Election blues

Oh, GAWD. Another four years of that trained monkey in the White House? Heaven help us all. How could the Dems screw it up that badly? How could they NOT beat the idiot favorite son?

The guy has his supporters, lots of 'em, but I sure as hell don't see why. I really, really, REALLY dislike him with intensity.

And don't even get me started on the eleven states that say I cannot marry. Not like I'm gonna marry anyone but it is discouraging (to put it mildly) that the electorate denies me the legal right to do so, and by such a large margin. Sigh. Is progress an illusion?

Yellow Belt/Changing Gears

It's been a busy, busy weekend. I woke Saturday nervous ... my very first belt test in karate! I started at USSD back in June, when the Encino dojo first opened. This means I've spent a rather long time as a white belt, the very beginning level. I don't mind. It means I've had lots and lots of time to practice basics while enough students have enrolled and learned enough to test. It's a group of five of us who test for yellow belt. The test lasts about an hour, hour and a half ... I don't know. I just know it kicked my butt, it was physically very hard work, and constant. There were times were all I wanted to do was drop to the ground with exhaustion and then sensei would bark out some new orders and, well, what choice do I have but throw myself into doing whatever he just asked? Football was like that, too, especially two-a-days. You just have to keep going. We all passed. It'll be nice to have some color in the dojo. It'll feel strange and proud and a little shy to put that stiff new belt around my waist at my next class. It's a tiny little step, I know, but it's my first one.

After the test, I have to run home, shower and change, because it's time to run down to Long Beach and broadcast an Aftershock game! Needless to say, I wasn't in top form. Tim's friend who usually does the stats wasn't there, which means I tried to keep them, scribbling numbers on a sheet of paper in between trying to say something halfway interesting on the air. I sounded flat because I was so tired, low-energy, and I kept messing up everyone's names, but got through it. The Aftershock trounced the Scorpions pretty convincingly. I went right home afterward for some badly-needed rest.

Sunday, I meet up with the Changing Gears riders. (Check their website at www.changinggears.org.) What an awesome ride. It was a tremendous pleasure to meet Jean and the rest. These women inspire me. I was originally going to join Minnie and Sparky in Malibu for breakfast, but they ate without me because I skipped it and slept in a little bit. Sorry, ladies! Apparently I missed a good bit o' chow. We took off down PCH and headed south to Harbor City, a little town near Long Beach, to the reception at California Harley-Davidson. My doofus moment for the day -- I had printed out directions but of course left them at home, but I was fairly sure I knew how to get there. Famous last words. As the fearless leader I managed to get us a wee bit lost, but we got back on track and made it to the dealership on time. A few minutes later, the Changing Gears riders & accompanying folks pulled in. Lots of huge smiles & happy motorcyclists!

We found Ladyhawke & Jean in the crowd, and proceeded to meet and greet with everyone. There were plenty of videocameras out, interviews with the various riders. Twenty women, twenty amazing stories, incredibly vibrant and high spirits abounding. The Amazons were actually interviewed as a group for a local cable channel. Who knows, we may end up in a documentary somewhere! (Ladyhawke, you did such a lovely job, but I managed to cram about half a dozen "umm"s into every sentence. I think I get camera-shy when I'm tired! LOL) Jean spoke wonderfully about the ride, the group's cause, the opportunity these women have embraced, and the importance of mammograms and early detection. I think we were the last interview of the day because we had to dash back outside & saddle up, everyone else was ready to ride.

Waved bye-bye to LH who had to head back south, and the rest of the group took off for Ventura County. The Changing Gears riders were in the front, followed by a large contingent from a local H.O.G. chapter, and Amazons held down the rear. It is fun to have a police escort stop traffic and let a hundred riders pour through intersections while the cagers have to stop and watch you. Some look on with curiosity, some twitch impatiently. ;) Seeing the long line of riders from the back of the pack was pretty amazing.

Great riding weather. The group ended up back on PCH and we cruised up to Neptune's Net (local biker hangout) for the major stop of the afternoon. Lots more happy chatting and hanging out. One of the Changing Gears riders hauled out a guitar being carried in the support van and we had an impromptu concert on the front steps ... she sang a song that went something like "I hope there are Harleys in heaven/or what would the angels ride?" which everyone LOVED. Minnie and Sparky decided to take off from there (it was getting a little on the late side by this time) but I chose to ride with the group all the way to the day's destination in Oxnard. One of the Changing Gears ladies, who was caging it in the support van, asked if I could ride her two-up the rest of the way, and I said, sure, why not? So I actually had a passenger for the last leg of the trip and let me tell you, I did FINE with it. I am not nearly as terrified of having a passenger as I used to be!

