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]

On trips there are always the odd things that go wrong. Things that are upsetting at the time but in retrospect all you can do is sit and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Thought I would share this tidbit with you before continuing with your regularly scheduled trip report, because I am sure many of you will find this as humourous as I did.

I found out that while I *thought* I was riding in Arizona and California I had actually gone to Mexico and El Salvador. Despite the fact that I don't remember crossing any borders, my cell phone provider believes that I did so. (And of course they are always right). The Mexico part is understandable. The El Salvador part... not so much.

It gets better. According to my cell phone provider I traveled from the USA to El Salvador, a distance of 1,300 miles in 10 minutes. This must mean my bike can do 7,800 mph! (12,480 kph). Perhaps I'm riding a UFO rather than a VFR? It might explain Roswell.

I successfully convinced my cell phone provider that phone had not left Canada or the States and to reverse ridiculous data charges associated with the El Salvador cell tower my phone purportedly accessed. The funniest part of the conversation was when one of the managers asked me if it was possible that I accidentally drove to El Salvador and didn't realize it. The stupidity of that question astonished me. Obviously this man failed Geography 101.

It's amazing how much El Salvador charges per KB - record setting. (Cell phones apparently get into all sorts of trouble when left unattended in a tank bag downloading emails indiscriminately!)

I really hope the next time my phone decides to take a more adventurous vacation than I do and expects me to pick up the tab that it has the decency to take some vacation photos so I can see what I missed out on.

:laughing6-hehe:

...and now I return you to your regularly scheduled trip report.

[LookingHard]

Olive,

Clearly, the cell phone manager was edumucated here in South Carolina...................

LookingHard

[NorthernVFRDave]

That's on fast VFR you have there, figure out how to package that up and I'm sure there are a lot of people around here that would buy it in a second

How's tire wear and fuel mileage at that speed?

[Dutchy]

What oil are you running in your VFR that it can do such amazing speeds???

[Olive]

What oil are you running in your VFR that it can do such amazing speeds???

Gee Dutchy... I don't know if we really want to risk this turning into another of the famous VFRD Oil Threads...

But if you REALLY want to know, only the best for my VFR...

[Olive]

June 22, 2011 (Day 27/48)

The weather was warm even though it was still very early in the day. Quite warm actually. I had left the fly off of my tent the previous night and could feel the early morning sun burning on my shoulder. The welts left from the no-see-ums from the previous night were nickle sized and rather itchy. I packed up my tent and quietly headed out of the campground past the slumbering occupants of tent trailers and motor homes.

It was quiet on the road at this hour as I rode out past the ubiquitous palm trees. As I rode through small towns too numerous to count I took a few short detours to look around. At the side of residential roads piles of palm leaves sat ready for pickup. Arbourists were at work removing excess foliage and grooming the area to be picture perfect. Given the size of the palm fronds I wouldn't want to be riding underneath when one of them dropped off of a tree.

It wasn't far to the beach. I stopped short of it, pausing for a few pictures before continuing south. Small town gave way to small town and traffic volumes began to climb as I approached and drove through Pompano Beach, Fort Lauderdale, Hollywood and Miami. As I moved south in Florida traffic continued to get worse and driving was slow. It was crowded with people and cars everywhere. The gear is OK when I am moving, but overheats quickly if the vents aren't able to let a breeze flow through. Moving slowly through Florida I was really noticing the heat.

I found toll roads in Florida to be very strange. Signs on the one I had routed myself towards indicated that only the Florida “Sunpass” was accepted, no cash. I also learned from signage that vehicles taking the road without a Sunpass would have their plate photographed and be sent a $100 ticket in the mail. Hmmmm.... that really isn't good for tourism. Why should I have to purchase a transponder to drive down a road once? Plus I had no idea where to even get one. Many of the roadways in the area seemed to be toll roads, and the majority seem to only accept the Sun-pass, which means that the tourist is left with few choices.

It wasn't until I spotted this sign that it dawned on me that I was in Florida on a solo motorcycle trip. Florida! The furthest point I could get diagonally across the continent from home. If anyone would have suggested to me in 2008 when I was first learning how to ride a motorcycle that I would ever do a ride of this magnitude I would have laughed at them - but at that point even the ride from Calgary to Lake Louise seemed daunting in terms of distance. The ferry to Newfoundland reminded me that I was heading for the easternmost part of Canada, but it wasn't until I realized I was one right hand turn away from Miami that the distance became real for me.

