In Memoriam - 4/12/12

Riley would have loved a side car.

His motoring career was limited to a Chevy S-10, an Oldsmobile Intrigue, and most recently, a quad cab Nissan Frontier. The back seat was all his and he had two windows to stick his head out of. As much as he loved the wind in his ears, I do believe he would have been in dog heaven with a pair of doggles on his eyes and his tongue flapping in the breeze, riding alongside a motorcycle.

He came home with me when he was eight weeks old and weighed 10 pounds. The sign on his cage said he was a Shepherd Mix (aren't they all?) and would grow to about 60 pounds. His coloring and conformation were handsome, like that of a Rhodesian Ridgeback, and his temperament was very laid back. I saw him on a lunch break from work, while perusing the local pound, and it clicked. I'd been stopping by every couple of weeks, when I was ready to get back into the dog owning world, and that lunch stop was on a whim. They couldn't "hold" him longer than 30 minutes, so I kept calling back every 30 minutes to renew the hold until I could drive back there after work and pick him up.

Driving back to work with him to show him off, I held him in my lap, and he was very content to nestle there. I remember someone in the lane next to me who looked into the cab and saw him there, and he smiled. There were many more over the years that Riley would make smile, most recently, a lady who was so taken by him as he had his head out the window, she was oblivious to the line of cars in front of her that had all gone through a protected turn signal.

He was a happy dog. Happy to meet new people. Happy to go for a ride in the truck. Happy to go on a walk. Happy to cruise the aisles at Home Depot. And especially happy to roll in the mud at the edge of a spring fed lake. He grew to the predicted 60 pounds by 10 months old. And kept growing. His ideal weight topped out around 110 pounds, though he did go through a portly stage and got up to 124. That came back down, and over the last couple of years was between 105 and 115. Strong as an ox, with a chest that was massive. When he sat proud and erect, he looked like a king.

When I got him, I'd been without a dog for four months. My last dog died a tragic death, and it was a while before I could consider another. However, I'd grown up with a dog since I was 8 years old, and not having one during those four months was not easy, even as I was grieving the loss of my old companion. When Riley came along, he was a clean slate. It had been 15 years since I'd trained a puppy, and never one for the inside. I read a lot and implemented a lot. I'd never had a dog sleep on the bed with me, and I was sure I wasn't about to start that. Until it was easier to keep an eye on him than letting him wander the house. And then it was kind of nice to have the company.

He was such a snuggle bug, too. If there was a foot or an arm handy, his head would be draped across it. He liked to walk up next to me on the bed and semi collapse against me, having full body contact when he drifted off to sleep. He snored. He hogged the covers. Talked in his sleep. He hogged the bed. Passed gas. Looked at me with this expression of, "What?" if I complained. Wanted attention. Sighed with contentment. He was patient.

On the Saturdays I didn't get up at normal time, he would wait until I was ready to get up before he would get off the bed to go outside. His only nudge might be a single tail thump to let me know that daylight was wasting. When I hurt my back and was laid up for a few days, he was a trooper, beside me on the bed for 20 hours a day, never complaining and never encroaching.

People who don't know dogs would always ask if he would bite. People who know dogs would go up to him fearlessly, seeing him for the sweetheart he was. More than once, I've come back to the truck when a stranger would be patting his head which was outthrust from the passenger or rear window, whispering sweet doggie nothings to him. Riley never discouraged any attention he could get.

He didn't bark much, but when he did, there was a touch of a bay in it, and it was deep and throaty, as his chest size would indicate. He speeds were usually two: on and off. He could run around the yard in circles (usually after a bath), and he could sleep all day long. Back in December, he had a comic interlude with an empty two liter bottle, and he could be most content with removing packing tape from boxes, prior to destroying said boxes. The cheap toys were always the best.

When the ambulance or fire truck sirens went by, he did like to sing. There's nothing like being awakened in bed at 3 a.m. by a howling 100 pound dog laying next to you. Nothing in the world. When he was one and a half years old, we started what would become an annual tradition of taking Christmas pictures together and sending out cards. The first year was a lark...we were having church directory pictures taken, and I saw someone else bring in her cat. I asked if they would do one with me and my dog, since he was out in the truck waiting, and they said, "Sure!" I ordered 25 cards, and wished I had a few more. For seven of the next eight years we sent cards to a growing number of people, to family, to folks at church, and to folks from work. He's gotten pretty famous, and all kinds of people will ask about him. Which is another reason to write this.

Just over two weeks ago, he suddenly started having problems walking, and stopped eating. We went to the doctor and had x-rays and blood work done, but there was nothing that was an, 'aha!' so it was kind of wait and see. Once home, his appetite picked back up over the next week, and he got milk mixed in with his chow, an egg added here or there, and any treat to perk his appetite back up. He had been losing weight prior to this, but only had just become really noticeable. In February, he was down to 90 pounds, and when we went, 16 days ago, he was down to 84 pounds. However, he started walking better, and even ventured down to the end of the street a couple of days. Last Saturday seemed pretty good, but then he lost interest in his food again. He did eat a couple of carrots, though (although we got into a bit of an argument over the third carrot). Drank and drank his water, but bypassed his food.