The group ended up in Oxnard without anything eventful happening, always a good thing, and after a little more socializing, I said my goodbyes and headed on home. It was a long day and I was awfully tired by the end of it, but what a GREAT time it was! Such a pleasure to meet you, Jean, and I hope the rest of your adventure is splendid beyond words. (BTW, Jean thought our Southern California scenery is pretty awesome. Yep, they've been riding some great roads. But I kept telling her, if you think this is great, just wait 'til you get up in Northern Cali! That has got to be some of the prettiest riding ANYWHERE.)

Rock on and ride safe, ladies ...

Back from Vegas Bike Fest

Home safe and sound from Vegas, I went to the Bike Fest there over the weekend. It was fun and I got to meet a bunch of cool folks from the WWR board, but I think bike rallies just aren't my thing. Many bikers -- many DRUNK bikers -- racing up and down the Strip at all hours? Getting beer baths while you're trying to walk through the crowd on Fremont Street? I prefer to stay away from the big events, thank you. I'd rather be riding than talking about riding, anyway.

I played roulette all weekend, and ended up about $75 ahead. Better than losing, but no one is ever going to call me a high roller. LOL

It was VERY windy coming home, plus the usual Sunday back-to-LA traffic made me crazy, I was lanesplitting even though I was still on the Nevada side of the line! Illegal!! Oh well, no tickets ;)

Back home, and back online

A quick entry to say I made it back home on Friday September 3rd. 16 days, just under 6000 miles, a barrelful of adventures! Unfortunately, when I got back my computer was down; the monitor gave up the ghost while I was out of town. I have just now gotten a replacement. (Thanks, Kay!) Now I'll be able to check my email and start writing up my road stories.

This blog lets me postdate entries, so you'll see stuff showing up from two weeks ago as I start transcribing my journal notes. I'm looking forward to writing down all the wonderful images in my head.

Day Sixteen

Start: Kingman AZ (23670)
End: Sherman Oaks CA (24012)
342 miles
5951 miles total

One last day on the road, and I'm anxious to get home! Today's ride is uneventful, just more medatative miles clicking off through the California deserts. I think about the people fleeing the Dustbowl, making the Grapes of Wrath journey across this barren terrain in old jalopies piled with all the possessions they could carry. What did they think of this empty terrain? Did it crush their dreams, or only serve to heighten them, heading towards the promises of California? The town of Essex CA takes the cake on this trip with their Middle Of Freakin' Nowhere prices for gas and a soda. Unleaded (87) is $3.80/gallon. A can of Coke is two dollars. Onward, onward. Heading into Barstow, one more thing breaks on the bike. The spot weld on the lightbar gives way and -- clunk -- suddenly the auxillary headlights tip down and point at the ground. Oops! I stop (needed more gas anyway) and ziptie 'em to the frame, which doesn't fix the problem, but will keep them from flying off until I can get home and fix them. This is a pretty normal occurance for bikers, things just go wrong and ya gotta make do with what you have. Over the Cajon Pass and back into greater Los Angeles, it's a glad thing to be back on my familiar home roads, even traffic doesn't annoy me too much. I arrive home mid-afternoon, safe and sound. It's been a wonderful journey, my first cross-country trip and I've done it solo. I have ridden just under 6,000 miles, all of 'em good for my soul. Thanks to the Goddess for watching over me on this trip, and bringing me home again.

Day Fifteen

Start: Gallup NM (23311)
End: Kingman AZ (23670)
359 miles

Today, I'll take a little time for sightseeing. I'm making such good time on this return trip that I can have an easy day today! Let's see, pull out the map ... Arizona has some lovely, lovely places. I'm within easy reach of a Grand Canyon detour, but I've seen it before. Instead I decide to visit the Petrified Forest National Park and the Painted Desert.

I take the loop road off I-40 and pay the entrance fee, and stop at the visitor's center, spending some time to chat with the usual friendly volunteers there. From there it's a lovely ride through the park. I stop to have a long look around the Painted Desert Inn, a marvelous building constructed in the 1930's. The design of the building and the interior frescos are simply wonderful. There's a busload of elderly tourists getting ready to head out as I arrive, and a few ladies greet me, and take a look at the loaded bike and ask me how far I'm traveling. I can tell they're slightly appalled & slightly elated at a single woman on the road. They make me grin.

