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 7 The streets circling the Motel 8 were still wet when I walked out to load the ST. A big Yamaha cruiser bike from Iowa, was parked next to me. I wonder what time he came in last night? It appeared he was still upstairs snoozing away. I spilt potholes full of water as I made my way through the service roads to the QEW. I know I complain a lot about roads in the northeast, but they do the best they can given the climate. Snow, ice and salt play havoc with asphalt. Taking a long look over my left shoulder, I dropped down on the QEW and beamed in on the border. Traffic was bearable, and I made my way over to the far left to get comfortable. I'll be crossing the border at the Falls. The morning is partly cloudy and humid for this part of the country. I'm in Niagara before the ST can even get warmed up good. I followed the signs down to the Falls. I decided to spend a few minutes taking pictures before continuing south. It is only 730am and the hotels and casinos are not yet in full operating mode. The roar of the falls can be heard several blocks away despite my earplugs, and a fine mist blankets the area. Niagara Falls is probably the single greatest natural wonder in the east. It is very beautiful and inspiring. I rate the Smokies and the Blue Ridge as the most scenic AREAS, but the Falls takes home single site honors.
I cruise up and down Portage Road (the frontage road for the Falls) taking pictures and absorbing the sights. I was last here in 2000, in my Prelude, traffic was hectic that day, and I felt rushed. This morning, I pretty much have the place to myself. A few couples can be seen strolling the walkways, but most of the traffic are joggers and bicyclists. One of the guys at work told me he spent 3 days at Niagara Falls. I wonder what that joker did for THREE days? I saw everything I needed to see in about 10 minutes. Finished with my pictures, I rode down to a obscure border crossing and crossed back into the good ole USA. "how long were you in Canada?" The guard asks in a tough Northeast accent. "several days" "residency?" "ALABAMA!!" "yeah, I can tell" "anything to declare?" "nah, I'm just a southern boy on his way home" Since the crossing was slow (I was the only customer), a soldier walks over. He is wearing green camouflage fatigues. He began telling me about his R1, as the custom agent enters my stats in the computer. "well have a good ride" "y'all too" The US side of the Falls stands in stark contrast to the Canadian. Niagara Falls, NY is dark and drabby looking, even in the sunlight. Run down tourist shops and closed down businesses dot the downtown area. Many buildings were boarded up, and grass grew high everywhere. The city was a ghost town. I rolled int0 a local store run by what appeared to be mideast nationals. I wanted to know more about this city, but I didn't think he had much info to offer. I bought some crackers and a Dew, and did not exchange one word with the joker behind the counter. I was standing near the ST starring up and down at this relic of a city, when a man wheeled in with a white 80s something Caddy. "how ya doin? From here?" "yeah, for the last 60 years" "so what's the deal with this place?" I asked the man how a city goes broke, with Niagara Falls for a draw. "Easy. Poorly run, and they taxed individuals and businesses till they threw up their hands and left. See that house over there?" As he pointed to a small, run down, wood frame house that needed painting so bad, the wood looked petrified. It was on a very small lot. "I guarantee ya, the taxes on that dump are over 9,000 dollars a year." I gagged on my coke, "really??" No society has ever been able to tax themselves into prosperity, only the opposite is true. The proof is in Niagara Falls NY. In fact, pretty much the whole state of NY is overtaxed, and one of the reasons so many are leaving for Florida or Nevada. As a long time resident he also told me the Canucks put the emphasis on the Falls, while the Yankees in Niagara placed importance on industry, and electric generating. When those jobs dried up, it hurt the city badly. The foresight of the Canadians paid off with bright new hotels and lots of tourist money, and it doesn't hurt they have the best views. "well good tawkin to ya. Thanks for the insight" "sure thing, and if you know a place down south call me" he said with a laugh, "I don't wanna be the last guy outta here." You can be a happy, go lucky guy like me, and after spending a few hours in Niagara Falls, NY, you might need Prozac. What must this place be like in January? I couldn't get OUT of there fast enough.
