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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Return to Cheaha I slept in today, I got up at 9:15am to log on to my computer. I opened the blinds in my study, to crystal blue skies, and warm temps. I honestly tried to get some work done, but was unable to keep my eyes from the window. Over and over my head would turn from the screen to the window. Finally, I yielded to the call of the road. It was too pretty a day not to be riding. I wasn't doing anything that couldn't wait, and today will be my last chance to ride for longer then I care to think about. I have a root canal Monday, shift work, and meetings to attend all next week. I will be busier then Bill Gates, so not going to waste today with menial tasks. I fired the ST up and pulled out of the driveway at 10:15am, but where to go? Cheaha sounds good. I was putting off riding the mountain till later, giving nature a chance to green things up a bit more in the hills, but today is a good day. Heck, I can always ride up there again if I want to. I have today and that's all that counts. I filled up the ST at the Exxon station at SR 14 and McQueen Smith Road. I am not concerned about the late start. If I get stuck riding in the dark, it will be ok. The roads will be familiar and the lighting on the ST good, so the night will not be a factor. I will ride the mountain, then bolt over to Gadsden to see my sister. SR 14 out of Prattville to Wetumpka is just like always. Slow and tedious. The slowest drivers in the world, call this road home. They poke along here like no place else. I have traveled the country, thousands of roads and miles, and this road near my home is the worst. I don't know what it is about Elmore County that makes these folks drive so slow. The section of road from Millbrook to Elmore is awful. It takes 20 minutes for me to cover the 7 miles from Prattville to Elmore, where I take a early break for a snack. Pulling up to the gas mart I see a sign on the door. "Now Hiring Cashiers- $10 dollars a hour." I make it to the back cooler, and pick up a Mountain Dew, and a Moon Pie. Breakfast of Champions. I walked past the bread, and chip displays, to the front counter, and then see what 10 dollars a hour buys. A very attractive, late 20s or early 30s clerk, petite, smartly dressed with a infectious smile. Her brown hair cut short, and gently combed. Neatly manicured nails, painted a glossy fire engine red. I try not to stare, but its hard. In a rolling southern accent that tugs at your insides, I hear, " 1.69 sir." I hear it, but it doesn't register. "Sir, that will be a dollar 1.69." I unzip the sleeve and get out 2 dollars. "Would ya like to buy a shamrock for MDS? I will put your name on it and hang it with the others." "Sure sweetie, how much?" "Whatever you want to give." How can a guy say no to such a face? Apparently not many, as the front counter is covered in shamrocks. The most memorable gas mart stop, in a loooooooong time. Felling rejuvenated, I get back on SR 14, and ride the last few miles to Wetumpka. I take a left onto U.S. 231 North. I ride past the Julia Tutwiler Womens Prison. It is located right on the highway. The razor wire gleaming in the bright sun. I see inmates clad in white prison garb lining up to go some where, possibly chow. For me, I can not think of a worse fate, then having my freedom taken away. The pain of being alive on such a glorious day as today, and not be able to enjoy it, would be tantamount to solitary confinement. Looking from behind the tall fence at the goers on the highway, would be the worse kind of punishment. Perhaps they built this prison, near the highway, just so the inmates could see ME ride by. To see a guy enjoying REAL freedom. I leave the prison in the distance, thinking I'm glad it's them and not me. I search my mental jukebox for a good song. "Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses" comes to mind. " Eighteen wheels and a dozen roses, 10 more miles on his 4 day run, a few more songs on the all night radio, and then he'll spend the rest of his life with the woman he loves." It's a good song about a truck driver, on his last trip, bringing home a dozen roses to his wife to mark the occasion. A few miles later I turn off on CR 29. This will be a different route to Cheaha then last fall. CR 29 is twisty and fun. The road is smooth, and the countryside quiet. I lean the curves, but not extremely. I want to enjoy my surroundings, I want to celebrate. I want to celebrate who I am, my good health, and all my good fortunes. I am alive and well, and this day is mine. I make a determination to savor every second of it. I see a abandoned white farm house, a few yards off the road. I pull in and walk around. The last occupants left years ago. The porch is old and falling in. A wood chair lays in the dirt yard. A broken clothes line dangles in the wind. What tales could this house share if it could only speak? This old, run down shanty, was once a home to a family. Perhaps more then one over the years. Kids once played out back, with grown ups sitting on the front porch, watching cars ride by. How did they cope with the unbearable heat and humidity of a Alabama summer, with