Took a little ride...

[Rogue 1]

Hello all... please forgive my laxity (is that a word???) in providiing further posts... it's Finals and I'm pretty swamped... more (much more) to come, promise... just let me get through this... thanks

[Rogue 1]

Originally Posted by Doug Matson

R1, thanks for the start from the top again, my life is now complete! keep it coming.

Oh God Doug... I hope it takes more than that!

Glad you are enjoying the story.

[Doug Matson]

I had my left albow and wrist operated on a couple of weeks ago and in a month when it's all healed my right arm goes on the table for the same thing. So until about September you are riding for me! Keep em coming.

[Rogue 1]

In the beginning...



September 15^th

The temperature at midnight floats around 65 degrees. The night is cool and the late summer night air is fresh and invigorating.

I can't describe the mix of emotions and thoughts going through my head but the general idea is "Holy freaking shit! I'm doing it!"�

I follow RT80 West to the Garden State Parkway. The plan is to take the GSP South to its terminus at Cape May, catch the ferry into Delaware and follow the coast down to visit a friend in Myrtle Beach.

I catch the GSP southbound at the equivalent of interchange 159 10 minutes out of NYC. Everything is perfect.

I'm OTR.

I'm at the inception of great adventure

I'm king of the world ma!

I'm... outta gas!

The beast lurches once, twice and dies as I coast to the shoulder wondering what the hell is going on. Okay... that's the end of my first tank of gas on my new GSAdventure; 261 miles on the odometer. I just learned the hard way how far I can get with the 8 gallon tank. This is a helluva start.

Luckily I am just shy of the 154 interchange at RT46 and I can see the lights of a gas station. The parkway is not lighted and it is pretty dark as I push the weighty, gear loaded Beast up the exit ramp.

I break out in a sweat from the exertion and moments later my skin turns clammy as I am startled by a hissing sound from the darkness to my right. I stiffen and as my eyes adjust and I can just make out the angry skunk. I must be invading his territory. His white stripes glow like 3M Scotchlite in the passing headlight beams as his rear legs flip over his head and his tail comes up like a scorpions.

Oh shit! You have got to be kidding! Memories of the old Partridge Family show jump into my head. After a skunk sprays them they spend the next day in a tomato paste filled bath tubs to get rid of the stink; it doesn't work.

Somebody up there loves me. Maybe I was out of range, maybe the guy had bad aim; I will never know. But I didn't get hit. Whew.

Another 100 yards and I crest the hill for an easy push the rest of the way. I guide the Beast into the first available parking lot. It is a pizza shop and I am on RT46 west.

The Mobil station is on RT46 east.

I look longingly across the highway as Jersey motorists simulate Death Race 2000 between me and my gas. Screw it! I take off like Emmet Smith and safely reach the other side.

There is a display stack of plastic gas cans marked at ten bucks apiece. The attendant, a nice kid fresh off the boat from the Ukraine, speaks pretty good English. It is his first day on the job. It takes a while but we work out a deal for me to pay for the gas and leave a deposit on the can until I return it. That means I have to cross 46 three more times at 12:30am on a Saturday night. Talk about Russian roulette.

Through all of this I have been mercilessly subjected to the mouth watering aroma of tomato sauce and garlic from the pizza shop. I am only human and I enter for a quick slice.

For those that have traveled, NY pizza is one of a kind and as soon as you leave the boroughs the quality plummets steadily the farther you are from the Italian epicenter of Brooklyn. Something to do with the water and an anomaly in the earths polarity I'm told. Not so the case here. I order a second slice and tell the guy behind the counter that the pizza tastes like home. He asks me where I'm from and I tell him Brooklyn. He laughs and shakes my hand. "You're eating Brooklyn Pizza! I'm from Bensonhurst!"�

I thank him for the hospitality and I thank the spirits that rule the road for steering me towards one last good slice of NY style pizza. Who knows when I'll taste it once more? Silver linings baby, silver linings.