Easter Sunday, after church, I took him to my mom's, where a group of family was having lunch, and he couldn't make it up into the truck without assistance, either going there or coming home. He came back in and slept. And drank. And slept. On Monday, he ate some roast beef I'd cooked for him, but not a large amount. On Tuesday, he had a few more scraps of it. Wednesday morning, he ate a couple of pieces of jerky I'd made, but in the evening it didn't even interest him. When he stood, he would stagger as he walked, so he didn't walk much. A few nights, I made a bedroll and slept next to him on the floor in the living room, missing his company on the bed. The slide seemed so irreversible, but I thought I'd try for one more doctor's visit. He'd have moments where he would perk up and seem almost his old self, though tired. And then there were times he wouldn't even lift his head off the pillow when I walked in the back door.

This morning, when I left him, I told him I would be home around noon, but if he needed to go before that, it was ok, because he was getting so weak. I got home before 1 p.m. And he was gone.

For nine and a half years, he's been my constant companion, hiking in the mountains, taking road trips to the beach, going to visit Biltmore, sleeping, eating and walking. He'll be buried tomorrow, to sleep in the flower bed he liked to lay in. And I am left with an empty house and grieving heart.

Miss you, babe.

Not a Motorcyle Ride...

But a fairly awesome hike. Sorry, to the twelve others of you who stop by this blog, you might feel left out, since this post is rather individually directed.

Thanks again, kind sir :)

Peakaboo

Yeah, I know I spelled it wrong. There's a reason. And a story behind today's ride.

More to follow...

(like this)










For a quick and dirty pictoral tour, you can go here. Full story is below...

I've been planning a leaf peeping tour of my own for a while, but weekends haven't been working out, and the weather looked like there was one more bit of warmth, so I opted to take Tuesday off and just go ride. The temps were supposed to be mid 70's, but in the early morning, it was barely 50 at my house, and my electric vest didn't work the last time I tried it.

I figured I'd check the easy stuff first, and pulled out the in-line fuse the vest has on the lead to the battery, and after looking at that, I don't know how it ever worked! Advanced Auto Parts hooked me up, I plugged in the fuse, and voila, the controller lit back up, once again. That all happened before 9 a.m.

By 9:03, I was rolling down the driveway to go fill my tires, which were both down about 6-8 pounds. Money from the ATM and I was rolling at 9:15 a.m.

The temperature did some weird fluctuating for the next few minutes, and got up to 60 by the time I was out of Travelers Rest, but within 10 minutes, it was down to 48 again, going across country roads. The 60 had me starting to sweat in my layers, and the 48 had me singing happy songs about my electric vest.

Even though I was being sneaky and riding on a Tuesday, I saw quite a few other bikes, the first of which was heading down 178 from Rosman, passing me while I was going north to Rosman. The waves I gave to every biker had an extra note of camaraderie...we weren't just weekend riders. We took vacation time to go ride in the week, heh heh.

Once out of Rosman and on to 64W, I was behind a couple of pickups for a few miles, but it wasn't very long before my turnoff to the magical 281, my very own hooligan road. The gravel was toned down in the first part, since the last time I'd ridden it in July, which was a relief. I finally started getting some pictures here. The color hadn't been spectacular to this point. It was either still pretty green, or naked branches...you pick.

I almost stopped at Wolf Creek Lake, but there were a lot of utility trucks there, so I just pulled off by the side and grabbed some shots. The sun overpowered some of the shadows, but it was still a nice view.

The rest of 281 is just too much fun to take pictures, and once that ended at 107, I found another road which was pretty intense, called Pine Creek Road, which changes to Walnut Creek Road before it drops off into Hwy 64/28. I think I would have rather come the other direction on that one, since all of the hairy hairpins and switchbacks would have been uphill. As it was, I felt like I was doing a handstand on the bars, looking down the road before me.

You weren't on that road unless you had some reason to be on that road (in my case, specific curiosity). You don't just 'stumble across' that one. I'll have to look it up again one of these days and traverse it west to east. Maybe take a picture next time, too.

At any rate, I was only five or six miles outside of Franklin at this point, where I picked up 28N out of town. This is the route to go up to the Dragon, and a road I've taken a few times. On the route, I've seen this side road a few times that I've wondered about, called Tellico Road. Part of my goal from today's riding was to take that road less travelled, and loop around to Wayah Road, which internet investigation promised good riding.

The scenery along Tellico Road was very nice. Curvy, peaceful, secluded...and then.

Then, I passed a road sign that said, "Pavement Ends," which it promptly did. It wasn't super bad, loose, rutted gravel, and I wasn't about to be turned away from my investigation, so I kept going. Shortly after, I came up a lane with a beautiful stone fence, very reminiscent of Kentucky.

The road turned, however, and nothing looked like Kentucky. It started looking more like I'd see a Gingerbread House with an old crone outside. The occasional sprinkling of 4x4 pickup trucks with hunting dog crates in the bed helped offset that impression, though. It weren't too near any civilization, though, I'll tell you that. (Peak leaf season, boo - scary forest...get it? Oh, nevermind.)

I had to pull over one time for an oncoming Chevy Tahoe to pass me, since the road was not a two lane avenue by any stretch of the imagination. The curves were often blind, and I approached most of them with healthy caution. After a certain point, I didn't see any more hunters (or utility workers with bright orange hats, as I originally though them to be), but the road kept going. So did I.