NO air conditioning? I know how. They slept with the windows full up, with the sounds of crickets lulling them to sleep. Fans blowing in every room. They spent the evenings outside on the porch, chatting, or listening to the radio. The builders of this house, built it with hot days in mind, locating it under a big shade tree. These nostalgic feelings are nice, and only a few years before my time, but I will take my air conditioned home. I need my 91 channel television set, my computer that links me to the entire world, my world of microwaves and DVDs. I can see the news instantly as it happens. Can you imagine depending only on the 30 minute evening news cast? Hearing about it days after it happened? No satellite link ups? Brothers, we live in the "good ole days." More complicated for sure, but much better. CR 29 crosses SR 22 at a intersection called Kelly's Crossroads. There you will find a store, selling bait and hunting supplies. CR 29 north of SR 22 becomes very interesting for the next 30 miles. I have been this way before, but can't remember when. The road becomes very narrow and bumpy. I follow the road around blind curves, and into the hills of rural Coosa County. The citizens calling this area home, are quiet and want to be left alone. That is why they live here. You don't just bump into someone on CR 29. You purposefully have a need to be on this road. The road takes a hard right, and before me is
a narrow one lane bridge over a shallow river. There is no guard
rail. This bridge probably goes back to the horse and buggy days. I
take a few pictures and enjoy the scenery. I ride CR 29 through a small valley. Past rural churches and homes, and soon find myself arriving in Weogufka. A quiet, middle of no where cross roads community. A functional sawmill guards the south entrance of the community. I drop down to a four way stop sign.
With buildings located on each corner. Weogufka- a quiet little place in
the Coosa Hills, unique and intriguing, definitely worth a closer look.
How do I do that? No one is around and all the stores looked closed, but
then I notice Caperton's Old South store. Confederate flags flying high,
it looks open, so I pull up front and go in. I stroll inside the wooden building, and see
things as they use to be. Wooden shelves, with canned goods on the wall, a
variety of things any guy could want. A store before the days of Wal
Mart. A lot of stuff in a little space. Much of it old south.
I exchange greetings with who I assume to be, the owner. He introduces
himself as Lloyd Caperton, as unique a individual as Weogufka is a town.
He tells me his great, great grandfather owned the store, and passed it
down. Refreshing. We exchange views on politics, the old south, and
what direction our country is heading. We are both southern born and
breed, but with a different view. Having said that, there are some things
he is right about. I spent 30 minutes passing the time with Mr. Caperton. If you are ever in the area, stop and check him out. I follow the local road to SR 21, and breeze in to Sylacauga where I stop for a KFC lunch. While I was eating lunch a 60ish man comments on my Aerostich. "Nice riding suit." He didn't say if he rode or not. After lunch I was back on 21, heading for Talladega and the hills. I meet a south bound pulpwood truck, smelling the scent of fresh cut wood as he went past. I ride through Talladega on SR77 and turn off on 21 to start the ride to the top of the mountain. The road is no better then it was last fall. Bumpy and rough. The trees are still a few weeks away from leafing out. The air is cool, but not uncomfortable. I wave at 3 colorful squids on their way down the mountain. I guess they played hooky from school to go ride. Don't blame them on a day like to day. Twenty miles later, I reach the top and cruise through. The facilities are looking rough, the State needs to spend some money and fix the place up. I ride back down by the front side. The riding here is much better. I have the road to myself, and stop to take pictures at the first overlook. My cupped front tire, makes the ST feel squirrelly, and I am not able to lean hard. I come out of the hills onto U.S. 78 and ride west into Anniston and pick up U.S. 431. On U.S. 431 I play leap frog with blonde in a green Miata with the top down. I follow her around lame brains driving 50 mph in the fast lane all the way to Gadsden. She turns off on Rainbow Drive, and I continue west, getting on I-59 in Attalla. I decide to ride on to Reece City to enjoy more curves, before descending to my sisters. I take I-59 north to Reece City, where I exit to SR 227. I get in some good leans as the highway takes me up and over the hills. I reach a stop sign and turn right. Never been this way before, and now is as good as time as any, to see what's down this road. What a nice gem this local road turns out to
be. The highway brings me into a nice a quiet valley. I ride through
such communities as Duck Springs, and Crossville. I ride past the farms
and homes that call this valley home. I see a farm road leading to nice
quiet field. I turn off and follow it to a fertile green patch of landscape. I
park the ST at the edge and take off my helmet, and remove my ear plugs.
