Happy St. Patricks Day

Meet me at O'Malley's for a green beer,
Corn beef hash made from the finest steer.
We'll dance on the bar
Covered in feathers and tar
Then go down to City Dock and jump off the pier.

May the luck of the leprechaun be with you.

Enjoy your St. Patrick's Day!

The Numbers Are In

For those that love numbers or just want to know some cool facts about mileage, gas consumption, and lodging for a nearly month long motorcycle trip across the southern United States, here they are:

26 Days Feb 8 thru Mar 6
6,896 Total Trip Miles
500 Miles most traveled in one day
0 Miles least traveled in one day (took 1 day off in New Mexico to wait out high winds)
138 Gallons of gasoline
50 Miles per gallon average consumption
46 Gas station stops
0 Mechanical problems
2 Times I laid my bike down after coming to a stop on the pavement
5 Times, at least, I laid my bike down during the 2 day off-road course
0 Damage to motorcycle from laying the bike down on the pavement and on the dirt
1 Broken foot
3 Number of days I rode my motorcycle after breaking my foot
4 Days of camping
5 Overnight stays with friends or relatives
3 Overnight stays in mobile camp trailer at 42 Bar Ranch at the Rawhyde Adventure Camp
14 Overnight stays in motels

Is The Foot Broken?

Well, I had the foot x-rayed yesterday and the radiologist came back to my waiting room with the pictures and said, "How are you walking? It's broken. You must have a high tolerance for pain." The good news is that it is only my fifth metatarsal and it's one of those fractures that will heal without putting a cast on the foot. The doctor did recommend immobilizing the foot to allow the fracture to heal quicker. She sent me to their Rehab department and they set me up with this ridiculously clumsy, expensive plastic boot called an Aircast. Only one boot for $340? I was instructed to wear it for 5 weeks only taking it off to shower. I took it home and wore it for about 4 hours and decided that I could find a better way to immobilize my foot for a whole lot cheaper. I'm wearing my dual-sport motorcycle boots.

Sunrise Over Hwy 701 N

I awoke to the sound of 18 wheelers gearing down to go through the small town of Clinton, NC. The sun was rising over Hwy 701 as I looked out over the balcony of my second floor hotel room. The pink and purple eastern sky made the highway look much more inviting. The final 372 miles of my journey seemed to last forever. On highway to interstate to back roads, the wind tried to knock me down. The wind blasts off the big trucks shook me like a wild animal shaking its prey. A car almost took me out while changing lanes in one of the small towns. I passed through Newmarket where an Amish community lives and I was pleased to have to slow down to go around an Amish man in his horse drawn buggy. I have a lot of respect for the Amish people and admire their way of life. After a few more cars tried to take me out at intersections, I arrived home safely in the late afternoon.
I have my swollen black and blue right foot propped up on my desk. It starts to throb when I lower it. Looks like a doctor's visit is in my near future.

Aiken Wins Best Southern Small Town Award

Late in the afternoon, I looked at my map to see where I may stay for the night. Aiken was the closest small town just off I-20. On taking the exit, I noted the roadside hotel and hoped to find something better in town. The two lane road wound through woods and farmland. As I was nearing the town, I saw a billboard for the Hotel Aiken located 2 miles ahead. The moment I drove into the town, I was drawn in like no other town I had passed through on my month long travels. The Hotel Aiken was a classic old hotel with big white pillars and a balcony at the entrance. The lobby was inviting with a vaulted ceiling and antique furnishings. I took one of the rooms located in a separate building on the lower level for $65 which included a parking space for my motorcycle right in front of my room, a king sized bed, free high speed internet, two free drinks at the bar, and a hot complimentary breakfast.

The outdoor Tiki Bar for the hotel was located right across the parking lot from my room. After unloading the bike and changing into my street clothes, I limped over to the bar and ordered a Cabernet. After serving me a healthy glass of wine, the bar tender brought out a chicken curry dish for the woman standing at the bar next to me. It looked delicious with two pompadons, chicken curry over a bed of rice, pan pieces cut into the shape of tortilla chips, and a condiment dish of mango chutney. I ordered the same. Two TVs were above the bar and tuned to two separate basketball games. Elevated propane heaters on stands warmed my back. While sipping my second glass of wine, a woman from one of the heated tables behind me came up to the bar to order a beer. She said, "Hey aren't you the woman that rode that motorcycle to the hotel earlier." She invited me to join her at the table with her boyfriend. Sandy was having a rare night out from her duties of caring for her three children.