Occasionally, I pulled off for a few "you won't believe this!" pictures to show where in the world I was. The dirt road ran along much of what was a cut for power lines, so they got included in the shots.

The prettiest pictures of the day were from an overshadowed part of the road where I just had to stop and snap a couple. It's easy to get too wrapped up in the riding and skip the pics, so I tried to make conscious efforts to document this rather, erm, unusual part of my trip. (Remember, you can click on any picture to enlarge it.)

Again, see the ribbon of road below? I don't get turned back easily, even with switchbacks full of gravel and dirt :)

At the summit of the gap (Tellico Gap), there was a sign indicating that the Appalachian Trail crosses there. After reading some today, it turns out there is an old fire tower that was rebuilt for hikers to go up and enjoy the view, which is about 1.5 miles' worth of a hike from the top of the gap. I think I may need to go back up there and check it out one day with a good camera. The road won't be quite some daunting, since I at least know what to expect.

From the AT intersection, my gravel and dirt road started to angle down. I mainly used engine braking in first gear to keep my speeds reasonable, and the descent was nowhere near as long or sustained as the ascent on the other side of the mountain. Seemed like no time at all before I started seeing signs of civilization, and boom, there was asphalt on the road ahead of me! Yeah baby!

I knew I'd stayed on Tellico Road over the mountain, but I wasn't sure I was supposed to go that route, since the way I planned to go was going to change names at least once (pretty common in these parts). Even though I thought it might be off route, I was willing to figure it out, once I got somewhere recognizable.

Happy times, though, because the next road sign showed that I was now on Otter Creek Road, which was my intended route to Wayah Road. My five mile dirt road trip over the mountain was NOT in vain!

Wayah Road was next, and the many reviews online about this stretch hit it pretty nicely. Good sweepers, beautiful views, some technical sections with hairpins, but not overtaxing. And no one in front of me for the entire 20+ miles. The road goes along the edge of Lake Nantahala, which was glass smooth, except for one boat ripple. There was a restaurant I meant to stop at, but missed, so I kept riding.

There was another section of the AT that crossed Wayah Road, and was 13 miles from Franklin. The next 13 miles were a series of skinny switchbacks. Skinny, because leaves had pooled at the edge of the lane, leaving the workable asphalt to less than the standard 8 feet. Nothing too hairy, though.

At the bottom of the road, it was a short hop to the right to get onto Highway 64, which had some of the prettiest scenery of the day. I rode on that until I hit an uphill stretch and could see two tractor trailers ahead of me that were pulling really slowly up the grade. Right then, there was a scenic overlook pulloff, and since I hadn't gotten off the bike in 4.5 hours at that point, I figured it would be a good time for a break.

It had warmed up to around 70 by now, so my quilted liner in my jacket and pants were a bit overkill, as was my form fitting vest (even with the power off). It was a welcome respite to stand and delayer. There were two other bikes at the overlook, and one of the riders came over to ask where I was heading from and going, and offered to take a picture of me with the bike (since all I could do was take a pic of the bike by his lonesome). I let him take the picture, figuring I had to look pretty rough, since I'd just taken my helmet off for the first time in over four hours. At least it was proof I was there, right?

Fifteen minutes later, I was back on 64, heading over the mountain and on down to Hiwassee, GA for a lunch break. It was also my fuel stop for the day, and I'd put 185 miles on the bike since I put my kickstand up in the morning. It was an hour to ride in to Hiwassee, and by then, I was ready for a real, sit-down break. Nothing especially noble for lunch, but my Zaxby's was good. I wrote a few things in my journal, and just savored sitting there, leaning back with my legs stretched.

About 30 minutes later, and I was back on the road, with 40 miles to go to Clayton, GA on Highway 76, which is one of the nicest motorcycle highways I've been on. It's got decent passing zones, so the 'pokes can move over, and gorgeous views as you go.

Once in Clayton, I did a quick hook over by the BP station on 441 to get onto Warwoman Road which runs over to Highway 28. A fellow rider from my biker website told me about this road a couple of years back, and I run it every once in a while.

This day, however, the last few miles of it were polluted by a '95 Chevy Blazer that saw no need to be courteous and pull over. A couple of times I just stopped in the middle of the road to let him get ahead before I'd ride through the next few curves and catch back up. There wasn't anywhere I could pass with any idea of prudence, so I was stuck. When we got to 28, however, at least he let me pass him to get onto the road first.

Highway 28 is another beaut. This one keeps you on your toes, though, and the trees were spectacular. I wish I had a good helmet cam, so I could just ride and not be clicking pictures to share all the time :) Once down to Walhalla, I turned east to head back to Greenville.

By now, it was getting near quitting time for most office drones, so traffic started picking up. The last 30 or so miles were quite mundane, and I pulled into my driveway about five minutes later than any normal workday, so the Riley booger dog didn't have any longer to wait than normal.

Once I got home, he and I went for a nearly two mile walk, and it felt so good to be moving my legs. Even with the seat modified by Spencer on that bike, I wouldn't have wanted to ride much more. I figured my day at work on Wednesday would be a little painful, but there has been a surprising lack of soreness, which is good. My co-workers get annoyed when I groan.

The One Picture I Did Get...