Back on the GSP south and 5 miles later people begin to flick their lights and tap their horns as they pass. I look around, trying to figure out what has fallen off. It takes me a second to realize that the road surface behind me is night black. Taillight is out. Oh for cryin' out loud!

I pull over again. The boy-scout has packed spare bulbs. I thought it would be at least a day before I would actually have to use them. I light a smoke and switch out the bulb.

It's 2:00am; I have run out of gas, been attacked by a wild animal, played the running of the bulls on a major roadway and repaired an equipment malfunction. I have traveled a total of 22.5 miles in 3 hours and I can still see the New York skyline. This is going to be a very long ride.

Yawn. 2:30am. Further down the highway I feel the pull of the sandman. The road is dark save for my own headlights and the only things I can see clearly are the white lines as they hypnotize me. Exiting a toll plaza, I pull over to the side of the road. The air is getting chilly. Must sleep; just close my eyes for a few minutes. I climb the embankment a few feet and find a patch of lush grass. Still wearing my helmet as a pillow I close my eyes as the sound of passing cars lulls me into unconsciousness.

Some time later I am shocked awake by the voice of God.

He is calling me. I know this because even with my eyes closed I can see the bright light of heaven. His voice shakes the earth and his brilliance is blinding me.

Funny, I did not expect God to have a Jersey accent.

"HEY! WHATTAYA THINK THIS IS... A HOLIDAY INN???"�

Where the fuck am I is all I can think. I am completely disoriented. I hear laughter but I can't see anything. I sit up and my back screams. My vision clears. Oh... ok.

Two NJ Troopers are getting a good laugh from inside their cruiser as I attempt to stand. They lower the spotlight from my eyes.

"WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!" the loudspeaker crackles. They are cracking themselves up.

Now upright I remove my helmet as I slowly approach their vehicle. I explain that I was so exhausted I couldn't keep my eyes open and that I was attempting to save the tax payers some money by not splattering myself all over their nice clean highway.

We all have a good laugh. They don't even ask the usual "Have you been drinking?" question.

They inform me that about 5 miles further on there is a rest stop with food and gas and I would be infinitely more comfortable on one of the many park benches they have there. I agree. I arrive at the stop, feed The Beast until she can eat no more and set about finding a remote bench that I can call home for a couple of hours.

Let me tell you something that I hope none of you have to find out first hand. There is no freaking way to get comfortable on a park bench!

I fall into a fitful choppy sleep anyway.



September 15^th continued.

Drip. Drip. Drop. Wet.

The rain wakes me up. The clear sky of the night has been replaced by amazingly low, thick cloud cover in the first light of day. It is gray and cold and a light rain has begun to fall.

Oh great.

By 6:30 I'm once again heading south. There is an 8:30am ferry leaving Cape May and I intend to make it. I have two hours to cover a little more than one hundred mile; shouldn't be a problem right? I should know better.

The light rain has turned heavy. The heavy rain turns torrential. Kudos to Continental Tires. They are sticking like glue through some serious water. I'm averaging 60 to 75 mph in order to keep the revs down and to vary the load on the new engine.

After a while (and a short while at that) water starts to find its way into various flaws in my gear. For starters I have decided to forsake function for fashion and comfort. My Frye boots may look fine and rebel-sexy, but when it comes to protection from the elements they are only two steps better that stocking feet.

My rain pants are leaking at the crotch. Oh God I hate that; the first cold wet drip that soaks through your jeans and progressively becomes more invasive until your balls feel like they are sitting in an ice tray.

My Gortex jacket is amazing but the water running down the back of my helmet is occasionally running down my neck and bare back. That's always good for a warm fuzzy feeling.

My favorite black deerskin gloves, soft as butter after 4 years of heavy use are the first casualties. Soaked completely through, only the GS's heated grips allow me to retain limited use of my hands.

Before any of you start thinking I should have been better prepared, let me just lay out a few bits of personal info for ya. First, you're right. I own a ton of gear but I did not wish to pack for every contingency right off. (Kick self here) My intentions were to equip as I went and I figured I had the right gear to get me to Myrtle at least. Okay... so now I am paying the price, whatever, let's get on with it.

