Daily Journal

Day One: Monday Aug. 13th, 2001

  I have not planned this trip like I have previous ones. I have been slow in making definite plans and making any reservations. I plan on being at the Pisgah Inn for the Second annual TSRA Rally by Thursday evening. Also I plan to stay a night in Guntersville, Alabama with a fellow VFR lister on my way to the rally. I have even put off packing until the last minute. I guess I have just been feeling a bit lazy lately.

  Monday morning is upon me and I am up and ready to roll pretty quick. I have decided to take my 2001 VFR 800 with the full GIVI setup. By 8:15am, I am sitting in the driveway, saying goodbye to Beth, and heading out. This is going to be a solo trip for me as Beth cannot get the time off from work. In one sense, I wish she were going with me, but at the same time, I am glad to be going alone. It will be nice to go where I want, when I want and how I want without consulting with anyone else. This is not to say that riding with others is a burden, because it is not. I thoroughly enjoy riding with a group and sharing the experiences along the way. But this is just another in the seemingly endless experiences of motorcycle riding, exploring the countryside alone.

  As I head out, eager in anticipation of the surprises and adventures of the upcoming week, the clouds are low and gray, dragging their underbellies along the tops of the trees. It is cool and slightly humid. As long as it does not rain, this is perfect for riding. The recent temperatures have been into the 100+ range.

  I decide to take a indirect route across East Texas on my way to Louisiana. I take the all too familiar roads that lead past my place of work, roads I ride everyday. But today they seem somehow different. Something about the fact that they won't be taking me to work gives me a relaxed and peaceful feeling all over.

  As I head East on FM 980, I pass many pastures. The cattle are grazing on grass wet with the morning's dew, surrounded by the ever present white "Cow Birds". These birds remind me of the retired men that congregate at their favorite coffee shop every morning, catching up on all the latest news. Here they are, hanging out around their favorite cow, catching the bugs that are rustled up from the grass by the cow's grazing. Must be one of those circle of life things.

  A few more miles and the road begins to wander through the woods. There are many creeks and lakes nearby. The road follows the shores and leads to many small lakeside communities. FM 980 runs roughly along the shore of Lake Livingston until it hits US 190 near the tiny town of Point Blank. Then I turn onto US 190 and head towards Onalaska.

  The road surface of US 190 can be a bit nauseating. It is one of those roads that is in desperate need of resurfacing. However, the highway department seems to think that it can just keep applying crack sealer indefinitely. The result is a squiggly pattern of black stripes running every which way coming at you at high speed. The result can be quite hypnotic or induce slight queasiness. It helps to look far ahead and to not let your focus get drawn nearer to the front of the bike.

  As 190 crosses Lake Livingston and the Trinity River, the stripes let up. The clouds are high and dark. The wind is cool coming off the water and has a fresh smell to it. Along the banks of the causeway, there are early morning fishermen casting their lines and hoping for a bite. There is a peacefulness that emanates from large bodies of water than cannot be described. It is no wonder that so many people around the world congregate along the edges of oceans, lakes and rivers.

  When I reach the far side of Onalaska, I take a turn on FM 3152 and head into the Piney woods of East Texas, or at least what is left of them. Once again it seems that someone has sold their timber to the local timber company. Much of what used to be a heavily wooded area has recently been reduced to a lot of dirt and a few scraggly remaining trees. It is not that I object to the harvesting of the timber, it is just that it seems like the rate of harvesting far outweighs the rate of reforestation. The end result is a loss of the resource and the beauty of being in the woods. I just wonder how much longer this can go on before we start to suffer some serious consequences. This of course briefly puts me in a bit of a mood.

  As the road begins to twist and curve its way through the woods, my attention shifts to focusing on the road, the irregularities in the pavement, the camber, corner entry speeds, and apexes. The exercise of focusing ones attention and properly executing curve after curve, is relaxing and stimulating at the same time. It is certainly good therapy! My mind clears and I forget about the world and it's problems. Good old escapism at it's best, hehe.

  FM 3152 eventually drops out onto FM 350. I head a few miles South on FM 350 to pick up the start of FM 942. FM 942 is one of my favorite roads in this area. It has great pavement, a wide variety of curves, nice scenery and there is little, if any, traffic. The only down side is that it is about an hours ride from my house to this road, an hour down the road each way, then another hour back home. So this makes for a ride that I can only do on a few occasions due to time restraints.

