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 11 About 4 o' clock this morning I could hear a bunch of noise coming from Sal Landa's tent. It sounded like he had Hulk Hogan, or Pamela Anderson trapped inside. I could hear him rolling around on his air mattress, snoring and grunting. Every once in a while he would just moan out a loud sigh. I didn't know what was coming off, but it was too cold to go over and check. If Hulk Hogan was over there beating him down, it wasn't my concern, but if he had Pamela Anderson, I was going to be pissed for not getting up. I poked out of my tent about 6:30 and headed for the rest room. It was COLD, temp in the high 30s. "If I ever get back to Alabama, I promise to be good, why do I keep tempting the fates with these cold ass fall tours, I wanna be warm again, I wanna be warm again," I kept repeating over and over. I bumped into Sal on his way back. "What the hell was goin on last night brother? I though you were gettin mugged." "Damnit, I was so damn cold, I thought my teeth were gonna break from the chattering. I kept tossing and turnin tryin to get comfortable but I was too cold, I'm gettin in a bunkhouse tonight." "Nonsense brother, you should be thick blooded like ME, I was sleepin good till you woke me up moanin and groanin." After washing my face I came back and started striking camp. I was packed and loaded by 7. The trip home from Crusso is 425 miles, but Stecoach is 50-60 miles further south, so it won't take as long. I'll be taking the usual route home, the same as years past. The ride is good, and I enjoy it, I find its familiarity comforting. The 13 was parked in the line of bikes under the cover in front of the lodge. The covered parking is really a nice touch. After strapping my gear down I went off to find Sal and Ron to tell them good bye. We were standing out front, when I saw Joe Sparrow loading out his Gold Wing for the ride back to St. Louis. I went to him and said good bye and how I enjoyed riding with him. I told Sal and Ron good bye and I might see them in January if the Keys trip works out.
I removed the 1300 from the line of bikes and dropped into gear to start the last long ride of 2004. I made a right turn out of the campground and worked the gears on the narrow lane back to SR 28. I noted the time on the dash and saw I was going to be home early enough to take the Trek out for a ride this afternoon. I was looking forward to that. The highway system in this section of the mountains is quite good. The main connectors are 4 lane divided, like SR 28 from Stecoach to US 19/74. I slipped through intermittent mist and fog as I rode to the highways I needed to take me south. The 1300's temp gauge glowed the number "38", at me and I was cold. I was pissed off too. I was tired of being frozen every morning, and now I wanted to get out of these mountains and away from the mist and fog, to where the warm sun bakes the cotton fields, and whippoorwills roost on telephone poles, making their unique "coo coo" sounds in the lazy afternoons of South Alabama. The mist formed ice droplets on the 1300's windscreen as the temp dipped down to 35 as I crossed the higher elevations before reaching US 19, where I turned south and headed to that most dreadful section of road- the Nanathala River Gorge. A traffic choking road jammed with white water busses, drag ass RVs, and lost tourists. Each shoulder is crowded with restaurants, motels, and campgrounds. Its awful. My only saving grace is I pass through early on Sunday mornings, missing the worst. I closed down on a rickety white water bus, trying to make it up stream. Metal hung from the sides, and blue smoke poured out the exhaust. It had a vague resemblance to the Partridge Family bus. It crawled along at 35 mph, and I had no chance to pass. Too much traffic and congestion along the shoulders, it was too risky. I wanted to take a valium to relax me, because I was getting agitated, I calmed myself down by saying it I'll be out of the gorge soon. In Andrews I broke free to a divided highway and took off across the valley with my shadow out in the fields to my right. The morning was sunny, and the temp had climbed into the high 30s. I knew each mile from here the temp would rise, as I came down out of the hills and traveled south. In the bright sunlight of a Appalachian morning, I eased the 1300 southward towards home. I was content with myself and this tour. I'd seen everything I had planned on, and a few things I didn't. Now I was in the last few hundred miles of a 3,000 mile tour that had taken me through the heart of the American East, and the Appalachian Mountains. My mind thought about my homecoming soon to be, about taking my wife and son out to supper to celebrate my return, with all my memories available for recall anytime I wanted. I not only thought about this trip, but all the others. The many people and places I've come to know the last 3.5 years. From Key West to British Columbia, from California to Nova Scotia. The thousands of nameless towns I can no longer picture, and the comfort