342 miles: The Heart of Dixie

I left Abingdon, VA at 7:45AM and reached Chattanooga, TN on the Georgia border at 4:30PM.  Too soon to call it a day so I proceeded through the northwest corner of Georgia to cross a time zone and end up in Fort Payne, AL.  Fort Payne is home to a museum that documents the career of the musical group Alabama.  I won't be paying admission but I will be taking some pictures in the morning of the airbrushed murals on the building's facade.

Tennessee was pleasantly rolling hill country.  Nothing much to report.  It is less agricultural than I expected.  Small, one family houses line the roadways for the most part.  The setting is less dramatic than the Shenandoah Valley, but inspiring nonetheless.  If they aren't farmers, what do these people do for a living to afford the mortgage on their tidy homes?  I don't know.  I didn't see any industry to speak of.  Perhaps they are all internet entrepreneurs working at home.

A remarkable observation is that except for some highway workers on Route 202 when I was lost in Virginia, I didn't see any black people until I reached Knoxville, TN.  I've done some racial demographic profiling of the counties I passed through till this point and it's true, they are white by a vast majority.  The absence of African Americans south of the Mason Dixon Line was noteworthy and I kept my eyes peeled, but nope, not until Knoxville.  Afterwards the local population seems more integrated, at least in the bigger towns.

I stopped by Athens, TN in my meanderings and I stopped in the drug store behind the McMinn County Courthouse.  A soda jerk made me a lime rickey from scratch and Boy, was it refreshing.

When I entered Tennessee, I noticed a billboard promoting the National Moofest, some kind of dairy festival.  I didn't notice much else besides an unfortunate logo in which a cartoon cow's nostrils form the double O-O in Moofest.  After I polished off my lime rickey and thanked the jerk who made it, I ambled back to where I parked my motorcycle.  Lo and Behold!  I was parked in front of Moofest's National Headquarters located in a storefront in downtown Athens.  It was closed.  Apparently promoting a dairy festival isn't a full time job even when it opens exactly a month from today.

An interesting motorcycle observation:  Motorcyclists display an unusual degree of solidarity down here.  On back roads, enjoying a ride, it is customary for motorcyclists to wave to one another when they pass. This doesn't happen at all in Boston where traffic demands both hands be kept on the handlebars and attention riveted to the roadway ahead on a hair trigger lookout for hazards.  Outside of Boston, bikers wave but they are divided into camps.  Harley riders wave to Harley riders and sport bike riders wave to sport bike riders.  Drivers of big touring bikes like a Honda Goldwing travel in their own realm, waving or not as it suits them, usually waving.

My frequent Massachusetts passenger notes, "Harley riders are stuck up.  Pricks!  They can't bother to be friendly, like they're better than everyone else."  Perhaps.  I figure they're to busy to be courteous.  It is best to keep both hands in control, especially in corners.  I'm not one to judge but I don't usually bother to give the bikers' downturned wave in Massachusetts to those who aren't riding a similar model motorcycle.

Things are very different past the New Jersey border.  Motorcyclists of any make wave.  They wave across the highway median.  They wave if they are sitting in their driveway, polishing the chrome when you pass.  They wave if they are walking down the street in leather or a padded jacket.  The bikers' wave, just an extension of the clutch hand downwards with a few fingers outstretched is a coda.  It means, "Ride safely. Godspeed.  I hope you reach journey's end without mishap.  We share a bond other  travelers lack.  If I see you broken down, I've got your back."

It is a pleasure to pass other motorcyclists in this territory outside New England.  Motorcyclists, few and far between are a fraternity and small sorority of fellow travelers who know the pleasures of the road like no one else.  They are a minority with a shared solidarity.  It's all about the wind and the careen.  It's all about freedom and risk and the joy of movement on twin spinning pinions.

Of special note:  The people of Tennessee love their nightlife.  Every town I passed through has a blues bar.  There are monuments to Smoky Mountain music.  A beer and a show after the end of the work day seems to be the Tennessee way.  They like their entertainment live and local, no cover tunes of pop songs.  The blues and bluegrass suit them quite well.

I wish I had stopped in Chattanooga, a burly, masculine city full of nightclubs.  It was too early to end my day's trip so I soldiered on.  It would have been nice to know Chattanooga better.  Another visit for another day.  I passed through Knoxville for the second time in my life.  The second time passing through was enough to satisfy any obligation I have to Knoxville a done deal, dead and buried.  Never again will we meet by my choice.  Nothing against Knoxville, but it's no Chattanooga.

