There's Something About That First Day...

This is just a quick note that I'm in for the night, but I'm actually too tired to do justice to today's ride, so details will follow after a few hours' sleep. Suffice it to say, I made it well past Birmingham.

now for the goods...(updated 5/30)

Thursday night I collected all of my stuff for the trip, loaded the dog up in the truck and hauled him over to mom's house where he is spending the duration of the trip (for those of you who have asked about him). Once everything was offloaded, I headed back to my house to drop the truck off and bring the bike back to mom's, where I spent the night. She's been visiting family in Iowa, so I had the house to myself, and Friday morning, I headed in to work for the last half day.

I'd had two big bears of projects that had to be done before I left, and 99% of those were finished on Thursday, so most of my time Friday was sorting out what was left that would need attention in my absence. It was kind of fun recording my voicemail message to say 'don't leave a message.' Once work was done, a friend treated me to lunch, which was a fitting beginning to a nice vacation.

I headed back to mom's to load up the bike and bid my furry buddy adieu, and hit the road right at 2:15. I decided to go through Atlanta and Birmingham, up to Memphis and over to Oklahoma City for my first big leg of the trip, which would take Friday and Saturday. My options were either to go through Atlanta, or to take I-40 through the recently fixed rockslide area, that still only had one lane open. I decided on Atlanta, for variety's sake, I guess, because my timing put me going through there right around, oh, 4:45 p.m. on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. Really smart. I'd put Atlanta probably at the 2^nd worst I've ridden the bike through, barely edging out Boston rush hour. The top one in my books still remains Chicago. Seems like I always hit the big cities around the evening rush hour.

At any rate, I tried the HOV lane for a while, since motorcycles are allowed, but I didn't like being hemmed in to one lane with only limited access to the other lanes, so I got out of it closer in to downtown Atlanta (no bypass for me, thank you very much). I knew I needed to go to Birmingham from Atlanta, but wasn't sure the exact road I would need, because I hadn't printed or written any directions out for this first leg (and I loathe GPS devices, in case you were wondering). I think my pioneering spirit decided to just aim west and wing it for a while . The road signs were terribly obliging and told me I-20 was what I needed to get to Birmingham, and I-20 is what I took.

Once I got off I-85, the traffic finally started to breathe again, and I was able to notice what the skies looked like, and ominous is the word I'd use to describe them. When I was riding through Atlanta, it was 91 degrees, but as I continued to ride along I-20, the temperatures dropped enough for me to be glad I was wearing jeans under my mesh riding pants. A few more miles down the road, and there was evidence of some pretty strong rains having just passed through that area, with standing water in the medians and in the interstate. I rode on to the Oxford, AL, exit, near Anniston, before I stopped for fuel and food. Inside the restaurant, I heard the tail end of a weather advisory for strong thunderstorm warnings to the west and to the north. Once I finished my sandwich from Arby's, I took a few minutes to put rain covers on my luggage and myself. I felt a little silly in my moon suit (big booties for my riding boots included), but once the rain started coming down about 30 miles west of Anniston, I was glad to look silly, so long as I was dry. My original semi-goal had been to make it to Birmingham before calling it a night, but I felt really good at that point, and figured since I was all suited up for it, I'd continue riding in the rain until I got tired of it.

Once again, I knew I had to make some turns around Birmingham to start the meander to Memphis, and I knew there were some familiar names in the route between B'ham and Memphis when I'd looked at a map earlier, but couldn't remember exactly what they were. I saw a sign for I-65 heading to Huntsville, so I hopped on that, reasoning that I was heading north, so I'd eventually run into I-40, right? I stopped in Dodge City, 40 or so miles north of Birmingham, because my smoke shield was getting too dark for the approaching dusk and occasional drizzly weather, as well as to top off my tank. While at the pump, an old cooter from inside the station came over to shoot the breeze and ask where I was heading. When I told him Memphis, he asked which way I was going and I told him I'd have to look at a map to decide. Inside the store, I grabbed an Alabama map and consulted with him about my options. He advised that I go a few exits north on I-65 to Highway 157, a 4 lane that would cut cross country and get me to Highway 72, which would eventually get to Memphis. I thanked him for his advice, memorized the exit and highway names and headed out of there just after 8 p.m.