Riding through the park reveals vista after vista of spectacular scenery. I am heading north to south, which takes me first through the Painted Desert and its wonderous colors, then into the Petrified Forest area of the park. I stop and look around a pueblo area, and then at a petroglyph site. I park near a U-Haul that I've been seeing on I-40 for a day and a half. It's funny how you'll see the same cars & trucks over and over on the road. I'll pass a slower vehicle, but need to stop for gas much more frequently than it will, so it will get ahead of me again while I'm at a gas station, so I end up playing leapfrog with some vehicles all day long. This particular U-Haul is towing a car with Minnesota plates. Walking up to the petroglyph overview, there are two pair of people there, a youngish couple who are leaving and what looks to be a mother & daughter. I overhear the mother talking to the daughter and the accent could be straight out of the movie Fargo, so when I say hello to them, I say, "You must be the ones with the U-Haul and the Minnesota car." It's good for a laugh and we strike up traveller's conversation. The daughter is starting college and they are on the way to getting her moved in for her freshman year. I congratulate her and ask her where she's enrolled. "USC," she says. "Oh, very good school, but I did some undergrad work at UCLA," I say, laughing, "so don't hold that against me." "Are you from Los Angeles?" asks the mother. "Yeah, I'm heading back home to Sherman Oaks." More smiles ... amazingly, that's exactly where they're headed! The kid already has a room rented somewhere in my town. I guess it is a very small world, indeed. We talk awhile longer, then wish each other a safe journey. I head further south. Painted desert gives way to stark landscapes dotted with piles of petrified wood. It is strange-looking and very raw. Wind is kicking up by the time I reach the south end of the park. Time to get back on the highway and make miles.

I work my way back to I-40 and continue west. Oh, the wind gets fiercer and fiercer, and I'm not too happy about it. It's difficult riding, gusty and tiring and so dry that I feel like the moisture is being dragged out of my body with every breath. I am buffeted by trucks and fight to keep my lane. Something's not right ... the wind noise is incredibly loud and getting louder. Then, my visor breaks. It won't stay closed, popping open a half-inch to let in an unbearable roar of wind blasting straight into my face. I swear quite a bit and slow way down, and pull off at the next available stop, which is a highway rest area. I examine my helmet & find that I've lost one of the little plastic screws that hold the visor, and the remaining three are loose. I tighten them, which fixes the popping-open problem, but it's temporary at best. I resolve to stop at the first likely place to buy a replacement.

That place is Flagstaff Harley Davidson (actually in Bellemont AZ) which charges me a few bucks for a set of three fasteners emblazoned with the HD logo, which I find amusing ... somehow, I don't think that's what Shoei intended, but hey, whatever works. Next door is the Route 66 Roadhouse Cafe, which seems like a good spot for a late lunch. It's mostly empty, since I am there during off hours midweek. The setup there is that you order ... burger or steak or hotdogs or whatever ... and the waitress brings you your meat and you cook it yourself on a huge stainless grill at one end of the room. This would have been better if I hadn't felt so exhausted from the tough riding, but I've already ordered so I just go with it. Cook, eat up, and leave. (Later, I found out that I had missed running into my riding pal Jen there, who was on her way to Colorado, by mere minutes. Again with the small world!)

I come down out of the mountains and cross western Arizona, and it's a fairly miserable day, with the wind and all. I knock off early in Kingman AZ and get a room for the night. I had thought to make it to the California border, but it's just been too tiring to fight gusts all day. It was actually a wind advisory in effect today, but tomorrow should be better weather.

Next: Day Sixteen

Day Fourteen

Start: Elk City OK (22735)
End: Gallup NM (23311)
576 miles

Oh, EWWW. Want to know the reason NOT to stay in a no-name cheapo hotel? The BUGS.