The day passed quickly, and I got caught up in Miami rush hour traffic. Getting caught up in a rush hour traffic jam as traffic ground to a halt wasn't part of my daily ride plan, and not something I would recommend to anyone. The sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down into my eyes as I slowly crept forwards. I noticed a hitch hiker on my mirror. A large white spider clinging on, as my bike crept forwards. Thin spindly legs and a round abdomen that reminded me of a juicy grape. Usually I'm ok with bugs, as long as they aren't yellow and black striped, but there was something about this large white spider that got to me. I briefly considered reaching out to brush it off the stalk of the mirror but the idea of touching it gave me pause. With a shudder I ignored it, assuming that it would fall off quickly enough, especially once I started moving.

Other vehicles pushed into my lane, sharing space in my lane with my bike trying to gain a few precious feet of space. I really didn't appreciate them being quite so friendly. Pushing forward I crawled past a tow truck and accident scene. Traffic picked up in pace a bit, but still moved slowly enough to qualify as a nightmare. I still had the spider on my mirror. It was being very stubborn, and the breeze didn't seem to phase it at all, as it slowly made its way down closer to my front cowl. Briefly I wondered if spiders in Florida were poisonous.

I was stuck in traffic for over two and a half hours. The final traffic straw for me was getting pushed to the right by a car that decided to share my lane at the same time someone behind me decided to overlap me and try to pass in the shoulder. The car ahead of me made sure I was properly boxed in. I had the center of the lane, and speed was barely crawling, however it felt as if two other vehicles were trying to occupy the same point in space and time as I was. Florida drivers have apparent total disregard for those funny white and yellow lines painted on the pavement that hold meaning for people who are not from Florida, not to mention their complete and total lack of respect for the motorcyclist.

Since I was hot, tired and getting cranky I decided to find a place to pull off the road for a while to cool off and have something to eat. When I stopped I took a quick look for the spider, but it seemed to have had dropped off the bike at some point during the journey.

Recognizing that I really had no use for the big cities, traffic and oppressive heat as well as recognizing that I didn't NEED to be there -- after all this was a vacation, I took an exit planning to just hit a campground and figure out tomorrow when it came. Looking at the map and realizing that campsites in the Florida Keys would prove challenging at best, I decided to loop north a bit to pitch my tent in the Everglades, reasoning that would put me close enough to ride out to the Keys the following morning.

My plan was to head up the 41, but I managed to get myself turned around and headed too far north. Stopping to check my map I noted that it was all indicated as green parkland, so the 93 seemed a good alternate route. I assumed I would easily find a campsite in Alligator Alley because it was marked on my map as a national/state park. The 93 was a toll road, but since the booth was manned payment wasn't an issue.

I was committed to a westerly trek across Florida. Bringing the bike to highway speed I glanced in my mirror and noticed that my friend was still hanging out with me. Yes, I still had that same white spider on my bike. Earlier I had thought that I had lost him, but apparently he had found somewhere clever to hide. He was sitting on the base of the mirror, getting blown by the wind generated as my bike pushed down the highway at 75mph, but he obviously had a good grip. Once more I considered reaching forward to detach him, but the idea of having that particular spider crawling on me while riding was enough deterrant for me to keep my hands to myself. Every so often my gaze wandered over to the mirror to watch the spider buffeted by the wind, one leg waving in the breeze.

Stopping at one of the viewpoints I decided to get rid of the spider before the distraction caused me a larger problem. I didn't want to touch it, so I reached forward with a key. The spider scrambled into the housing of the mirror mounting. I could see him in there, but was unable to get him out with the key. While I don't have any qualms about squishing bugs, I didn't want a squashed white spider in a part of my bike that would be difficult to clean. I walked away, hoping that he would emerge.

I was in the Everglades, and it was time to explore a little. The rest stop had a large raised wooden platform that overlooked a narrow body of water. I took the camera with me, but didn't expect to find much to photograph. To my surprise there were alligators out for a swim. I didn't spot them right away - I was actually watching a turtle in the water, when a bit of motion across the water caught my attention. This was the first live gator that I had seen. Watching for a few minutes, I noticed a second one in the water as well. Slowly and silently they paddled across the narrow stream, almost invisible in the water. At the rest stop I saw lots of other wildlife as well – birds, turtles, fish and colourful insects.

Returning to my bike I checked on the spider. He was still hiding.

At this time I didn't realize that there really weren't any options off of the 93. Once you get onto the 93, you have opportunities to stop at viewpoints on the Everglades Parkway and your choice of locations to to picnic or launch a boat, but no campground. Also no place to turn around for the next 80 miles - that was also where you could stop for gas. By the time I reached this point I didn't see the sense in turning back, so I headed for Naples which was only 20 miles away.

