Day 7
October 7th, 2001
Ottawa, Canada
I slept like the dead. The watch that managed to wake Coop a few days ago, from
50 ft, sounds like Big Ben going off.
I pack my stuff and go upstairs. I peer out the windows of Jerry's back
door. I see rain drops in the pool outside, and my breath sticks to the
window. That means its cold outside also.
I securely pack the post cards Natalie (Jerry's daughter) so thoughtfully went
out and bought for us the night before, so we have something of Ottawa to bring
home. Very sweet of her.
Loading the bike I tell Jerry-
"brother you aint gotta do this"
"but I want to ride to Lake Placid with you guys"
"but its brutal outside"
"nothing I can't handle"
"well ok, we will be glad to have you"
We pose for some departing pictures in Jerry's garage and back out. My
bike is dirty and is covered in road spray. My mirrors are spotted, and
the windshield is coated in some kind of film.
I once again don full winter gear.
We top off the tanks at a nearby combo service station. "You need it, we
got it" type of place. I stick my Exxon card in the slot since this
is a Esso station. Same thing right? Wrong. I get the error
message. I go to my VISA card and get accepted. I still don't
comprehend the conversion rate, all I know is American money buys ALOT in
Canada. I use my cards whenever possible to avoid having to worry about
getting a fair conversion rate from a store clerk.
With my gas tank full and bladder empty we pull out into spitting rain, wet
roads, and wind. I am dressed well and not cold. This trip confirms the
need to have GOOD equipment.
I follow Jerry down back roads and short cuts. Soon the landscape gives
way to farmland and rural quietness. We jump on 416 and home in for the
border crossing at Cornwall.
The rain goes away, but we pick up a nasty headwind. I keep my head tucked
down out of the turbulence.
We arrive in Cornwall and find refuge at a Omelet shop kind of place. We
are just a few minutes from the border. I pay for my jelly toast and coke
with the Canadian money I managed to pick up along the way. Canadians have
more coins to deal with then a short legged beggar in Times Square.
Over breakfast, Jerry says-
"the smart money said bag it one more day in Ottawa, and let this storm
pass over".
"so they put the dumb money on us to try to ride on a day like
this?"
A stubborn and slow moving front caught us in Sault Saint Marie and has plagued
us ever since. We ride out of it, stop for the night, and it passes back
over us. We repeat the scenario the next day. If the plot holds true to we
should run out of the rain soon, and be rain free the rest of the day, till we
stop for the night, and repeat the process the next day.
We expect a thorough shakedown crossing back into the U.S.
The rain is gone when we come out of the restaurant.
We get back on the road, cross the Saint Lawrence River, and descend down to the
border crossing. Right away I see a soldiers in full battle fatigues
assisting the Customs agents. Phil goes first and a soldier instructs me
to hold 50 feet back.
Uh-oh I see Phil being instructed to open his saddlebags. I smile as they
decide not to make him open the river bags. YEAH. I guess Phil
convinces the guards he is a good guy.
I am motioned in. Private J. Vinson of the New York National Guard, and Officer
P. Ellzey of the United States Custom Service inspect my saddlebags, and log my
vital stats. Private Vinson asks me-
"whats metal in this bag?"
"stove and a mess kit"
"how long were you in Canada?"
" 3 days"
"Picture I.D. please"
I give my drivers license
"U.S. citizen?"
"yes"
"where from?"
"Alabama"
They enter my tag number in the computer, and document my info.
"have a good day sir"
I thank them for the job they do, and pull up to meet Phil and wait for Jerry.
Clearing customs we head east on SR 4, then quickly go north on SR 5. I am
sad to be out of Canada, there was still much to see and do, but there will be
other trips.
The farm houses on SR 5 are awash in red, white and blue. I see a sign on
a mailbox, Bin Laden is a dead man walking. The good people of New York
are pissed, and I so am I.
It begins to feel warmer and I watch the quiet pastures and rolling hills ease
by. The outline of the Adirondacks are in the distance.
The Adirondacks conjuring up blowing snow and
cold,
for 2 southern Long Riders.
I am lost in thought as I soak up the landscape. I sing the old country song
"Detroit City" in my helmet. The lyric from that song-
"last night I fell asleep in Detroit City, and I dreamed about those cotton
fields and home, I dreamed about my brother, dear ole pappa, sister and brother,
and I dreamed about that girl, that's been waiting there so long".- The
lyric plays over and over in my head.
Checking the Map- Moira, New York
I stop to take a pic
of tractor in a field and I fail to zip the throwaway camera back up in the
Roadcrafter, it falls out a mile later at 60mph. I double back and find
it, no damage done. Phil and Jerry pull up and wait.
Passing through Dickinson Center, I see a photo op and pull to the shoulder.
Phil has done the same a mile back. I decide to take a pic of the colorful
trees dotting Main Street. I get off the ST and take a few steps, and hear
the awful noise. My bike goes down. The sloping shoulder is too much for
my stand. I turn around and there it is. Crunched on the ground. Right
away I see my right mirror is disintegrated. A guy working on his car
witnesses the whole thing. He said he yelled at me, but my ear plugs
prevented me from hearing him. He helps me get the ST up. Besides
themirror my right bag now has 3 deep gouges.