I dress and clear out of that waterbug-infested mess at sunup. Good riddance. The icky crawly feelings get blown away by the good clean wind of the highway. An hour into my day, I've crossed over into the Texas panhandle, and I am feeling good once more. Next stop, Amarillo, where I think I'll have breakfast. I've been seeing billboards for The Big Texan, a famous restaurant in Amarillo, Home Of The Free 72 Oz Steak! No, I'm not gonna attempt to eat four and a half pounds of beef for breakfast, but hey! I feel the need to do some silly touristy sightseeing around now. Since Oklahoma City I've been on the highway that replaced Route 66, and I've been seeing lots and lots of billboards for touristy stuff and 66 nostalgia spots and things like that.

It's a funny thing about billboards, ya know. I used to consider them eyesores, urban blight, and wished someone would tear 'em all down. But once you get out of the cities and into the wide open spaces, they sort of become your friends. Most days, I've been riding places where there is a whole lot of nothing, just farmlands or empty space. You can go for many miles without seeing any signs; then, when you spot one, you know you are coming up to something. The good signs will tell you you're ten miles away from a truck stop with a Subway shop, or the best pork chops in Tennessee, or the LIVE! Two-Headed Rattlesnake, or whatever! And then you know you'll have the opportunity to get gas and have a little stretch, or a bite to eat, or just a look-see at roadside America weirdness, if it strikes your fancy. The signs give you something to look at and to think about besides the stripe on the road. Billboards are an inherant part of a road trip. I have grown to welcome them during my days of travel.

The Big Texan certainly does not disappoint. It's gaudy, hysterically funny in its unabashed touristy excess. It's still early, and I am one of only five customers in their immense dining hall. I get a (normal-sized) steak and eggs for breakfast, along with biscuits and gravy which are absolutely delicious. Pleasantly stuffed, I figure to make this my big meal for the day. In the parking lot, I watch a cowboy guy unload a horse from a trailer and walk him around, much as you'd walk a dog who's been cooped up in the back seat of a car. The horse obediently poops in an out-of-the-way corner of the lot. Heh. Texas.

It's only about 175 miles across the Texas panhandle, so I am in New Mexico before I know it. Road time. I sail along, back in territory that is starting to look familiar to me. I am passing through rangeland and open desert, instead of forests and river valleys and endless greenery. Now that I've left the South and Texas behind me, the people I talk to are starting to sound more like I do, as well. ;) I climb mountains and pass through Clines Corner NM, the elevation above 7,000 ft making the weather unexpectedly chilly for this first day of September, and roll through Albuquerque around midday. It's a fairly large city, but otherwise New Mexico is empty empty empty. Riding these highways is a kind of meditation. Thank the Goddess I learned to ride a motorcycle last year. It's not an exaggeration to say it's saved my sanity. I went through some hard times last spring, an ugly breakup with a woman who I still love deeply, and it took me a long while to reach my peace with it. Learning to ride has been part of that healing. Riding is something that I had always wanted to do, and more importantly, something that called to me in some deep, unknown part of my soul. Riding is when I feel most in harmony. These days & weeks on the road, I feel better than I have felt in a long time.

Storm clouds do little more than weakly threaten by late afternoon, but never get serious about it, so I keep on riding until close to sunset. I stop for the night in Gallup, humming the Route 66 song. A lot of people ask me if I am in town for the Four Corners rally, which is this weekend. Wish I could stay for it, but I've got no time and a yearning to get my butt home, and I'm only two days out now.

Next: Day Fifteen

Day Thirteen

Start: Osceola AR (22138)
End: Elk City OK (22725)
587 miles

Early morning in Arkansas, and thank goodness the mosquitos are gone. I could not BELIEVE the size and number of them last night, when I went out to get a little bite to eat. Ick. I am at a Mobil station, doing my pre-ride check for the day, when I spot a woman in the gas station across the street eyeballing me. Sure enough, she finishes filling up her car, then drives across the road and pulls up next to me. Leaning out the window, she smiles and asks, "Where ya headin'?" I reply, "West, I'm on my way to Los Angeles," which elicits a "wow, cool" from her. Her name is Rhonda (oh, great, now 'Help Me, Rhonda' is going to be stuck in my head all day, LOL) and she rides too, with a local Women On Wheels chapter that's fairly active in this part of Arkansas. She went to the annual WOW ride-in held in West Virginia earlier this year, and asks me if I was there. No, alas, only one cross-country trip per summer for me! I explain that I was at a different event, the Amazon Gathering, and I tell her that I was on Interstate 40 yesterday and found it so completely sucky that I detoured looking for a better route. She grins and starts telling me about local roads. "Well, headin' wey-est, you can take 140 for a ways hey-ah, that's a good road. Not a lotta traffic, and no cops." She squints, considering. "That'll take you to Newport. Then you can take 67 back down to the intahstate, past Little Rock. It's not as bad past they-ah." Perfect! We chat for a little while longer, she wishes me safe riding, and I take off for the day.