Saturday, October 1, I met up with Martin at the gas station in Cleveland, SC, a few miles before the 276 turnoff for Caesar's Head. He's a co-worker who's also a former MSF Rider Coach, and is currently loving his 2011 Versys. There was a cold front that started through the night before, so when we met at 9:30, it was only 52 degrees outside. I'd brought about every layer I could think of, and proceeded to put on the last ones before we headed out.

The ride route was my idea, but the first leg of it is one Martin knows very well, so I asked him to lead, figuring I'd have a good bunny to chase, and I wouldn't be slowing him up on roads he was more familiar with. We headed up the 2,000 foot climb to the summit of Caesar's Head, and I'm thankful that whoever designed the road put passing zones in the uphill portion. The Camry and the Jeep were at least smart enough to stay in the slow lane when we went past them.

Past the summit, is a curvy ridgeline that gradually descends toward Brevard, but before that, we turned left onto East Fork, which is a delightfully curvy road that I just discovered this summer. Hairpins, blind curves, hills, sweepers...they're all there. On one particular decreasing radius downhill curve, I was following at probably close to Martin's pace when suddenly the road seemed a lot tighter than I expected. I usually have one of those ultra split second voiceovers in my head of, "and that was when she made her mistake..." fighting the urge to target fixate on the opposing lane's ditch.

One bit of advice Mike had passed on at my trip to the OBX was to, "trust your tires. They're better than you are." In that hairy split second, it came back, I shifted over a little bit and pushed that inside grip even more to carve into the curve. Inside my helmet, I said out loud, "Push! The tires are better than you are!" And then, "Woo hoo!" once I'd negotiated it through.

At our next designated stop in Rosman, NC, we got off to stretch, and I had a bathroom break while Martin put on another layer. Now it was my turn to lead, and I outlined our next three roads, saying our next stop would be a lookout on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The cold air (it was now sitting at 48 degrees) had chased every bit of haze out of the atmosphere, and it was a crystal clear day.

Back on the road, we routed around a fall festival of sorts in Rosman, and then a quick hop on Highway 64 to head north on 215. That's a nice stretch of road, with lots of 25 mph advisories on curves, and some really grippy pavement. We swooped through a few miles of curves up to Balsam Grove, and then turned left at the fire department, going up Tanasee Gap Road.

I'd tried this road out in July, and found it interesting, but full of potholes. This time, the majority of the potholes had been patched, so it didn't seem nearly so sketchy. Of course, I didn't head up the gravel road I found last time, either, so that probably enhanced the non-sketch factor. It's definitely a country road, but has some nice views closer to the top of the mountain. At the stop sign where it ends, hang a left, and in less than a mile we were at the beginning of the prime riding on 281.

This is a road I know fairly well, and if I'm ever a hooligan, it's on the next stretch. The pitch, camber, angle and curves are all perfect to just lay the bike side to side as you sail through the unending s-curves. It's exhilarating, and even Martin commented at lunch about how pristine that section of road was.

After a few miles of this Turnish Delight, we turned right onto Explorer Road, following the path I'd done on my gravel off roading trip. Again, this time the road didn't seem as edgy, although there was one pretty sharp turn that almost caught me napping. Parts of it are just ok, but other parts are beautiful, and it's a stretch of 10 miles, so it lasts a good bit.

Toward the end, the quality of the road again deteriorates, getting a few potholes and uneven surfaces. The stop sign at its terminus ends back on Highway 215, where we turned left to continue heading back north to the Blue Ridge Parkway. The surface of 215 was so refreshingly solid and well groomed after that bit of Explorer Road, it's a breath of fresh air.

Carve a few more curves, and we make the turn to enter the BRP. The air is clean and cold. There is a wind blowing that I didn't feel so much on the bike, but Martin said it was blowing him around some. We only had one tunnel to go through, but when I looked at the thermometer once we were back in the sunshine, it showed 37 degrees. I was loving my heated grips and electric vest (and long underwear, quilted liners, neck guard, winter gloves, long socks....)

There was one overlook I especially wanted to stop at, and we passed a half dozen before we got to it. Once there, Martin again put on another layer, while I got the beauty shot of the bike. I'd forgotten that my memory card for the camera was laying on a shelf at home where I'd put it after loading some pictures onto my computer, so I only got one shot.

From there, we headed back onto the BRP and then shortly turned off at 276, heading south to Brevard, where Martin and I had lunch at a Zaxby's. As we were walking in to the restaurant, it felt positively balmy out there, with it being 53 degrees. At lunch, Martin mentioned that curve where he went in kind of hot, asking if I remembered the one...? Yeah. I remembered it :)

After lunch, Martin headed back down 276 the way we'd come up, over Caesar's Head, but I got out onto I-26 and headed toward Hendersonville, where I stopped by a roadside stand to buy some NC apples. I had a backpack with me, and was able to get all of a half bushel of apples into it and strapped onto my back before heading home. Twenty. Five. Pounds. of apples. Much of it will go into applesauce for my dog's medicine. But not all. (They're no SweeTangoes, though, I'll tell you that much...)

And here it is...the one picture I did get.

All's Well that Ends Well

...even if it didn't begin that well. It's not everyone who can start their day out by knocking over not one, not two, but three motorcycles that belong to three different people. Before 10 a.m.

