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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Day 5 After a good nights sleep I was loading the 350 Four in a thick Mississippi air. It was warm and humid, so sticky flies were stuck on windows as if it was flypaper. I checked out of the Virginia Court when I finished loading. (the motel is still there, but I think under a different name). By 9am I was making my way out the city to SR 45 North. The route bent hard east in Meriden and and then proceeded. Construction on I-20 was ongoing and I had a few unpaved sections to get by. They were dusty and bumpy. A long, corkscrew ramp greet me on the SR 45 exit. I took it and leaned the 350 as best I could. The loaded bike was top heavy, and it was difficult to hold the bike on any kind of line. (The motors of Japanese bikes of this era were far ahead of the suspension, frames, and brakes. The 350 Four had dual shocks in the back, that weren't much good after a thousand miles. The rest of the bike did not catch up to the motors till the 750 Interceptor, with its monoshock rear end in the early 80s) In just a few miles I was out of the city and heading through Central Mississippi. It as partly cloudy. "I hope De De not forgotten I'm gonna be in town tonight." If she had it wasn't a big deal, I'd check in when she returned home to Montgomery next week. A VW mini bus with curtains in the rear was moving along at 45 mph. A dump truck was between us, dropping dirt bombs in front of me. I dropped a gear and grabbed as much throttle as I could. "I'm gonna go for both," and took off. It took while, but I got the Honda up to about 90, and came around. Good thing I had a lot of room. (either of my current bikes makes that pass without a blip) On a wondering back road in East Mississippi, I decided one day I would ride to California and see all the wonders between here and there. I wanted to go for it in 2 years, but I knew I'd have to make a motorcycle upgrade. I lusted after the CB 750, "Now there's a bike that can go cross country." Scooba, Mississippi was/is a place of unknown origin. Nobody really knew how it came to be, or at least nobody in the little store I stopped at. I asked the clerk, "so why y'all call it Scooba?" " I dunno" said the lady. "Well ya reckon some kind of Indian name?" "I don't think so." And that was about all I could get out of her. I finished a bottled Coke and got back on the road. Back on the road I continued north, the sun shining on the 4 chrome mufflers of the Honda. If nothing else Honda's were beautifully designed back then. Nobody could match the 4 chrome upswept pipes of the Honda Fours of the 70s. Even though they didn't last more then a year before rusting out. (the mufflers rusted out on my bike, my dad's 750, and both Kawasaki Z-1s that my brother and I owned a year later. The problem wasn't solved till a few years later. I don't know why the Japanese had such difficulty overcoming that) In Macon, I went right on SR 14 and headed back into Alabama, and a few miles later the bike lurched and sputtered asking me to switch the reserve valve. The sun was shining brightly on the open pasture land, and big clouds drifted across the sky as if they were in wagon train. At the state line I paused and took the only picture of the day. (I don't really know why I didn't take more pics on this trip. The pocket 110 didn't hold that many pics. Perhaps I was trying to make it last.)
The route changed to SR 17 back in Alabama, and I noted it was the first time I'd ever rode a motorcycle to a different state.
By now I was getting a little concerned about the gas situation. I'd never run the Four out of gas, and to the best of my recollection been as far as 30 miles on reserve. (remember, there was no gas gauge or low fuel lights, after switching the valve over, you were on your own. Guys ran out of gas all the time just because they forgot they were on reserve.) West Alabama is/was a sleepy region of time and space. Life was slow and people seemed to have their own agendas about where they should be and what needed doing. Not long after coming back into Alabama I found a white blocked gas station and went in to fill the 350. Gas was 35 cent a gallon. A man came out to pump it, but I waved him off, "I got it." A small pack of dogs was loping along the highway bream but made no move to come in the dirt parking lot. "Don't reckon they like people." I went over to the drink machine and bought a orange drink and sat on a box of brake shoes. The attendant came over and asked me- "where ya from?" "Prattville" "What ya doin over this way?" "Nuttin just ridin around" (the gas station is no longer there, a few years ago I went back looking for it on the ST 1100 and I could only find the slab) I thought what it would be like to be in Maine or California and answer that question and get people's reaction. Now I know. Aliceville has the famous "ghost in the courthouse window" so I stopped to check it out. The Courthouse is built on the town square as was common to many small towns of America built in that era. The image was hard to see from the ground, but definitely visible. (so many people were coming to Aliceville to see the ghost, they eventually put one of those 25 cent tourist binoculars on the sidewalk across the street.) I left Aliceville on SR 17 North. It was more good riding across open farm and timberland. No cars to do battle with to speak off. The ride went by fast to Fayette where I found a Bob Sykes BBQ place. (this was a franchise back then, and to the best of my knowledge, no longer exits) After ordering my sandwich I sat