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May 03, 2005
Four states and 12 hours later...
CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA -- May 3
Perhaps it was fitting that a day of unplanned downtime would be followed by the most action-packed day of the trip thus far. We didn't figure on spending an entire analog clock cycle out there on the road, but then we didn't plan on resurrected bike batteries, rejuvenated starter switches, extended mid-afternoon desserts, mislabeled highways, emergency gas cutovers, deer on the road, and the odd near-disastrous gravel wipeout.
These things might sound alarming when listed in rapid succession like that, so let me preface the adventures with another list: it was a great day of riding with fantastic weather, rare scenery, six state border crossings, empty roads we had all to ourselves, cathartic meals, good safety practices on the road, great riding teamwork, exhilerating twisty cornering, and that pinnacle discovery of any long moto trip: the obscure rarely travelled "secret road". I doubt I will get any other single day with as many differing terrains and states visited, and it may well be worth the lesser hassle.
PENNSYLVANIA
First it was necessary to put the keystone state behind us once and for all. That, of course, required getting Diana out of the doctor's office 25 miles away -- which in turn, of course, required Bob's bike battery to be cooperative. As I was still regaining consciousness from an uncertain night of rest, Bob went out to test the ignition. He came back reporting it was still dead, but perhaps that was because it was still cold. In a burst of the overly straightforward logic that only comes when one is still half asleep, I muttered, "Did you check the battery terminal bolts themselves?" Bob replied, "No, but hey; why the hell not."
Roughly 40 seconds later I was treated to the best sound of the day roaring from outside the motel room door when the Sabre started right up. Yes, this sound was far more rewarding than Bob proclaiming me a genius 40 seconds after that. After all, I owed him more than one favor after yesterday and might not have thought of it with a full head of coffee and fresh air. Apparently the terminal bolt was the slightest bit loose, perhaps from the bustle of being taken on and off the centerstand and accomodating an extra passenger the previous day. And he wonders why I hardly ever use mine except in extreme situations of having to lube the chain once in awhile.
With that, it was off to claim that large meal I would have dreamt about the night before if not for all the bike worries. We hit the Lincoln Diner just north of the Gettysburg center square around 7:45 am. This is the sort of place you seek out on the road, the opposite relic from Distelfink's ice cream and sandwich stand a few days (and several crises) earlier. The facade of the place is an actual classic metallic 'diner car' style luncheonette that dropped roots and grew a few additional dining rooms and basements. One of their specialties, which Bob beat me to ordering by 2 seconds, is a french toast that comes fused with pancake batter "tops" to create a handy compromise when you can't figure out which griddle staple to go with that morning.
Filled to the brim, we set off to pick Diana up around 8:30 and arrived at the shop just before their 9 am opening. The mechanic spotted us and let me in early to settle the bill. $60 total including labor, and worth every penny. As we were getting ready to leave, a fellow pulled up in a gleaming showroom-condition 1980 Honda CB650 with custom backseat, tank flames painted on, and no helmet on his gleaming bald head. Amazing that somebody can put so much effort into preserving a 25 year old bike and so little into perserving their own melon. I hope Diana saw it that way in the midst of being shown up by a shiny 2 years older version of herself.
Completing the sixth and final iteration of the all-too-familiar Gettysburg - Chambersburg leg that had dominated the previous 24 hours, I finally snapped a picture of Mister Ed's Peanut Shack. Too bad I didn't have time to stop in.
At 10:30, we were finally checked out, loaded up, in full gear, and ready to leave the battlefield at long last. We crossed the Maryland state line around 10:45.
MARYLAND
The goal of avoiding the super slab as much as possible inspired a great planned route through Maryland's Catoctin Mountain State Park and on down through Antietam Battlefield to the Harper's Ferry crossing of the Potomac River. One of the hazards of planning trips through normal country roads, even when you are pretty sure they are paved, is the lack of blatant signage and junction notices that you get with State and U.S. highways and their decorative shields. This trip had two such key turns, one of which would lead us out of Catoctin Mountain and towards Boonesboro, Maryland.
For the moment, however the course was going just fine. We arrived in the state park just as the sun was illuminating the spring foliage which created a dazzling effect in the trees. I missed out on getting pictures of this in the interest of making good time towards Front Royal. When Arcade Fire's "In the Backseat" came up on the iPod, I was reminded why I'm doing this in the first place and damn near brought to tears by the beauty of the scenery around me and the tight centrifugal curves I was leaning into through the park.