Mr. Cooter Man's estimate for me to get to Memphis was 4 hours, and he wasn't far off. I stopped once more for fuel between Dodge City and Memphis, in Corinth, MS, and when I swiped my MasterCard at the fuel pump, the transaction was denied. Both times that I tried it. I used an alternate card, and when I called the MasterCard customer service, I was connected to the fraud alert division. They had noticed the fuel transactions in different states and frozen the card as a result. I explained what the situation was and told her to expect similar stuff for the next two weeks, from Colorado to New Mexico and Texas. All the while, I'm having to use the speaker function on my phone because the handset isn't working, and the battery is also about to die. She straightens everything out (before the cell phone dies, thankfully) and I headed back out into the rain, shooting for the last 100 miles to Memphis.

There's not a whole lot of traffic when you go through Memphis at midnight, and I decided I wanted to get on the other side of it before stopping for the night. I managed to get about a 9^th wind at this point, and the rain finally let up. I hopped onto 240 and then to 40 west into Arkansas, keeping company with a bunch of truckers and only a few cars. I was aiming for a Super 8, and kept drawing on my 'feeling fine' reserves until I was almost an hour outside of Memphis, when I decided I was really, really ready to be done for the night.

There was a big billboard for a Super 8 at $39.99 in Wheatley, which I opted for. I was a little leery of that price, but the motel turned out to be a more recently remodeled one, so that was good. What wasn't so good was the fact that they upped the rate for the holiday weekend. When he told me my total would be $74 for the night (what was left of it), I asked about the billboard. He gave me the song and dance about the holiday, so I asked what the best rate was that I could get, especially considering the fact it was 1:20 a.m. He gave me a $59.00 rate, which was better, except it had to be upstairs. They didn't have anything as exotic as an elevator, so at 1:30 in the morning, I'm lugging my saddlebags up the stairs. It took a little while to wind down and sort things out, and it was nearly 2:30 CST when I turned out the light. It was the end of day one, and I'd had a decent day's ride accomplished, with 640 miles under my belt, so I slept well. Very well.

The clock. It ticks.

I will shortly be heading home to start preliminary packing. The bike is about as done as it can get aside from a quick bath, but the luggage hasn't even begun to be organized. Riley's going to start moping when he realizes I'm packing. Poor pup. When I ask him if he's going to miss me, he gets this, 'wait, you're not leaving yet are you??' kind of desperate look.

Actually, it's been a little tough lately to touch my toes, not due to flexibility issues, but to my back acting out. It's recovered fairly well at this point, but I had to make two visits to Dr. Mike for adjustments to my lower back. The last time I went in, he asked about the trip and told me I was crazy (which has been confirmed numerous times), but then he went on to add that I was actually his hero in an odd sort of way :)

The quest for the perfect mesh jacket? Well, I found one that's going to be decent, but would be much more satisfactory if the sleeves were two inches longer. I'd even settle for one inch, actually. There were a sum total of four jackets within the city limits of Powdersville, Greenville and Taylors that I got to try on, and I got the best of the four for fit and quality, but the perfect jacket? It still eludes me.

IF (and that's a mega IF) the forecast for this weekend is accurate, I'm liable to be testing the whole 'you won't melt' theory that I keep hearing. Forty percent thunderstorms all the way to Birmingham, which is my 'it would be nice to get that far' stopping point on Friday night. We'll see how adrenaline and Atlanta traffic on the Friday before Memorial Day decide to treat me. I might decide to hole up around Commerce, GA.

Dude. I better make it farther than that!

Can You Touch Your Toes?

Talking about flexibility here. Like, the fact that I may be revamping the first half of the trip almost completely.

• Originally leaving on Memorial Day, now, it looks like I'll head out after work on the Friday before.
• Originally making a bid for a Saddle Sore 1000, but now saving that for another day.
• Originally (originally, originally, that is) spending one night in Pueblo, two nights in Estes Park, one night in Aspen and three nights in Durango. Now, spending one night in Pueblo, swinging through Estes for lunch and ending up in Aspen for the next three nights before going to Durango.

New shoes are scheduled to be put on the bike Friday, along with a pre-trip oil change. Still looking for that perfect mesh jacket. My window of preparation just closed down by 2.5 days, which is pretty significant, but I think it will come together. If I can just touch my toes...

