Westward Bound

After a wrist cramping hour of stop and go rush hour traffic on my way out of El Paso, I am greeted by the clean, rain fresh air of New Mexico. The Interstate through New Mexico is lightly traveled and dotted with the familiar green and white vehicles of the U.S. Border Patrol.

Into the southern tip of Arizona I decide to visit the small mining town of Wilcox where my grandmother made her home for 93 years until her passing two years ago. As I pulled into town all the homogenized landmarks are present, Shell, Best Western, 7-11.

I haven't been here for years and have trouble finding my grandmothers historical landmark house which was either renovated, moved or both.

I spot a small uninhabited "railroad park" which I remember from my last visit.

A lonely shopkeeper peers from his window as I sit in the park and reflect on the last time I saw my grandmother and I regret not calling more, not writing more. I imagine what my father's life as a boy must have been like in this small western town.

Back on my bike I watch with a heavy heart as Wilcox disappears in my motorcycle's rear view mirror and continue on toward Phoenix.

The Long Haul

On the 10 west from Austin to El Paso Texas lies a never ending runway of blacktop leading into a daunting grey abyss. The 80 MPH speed limit posting was almost challenging me to test my bikes engineering abilities. Reaching 90, 95, 100, 110, 120 mph and the tachometer reads only 7k rpm's, it red lines at twelve! what a technological marvel this machine!



Off in the distance I can see what appears to be a long black curtain stretching across the road I am about to travel. It looks like an angry titan has stamped his massive dark foot in my path and dared me to pass. I realize I am about engage in battle with a texas sized rain storm!



The drops start lightly falling on my helmets visor, followed by larger pellets which felt like water powered nails colliding against my unprotected hands. I carefully pull to the shoulder to put on my gloves so I can continue. Then nature released her fury as the sky opened up and began to pound down with an angry fist upon us traveling mortals. I can't see!, I'm going 10 mph as wind sweeps buckets of water across the roadway, the bike fishtails, I release my panicked grip and the bike tracks straightforward. Again, I stop on the shoulder as semi-trucks limp by as if to offer encouragement to continue. Humbled, I crawl along at 5 mph for 10 min until the heaven's decide I've had enough. Soaked and shivering I crawl to the next gas station and asses the damage. With all of my electronics dry I feel encouraged but decide to call it a day and seek out accommodations.

On the outskirts of El Paso I happen upon a town that appears to be right out of a set design for the movie "Mad Max". Large Industrial smokestacks bellow out plumes of pollution into the darkening sky. I call this place "Trucker City"! Dive hotels, strip clubs and diner style eateries line the roadside. Reeling from the cold and wetness I stop at the first hotel I see, the "Star Chaser" that promises clean rooms and HBO, $31 dollars later I am resting my room.

My neighbor and permanent resident at the hotel works next door at a truck chrome polishing facility. He looks like a biker gang character straight out of the 70's movie "Every which Way But Lose" My new compatriot gives me the low down on "Trucker City", which strip clubs are best, where to find truck stop hookers and which "massage Parlors" to visit in Mexico, a stones throw away from our hotel. I kindly thank him and continue to take pictures of the vibrant, awe inspiring rainbow that has just appeared over this dismal city. My new friend steps back to have a look and quips "that's Bad Ass!"

Austin, the best city in the world!

After competing as an elite level triathlete most of my life I have learned to push my body and mind past what is healthy to see who I can defeat and how fast I can go, nothing has changed on this motorcycle voyage. My competitive streak beckons me beyond my self imposed 300 mile per day limit, I blow past Houston (my planned stop) and push all the way to Austin (600 miles total).

As I roll into the Austin city limits, a certain calm warms over me despite my intense fatigue as I know I will make this my home for the next couple days and finally give my poor bike a rest.

The next couple nights with my good friend and transplanted San Diegan Steve and his friend Gary visiting from Santa Monica, were a blurr of laughter, fine dining and one Shiner Bock after another.

During the day day we visited a private swimming hole with a long rope swing and a large slate rock chaise lounge. We visited Whole Foods headquarters, the center of the universe, a three story mega grocery store complete with a walk in beer cooler and wine cellar.

At night we meandered down neon lit alley ways from one live music club to another.

All around the city I would see stickers, t-shirts and billboards stating "Keep Austin wierd" judging by all the vintage clothing boutiques, privately owned bookstores and ecclecticly dressed locals I think the city is holding suit.

Bayou Country

Leaving Alabama, heading to Louisiana I noticed my bikes fuel indicator blinking. I pulled off a rural road into a rustic blue collar gas station. Broken down tow trucks and clinging rag weeds framed the blue collar exterior of the gas station. Two salt and pepper bearded patrons with flannels and fishing poles waited outside. As I walked toward the front door to pay I was caught off guard by a neon green cardboard sign, hand written stating: "Tanning-3 visits $15, one month, unlimited tanning $35". The Metro sexual revolution has hit rural Alabama!!!

Crossing onto Louisiana I was faced with an difficult decision, New Orleans or Baton Rouge? Giving into my preconceived notion of New Orleans being a lawless land I steered my bike toward Baton Rouge.

My next stop was the "Rural Life Museum" at Louisiana State University. The outside museum is a recreation of what plantation life was like in the South up until the early 20th century. Complete with post office, commissary, sick house, slave's quarter's and church.

I was especially moved by the original slave sale advertisement. The horrifying document read like a Craig's List ad, selling the attributes and quality's of the slave for sale.

