Six Weeks, a Tent and a VFR - Updated November 12th: Traffic with a Capitol "T", Hollywood and the Score: Wind 1: Olive 0 (Day 41/48)

[Olive]

Check the math O, the kms and miles dont work out. 18,000 miles is aprox 30,000 kms

Right you are Aussie! Glad one of us can actually do math.

25,270 km is actually 15,702 miles, which are what I actually traveled during the trip according to the bike odometer.

[Olive]

I have been a little delinquent posting on this thread. Now that I am back I have time to go through photos and sit down to catch up on the story of the trip.

Had one hiccup with the pictures. The XD card I was using decided it wanted to be corrupt. It is a very sickening feeling to find a memory card reporting no files when it should contain about 800 photos that are a little hard to replace. Although I was more than willing to throw a leg back over the bike and return to retrace my steps to re-take the photos, it seemed to make more sense to try to recover the files. I was quite fortunate that I was able to recover most of the files using software.

In today's post I will retrace my steps into New Brunswick as I head for the States...

I started out the morning by touring the Moncton area. The tour wasn't exactly intentional, but I had gotten off of the main highway, went into Moncton and had difficulties locating the road I originally planned to take out of the area. Finally I found the side road I had planned and set off down it.

The secondary highway wound past a drainage canal and a few streams. Signs at the side of the road told me that Moncton was currently debating the future of the drainage canal. Houses clustered around the highway, stretching out with larger spans of land between them – rural living at its finest. Dirt roads headed north and south but I kept to the paved highway although it was in very questionable condition with potholes, ruts and pavement that had weathered one too many harsh winters. One of the side roads had a sign indicating a covered bridge ahead. I didn't take the unpaved road but I did see the indicated covered bridge a short ways down the road crossing a small stream parallel to the road I was on. A little later on another covered bridge came into view. Lots of small farms and ranches lay at the side of the road, with a few small towns in between.

It was a Saturday and there was a lot of casual traffic out for a drive. Signs for garage sales dotted the road as people tried to make a few dollars recycling stuff they no longer had a need or desire for. After I reached a more traveled road a lot more bikers were in evidence out for a ride enjoying the sunlight and warm weather.

At this point I got myself a little turned around with my paper map, something that doesn't happen very often but is a little unnerving when it does occur. Realizing my error quickly I doubled back and made fairly good time stopping off in Saint John for a quick bite and rest stop. (no, not St John Newfoundland, the other Saint John in New Brunswick – I didn't get that turned around). I headed over the Harbour Bridge and past a sign for the Reversing Falls. Apparently when the tide comes in from the Bay of Fundy the water flow reverses itself, the river returning to empty into the ocean once again as the tide goes out.

Saint John is a fairly small town, but colourful with murals and a lot of activity. Bike lanes followed the main road past floral boulevards. I saw a few groups of bikers gathering to head out for a Saturday ride, including a group with a VFR in it. I wasn't in the right location to pull into the parking lot and say hello, but I waved on my way past briefly wondering if it was one of the riders from VFRD.

Heading back out on the highway, I traveled for a while past construction sites. They were doing work on bridges and widening the road. Signs in the orange flagged zones warned of blasting and requested truckers to turn off their transmitters.

For most of the run I was on the main highway, which was reasonably quiet, but when opportunity arose I headed along some parallel highways and roads that offered better scenery. One rather rewarding one looped along the east coast and provided some gorgeous views that reminded me of last year's trip down the west coast. Blue water, expansive skies, and a cove that was all but deserted. I had the road to myself, and it was a great run, both in terms of technical curves and scenery. The sort of road that tears a rider between enjoying the view or opening the throttle a wee bit.

Every so often along the secondary routes I encountered a cluster of houses or a small town. As always church steeples dominated these small towns which seemed clustered around small harbours filled with boats.

Heading back onto the main highway, I filled my tank for the last time in Canada and continued to head south for the border. The questioning I went through at the border was rather vigorous. Given the length of my planned trip border security queried what I did for a living, and when I indicated that I was between jobs the questioning increased in intensity. Briefly I wondered if I was going to be barred from crossing the border, but after answering a number of questions about how I was funding my trip, if I owned or rented my residence in Canada, the exact roads I planned to ride on and where I planned to stay I was waved across. Of course on a trip like this I don't plan that kind of detail in advance, and the border seemed to want concrete answers on when and where I planned to be – questions even I didn't know the answer to at this point. He seemed happy enough when I fabricated a potential timeline with a few set locations.

After crossing into Maine, I headed down a route that had been suggested by Tom, the Honda ST rider I had encountered in Newfoundland. It was a reasonably quiet two lane road that wound through forests. Marked speed was the double nickel, 55, which translated to 90km per hour. I rode for about an hour before I decided to pull off to take a brief break and set my speedometer back to Imperial. Having done so I headed back out on the road and promptly pulled up to speed... right up to 90. The VFR didn't even blink and feels so grounded and comfortable at speed it took me a few minutes before it dawned on me that I had just switched out the speedometer and probably should slow it down 55 mph or so before I picked up an undesired driving award.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, and the road was quiet as the sun began to slowly set and the shadows grew longer and the rain started to fall. Yes, the rain continued to follow me on this journey. At this point it wasn't that heavy but darkening skies promised more precipitation throughout the night. It was time to stop for another night and send out a few quick emailed notes to let people know where I was at now that I had crossed to international roads.

[Olive]

Morning dawned and it was another wet one. It wasn't raining at the time, but the bike showed evidence of a recent soaking. The skies promised more of the same as I set off. Briefly I debated taking faster roads but decided to stay with my original plan.

I headed down the road through what started out as intermittent rain. The roads were interesting, but beyond trees there was little scenery. Occasionally the road headed through small towns which featured picturesque architecture. Main street of many of the small towns were dominated by two and three story buildings, a lot of red brick with white features. Some of the towns had seen better days. Occasionally delipidated buildings stood boarded over and empty, falling in on themselves. A few of them had hopeful faded “for sale” signs tacked on the front. These concrete signs illustrated that the economic conditions of the past few years had taken a toll. The conditions of cars and houses predicted the number of closed businesses that would accompany them.

The secondary highways I followed wound through many of these one or two traffic light towns In one of the towns the police had a detour organized that took traffic through a residential area – I couldn't see much beyond flashing lights ofs fire, police and ambulance, but there was definitely some excitement happening.

I had to pause to take a picture as I came up on Mexico during a break in the rain. Mexico, Maine. Later in the trip I was to ride close enough to the Mexican border to pass through a number of checkpoints manned by border guards, but Mexico, Maine was very quiet.

For a while I had a police car tail me through a section where speed limits dropped and rose every few minutes as I drove in and out of a number of small towns. It was aggrivating to keep such a close eye on my speed, but I had the feeling that this particular vehicle tailing me was looking for an excuse to pull me over, so I did my best to avoid providing him with one. Eventually he lost interest, pulled a U-turn and headed back the way he had come.

As the day progressed so did the weather. The rain started coming down a lot heavier. Rain ran in rivulets down the road, gathering in the depressions formed by hundreds of thousands of cars which had passed down the section of asphalt before me. In a few sections the rain was heavy enough to be a concern with enough water on the road to provide prime conditions for hydroplaning. I was glad for rain gear, although the water seeped into my boots and gloves, slowly working its way up the long sleeves of the t-shirt I wore under my gear.