Continuing west I headed into the setting sun. Silhouetted in the colourful sky was the spider, who had once again emerged onto the stalk of my mirror like a dog hanging his head out of the window enjoying the breeze. This spider had now been with me for hours, obviously having discovered the joys of riding a motorcycle. Briefly I considered taking a picture of him at the next stop, since he was obviously interested in joining me on the trip and had inadvertently become part of the story. However, by the time I stopped at the next gas station entering Naples he had disappeared once again. I checked and this time he wasn't hiding in the base of the mirror. Hopefully he was gone for good.

Arriving in Naples I discovered camping was going to cost me $55-60 for the night. Mostly RV campgrounds in the area. Parking the bike in front of a Red Roof Inn, I went inside to check what price I could get a room for.

Walking inside I explained to the desk clerk what I was looking for, and she indicated that she could offer me a room at a very competitive rate. Sold. It didn't make much sense to me that a room was cheaper than a place to pitch my tent, but I wasn't going to argue the fact. A few minutes later I carried my gear up to the room I had found for $39, and stepped into a shower to sluice the sweat from my body.

Much better. Now fit for company, I got dressed and walked across the parking lot to a nearby restaurant for dinner and to study maps to decide where I was going the next day. At this point to detour back to the Florida Keys would add another two or three hours travel time across the Everglades Parkway. The road itself wasn't very exciting – as a friend had commented to me about packing for Florida, I didn't need to bring the sidewalls of my tires. I knew that the Keys would be busy, lots of traffic and debated if it was worthwhile to go there, or simply spend the time on the west coast of Florida instead, where it seemed things were a little quieter. But that decision could wait for the next day.

[Cogswell]

The crazy quilt of toll roads in Florida is quite puzzling. There is no rhyme nor reason to the toll booth placement - probably the result of various political boundaries and districts. I recall driving from Orlando to Titusville and the Space Center and encountering 5 or 6 toll booths, some just a few miles apart. Having spent my life on the West Coast I could not recall having ever seen a tool booth except at a few bridges here and there. It's a real pain on a bike, especially when you're not expecting them so you have to dig around to find the correct amount. Lots to see and do in Florida though - a great place for a vacation as long as it's not raining. Looks like the photos and journal of the trip are really coming together.

[Cogswell]

What oil are you running in your VFR that it can do such amazing speeds???

Gee Dutchy... I don't know if we really want to risk this turning into another of the famous VFRD Oil Threads...

But if you REALLY want to know, only the best for my VFR...

Wait a minute . . . this sounds familiar . . . ah yes, from DDO-VFR on May 29th . . .

***********************************

"Gasoline.... Brake cleaner sounds right, doesn't hurt rubber.

Of course you'll never hear the end of the 'tale of Olive's oil...'

Good luck on the rest of your trip. I'm doubling my offer to swing by my place in the Montreal area, just so that I can be a part of your misadventures...

This too shall pass...

Brian "

*********************************

Just wondering though . . . what viscosity should I look for at the supermarket?

[Guest]

Great addition, Olive! I was cracking up (laughing) about your spee-ider friend. Glad you got to see some indigenous residents...

[Olive]

June 23 (Day 28/48)

I debated if it was worthwhile to ride across the Everglades Parkway again and head south into the Keys. The other option was to spend some time exploring the west coast of Florida which seemed much less populated.

Starting out the morning I headed through Naples and looked at some local colour. The residences in the area next to the Ocean qualified as mansions. This was the better part of town. Yards immaculately manicured and homes well cared for. People were out walking their dogs our having a jog in the early morning sun. Everyone seemed to have a healthy looking bronze tan. There were a lot of small parking lots at the end of side streets leading to the beach. I rode past a number of these until I found one that was quiet. Pulling in I parked and picked up my camera. Some quiet beach shots were called for.

The access from the parking lot was via an inviting wooden boardwalk that went through a screen of green trees. Through the archway through the trees I could catch a glimpse of blue sky and the promise of an ocean. It seemed so contained by the framing of the trees.

A helmet hobbit playing on the beach

Seabirds along a pier against an empty ocean.

A couple of people swimming in the ocean.

A quiet beach.

There weren't many people out on the beach at this hour. It was nice and peaceful. It was also very clean. The ubiquitous cigarette butts and garbage were missing. It was a very nice change. I felt a little overdressed in my gear, but I wasn't planning to stop for long. I noticed that the sand was very fine, and there were lots of small seashells. I picked up a few small ones the size of a nickel as a souvenir.

I headed north on small roads that wound through residential areas, stopping at a dollar store to pick up a new pair of sunglasses. The bright sunlight had me squinting. The previous day I had tried to put on my helmet when my sunglasses were perched on top of my head. The results weren't very good, and my sunglasses lost that battle. It was also a good opportunity to stop for a morning cup of coffee.