Other than the rain, the ride is (ahem) uneventful. The Garmin GPS guides me flawlessly to the gate of the ferry terminal and the rain has subsided a good bit. I pull under the overpass to the amazement of the few employees standing there.

"Oh you poor dear,"� the woman in the cashiers booth says with honest concern in her eyes.

A small crowd of curious ferry folk encircle The Beast from a respectable distance. They probably don't see too many bikes that look like this. They also probably don't see too many psychos riding in weather like this either.

After being informed of the Ferry Fare I begin to dig for the cash to pay my way. A woman to my left screams out in shock. I jump out of my skin and would have dropped the bike if it had not been on the side stand. The kindly cashier whispers "Oh my God."

"What? What?"� I ask... "Your hands!"� is the response.

I had removed my gloves to get out some cash. I raise my hands to my helmet to find them dyed jet black.

Not the usual bleeding glove black that hits your finger tips and palms, oh no... my hands are solid black, through and through. Both hands, both sides not a spot of Caucasian to be seen.

Wow. I can see why she screamed. The only part of my body visible was my eyes, nose and cheeks through the front of my helmet. My hands look like they are Nigerian. It freaked me out a bit as well.






I board the ferry with a feeling of excitement. I have crossed water with my bike twice before but the novelty has not diminished in the least. There are no tie downs but I think I have The Beast parked properly as I go in search of a facility to scrub my hands. People are looking at me funny. I wish I had thought to take a pic.

Oh yeah... I'm doin' it!


The rain pretty much stopped when I boarded the ferry... of course... the skies remain gray


10 minutes of scrubbing with some very serious shipboard cleaning chemicals and my hands, though raw, have only a light grey tint. Good enough. I tour the ship a bit and a mate comes over to tell me that I should stay near the bike if the water starts getting rough.

I check on her and she has drawn a good crowd. Half the boat is filled with cops on their way to Delaware for a big golf weekend. I make some new friends and I answer a bunch of questions about The Beast and the Odyssey. I graciously accept their warm wishes and envious compliments.

My new friends dont seem to mind the stain on my crotch... they give me beer... mmmm... beer.


Ohhh! Whats this??? You guys have coolers full of beer? Do I want one? At 9 o'clock in the morning? Hells yeah! I even more graciously accept their beer.

Welcome to Delaware, have a nice day.

It's 11am.

[Rogue 1]

Originally Posted by Doug Matson

I had my left albow and wrist operated on a couple of weeks ago and in a month when it's all healed my right arm goes on the table for the same thing. So until about September you are riding for me! Keep em coming.

Ouch... you got it man!

[Rogue 1]

We all trade emails and well wishes as the ferry docks and my contact list experiences its first growth. I disembark and stop to get my bearings outside the ferry compound. I light a smoke while the GPS warms up and a guy in a pick up towing a truly sorry looking old Slipstream pulls up next to me.

"Nice bike" he says out the window.

"Thanks" I reply with a smile.

"I got a Harley," he informs me.

"That's nice,"� I reply. I always feel a little "twilight zone"� when this happens.

The situation is always the same. Guys who "own" Harleys just can't seem to resist sharing the fact with everyone they see that has a bike.

They just never seem to be riding them... and then, for lack of anything else to say (because I've grown tired of feeding them the line they want to hear> "Oh yeah, that's cool, which one?") ... they get a blank look on their face and say "take care"� or "have a good ride"� or "keep the shiny side up"� and take off.

Am I the only one that notices this?

He and his bored looking wife pull off and I scan the GPS to see what there is to see... and it's not much. I am already outside the DCS detailed info and have only listings for major roads. Better start looking for a computer to reload the data card.

Out come the old fashioned reliable maps and I plot a route to Highway 1 through Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The sky is battleship gray and the clouds are low and thick as I pull off the shoulder and make my way south on Hwy 9 towards Hwy 1 and Rehoboth amid scattered light rain and occasional hints of sun that instantly cause the pavement to steam.


