Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Scenes from a motorcycle trip.

..on your way to San Francisco for the Quiche festival......

No shifter makes it , Shiftless!
I remember a Honda version similar to that Suzuki.

OK, I'll allow you can ice down about two whole cases of beer and then some in the under-seat compartment of that scooter.

You go Doc�. And don�t let all the petty concerns of the worrying nay-sayers get to you one bit....





Oh, you must mean the one where I peed into that coffee cup at dawn on Christmas morning while driving north on the superslab in Virginia, unable to shut off the car, knowing it wouldn't start again. "Don't drink the coffee Honey" I told my wife when she woke up...



I dunno exactly it took us to reach Mississippi, a couple of hours maybe, slowed up by towns en route. Couldn�t really say how long we had been riding that day.

On a road trip time is measured in towns passed and rivers crossed, as indicated by town names and distances given on road signs, said towns reeled in one after the other. Until at last one is just too far to reach and you pull over to sleep for a bit.

On this day our frame of reference was the Mississippi River; after that everything would become finite� three hours across Louisiana, and then wherever we could get to in Texas. Much hinged on what time we could reach that river.



Across the Missippi state line and then there was the Interstate, and then straight away running hard southeast towards Meridian. In Meridian we came upon a motorcycle dealership at last, as I knew we eventually would. We pulled off right away.

There was an older gentleman there, big and still tough, like someone who had worked hard for a living� a farmer maybe, or a logger perhaps. Without pathos he related how his wife of more than thirty years had passed suddenly and unexpectedly not two months before.

He had worked hard his whole life, supporting a family and then attending to his grandchildren. Now he was contemplating heading out to see the continent on a motorcycle, never having visited much of North America. Contemplating this not to assuage his catastrophic loss, for nothing at all would help with that, but just to get out and see the country. I hope he does it.

This first dealership was fresh out of master links in my size, but they gave us directions to a Honda dealer a couple of exits down. They had master links on hand, and it didn�t take but a moment to replace the missing retaining clip on my chain.

Back on the interstate again, and south out of town�. only to find a monster thunderstorm in our path, a great looming pillar of clouds, with a broad gray pillar of rain appearing to support the whole. Caught at last�.. but just then the interstate we wanted exited to the right, heading west towards Jackson, and once again we ran west, effecting another narrow escape.

Onward as fast as prudence (whoever she is) allowed, hammering the ninety miles west to Jackson, and then on again towards Vicksburg on the Mississippi River.

Not having looked at a map since breakfast, I didn�t know how far from Jackson Vicksburg was exactly, assuming the usual 90 to 150 miles. Turns out I had forgotten Grant�s brilliant campaign, and how he had separated himself from his supply lines, stolen a march, and assaulted the Confederate forces at Jackson to secure his rear, before turning around and laying siege to Vicksburg.

Thus Vicksburg couldn�t have been that far off, and it weren�t, a little while out of Jackson we came across a sign saying Vicksburg was just 30 miles further on down the road

Birdwatcher

I wouldn't expect someone who rides a glorified chain saw to be so judgemental.

What? I was trying to be nice.... Its true... I looked on the net; you can fit a whole quiche, two large cheesecakes, and a whole case of pink daquiri coolers under that seat.

Anyhoo... I think they call this "tough love". I mean... wait untill you ride to Sturgis on that thing

I ain't skeered,..I done told you about my skull and crossbones bandana.

Oooooooh! Bristoe, you has my wimmins shakin' in theys stiletto boots!!!

GREAT Story!!

A few pics to add just for fun!

Late June:

Montana?......I can still see snow in the Bob Marshall/Rocky MT wilderness area> plus its like COLD this morning!
Keep it going Mike........I love it when you tell a story.
Rick

Central Idaho.

Yes, please continue the story. This has been one of the better ones lately!

ooooooo! mistah sagebrush bringin' out the BIG GUNS! i like it a lot! i'd have to get in touch with the ex-wife, then scan a half-jillion photos of our trips into the 'puter before i could play here. listening to Birdy go on, makes me have happy, happy memories, as we were young once, free and able to do this kinda thing all over the place.

mackay sagebrush, now *those* are motorcycle pix. enjoy the prattle birdwatcher, just as i have for the last 30 years or so...