It is absolutely FABULOUS riding the back highways here. The land is agricultural, still mostly fields of rice crisscrossed with ditches, interspersed with small bayous. Some of the bayous have water that looks dark as strong tea, some are covered with nasty green scum. Y'know, I've never actually seen a bayou before. Some day I'll get myself to Mississippi or Louisiana and see some of the REALLY big bayous, these are probably dinky in comparison. I don't know the names of the trees, but they look completely different from the trees to which I am accustomed. Hey, was that an armadillo squished on the road there? Sure looked like one, but I thought armadillos were desert critters. Geeze, it's humid, but other than that a tremendously beautiful day. The highways pass through a number of small towns, their namesigns announcing the population of maybe a few dozen or maybe a few hundred. I slow to posted 25- or 35-mph speed limits going through, and a couple of times there are children to wave at (kids always wave back to passing motorcyclists) and the rest of the time, I have clear sailing on open two-lane highway. Wonderful, wonderful. Oh, that roadkill was DEFINITELY an armadillo, his four little legs sticking stiffly toward the sky. So I guess 'dillos are more swamp critters than desert critters. Learn something new every day.

I work my way back to I-40 and it is indeed a little better in the west half of the state. Not great, but I can live with it. I make good miles and cross over into Oklahoma mid-day. I'm out of the lowlands and back into rolling hills now. I pass through some of the large Indian nations; reservations make up big chunks of this state. It's pretty, back to scrub forest in the undeveloped parts, grain crops (wheat? barley? and some more corn) in the farmland areas. I see horses, and more and more cattle the farther west I go. At a gas stop outside of Oklahoma City, I get in a conversation with a fellow biker. He immediately puts me in mind of Sam - a small Native American guy, wirey, the same kind of jovial bullshitter - my goodness, it would be the spitting image of her if Sam were an Oklahoma biker dude. Heh. He's wearing patches, and he must assume I am an indie, but I tell him that I ride with the Amazons but don't yet have the colors on my vest. We talk for a while, just shootin' the bull. He keeps calling me "baby girl." Normally I would be a little annoyed and find that condescending, but today it just makes me laugh ... I am about a half-foot taller than he, and must outweigh him by a hundred pounds; "baby girl?" LOL! Eventually, it's time for me to hit the road again. "You be safe, baby girl," he calls out, waving. Heh.

I had wanted to make it as far as Oklahoma City today, but I reach it and there's still lots of daylight left. Might as well keep riding. Day fades to dusk (and such a pretty sunset) and I've reached Elk City OK. I pull off and, tired of paying too much for hotels, find a cheapo no-name place to stay for the night. My goodness, I've managed to cross just about all of Arkansas and Oklahoma in a single day. I am less than an hour from the Texas border here. Making good time on my return trip.

Next: Day Fourteen

Day Twelve

Start: Bristol VA (21575)
End: Osceola AR (22138)
563 miles

Up early, I get my gear stowed away, grab a little breakfast in the miniature lobby downstairs (Lord, I am tired of these "complimentary breakfasts" with nothing but stale cereal, rock-hard bagels and instant coffee) and walk outside to check out my poor bike. Tire fairies have not magically repaired the flat overnight; however, I see the Honda dealership's service bay door across the street is open, a half-hour early! I stroll over to check it out.