I am pissed but not out of control. Phil and Jerry come in and survey the
damage. I am about to pull the useless mirror off. The casing is in
5 pieces. The glass shattered. Phil says-
"If ya do that you wont have a turn signal"
Amazingly the bulb is not broken and still works. He breaks out some duct
tape and somehow patches my mirror back on. I don't know how he did it,
but he did. I may not have a mirror, but I can at least use my
signal.
Phil estimates the damage at 600 bucks. Ouch.
Expensive picture.
The slope of the shoulder greatly reduced the effectiveness of the tip over
wing. And unlike Tennessee, this was not a controlled landing, but a full
force blast. The wing did prevent damage to the heads and fairing.
The mirror bore the brunt of the fall. It is made to break away, and so it
did. Just not in one piece.
The scene below, the reason I stopped for the pic.
The 600 dollar picture.
Photo Phil Derryberry
The bag is ok, just ugly.
I don't let this ruin my trip. I know it looks bad, but once home both parts can
easily be replaced, and I will be good as new.
We continue on and soon find ourselves picking up SR 30. We are in the
Adirondacks now, and the temp dips. The highway is guarded by thick
foliage and tall trees. Everything is in full fall color. The leaves
in New York are peaking and we are just in time.
On SR 86 it begins to snow. Blowing snow. I have the point and the wind
bucks me. I check my mirror and see the 2 headlights behind me. Reassuring
me I am not alone. We crawl along the mountain road. The ground is still
warm so the snow is not sticking, but how long will that last? I keep my
eyes peeled for black ice.
I am sure the Adirondacks are beautiful, but today they are inhospitable.
Mountain peaks are covered in thick clouds. After what seems like forever,
we arrive in Lake Placid.
We dismount at a Howard Johnson's and get something to eat. Completing 40
of the some of the toughest miles I have ever traveled.
I had the fish and chips. Avoid it you ever find yourself in a Ho Jo.
The snow has stopped, and we get back out. Lake Placid is a busy place.
Traffic is thick and the pedestrians are all over the business district.
We ride pass several Olympic venues and I think back to the gold medal hockey
team in 1980. That game was played right here.
On highway 9N we come down out of the mountains. Riding down a long
mountain descent into a valley I see the sun break out. My spirits soared.
Sun! After days of cloudy and cold my ST has found the sun. I flip my
shield up and soak in the rays. I crank the throttle up and wisk through
the valley at 80. Phil and Jerry must wonder what is going on, but I was
happy to out of the twisty, turning snowy roads of the mountains. Even if
only for a brief time.
At I-87 Jerry peels off and returns to Ottawa. A great guy and true
brother. We give him a long good bye wave.
We keep pressing eastward. SR 22 will take us to the ferry at Essex.
Along here I have my close call.
We are trapped behind a slow moving car and gear down to make a pass. I
throttle up as I move left. Suddenly a south bound car darts up from a low
spot I could not see. I throttle back and hit the brakes and feel the rear
end shift giving me a malaox moment. The car I am passing sees what is
going on, and instead of keeping his pace gets on the brakes. Now, I have to
bring the ST down to match his speed to get back in. I pull off the
maneuver but it ain't fun. Not all that close, but still too close for
comfort. The southbound car was not a big threat as the sliding rear end
was.
We pay our 4.50 and que up for the ferry ride. My bike and I have never been on
a ferry ride before, but no one behind us knows that so we fake it.
We pass the time crossing Lake Champlain making small talk with motorists and
taking pictures.
The ferry ride across Lake Champlain. The sun
awaits.
Exiting the ferry we get on SR 116 and then SR 17 for the trip across the Green
Mountains. It is late afternoon now, and the shadows begin to grow long.
SR 17 is twisty and we keep our speed down on the blind curves. We do not
get into any extreme lean angles. I am a long way from home, and noway and
I am going to drop my bike. I lean just enough to keep it fun and that's
all. As Phil says, we have no one to impress. I admit to being a has
been.
SR 17 is a great ride. The leaves are peaking and we stop for
pictures. There is no place like fall in New England. We carve the
turns and enjoy the ride.
The
Green Mountains of Vermont
We take SR 100 to I-89 to Montpelier, arriving at dusk.
We opt out of camping. Going to be too cold. We can feel the wind already.
It begins to snow again. The front has caught up to us AGAIN. We
find a Comfort Inn near the interstate and pull up in swirling snow and cold,
with darkness quickly overtaking us. The clerk sees us coming and sticks us for
105 bucks for a room. What else could we do? We ante up and get out
of the cold and snow.
I take a warm shower and then we walk over to a nearby restaurant for a so so
supper.
When I get back to the room I turn the TV on and see we are bombing the Taliban.
I get chills when I see the flag the firefighters flew over the WTC flying on
the deck of the Roosevelt as air crews take off to exact justice. Mayor Gilluani
gave the flag to the Navy and asked them to remember the over 300 firefighters
killed at the Trade Center. Armament crews scribble the letters FDNY on
ordinance to be delivered to Kabul. It makes me feel good my brothers are
not forgotten.
A great ending to memorable day