  Today I cut off from FM 942 on to FM 1745 and head for another small Texas town, Colmesneil. All of these roads zig zag back and forth, but they generally head in an Easterly direction, paralleling US 190. In Colmesneil, I pick up FM 256 East and head back towards US 190 just shy of B.A. Steinhagen Lake. The stretch of US 190 between here and Jasper, Texas, is a nice ride through some swampy woods and over some lily pad covered wetlands. It is pushing 10:30 and the sky is still heavy with overcast with the temperature hovering around 80 degrees. I had originally considered stopping in Jasper for lunch but at this point I am not really hungry and decide to just get gas and continue towards Louisiana.

  Just outside of Jasper, I head in a somewhat northeast direction on Hwy 63 toward Burkeville, Texas. The highway is pretty much a straight line through the woods up and over small hills. I set the throttle lock and go into cruise mode. A few miles out, I start getting a few sprinkles on my helmet visor, "Should I take the time to put on the rain gear or will it pass...?" It doesn't pass. Before I can think about pulling over and getting out my rain jacket, I am soaked all the way to my under shorts. Here I am, only a little over 150 miles into a 500 mile day and I have soaked shorts. I press on, mind over matter and all that mumbo jumbo, you know the drill.

  Shortly after passing through Burkeville, I hit the state line and cross into Louisiana. Immediately, the quality of the road surface goes down the tubes. I don't quite know the reason, but for the most part, the roads in Louisiana are pretty much the worst roads of any place I have ever been. There are many places where grass grows out of the cracks in the pavement all along the middle of my lane. It is a very rough ride. The fact that it is raining only makes it all the more fun. Hwy 63 becomes La. Hwy 8 into Leesville.

  When I get into Leesville, I figure I might as well put on my rain jacket so that I can get a good soggy muggy mood going. Besides, my hands are wet and I hate that, so I want to get out the wet weather gloves. I pull into the parking lot of an abandoned gas station and park under the covered area where the pumps used to sit. I unlock the GIVI top case and dig out the gloves and jacket. The jacket fits over my Joe Rocket Phoenix Air Jacket, a mesh jacket that lets air and rain pass right thru it. After a few minutes and a few stares from the locals, I am back on the road.

  Out of Leesville, I head East on Hwy 28 for Alexandria, one of the larger cities in Louisiana. The rain has let up for the most part. I feel good and soggy but try to put it out of my mind. This stretch of highway is remarkably unremarkable. There are fields of dead corn plants, acres upon acres of cotton plants on the verge of drowning from all of the recent rains in the area. Some of the plants are trying to bloom, the little white puffs of cotton poking out here and there. Many of the leaves on the plants are turning yellow because of the water logged ground.

  After an hour or so, I hit the out skirts of Alexandria. I stop in town at a gas station to dry out a bit and take a potty break. When I get to the rear of the bike I notice the top GIVI bag is not latched!! And once again, I have lost another set of bag keys. Several times now I have inadvertently left my key in the latch and then driven off only to lose them. Fortunately, I have about six more. Also, I am carrying a spare for just this reason. Now I just have to be careful not to lose the spare.

  I head out of town on Hwy 28 for Natchez. This place is flat and boring. The road runs along the top of a levy. There is one section that is just long, straight and flat with swamp on both sides. Leaving the road would be an ugly experience, probably a bit smelly as well. Hwy 28 eventually hits US 84. US 84 is more of the same except for the swamp. It has been replaced by fields of cotton and lots of dead corn crops. I noticed this last year as well. Maybe it is just bad luck or it could be that the season for corn has come and gone. If these guys are planting corn and it dies every year, I'd like to think they'd try something different. Of course it could just be an insurance scam. Plant a crop you know will die and insure it to the max. Sounds nuts but I saw it all the time when I was working for the Federal Crop Insurance Corporation, USDA, in college a few years back.

