top. Dang, if he goes into someone's windshield he could impale the driver, and even the score. I can't wave back, as I need both hands. A few miles south of the crest I see the sign for the new, " 29 Dreams Motorcycle Resort". I stop to check it out. Going to be a great place. If y'all are ever in the area, and need to overnight, check it out. While I was taking pictures, 2 boys on bicycles were coasting downhill on 25, and round a curve. They looked to be having fun. Funny thing is, I feel just like them. I get a few more good leans in the late afternoon sun. The cloud bank from the west is pushing in. My fuel light comes on, but I dismiss it. I will gas up in Harpersville, 20 miles away. SR 25 empties out on U.S. 231 in Vincent. A quiet little town. The post office and library are next door to each other. I just completed 22 miles of great riding. The run home will be routine. On roads I have traveled many times. In Harpersville, I stop and fill the ST with 6 gallons of gas. I paid with my check card. It is getting late, and deer will be moving, so I don't loiter. I fill up and go. I follow 25 to Wilsonville, passing a huge steam generating plant. I go over to SR 143, 30 miles to I-65. This highway most reminds me of 2 lane expressways out west. No turns, low traffic. I can dial it up. Have to keep your eyes peeled though, a LOT of people live on this highway. I am cruising at 85 mph in the late afternoon dusk. I am content. I am 60 miles from home, but I feel like I could be anywhere. Riding a bike, is like flying on the ground. Best way I can describe it. I look to my starboard side and see the setting sun shinning through the growing clouds. The rays pouring down between the clouds on to fields in the distance. The sky is dark, but hopeful looking. A very peaceful scene. The day is drawing to a close, and I am at 290+ miles so far.
The tree line is trimmed far back from 145, making deer much easier to spot. It was a great late afternoon ride on 145 despite the clouds. I pick up I-65 south at Clanton-Lay Dam. Taking care of the last 35 miles in a little less then 30 minutes. I ride the last 5 miles, thinking about my upcoming double shift beginning Thursday morning. This ride should keep me content till I can get home Sunday morning. I pulled in the garage at 5:30pm covering 350 miles for the day. I flipped the TV to Tom Brokaw, with my wife warming up leftover spaghetti. A short while later the thick clouds I saw in the western part of the state, are shrouded over my home. What took them so long?
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