Pausing for gas, I took a few pictures of the wet roads. The camera didn't get much of a workout during the day due to the excessive moisture. Quite a few times during the trip the weather kept the camera safely tucked away. I was on the trip to ride, not to take photographs.

Most of the wildlife seemed to be hiding from the weather as well, but I had a young doe and his mother head out onto the road ahead of me. I slowed watching it unfold in front of me. The full grown deer crossed, but the doe paused taking in the new sights and sounds. He was shy enough to turn back the way he came, ready to live another day.

At the side of the road I slowed to take in the sight of what had obviously been a recent fire. Despite the rain a couple of people were walking around the smoking remains of a blackened foundation. The field in front of the house was churned up with mud and tire tracks. Somebody had obviously not had a very good day. Given the location in terms of population I surmised that it had likely taken a while for the volunteer firefighters to arrive.

Maine. New Hampshire. Massachusetts. Connecticut. One state turned into the next, all showcasing the same type of forested terrain as the torrential rain continued to pour down. I headed down the #2, eve ntually I pulling onto the I-93 to try to put some of the weather behind me.

The other thing I wanted to put behind me were allergies. It was obvious that there was something in bloom in the northeastern states that my allergies weren't overly fond of. My nose had been constantly running for the second day. My eyes were red, itchy and running in competition with my nose. Ahhh, Spring – not exactly my favourite season. Although since it was June, it was technically Summer.

Stopping for gas, I headed into the store taking out my wallet to put $20 down on my pump. I unzipped the side pocket and dropped the wallet back inside while I fueled up the bike. Returning to the store to collect my change, I was a little puzzled to unzip the pocket and find the complete absence of a wallet. I patted myself down quickly – rear pockets, side pockets... the wallet was nowhere to be found. Looking out the plate glass window I saw the wallet lying on the ground a couple of feet away from the bike. Apparently I had unzipped not the pocket, but the side leg zipper and dropped the wallet right down the side of my leg, where it exited beside my boot. I quickly hurried outside to collect it, relieved to locate it and aware just how much of a disaster the loss of the wallet could be on this trip.

I continued to push south, and found myself riding into New York as the final remnants of daylight were fading. That was quite an experience as traffic became heavy, and skyscrapers reached for the stars. Riding through New York at night wasn't exactly on the itinerary, however since it was obvious that I was not going to skirt the Big Apple as planned, I pressed on through the rain. Riding through the big city took quite a while, and there were a few times I wished I had a good place to pull over and take out the camera although the continuous rain made that impractical.

As I exited the big city I headed on the New Jersey Turnpike. That is quite a road. Entering the Turnpike a number of toll booths spread across the roadway, some reserved for those with Ez-passes and others for cash customers. I pulled into a lane marked cash customer, and pulled forward to the signage that indicated I should take a ticket. Looking around I was a little confused because there was no ticket to be found. The booth wasn't manned, and there didn't seem to be a ticket dispenser anywhere. The person behind me was impatient, and leaned on the horn creeping forward within millimeters of my rear tire. I guess I had taken more than a “New York minute” to find the ticket, and I ended up taking off without one in my possession. Ooops. As I pulled away I saw a white flash behind me, and with a bit of wry humour figured that I would be getting the ticket a little late in the mail. Perhaps not the best way to deal with it, however I felt as if I had no choice with the aggressive driver behind me.

It's hard to describe the Turnpike to anyone who hasn't experienced it. In places it is up to 14 lanes wide, with each side divided into two spurs, the outer lanes signed as truck/bus lanes and the inner spur signed cars only. Each side was serviced by entrance and exit lanes, and it was very strange to see the lanes travelling in a single direction divided up in this manner. The width of the roadway was incredible, especially when you accounted for the access and egress lanes. At first I entered into the left hand lanes anticipating that I would need access to leave the roadway to fill up on gas. It quickly became clear to me that this was a mistake, as both sides had equal access to exit and entrance lanes for the Turnpike.

Despite the late hour and the continuing rain the Turnpike was very heavily traveled. The right hand spur was full of large trucks and semi-trailers, all of whom seemed to be completely ignoring the posted speed limit. Definitely not where I wanted to be riding with the bike, but also where I had managed to position myself out of ignorance. The left hand spur also had heavy traffic, but it was limited to passenger vehicles which seemed significantly safer. I traveled on the right hand spur dodging debris for a while before pulling off at a rest stop to top up the gas tank.

Even the gas station was a unique experience. Traffic off of the Turnpike lined up for the available pumps. It was unusual to see a full serve gas station, but it was clear from the speed of vehicles through the station that the staff were extremely good at keeping traffic moving quickly. In past experience I had never seen pump attendents working so quickly and efficiently. I felt rather slow taking off my gloves and unclipping my tank bag to access my gas tank. The attendant was good enough to set the pump and let me fill the bike on my own. As soon as the tank was topped up I quickly reclipped the tank bag on, pulled on my gloves and got out of the way of the traffic waiting behind me to access the same pump.

Heading back onto the Turnpike I made a point of heading for the inner spur so that I was running with cars and light trucks rather than riding alongside commercial trucks with dubious maintenance. Along that entire spur the shoulder of the Turnpike was littered with torn apart truck tires and other garbage. Certainly not the type of thing I want to hit with a bike, and the heavy rain in the dark didn't improve visibility any.

After my short break I continued riding along the Turnpike with tunes from the Ipod. Most of the time I ride with earplugs in, but long, drab, rainy days like this call for a bit of music. Cars whipped past me like I was standing still despite the fact I was traveling well in excess of the posted speed limit of 65. I increased my speed 20 over the speed limit just so that I wasn't being run over by other vehicles on the road, but I was still traveling slowly compared to the other vehicles on the road. Traffic continued to be very heavy, cars passing each other at times unsafely – there were a few times when I was passed by cars who wanted to shave off a few seconds by sharing my lane with me. This was more than a little unnerving.

It was late and I was tired. By this point in time I was holding a lot of tension in my shoulders, and had done what felt like one too many evasive manouvers. Drivers on the Turnpike seemed oblivious to motorcycles, and many seemed equally oblivious to other cars, or for that matter what they were doing when driving. Given the length of time I had been traveling on the Turnpike it was clear that I wasn't going to find many places to stop for the night, so I eventually took an exit that advertised a few motels.

At the exit of the Turnpike I stopped at a tollbooth. This one was manned. The first thing that I was asked for was a ticket. So I explained what had happened with my failure to collect a ticket on my entrance to the Turnpike, and indicated that I belived I had gotten on at the very beginning of the toll road. Had a short friendly chat with the toll operator who was also an avid biker with her husband. She was very enthused about the trip when she found out where I was from and did something very nice for me. “Tell you what, why don't I just charge you $0.50, it's the minimum toll.” That really surprised me – I was expecting to pay a lot more, especially in light of the fact that I didn't have a ticket with me. She reminded me to collect a ticket when I entered onto the Turnpike the next morning, and wished me a safe trip.

Just off the Turnpike there were a few motels. I looked at the options and chose what looked to be the least expensive. I was wet and tired, and even though it was likely that I would be able to find something cheaper if I explored further, I was ready to get off the bike and out of my wet clothing. It was a relatively large motel with a large office area that was well lit. The door was locked, but a sign indicated that they were open. I rang the buzzer and waited. When it became evident that nobody was coming in response to the doorbell, I put back on my helmet and started to get back on the bike. Timing is everything – at that point someone came to the front and unlocked the door.

