My mood or how I’m feeling at the time rarely, if ever, has an impact on whether I jump on the bike and ride or not. What puts my butt in the saddle is how I know I’ll feel once I’m on the bike. That's the feeling I look forward to. I don't do all day and cross country rides because I want to get away. I do them because I want to explore the countryside and experience whatever the ride might bring, good and bad. Trust me, when I tell you I’ve been caught in some hellacious storms over the years, and I don’t recall ever thinking, “Great, this is cool.” Most of the time my thinking is more along the lines of, “What the hell am I doing out in this mess? I hope I get back home in one piece.”
I love the feeling of experiencing the open road from the saddle of my Harley. I love the feeling of not having an agenda…just ride until you see something interesting and stop, or simply stop for the heck of it. I love seeing things that I never would have seen from a plane or a car and I especially love the discoveries made on the back roads of America. These are typically things that don’t really matter much in the broad scheme of things, but I find them to be thought-provoking, exciting and sometimes just weird.
An example is a barn I passed in West Virginia with the Mail Pouch Chewing Tobacco sign painted on the side. “Why would that be interesting?” you might ask. Because my wife’s grandfather, Pappy, chewed Mail Pouch and always had a sleeve of it in his pocket. The sight of that old barn brought back terrific memories of Pappy and good times with family.
I have the same reaction to old country stores (my grandmother ran a country store for years when I was growing up in south Alabama) and old Pepsi signs (my grandfather drove a delivery truck for Pepsi for years). You don’t see those sights from an airplane and rarely see them from the interstate when traveling at 75 mph in a car. But, from the seat of a Harley, cruising along at 45 mph (Ok, I'm usually going faster than 45) on a peaceful country road, the world opens up to you and you can see everything your old tired eyes choose to take in.
Don’t get me wrong. I spend an inordinate amount of time planning most of my rides. I scour maps and look at dozens of potential routes trying to find the one that gives me the most “bang for buck”. I use the Ride Planner feature on Harley-Davidson.com to plot out the ride in detail. I make sure I take into consideration a wide variety of things like: when I need to be somewhere, how far I’d like to get on a given day, what type of road I’ll be traveling, etc. All of that comes into play in making sure I leave enough time in the day to simply enjoy riding. I leave that well devised plan with my wife, Renee, so if I fail to turn up some day, she’ll have some idea of where to tell the cops to look for my body. But, I almost always deviate from the planned route regardless of how thoroughly researched, thought out and brilliant I may have thought it was when I put it together.
Most of my map and Internet analysis goes into trying to find interesting things to see or places to visit. For example, the trip to Oklahoma included plans to stop at the West Virginia State Capitol, visit Marshall University and the University of Kentucky, and a few other stops along the way. I hardly ever actually stop at all of the places I find and when I do stop it’s for the least amount of time possible, but it’s nice to have those options floating out there in case I get a wild hair to take advantage of one of them.
I got my gear loaded on the bike and headed for Winchester, Virginia and the local Harley dealer there, Grove’s Winchester H-D. I had checked the brake pads a few days before and realized the rear pads were basically gone. I figured it was a good idea to get them replaced before heading out for 2500 miles on the open road. I was at Grove’s by 2:45 and as we did the walk around on the bike, I realized a needed a new rear tire too. Luckily, they were able to take care of the rear pads and tire. Unfortunately, once they got the pads off the rear, they realized the rotor had been grooved and it needed to be replaced too.
It’s my own fault. I had the bike at an independent shop a couple of weeks before for a 10k service. I asked them to give the bike a thorough going over and let me know if they found anything needing repair. They never mentioned the pads or the worn tire. I put another two or three weeks worth of riding on them (for me that can be another 1000 miles) before I noticed they were worn out. I won’t name the shop, but I won’t be taking the bike back there for service again. Lesson learned. I’m responsible for the maintenance of my bike and I was a dumb-ass for expecting someone else to pay as close attention to it as I should have been.