the road gives me. There is nothing like sitting astride a fine motorcycle with an endless road layed out in front, beckoning me to ride and ride. Why was I in such a thoughtful mood on this day? Perhaps it was the routine familiarity this route offered, or maybe it was the fact I was heading south. I don't know. All I do know I was deep in reflection, and the quiet 1300 seemed to sense it. It asked for no commands from me, as if to say, "just keep me pointed straight, and I'll do the rest." As many times as I've crossed America, I still don't know it, or fully understand it. As I rode on I knew we were but a few weeks away from an important election, and I hoped my man would win, but if he didn't there was always the next one in 4 years. But that is not the only thing that makes America. Our country is a maze of contradictions and a mass of sub cultures. We have groups of all kinds, and somehow we all blend in. I wish everyone could know the America I know, especially those from other countries. America now has a cultural and military hegemony in the world, history has never known, and that scares the crap out of a lot people. The most common theme I find where ever I go in America is optimism and confidence. In Murphy North Carolina, I noticed a 04 1300 and a Gold Wing enter a nearby McDonalds. I followed and had a short conversation with the riders. I left my card and advised I had better get moving because I had a date with my family tonight. Shortly after that encounter I left US 19 for Georgia Spur 60. It was hard to believe it has already been a year since my last ride through here. Where does the time go? Sublime images lost in the miles of roads traveled and time passed, suddenly came back to me. "Oh yeah, I remember that house from last year," that thought flashed across my brain when I saw a white farm house with red shutters. I remembered it because it reminded me of the little home (mine) I love so much in Prattville. Spur 60 took me to SR 2 and into Elljay where I pulled into Mickey D's for last apple pie break of the trip. "What the heck, I'll skip lunch to eat a apple pie, and besides, today I'll be able to ride my Trek again." VJ would have been proud. I picked up my order and shuffled off to a table in the sunlight, where the warm rays could shine on me. A 70ish man was sitting near me reading the paper and drinking coffee. The big headline on the local paper was-"TEACHER'S DEATH IN RAMHURST RULED SUICIDE." I thought how quiet an area this place must be for such news to be the main headline. I guessed it to mean suicides were rare in these parts. I wondered if the act itself was the big news or the fact it was a teacher? Would a seamstress receive the same ink? I wanted to ask the man that question as I peered over at him, but decided not to. I left my son a text message, no need to call, noway he was out of bed 8am on a Sunday morning. A BP station was right next door so went over to top the tank off. I wanted to ride non stop to LaGrange. A pick up truck with Florida plates and a BMW GS 1100 strapped in the bed was also gassing up. Now c'mon you had to trailer a BMW from Florida? One state away? It was time to push on, so I got back on the road. The sun was warming things up nicely. From SR 2 I went to SR 5 and then to SR 53, passing the Wendy's I stopped at last year. It is located at the crossroads of 53 and 5. Like always I encountered a number of local riders on SR 53. The route has few twists, but once again after all the leaning I'd been doing the last 3,000 miles or so, I wasn't impressed, but I didn't want to rain on the locals parade. SR 53 took me to Fairmont where I picked up US 411 South. I really didn't need my notes, because I recognized the routes as I came to them. Like, "I can't remember the numbers but I know the road when I see it," kind of thing. The temperature was soaring, and it felt oh so good. It was in the mid 70s, but I kept the sweatshirt and leather gloves on. All the churches along my routes today were busy places. I passed a few farmhouses with 5-6 cars in the yard. It signaled family was over for Sunday dinner, a custom held fast to in all the rural areas of the south. One thing I've noticed in the few years I've passed through here annually is the influence of Hispanics into this part of Georgia. Encouraged by the boom in and around the Atlanta area, folks were coming in to land jobs, and they've got plenty to do. If yard signs are any indicator President Bush is going to carry Georgia handily. I find it striking that the south has become such a political force the last 30 years. I went under I-75 near Cartersville and picked up SR 61. The temp was over 80 degrees and I grew warm in the Roadcrafter and sweatshirt, but I still refused to vent out and change into a T shirt. I relished at being so warm again. Some kind of art festival was taking place in Dallas. There was lots of congestion in the downtown business district. I never realized they were so cultured here. Made me feel like I was missing something, but I just can't get into art.