  After about two hours, I reach the state line, the Mighty Mississippi River. It is spanned by two large steel truss bridges. I wish I had a camera mounted on the bike right now because a picture looking along the road thru all the trusses would look really cool. Immediately after crossing the river, the geography changes. It goes from flat fields of crops to rolling hills and woods. Today I don't have time to stop and check out the houses in town. Natchez is known for it's collection of Civil War era mansions that were spared from the torches of the Federal troops. Last year we drove around town sightseeing and then stopped at the Longwood Mansion for a tour and lunch. I just cruise through town and pull over at a gas station to top off and give Beth a call. It's around 1:30 or so and the clouds are still thick, but at least it is not raining anymore. After a quick stretch, I mount up and head east on US 61 out of town. A few miles up the road is the exit for the Natchez Trace Parkway.

  The Trace is closed to commercial traffic. This is nice because it means that the road surface is spared the torture of heavy tractor-trailer rigs that destroy the pavement. The road runs basically north with a slight tilt to the east. It runs ninety miles to Jackson. This is not a road with serious twisties. Rather, it is a road that gently winds through heavy woods in places and more farmland in others. The speed limit is a measly 50 mph! Thank God I have a throttle lock or I'd have a hard time keeping the speed down. I just go into cruise mode, a little fast apparently, because I round a corner and am greeted with the sight of a park ranger in his Jeep Cherokee. He gives me a kind flash of the lights and lets me go. I slow down a tad hehe. In one stretch of road that is still in the woods, I notice something shuffling along the edge of the woods just off the road. I have been scanning for deer, but what I see is a bit unexpected. There are six large wild turkeys running along the edge of the woods. When they hear the roar of the bike, they turn and scatter into the woods. Finally, the Trace dead ends into I-20 just west of Jackson.

  Reluctantly, I get on I-20 and head east to Jackson. Ideally, I have arrived early enough to miss any rush hour traffic. It is almost 4:00pm and all I want to do is get through town to the other side and continue on my way. The sun has begun to peek in between the scattered cloud cover now. The humidity is horrid. Traffic is heavy but not bad. We are moving about 75mph. I pick up I-55 and head north looking for Hwy 25 east. This is obviously the growing side of town. All of the stores and buildings look pretty new and more are being built. I was afraid that traffic heading out of town might be worse than coming in, especially since this section of road has lots of traffic lights. No worries. A short way out of town, the road narrows back down to two lanes and wanders in a northeasterly direction. More cotton and dead corn, weird.

  Hwy 25 hits Hwy 16 just west of Carthage. I take 16 through Carthage and head for Philadelphia. Just outside Philadelphia is a Choctaw Indian reservation. As is so vogue with reservations now, there are casinos everywhere and more being built. It seems that the legal status of the tribes makes it very favorable for them to run casinos. It also seems that there is no shortage of people willing to throw away their money in hopes of striking it rich. Sad.

  It is getting late, just after 5:30pm. Once again the clouds are looking menacing. I had stopped earlier to remove my rain jacket in hopes of drying out as I rode. It worked. I pick up Hwy 21 heading out of Philadelphia. Just outside of town, it starts to sprinkle. Determined to not get soaked this time, I pull over and get out the rain suit jacket and gloves BEFORE it starts to pour. Of course, it only sprinkles for the next thirty or forty minutes. The sun is getting low in the sky and everything is turning a dull gray. I notice some clouds in the distance that seem to be gathering together as if to make something of themselves. They do.

  About the time I pass through the small town of Preston, the skies open up with a fury. Up to this point, I had been fairly dry. My shirt had dried out and my legs were fine. This is one of those rains that really puts the raingear to the test. Mine did not fare so well. The Tourmaster jacket is excellent. Unfortunately, the Tourmaster Cortech riding pants are not so great. They are leaking at the zipper right at the knees. The water is collecting under my thighs and running back to my fanny. Not good. When I reach Shuqualak and my turn off for US 45, I put my legs down at the stop. All of the water resting under my thighs runs right down into my boots. Crap! I can deal with wet undies, I have dry ones in luggage. I only have one pair of boots and don't want to spend the next few days with wet feet. I turn north on US 45 and head for Macon. Now the thunder and lightning is blasting around me and the crosswinds have really picked up in intensity. This is not fun. Only a few more miles and I'll stop in Macon... a few more miles...