The motel I stopped at wasn't that cheap, and it wasn't the nicest, but it was warm and dry which was all I was interested in at the time.

[Olive]

The next morning my clothes weren't completely dried out yet, and the lining of my riding gear was still damp. Both leggings and long sleeve T-shirt were wet. Still no internet access. The hotel didn't look much nicer in the morning than it had the night before. Given the cost of the room it was a little disappointing as a nonsmoker to have paid a premium for a smoking room that had two dirty ashtrays in it. I slept a little later than I had intended, but the previous night had gone well into the wee hours of the morning so it was probably needed.

As I clipped my luggage back onto the bike I had a good view of the entrance ramp for the Turnpike. Great scenery. In the parking spot beside my bike a couple was busy packing in pillows, blankets, suitcases and stuffed animals. The sedan was packed to the roof, and it was obvious that the rear view mirror wouldn't be of much use. A young child was running in and out of the hotel room, as the parents checked to make sure that they hadn't forgotten anything, such as the kitchen sink.

As I readied the bike the woman started a discussion with me. She told me that they were on a week long trip. I found it rather humorous looking at the amount of stuff they had in their car – I had everything for six weeks tucked away inside hard cases, including camping equipment and all of my cold weather gear.

Her young daughter seemed to find the bike fascinating, and she politely asked if I would mind if she took a picture of the daughter on the bike. I don't mind when they ask, but find it highly offensive when I come out to my parked bike and find a child sitting on top with the parent's approval. I have had that happen in the past, usually when I stop at a tourist spot. With my blessing she set up the photo opportunity for her toddler. It's best to corrupt them at a young age.

After I finished packing up the bike I headed back onto the Turnpike. This time I paused early and noticed that the ticket was actually delivered quite a ways back from the sign that advised motorists to take a ticket. There were two dispensers, one at arm level, and one much higher. I had to stand up to reach the ticket, which I tucked away carefully mindful of my luck from the previous night.

I had gotten past the worst of the traffic the night before, at this point the Turnpike was down to three lanes in each direction and much calmer. Still plenty of traffic, but it wasn't the nightmare of the previous evening. The rain had stopped which made for a significantly better ride.

Eventually I reached the terminus of the Turnpike and continued down the highway following the directions that TimmytheCop had furnished me the day previous. The plan was to meet up with him mid-day. The ride was relatively uneventful, although I stopped to double check directions at one point when a route I was following ended, and I wasn't sure if I had missed a turn. I was very close to where I should have been and was back on track fairly quickly

Crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge I was a little surprised. A few people had made comments to me about that bridge being a bit unnerving to ride over. I don't agree with their assessment as it was wide, twinned and provided lots to look at in terms of traffic in the water as well as a clearly visible shoreline on the other side. I guess after Confederation Bridge in Prince Edward Island other bridges pale a bit in comparison.

I started looking for the meet-up point that TimmytheCop had suggested, a Harley Davidson dealership. They are usually well signed and easy to reach from the highway. I saw the sign up ahead, and as I passed a semi I saw a motorcyclist stopped at the side of the road. I passed him and headed into the pullout for the next exit. As I stopped at the light just past the exit a biker pulled up beside me. A flat black VFR. Sure enough, it was TimmytheCop. He had encountered issues trying to find the access to the dealership, and figured that if he had problems, I probably would encounter the same type of difficulty.

TimmytheCop had been waiting and expected to first recognize the 6th generation headlight pattern or perhaps the distinctive exhaust note, but the first thing he noticed was the bright yellow jacket. The intent of the jacket was to be seen, and apparently it had done the job quite well.

I followed the flat black VFR as TimmytheCop lead me back to his place. The day was a lot drier than the previous one, although it was quite warm. As we hit traffic the frequent stops just exacerbated the heat. When we arrived at Timmy's house I realized that I had left the vents on the jacket zipped up, which explained why it was a tad bit warm.

We visited on the front porch over coffee and I met his wife and kids. Every so often conversation was interrupted with the roar of a figher jet as it passed overhead, and we watched his youngest race to the edge of the porch for a closer look at the aircraft. Apparently Air Force One flying overhead is a regular occurrence for his household as he lives close to Andrews Air Force Base.

Gll429 came down after he finished work to join us for dinner and a visit, but was on four wheels instead of two as he had been doing some work on his bike and it was still in pieces. Since Gll429 works as a motorcycle tech he took a few minutes to check out my bike and noticed that the chain had some slack. TimmytheCop's bike suffered the same affliction, so I got a quick lesson on how to adjust the chain.

Gll429 had a far better technique at chain adjustment than TimmytheCop, who subscribed to the brute force school of thought.

Beside the Silver 6th Gen, Timmy's flat black 5th Gen takes on a greyish note. Gll429 and TimmytheCop stand discussing matters of grave import in the background.

While sitting over dinner as the sun set an odd flicker of light caught my attention. It was a firefly. In a few minutes there were flickering lights all over the yard. Lots of fireflies. The guys found my fascination with them very amusing, but it was the first time I had seen this sort of light show.

In the late evening after Gll429 had headed home TimmytheCop and myself headed out in his van for a quick tour of Washington DC. Washington by night is very picturesque, with a lot of familiar sights in a very small area. It was very cool to see, and if we would have been on the bikes I probably wouldn't have been able to look around as much.

We even swung past Timmy's workplace where I checked out one of the official bikes and then returned to his place where we visited half the night. It is always interesting to run into someone who has worked in the print industry in the past, and gave us a lot to talk about. We also talked about people we both knew, such as Dutchy, and that lead into a discussion of his plans for renting a bike and terrorizing all of Europe on two wheels. Errr, I mean his plans to tour the Netherlands on two wheels. Late nights are the affliction of those of us who work graveyard shift, and my body was still used to the third shift schedule.

[Nas]

Great report, Olive! :fing02:

[Guest]

...ahhhhhh: fully caught up now!! The typical flow of an interesting road trip by Olive Oyl a.k.a. Calamity Jane!! Thanks again. Waiting; I know there is much more of the USA those tires have crossed...

[Olive]

The next morning I got up, went upstairs and promptly startled Pien, TimmytheCop's wife. Guess I was walking a little too softly. We visited over coffee until TimmytheCop finally emerged. I was amused by their youngest child who was busy trying to be a mini-adult. Pien cooked some eggs for breakfast while he “cooked” some grapes. His older brothers were presumably just as occupied at school.

After coffee, TimmytheCop and myself checked out the bikes and headed out together through Washington past many of the buildings we had gone past the night before. Everything looked different in daylight, however traffic really didn't permit me to pull out the camera. TimmytheCop took me on a proper bike tour over and through all of the potholes and rough roads in the area. Very few visitors to the area get a cop escort through the area, so I consider myself fortunate.

We headed past some construction, and I think Timmy got a little turned around because of it. After an urban detour he pointed me in the right direction for Shenandoah National Park. When we stopped to say farewell I showed him my odometer which was just rolling over 10,000. With a wave we headed off our separate directions.