The next morning, I entered the dining room for the complimentary hotel breakfast right after the two women wearing Equestrian riding gear-- tall black Aristocrat field boots and cotton/lycra khaki breeches. After I sat down at a table with my scrambled eggs and bacon bits, a man walked into the dining room wearing a white shirt with a red bow tie and black slacks. He sat down at the table next to mine. Another man walked in wearing a dark gray suit and whistling in a harsh tone. He joined the man with the red bow tie and said, "You've got to talk to that man. He's talking too much. The listeners are no longer listening."
"I've talked to him already," Mr. Bowtie said.
As the conversation continued between the two men, it was clear that they were attorneys in a divorce case.
Intrigued by the women in their Equestrian wear, I went back to my hotel room and Googled Aiken horses and found several stables nearby. I plotted my course through horse country. As I rode my motorcycle alongside well groomed horse farms, I smiled knowing that Mr. Bowtie and Mr. Whistler were sitting in a court room waiting for the man that talks too much to stop talking.

LaGrange, Georgia to Aiken, South Carolina

I didn't want to leave the hotel room this morning. The bed was comfortable, the towels were thick, white and fluffy, and I could even operate the remote for the TV. The swelling on my foot was down and I had no problem getting my boot on. About 5 miles down the road on I-85 from LaGrange to Atlanta, the traffic was backed up so I turned around and took some back road. At one point, I got sandwiched in between two 18 wheelers that were making some time on the two lane country road. I finally pulled over and let the truck behind me go by. Near Augusta, I met a couple riding a Kawasaki KLR 650 and a BMW 650 with knobby tires. I was hoping they were heading in the same direction but they were on their way to St. Louis, MO. Unable to bear another freeway hotel, I saw a small town on the map that was a few miles away from the interstate after crossing the border between Georgia and North Carolina. Aiken turned out to be a nice small town with a reasonably priced hotel away from the busy highway.

What the Duck?

I've got my right foot propped up on the desk in my hotel room with an ice pack on it to keep the swelling down so I can get my boot on in the morning. After I left my campsite at the Roosevelt S.P. near Morton this morning, I drove east on I-20 for about an hour before pulling off to get gas. I didn't sleep very well last night because my toes were freezing and I didn't eat much for breakfast... lastnight's leftover tortellini. With the combination of feeling groggy from lack of sleep and weak from not eating much, I lost my balance when I stopped the motorcycle and it fell on my foot. It's a bit like sailing a beach cat, if you are not paying attention it will capsize in a nanosecond. Three guys showed up instantly to help me pick up the bike. I got back on and rode the rest of the day.

I'm in LaGrange, GA which is about 60 miles southwest of Atlanta and there are patches of snow along the sides of the road from the resent winter storm that engulfed most of the east coast. I'm heading east near the coast and slowing my pace to allow the snow to melt and for the temperature to rise before I head north.

Texas IS Flat

Brownsville to Greenville, Texas 384 miles on Rt. 380 East

It was a challenge to stay alert with the long stretches of straight road through a flat drab landscape. Miles and miles of dirt fields. After passing a herd (or is it a pack?) of wild pigs next to the road, I stopped to put on my scarf and to take a few photos of a cattle ranch. About every ten miles I saw a dead skunk in the road. I passed a rancher standing next to his truck that was hitched with a trailer with a helicopter on it. The wind was relentless smacking in to me and jerking me and the motorcycle from side to side. It was 36F in the morning when I left Brownsfield and by late afternoon the temperature peaked at 52F. I added the heated socks and winter gloves to my riding wardrobe for the day.

Rt 380E Socorro, NM to Brownsfield, TX

I wore my heated jacket and turned my heated hand grips on high. The temperature ranged from 42-52F and the last hour of my drive was through the flat, flat lands of Texas with a hefty 20-30 knot cross-wind trying to blow me off the motorcycle. I stopped about an hour earlier than I had planned because I couldn't take the wind anymore.

I saw a few aliens when I passed through Rosewell, New Mexico, the town famous for a reported UFO landing. I also passed by Trinity, the sight of the first atomic bomb dropped on July 16, 1945. Maybe the UFO landing and the atomic bomb have something in common.

Globe to Socorro, NM

Not long after leaving Globe on hwy 60 E, I entered the Salt River Canyon Wilderness area that looked similar to the Grand Canyon. It was a spectacular view from the winding steep road that took me down to the canyon floor and back up on the other side. I stopped at a vantage point near the top of the canyon to take some photos and to absorb the view. I met some people on their way to Show Low and I got the history lesson of how the town got its name. Many years ago, two partners were not getting along so they gambled the town on the lowest card draw. The man who won drew a duece of clubs which is the name of the main street leading in and out of town.