So, with new rotor, pads and tire (and my wallet $400 lighter), I hit the road about 4PM and started west. I made a quick stop in Stephens City, Virginia to gas up and by 4:10 I was officially on my way. I departed Stephens City going west and hit Middle Road which runs to the southwest and hits VA-55 a few miles northwest of Strasburg, Virginia. Ten more miles on VA-55 and I was crossing into West Virginia and VA-55 became WV-55.
Another five miles on WV-55 and I hit the first of many excellent, four-lane highways brought to you by Senator Robert C. Byrd (Democrat – WV) known as the Robert C. Byrd Appalachian Highway System (since I’ll be ranting a bit about this, I decided to shorten the reference to AHS). He’s been in the US Senate since January 1959 and was a representative for the state of WV before that. That’s more than 50 years in Congress. Did our forefathers really expect people to make politics their careers? I don’t think so. Back in their day it was a hardship to be in Congress, but they did it out of service to their country. Now it’s a damn lifelong career (Sorry, I digress).
Byrd must have funneled billions into West Virginia. As best as I can tell, everyone in the state must be employed by the Department of Transportation or subcontractors to DOT. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the ability to scream across West Virginia on an excellent highway, but there wasn’t nearly enough traffic to warrant a highway like this. Good to see our federal tax dollars at work.
My first stretch of the AHS ran for 21 miles from Wardensville to Moorefield. I realize you’ve probably never heard of either place unless you’ve traveled this stretch of the AHS, which is exactly my point about Byrd’s pork barrel highway projects in his home state. West of Moorefield WV-55 runs along the south fork of the Potomac River and winds its way toward Petersburg. My intent was to get some pictures as I rode, but I knew I had bad weather out in front of me and I wanted to get as far as I could. I resolved to use the return ride to capture this part of WV. So, you'll have to take my word that the ride across WV was pleasant enough. I passed a small hair salon in Petersburg and a cute stylist was locking the door to head home. It made me wonder if I might need a haircut on my way back home. I’d need to plan my return to pass through before 5PM.
I ran into the first spats of rain as I rode into Elkins, WV. I needed fuel, so I topped off the tank and used the stop as an opportunity to throw on my rain suit. It rained off and on from Elkins to Buckhannon, but not enough to keep me off the road. The sun was fading (racing the sun is always one of my favorite parts about my rides), but since I was making good time and the rain hadn't started in earnest yet, I decided to keep riding and make it to Weston before stopping for the night. Luckily the road from Elkins all the way to I-79 was another fine stretch of the AHS so I knew I’d have good roads even if the weather turned worse. I rode into Weston believing I could get a little further down the road and decided to set my sights for Charleston. It was only about 100 miles further and if I could get to Charleston it would put me in great shape for the next day.
I jumped on I-79 and headed south at 75-plus mph (no sense in riding on the interstate if you're not going to make good time). Within 20 miles the rain was coming down in buckets and the tractor-trailer traffic on I-79 made it white out conditions. To make matters worse, some of the clouds seemed to be sitting on the highway. There were periods where I just rode along in complete blindness hoping I was keeping the bike somewhere in the vicinity my lane. I had the emergency lights flashing and was riding at a slow speed, but still wasn’t sure if I was staying on the road or going to get hit from behind at any minute.
Bandit has advised me in the past that I should write about what I’m thinking as I’m out on these rides. Well, at that moment I was thinking, “So, this is how I’m going to die.” I rode blind for the next 10 miles waiting for an exit that indicated there was some form of life or at least a cover of some sort I could hide under for a while. Mile marker 67 advertised a couple of hotels and I decided it was the perfect place to spend a night. I was 30 miles closer to Charleston, but soaked to the bone and tense as the strings in a professional tennis racquet.
I took the Flatwoods exit and decided to call it a night. It was only a little after 8PM, but riding blind was getting old very fast. There were a couple of motels at the exit along with a couple of gas stations and, of course, a McDonalds. As luck would have it, I wound up at the expensive hotel. I should have left when they told me their rate was $89 a night, but I didn’t want to get back out in the weather, plus the clerk across the counter was really cute. So, I sucked it up and paid my money.