Continuing to ride on secondaries and local roads I headed north and turned to explore Longboat Key. It seems strange to drive down a road on an island that is so narrow that you can see the ocean between homes by looking either left or right of the road. Definitely an improvement over some of the crowded, busy freeways of the previous day. There was a lot of slow moving traffic on the island, despite the fact it was mid week. I could only imagine the traffic I would have found on the more popular Keys on the south eastern tip of Florida. While some of the roads weren't fast moving, they still let enough of a breeze to flow through my gear to keep it from turning into my own private sauna.

Deciding to stop at one of the small beaches on Longboat Key, I pulled the bike into the only free parking spot. Since it was a warm day I locked my jacket, helmet and tank bag onto the bike and slathered my exposed skin with sunblock. There were a few things I didn't want to leave behind, so I tucked my wallet and passport into my leather pants and kept them on.

Leaving the parking lot walking towards the beach I noticed this sign advising the beach was a Sea Turtle Protection area.

Much like Naples, the beach access was a wooden boardwalk that passed through a screen of trees, although this beach also had a small road providing access. Traffic was barred from access to the sandy road with a locked metal gate.

As soon as I reached the beach I removed my Sidis and socks. The sand was warm and as fine a sugar. The beach was gorgeous and sparsely populated. This was a surprise given the traffic and lack of parking.

The wide stretch of sand was very clean. Some people had staked out sections of the sandy expanse with beach towels, umbrellas and deck chairs. Children played under their parents watchful eye, bright coloured pails and shovels building sand castles. Obviously the town took good care of the beach, clearing away the usual garbage you find in public spaces. To the north there was evidence of some sort of pipeline construction, and along the beach homes peeked out through a screen of trees.

I unzipped the side zippers of my leather pants and tied the legs around my waist forming a pair of shorts and waded into the ocean. The water was very warm, and the waves lapped at my legs. Standing I could feel the sand eroding out from under my feet as the waves receded. Footing felt much more secure when I was walking, not giving the sand a chance to trickle out from under my feet.

Out on the water there were some small boats in the distance. In spots the sand on the beach was undisturbed, although a vehicle had obviously passed across the beach at some point in the recent past. Some dried seaweed lay scattered on the sand, and shorebirds seemed more populous than sunbathers. The warm sun beat down on my tank top. As I slowly headed back towards my bike I saw more small shells scattered in the sand.

My unusual attire attracted the attention of one of the visitors to the beach. Upon finding out I was on a bike and from Canada, he asked me where I had rented it from. Quickly I set the record straight, much to his surprise. Throughout the trip it seemed to surprise people that I was out on a bike this far from home on my own.

Returning to the bike I put my gear back on and checked out the town of Anna Maria on the northern end of Longboat Key. At this point the island was a lot wider and was host to small town. Signs advertised vacation house rentals, and the tourist trade clearly thrived along the edge of the Ocean. It seemed to be a huge contrast to the Everglades of the previous day.

Heading back to the mainland, I continued riding north. The ever present signs indicating hurricane evacuation routes amused me. People lived and vacationed here, but were always reminded of possible danger, and the need to depart at a moment's notice.

[Olive]

The sport of the night was “find a campground”. Once again I was able to find lots of camping targeted at the RV, but tents seemed to be the dominion of second class citizens. In the past I have tried to argue that the bike is a recreational vehicle, and as such I should be able to access the campground, but usually campgrounds don't go for that.

I finally found something that seemed promising. Camping was advertised. The name “RV” wasn't in the name, and nothing on the signage indicated that tents were prohibited. I followed a side road and turned into the campground. This one was a lot of fun with steep downhill access. I started riding on ashphalt which turned into packed gravel which in turn gave way to loose sand. At the bottom I found a sign indicating “absolutely no tents”. Another sign advised that motorcycles and dirt bikes were not at all welcome at this campground either.

Weighing my options for turning around in the deep sand I evaluated my footing. I was on my toes in loose, unstable sand. On the road ahead you could see deep tire tracks which had been left by the Rvs which had passed there before me. Rather than attempting a tight turn on unstable ground, I decided to ignore the signage and execute a safer turn by riding through the campground and following the loop around.

Just to clarify one point. Neither me nor my bike like riding in deep, soft sand. I might feel a little differently about it if I wasn't on a 550lb VFR complete with loaded touring luggage, but it really feels squirrelly on that kind of footing.