And if you're reading this Mary...or any other BBOer, for that matter, keep a lid on me heading to Durango...it's a big, fat secret! :)

Prep Ride

Hoo boy. Today was this year's first ride that was a.) not commuting to work or going to church, and b.) longer than 40 miles. I took the bike out for a 40 mile spin on Thursday after work, and decided to venture a bit further today, since it's almost my last weekend to find any last bugs that need to be fixed before the trip. The forecast was for scattered showers and thunderstorms this afternoon in Greenville, but only about 40%. Up in Brevard, NC, the forecast was 60% for the same (speak of the devil, a severe thunderstorm warning just popped up on my screen), but down to the south at Lake Greenwood, it was just going to be partly cloudy.

Ever the bull headed one, I went north, figuring I'd keep a weather eye out. Left Greenville at 10 a.m., with a vague northerly route in mind. Took 288 out of Marietta, which is one of my favorite roads close to home, and connected over with 178 going up into NC, stopping in Rosman for a bathroom break and a root beer. At that point, I was in sunshine and had only been gone an hour. It's a short hop from there up to US64 which is nice and twisty, and I was behind a pickup truck that knew how to drive! It can be very frustrating to go through those countless curves behind someone who rides their brakes uphill through every section of road that isn't absolutely straight. We ended up catching up behind a tractor pulling an empty open topped trailer like you see at road construction sites, loaded with blasted rock. That boy wasn't letting the asphalt grow under his tires either. I'm glad I didn't meet him coming the other direction, because he was straightening a few curves.

Around the town of Sapphire, there is a turnoff to the right for 281 that I explored about a year and a half ago, and have been itching to revisit. Today I scratched the itch and confirmed it as another one of my favorites. Last time I rode it, there was a detour for the first few miles, as they were resurfacing the road, and it dumped me out a few miles up the way with loose press pea gravel in the road, but once you got past that section to the regular road, it was wonderful. This time, I actually rode on the section that had been redone, and it would have been much more enjoyable if there wasn't an evil little pile of gravel in just about every curve. I think the next time I do the road, I'll take that alternate route again to avoid having the bike do the Watusi while leaned over in a curve. As before, however, the road cleaned up and became a blast to ride. In the direction I was going, I had one vehicle merge on behind me and never had another vehicle in front of me, which is part of the enjoyment. I was puzzling over the seeming isolation of the road, when a biker passed me going the other direction. I felt conspiratorial, since there were now two of us who knew the great secret of 281. About three minutes later, the conspiracy increased, as I passed a group of about 12 bikes heading the other direction. I still much preferred my direction of travel and was content to be in control of my entire 26 mile stretch of the road.

The road ends in a T at highway 107, which goes south into Cashiers, which is where I headed. So far, the weather had cooperated, but the clouds were starting to loom in a little closer, and just outside of Cashiers, the rain started. Had I packed rain gear? Nah. In the middle of Cashiers, I picked up 64 again, this time heading back east. I knew east was where dry skies were, and I planned to push on until almost where I'd started my 281 loop, where I knew there was a gas station with an overhang. The only problem was just the getting there. I had two cars in front of me that I followed, not leaning too far on the wet curves, and alternately opening and closing my visor to alleviate the fogging due to the cooling temps outside. I was thankful I was wearing my textile jacket, which is supposedly waterproof (more on that in a minute), but I could still feel the needle-like points of the rain on my bare arms under the jacket. It was pretty miserable going for a while until things got ramped up a notch and a bolt of lighting streaked over to my right, immediately followed by that ominous thunder you hear in the mountains. I think my comment at that sight was, "Oh no." It's not bad enough that I'm fairly well drenched and fogged up, with soaked gloves and water running off the tank into my lap (mesh pants), now I've got random electricity going off. Along the way, I passed several bikes going the other direction, into the storm (including the group who'd been on 281), and saw some pulled off and waiting under trees. (did you see the lighting, hoss?)