I gassed up in Front Royal, which was a rather unique experience. I found a small gas station that was a little off the beaten path, and the clerk looked like he really didn't want to be there. I decided to buy a pop, and counted out the change. As I headed out the door he called out belligerently after me “Hey! Lady! Are you trying to cheat me?” A little confused I turned back. He then informed me that I had given him three Canadian pennies and those weren't real money. He continued to berate me as if I had committed some carnal sin. I tried to be polite as I exchanged three US pennies for the Canadian counterparts, although I felt like responding to him in kind. Welcome to friendly Virginia?

Continuing onwards I found the entrance to Shenandoah National Park and paid my admission. As I stopped just past the toll booth to put myself back together I got into a short discussion with a Marine who had just returned from active duty and was doing some motorcycle touring himself. He was a little surprised to see an Alberta plate in Virginia.

Shenandoah: http://www.nps.gov/shen/planyourvisit/upload/whole_park.pdf

Shenandoah was a beautiful ride. Speed limit is limited through some of the parks, but the scenery more than made up for it. As I reached the southern portion of the ride I stopped once again to top up the gas and a cup of coffee. In the parking lot I pulled in beside a BMW F800ST and talked a while with the rider. This fellow and his wife had just started riding, and he was out for a day trip. We talked about the bike for a while – the F800S and ST are basically the same bike, and I had just sold mine having replaced it with the VFR.

Heading out of Shenandoah I continued on to the Blue Ridge Parkway. I had ridden part of this route last October, but on this trip I had the opportunity to do the entire scenic drive.

Blue Ridge Parkway: http://www.nps.gov/blri/planyourvisit/maps.htm

This drive is a absolutely beautiful, and pictures do it much more justice than words can. These mountains are very different than the ones I am accustomed to. They are much more characteristic of rolling hills, covered with trees. The road wound through the mountains, and had some traffic but not too heavy. It was easy to find locations to pass slower moving vehicles, although at times I was stuck behind a car or truck that stopped for every corner.

I saw some wildlife on the road including some deer, and stopped to watch a Bear and her cub as they debated if the grass was indeed greener at the other side of the road. After much deliberation the pair decided that they were best off on the side where they started, and quickly melted back into the shadows of the trees.

Along the roadway I stopped to take photos, and check out some of the information plaques talking about local flora and fauna. It was no surprise that the fauna included Virginia Creeper, and I found the reminder about Poison Ivy to be an apt overview of a plant that I never have encountered up in Canada. So many things are the same, but everything is different - slightly off of what I am accustomed to.

The sun began to drop lower in the sky creating longer shadows and providing the opportunity for a few dramatic photo opportunities.

Since I was beginning to see an increase in wildlife and the wind was picking up a bit, I thought it best to stop for the night and pitched my tent at Peaks of Otter. At $16 it was one of the more affordable campsites of the trip. There were a couple of other bikers also in the campground, and we clustered in adjacent sites. As I put up my tent I was invited to join the other riders and share a campfire, so I headed over for a while as the dusk turned to full night. The weather was beautiful for sleeping in the tent with a brief spattering of rain overnight, but nothing heavy enough to leave me feeling that I should build an ark. This was definitely not a sign of things to come the following day, but I get ahead of myself.

[Guest]

Exciting!! Ive done parts of the blue ridge and, although i love the scenery, i wish it was... faster...

[NorthernVFRDave]

Blue Ridge and Skyline drive are on my must do again list. Missed it this year because of rain and fog.

[Olive]

Blue Ridge and Skyline drive are on my must do again list. Missed it this year because of rain and fog.

I'm just getting to the torrential rain, high winds and lack of visibility... a preview of what was to come - detritus the morning after the storm:

[Olive]

As daylight dawned, I packed up the tent and got ready to head back out on the road. It didn't take long for me to spot the first wildlife of the day as two wild turkeys crossed the road in front of me. Shortly afterwards I spotted a shy deer at the side of the road. None of his friends were present, but I slowed back just in case.

One of the biggest problems with the road is the lack of services within the parkway itself. To find gas you have to leave the parkway to head to the nearest town. Since it was time for both gas and my morning coffee I headed out to Roanoke to fill the tank and grab a quick bite to eat.

Quite a few locations along the parkway my phone had no signal so I felt a bit out of contact. Generally while riding I only use my phone for email and text based web access, but find that very useful. There were a number of people I was planning to catch up with in the greater Atlanta area who were looking for updates on when I planned to arrive.

Riding along the parkway I stopped at overlooks to take in the scenery and to take a few more photos. During one stop I recognized a truck from the previous day. The driver and his wife also recognized me and came over to say hello. They were taking their time winding through the Parkway on their holiday as well, and as a point of commonality he also rode, although a different class of bike. After we visited for a few minutes, we headed out our separate ways.

As the parkway progressed the ridge of the mountains gave way to riding through some valleys. In some sections faming was evident at the side of the road, fields with mowing and baling in progress. In places the grass at the side of the road was also being cut with scattered fresh grass clippings scattered on the Parkway. The trees at the side of the road were well established, some had huge vines hanging down. The forested areas with tall trees gave the roadway shade a dappled appearance. Green stretched everywhere the eye could see.

I stopped for a break at a quiet overlook – it was nice that I had it to myself. I sat down beside a tree which had seen better days. On the ground by my feet huge ants scurried about on important errands. A butterfly lazily caught a breeze with wings flexing as it drifted through the air. I listened to the birds with the distant sound of vehicle motors. It was very peaceful until another vehicle pulled in and the chatter of the couple emerging from within broke the spell. I headed back out on the bike.

The road was relatively quiet for most of the day, but the frequent stops and speed limit slowed down progress considerably. Lots of cyclists were out on the road as well, at times riding three abreast really slowing down traffic. There were a few construction zones where the road was closed to two-way traffic and there were a few delays with flagmen holding stop signs until traffic was once again traveling in my direction.

One section of the parkway was closed with a detour running west of the Parkway through smaller towns and secondary highways. I followed the signage and took the opportunity to fill up the bike with gas. After paying for gas, I realized that the egress from the gas station wasn't optimum. It reminded me of the angle I had experienced with disasterous results the previous fall when I was exiting Deals Gap. Even getting the bike back up to vertical was a bit of a struggle, because I could only touch with one foot at a time. I found myself wishing I was a few inches taller. Balancing the bike on the right foot, I managed a hill start without touching the brake and made it back onto the road with a sigh of relief. I followed the detour signs through town and headed down a few side highways past small farms and the occasional house or business. I rode for a while, and began to wonder if I had missed out on a detour sign directing me back to the Parkway when at last I saw a familiar orange triangle indicating that I was to remain on the same route. So I continued riding, and riding, and riding. Deciding to give it another ten miles, I continued onwards, and since I didn't see any signs directing me back, I decided to backtrack sure that I must have missed a sign. Sure enough, that was the right decision as I spotted a road sign that was mostly tipped into a ditch that indicated the return to the Parkway.

I stopped at Mabry Mill, and walked around the displays for a while. This mill is one of the iconic images of the Blue Ridge Parkway. There are a few touristy stops along the Parkway, but for the most part it is a scenic drive.

Back on the Parkway the skies were overcast. I rode through a few rain showers – just brief scattered showers that soaked me, the bike and the road, but cleared up quickly. I didn't even bother to put on my rain gear because the rain was so intermittent that it didn't warrant it in my opinion.