"I've been leaaaaaaaaaarning to drive"
The bliss would soon be broken by the dumping of the park road out onto an indeterminate highway that did not match my cue sheets. Going on instinct, I made a left hoping it would take us South. It soon became apparent we were on MD 550 heading North instead, almost back to the PA state line. Mental Note for next tour: mount a compass on this sucker.
We made the next expedient left turn possible and ended up on a road towards Hagerstown. When this crossed MD 77 (which we had taken into the park an hour ago), we were faced with the choice of either backtracking to where the turn should have been, or continuing South knowing it would eventually hook us up with one of the major state roads that could guide us into Boonesboro and Antietam beyond. The need for gas forced our hand, especially after trying to find a gas station in Middletown, the adjacent small borough. Why is there never one of those things around when you most need one, and how the hell does a town big enough to have a high school and business district lack one right on either of the two state highways that intersect within?
Unrattled and with plenty of reserves, we soldiered on a few miles further South and were treated not only to a station but also the junction of MD 60 that heads right into Boonesboro 10 miles away. Score! From Booneseboro we found the road that led to Antietam Battlefield and the nearby town of Sharpsburg, from which we would find Harper's Ferry Rd to take us into its namesake town and into West Virginia. However, we saw no such road in any of the intersections in Sharpsburg. Our curiosity as to whether the road really wasn't right in the center of the town piqued as we soon ended up on a rickety bridge in the process of refurbishing that crossed the Potomac into the state of...
WEST VIRGINIA
When we reached the far anchorage, it confirmed our suspicions that something was wrong in the cue sheet and there would be no Harper's Ferry Rd if we continued on. Thus came some dodgy U-turns at the end of a bridge that was already under construction, and back into the state of...
MARYLAND
This time we stopped at the only open cafe within Sharpsburg to inquire about this mysterious Harper's Ferry Rd. As I had figured already, the road has a different name of South Mechanic St. for the 4 blocks it continues through what constitutes downtown Sharpsburg before crossing Route 34. Barely 2 minutes later we were cruising down the road named for the town we'd soon be hitting when we left Maryland for good.
And what a road it turned out to be. Harper's Ferry Rd is the sort of slab motorcyclers dream of and rarely find in so pure a form. It curved up and down as well as left and right through thick woods in a course roughly parallel to the Potomac, much like the Mt. Zion Rd did with the Susquehana earlier. It afforded such delights as one lane bridges, wildlife scampering far away enough from the road to qualify as scenic rather than dangerous, rolling hills so tight you bounce in your seat, and forward glimpses where the road ahead appears as a series of disconnected curvy fragments broken up by green hills and blooming trees. Somebody really needs to invent a mounted camera that can take "bike's eye" pictures by way of remote control that velcros to the handle bar. Is there a patent or prototype on this yet?
Harper's Ferry Road gave us 15 miles of pure and challenging rider karma before angling into an old riverfront mill town and under the massive steel arch bridge of US 340 that we'd soon be linking up with to exit Maryland into the state of...
VIRGINIA
Little did I realize that the other end of the bridge cuts through a brief quarter-mile swath of Virginia before continuing into the eastern finger of the state of...
WEST VIRGINIA
As soon as US 340 entered the Mountain state, it soon blossomed into a full-blown freeway. This is typical of the state, thanks in no small part to Robert Byrd's longstanding role in the Senate Highways committee. Thus a state with crumbling infrastructure in every other regard has some of the widest and most pristine interstate and US highways in the nation. The guy even has most of them named after himself and various family members.
Alas, this is not the scenic (i.e. Mountain State) portion of West Virginia once you get beyond the beauty of Harper's Ferry historic national park. A terrain dominated mostly by flat hills and highway sprawl, we were more than happy to rocket through its nice slabs at a brisk 65 mph for the 20 miles before crossing (earnestly this time) into the state of...
VIRGINIA
The ride into Front Royal was largely uneventful other than our sheer impatience to make the milestone and exit the land of 4 lane highways, stoplights, and trucks in exchange for the serenity of hazardous curves, careless deer, and no cellphone reception to call for help. Once into the town, it became clear that both bikes and men needed some serious refueling before tackling the Drive they call Skyline.