I have mad skillz.

With this cliffhanger, I'll leave you for now, until I have sufficient brain cells to finish out the blog entry. I'm safely home, so that part's good. More to follow later.

***********************************************************
Brain cells are back. Now for the rest of the story.
***********************************************************

Friday night, Mike and I were up talking in the living room until about 11:15, but I still managed to get up, showered and mostly packed by 7:30. Went downstairs and hung out with Gigi for a while, figuring Mike would leave shortly. Neither of us realized he took the rest of the weekend off, and not just Friday afternoon, so when she went to take him his coffee, she woke him up :)

This morning we had omelettes and kept a keen eye on the radar, since it was raining pretty good, and there had even been a boom of thunder around 7. In a word, my trip home was going to be wet.

I'd thought to leave at 9, but it was closer to 10 when I went down to open the garage. At this point, I made a rather fatal error (and in retrospect, I just shake my head.). I wanted to put the bike up on its centerstand when loading it with luggage to make sure it would be balanced and secure. I've gotten it on the centerstand many times before, but not without a struggle. Where it was located in the garage, there was a stackable set of plastic shelves next to it, without much wiggle room, and apparently, I needed more wiggle. I almost got it up, but then somehow got off balance, and tipped the bike away from me. With a mild sense of horror, I watched my bike fall into the DRZ beside it, which in turn dominoed on top of Gigi's GZ250.

I must admit, the photo hound in me was sorely tempted to run inside and get my camera to document all of the narcoleptic bikes, but I decided the more honorable thing to do would be to right the bikes as quickly as possible. When I was getting mine up, it was a little tricky, because *someone* (we won't mention any names, Mike) had parked it in neutral, so as I was trying to leverage it up, it was trying to roll forward into more bikes. I was able to reach over and put it in gear, though, and get it up and on its side stand.

After that, the DRZ was a feather to get up, and the GZ was leaning against some boogie boards, so it barely needed to be righted. The GZ had luggage and a big squooshy seat, so between that, and landing on the boogie boards, I didn't see any scratches. On the DRZ, I noticed some smudges on the fairing by the seat, most of which I was able to rub off. To be honest, the other side's fairing looked just about as rough, and I hadn't done anything to that side. It's a lightweight bike, fun to throw around, and my tipover didn't do much more than give it a slight bruise.

Timidly, I looked at my bike to see what damage I might have done. When it fell, the right handle and brake had landed with the left front fork of the DRZ right between them, but nothing ended up broken or bent. Even with all the plastic on the VFR, I didn't see a mark, which still astounds me. Of course, I haven't gone over it in the daylight since then (probably scared of what I'll find), but honestly, it didn't look any worse for the wear.

Once everything was back on side stands, I then gingerly rolled the VFR back out into the driveway where a misting rain was still coming down. Rolled it around to be facing out, and this time with ample wiggle room, got it on the center stand after the second or third try. My luggage arrangement this time went much better than the trip out, since I actually put the covers on the way they were designed (and not how the label indicates), and I had my tail bag facing correctly. When I was getting ready to head, Mike had already gone to see someone, so we'd said our good-byes, and Gigi was also heading out, so I let her know about the bikes, and showed her the mark on the DRZ, but she assured me her boys had done much worse.

I have to admit, putting on rain gear before even starting a ride is a drag. However, once you're actually rolling, and then the rain starts in earnest, you're glad you put it all on. It was barely spitting in their driveway, but before I took the Mann's Harbor Bridge, it was coming down pretty good. I had closed the vents on top of my helmet on the previous Saturday when it was 57 degrees, and this day I was happy to be able to open them back up and get some ventilation on my head.

The next 30 or so miles were through wilderness refuge, with canals running by the road that looked perilously full. Road signs advised you to watch for black bears along the highway, and red wolves to be crossing the highway. I kept watching, but never saw.

Part of the route I was taking went through Columbia, which had seen some tornadoes spawned by Hurricane Irene, and it was so odd to see one house reduced to rubble, while the one next to it didn't appear to be touched. Closer over to Creswell, I saw some grain silo looking things that had their roofs crinkled back like a sardine can right beside another silo that was perfect.

I made it 199.7 miles on my odometer (which included the running around on Friday) before stopping to fuel in Rocky Mount, and grab a BLT at the Cracker Barrel. The rain had let up only a few miles before that, and I knew I'd be riding out under clear skies eventually, but it just wasn't yet. Lunch was decent, and I was back on my way, suited up once again for the rain by 1:15.

As the miles rolled past, I started doing mental calculations of where my next gas stop would be. Salisbury would be way too soon. Kannapolis was possible, but I didn't like any exits there. The last bar of my fuel indicator started blinking (hateful thing) at 195 miles on the trip meter, but I pushed on to mile 208, getting off at the Concord exit. I'd intended for this to be my only other stop for the trip home, but I also thought I'd be out of the rain enough to be able to pack up my rain gear.

There was this really weird cloud front over Charlotte right then, so I couldn't take off the rain gear just yet, so after I fueled, I just rolled on, not even getting off the bike. Finally, twenty more miles down the road, around Gastonia, I saw real, bright sunshine for the first time that day, and the dark clouds were behind me. In my rain gear, I promptly began to start heating up, so I got off a couple exits down the interstate to stop in at a McDonald's for a salad and a smoothie.