Today's gasoline statistics:  I left Abingdon, VA with a fresh tankful and my next pit stop was in Mooresburg, TN, and unincorporated town 95 miles away.  I purchased 1.24 gallons for $3.51 ($2.80/gal).  I traveled 94 miles to Vonore, TN and put 1.52 gallons in the tank at the cost of $4.27 ($2.79/gal).  After 98 more miles, I was on the far side of Chattanooga and I purchased 1.01 gallons for $2.83 ($2.70/gal).  I am now in Fort Payne, AL with 55 miles on the odometer.

My gas milage is variable and my filling of the tank is more by eyeball estimate than the pump shutting off automatically.  I peer directly into the tank as I fill it and when it seems I can't pump any more without overflowing, I stop.  I can go 140 miles or more on a tank of gas in Boston city traffic.  The tanks holds about two and a half gallons.  I find 100 mile stops convenient and a good reason to stretch my legs, stay hydrated, and see what's for sale at these out of the way way stations.

I had my first mishap today, at the very tail end of Day Four on the road.  I was pulling into the Econolodge parking lot when a clatter arose under my seat.  It wasn't a visit from St. Nicholas.  The chain had slipped off the rear sprocket.  Easy enough to fix but it came off for no reason.  Luckily I was wearing full fingered gloves today.  Unluckily, they were my white leather ones.  The palms are now blacker than before.  The chain is very dry.  Luckily there is a Tractor Supply Company outlet just down the road.  It's a kind of Best Buy for farmers.  I'll be buying some grease there before I start off tomorrow.

 One last note.  Thanks to the New Orleans Ladder for the graphic:

It seems fitting since I am heading to New Orleans to start a new life and the Fleur-de-lis is the symbol of New Orleans.  BP gas stations have been ubiquitous along my route but I am boycotting them.  I would rather search miles down the road in uncharted territory than give my money to the company responsible for the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

Another 457 miles: Destination Unknown

I planned to be on the far side of the Volunteer State by this time today but I'm still in the Old Dominion.  I am close to the Tennessee border however.  One wrong turn led to another and I spent the first three hours of the day running an 80 mile circle out of my way and accidentally back again.  Good scenery though and quite the adventure.

First, let's get the statistics out of the way:  I left Lexington, VA with a clean odometer and my first fill up was in Fincastle at 90 miles.  I purchased 1.57 gallons for $4.26 ($2.69/gal).  My next replenishment was after 86 miles for 1.45 gallons at $4.02 ($2.75/gal) in the town of Eagle Rock.  Yes, Eagle Rock is the next town over from Fincastle and no, it isn't eighty miles away.  One wrong turn led to another and they all led me back to start.  It was better after that.  Stop Number Three was in Fairlawn after 89 miles for 1.07 gallons for a total of $3.01 ($2.79/gal).  My final stop before I pulled into the campground was in Abingdon after 102 miles; I bought 1.59 gallons for $4.48 ($2.80/gal).

I spent some time in Jefferson National Forest today and I've seen enough trees up close to satisfy my appetite for that for quite a while.  There were very few fellow travelers on the road which suited me fine.  The roads were very twisty, uphill and downhill.  In motorcycle parlance these are called 'twisties' and navigating a good twisty road on a bike with all the leaning and counterbalancing and letting inertia pull you through a curve can be exhilarating.  I had my share of those roads today, the kind of roads the bike glides along in ethereal zen good karma, but the National Forest Roads weren't this kind.  They were exercises in gear shifting and throttle control.  Up and down, up and down on switchback roads.  It was more tiresome than relaxing, especially the steep grades with a perpendicular drop off at the shoulder's edge.

I spent a lot of time up in the mountains in my pursuit of back roads.  It's a different world up there.  It's pretty to be sure and farmland still.  The farms are smaller and a bit more humble than the Virginia bottomland I passed through yesterday.  Everywhere you look there are more mountains in the distance.  Maybe that makes up for the lack of anything else.  While I am a misanthrope, I enjoy being around other people, meeting in public, hobnobbing...there's none of that on the mountaintops.  What towns there are, were small in their heyday, now half the storefronts are empty and those are the bustling ones, the county seats that have a courthouse to ensure a little business.

A sign said: "Newport 25 miles."  I took that as a good sign that it was important enough to direct me to it.  I wondered why a town so high above sea level would be called Newport, but who am I to judge?  When I finally pulled into city limits at the 25mph speed limit, I was greeted by four commercial buildings, the youngest of which was built in the 20s.  One was occupied by an HVAC technician, the others had soaped up windows.

Running low on gasoline and not having seen a gas station in about 60 miles, I headed back toward the valley.  Route 11 isn't marked on my map but it's the Lee Highway, named after the General, no doubt.  I figured out it runs parallel to the interstate.  It was probably the main thoroughfare before the interstate was built.  Unlike the interstate, it forms the main street of every town it passes through.  I've seen a lot of old Main Streets this afternoon.