The hotel had a restaurant on the premises and everyone of the waitress were cute as all get out as well. The restaurant had a prime rib buffet special going on that night, so I peeled off my wet clothes, put on some dry ones and made my way down to scarf up a big ass hunk of red meat. After gorging myself on prime rib and a Coors Light, I wandered back to my room, checked in with the family and let them know where I was spending the night.
By this time, I had forgotten about the crappy weather, the trucks blowing past me, the blind riding, and all the bad stuff. My thoughts were on how much I enjoyed being on the road, what a great ride it had been through eastern West Virginia, and looking forward to the next day of riding. I had a great beginning to another adventure in the books, so I wrote down some notes from that day's ride and rolled over to catch some shuteye.
One could look at the decision to continue past Weston as a mistake. Had I stopped in Weston, I would have stayed relatively dry and not put myself in the middle of a storm. But, that's just part of riding cross country. If you have somewhere to go, you suck it up and keep riding regardless of the weather. Little did I know, but that 10 miles of rainstorm was only an appetizer for what Mother Nature had in store for me the next day.
I awoke on Day 2 and immediately turned on The Weather Channel. It wasn’t raining in Flatwoods, but the front I was worried about was now stretched across the US from Buffalo, NY to Abilene, TX and made a beautifully symmetrical arc right across my path. As a matter of fact, it appeared to flow south from Buffalo down into Ohio where it began to swing more to the west, basically stretching it across the entire state of Kentucky. Guess where I was going to be riding today…you got it…across Kentucky.
I was rain free for the first hour as I rode from Flatwoods to Charleston. The ride down was beautiful though. I left about 6:30AM and the sun wasn’t up yet. But, as I rode south on I-79, I could see the sun trying to peak over the mountains on my left. It was an odd ride too. The weather was really funky. As I rode in and out of the various hallows and valleys the temperature would change dramatically going from warm to cold. The windshield would fog over as I rode into the warmer, damp air and defrost as I came back up into the cooler, dryer air.
I planned to stop in Charleston and snap a picture of the state capitol (remember my well thought out ride plan). For some reason, that sounded like a good idea on this ride. But, the rain started as I was entering Charleston. So, instead of heading into town via I-77S/64E, I merged onto I-64 and went west. I decided to keep moving as long as I could and push to get as far as I could. I knew I was going to spend most of the day in the rain and the further west I could go the sooner I was going to break out on the other side of the front to dryer, but colder weather.
Once the rain started it seemed to come in waves. It would pour down rain for 20 or 30 miles then slack off. In some instances the rain came down so hard, I just took the next exit and waited it out at a gas station. Within 15 or 20 minutes it usually slacked off and I was on my way again. One of my rain stops included breakfast at the Waffle House just across the state line at exit 191 in Kentucky. Another stop included a gas station (around mile marker 156 I think) where wouldn’t you know it; another set of cute girls worked the cash register and the food counter.
By the time I rolled into Lexington, Kentucky the rain had tapered off, but everything was wet. My plan was to ride through the University of Kentucky and get a picture of their stadium (since Alabama beat the Wildcats there the weekend before). Somehow I missed the turn to take me to the university, so I just kept riding west. Unfortunately, the rain kept coming on and off as I passed through town and instead of being on US-60 through town, I wound up on US-68 going southwest versus west.
I realized my mistake, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to get things corrected. It was time to consult a map. I saw a gas station and shopping center to my right as I passed under the loop that circles 3 quarters of Lexington from the north side to the southeast side. That looked like a good place to pull over and get my bearings.
As I approached the traffic light to make my right turn, the rear tire locked up and began to skid. I was going slow, but between the rain and oil in that right turn lane, there simply wasn’t anything to grip. I let up and the tire began to roll again. I applied the brake and it locked up again. I repeated the release and brake routine again with the same result. By this time I was sliding right into the cars making a left turn from the oncoming lanes. My thoughts again harkened back to, “So this is how I’m going to die” as I slid closer and closer to the cars. I got the bike stopped inches from the turning cars and looked down at the beautiful rainbow colors where the oil and rain were mixed in a thick slippery mess.