It felt soo good to peel off those rain layers: boot covers, pants, jacket. Finally, I felt ventilation through my mesh gear while standing in the parking lot and it was wonderful. I stowed all of my rain gear, left my gloves and helmet on the bike, and headed in to Mickey D's. About 15 minutes later, as I was sitting there, eating my salad, stretching my legs straight, I heard this white noise. Like rushing water. Or a waterfall. Or an absolute cloudburst pouring straight down right outside the windows of the restaurant. Big windows, so I got a good view of what was drenching my gloves and moistening my helmet.

It was one of those, "Really?!" moments, but I wasn't too put out, since I was only 85 miles from home, and I knew it was clear just down the road. I finished my food and strolled back out to the bike that had a river of parking lot drainage flowing past it. The rain had lightened, to a degree, and I didn't bother putting any rain gear back on. I did at least wring out my gloves before putting them back on. Once back on the interstate, within five miles the asphalt looked completely dry. I wasn't, but at least I was getting drier, the more I rode.

Those last few miles went by quickly, and the sun was getting lower as I was heading into Greenville. I rolled into my driveway just at 7 p.m., having put 1,135 miles on my odometer for the whole trip (what a slacker!) I sent Gigi and Mike a picture with a text that I was home, unloaded the bike and hopped in my truck to go get my Riley dog. I visited with my mom some, who thought I had a fabulous sounding vacation, but headed out around 8:30 to come back home and decompress a bit. Lights were out by 10:30, and by then I was about delirious, which is never a good time to finish a blog.

And that's all I've got.

Fit to be Tired

This morning, Mike rolled off to work about 7:40, and I ambled down to have breakfast a bit after 8. Gigi had a meeting scheduled with someone, and so was on her way out in the morning, so I took advantage of the early blue skies to do a little exploratory riding.

Rode out of Manteo, over the bridge to Nags Head and then jinked right to get onto the beach road, Highway 12. There was a sign that the road was out 8 miles to the south, toward Hatteras Island, so I went north. Most of the road was just a huge conglomeration of Monopoly hotels (mostly houses the size of hotels) all crammed sidebysidebyside. On the right, where the ocean was, the sand dunes were high enough to block any water views, and on the left, the huge beach houses went back a block or two deep. There is a lot for sale that has land for four building sites, but it's not really that big a plot. Most of the houses that are a block back have decks built up at the level of the upper gable of the roof so they can see over the front layer of homes and hotels.

Going north, I kept my visor open, but once I turned to head south, puttering along at 35 mph, I had to close the visor, because I was now getting sand blown into my eyes. Down at the south end of Nags Head is Jennette's Pier, which has been rebuilt multiple times over the years, and the last time, was constructed with concrete piers. It looks like it could last through a couple dozen storms going forward. There was a surfing competition going on while I was there, so the peaceful lull of the surf was drowned by loudspeakers interviewing surfer dudes and talking about the weather, the waves, the scores, etc.

I headed back to the house after my little cruise, wondering how/when I'd hear from Mike, since he mentioned he'd call after his meeting, but I was pretty sure he didn't have my number. There's a shop down the street that will change tires (off the bike) for $20, and Mike had an old track-day tire I could swap out for my front tire that really didn't need to go another 500 miles to get home. However, I didn't have any expertise or tools to take off the front wheel (but with a torque wrench and the right bits, I could do it now), so we were going to have to meet back up to get that done.

After a bit, Gigi came back home, and since it was the afternoon 'rest period' for the pilots, we thought we'd do some local stuff before calling over to the hangar to see how Mike wanted to proceed. We planned to go out to the ocean, and I ran upstairs to change into my swimsuit, when lo and behold, Mike came through the front door, off for the rest of the day. Beach plans were shelved, and I put my riding togs on over my shorts and t-shirt, and rode over the to the hangar behind Mike.

Once inside, I rolled up beside Shy Dean's workbench, and turned the bike off. Up on the centerstand, and Mike was busy loosening the pinch bolts, the brake calipers, the axle nut all in a flash. He was a man on a mission with a tight schedule, and moving right along. Once the wheel was off, we set it in the back of the pickup and stopped by the house, looking for one of his shop manuals for the bike so he could find the torque specs for putting it back together. After a fruitless search, we left and (eventually) dropped the wheel and better tire off at the shop up the road for them to change it out.

When Mike introduced me to the tire guy when he dropped off the wheel, tire guy said he'd already seen Mike's 'riding buddy' the other day, when we kept heading out and back in to the neighborhood on different bikes. Mike assured him he was still married to Gigi, and that he'd taken to introducing me as his niece :)

Back to the hangar we went, where Mike did find the elusive shop manual, and then checked the specs for the chain. He tried to adjust it some, but there wasn't a whole lot of movement he could get, and since it is within tolerance of the specs, he just tightened it back up and called it good. While doing that, he got a call from his boss who wanted to have a meeting at the hangar in a few minutes, so the rather harried Mike dropped me back off at the house, saying he'd pick up the wheel before coming back to get me, after the meeting.