I found the unmarked turn to Dallas, the only time I was fooled was the first trip through here. Ever since I know where to look. You have to turn right at the old mercantile building near the anchor fence, even though no markers note the route number, just a sign pointing "Dallas." So if a guy like me just passing through doesn't know 61 passes through Dallas, he's going to go straight, just like I did. This is my fifth trip home from the Blue Ridge on these routes. Perhaps next year I will change, but nah, to do so might bring bad luck for the coming year. A train held me up in downtown Dallas. It was mostly tank cars.
With a warm sun shining high above I pushed on through the West Georgia countryside. I thought about all those chilly mornings in New England, and even though it was cold, I'm happy I went. Every time I'm cold up there, I say, "that's it, I ain't doin this again, I've seen enough fall up here." But every year as I work my way through the temperate Georgia climate I think back to how beautiful it is up there and how much fun the people are. So yes, I'll probably go back next year. A Long Rider has to always been on the watch. I was nearing the city limits of Carrollton, and noticed a small church on the left with people talking to a driver in a car. The car left the parking lot and I covered the brakes, the vehicle kept going and proceeded to pull right out in front of me. I had 2 options. I could twist the grip and try to jet past her on the right, or I could grab the brakes and bring the 1300 down. I chose the latter because it was the sure thing. I knew I could bring the 13 down in time, but with option one I didn't. If I tried to scoot around on the right I had to be sure I could do it before she had a chance to take the entire road. I did the sure thing, and grabbed the brakes hard bringing the 1300 down quickly with a little room to spare. The spectators in the parking lot just stared in amazement. I wanted to go back and tell those folks they need to get that lady off the road because the next guy might not be as good as me, or worse the next guy could be a 18 wheeler and it that case it was curtains. Taking the keys away from an elderly driver is hard, I remember having to do it to my mother, but it was her safety and that of others that dictated the action. It was plain to see she was no longer safe. As always I left Carrollton on US 27 south and a short ride later pulled into LaGrange after almost 200 miles from my last stop. I pulled in a gas mart and topped off the tank to make sure I could make it home without stopping. I took a short walk to get the blood flowing to my legs, and at last vented out the Roadcrafter, but I kept the sweatshirt on, then saddled back up.
Traffic on 85 was moving SL+ 15 and I was glad. I joined a fast moving convoy of SUVs and sedans and motored on. I crossed the Chattahoochee back into Alabama at 2:15pm. Almost home. I looked for north bound Gold Wings on their way home from a rally every year at this time somewhere south, but I only saw a few. I reasoned the lack of Wings to the fact I was earlier this time than in years past. They probably still haven't made it to Montgomery yet. At 90 mph I clicked off the 60 miles to Montgomery quickly and was in the city before I knew it, working my way pass the exits I know so well. I took I-65 north and put down the last 15 miles into Prattville without incident. I entered Prattville and cautiously negotiated east side traffic. It would've been embarrassing to have a mishap so close to home. I always remind myself to be careful when I re enter Prattville. You have a natural tendency to relax when you get close to home. Down Memorial Drive to Sixth street I went, turning on my quiet street a little after 3. Right on time. I pulled the clutch in on the 1300 and coasted down my driveway. I left the 13 idling while I dismounted to raised the garage door, I pulled the 13 next to the 1100 and set the stand then shut down, completing a 372 mile day and a 3,367 mile trip. I said a prayer for my safe return and went inside. I pulled my boots off and hung the Roadcrafter next to my gray 1 piece in the laundry room. No one was home. I called my son and advised I was home and he said he would see us at Longhorn later. Debbie was still 2 hours from coming home, so I unloaded the bike and got my things ready for the wash. It only took 30 minutes to unpack and sort my dirty clothes. I put my sleeping bag and thermarest away in the spare bedroom, and unpacked my tent to let it dry out before storing it away till next spring. After taking care of the essentials I pulled the Trek 1200 out and went for the 15 mile bike ride I'd been eagerly looking forward to the last few days. It was a great ride and it felt good to move some air.
I was glad to see Debbie when she came in at 6. We met Chris at LongHorn where I had chicken and rice. It was time to get back to training. It was good to see my family again and it was a special way to top off a great tour and a awesome riding season. Can't wait till 2005.
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