The oasis of choice for this purpose was the Royal Dairy, situated right across the street from a franchise of the Royal Dutch Shell Petroleum Company. Here again was a quaint and inspiring dining experience, just what the doctor ordered before going into the mountains. This place looked like a converted apothecary with high ceilings, a soda counter with fixed round stools, and booths along the windows. The menu featured burgers served on toasted sliced bread, onion rings that had no business being as perfectly fried as they were (most diners in my experience totally botch onion rings despite being reliable sources of french fries), and a dazzling ice cream selection. All of which we took in, of course. The banana split that arrived to cap off the meal was one for the ages, and my camera was nice enough to take a rare perfect photograph of it:
So we found ourselves entering Skyline Drive at approximately 3:30 in the afternoon. Things began simply enough. The road was mostly empty, and with Bob in the lead we soon settled into a 45 mph pace with appropriate slowing for the many curves. In order to keep up with Bob's bike and avoid using the brakes much at all, I embarked on a long campaign of shifting between 4th on the straight aways and uphills and 3rd on any curve that was honored with 'yellow diamond sign' status. Additionally, we found ourselves compelled to stop at every third overlook pull off due to the good time we were making.
It was the sixth or seventh of these stops where I hit my one major fiasco of the day -- I don't consider getting lost or cutting over to reserve a fiasco, being as bike and rider suffer no physical losses in the equation. Coming out of the overlook I realized my kickstand was down, and in my interest of getting off the road in its current sharp curve I overjudged the distance and ended up in the roadside gravel off the 3" lip of the pavement. That, alas, led to that critical moment of fighting front wheel instability and with 7 hours of riding already in my ledger I was not up to the battle. Worse still, the drop occured at a bad enough angle off the side lip to render the standard "pick up with your knees from behind you" trick almost useless. With Bob soon doubling back and a nice driver who pulled off ahead of me, we got Diana upright in no time and began the ritual 15 minute wait for the carbeurator flood to drain before she could be restarted.
The CB650 being such a sturdy and simple engine, there is usually little to worry about with soft low-speed or standing drops into the grass. However, the right-hand mirror was already on its last proverbial legs and this indignity proved to be the last straw. The worn metal ball-joint into the mounting stem was snapped, and I prepared a splint and bandage job with the duct tape I brought along.
Ironically, for the first few miles back on the road once she was able to start up, the resultant position of the mirror was frankly better than I was able to get tenuously adjusting the damn thing for the past 9 months. Eventually, the tape job sagged and I was treated to a nice ongoing view of the pavement behind me for the remainder of the trip that day. No big deal for the time being, as the left mirror (which I relied on primarily due to the aforementioned reasons) was fine and even a non-Honda place in Charlottesville would be able to toss an after-market replacement on.
Although I had sworn off both my iPod randomizer and scenic pull-offs for awhile in my post-drop jitters, I soon rounded a curve and was greeted with the most spectacular sight to date on the trip. The sun, which had been poking beautiful curtain effects through the many patches of clouds all day, had just began its western descent and broken through a large enough cloud formation to cause a "highlight" effect on all the green hills far below.
The picture just cannot do justice to this sight, and I pulled off to at least have a digital memory of it. I checked my kickstand about 7 times during the 30 feet of the ramp back onto Skyline Drive.
Leaning and powering through a ton of sharp curves can take a lot out of a rider, doubly so when you don't even get to the curves until an initial 170 miles and 8 hours of riding beforehand. Thus by mile marker 80 we were at about our fill of Skyline Drive. But with 20 miles to go before the intersection with US 250 where it morphs into the Blue Ridge Parkway, the gas tanks began to dwindle as the deer lurking in broad daylight were multiplying. Soon, we even encountered them right in the middle of the road, having at least the good courtesy to do their grazing in a straightaway and not on the other side of an inviting curve. On two occasions we had to come to a complete stop to encourage them to disperse so we could continue onward free of drama.
Unfortunately, continuing onward also meant confronting the lack of gas amenities until we hit US 250. Bob's larger tank kept him out of the danger zone, but with a measly 5 miles to go before the end of the parkway I began to hear that disctinctive sound of a straining throttle. Despite practicing the "blind reachover at 20 mph to switch prime/reserve" drill a few perfunctory times over the last month, Diana soon forced the issue by stalling in gear. This time I made sure I stayed on the road while I reached down and switched to reserve. We were on a straightaway and had hardly seen much car traffic, so it was all good as I rolled on.