Get this! Not a single car turning left even appeared to see me or recognize that I was sliding right into them, even though I was at least a car length beyond the stop line for the light. Three more cars turned left while I was sitting inches from where they were driving and not a single one made eye contact, honked, or even appeared to know I existed.
I sure scared the hell out of the guy driving the pickup truck behind me. I know he must have thought I didn’t have a prayer as he watched the bike skid and fishtail into the intersection. But, I have a very diligent guardian angel and she must have been protecting me again. I'm sure she’s got to be getting tired of watching out for me though.
I got my bearings (and cleaned out my britches) and made my way to the Blue Grass Parkway. My route to the parkway took me past the CastlePost, a luxury inn and event location a few miles west of Lexington on US-60. It caught my eye and since the rain was taking a break, I stopped quickly for a picture. The sight of a castle rising up out of the Kentucky horse farms was more than I could ignore. I understand room rates at CastlePost run from $375 to $1250 a night. Needless to say, I didn't make a reservation.
By the time I hit the Blue Grass Parkway, it was pouring down rain again. I found myself repeating my experience from the night before as I rode in whiteout conditions with limited visibility and every passing car and truck making matters worse. It was then that I realized my real mistake was choosing the half helmet for the ride versus sucking it up and donning the full face. Between the rain on the windshield and my glasses, plus the spray from vehicles ahead and/or beside me, I couldn't see the lane markers, much less anything else. Blue Grass Parkway is a great road and you can usually make great time across Kentucky with it as your chosen path, but today it required stops about every 30 miles to wait out the latest downpour.
One of my stops was at the exit off the Parkway for US-31E. I had offered to stop by the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln for a friend. She's writing her thesis on Lincoln, so I promised to stop and get her some pictures. I didn't count on the shitty weather when I made the promise and it was going to take me a few miles out of my way. I called Kim to see if she really wanted the pictures. She did and since a promise is a promise, I headed south on US-31E on my way to Hodgenville and the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace National Historic Site.
The park included a short movie about Lincoln's birthplace and the site, but I didn't want to lose the additional time. Instead, I walked around and snapped a few pictures of the memorial (it was under renovations, so you couldn't go inside), the site of the Old Boundary Oak that once marked the property boundary, the sinking springs which gave the farm it's name, and some replica cabins they had to give you feel for the type of cabin the families in the area might have lived in.
There really wasn't much to see at the NHS, so after taking a few pictures I was back on the road. I was able to take Kentucky state highway 84 west out of Hodgenville to shortcut a little of my return to the Parkway. KY-84 took me through a little town called Sonora. As I putted my way through town I spotted a horse and buggy coming my direction. I turned right before they reached me, but I pulled into a parking lot just around the corner hoping I might be able to retrieve the camera before they got to me. The horse was moving faster than I thought and they appeared at the corner before I got the camera out. The funny thing was the kids in the buggy were just as interested in getting a look at me as I was at getting a picture of them. We exchanged waves as they continued on their way and I saddled up to continue my journey west.
I jumped back on the Parkway, now called the Western Kentucky Parkway and continued my ride in and out of the rain storms. I crossed into the Central Time Zone a few miles after getting back on the Parkway. Another 140 miles or so on the Parkway and I merged onto I-24 west near the Land Between the Lakes. I-24 provided my rain soaked carcass with a route into Paducah, KY. I made it to Paducah about 5 o'clock where I planned to get back on US-60 west. I was hoping to get as far as Sikeston, Missouri before stopping for the night.
Even though it wasn't raining in Paducah, I noticed another wall of dark clouds west and northwest of town as I rode west on US-60. The wind was picking up and I knew I was about to hit another series of nasty storms. Within a few miles I was fighting a howling crosswind and the skies were growing darker. Even though I still had some daylight left, I made a command decision at the time that 12 hours and 525 miles of riding in the rain was enough, so I made a u-turn and rode back into Paducah where I found a warm and dry Motel 6 calling my name.