I was relieved to get back on the main road. Riding a bit further I located a KOA near Milton Florida. Not my favourite type of campground, and usually overpriced for what they offer to me, but all I wanted was a place to pitch the tent for the night. I rode past the parking lot of motor homes and past the usual selection of tent trailers with all the comforts of home. The tent sites were tucked at the back and also involved riding on some sandy roads, but at least it was well packed and not deep and loose like my previous experience.

As I lay in my tent I could hear the sound of trucks rushing past on the highway, planes flying overhead and young children screaming as they dashed about the campground well past their bedtime.

[landlover]

Great read. Mclobster

[landlover]

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.

Wow, what a trip!! Not done reading but wow, hope I can do something like that some day!!

[Olive]

June 24th (Day 29/48)

The previous night I was lulled to sleep by screaming kids, the sounds of the highway, planes overhead and the flash of lightning brightening the sky in the distance. It was warm and dry, no rain or audible thunder, just a light show from a distance. The morning was much quieter, as the campground was still asleep. A few people were starting to stir as I rode past the rows of parked motor homes in the early morning sun ready for an early start to my day.

Apparently you can dress me up but you can't take me anywhere... Since I skipped dinner the night before I stopped for a hot breakfast. Cracker Barrel seemed a safe bet. They are usually reasonably priced and a definite step up over McDonalds.

I ordered a coffee and perused the menu to see what was offered. Lots of what looked like typical southern fare, and many of the breakfasts included biscuits and grits. I can be adventurous, and it sounded like a good start to the day.

It didn't take long for my breakfast to arrive. While I was not really familiar with “grits” I did know that they are similar to hot cereal, and there was only one item which resembled that on my table. So I picked up a spoon and started eating. I started with the bowl containing a pale tan creamy substance which I identified as “grits”. Ok. They were warm, and reminded me of a congealed cream soup. Hmmm. Not bad, but kinda rich. Perhaps not something that I would choose to eat for breakfast on a regular basis, but it's always good to try new things.

I got a really odd look from the waitress when she came back out to my table with a refill for my coffee, a plate containing two biscuits and the actual bowl of grits. Whups. It turns out that I was eating a white gravy that was intended for the biscuits. An understandable error I'm sure.

The waitress had a hard time keeping a straight face when I asked her what was in the second bowl. “Grits”. Blink. Blink. “Ok, if those are grits what am I eating?”. “That's the white gravy for the biscuits.'. Ahh... epicurean enlightenment and coffee – a great way to start the day.

After my food faux pas I spotted a sign for an attraction that looked interesting. I took a detour following roads south towards the Ocean to the Naval Aviation Museum (http://www.navalaviationmuseum.org). The naval museum is actually located on the Pensecola Naval Base. Entering the base I was asked for my driver's license and the guard did a double take checking my plate remarking that I was quite a ways away from home. I was handed a tag to display on the dash of my vehicle (I tucked it inside my windshield when I parked), and headed through the park like surroundings of the base.

On my right a large black lighthouse stood sentinel at the edge of the Ocean. The view of it was partly obscured by trees, and there seemed no way to position myself to take a photo of the classic tower without violating some no-trespassing laws that were likely to be enforced given the number of people crawling over the base in full uniform.

I continued to follow the parklike road to the signage indicating the turn for the Naval Museum. A few large buildings surrounded with ample parking were located a short ways in the base. Grass was neatly kept, and a few well polished aircraft stood outside. The sun was beating down so I grabbed my tank bag and headed indoors where there was a promise of air conditioning. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that the museum offered free admission. Many of the staff were volunteers who seemed genuinely interested in visitors at the museum.

The Naval Museum is a large facility. Guided tours were offered on a regular schedule, but I opted to tour the museum myself. Lots of signage accompanied the displays which covered a wide period of time. The museum is home to over 150 restored aircraft. There were lots of opportunities to pull out the camera.

The Blue Angels were displayed in a large atrium flying in close formation.

Upstairs there were some displays of main street USA circa 1943.

There were a number of simulators upstairs, but the cost was a deterrent.

Partway through the museum the batteries on my camera faded. I dug through my tank bag looking for fresh batteries, only to discover that my extra batteries were also flat. It meant that the rest of my day was image free.

After leaving the museum I continued to explore the area. Riding along some secondary roads I passed a sign indicating an airstrip. Glancing to the side I saw a large green pasture with some small airplanes parked on the the side near the trees.

I was amused when I rode through Eberta, Alabama. If I hadn't already stopped for a break I might have been tempted to stop at the Road Kill Cafe. Vaguely I wondered if the menu contained any of the road kill I had noticed earlier that day... Alligators, Armadillo, Snake or perhaps Turtle.