I'm in Historic Abingdon, close to Tennessee.  I plan to be passing through Knoxville before noon, but I learned today that forecasting where I'll be, the way I travel, is an inexact science.  The ultimate destination is New Orleans, the intermediate destinations are unknown.

A lot doesn't happen in the mountains and that's not just my impression.  Virginia is buggy with historical markers and Civil War Trails.  Not so much up on the mountaintops.  No doubt the Blue and the Gray didn't want to climb as well as fight, but it doesn't seem many people of note or historical occurrences were hatched on top of the mountains I visited.  Life goes on.

Shenandoah!

I've been to God's country, my friends, and it's called Shenandoah.  Total distance traveled today: 359 miles.

Thunderstorms and rain last night into the morning.  I wanted to get an early start but I held off till about 8:00 when the rain seemed to be subsiding.  I donned full rain gear for insurance and, like the first aid kit and all the tools I packed to guarantee I wouldn't need them, the rain suit worked like a charm.  Though it was cloudy until 11:00 or so, no rain fell.

I saw Harrisburg, PA from a distance.  It was nothing to remember.  The capital dome peeked out from between some featureless, beige skyscrapers.  Yesterday, my heart swelled with admiration when I caught my first sight of Hartford, CT looming in the distance, the Traveller's Tower a beacon of surety, the other buildings stylish and distinctive, the Tudor style capital majestic as I passed.  I'm from Connecticut.  Still, I can't imagine any Pennsylvanians getting a lump in their throat viewing Harrisburg from afar.

Pennsylvania is lovely and verdant but it wasn't until I was in Maryland that I said to myself, "We live in a beautiful country."  It struck me as surprising as the day went on that agriculture makes up such a small percentage of the national economy since all I've passed through after New Jersey is farm land.  None of these farms seem to be the multinational agri-business I read about dominating the sector either.  Just passing through, I'm not privy to the back room ownership of all these farms but they all seem small compared to what I expect to find in Iowa or Nebraska or the Dakotas.  I passed well maintained farmhouse accompanied by spacious barns and silos throughout the day.  Everything was so tidy, nothing like the scrubby cattle ranches I've seen in Oklahoma and Texas.

It was all back roads south of Harrisburg.  I stopped at Gettysburg and met a biker from Lowell, Mass.  Figure the odds.  He and his wife have been touring the Skyline Drive that runs along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia and they were headed home, stopping on the way to get a history lesson.

Leaving Maryland, passing the St. Elizabeth Seaton Shrine, I took real back roads into Virginia, crossing the Potomac at Point of Rocks.  My voyage thus far through the Old Dominion has been anything but efficient but I wouldn't trade it for all the convenient rest areas on all the interstates.

I wound around and pierced the Blue Ridge at Ashby Gap and then I was southward bound on Route 340.  I opted not to take the Skyline Drive because it is very twisty and I figured this would add too much time to my trip.  I'm not in a rush but I prefer the road less travelled and I pretty much had my trail all to myself.  Let me repeat: the Shenandoah Valley is God's country.

With the Blue Ridge mountains on one side and the Appalachians on the other, the Shenadoah River winding between, I marveled at the scenery.  I am a city cat and I cannot imagine living in the country.  I like an arts scene that consists of more than sewing circles.  I like a library that is bigger than my apartment.  I like nightlife that consists of more than meeting at the Grange Hall.  All of that said, I envy the people who live in the towns of Luray, Waynesboro, and where I've ended up for the night, Lexington.

Little did I know it but Lexington is home to the Virginia Military Institute which was in the news a few years back.  It's very forbidding fortress of a campus that dominates a lovingly preserved, chi-chi downtown.  Not my cup of tea, but interesting to see.

The milage and gasoline tally for today:  To just outside of Harrisburg I logged another 55 miles, bringing the total from last fill up to 103.  I purchased 2.38 gallons for $6.82 ($2.85/gal).  In the tiny village of Lucketts in Virgina, the odometer read another 103 miles and I put 1.37 gallons in the tank for $3.97 ($2.85/gal).  In Luray, VA, at 91 miles, I purchased 1.41 gallons for $3.90 ($2.75/gal).  My last stop of the day was Lexington after 110 miles; the tank took 1.44 gallons for $4.30 ($2.96/gal).