  Macon is a one horse town in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, they do have a gas station that has covered pumps so that I can pull in out of the rain. Standing outside the store are several elderly black men, staring at me wide-eyed like I am some kind of crazy space alien. As I am dripping everywhere and peeling off layers of soaked garments, they strike up a friendly conversation, "Where you headed? Where you from? Aren't you getting wet? You must really like riding motorcycles..." You get the idea, hehe. I dig out a dry shirt, undies, socks and a pair of shorts and head inside to change. When I come out of the restroom, I get more funny looks because of the combination of shorts and the riding boots. I guess these people are living in a fashion vacuum hehe.

  When I get back outside, the old guys are still there, checking out the bike. They watch me load everything back into the luggage. Then I put on my rain suit pants and strap the soaked Cortech pants to the backseat. I don't like riding with just shorts and the rain suit pants, but at this point I am really tired of being wet and cold. It is starting to get dark and the temperature is hovering around 75 F. The elderly gents suggest a hotel up the road. But at this point I have the itch to keep moving. I am only a few miles from the Alabama border. I'm starting to get this wild idea of just riding through all the way to Guntersville. After all, there is little point in getting a hotel for the night and then getting up in the morning to ride a few hours to Guntersville. And if I ride through, I gain an extra day. Hmmm... I bid farewell to the onlookers and head East on Hwy 14 for the border.

  When I cross the border, the road becomes Hwy 32. This is just another run of the mill road, mostly straight and boring with lots of farming land around it. Off to one side I see what looks to be a fish farm. There are many small lakes with large aerators running in them. I've no idea what kind of fish. There have been no signs. Hwy 32 hits Hwy 17. I head north on 17 to Aliceville. The last bit of light is fading from the sky and the rain is starting to let up some. Now that I am dry inside, it doesn't make much difference to me. Although, it does get easier to see, but the roads are still wet and slick. I just settle into a groove and focus on getting down the road.

  There have been a few times in the past when I have been in similar situations on the bike. The day is winding down, there are still miles to conquer, and I just slip into another world. The throbbing of the bike fades into the back ground. My eyes focus up the road, scanning for movement or anything in the road. The scenery becomes like a fluid, myself and the bike gliding through it like a shark through the waters of an ocean. Feelings of cold or discomfort fade. I like being in this other world. The stress and worries of the real world melt away.

  The ride up 17 to Carrollton is uneventful. I find the turn off for Hwy 86 East with no problems. I had hoped to do this section of the trip in daylight. Hwy 86 cuts over to US 82. From 82 I head north to Gordo. Here is where I pick up Hwy 159 North to Fayette. Last year we did this road in the daytime. It was one of those rides like I was just describing. Without even realizing it, I had slipped into the zone and zoomed off down the road. Tonight, there are deer out and about, slipping in and out of the fog floating lazily by the roadside.

  Riding in the dark is a great experience if done correctly. Unable to see the surrounding countryside leaves me free to focus exclusively on the road ahead. The world consists solely of what my head lights can illuminate. What has passed behind no longer exists or matters. The darkness leaves one free to truly become intimate with the road as it winds into the unknown darkness ahead. I guess for some riders this might seem unsettling, but for me it makes me feel very alive and aware.

  Hwy 159 is only about 30 miles long. I see several deer on the road side. I keep the pace moderate so that I have time for emergency maneuvers. I feel like I am riding a roller coaster. The road changes elevation often and quickly, arcing around the base of a hillside or cresting another. Surely the locals must be wondering what kind of lunatic is buzzing along their desolate back road at such an hour? I just chuckle and think to myself, "If only they knew what they were missing..." Much like the trip last year, the ride up 159 comes to an end far too soon.

  I try to stop at an Exxon station in Fayette, right at the end of 159, the same place we stopped last year. I pull into the parking lot right as the attendant is shutting down the pumps for the night. It's only 9:00pm! I guess I should not be surprised. We are in the middle of nowhere. He tells me there is a station up the road that should be open a little longer. So I set off, somewhat apprehensive. I need gas and have no idea how much farther I can go without knowing where the next open station is located. Fortunately, just a few miles up the road is an open Shell station. Gas, munchies, and a long conversation with the lady working the store and then I am back on the road.