I left the city traveling east on I-90. Traffic was moderate. I saw several NY State Trooper cars giving out performance awards to generate some revenue for this deeply in debt state. I didn't even think about speeding. Where is Wyoming when you need it? I stopped for a break at a busy rest area and went in the lobby. I jostled by the throngs to the rest room. The place was a mad house. Before I left the area, I got my atlas out. I was tired of interstate riding already. My early route plans had me on these monoliths, because I needed to be in Philly at a decent hour. But now, I don't care about that. The scenery looks inviting away from I-90. I am near the Finger Lake area, and I'm sure there a few nice roads close by. A family in a SUV with Texas plates came in next to me as I was gearing back up. We both said hi, but they didn't linger. I got back on the interstate. My plan is to take the SR 34 exit, and hook up with I-81 south of Syracuse. Before I could get there, I saw a massive traffic jam on the west side. A front end loader and 3 guys had one lane blocked, causing a 20 mile log jam. It was horrendous. The west bound line was stagnant for 20 miles, awesome. I was just thankful I was EAST bound. The nightmare across the median only confirmed I needed to get off this road before MY luck runs out. When SR 34 appeared, I jumped on it. I was glad to be off I-90, but they did not let me escape without paying my tolls. My hand would be in my pocket all day today. They never let you forget you are in NY. Luckily, I still had a few dollars American and I used the last of it paying tolls. I was dead ass cashless when I pulled into a Auburn bank and made use of the ATM. Auburn was a busy place and it took me a while to through it. When I broke out to the other side of the city, the riding was much better. The terrain became rolling farmland and the ST took me over hills and by pastures. SR 34 had a few nice curves in it and I found myself leaning the ST like crazy. It was a nice surprise. I met a couple of local north bound riders and we threw up our hands. Quiet hillsides full of wildflowers decorated the landscape, and the pastureland and row crops looked green and full. Upstate NY differs so much from the southern portions, they might as well be different countries. Culturally, politically and geographically, they are nothing alike. I made a brief pass through Genoa searching for a local diner to eat lunch. Northern diners have the best food. None of it is good for you, but it sure tastes good. You don't have to worry about tofu being on the menu. I came up empty on the diner, so kept riding. Near Genoa I picked up SR 90, and a few miles later found what I was looking for. A local diner named Barbs appeared, so I stopped. The parking lot was gravel, and old political signs could still be seen on a bordering fence. The cars in the parking lot looked typical northeast. Dark colors, with black wall tires. The diner was busy and I opened the wood door to find a typical northeast culinary delight. The food smelled good and the service was friendly. The place was busy and I found seat at a table. For some reason, I felt people were starring at me. Two guys at the booth next to me were talking baseball, in particular the Mets. "yeah, the Mets are just playing for next year" A young waitress named Rebecca takes my order for a hot roast beef sandwich and fries. "are you from South Carolina?" "no baby, but you're close. Alabama, and what do YOU know about South Carolina?" "I spent some time in Hilton Head a few years ago" "Hilton Head?? So waitressing pays big money in NY? "BE QUIET, it was a family vacation. We pooled our money" I was just finishing my meal when I saw a old lady with a walking stick trying to negotiate the side door. It involved 2 doors and some steps. She was struggling to open the door, and get through it with her cane. I came over and opened the door for her, helped her down the stairs, and then opened the last door to the parking lot. "I'm glad to see some still have manners." "It's no big deal m'am." I strive for 2 things when on a long tour far from home-a good ambassador for motorcyclists, and for my homeland. Few people in Locke, NY will ever have any interaction with Long Riders, or someone from Alabama. The only impression they may ever get, is the one I leave. After lunch, I rode a few miles, and stopped for gas at a Chevron station in Homer. The fun was over, because I found I-81, and went south. Not only was my ad hoc route fun, it saved me time. I by passed Syracuse, and who knows what else, and found myself not far from Pa. It was early afternoon now, and I was approaching the most densely populated area of the country- the Northeast Corridor. Which runs from DC to Boston. I was not looking forward to it. The interstate is packed full with cars, and the landscape begins to transform into urban sprawl. My mind goes back to South Dakota. The feeling of openness out there is intoxicating. Riding hundreds of miles to the horizon, or just sitting quietly on a hillside, is good for one's spirit. Need more? How about a late afternoon ride along Goose Lake, or a meditating ride through the desert. All of which are on my mind right now, as I fight my way into Pa. I went through Scranton, and switched over to I-476. Otherwise known as "The Extension". Anytime a road has name up this way, it usually means you pay to use it. Cars and trucks fought each other space, and left me with the scraps. Not being choosy, I made the best of it. At a rest area north of Philly I stopped for a butt break. I had a drink, and made a few phone calls. I was going to hit Philly right at rush hour. West Chester was south of Philly so that meant entering the city would be ok, but getting out the south end was going to be tough. Before I knew it, I was passing the city's northeast suburbs and preparing for the run through the city. Rain clouds over the city reminded me I hadn't been wet today, but that was about to change. I knew my routes by heart and was searching for them when the rain hit. Another hard rain, which pelted me, putting me in survivor mode. Again, it was hard to see the traffic. It was really coming down hard, an instant replay of Toronto. I became invisible in the road spray of 18 wheelers, and it worried me. I missed my exit when I get my east-west bearings mixed up. I had to ride a couple of miles to the next one to correct myself. I made it over to 202 and followed it out of the city to West Chester. It was another tough urban ride in the rain. The rain went away just I cleared Philly. When I got to West Chester I topped off the tank at a Shell station and set out to find my Uncle's house. His neighborhood was not hard to find, and unlike last year I came right to his house. My aunt and uncle came out to meet me when I rode up. I rode 401 miles today. They escorted me inside and reintroduced me to a few long lost cousins. I hadn't seen my Uncle's children since my grandmother died over 30 years ago. Paul, Russel, Lyn and Michelle were all there. All of us are about the same age, and we spent the evening cooking out and telling stories. They were fascinated by my travels and kept me up asking questions and wanting stories. I shared the basement with Russel and went to sleep about 11. I was tired and looked forward to a day away from the saddle.
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