When I got to the gas station I'd planned to stop at, it was easing up some, so I decided to keep going, rather than wait for the rain to catch up. Not far after that, the rain tapered off and the pavement was stinking dry! Woo hoo! Of course, the root beer I'd had 1.5 hours earlier was needing to be dealt with, so I started thinking about what the next stop would be. I'd gone about 110 miles since filling up this morning, so I didn't need fuel, but figured I'd top off somewhere before heading home, and sudden visions of coconut shrimp from Outback started dancing in my head. I've only had it twice, and the last time was probably two years ago, but it sounded like a divine rest stop and lunch break. Only problem, it was in Hendersonville, 30 miles away. I thought I could make it, so I settled in to ride, noticing that the clouds were swinging around a little. The further I rode, the more I didn't want to ride that far for a bathroom break, and I finally decided to stop for fuel just before I-26, and was much refreshed when I left.

Since the clouds had continued to encroach, I decided to pass on Outback and head for home to beat the rains that were due all the way down to Greenville. That turned out to be an excellent decision, because when I rode past the Outback, their parking lot was completely empty. Either they don't do lunch on Saturdays or they don't serve food any more at all. Dude, I would have been ticked if I'd ridden all the way in there and been denied my shrimp!!

Interstate 26 to Highway 25 down to Greenville was a straight shot, and I got home at 2:15, only 15 minutes past my desired time to be home. Not bad, considering the thunder and lightning factored in there. Total mileage for the day was 186 and I felt pretty worn out. In fact, the first thing I did after letting Riley out was to go in and lay down for an hour :) In the meantime, my socks were drying out and my feet de-pruning. My boots were upside down over the a/c registers (and they're supposed to be waterproof), and my wallet was laid out on the kitchen counter, the drenched leather trying to dry. That one puzzled me, and I wonder if I didn't have the storm flap down on the pocket it was in. My phone, in the other pocket did get wet, but it didn't look like it had been sitting in a bowl of water, as the wallet did.

The fun part is that it was a 4 hour ride and 185 miles. My first day on the trip west is aiming to be about a 19 hour day, covering 1,000 miles. I think it's a good thing I took today's trip to remind me how physical this stuff is! Of course, going on straight interstates takes nowhere near the mental or physical toll of dodging lightning bolts on off camber decreasing radius wet asphalt curves. But it ain't gonna be a cakewalk!

One More Thing? Arg!!

Last year, before the trip to Fargo, it seemed there was always one more thing to get for the trip. I'd think I was done, and one more thing would suddenly become indispensable. A similar OMT syndrome is manifesting itself this year, but it's applying to things needing to be fixed on the bike. From the new engine, to the carb kit, to the petcock valve, it seems like the bike is never gone from TJ for very long. The past week has confirmed that another trip will be necessary, because the choke is not choking. Even though the mornings have been mild, Mr. Crunchy starts like an absolute pig because I can't choke down the carbs. I'm thinking it's one of those things that was affected when the carb kit was put on, and will hopefully be an easy fix, but TJ is gone this week to Niagara Falls with his wife for their 10th anniversary, so I have to wait until next week.

So then...

Last night, riding home from my sister in law's birthday gathering, I'd flipped the lights on to the brights while going through a slightly sketchy area where folks like to stroll across the road in nonreflective attire (or apparent concern for traffic). When I flipped them back down for oncoming traffic, I noticed something wasn't quite right. There seemed to be a larger than normal quantity of darkness in front of me. The main beam on the headlight conked out completely (!), so I had to go back to the high beam to see anything. Thankfully, I was only a mile from the house, so I didn't have to blind too many oncoming vehicles. All things considered, I'd rather have my headlight go out on me a mile from the house instead of half way through Arkansas, so I was thankful for that.

But still!

28 Days And Counting

So at last check, I'd dropped the bike off with TJ to get some smells and hiccups looked at. Simple, right? When I was about to take the pipes to have them powder coated, he called me at work, which is never a good sign. This time was no different, and he told me I might want to hold off on doing the pipes, since he was 95% sure I had a burnt valve in the engine. No compression in one cylinder (which explains the rpm problems and white smoke in the exhaust) and not exactly a cheap fix.