There is a farm house in the distance, 2 pick ups out front. The valley
hills surrounding me in this quiet place. The afternoon sun is
waning. I-59 is just over the hills, but you would never know it.
This is a happy place. I picture a farmer on a tractor in the field before
me. How awesome it must be to work in this valley, riding the hours away
on your tractor, lost in thought. I bet he plows these fields even when
they don't need it, just to be close to it. I will return to this quiet place. I write down the location, and tuck it in the fairing pocket. If any brothers want to know the exact location, email me, and I will send it, but promise it will be OUR secret. Time to get going so I retrace my path back to I-59, where I turn south and head for Gadsden. It will be dark soon. Arriving in Gadsden I miss the 759 connector and have to ride down to the next exit. I know the exit, been this way a 1000 times, but a couple of 18 wheelers kept me out of my lane. I go down my sisters long driveway, and walk in. Janice greets me warmly, and we sit at the table for a nice talk. "So what brings ya this way?" "A rumor on the internet is going around, saying you were cooking, so they sent me out confirm it" "shut up I cook all the time" "so whats for supper tonight?" "Newt is bringing home something on his way from the office", as she threw a dish towel at me. We chat for a hour, and then I have to get going. It is dark. I am not worried about the lack of of light, but the cold is another matter. March in Alabama means warm days and cool nights. Learned that from my baseball coaching days. I decide to take the back roads. Don't feel like battling the Birmingham interstate system in the dark. I take SR 77 South. The traffic is heavy and I wish I had new glasses. The highway is busy all the way to Lincoln, where I take I-20 west for a short ride to Pell City. My fuel light comes on but I ignore it. I ride through the thermal layers of the high and low spots. When the ST dips into a low area, the temp plummets, and I get cold. I rise up, and the air is warm and welcome. I follow 231 past the SR 25 turn off and wonder what it is like up there this time of night. In Harpersville, I stop at the Chevron Station and fill up. I call home and announce my return in sometime in the next hour. It is very dark now, and getting colder, and I switch to warmer gloves before starting back out. I should be able to make it home without the thinsulate vest, but I have it just in case. I follow SR 25 to Wilsonville, the strobe lights on the huge power generating plant stacks, visible far in the distance. The intense lighting of the ST light up Main Street in Wilsonville. A couple of teenage boys freeze like deer, to see what is coming down the road at them. I leave 25 for S.R. 145 and hunker down for a cold, dark 25 miles to I-65. Traffic on the highway is surprisingly thick. It is Wednesday night in rural Alabama, and the many churches dotting the roadside are busy with services. I beg the cars to stop coming at me, so I can leave my brights on. When they do I flip the switch and my speed creeps up. I don't normally ride this fast at night, but the road is familiar, and dark. The darker the better, making a good background for the PIAAs. I reach I-65 South, and quickly take care off the last 30 miles. The air is warmer now. The cold air, warm air cut off is somewhere near Clanton. Clanton is always a few degrees colder then Prattville. South of the city the cold spots are fewer and fewer. The cars I overtake on the interstate have no problem seeing me approaching from the rear. Many think I am some kind of UFO. I can see their heads glance up to their mirror when my lights cast in their car's interior. I get off at the 186 exit, ride the few miles to my neighborhood, and find my house. Dropping the stand after 381 miles, at 9:13pm. Another great ride, on another great day. Glad I was able to do it.
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