There was a Hardee's next door to the Motel 6, so I wandered over there, still in my wet clothes and grabbed some food. As I perused the Hardee's menu, I realized there wasn't a single healthy thing on it. My kind of place. I ordered a burger, onion rings and a drink and moseyed back to the room to peel off my clothes and start drying out.
I spread clothes across any surface I could find near the heater in hope that most of it would be dry by the morning. The most important piece of equipment, my boots, were given a prominent spot sitting upside down on the heater capturing as much of the heat as they could. I really didn't want to slip my feet into cold, wet boots the next morning.
I ate my wonderful Hardee's dinner, jotted down some notes from the ride, and called it another day. I woke early the next morning to find everything nice and dry and when I slip my boots on, oh man, they were warm and toasty. SWEET!
The temperature in Paducah was 47 degrees when I rode out of town at 6:30 that morning of Day 3. Even though it was cold, at least today I wouldn't have to ride in the rain. I had another 540 miles to go to reach my destination of Bristow, Oklahoma. About 330 miles of that would be on US highways across southern Missouri. The remaining 110 miles would be on I-44 and Oklahoma's pain in the butt turnpikes. The only upside was I knew I'd be able to make good time.
US-60 crosses the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers near Cairo, Illinois. I always enjoy crossing the Mississippi River on my rides. It's symbolic of a major milestone whether you're riding east or west. On this ride, I got the opportunity to see the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi where it forms a massive river south of Cairo. I can't explain why, but I love this spot in the US. I think it's because of the energy and power of the two rivers. Maybe all of the water inside of me gets stirring too when it's this this close to the flow of the river, but whatever it is, I love this spot.
I rode into Poplar Bluff, MO and the bank thermometer showed 44 degrees. At least the temperature was mainly holding steady. US-60 west and U-67 north merge for a short distance in Poplar Bluff. Unfortunately, I was enjoying the ride and scenery and missed the turnoff for US-60. I rode another 16 miles on US-67 north before I realized something wasn't quite right about my direction. I knew I should have been headed west by now. I pulled off the road to consult my map.
While sitting there trying to figure out a shortcut back to US-60, a family in two vehicles pulled up next to me in hopes I could help them figure out how to get to their destination near Lake Wappapello State Park. I saw signs for the park south of where we were sitting, so the best I could do is point them that direction and wish them luck.
I could see a shortcut on the map, but because it was a small map, I couldn't be sure of the road numbers. I turned around and headed back the way I came in hopes I'd spot a road with a number I recognized. Alas, it was not to be. I rode all the way back the 16 miles I had come and turned onto US-60 west where I should have in the first place. Great, I managed to take myself 32 miles out of the way. For someone who studies maps like I do, this really burned my butt. I spent the next 32 miles fuming over being a dumb-butt. But, eventually I got over it.
One thing I noticed as I passed across southern Missouri was that the roads were all labeled after letters, such as highway D, highway K, etc. I eventually past one called highway P and wondered what it would be like to live at Number 1, P Road. Get it? Number 1 (as in I have to go Number 1) and P Road (as in pee). Oh well, when you've been on the road a couple of days, you take your entertainment where you can get it. It cracked me up for several miles.
The sun finally came out somewhere around Van Buren, MO and other than my missed turn and passing a couple of horses and buggies east of Springfield the ride into and across southern Missouri was mostly uneventful. I caught I-44 west in Springfield and rode 80-plus mph from there to Bristow, stopping for gas once and to pay tolls twice. I rolled into Bristow about 3:30 where my wife and her family were waiting. We were all gathering there for her parents 50th wedding anniversary. I made into town with a day to spare. I love it when a plan comes together.
I'll follow this story up with another about the return ride. I managed to stop for more pictures and see more sights on my way back. In the meantime, here's another shot of Allison to keep you company.