Another rain shower came up, and I rode into it expecting some more of the same. The rain grew heavier and the rain soaked through to my clothing, wicking up my sleeves until I was soaked. Obviously more than a brief scattered shower, and at this point I was so wet that adding rain gear would do little because there was nothing left to keep dry. The clouds were low, and at times my view of the valleys was an overlook on top of the clouds. Riding through the clouds was eerie, like thick fog significantly limiting visibility.

When it became clear that the rain wasn't getting any better, I started to look for a place to stop for the night. To reinforce my decision the conditions got worse, rain coming down in torrents, strong winds whipping leaves across the roadway, and very limited visibility. I flipped on my four-ways as I slowed my pace. Now instead of passing cars I was being passed by the occasional car. I figured that the drivers were idiots given the road conditions.

As I reached an overlook the rain let off for a brief moment, and I took the opportunity to pull off and take a brief break. The setting sun made for an opportunity to pull out my camera. The wind was blowing the clouds quickly and within a few moments the overlook was obscured and visibility was back to zero as the rain set in once again. A brief momentary respite from the storm that I might have missed had I not pulled off to stop for a few minutes. It seemed almost surreal with the pinks of sunrise over the low laying clouds.

Twilight and fog combined for very poor visibility. A dark shadow flashed in front of my bike. I couldn't make it out for sure, but given the size I am pretty sure that it was a deer. Definitely not good conditions to be out riding in.

Getting desperate I started considering options for getting off the Parkway, including spending the night in a nice dry bathroom wrapped in a sleeping bag. That option was beginning to sound really good by this point. I was soaked to the skin, and was holding a lot of tension in my neck from the demands of concentration in the storm as I fought sudden strong winds with :cheerleader:the apparent intent to sweep me off the side of the road. Finally I found an exit – I know that I must have missed a few with the weather obscuring roadside signs.

Pulling into Asheville I was only interested in finding somewhere cheap and dry. I pulled into the first motel I saw. No vacancy. That seemed very odd because I was sure that I had seen a vacancy sign a few moments earlier. No matter, by the looks of the motel I wasn't missing out on much. I continued back onto the main road and looked for the next available option. I passed a couple of places that had prices advertised outside that seemed a bit steep, and then I spotted another motel. It didn't look like much, but that was fine by me. I pulled in, got a room, and pulled off my wet gear which was immediately wrung out in the washroom. This was definitely a cheap motel, the rooms weren't very nice, and I briefly debated if I should sleep in my sleeping bag on top of the bed, or trust the provided linens.

[timmythecop]

Pien cooked some eggs for breakfast while he “cooked” some grapes.

Owen loves his "cooked grapes"

what did you expect, he is my son.........

[NorthernVFRDave]

There is something about that old mill on the BRP that makes it so photogenic...

[StormShadow]

why is everybody listed as a guest?

[Olive]

why is everybody listed as a guest?

That is a forum wide problem related to an administrative purge of old members, and impacts posts throughout the forum. HS addresses the issue in this thread: http://www.vfrdiscussion.com/forum/index.php/topic/68115-sorry-vfrd-members-if-you-cant-log-in/

[StormShadow]

why is everybody listed as a guest?

That is a forum wide problem related to an administrative purge of old members, and impacts posts throughout the forum. HS addresses the issue in this thread: http://www.vfrdiscussion.com/forum/index.php/topic/68115-sorry-vfrd-members-if-you-cant-log-in/

ah, was wondering what happened, since it was a great write up ir ead it all last night

[Olive]

I woke up and realized that my gear was still sopping from the previous night. Looking outside I was greeted with bright sunlight, a definite change. I picked out some dry clothing to wear under the wet jacket, and got ready for another run on the Blue Ridge.

Packing up the bike I looked at the motel I had stayed at. It was definitely scraping the bottom of the barrel. Looking at the sign I discovered that it was possible to book a room by the night, by the week or by the month. I picked leaves off of my bike, and found a large twig sitting on top of my swing arm, too close to my wheels for comfort. Obviously my bike had picked up a few souvenirs from the storm. Across the parking lot a group of men were standing around a battered old pickup truck. One of the broke off and headed towards me.

He seemed friendly enough saying hello, and looking at the bike. Given that I had the solo rack with my top box and the seat cowl on the bike was obviously a one seater. He asked if I was riding such a large bike by myself. Obviously. He also made comment on the fact that I didn't look like I was from around the area. The license plate gives that one away. Ascertaining that I was riding solo, he decided that hitting on me was a good idea. He definitely wasn't my type, and seemed to be showing off for his group of friends. I must admit that I really don't appreciate being called “honey” by anyone, especially not a stranger.

My new “friend” seemed to think that I should stick around for a while, as I had only just gotten there. I asked him if he was going to be around with his friends and he indicated that they lived there. The revelation came as little surprise. It seemed that the best way to handle the situation was to indicate that I had to meet a friend, but I certainly would give some thought to returning, and I knew where to find him. Needless to say the thought that ran through my mind was that returning would be a very poor idea.

Getting on my bike I stopped at the top of a steep slope and checked out the traffic on the road below. Judging that I had a clear window I pointed the bike down the steep slope and headed out onto the highway relieved to be leaving the guys behind me. I pulled into a gas station to fuel up for the day, and as I stood inside paying the interior decor confirmed that I was in the bad part of town. Where most gas stations would feature a display of gum and candy, this one displayed drug paraphernalia. Ugh.

Leaving Asheville behind I headed back onto the Blue Ridge Parkway where I was greeted by some detritus from the previous evening's storm. The sides of the parkway were covered with downed leaves and twigs. In places water pooled, drainage channels blocked by detritus from the storm.

This sign had obviously been hit by a large limb from a tree. Along the sides of the parkway quite a few trees showed signs of storm damage with broken limbs. Obviously the previous night's storm had taken a toll.

I stopped at a pull off to take a few pictures of the aftermath of the storm. Most of the leaves and twigs had been windswept from the road, but in corners and sections of the road that were protected they remained a road hazard. The fresh green leaves were quite slippery, making traction in corners a challenge at times.

Flowers along the sides of the Parkway were brilliant shades of yellow and orange. Lots of cyclists were on the parkway, at times riding in packs of two or three abreast across the road. More vehicles were out as well, slowly traveling around corners with caution. Quite a few motorcycles were out, including a lot of trikes. A definite change from the previous day.

Continuing up the parkway, I stopped to take a few pictures at the apex. The sign indicates that this is the highest point of the Blue Ridge Parkway at 6053 feet. I had ridden this particular section of the Parkway the previous year when I had picked up the VFR.

Continuing along the parkway, I followed it to the end, where I headed through Cherokee. Traffic was heavy and slow moving as I rode through an Indian reservation and along the 19. At the side of the highway lots of people were on the river on tubes and rafts enjoying the sunshine. I continued riding and stopped for a bite to eat in Andrews. My phone showed no service, and my computer could barely pick up a signal, which kept on dropping out. Apparently the storm had raged in Andrews the previous evening as well and had taken out a number of cell towers. It certainly wasn't the best weather to be riding through.

I took a detour around the Andrews area, before continuing on my trek towards Atlanta. Some of the roads were familiar from my ride the previous fall. Lots of curves, a reasonable speed limit, and corners that were properly cambered building a lot of confidence. Spotting the signage for the Appelachian Trail and the store at Neels Gap I realized that I was on Blood Mountain. Heading down the mountain I tempered my speed a little more than I had on the ascent.