Knowing how his 30 minute meetings can turn into 2 hour meetings, Gigi and I walked back down the street so I could go ahead and pay for the installation, and I just carried the newly tired wheel back to the house. It seemed to get heavier, the longer it took for us to get back. When we were picking the wheel up, another guy was at the shop and the whole 'mystery rider' came up again. Apparently my turns in and out of the neighborhood made an impression :) He's more of a drag racer type, though, so he prefers the straightaway, rather than the twisty. Mike, on the other hand, goes slow in the straights and then really wicks it up through the curves.

At any rate, we got back home, with the faithful Wobs having accompanied us, and about 20 minutes later, Mike called, and Gigi let him know we'd gotten the tire (which was the reason he'd called...it was 10 'til 5). About 25 minutes later he got home, and we headed back over to finish what we'd started. The reassembly went pretty well, although it did take three tries to get the mental math right of converting 23 foot-pounds of torque to foot-inches (it's that higher math that'll get you). Axle got re-greased, and the chain got lubed with the extra special gear oil he's got. About the time we were just about done, the sky decided to let loose, and it was pouring rain.

Once everything was put back to rights and the tools replaced (can't have a grumpy mechanic), we checked the radar, but there wasn't much of a break, so we left the Viffer and just went back home for some supper. After supper, it had let up a good bit, but not stopped, so Mike offered to ride the bike back from the hangar and I could drive, which would keep my gear dry as long as possible. (Have I ever mentioned how swell a guy he is?)

Back at the house, Gigi had some folks to meet around 7:45, so she headed out, leaving three more pieces of low carb pizza on the stone, and I went upstairs to face the unenviable task of packing. It's pretty much done now, except for what I have on now (still have my swimsuit on underneath...), and what I'll wear tomorrow. Have to fit in the few leftover odds and ends, but that'll take no time in the morning. If the morrow is anything like the last few days, it will start out clear enough, and then deteriorate. Radar looks like it might be moving on, but stuff keeps popping up. The goal is to leave by 9, but even if it's 10, I should still make it home by around 6 p.m.

At supper, again, Mike and Gigi were saying it was a shame the weather had been so rainy, because this is very atypical for this area, but that it just meant I'd have to come back another time to try out the stuff I missed on this visit. I think I like the way they think :))

Yowzamama!

The morning dawned with blue skies and wispies for clouds. The agenda was for dual sporting and aerobatic flying. It's a short list, but a really good one.

I wasn't sure which one we'd do first, and when Mike asked at breakfast which I'd prefer, I said 'dual sport riding in the wildlife refuge(?)' There was a slight question to the tone of my answer, and he said we could do that, by all means, but he thought this morning might be perfect flying weather, so I jumped tracks and was all on board the 'let's go flying' train. I'm really easy to please :)

I ran upstairs to change, coming back down with my camera in hand, and vest, in case my long sleeved shirt wouldn't be enough at 3,000+ feet. We drove over to his hangar, and had to execute this complicated security system to unlock the door before grabbing a five gallon gas can to go fill up at the Avgas pump.

While there, I noticed a six foot ladder standing by the pump, which makes sense when you need to just drive your whole dang plane over there to top off. The gas tank on his bi-plane is filled from an opening on the top wing, over where the front cockpit is, so even my Expat friend with super long legs would need a height assist to add fuel.

Back at the hangar, Mike lifted the door, which is a horizontal bi-fold. The hangars look innocently like normal storage buildings when the planes are buttoned up inside, but once you push the button, the whole wall will fold out and up to give you access to the great outdoors.

The pre-flight inspection was pretty thorough, and really gives you an idea of how well Mike knows his craft and his (air)craft. As on the Piper, this plane has cloth on the wings, with spruce spars underneath. He checked the oil, filled the tank, checked the fuel for sediment and water, made sure there were no broken ribs, and all the movable parts had the correct moveableness. I noticed one little flap that was missing some screws, so he did a minor reallocation of screws so that both sides were secure. It wasn't a big thing, but just shows the attention to detail he had.

This time, I got to wear a cloth helmet with my headphones, which cost Mike a good 20 minutes to rassle with, and it was getting hot over there. While he was doing that, his helicopter mechanic, the quiet and demure (shy, even) Dean rode his bike over from the helicopter hangar to look at something Mike had a question on. Turns out it was just a wire that Ponytail Dan had used to hold the engine cowling open while he was servicing it, and nothing major.

Have you ever had to wear a parachute? I have :) Mine was a backpack parachute, which had straps go from the back, around the inside of the legs and up to clips below the waist, as well as a clip across the chest. Mike told me to get familiar with how those clips work, in case there would be a water landing in the 'chute, and I'd be able to get out of the harness without having to look. Parachute talk is sobering.

He then discussed what he would say if I needed to jump, and the steps I would need to execute. I didn't have any doubt of Mike's capabilities as a pilot, but I paid close attention to every word. Unplug the headset, grab the bar on the wing overhead, step up in the seat, step up on the plane, and step back. If you hit the tail on the way off, it will just be a bump, since your relative speed is the same. Count to three one thousand, take both hands, grab the d-ring and pull it straight out. That's pretty much it.

He told me my cue would be if he said, "Bail out. Bail out." He joked if he heard it three times, the last one would be an echo, because he'd already be out (which is, of course, a big fat lie, since he would be sure to let ladies go first, as is his chivalric nature).