Rehoboth Beach... Hondas 1, Harleys 0


Continuing down through Rehoboth Beach, I find I've caught the last day of Delmarva Bike week. I pass what seems like 1500 Harleys but the only wave I get is from a guy on a Goldwing.

The Camera mount and waterproof case


So there I am on Hwy 1, riding along in wet jeans looking like I pissed myself 'cause my rain pants leak and I see Harley of Rehoboth and about 50 bikes, riders and ol' ladies wandering around.

Maybe I'll find a better pair of rain pants and a little good conversation with some fellow riders. (Hey! What are you laughing at???)

I park the Beast among the beasts, dismount and de-gear. I walk past countless HD people hanging around the lot and facility. I walk through a packed dealership that seems to carry more overpriced logo swag than gear/bikes. I search the section that has rain gear and find it picked clean.

I walk back out of the dealer and sit on a bench outside to smoke a cigarette. I watch the "bikers" come and go. I walk back to the Beast past all the nice shiny machines. I gear up and join the parking lot exit line. I pull out of the lot and continue my journey.

Not one person even made eye contact with me let alone a hello or how ya doin'.

I verify that I am inoffensive in the B.O. department and lament the state of affairs of people that claim to be brothers.




The sun peaks out from behind the clouds as I cross the state line into Virginia at about 12:30pm.

I have apparently blown right through Maryland without even realizing it. I pull off at the visitors rest stop and strip down to more comfortable riding attire and find that cigarettes are... oh my Lord! Cheap! (Especially compared to the $7.50 prices of today)



Just shy of 3pm I reach the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and cross over into Norfolk, VA. (I'm making pretty good time for secondary roads and ferries)

If you haven't had the pleasure of crossing this very long bridge/tunnel, don't pass up the opportunity. 4.3 miles in length and running both above and below the waters surface it is a unique experience.





They even have a rest area half way accross




Hazy with light humidity describes the weather while crossing the bridge and entering Virginia and Norfolk. A squall comes through fast at the top of 13 and I pull off under a carport at a local hotel. While waiting for it to pass, the desk clerk comes out and says "You know, there is a BIG storm heading this way."

Goody...



I stand around and figure out how many songs CCR wrote about the rain, and who will stop it






I catch 13, and shoot down towards North Carolina, trying to put as many miles between the storm and myself as possible. I catch 17 south and cross the North Carolina State line around 7pm. I am successful, to a degree, and get a room for the night in a town called Williamson (I think). I take a long hot shower that feels heaven sent, grab a bite to eat and pass out early. 750 miles on the Beast.

[hooligan]

Great trip report Rouge, now "Let's git er done"!

[Rogue 1]

September 16^th


After a stunningly refreshing nights sleep I wake up early at 6:30 a.m. and head outside my room to check the weather. There are puddles on the ground and the sky is grey with low clouds but it is not raining.

I feel great! I feel totally alive! Oh man I can't believe I'm actually doing this!

I pack up the beast slowly, relishing the moment, swimming in it, wrapping it around myself like a cool breeze on a hot day.

Riding around town I find Mouse Pad Computers Service and Sales. It's 9:30 in the morning and they are closed. While waiting for them to open I meet a nice old couple with technitis and we wait for the shop to open on southern time. It begins to rain.

Again.





The owner, Jacob Meetze, arrives at the crack of 10:20 and he addresses Jeanie and John Henry's problem.

'I just don't trust this Windows XP. I've received 3 service updates already. What's wrong with it?" she asks.

"Does the system work?" asks Jacob.

"Yes." She replies.

"Nothing."� states Jacob.




Jeannie doesn't believe him. Her husband John Henry just looks on at the exchange with an "I can't stop her"� look on his face. It takes an hour for us all to convince her that her PC is fine.

I explain my dilemma. I need to clear my CF cards, burn them onto CDs. I need to upload DCS map data onto a system and reload the Garmin Memory Card.