Continuing on I passed Riders Hill, and continued towards greater Atlanta. I stopped to take a break and send a few emails because I wasn't entirely sure where I was going. Eventually I met up with Daisy, and followed him back to Blesk and Strap's place. We beat them back by a few minutes and spent the time visiting.

I was a little disappointed that the storm on the Blue Ridge Parkway and the posted road speeds had slowed me down so that I wasn't going to be able to meet up with Nomo this trip – he was headed out on a trip to California, and had left mid-day, and wouldn't be returning until after I was back on the road.

Thursday came to a close as the sun set.

[Guest]

Its cool seeing the trip laid out... The pictures are awesome and the writing, smooth! Thanks for fresh updates!

[Dutchy]

Well honey,

I really your your euh...... ride report

[Olive]

Friday morning I got up and started my day with a cup of coffee. Blesk was working out of the house which meant that we had an opportunity to briefly visit. Since most people in the area were working I made plans to meet up with Wrestler for lunch. He provided me with directions and I headed south towards his place.

The route included a toll and the people behind me in the cash lane weren't thrilled when I stopped the bike to remove gloves, and fumbled around to find some change.

Continuing south I had an opportunity to check out some of downtown Atlanta as I headed past and through. The roadways wove in around each other, stacking traffic on top of each other as congestion built up and the highway went underneath downtown. Following the directions I had jotted down I turned into the area surrounding the Atlanta University Center. It wasn't hard to locate Lyke house where I found Wrestler out in the parking lot installing a new license plate on his car.

We headed upstairs for a brief visit and coffee before heading out for lunch and a visit. Wrestler's bike isn't stored where he lives so we took his car. As we got to the restaurant Wrestler discovered that he had forgotten his wallet at home. It was amusing given his last motorcycle trip where he had lost a tank bag containing his wallet, phone, gps and passport. At least this time he was in his car and the wallet was only a few minutes across town.

After lunch he pointed out a number of places in Atlanta as we returned to his place. It's always nice to have a tour guide. Since I wasn't meeting up with others until dinnertime I hung out with Wrestler borrowing his internet for a while as I sat down with my computer to catch up on a bit of writing. Obviously since I am posting about Atlanta a month after I arrived home I had a lot of catching up to do. Wrestler lives above Lyke House and took me on a tour of the expansive space with African inspired artwork. Gorgeous.

I left Wrestler and headed north to meet up with Bigfoot and Troll for dinner. The rain started as I headed up the busy freeway and participated in a traditional Atlanta parking lot. Perhaps I ought to have headed out a little earlier, or taken a different route, but being unfamiliar with the area it seemed prudent to stick to the directions I had been provided. I watched a bike pull out onto the shoulder and head past the parked traffic and briefly considered the advisability of doing so myself. Since traffic was still in motion I opted to creep along until road speed picked back up.

As I rode I was a little nervous if I had missed a turn because it seemed as if I had been traveling along the route for quite some time. That's one of the drawbacks of being unfamiliar with an area. Eventually I spotted the turn I was supposed to take, and rode right past the next road I was supposed to turn on. I spotted the road sign a little too late to execute a turn. I headed up a little ways until I found a good place to do a U-turn, and retraced my path.

Eventually I found Bigfoot's place, where he and his wife were waiting for me outside. We had a brief chat, although I was a bit loud – since I hadn't removed my helmet my earplugs were still in and they did a remarkable job of blocking out sound. They took their car and I followed on bike. Troll was already waiting at the Tilted Kilt for us, and had began to wonder where we had gotten to. It was good to see the guys again, and great to meet Bigfoot's wife.

After dinner we headed out to the parking lot where the guys checked out my bike and my packing methodologies. The idea of fitting full camping gear as well as everything I needed into hard luggage seemed to either involve ninja packing skills or luggage with the properties of a Tardis. We stood outside visiting for a while before heading out our separate ways. Blesk sent a text to Bigfoot indicating that the door would be unlocked when I got back to their place.

Thus far in Atlanta I had met up and traveled behind Daisy in his car, with Wrestler in his car, behind Bigfoot and his wife in their car and met up with Troll who had also taken his car. I found it mildly amusing that all of these were riders, yet the bikes were nowhere to be seen.

On my way back to Blesk's I took a quick detour to a Walmart, and then tried to locate her place in the dark. My notes were tucked into the plastic sleeve on top of my tank bag but were difficult to read in the dark, and everything always looks different at night. Once I have traveled somewhere by myself I can usually find it again, but the previous night I had been following Daisy and somehow when there is someone else navigating you do not pay as much attention to the route. I definitely took the scenic route, but eventually found the right house.

Arriving I noted that the garage door was propped open, and I checked the side door which was locked. I also went around the rear of the house and checked that door which was also locked. Quietly I knocked on the door, which Kafka immediately noted and went wild inside. Apparently an excited dog wasn't enough to catch their attention. Eventually I phoned Blesk, who headed out to let me in. I found out that their house has two rear doors – one upstairs, and a sliding patio door to their basement. It was the latter that was unlocked, and the former that I had checked out. Oops!

...Stay tuned for the next installment!

[Olive]

The following morning I visited with Strap and Blesk over coffee and met the kids who were over for the weekend.

There were a number of things that I had with me that I doubted I would need on the trip now that I had reached a warmer climate. I snagged a box and packed up my heated vest, long johns and wool socks. Strap and myself headed out for the post office where I dispatched my extra gear back home, and then stopped for oil and groceries on the way back. I took care of an oil change on Blesk's driveway and Strap lent a hand, and then headed out to visit Joker and his wife.

I had checked my options on Google maps and it seemed the quickest way to get to Canton would be following Campground Road rather than heading all the way over to the 19 which seemed to take me quite a ways out of my way. It was less than 15 miles. I was driving along Campground Road when I saw a sign and realized that it continued heading west, so I turned to continue following Holden Campground Road. The road wound through a residential area, and I continued to follow it. I was beginning to wonder if I had taken a wrong turn because it felt as if I was heading south rather than north, but I had no way to check because the sun was directly overhead. I continued to ride, and confirmed that I had obviously taken a very wrong turn when I reached Roswell, well south of Alpharetta where I had started out. I turned east and located the 19, and headed north trying to make up for lost time on the long route that I had dismissed earlier. Later checking the map I discovered that I had been within 4 or 5 miles of his house before taking a 55 mile detour. But the navigation entertainment wasn't finished yet.

Eventually I turned onto Joker's road and looked for his house number. Houses seemed to be sequentially numbered as I rode, which is what I expected. As numbers climbed I slowed my pace and started scanning. Recognizing that I had obviously ridden right past his place because the numbers had climbed too high, I did a U-turn and backtracked. That was odd, obviously I had ridden past it again as the numbers had dropped too low. I was hot and flustered by the unexpected detour and was running late. With a sigh I did another U-turn and followed the numbers up once more.

The number I was searching for seemed not to exist. Feeling more than a little silly I pulled out my phone and double checked the address. Yes, I had written it down right. A little confused I returned the way I had come to double check that I had turned on the right road. Sure enough, I was on the right road. Feeling more than a little rattled I returned up the road. I had been at his house the previous fall so I thought I should be able to recognize it, so I rode slowly taking a very close look at each house on the way past. I rode past the fence where I had performed the previous two U-turns and discovered that the house associated with it looked very familiar... and was even marked with the right house number.