-tom

listening to Birdy go on, makes me have happy, happy memories, as we were young once, free and able to do this kinda thing all over the place.

Now that is true, and I did it with both of you guys....sucks to get old.

Rick ( and I do have pictures of some of those campouts!)

Ain't it the truth Tom.... ..and Rick...... who could forget the good times and campouts from the old Benchracer days..?




But ya know what REALLY frosts my shorts??.....




...this time next month I'll be working...

Your very welcome Baldy, and good to know we still have REAL motorcyclists in our midst

(I mean, some of us are riding Burgmans now.... )




(OK, I'll lay off on the Burgman jokes. Some things is just endlessly funny is all )





We was coming up on Vicksburg....

Coming into Vicksburg I had a decision to make�. It was only 4:30 pm�. four hours of daylight left, enough time to get clear across Louisiana and well into Texas�.

OTOH my brother had not seen this country before, and already we had just hurried across all or parts of three southern states without seeing much at all. Ain�t too many historic places more accessible to the Interstate than is Vicksburg (on that score, the Little Big Horn tops the list, where you can practically see Custer Hill from the gas pumps of the convenience store/casino right on Interstate 90). Plus there�s a historic downtown in Vicksburg overlooking the river with a restaurant or two.

Vicksburg ain't very big, and as we approached the downtown/battlefield exit the skies made the decision for me.... a large thunderstorm was waiting for us up ahead right over where the river and bridge were probably located, other thunderstorms could be seen moving on the far side and to our south. I pulled ahead of my brother and moved over to the exit, turn indicator flashing.

My wife and I had just passed this way last year at about this time. The battlefield museum lies right off the end of the exit ramp, and there�s a paved loop road around the battle lines that is much used after hours by local runners and walkers.

Time constraints, weather, the late afternoon hour, and the worry about a certain hurricane in the Gulf all conspired to make a battlefield visit not practical this time, but here�s a few photos from last year�.











Downtown is just about ten blocks from the battlefield. I took a couple of random pics, but at this time we were still in �roll� mode, and just looking to get off the bikes, grab a bite, and get back on the road again. You can see the sort of skies we were facing in that second pic looking west across the river.







Can�t say much for the restaurant (no pic); a historic place located in an old brick building located on a steep, cobbled hill above the river. Must be they make their money from the bar, on account of both last year and this the food was both expensive and disappointing.

Rain came and went while we were eating, and there was some hope we might have gotten lucky again when we rolled out about 6 pm.

I had forgotten about that front moving into Louisiana but the front hadn�t forgot, if that makes any sense. Shortly after crossing the river it commenced to rain, heavily. Already wet, we stopped to put on rain gear. Rain gear hardly ever keeps you dry anyhow, not in heavy rain, its chief value being that it keeps you from getting chilled.

Two hours of rainfall: heavy and a bit less heavy. On looking at the radar loops on the Weather Channel that night it became apparent that we had ridden east-west right along a single large rain band associated with the front, which is why, much to our chagrin, the whole time we could see brighter skies both north and south of the highway.

Rain heavy enough that we were riding slower than the semis, many of whom weren�t shy about crowding our bikes as they passed, scarce feet from me who was up front on �point�; riding the tire path on the left side of the right hand lane, each passing semi throwing blinding sprays of water.

At last, somewhere west of Monroe, the rain stopped, or at least slowed to a drizzle. We had lost time though, what with the Vicksburg stop and the rain, it was getting dark and we were still twenty miles on the wrong side of Shreveport, and maybe thirty miles from the Texas state line.

Doable, but in the fading light I was just able to make out against the western sky that there was more rain falling up ahead. I have forgotten to point out that I had found a clear faceshield for my old helmet up in New York, so I was no longer riding in the dark after dark, but even so riding in the rain sucks, and riding at night in the rain sucks even worse.

Time to quit; we got off at the next exit and found a motel.

We had ridden just about 550 miles that day, not as far as hoped, but by this time tomorrow anyway, we would certainly be in San Antonio.