down and waited for my number to be called. I took out my paper and made a few notes. Here is the exact entry as I wrote it that day- "Sitting in a Bob Sykes BBQ in Fayette. Pretty good ride from Meriden. Gassed at a white block station near state line for 35 a gallon, and saw a pack of dogs. Checked the ghost in window in Aliceville. Not much traffic on 17. Saw VW bus with curtains. Twisty ramp on SR 45 when I left Meriden, and dusty construction zone. Left Meriden about 8:30am" After lunch I connected US 43 and SR 129, ever mindful to keep riding north. I needed to get in Decatur at a decent hour so picked up the pace. In Winfield I took U.S. 78 East for a few miles to SR 25, to ride through the Bankhead National Forest. Just as I entered the forest I ran into a thunderstorm. I pulled off and put on my cheap rain suit. The road had some nice curves but the wet roads and rain prevented me from doing any leaning. I was out of the rain by the time I arrived at Double Springs, a tiny hamlet nestled in the woods of the Bankhead Forest. I resisted the urge to take butt break and moved to SR 33 North. The highway rolled up and over a few small hills and dollops, as mid afternoon changed to late afternoon. Not much was going in Moulton on this hot early August afternoon, when I brought the 350 Four around the Lawrence County Courthouse to SR 24 for the final few miles to Decatur. (I returned to Moulton in 1992 with my son's 12 year old baseball team, we were playing in the state tournament. I thought back this day that night in the coaches meeting) My route deposited me in the business district of Decatur. I was hot and sticky, and for me, at that time a long day in the saddle of 300 miles. (I know that sounds funny now, but that was a long way for me back then on the tiny Honda. I remember thinking I'd really done something). I decided to splurge and checked in a fancy Holiday Inn that even had a lobby. I was way under budget, and not phased by the 20 dollar fee. The only problem it was second story room, and my bike would not be as close to me as I would have liked. My total miles for the trip so far was 816 miles. (in the margin of my notes I can see 816-514=302, taken off the trip meter I had reset to zero before departure. The 514 was my total miles in Meriden.) Before taking a shower I went downstairs and adjusted and lubed the chain. When I finished the basics, I called De De at her Uncle's house. "Hey, what's goin?" "Not much, you in Decatur?" "yeah I got here about a hour ago. What do ya wanna do tonight?" "I dunnor" "ok lemme get a shower then come by here and pick me up, room 212. Gimme about a hour." I'd been alone since Wednesday morning, and I was kind looking forward to some company. (it was somewhere in this timeline, I confirmed what I always knew, I prefer solo riding) About a hour later De De tapped on my door and escorted me down to her blue 72 Vega with a Camaro stripe across the hood. "Now don't drive crazy." To this day I fear teenage girls and cars. "where ya wanna go?" "I dunno baby, its your car and your town." It was Friday night in Decatur, and the town was busy. DeDe took me to local steakhouse on the east side of town. (it is no longer there). The steak pit was encased in glass and you could see the meat sizzling as you entered from the parking lot. The front had neon lights blinking. The decor inside was tasteful and well done. It was good. We talked about lot of stuff while we were eating. "Look, when we both get back to Montgomery, what do you see happening?" "I dunno baby, you know how I am." "are you still gonna call me?" "of course, we'll just see where it goes." (DeDe married a few years later, and we are still friends. She runs a successful research company. She calls me whenever she needs someone to sit on one of her mock juries.) After supper we did what most teenagers do. We cruised. The local hang out was a parking lot, on the east side of town. She introduced to a few of her friends. She had a few cousins and over the years made herself comfortable on her visits to Decatur. She introduced me as her "friend" from Montgomery because at that time on one knew where Prattville was. (that is no longer the case, as Prattville surpassed such cities as Decatur a long time ago. Plus, we are home to the top rated High School team in the state. EVERYBODY knows where Prattville is now.) It was fun hanging out, and after an hour or we were on our way back. "Look here baby, stop at that drug store, I gotta get some more film." I jumped out and picked up a roll of 110 film and a Coke for later. Back at the motel we talked some more, but never really resolved anything. "look baby, all I know is I gotta be in Gadsden tomorrow night, and after that I dunno what I'm gonna be dong, or where I might be" "Well you can't go through life thinking like that" "Maybe not, but I'm gonna give it a whirl" After she left I thought. "Man I was suppose to call Kathleen, I'll do that tomorrow when I get closer to Gadsden." Like many 18 year guys, I figured "what she doesn't know ain't gonna hurt her." The Holiday Inn TV was the best of the whole trip, it even had a primitive cable. It picked up 10 channels. Still no HBO or ESPN, but a collection of stations from Birmingham and Huntsville. One channel was nothing more then a camera locked on on rotating clock, temp, and advertisements. If you were to see such a thing now on your big screen you'd laugh. Still had to get up to change channels though. I watched a late night movie till I got sleepy. Next- Cullman and weekend at my sisters.
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