A little while later I headed through New Orleans. The bridges and causeways surrounding the city were impressive. It likely would have been much more impressive had the weather not been quite as wet and rainy. As I reached New Orleans the rain was coming down in torrents flooding the roadway. I continued to ride in an ambiance that really accentuated the signage on the main roadways indicating hurricane evacuation routes. It seemed only appropriate that the skies were gray and the rain seemed unending. On my right I noticed an incredible graveyard, crypts and mausoleums visible from the road. I was a little disappointed that I couldn't stop for photos courtesy of the weather.

Many of the areas near New Orleans also boasted bridges which were marvels of engineering. Even the roads were incredible, as I saw some of them raised up on stilts like long continuous bridges that went as far as the eye could see. As I rode I left the rain behind me and headed towards Baton Rouge for the night. Once again the rain caught up with me.

[Switchblade]

New name "RAIN GIRL "

[Guest]

Caught up : the flight museum pics rocked! There is one here in Galveston that is pretty cool as well! The Keys sounded cool as well. Keep updating!

[Olive]

June 26 (Day 30/48)

The rain cleared up overnight, but I was surrounded by wetlands. Swamps and Bayous were the watchword for southern Louisiana. The roads ran across the seemingly endless expanses of water on elevated pillars. The highway was two separated concrete ribbons winding high above the soggy ground through the dense foliage. It was almost as if the roadway was a continuous bridge. In places there were crossovers between eastbound and westbound roads joining the two ribbons. These crossovers were barricaded with large concrete blocks that could be removed to open access if needed in the case of construction or perhaps an accident.

This area was sparsely populated, and it was easy to see why. The wetlands didn't look conducive to housing. As I traveled west of Baton Rouge I spotted a tourist information center, which looked like a great place to stop and stretch my legs and check out some local maps to better plan my route.

Just west of the tourist center there was a boat access ramp. I followed my nose down the ramp to the parking area and was rewarded by some fantastic pictures of the Atchafalaya Swamp. The boat launch was obviously a popular spot for sportsmen to park trucks and boat trailers and disappear into the brackish water flowing amidst the dense vegetation that ran along either side of the roadway.

A dark green truck was parked at the side of the access to the swamp and a park ranger was inspecting boats. It looked like he was writing a ticket when I first arrived. Once he was finished he walked over to where I was shooting the bike and started up a conversation with me. He used to own a VFR, and my license plate really caught his attention. Alberta plates aren't very common in Louisiana, especially not on solo sport touring motorcycle parked swampside.

After I was finished with the boat launch I headed over to the tourist information center. It was a nice building, had clean facilities, and, perhaps most importantly, offered visitors free coffee. I was certainly sold on that.

As I sipped my coffee I walked around and looked at the exhibits. The Atchafalaya Swamp is a combination of wetlands and river delta where the Atchafalaya River meets the Gulf of Mexico covering a wide expanse. A large segment of the visitor center was dedicated to talking about the wetlands and wildlife, however there was also information available on plantation tours, swamp walks and boat excursions. Shopping, nature walks, museums, historical homes and other attractions were advertised on cards and pamphlets that lined one wall of the visitor center. My main interest was on roads – in particular scenic byways. I decided to head south and tour through Louisiana's Outback along the Creole Nature Trail.

As I headed south to pick up the start of the scenic byway I noticed signs welcoming me to various parishes. Sometimes small things like differences in nomenclature really serve to remind you just how far away from home you have traveled. At home, and in the majority of provinces and states which I traveled through the areas were split into counties.

As I passed through Lafayette a cemetery caught my eye. It reminded me a lot of the one I had passed in New Orleans with crypts, mausoleums and ornately sculpted gravestones. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. I could always stop and shoot through the fence, but I surmised that public access would be available. I followed along the cemetery, turning to loop around the block. Heading east an ornate building caught my eye, graceful lines in a classic southern style. The church towered high above the one and two story buildings in this section of town. A deep brick red offset with white trim it stood out against the brilliant blue sky. It seemed more fitting to label the building a cathedral given the size and grandeur of architecture. I parked the bike on the road a short distance away. Parking was at a premium, but that was understandable given that it was Sunday.

Hiking back to the building I found my instinct was correct. It wasn't just a church, it was St. John's Cathedral. Just past the cathedral I found access to the cemetery. When I had passed through New Orleans I regretted that the weather made it impossible to photograph one of the classic “cities of the dead”, however it appeared an opportunity had presented itself.