Once again, I executed the dance steps required to get in the front seat. Right foot on the wing (your other right foot!), left foot on the peg, right hand on the bar over the seat, left hand flat on top of the wing, step up and put right foot on the seat. Left foot in the seat, both hands on the bar over the seat and lower into the seat. Don't sit on the pilot's windshield! The parachute was my backrest, so it was a little snug getting in there, but once situated, I was good.

Now the second harness to put on...the seat belt inside the plane. Make sure it's snug enough, since we might be hanging upside down in it. Feet flat on the floor...don't hit the brake pedals down there. Hands out of the way of the throttle (I've got controls at my seat) and the stick. There are two metal bars just below the instrument panel that run diagonally in each corner about chest height, and are a great place to hold on if you just want to keep your hands out of the way.

This time, the intercom worked great (I was getting squelched out on the earlier flights), and I got to hear the back and forth from plane to airport. Mike is from Texas, and has a definite drawl, but once he's on the radio, he uses his 'plane voice' and sounds like he could be a radio announcer. The first time I heard someone radioing in about Great Lakes 4-7-lambda, I wondered who was talking about us, since I knew those were the numbers on our plane. Silly me.

When we were running through the pre-flight, some clouds decided to pop up, so Mike wasn't certain we'd get anything more than a quick beach tour and maybe a quick aileron roll. I was just along for the ride, and was happy whatever happened. The closer to the beach we got, there was an opening and some sun, so prior to doing anything Mike did a bit of a reconnaissance, angling back and forth to make sure there were no other planes in the area, the leveled out and told me the steps he would execute for the first procedure, which was the aileron roll.

Angle up, go into a shallow dive to gain speed, head back into a climb and then roll left. Mentally, I was as ready as I'd ever be. The most disconcerting thing was that first tip up and then dive...it's just like when you go over the edge of a rollercoaster, and the elevator has suddenly dropped to the basement. Once that first lurch was gone, though, I caught up with the plane, and then we were heading up at about a 30 degree angle, before spiraling to the left and back to level. Mike's comment about those was that they were so fast, by the time you realized something was happening, it was already over. He was right :)

Next up was just a regular loop. Same sequence as before, though with a steeper climb, and then just up and over. Pulling 4 G's. Again, it started with the elevator drop lurch, and then we were on a freight train headed dooowwwn, and then uuuuuppp and over. It was one of the coolest things to look 'overhead' and see trees and houses and ocean. I wished I'd had my camera out for that one, but alas.

Third on the list was the hammerhead. This time, you head straight up, dead vertical until you just about stall, then somersault over, going in a vertical dive to the ground, and then even back out to horizontal. The description sounded pretty intense, and intense it was, but not scary. We were so high up, you didn't get the impression of the ground hurtling at you, and once the vertical line was established going down, he only held it a second or two before going back to horizontal.

The clouds were starting to box in at this point, so we only had time for one more maneuver before heading back over to Roanoke Island. I think this one was my favorite. We headed over land (for better reference points), leveled out and Mike slowly eased back on the throttle. Back and back. The plane stalled and snapped into an immediate spin to the ground, going counter-clockwise. One spin, two spins, three spins, and then swing around to level out. The spins weren't corkscrews, it would take a little less than two seconds to complete one rotation, and it was just cool. It was almost one of those moments when time. slows. down. I didn't get dizzy and hadn't the least issue with motion sickness (which is probably why I enjoyed the ride so much!)

A pretty heavy rain system was headed our way, so we high tailed it back to the Dare County airport, coming down on runway 23 with rain just starting to sprinkle down. I was sitting in the forward seat, mostly under the upper wing, so I didn't notice how steady the rain was until we were back at the hangar and I could see it coming down on the blacktop. Mike was getting a bit more drenched than I, but thankfully, he doesn't melt.

Once I did my reverse dance steps to get out of my seat, Mike hooked up his tow dolly and pulled his dripping plane back into the hangar. He seemed pretty stoked to have gotten a plane wash out of the deal :) Not two minutes after he'd pulled the Great Lakes under the hangar roof, the rain really started pouring down. I unhooked my parachute and Mike gave the plane a rub down. Closed the door back down and we rode off into the rain inside his Tundra.

The rain pretty much settled in for the rest of the day, so we just headed over to La Fogata for lunch with Gigi, and upon our return, the Nap Monster claimed Mike once again. I ended up finishing some knitting I'd started, catching up on emails and reliving the fun of the ride. At supper tonight, Mike lamented that the weather hasn't been that great for my week at the beach, and I said, "Oh, I don't know. This is probably the best week I've ever had at the beach!"

Tomorrow is my last day here, and probably my tamest. Mike goes on duty at 8 a.m. for a 72 hour shift, and has to be ready for whatever hat drops. I do think I'll try to get a sunrise on the ocean tomorrow, if possible, and maybe sightsee with Gigi in the afternoon. Definitely a low impact day, but that's fine, since Saturday will be my longest day of riding for the whole vacation. It's only about 450 miles, though, so not too terrible.

Ah yes, one last picture to put in here, since I always seem to get pictures of the pets where I stay. Here is the lovable and jolly Wobbuffet, known affectionately as Wobs. He looks huge, but he's just a wee little long-haired dachshund.