I asked him how uncheap the fix would be, and the word 'hundreds' kept being applied to different parts of the repair (tear down, parts/fixing, reassemble). I told him I'd get back to him, and went a-searching on ebay. I ended up finding an engine off a bike that's the same everything as mine, but with probably only 1500 miles on it. The bike that the engine came from still had the OEM tires on it (and the bike is stinking 8 years old!), which means it had hardly been ridden in those eight years. By the end of the day, I'd bought the new engine and it was shipped the following day. Arrived in town by Friday and I picked it up a week after I'd bought it. Another week and a half went by before it was all assembled, but TJ couldn't get any oil pressure. A couple more days, more tinkering, and the oil pressure was back. Once the oil pressure was back, then the carb kit could be installed and adjusted, and the bike was finally ready to be picked up after six and a half weeks.

I rode it to work for a week, listening to it, feeling how it rode, and trying to notice any oddities. One hundred and thirty miles later, I took it back to TJ for him to look at the carbs, because there was a pretty strong smell of gasoline when idling. Quick fix, right? Umm. He called again. He'd found where one of the carbs was spitting a little gas out the back of it, and the fuel line from the tank to one of the carbs wasn't keeping a vacuum and needed the petcock valve rebuilt. Sigh.

Yet another week to wait, but that too was done, and the bike dropped back off at the house a week and a half ago. I'm happy to report that Mr. C smells MUCH better at idle now, and seems to roll on the throttle more smoothly than before. I ended up riding a couple of days last week before some of this crazy rain set in. Tomorrow's forecast is looking nice, although we've gotten a small deluge today. I've lots to do at work in the next four weeks, so I'm sure time will fly until I leave. I'll still need some tires, and I might splurge on a white mesh jacket for the ride through Texas.

Yee haw.

Interim Update

Being as how it's winter time, my stories of motorcycle riding have dribbled to a halt. As I type (using the wifi at Atlanta Bread Company), Mr. Crunchy is sitting at TJ's waiting to be cured of what ails him. He's leaking anti-freeze, smelling like a 1982 Datsun pickup truck, and has had an RPM hiccup a couple of times recently. Since the temps have been stinking cold this winter (more stinking cold than normal - even with snow, no less), I've only gotten out about four times on the bike. I'll be missing him this Sunday when it's supposed to be near 60, but he needs to be doctored before I ride him too much more.

In lieu of crazy bike trips, I've gotten into remodeling mode at my house. I bought it as a fixer upper in 2000, and have done little bits here and there over the years. Many projects have been started, but never finished, each one waiting on one other piece of the puzzle to be placed, before its own picture was complete. Beginning in December, I've started finishing things. With a vengeance. New heat pump installed, old oil furnace removed, old (50+ years) hardwoods refinished, old drywall ripped out, old wiring redone, insulation placed, new drywall installed, new light fixtures, plans for built in bookcases and bench seats, not to mention....new windows. When it's written into a sentence like that, it doesn't look like much. When you live with it daily, knowing there's one more bit of drywall to finish, one more window to trim, one more outlet to place, it's monumental.

When we took the drywall off one short wall in the hallway, on the back of the piece exposed on the other side of the wall, a child's footprints coursed up and down the wall, written in 50 year old drywall dust. If I've heard Jamie (the plumber - but he's read a book about wiring) say, "wow" once, he's said it 20 times, as he uncovers messes in the wiring, black burned insulation around light fixtures, bare wires and spliced rats' nests. The refinished floors are absolutely gorgeous, but they are hiding under a layer of plastic sheeting in a vain attempt to protect them from the remodeling underway. Once it's all said and done, there's one more buff and finish coat waiting to be put down. When the new windows go in, I'll finally be able to trim the inside of them...a project that's been waiting for at least five years. I didn't think the windows were going to be done until sometime in April or possibly May, but found out today I can expect installation to be scheduled in about three weeks. Which means I've got some other logistical items to calculate. It's been busy, to say the least.

With the costs incurred, I was wavering on whether or not I would or should take another trip this year. I'd toyed with the idea, but hadn't had time to put numbers and routes on paper. Until Tuesday. Once I called to check availability of lodging in Estes Park, CO, and found a place for $25 a night at the climbing school, it was on. At this point, the vacation time is approved, and all but two nights are taken care of. Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, Alabama and all points in between there and SC will be on my route. Two weeks and 4500 miles. Countdown stands at twelve weeks and three days...

As long as the bike is in shape :)