Still, nothing kills a fun ride like knowing you're in your reserves and the next dry-up will be the final one until your bike gets a sip of that lovely black gold. And with 3 miles until Waynesboro with uncertain amenities even there, it made for a nervous finish to Skyline Drive. When we were finally spilled out onto US 250, there was a gas station right there ... dark and empty. Apparently they only operate at peak season during core daylight hours.
I was all set to take the most panicky and prudent move towards Waynesboro which had to have an open station, but Bob wisely suggested we just push for Charlottesville. Even though it was 20 miles away, it was mostly downhill and there was bound to be a station along such a busy road as we approached the genuine outskirts of the city. Sure enough, we found one within 4 miles -- the approximate distance it would have been the other direction (into the setting sun no less) to Waynesboro.
Between the waning hour and resultant westbound nasty sun blinding, Bob nixed his plan to look for lodging in Waynesboro and instead accompany me to Charlottesville. We made the city within 30 minutes and I found the abode of my long-lost friend Liz with zero trouble.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of May 3, in which our two weary travellers and charming hostess indulge in their shared love for cheesy soft rock, booze, and motorcycle lore until the wee hours of the morning.
In the meantime, here's the gallery:
And the playlist...
| Title | Artist | CD |
|---|---|---|
| Tokyo Airport | Swell Maps | Train Out Of It |
| When I Dream | The Teardrop Explodes | Piano |
| Flow | RPM | Headz 2a |
| Doodle-Oop | The Meters | Funkify Your Life: The Meters Anthology (Disc 1) |
| Act Too...The Love Of My Life | The Roots | Things Fall Apart |
| Dear Heart | Cocteau Twins | BBC Sessions (Disc 1) |
| Soon | My Bloody Valentine | Loveless |
| Doctor Why | Carla Bley / Paul Haines | Escalator Over The Hill |
| The Lantern | The Rolling Stones | Singles Collection: The London Years (Disc 2) |
| After The Dance (Vocal) | Marvin Gaye | I Want You - Deluxe Edition |
| Marilyn Moore | Sonic Youth | Evol |
| Otherwise | Morcheeba | Charango |
| In Extremis Pt 2 | Organum | Volume One |
| Prettiest Star | David Bowie | Aladdin Sane |
| I Just Want To Celebrate | Rare Earth | Hitsville USA, The Motown Singles Collection 1959-1971 (Disc 4) |
| King and Caroline | Guided By Voices | Alien Lanes |
| Hot Tonite | His Name Is Alive | Stars On E.S.P. |
| 'Cello Song | Nick Drake | Five Leaves Left |
| Chelsea Girls | Nico | Chelsea Girl |
| AndereFarbe,neueFarbe | Oval | Wohnton |
| Stoned To The Bone | James Brown | Make It Funky - The Big Payback: 1971-1975 (Disc 2) |
| Nowhere Girl | B-Movie | |
| They Suffocate At Night | Pulp | Freaks |
| A Screw | Swans | Greed / Holy Money |
| Discover Me (And You'll Discover Love) | Diana Ross & The Supremes | The Best of (Disc 2) |
| Some and I | His Name Is Alive | Livonia |
| In The Backseat | The Arcade Fire | Funeral |
| Happy House | Siouxsie and the Banshees | Once Upon A Time / The Singles |
| Tower Of Silence Pt 1 | Organum | Volume One |
| Lifeforms (Path 4) | The Future Sound Of London | Lifeforms (Single) |
| Incarnate | Organum | Volume One |
| Bike (2) | cLOUDDEAD | cLOUDDEAD |
| I Want To Take You Higher | Sly & The Family Stone | Greatest Hits |
| You Showed Me | Turtles | |
| Saturday | Yo La Tengo | And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out |
| Act Fore...The End? | The Roots | Things Fall Apart |
| Big City (Everybody I Know Can | Spacemen 3 | Recurring |
| Push Th' Little Daisies | Ween | Pure Guava |
| Pretty Paper | Roy Orbison | The All-Time Greatest Hits Of Roy Orbison |
| Fuga N. ? Dos Mutuantes | Os Mutantes | Mutantes |
| Axe Throws | Sound Effects | Kill Bill, Vol. 1 |
| The Cave Dwellers | Swell Maps | Train Out Of It |
| Lost in space | OP8 | Slush |
| The Happening | Diana Ross & The Supremes | Diana Ross & The Supremes |
Posted by Todd at May 3, 2005 07:26 PM