While it may seem morbid, I find myself drawn to cemeteries. There is something hauntingly beautiful about gravestones, especially older ones that show the ravages of time. Certainly Louisiana is well known for their above ground cemeteries which have become a tourist attraction of themselves. Lafayette, like like other low laying areas boast above ground burial that is necessary given the high water table. The St. John Cathedral cemetery in Lafayette had a classic feel with tree-lined streets of tombs and unique, incredible monuments , weathered vaults and monuments honouring the dead. Pictures are the best way to share the experience. The only regret I had was that the morning skies were blue with only a few clouds drifting in – it would be incredible to shoot this type of cemetery at night or perhaps against a dramatic cloudscape.

The day was warm and I was eager to return to the bike to get a breeze flowing through my gear so i could cool down a bit. Heading south I picked up the Creole Nature Trail which took on a very different character than the raised roads I had been traveling along earlier in the day.

The nature trail followed the Gulf of Mexico west, and showcased a lot of wildlife. Along the side of the road I saw quite a few striking birds. Right along the side of the road in the shoulder I saw a lot of fresh road kill including an armadillo, a large snake of some unknown variety, turtle, some unidentified small furry creatures and quite a few 'gators both small and large.

The scenic byway wound past and through small towns and collections of residences. Most of these were raised up on pillars. Barns and utility buildings were often built right at ground level or raised on short concrete pyramids and pillars a foot or two in height. A few of the older buildings were tilted, with supports partly sunk into the soggy ground. Homes were most often raised a lot higher than utility buildings, some as much as eight or twelve feet above ground level, towering on stilts. It didn't seem to matter the type of house either – small mobile homes stood like storks in the landscape, as did larger bungalows. I even spotted a home complete with raised attached carport that was accessed by a long, steep ramp. Definitely an area that was prepared for flooding.

Signs at the side of the road warned of wildlife crossing. I found the yellow sign with the image of an alligator on it amusing – back home I would see the same type of sign depicting long horn sheep, deer or moose. Alligator seemed a bit of a stretch.

Along the side of the road were streams, swamps, bayous and waterways. Many of these had attracted sport fishermen, out for a leisurely Sunday with folding lawn chairs, coolers and children making it a full family outing. The narrow road was relatively quiet, every so often I would see a vehicle passing the other direction.

Trees were sparse and windblown sculpted in odd leaning shapes obvious testament to strong gusts. The hot sun beat down, and cattle huddled under the few trees seeking a bit of shade. The landscape offered a lot of variety – Chenier plains, marshes, small lakes and flat open grassland. Signs of civilization were liberally dotted along the roadway – fences, homes and barns festooned open land. To the south I could see a variety of boats on the water ranging from small pleasure craft to larger industrial ships.

'

Turning north, I left the Gulf of Mexico behind as I headed past drier land. I stopped in at a visitor center to use facilities, and continued my northerly trek. It was time for a tank of gas and a quick bite to eat.

My plan as I approached the Houston area was to meet up with VFRD Member DarkKnight. He had graciously offered to take me riding around the area. The initial plan was to meet up the following morning, however I found myself making better time than anticipated so I checked in with him. He provided me with directions and I headed into Houston.

The highway into Houston is very straight and very boring. As I entered Houston I looked at my notes and continued heading west watching for a turnoff. I rode past interchanges curving around the highway like concrete ribbons. I rode past the tall buildings of downtown Houston. By this point in time I was beginning to question if perhaps I had missed the turnoff so I pulled off the highway at the next opportunity. It seemed odd that an exit dropped me almost immediately into an older residential area – houses, small mom and pop businesses, schools and traffic calming curbs protruding towards the center of the road. The narrow tree lined road with stop signs was a stark contrast to the highway I had just left. I rode up a couple of blocks and pulled into a small parking lot opposite a school. Parking the bike I pulled out my phone and exchanged a few quick notes with DarkKnight. I located my position on the GPS, although I found the type of map it displayed to be a little unsettling. It isn't really intended to be an electronic version of a paper map, more a cross-section of the road you are currently traversing and the upcoming intersection, something that I was still getting accustomed to. Quickly I programmed in the suggested meet-up location and continued exploring Houston as dusk fell.

It turned out that I wasn't that far away from the road DarkKnight had recommended that I take – it was a matter of minutes before I pulled into a gas station parking lot to await a red VFR as daylight continued to fade. I had barely put down the kickstand when he pulled up and we exchanged greetings. I followed him back to his house which was in an area too new to show up on my GPS. It is always an odd feeling to follow someone who knows the roads. I find when I am not doing the navigating I lose track of the routing fairly quickly, paying more attention to traffic patterns and the person who I am following. We had arrived. My bike had a garage for the night, a welcome parking spot.