Atlas Honda, in Bristol VA - HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION. The guys were helpful, friendly and eager to get me back on the road as soon as possible. They quote me prices (reasonable, not excessively cheap, I can live with that) for fixing the flat, and for fixing the flat and replacing the back tire, which doesn't have that much tread left on it. I decide to go for the replacement. I'd need to get it replaced before I get halfway across country anyway. Then I settle in to wait for the work to get done. The morning is gloomy and it rains intermittently. A couple of nice young men fetch my bike from across the street, saving me the trouble of doing so, and the wee beastie disappears into the work bay. An older gentleman pulls up on a Goldwing and hands it over to the service guys for whatever work he's having done. He wanders over in my general direction, and starts up the let's-kill-a-little-time conversation. He opens with "Looks like we're going to get a little rain," and again with the accents, I smile at the thick South in his voice, and reply, "Yeah, it does look a wee bit gloomy." Now it's his turn - his eyes goggle with surprise, and he says, "Where are you from?" "Los Angeles," I answer. "I've been on vacation up in the Shenandoah Valley, and now I'm on my way home." He laughs, "I didn't think you sounded like you were from East Tennessee!" What follows is one of the most fascinating conversations-with-a-stranger that I've ever been in. The fellow, name of John, is a retired police officer who travels with his wife on the Wing. They've been riding for years & he tells me lots of stories about places he's been. He, in turn, is amazed at my tales. He can't believe that I'm traveling cross-country solo (he thinks it's great, but worries that I don't carry a gun) and is tickled when he finds out that I am a former professional football player. Apparently, he's never met anyone like me. LOL, I get that a lot. We gab and gab, the time passes quickly, and before I know it my bike is ready to go. I load up, wish John safe travels, and hit the road once more.

Tennessee is lovely. I ride the length of the state, passing through the Smoky Mountains. It's uneventful riding, just making miles down the interstate. It rains off and on, but August rain is warm, and I never bother to put on my rainsuit. I get lost in Nashville. The freeways through downtown are under construction (apparently this is a perpetual condition for them) and all the signs are down. I find myself in the wrong lane to stay on I-40 westbound without a prayer of getting over in time, and end up getting dumped off the freeway and detouring into what I think was a pretty bad section of town. I figure as long as I keep heading west, I'll find the interstate again eventually. I pass through a nicer-looking part of town, the houses are neat and charming, and they all look old to me (of course, an "old" house in L.A. is one that's built before the 70's - an "old" house in other parts of the country is one that's built in the 1800's.) I pick up a state highway and keep heading west, and sure enough, it leads me back to I-40 and my main route.

By late afternoon, the rain is behind me and I am heading into Memphis. One of the main reasons I've chosen this return route is that I want to see the Mississippi here. One time, I flew into Memphis (I was changing planes there) and was amazed at the sight of the river from the air. Now, I need to see it from the ground, and cross it on two wheels. I really don't know why this is important to me, but I don't question it, just go with my feeling. I hit traffic going through the city, and there is a terrible-looking four-car pileup in the opposite direction which slows everyone to a crawl with all the damn rubbernecking. Once I get through that, it's pretty easy sailing, and the mile markers tell me how far I have to go until I reach the river and the state line ... nine miles, five miles, three, two, one ...

I do not see the river until I am just about upon it. The road rises up just a bit and suddenly I am crossing over a little bluff which is the east riverbank, and flying out onto the bridge that spans the water. It is really quite breathtaking. The river is impossibly wide here, much wider than where I crossed east at St Louis, and I thought THAT was huge. Mud Island stands north of the bridge, to my right. The river flows brown and slow beneath me. It's wonderful, just wonderful, to be traveling this way, I feel so free and alive and thankful to be able to see a sight like the mightiest of America's rivers like this, without a care in the world. I laugh with sheer happiness, and grin my way into the West.

Jeanne warned me about the road here in Arkansas. It's as lousy as she said. I-40 is lumpy and bumpy and patched every twenty yards or so, and it's annoying as hell. The thump, thump, thump of my wheels on the road surface is hard on my shoulders and butt. I start looking for a detour, and eventually head northbound on I-55. I have no idea where I'm going, but the road is better. The land is as featureless as anything I have seen so far, nothing but flat as far as the eye can see. Rice grows here. Looking at the terrain, I suddenly understand the importance of the levee systems here, on a visceral level. When the river floods, it spreads across these lowlands for miles and miles, with nothing to stop it. I think maybe I could detour north back to St Louis, then take the Ozarks road back to the west ... oh, forget it, the highway sign there just said it's 275 miles to St Loo. Sun's going down. I start looking for a place to stop for the night. Not a whole lot out here in east Arkansas, that's for sure. I find a hotel outside of Osceola. I check in for the night and drag out my maps, looking for a decent alternative route for tomorrow.