I parked the bike and pulled off my helmet. Joker came outside to greet me, and I explained why I was late much to his amusement. Apparently house numbers along the road weren't entirely sequential and I had gotten caught in a logic trap.

Heading inside we visited for a while before heading out for dinner and a social visit. After we left the house the rain started coming down hard accompanied with lightning and thunder. Joker piloted the car around a power wire that was hanging down directly over the road, swinging in the wind. Mrs Joker commented that the weather was very unusual – the storms usually diverted around her. It was obvious that the weather vortex was in the car. Even though I wasn't on bike, I had attracted quite the wind, light and rain display from Mother Nature. In short, all was normal.

The one really abnormal thing about this particular day was that it appears I didn't pull out my camera,. I gave the memory card a good shake to see if something was tucked in a corner hiding, but nothing appeared. I think that this was the first and only day during the six week trip where the camera wasn't exercised.

Stay tuned for the next installment... it even has photos!

[Olive]

The next morning I got up early and headed downstairs for coffee. Joker made his special scrambled eggs for breakfast. The dogs were up, and Sami, a pitbull that was a recent rescue decided to share the couch with me. The cone around her head got in the way as she tried to make friends heedless of the coffee I was balancing.

Joker decided to send me on my way with a piece of technology that might be useful – his old GPS. It was collecting dust in a box, but was a definite upgrade over my paper map. The GPS certainly would have saved me a lot of hassle the previous day, which had indubitably precipitated the donation. (Thanks Joker!).

I headed out the door at the same time as Joker. He had morning plans and I was heading for Riders Hill to meet up with Blesk and Bigfoot for an area ride. As we reached the turnoff where we were to split ways I meeped my horn confusing him. My intent was to say farewell, however it gave him pause wondering if I was trying to attract his attention. We headed our separate ways.

When I arrived at Riders Hill Bigfoot was sitting in one of the big white rockers waiting for my arrival. We visited for a while, and head the familiar sound of a V4 as Blesk's gorgeous white with a hint of pink pearlcoated bike pulled up the hill. Since we didn't know if anyone else was joining us we waited for a while before heading out on the road with Blesk taking the lead.

During our ride we saw a few downed limbs and leaves from the storm on the previous night, but the detritus had nothing on what I had encountered on Blue Ridge Parkway a few days previous. We headed past a deer and a turtle on the road. I found the latter a little odd.

After stopping for lunch we headed out to Mercier orchards where Blesk picked up a few treats for the family, and Bigfoot a shirt for his grandson.

Blesk was hopeful that she would run into her son's grandparents because she had something to drop off for him. Unfortunately our timing was a little off so we reverted to plan B which was a short detour to meet her son along the way. He was waiting at the roadside reading when we got there, very thankful that his mom had taken the time to play courier.

Heading back towards Atlanta we headed up Blood Mountain. Stopping at the store at Neels Gap we saw a bike that had crashed a little further down blood Mountain. The rider had managed to limp it back to the store, but wasn't feeling very good and was met at the store by an ambulance. His bike had weathered the crash relatively well, although had a lot of dirt and grass packed on the side. Blood Mountain is served by two police services – Blount County and Union County. The police had arrived shortly after the ambulance to investigate the single bike accident, but found that it was on the wrong side of the mountain to be under their jurisdiction. The invisible line drawn in the sand.

Heading back down Blood Mountain we were held up behind a slow moving manure truck. Having no sense of smell I was blissfully unaware of the cargo, but Blesk was complaining about it later. Traffic was fairly heavy heading back to Alpharetta, and as soon as we got back Blesk and Strap took off to drop the kids off. Strap had spent his Fathers Day with the kids and seemed to have had a great time while the rest of us were out riding.

Stay tuned for the next installment where I head south for a unique camping experience...

[Guest]

YEAH!!! Seems like we are flowing a bit faster... Cool to put names with faces!

[Olive]

Monday the plan was to continue south on my trip. I met Daisy for breakfast and he hung out with me while I took care of chain maintenance and exchanged the dongle for my heated vest for a 12 volt power plug. I only had room to attach one item to my battery at a time, and since mailing my vest home the dongle was no longer needed.

It seemed that the morning had passed very quickly as it was well past noon according to the clock on my bike by the time I set off south. Some days time speeds past faster than others, and this was definitely one of those mornings. It wasn't until later that I figured out why time had passed so rapidly. I hadn't realized that when I rewired the accessories I had disconnected the bike battery effectively resetting the clock to 12:00. Oops.

It took a while to ride south through greater Atlanta and traffic was heavy. I headed past the downtown core, and traffic built as I got closer to the center of town. Once I cleared the area I continued to ride south trying to put some distance on the bike, and make up for what I thought was a very late start. Ready for a break I pulled off at Luv's Truck Stop for a cold drink and a break. I had definitely found the warm weather. I sat for a while people watching. The manager was overbearing and micromanaging the staff. She had a sharp, shrill voice, and was issuing orders in a tone that sounded like an exasperated mother not someone managing adults. As a customer I found it grating on my nerves as it continued to distract me from the map I was looking at trying to plan the next stage of my ride.

Heading back on the road I continued heading south towards Florida. As I approached a large tractor trailer I spotted a burst of dust as a tire separated from the rim and leapt skywards like a spawning Salmon. Surprises like this on the road are never welcome. I swerved to avoid an accident, heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through my veins as the ruined rubber bounced and rebounded unpredictably on the road beside me. Large trucks always capture my attention because there is so much that can happen around them – evidence of how often tires and re-treads blow out are found littering highways across North America. It's not just the tire flying off the truck that worries me, but also the debris that it can scatter and kick up, as well as the reactions of other vehicles as the freeway becomes a free-for-all potential smash up derby with vehicles swerving and braking unpredictably.

I stopped for gas and a break the next opportunity that presented itself to give myself some time to relax after the excitement. That tire had come too close for comfort and was fresh in my mind.

As I headed down the 82 I saw yellow temporary signs set up at the side of the highway indicating fog or smoke ahead. These signs were placed at regular intervals along the road, even though things seemed clear. I had ridden through thick fog on occasions before, one of the most notable being the California Redwoods in the early morning the previous year. I remembered the poor visibility quite clearly, and was glad that this year I was riding with contact lenses, making the lenses of my glasses one less thing to worry about. There were other routes I could take, however this seemed to make the most sense if I wanted to return east to the Florida coastline so I pushed onwards, figuring if conditions warranted I could always turn back.

Every so often I came across a pick-up truck hauling a trailer of watermelon. The watermelon were just stacked on the trailer and not tied down. As a truck ahead went over a bump one of the melons liberated itself, smashing and bouncing down the road in front of me. This served as a reminder that even smaller trucks could be a hazard and explained why I had seen the remnants of a smashed watermelon on the road earlier in the day. I stopped at a gas station to fuel up. One of the now ubiquitous trailers of watermelon was parked out front.

By this point in the ride I noticed that things were a little hazy with smoke, but nothing significant. I knew that southern Georgia and Florida both had forest fires burning, which were obviously the reason for the warning signs out on the highway. As dusk was falling I started looking for a campsite, eventually pulling into Laura S. Walker State Park.

The entry booth was closed, with a sign advising after-hours arrivals to check in at the information center. I parked the bike and walked over to the building. The door was locked and a sign suggested campers could pay for their site the following morning when the building reopened.