On the road toward Houston the roads are flat and look like strips of black ribbon extending off into an abyss. I decide to speed right past Houston with my sights set for Austin, my favorite non San Diego city.

The Deep South!

Before leaving Charlotte, the bike needed some scheduled maintenance, a bit of a mechanical massage to break in the engine properly.

Pulling into Charlotte Honda I spot a gaggle of chain smoking mechanics gathered around the back door waiting for the boss to open shop. Drex, the service manager and alpha mechanic was a broad, masculine figure with bold tribal tattoos. He boasted of his bench pressing prowess and complained of a a kidney stone he recently acquired, punctuating every sentence with, "Sum Bitch" as in: "that there stone is a painful sum bitch". I volleyed with my manly posturing skills by spitting on the ground if front of me during periods of awkward silence.

On the 85-S passing into South Carolina three lanes turned into two and the roads became a little choppier and uneven. The landscape was dotted with Waffle Houses and warehouse sized fireworks outlets. Down the interstate daunting billboards displayed messages like "REPENT FOR YOUR SINS" and "JESUS DIED FOR YOU"! There were roads, bridges and library's named after the town savior, Jerry Fallwell, I twisted the throttle of my demon machine and disappeared down the highway.

Crossing the state line into Alabama, neatly tucked in my "aero" position I noticed traffic piling up behind me, I glanced at my speedometer, 85 mph and I'm being tailgated? it then dawned on me, I'm in Nascar coutry!

Riding through Taladega national park I grew weary of the prospect of staying in another congested, commercial big city. I spotted a turnoff for Cheleha state park and turned my bike in it's direction. A long, serpentine road canopied with lush green overhanging trees did not disappoint! finally a chance to see what this wicked machine can do. Like a Falcon that discovered his wings for the first time I dove into the turns, the tires sticking to the pavement like gum rubber.

At the top, the blacktop ended at the Cheleha resort and restaurant, a sign stating "the highest point in Alabama, 4000 feet" welcomed me to the cabin style lodging with a panoramic view of the Taladega state park. The tree frogs and cicadas conducted their nighttime symphony while I watched a pink, orange crescent moon gently resting on the treetops.

Later that night I watched the Alabama Crimson Tide football team win a close fourth quarter comeback , I could hear triumphant cheering from the adjacent rooms. They take their football very seriously in the south!

The Carolinas

As I made my way down the I-95 to the I-85 south into the tip of North Carolina I was met with lush green hillsides, small dark lakes and threatening dark rain clouds. Occasionally my helmet windshield would cover with sprinkles, I gripped the handlebars tighter and hoped for the best!

I pulled into a small gas station/rest stop to stretch my weary back and wrists. I had my first real scare when the bikes ignition would not turn over. I must have sat there for at least a half hour trying to remain calm and draw on the powers of the mechanical hemishpere of my brain when a North Carolina state trooper pulled up in a Hemi-powered Dodge Charger. A behemoth of a man with a marine style buzzcut stepped from the vehicle as I inundated him with mechanical questions, "could I have flooded it?" "did I fry the engine"? he looked me up and down and in a low southern draw said "zit in neutral"? Instantly feeling like a rookie motorcycle buffoon I thanked him repeatedly and continued toward Charlotte.

The clouds became darker and the sprinkle drops more frequent and stronger. When I finally pulled of the first exit in Charlotte to the protected awning of the Drury hotel, the sky opened up and pounded down with fury. I just stood there and contemplated my luck while some older gentlemen there for a vintage car show inspected my bike and asked why I didn't buy a Harley?

Truth is, this Honda Interceptor is worth a hundred Harley's in reliability and function, but being my diplomatic self I kept quiet and just listened.

Tomorrow I will bypass Atlanta and head toward Montgomery, Alabama.

Straight to the South!

If I could have forseen how difficult the maiden voyage from New Jersey to Viriginia would have been I would have bought a Volvo station wagon and driven route 66 the whole way back to San Diego. New Jersey's various Toll roads, turn pikes and bridge crossings made it a monumental challenge indeed! Imagine trying to operate a brand new bike, read map quest and guard your life at the same time, I think I might make a good candidate for the show "Amazing Race".
I followed the I-95 South around Baltimore and Washington D.C.. The original plan was head towards Virginia Beach but attempting to change four lanes in a quarter mile of heavy, angry traffic changed my mind, onto Richmond I guess!
As I fled the hurried pace of the freeway system around Baltimore and D.C., something happened, the pace of the drivers slowed, my grip on the handlebars loosened, I sensed some curious onlookers and one person even waved and smiled. The rumors are true, the south is a much more friendly place than Yankee territory!
As I sped along the 95 South I passed historical sights such as Arlington cemetary, the Manassas and Fredericksburg civil war battlegrounds. I was carrying so much luggage on my bike I couldn't just pull over and leave my bike by itself, a drawback from traveling on two wheels.
Once I reached Richmond, a very cool college town with a plethora of historical buildings, I was ready to give my back and wrists a break (note to self and anyone thinking of buying a motorcycle, buy one of those spring loaded wrist and grip strengtheners, because riding in stop and go traffic is like squeezing one of those little machines a thousand times). It wasn't until and hour later of speeding down side streets and ending up on the "wrong side of town" that I finally ended up where I started, the Crown Plaza hotel, another $200 plus a night hotel, this is killing the travel budget!
Safe and sound at the L-Street bar and grill (over 300 different brands of beer by the bottle, my kind of place!) I met a financial planner named Paul who convinced me to check out Charlotte, North Carolina, "a newer city that is clean and ordrerly" he said!
Back to google maps to plot the course!