  I head North out of town on US 43/Hwy 171 for a while, looking through the patches of fog for the turn off onto Hwy 102 East. There is no rain now, but the air is thick and very clammy. This is my first time on 102 and it is a nice road. The pavement seems to be in very good condition. Most of the curves seem to be predictable. What is not predictable is the black Great Dane that emerges from one of the fog banks at a full gallop down the edge of the road coming right at me. I fight the urge to grab a fist full of front brake and instead start giving the lever a gentle but firm grip while steering away from the beast. This guy is huge! There is no mistaking the ungainly flopping gallop of a Great Dane in stride. No sooner than this bizarre moment begins, it is over and he fades back into the mist leaving me wondering if I have started to hallucinate. I don't feel that tired...

  I continue on, slipping back into my groove. With the wet pavement and not so great conditions, this is a great chance for me to practice being smooth and scanning the road. A good thing, because once again, out of the fog a tan dog of unknown type shoots out from the left side of the road right out in front of me. Fortunately for both of us, he is running at full tilt boogie and I am only doing about 40 mph at the moment. He veers across my lane in front of me, never looking back at the monster roaring up his backside, and then just as quickly zips off the right side of the road into a driveway and disappears into the fog as quickly as he had come. It takes just a little longer for my pulse rate to come back down from heart failure levels.

  Despite the close calls and the nasty weather, I find that I am actually enjoying myself. By now I have made up my mind for sure that I will be going all the way to Guntersville before stopping. Now I wrestle with the idea of showing up a day early and in the middle of the night to meet someone for the first time or just getting a hotel in the town and saying "hello" the next morning. The conclusion changes around every bend. The road continues, winding through heavy woods and over creeks eventually meeting up with Hwy 124. I head East on 124 towards Jasper, more of the same, except for the canine craziness.

  In Jasper I pick up Hwy 69, a nice four lane wide road with much better visibility. I set the throttle lock and just cruise. It is sometime around 11:00pm and I have already been on the road for a little over 15 hours. My knees are starting to get a bit stiff but not as bad as I had expected. Throughout the day, I have been stopping every 100-150 miles, even if I don't need gas, just to get off the bike, stretch and walk around. It seems to have made a great difference in my ability to spend long times on the bike. Also, I have hit my second wind. With Guntersville just a few hours away, I start to get excited about the end of a long but fun ride. Hwy 69 lazily wanders in a Northeasterly direction, passing through Arab, crossing the south end of Lake Guntersville and finally into Guntersville itself.

  It is hard to describe the sensation of pulling into a sleeping town in the middle of the night after such a long ride. I pull into a gas station to inquire about open food establishments and get a good dose of the, "Oh my God, it's an alien!!" looks when I walk in the door. Of course, it does not help that the VFR looks like some kind of funky space ship with all the GIVI luggage mounted onboard. I ask about a Waffle House and find out that the local version is the Huddle House. Same stuff, different name. Suits me fine.

  I get more of the funny looks when I pull up to the Huddle House. The wait staff is loitering around inside and watching me through the glass walls on the front of the restaurant. I give Beth a quick call on the cell phone to let her know I am still alive and kicking so she won't worry about me. When I get inside, it is just after 1:00am. The waitress is probably ten years younger than me but starts giving me the, "Hon" treatment. "What can I get you Hon?" "Anything else Hon?" "What in the world are you doing riding from Houston to here in one day in the rain Hon?" And so on... I step back outside while waiting for my food and decide to give Andray a call. I figure I'm here, why waste the bucks on a hotel. His wife, Martha, answers the phone. After I get myself and her confused, she unconfuses us and tells me how to get to their house. Then it is back inside where I scarf down the breakfast and try to get moving.

  I find the house with no problems. Andray comes out front to meet me. Man this guy looks familiar! The problem is, I think I am reaching that point in life where everyone looks real familiar but my memory is so bad I can't remember who they remind me of or if I have ever met them before. How annoying. I get the bike parked and up on it's centerstand, covered it and take all the luggage inside. Andray introduces me to his wife, we chat for a bit, and then it is off to bed. I get to test out their couch. It gets high marks. It is long, wide and very comfy. I takes but a few moments and I am out like a light. 760 miles, mostly in the rain, what a day!?


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