I should be out of Virginia tomorrow and by day's end at least very close to the far edge of Tennessee.  The low temperature tonight is supposed to be in the forties so I opted for a hotel again.  This is getting more expensive than I would like so it's camping tomorrow.  I'm hoping the nights get warmer the further south I go but I understand the temperature in Boston today was in the eighties, the same as it was in the Shenandoah Valley.  No matter what, if tomorrow is like today I'll be sure to enjoy plying the backroads and byways of this wonderful land.  I've been to other places and they are all beautiful in their way.  None of those match the beauty I witnessed today.

I took some pictures, which isn't like me to do.  I was so impressed by the landscape and the townships I passed through.  Of course, I don't know how to load them onto the computer.  You can satisfy your curiosity by watching a very good Jimmy Stewart instead....

415 miles: The Keystone State

After leaving my mother's house in Connecticut, I got all turned around in New York State without a map and had to resort to Plan B.  I managed to land on Interstate 287 to cross the Hudson on the Tappan Zee Bridge.  Plan B entails taking the highway to Harrisburg, PA and then back roads south from there.

Where am I now?  Myersville, PA.  It's a little town about 7 miles south of the highway.  I got off exit 10, so I'm about 10 or fifteen miles from Harrisburg.  I'm in a little basement dive called the Limey Pub which seems to be the only bar in town.  I'm drinking a two-dollar pint of the local brew, Yuengling.  It doesn't taste like much but for two bucks I'm not one to complain.

It just started to spit a little rain as I pulled into town, otherwise it's been beautiful weather.

How's the Little Ninja doing after almost three years spent idling in Boston's stop-and-go traffic?  It's the happiest motorcycle in the world, doing what it was built to do.  It's running an average of 8000-9000 rpm, average speed between 65-85mph.  Driving around Boston, the temperature gauge noses into the red.  Today, the needle never broke the halfway mark.  Idling in town the Little Ninja is purring contentedly, grateful to be out on the open road.

New Jersey is the Garden State and the western part I was in was very green.  I spotted some horse farms towards the Pennsylvania border.  Pennsylvania is an agricultural state.  Past Allentown, the hills are plowed and ready for the crop.  Silos and barns and spacious farm houses dot the rolling landscape.  I passed a horse and buggy with its lights on at dusk.  I've passed a few Mennonite churches and the women sitting on porch swings and playing badminton in the back yard wear full skirts and bonnets.  The men wear straw hats and full beards.

Do you want to know how much gas I've purchased to travel these 415 miles from Dorchester?  I left with a full tank.  I stopped in Hartford at 111 miles and spent $7.09 ($3.04/gal) for 2.27 gallons.  In Yorktown Heights, NY, I had travelled another 92 miles and bought 1.71 gallons for $5.49 ($3.19/gal).  In Somerville, NJ I had gone another 106 miles; I put 1.29 gallons in the tank for a total of $3.71 ($2.85/gal).  I stopped in Allentown after another 58 miles and topped off with 1.13 gallons for $3.18 (also $2.85/gal).  Right now the odometer reads an additional 48 miles.

I'm not really tired and I'm not stiff nor saddlesore.  I've got a room in a dumpy motel that has a photo mural of a German Chalet on one wall.  It will be the first thing I see when I awaken.  The room is full of flies, otherwise it seems clean enough.  I'm just going to sleep there and this is the kind of broken down motel I'm looking for.  $45 for the night.  Once I get a little further south, I intend to stay at campgrounds.  Hopefully tomorrow.  I don't have forty five greenbacks to burn every night and I don't really want to squat my tent on private property.  We'll see; I'm prepared for many contingencies.

Saddling the steel pony

My last day at work was yesterday.  I hit the open road tomorrow, traveling from Dorchester to New Orleans on a 2006 Ninja 250R.  Mine's blue.  The saddlebags are packed with whatever I can think of.  Changes of clothes, including a suit, are on the starboard side.  Supplies and blankets at port.  I'm sure I've forgotten something important but it will be too late by the time I realize I need it.  It will be an adventure.

This is the Little Ninja 2 years ago. Note the Sox.

I've had a sticker of a Massachusetts flag on the port side of the Ninja's body for almost three years.  I peeled it off today the same way I removed the faded Red Sox sticker a few months ago.  My helmet had one of those European-style DOT stickers from College Hype in Adams Village (your source for all Dorchester related merchandise).  That came off too.  I replaced that sticker with a UN flag.  I'm traveling across states as a man without a country, a peacekeeper.

I'll be back in Dorchester towards the end of the month.  Starting tomorrow, I'll be describing my motorcycle journey.  I'm going to try avoiding the highways once I hit Pennsylvania...I'm avoiding New Jersey.  As much as I like the rest areas I don't enjoy the New Jersey Turnpike much.  My ETA in New Orleans is May 10; plenty of time to soak up the sights of this great country.

I've dreamed about a trip like this for years.  The day will arrive tomorrow.