Next: Day Thirteen

Day Eleven

Start: Luray VA (21273)
End: Bristol VA (21575)
302 miles

Getaway day. There is a wee amount of general grumpiness at having to get up early and hit the road. I am looking forward to my return trip, but sad at having to leave Virginia and my Amazon sisters. The weather looks fine for now, but promises to become threatening. It looks like a chain of hurricanes and tropical storms are setting up for hit after hit on the East Coast this year ... by the end of summer, this turns out to be more true than anyone imagined! ... and right now, the remnants of Tropical Storm Gaston are moving through the Carolinas, may reach Virginia by late day. This will affect the Sisters who are going home to Florida, and may affect me a little bit, because I have decided to take I-81 south to Knoxville, and pick up I-40 west across the country. We all get our gear packed up, check and triple-check the cabin so we don't leave anything behind, and finally there is nothing left to do but exchange our goodbyes. Warm hugs and well-wishes, safe travels to you my sister, I will see you again.

I am on my own once more. I am a little slow getting back into my solo roadtime headspace, but it's not a problem. I sort of meander south in a pokey way. The morning is fine, warm and a little humid, and the sun is shining. The Blue Ridge Mountains are to my left, I follow along their base. Green surrounds me. Descending into a wide river valley - hey, it's the James River! Placenames out of American history. The water is wide and placid-looking where I cross. I smile. Where I come from, we don't have rivers, we have storm channels paved over with concrete. Real rivers are always a strange and wonderful treat to me. Even here, miles from where the James widens and flows into the Atlantic, it looks unimaginably huge to my desert-accustomed eyes. I continue, climbing through forested hills, enjoying the Virginia countryside.

For lunchtime, I decide on that quintessential Southern experience, and stop at a Waffle House. Have to do it at least once, ya know, since I've come all this way. I make the mistake of filling my tank before eating. Basic science: gasoline expands dramatically in volume as it gets warmer. This is a property of all volatile liquids, is it not? So, gas keeps cool in underground storage tanks at the station, but warms up and expands quickly in my little 2.9-gallon tank, and oofdah, I have gas absolutely POURING out of the top of my tank in the time it takes to order and eat lunch. D'oh! I suppose everyone has to learn this the hard way sooner or later. I guess it's never happened to me before because, even though I waaay overfill my tank every single time, because I always fill up and keep riding, so the gas doesn't have time to expand before it starts getting consumed.

A few hours later, I am farting around in the southwest part of Virginia, and for no particularly good reason have gotten off the interstate and am cruising around in a little town about ten miles from the Tennessee border. I'm looking for a c-store, actually, but get off track and have to hang a u-turn. Something feels wrong, the rear tire suddenly feels mushy and loose as I flip around. Whaaa? Need to stop and check, this isn't right. I find myself a gas station, find my tire pressure gauge, and sure enough the rear tire is extremely low. I fill it back up to pressure. Seems to be holding, but maybe it's a slow leak. Gotta watch that. I head back down the interstate, towards Knoxville, and stop again in Bristol VA, the last town before crossing the state line. In the amount of time it takes me to go in a market, buy stuff, and come back out, the rear tire is flat as a pancake. A helpful guy tries to put a can of fix-a-flat in, but it's a pretty worthless exercise ... foamy green goo comes pouring out of the rim, it's obviously not working. Looks like when the tire went, it went completely. I brave the street, riding a block and a half to get to a gas station & air pump, in the vain hope of seeing if I can get any air to stay in there at all, and I discover it's almost impossible to ride a motorcycle with a flat. Hee. I am learning so much on this trip. The tire, she is dead. Sigh. Time to call for a tow truck again. What is it with slow tow trucks? This time I wait almost TWO HOURS for one to come. This guy, however, knows how to tie down a motorcycle on the flatbed, so that's good news. The bad news is it's Sunday, and late afternoon, and no one is open who can fix the thing. Tow Truck Guy takes me to the nearest Honda dealership. Yay, my luck is holding! There is a Comfort Inn directly across the street, with vacancies! There had been a big NASCAR event in Bristol earlier in the morning. Had I broken down there yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to find a hotel room anywhere; now, the event is over, the race fans are on their way home, and all the hotels are empty.

Well, I wanted to make four hundred or so miles today, but I've only made three hundred before getting stuck with the flat. Things could be worse, so I'm not worried. I check in, get settled, order Chinese. Clouds come in, thicken and turn dark, and rain starts to fall after the sun goes down. The Honda shop opens at 8 am tomorrow. Hopefully they'll get me on the road again quickly, and I'll be able to make up some miles.

BamBam says I just like riding around in tow trucks :P Them's fightin' words, girl!

Next: Day Twelve