Gratefully I took up DarkKnight's offer of a shower. When I emerged I found him in the garage giving my bike a bath. Obviously on a trip like this I don't have many opportunities to clean the bike, and I came to the conclusion quite some time ago that on a trip the bike is going to get a little dirty. However my bike was standing in the middle of the garage sparkling clean for the first time in weeks. Wow! That gesture of welcome and kindness really blew me away.

There was one small maintenance issue that I needed to take care of – changing a headlight. On a trip I try to ensure that I am prepared for anything. Along with my tools I even had a spare headlight bulb packed for the trip. I remember last year on the F800 encountering an issue when the headlight bulb burned out. It was more of an issue because that bike only has a single bulb headlight. I still had the high beam but it seemed awfully impolite to be running with that at night. The VFR is much easier to find parts for than a BMW, and also is designed in such a way that one headlight bulb burning out isn't a big issue because there are two lights.

Unpacking my bike to find the light I noticed that the restraining straps for one of my side bags had detached. The small screws attaching them to the plastic seemed inadequate for the task. Sand had collected in the ridges at the bottom of my sidebag as well. My tarp had been a bit moist and sand had stuck to it from the previous night sifting down and collecting at the bottom of the bag. Having gotten rid of the majority of the sand I located the bulb and repacked the saddlebag.

DarkKnight had changed out the headlights before and popped the plug off the back of the bulb quickly. It only took a few minutes to remove the old light, and then we fumbled with the new bulb which didn't seem to fit properly. Taking a quick look I realized that it was the wrong bulb... at least the wrong bulb for the headlights. I had picked up an extra high-beam bulb by mistake.

We headed out to Walmart to grab a new bulb of the right size in his Cobra. Nice car with a definite classic muscle-car feel. Could be a lot of fun to drive – you could feel the power even in the passenger seat.

It didn't take long to pick up the new light and to install it on the shiny clean bike. That task taken care of we headed inside for a cup of coffee and I met the rest of his family as they arrived home - his wife and the two kids that are clearly his pride and joy. We made plans to ride out to Galveston the following day, and I bunked down on the sofa for the night.

[MeyekulBayrd]

I find myself glued to this thread.

[Olive]

There is a lot more to come! Next update will be up tomorrow.

[MeyekulBayrd]

Nice. Are you a novelist? You paint a great picture with words.

[BonusVFR]

Great shots of the Naval Aviation Museum. It has been many years since I have been there..............wow good job.

When you see this Navy plane from WWII you get a sense of how much work is done to restore many of these aircraft. THis "Helldiver" was pulled out of the lake last year near my house and was headed to Pensacola.

VFR Content.

Keep the reports coming.

[ancon]

Something is missing... what was the cause of the leaking oil...? Inquiring minds want need to know

Brian

edit: never mind found it in your other post.

What happened with the oil leak? What 'other post'--I can't find it. Please, I'm on the edge of my seat here.

[Guest]

WOW!!! As many times as ive made the trip back and forth to and from New Orleans, it has NEVER seemed as interesting as what i just read!!! ;-) ...and now i get to read the Houston portion immortalized in print--and no pics!? OLIVE!!!!

Great writing!!!

ANCON: Olive had a blown oil filter gasket... all was well!! << this is incorrect: corrected by Olive below!!

[Olive]

Nice. Are you a novelist? You paint a great picture with words.

Thanks – I am actually writing a book about the trip concurrent to the trip reports. The book will be an extended version of what is found here. Once it is available I will let people on the board know.

Something is missing... what was the cause of the leaking oil...? Inquiring minds want need to know.

What happened with the oil leak? What 'other post'--I can't find it. Please, I'm on the edge of my seat here.

Ahhh... the infamous oil leak that I am never going to live down. The full story of it can be found here:

http://www.vfrdiscussion.com/forum/index.php/topic/66725-olive-stranded-no-longer/

The root cause was one of the welds on the front of a K&N filter broke. The weakened skin of the filter ruptured causing the mobile oil slick.

ANCON: Olive had a blown oil filter gasket... all was well!!

DarkKnight, I have to correct you on this point – there was absolutely nothing wrong with the gasket.

WOW!!! As many times as ive made the trip back and forth to and from New Orleans, it has NEVER seemed as interesting as what i just read!!! ;-) ...and now i get to read the Houston portion immortalized in print--and no pics!? OLIVE!!!!

Now you want pictures? Weren't you supposed to be taking the pictures? I guess I'd better post one or two of Galveston... the tale coming next to a forum near you....

[Guest]

Me take pictures? This is your story; not trying to steal your thunder ;-)

It was a pleasure, and an honor to host you on the Texas leg of your journey!!