I find that I am deep in the Bible Belt and the people of this town are all good Christians living a Samaritan life. Jake assists me above and beyond the call of duty by allowing me to attend all of my requirements on a spare work station.

He gives me my first taste of sweet tea (ok, I have to admit it... sweet tea is not my... ahem... cup of tea).

He gives me an entire roll of plastic bags to help keep my self/belongings dry (as it is now raining enough that I should have bought an ark instead of a bike) and he saps it all saying a wonderful prayer for my safety and well being. (For a grand finale, he ships the items I leave behind to my aunts house for me when I call him 2 days later to see if I left them there... all the while refusing to accept any form of recompense from me... God bless you and yours Jake! I cannot thank you enough.

[To Jeanie and John Henry; be well, trust Jake implicitly (don't make him too crazy) and watch out for snakes in the carburetors. To the fine gentleman that bought me the Best Darn Hamburger� in town (from RC's)... many thanks]

The computer is slow, real slow, and it I don't get out of there until almost 2pm.

Loaded and sealed completely from the elements I ride off into the hurricane and five miles later I'm sweating in the sun, passing gorgeous countryside.

Sweat, sweat, strip.

I hit another downpour and get off the road just in time as the flooded spots are being turned into pipeline style waves by the trucks passing in the opposite direction. Re-don the rain gear and continue on.

I am still on 17 South, hugging the Atlantic coast. Another heavy squall and at a rest stop for shelter I discover we are on the edge of a storm named Isadore. This too passes and I skirt squall after squall through the back roads of the North Carolina coastal countryside.

This tropical depression/el Nino crap is starting to get on my nerves. This area of the country has been experiencing the worst draught conditions of this century and as soon as I show up on my bike they get enough rain to completely refill their reservoirs. I should have come down and saved 'em 4 months ago chuckle, just kidding.





By 3:30 The Beast is thirsty and the GPS guides me to a gas station without any gas. Like always this turns out to be a good thing. I meet Old George. He is a booster for the local high school and is selling logo gear to raise money. His wares hung over his '56 Honda 50cc cruiser. What a great old character. We talk for a while and he tells me I'll find gas a few more miles up the road.



Is that a mug or what? no no... on the left!


Two great signs hanging in the "Gas Station with NO GAS"




I meet an angel at an... ahem... Gentlemans Club


Don't ask me the name of the town because I cant remember but at some point along 17 I see a sign for a gentlemens club with a kitchen and I decide it's time for lunch.

I meet a very nice young angel that has resigned from the Army which has a base adjacent to the town because she makes a heck of a lot better money taking off her clothes for the guys she used to work with than she did working with them.

I get there at 5pm and don't get back on the road until 8. I'll just say it was a long and satisfying lunch.

Five miles north of the South Carolina border a big one hits, a really big one. I see it coming on the horizon; black as night and twice as scary and I duck under a gas station shelter just as the torrent begins. The wind whips across the land and everything that is not nailed down has become a potential missile.

All the folks heading north at the service station in which I have sought refuge tell me it's going to keep on for a while... since they wont let me drink a beer in the store or on the property, and they tell me if I drink it off the property I'll be arrested for public drunkenness (why do they bother to sell it at all) I climb aboard the Beast and ride into the heart of darkness (a little over the top, hmm?). The gas station clientele look at me like I glow in the dark.

Like all the other fronts, this one clears up eventually and from there I make great time down towards Myrtle Beach. I pass through a town called Wilmington which is amazingly beautiful, fantastic old houses, fountains and parks.

I arrive in Myrtle Beach late Monday night and call the friend I'll be staying with. He informs me that he has a date and will meet me later. Never one to stand in the way of true short term love and having little alternative I take his advice and go to the bar he recommends me to meet him at to kill the 2 hours I have to wait.

It turns out to be a high class strip club. Oh darn! Here I go again.

I have a couple of beers and a tequila or two, order a burger and manage for the most part to resist the charms of the friendly, scantily clad, nubile, future doctors and lawyers that approach me with their charm turned on full blast.