Birdwatcher

Birdy,

It is with mixed feelings that realize that you are nearing the end of your trip. I have enjoyed it immensely.... I am planning a trip soon, and I think I'll endeavor to do same... Perhaps return the favor, if you will...

GH

Good Times.....The Good Times, gotta get ready for work. I am also bummed that the trip is getting close to ending, Great story as usual.
Rick
officially out of the doghouse of Love. LIFE IS GOOD! (and the bike got tuned and tweaked.....runs great)

Last day.

The hurricane was to make landfall maybe 100 miles south of Brownsville later that day, heavy rain a certainty in places, San Antonio included in the "4 to 6 inches possible by tomorrow" area on the weather map. Chance of rain in the forecast pretty much increasing as you went south.



The plan was to go west on I 20 to Tyler Tx, then to cut across southwest on Highway 31 through Athens and Corsicana to Waco, a distance of about 130 miles, as opposed to the 190 miles of Interstate between Tyler and Waco by way of Dallas.


Out of the motel by 6:30am so as to miss the worst of Shreveport inbound commuter traffic, an unknown quantity to us. Still cloudy, rain possible.

Turns out the traffic into Shreveport weren't inconsiderable, even before 7am, but we were slowed only a little through downtown, having taken the direct route rather than the city loop, such loops always being an unknown quantity in this part of the world.

We were in the fast lane of a three lane highway, moving along with fast moving traffic in all three lanes, one of those deals where you cannot change lanes without care.

A little before downtown the pickup in front of me smashed violently into the back of a blue minivan in front, an accident that puzzled me in retrospect because I can recall no reason for the minivan to slow down so precipitously, as it must have done.

Interesting how vague our recollections can be of the moments leading up to a surprise, sudden event. I vaguely recall the pickup had just passed us on the inside and moved over into my lane ahead of me at a higher rate of speed. I�m not sure of that though, I�m pretty sure the pickup was tan or pale in color. I do recall the minivan was dark blue.

A sudden violent collision just up ahead, a shower of plastic shards of bodywork flying onto the roadway, and the sound of a muffled "crump!" through my earplugs.

Call it accumulated experience; by habit I had at least the prerequisite two second interval behind the truck, closer to three I'm thinking. Anyhow, on a bike, stopping quick usually ain't the problem, stopping quicker than the guy behind you can is more often the problem.

As it was, I laid on the front brake, but am not sure how much, this being one of those situations where moments drag on in time, tunnel vision sets in, and you react without conscious thought, looking on with a sort of detached interest.

The truck went left onto the highway margin immediately upon impact, laying on the brakes, in a skid I think, so quick did he stop. The minivan careened crazily onto the grassy median, first one way then the next, clearly struggling to retain control. It ended with a sharp right curve, nearly flipping over but not, then heading on a course that would put it broadside back in the fast lane.

In those long moments I saw it come to a stop at the edge of the pavement just as I rolled through the debris field, the driver looking in my direction. I�m sure I was braking, but part of those ingrained reactions that come into play was an awareness of the traffic on my tail.

All of this I think, being part of that trained �muscle memory� we all hope kicks in if TS ever HTF in a gravest extreme deadly force self-defense scenario.

Just like that, it was over, we rolled on past the scene, now it was in the past. I had a rational appreciation of what could have happened, but no gut fear reaction, I wasn�t shaken.

Not like I was one night after my wife and I found ourselves driving along the snow-covered median of an interstate in a blinding West Virginia snowstorm. I think the difference was, here I had felt in control throughout, the other I didn�t, knowing that a tree or culvert any moment could result in instant catastrophe.

Had that van rolled into my lane, I�m pretty sure I had the skill set in place to get around it, or felt like I did. On that West Virginia occasion, I gingerly maneuvered the car back onto the highway, knowing that stopping in that situation was about as dangerous as moving, given the traffic coming up in back. And indeed I was thoroughly rattled afterwards, pulling off at the very next exit. I would have stopped anyway even if prudence (her again) didn�t dictate.

Once on the other side of Shreveport, we stopped and got breakfast, gassed up, and I lubed the chain again. That motel in Georgia, where I had just done that the morning before, felt like a long time ago.

Then we headed out again, still a bit more than 400 miles from my front door.

Birdwatcher

Rock on Mike.