Throwing my leg back over the bike I rode into the campground to see if I could locate a vacant campsite. That wasn't a problem. There were a lot of vacant campsites. As a matter of fact, all of the camp sites were vacant, including the one signed as campground host. Decidedly odd. I headed back up to the main building to read notes on the notice board to make sure that I hadn't missed out on a campground closure. Nothing was posted. I checked other notice boards where campfire warnings were posted, but nothing indicated that I couldn't pitch a tent.

I saw a couple out for a walk. This was the first sign of life I had seen in the park so I pulled over to check if they knew something I did not. It turned out that they lived near the park and were out for their evening stroll. They found the vacated campground to be as unsettling as I did, but confirmed that there were no evacuation orders in place. I let them know that I was intending to camp there that evening and requested that if an evacuation was announced that they swing into the campground to pass on the message.

Since I had my choice of campsites I decided to take over an RV site that was right beside the lake. It provided easy access for the bike, a flat spot for the tent and a gorgeous view. By the time I pitched the tent the sun was setting, but I had enough time to take a short walk to check out the lake. A few meters away from where I had pitched my tent I found a sign advising there was no swimming in the lake and warning that alligators were present. Apparently I had pitched my tent right beside a Gator swamp.

Crawling into my tent I exchanged emails with a few friends on my Blackberry, and had one of them do a quick web search on the forest fires and Laura S. Walker park to make sure that there wasn't an evacuation I didn't know about. I still felt a little unsettled because the campground was deserted. Since it seemed clear I settled down for the night listening to the buzz of frogs and chirps of insects. The silence of the night was disturbed by the crunch of gravel and a flash of light as a truck slowly drove through the campground, but it didn't stop. After the sound of the engine faded in the night the quiet settled around my tent like a cloak.

[Olive]

June 21, 2011 (Day 26/48)

It was just as quiet when I got up with the sun. The camp ground remained. I packed up my gear in silence, and headed out of the park. There was nobody around to pay for the campsite from the previous night, and I didn't want to wait around for two hours. There was nowhere to leave a cash payment either. Given that I dry camp, don't even bother with a campfire and left no evidence of my presence I didn't feel too bad about not being able to leave payment. It certainly wasn't as if my presence had displaced another camper.

Exiting the park I noticed that Okefenokee Swamp had barricades across the entrance and signage indicated that it was closed. Traveling south the air quickly filled with smoke, and visibility decreased.

I stopped in Folkeston at a McDonalds for coffee and breakfast. While enjoying my coffee I tried to pull up some information on the fire on my computer. Much to my amusement I encountered an article about someone who had camped at Laura S. Walker State Park during the weekend. Much like me, he had the entire campground to himself. However the news article indicated that although the campground was not closed a local Ranger had tried to dissuade the camper warning that there was a high likelihood of Chinook helicopters scooping water out of the lake right beside the campsite during the night. Apparently I could have had a lot of excitement in the middle of the night, and I'm almost disappointed that I missed out on the experience.

During my coffee break one of the local state troopers came over to my table to talk to me briefly. He asked about where I was traveling and recommended that since I was on a bike that I stick to major highways. The fires could be quick moving jumping highways and I probably didn't want to get caught alone on a secondary highway in those conditions.

Continuing south I took a few pictures of the highway illustrating how thick some of the smoke was. It gave an otherworldly perspective to the ride. Some people might complain about these type of riding conditions, but they simply add to the story. Riding exclusively in good weather and optimum conditions don't make for a very good tale.

A few hours later the smoke started to thin and I continued riding south in to Florida. My next stop was in Daytona Beach where I caught up with Oyama for lunch. He had sent me a message a few days previous extending the invite if my route took me through Daytona, and since timing was working out I thought I would meet up with another forum member.

Oyama arrived as I was getting off my bike, dressed in crisp beige work clothes,which contrasted with the helmet. I didn't capture a picture of it but I found the sticker on the side of his bike reading “VTEC Inside” to be highly amusing. His red bike shone with obvious care and attention. Mine had collected a bit of road grime, but when I am on a trip I am much more concerned with riding than cleaning.

After lunch Oyama had to head back to work after a quick photo opportunity, and I continued with my trip.

When in Daytona there are some places that you just need to check out – so I stopped to walk around for a bit before following the 1 and 1A south. Is it really an surprise that I stopped here?

(Forget the beach, there are more interesting things to look at!)

There were lots of small towns dotting the highways. Most were populated with older homes and small mom-and-pop businesses with sun faded signage fronting the highway. In quite a few areas RV parks proved popular, and signs indicated that space could be booked by the month or year. Lots of signs pointed the way to beach access and other tourist spots. Quite often I had a view of the Ocean as I rode past – a brilliant deep blue that seemed to go on forever.

Later in the afternoon I stopped at Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge and walked around for a while in the heat. It seemed strange to think that a few weeks previous I had been leaving Calgary where the trees were still in bud, yet here the foliage was lush and vibrant.

The tourist information center was air conditioned, and the staff inside very personable. I checked out the exhibits enjoying the brief respite from the warm weather outside. Through the window I watched a variety of birds visiting feeders for a snack. Cardinals, hummingbirds, cuckoos and mockingbirds vied for a snack outside. An enterprising squirrel tried to outsmart the squirrel proof devices in place to keep him from raiding the feeders. His contortions and acrobatics showed that he was familiar and practiced with the moves needed to partake in a snack.

I only found one Alligator at the refuge, and he seemed to thrive on a steady diet of tourists.

Behind the tourist information center a boardwalk allowed visitors opportunity for a self-guided tour.

Small green lizards darted quickly across the boardwalk diving into the trees and bushes. This one paused a moment on the rail of the boardwalk.

Green brackish water hosted a variety of fish and turtles.

A turtle across the marsh sat on a wooden platform sunning himself as birds fluttered overhead.

Leaving the refuge, I continued down the Space Coast, past the Kennedy Space Center and the Launch Area. The Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge actually overlays the Space Center – fantastic example of shared space. Unfortunately road access prohibits riding over to the launch area so I settled for viewing from a distance. I stopped in McDonalds for a cold pop. The decor was obviously aimed at the space center tourist. The newer McDonalds seem to be becoming standardized pushing towards the adult coffee crowd, but some of the older ones reflect tourism and the area where they are found.

Continuing down the coast I started to look for a place to camp for the evening. Eventually I settled for an RV campground that had a few tent sites and accepted nighly bookings. This particular campground used to be a KOA, which says a lot about the style of it. Obviously an older campground it didn't offer a playground for children, as most KOAs today seem to feature. It was simply a parking lot for RVs with a small store at the front, and bathroom facilities with showers. At one side there were a couple of cabins available for booking.

The tent sites were a grassy area at the rear of the property near a swampy lagoon that was covered in algae. Notably I was the only tent in the entire campground. Nearby a bulldozer sat parked beside a large pile of sand. Obviously they were doing some work on the campground. The road surface was gravel/dirt packed on top of sand, and I parked the bike right on the edge of the road so that I had less worry about the kickstand sinking in to the soft ground overnight.

As usual I covered every square inch of myself with bug deterrent before I even started putting up the tent, but discovered that no-see-ums ignore Deep Woods Off and find a white Canadian to be a very tasty treat. I also discovered that they are small enough to come through the screen of a tent. By the following morning I was covered in nickel-sized itchy welts and looked like I had been the site of a recent mosquito orgy.