Jim Hyde's Dual-Sport Off-Road Training Camp

On the twelfth day of my journey, I rode into Castaic, CA and went straight to the Castaic Lagoon to kill a couple of hours before going to the 42 Bar Ranch. Jim Hyde gave us strict orders not to arrive before 5pm on Friday night for our weekend Introduction to Adventure off-road course. After a short nap on the grass next to the lagoon, I got on Hwy 5 North and took the Old Templin Hwy exit near the top of a long steep climb. I followed the road under the highway overpass and took a right onto the crumbling asphalt two lane road. The sign for the Rawhyde Adventure Center was not far up on the left where I encountered my first off-road test of the course. The driveway was a mix of crumbling asphalt, loose gravel and dirt, ruts, twists and turns. At the top of the driveway, was a group of buildings, parked cars and trucks, a tent staked out in the yard and a camouflaged area where a man was directing me to park my BMW next to several other BMWs. The man was waving his arms like he was directing a 747 to park next to the skyway at the airport terminal. I drove in under the camouflage and parked my bike over one of the steel plates used to keep the kickstand from sinking into the dirt. The man introduced himself as Tim and directed me to Jim Hyde to complete my registration for the course. People were coming and going and I wasn't quite sure who was working at the training center and who the other campers were but it didn't really matter. After inflicting more pain to my credit card, as Jim put it, I was given a quick tour of the compound including my sleeping quarters for the weekend which was a cozy cabin with a double sized mattress in the upstairs of a tractor trailer mobile dorm. I unpacked my motorcycle and headed for the bar to meet the coaches and my fellow campers.

The coaches took us from the very basics of handling the motorcycle controls and balancing exercises to more complex maneuvering using counter balance for making tight turns and techniques for getting up and down steep hills. Initially, I was intimidated by the size and power of my motorcycle but by the end of the second day, I was riding on terrain that I would have never believed I could handle. Jim Hyde's training facility is one of a kind, of the best kind.

Texas Is Big

This morning the sky was over cast and it was misting but it didn't take much to get me out of my sleazy hotel room near the beltway in Houston. I took the route 290 through Austin intersecting with Interstate 10 near Segovia a couple hundred miles down the road. To get onto 290 from the beltway, I traveled on a three tier overpass that took me high above the city. I felt like I was on a roller coaster. It was a rush climbing the steep curved highway and coming back down into the city.

I stopped for breakfast in Chappell Hill and it was like going back in time. The tables were covered with red and white checkered vinyl table clothes and the windows were trimmed with matching curtains. An old Coca Cola emblem hung on the wall near the 1950's cash register. Bar stools were in front of a long counter. A young family sat at the table next to mine. The father was wearing a black cowboy hat, denim shirt, Wrangler jeans, a leather belt with silver stars, and cowboy boots with silver buckles. His toddler son was dress almost the identical minus the hat. The cafe had a strong mesquite smell that hit me when I walked in the door. I had a nice Texas breakfast of eggs, ham, grits and a bisquet.

The ride on 290 took me through the hill country. The boggy swamp near the Louisiana Texas boarder turned to desert with scrubby trees, bushes and cactus. Cattle were grazing near an oil derick. Where 290 joined Interstate 10, the geography changed to plateaus. Wind generators were mount on the top of some of the plateaus and the giant rotors where spinning slowly.

The speed on the interstate was posted at 80 mph. Houston to Fort Stockton-500 miles. That's a lot of miles on a motorcycle.

Feb. 11, 2009 Finally Heading West

Motel 6 in Tallahassee, Florida











Traveling south on I95, I was abeam of Brunswick, Georgia at noon where I finally started heading west after 3 1/2 days of riding south. I took the roads less traveled, Rt 520 to 84 West. As I passed through the small towns, most without even a traffic light, I could smell hickory smoke and barbecue pork. Dilapidated trailers and boarded up shops were near the road. I did pass one property that was a paradise with a stately southern mansion surrounded by tall Ponderosa Pine trees and a swimming hole off to one side. I passed a sign near a warehouse advertising candied pecans, a lumber processing plant and a few yards filled with rusted metal treasures and other castaway junk. Trucks loaded with stripped pine trunks were heading towards Brunswick. Crosswinds pushed me sideways as I traveled down the road at 70+ mph. When a gust would hit me, it felt like someone was grabbing my helmet and jerking it. The Spanish moss was blowing in the tall trees like cotton dresses on a clothes line. I was planning to camp but by the time I got to the outskirts of Tallahassee, I was knackered and the sky was filled with dark storm clouds. So I checked into a Motel 6 near the on ramp for Interstate 10. I cooked freeze-dried Katmandu Curry with my Jet Boil stove and whipped up some Chocolate Mocha Mousse with Gram cracker crust for dessert. I called home while lounging at the outdoor pool under a cool cloud covered sky.