Unfortunately, after 2 beers and 2 Cuervos my common sense goes for a DWI and takes my resistance along with it.

Hey! I thought we really connected! Paul shows up and pulls me out like Galahad in Monty Pythons Holy Grail after I sign the tab for $90 bucks.

We spend the next 36 hours testing the limits of the human liver and kidneys.





September 18^th




9:50 am... the first 1000 miles


Reunion over I am packed and ready to take my leave of Big Paul and Myrtle Beach at 9:30am. Again the sky is gray but the cover is high and it doesn't feel like rain will come. At 10:30 I get an expletive filled message from Paul bitching about my not waking him up for the ride out.

My plan is to head north on the secondary and local roads to take in some scenery on the way to my Aunt Margaret's home in Raleigh North Carolina. I am not following a very direct route as the roads don't meet up very well.

That's ok by me.

I catch 17 north again back across the state line into NC and at Shallotte I turn onto an extraordinary and deserted pine lined stretch known as 130.




On the road... literaly


At Whiteville I get on 74 to131 then 211 to 242. 242 is another really nice run. There are still almost no other vehicles on any of these roads. All on the interstate for the faster time I guess. The last good stretch is 441 before it connects with I40 south of Raleigh.

Scenic Backroads all the way and I arrive in about 5 hours to spend a great weekend of golf and family stuff with aunts, uncles and cousins.

September 19th

The Beasts shows 1256 miles on odometer. Perhaps I should get the 600 mile service. Ya think?

Thank you and big kudos to the staff at Capitol BMW in Raleigh, NC; Jon, Jason, Jeff, Oliver and all for getting me into the shop next day and performing the 600-mile/1st service on my GS1150 while I waited. Make sure you say hello to them if you're in the hood.

These guys are TOP NOTCH!!! Aside from the obvious stuff I pick up some gear, wash the Beast and get my boots resoled at a pretty good cobbler courtesy of the Garmin GPS.

This thing really is a gem on the road.


Rewiring the PIAA's



Golf! Beer! Family! Sun!

Yes that's right, sun. Not a cloud in the sky for my entire stay in Raleigh and the surrounding area



Okay... whew!

That brings us full circle to the 1^st page of the thread.

After this I head to Western North Carolina...


.

[Peachmaan]

OK… whew! That brings us full circle to the 1st page of the thread. After this I head to Western North Carolina…

Now, lets see what Oct 21st had to "offer"...

[neduro]

Every day I come in to the office, sit down, and fire up the computer. After making sure there are no fires burning in the inbox, the first stop is advrider to see if there's an update to this thread.

I'm struggling with exactly what you mentioned- I'm in my mid-late twenties, not unhappy, but not feeling like I'm getting where I want to in life. I'm worried that I will just "keep on keeping on", and that I'll roll over one day and be 40.

So anyway, thanks for the kick in the ass that I need. It's never too late- no excuses, just think about what I want and then act so that I get it.

Beautiful pics, great thread... looking forward to more.

[Rogue 1]

Apparently one can only expect so much leway with bandwith...

Baldy has been major league generous but with all the views my SmugMug account just hit 11.59 gigs and close to 300,000 hits... I cant really afford another upgrade so until the month ends the pics are offline...

sorry

[Peachmaan]

[zero-zero]

When you resume posting (which you will - or ELSE! ), it would be a good idea to use one of the smaller sizes for pics in the report. It is rather easy to make them clickable to a larger version (somewhere in Ask Baldy, Blame fish there's an explanation). That way, not every reader downloads all the big pics, they'd just see the small ones and click through to the bigger version of those that catch their attention. Not as great a reader experience, but it's your buck paying for the bandwidth at the end of the month. I'd love to loan you some of mine, but I'm on a free courtesy account and I don't want Baldy pissed at me for abusing it.

It's going to be a long, long wait till next month.

[Peachmaan]

Good point "nada-nada"

Here's the post he meant

[elchulopadre]

Keep 'em photos and 'em stories coming! Awesome stuff... finals schminals.