The motorcycle trip had been in the planning stage for months and this week it was to happen. It would be one of the biggest adventures of all time for me. Not as exciting in some respects as the very light jet trip from Brazil in October. Not as long as the many trips I have been fortunate to take all over the world in the prior decades. Surely nothing compared to the voyage I just read about in John Adam’s biography where he spent six weeks crossing the North Atlantic sea in February 1776. But at a very personal level, riding the Harley-Davidson 2003 (Anniversary Year) Fatboy for 1,190 miles from Connecticut to Palm Coast, Florida was quite a challenging but rewarding trip.
The weather from Virginia and south was projected to be nice — the challenge would be getting from Connecticut through New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia, to Virginia. The lingering rain was mostly on the coast so I decided to follow a strategy that would get me south as fast as possible to minimize the cold and to stay west of New York City, Philadelphia, and Washington. I started the day with multiple layers of clothing — an electrically heated vest and gloves, face mask, leather chaps, heavy socks, and motorcycle boots. Might sound like a lot for March but it turned out to be just right. I knew that the windchill at 55 degrees while moving through the air at 65 mph was right about freezing. The starting temperature was 39 degrees — not moving — so the likely windchill was 0-10. (See prior story about windchill). Heading down the Sawmill Parkway I encountered some unexpected flooding on the road that required anticipation and lane changes to avoid. Crossing the Hudson River on the Tappan Zee Bridge required hanging on tightly to control the buffeting and also crabbing into the wind just like flying an airplane in a crosswind. After a gas stop in Hellertown, PA I continued west and stopped after 200 miles for a thaw and a sandwich at a gas station in Indiantown Gap, PA. The sun was coming out and I began to anticipate peeling back some of my coverings as the afternoon progressed. The Interstates had served the strategy well and gotten me south and west of the worst weather. Now it was time to focus on South. Through Pennsylvania, Maryland, a touch of West Virginia, and into Virginia — there was a beautiful ride through the Shenandoah Valley and over the mountains. I then headed back eastward toward Richmond, linked up wiht I-95 again and ended up (exhausted) at Petersburg, Virginia at a Holiday Inn Express. Just over five-hundred miles exceeded my 400 mile goal. A cup of chicken noodle soup from the microwave, some nuts and dried fruit, and a bottle of water and I was ready to read the Kindle and sleep.
Exiting the hotel parking lot in Petersburg put me right on a nice stretch of the 1,099 mile U.S. Route 301. It ran parallel to I-95 for the most part but had almost no traffic and was a very nice road for riding. The next gas stop would be Rocky Mount, North Carolina. Then Fayatteville and on to Florence, South Carolina and many interesting towns along the way. Downtown Smithville wasn’t exciting but it was one of a number of places that had some fame or glory. As the southern leg of the trip unfolded the clothing began to peel away — first the chaps, then heavy gloves instead of electric gloves, and then light leather gloves. The electric vest under the jacket became a leather vest with no jacket. The long sleeved shirt remained to protect against the intense sun. It was a long haul to Savannah and after the second five-hundred miles it was time for a rest. The Hilton Gardens was sold out but Marriott’s Fairfield Inn had one room available.
There was no sign of recession in Savannah but along the roads to that point there were many signs. Literally. Many of them said “Advertise Here” or “Available”. A number of the sprawling distribution centers that I suspect had been over-built a few years ago were vacant. One sign read “964,000 square feet available for rent”. Rest stops along the Interstates were mostly closed due to state funding shortages. The famous “South of the Border” rest stop and roadside attraction complex was not as I had remembered it from 60 years ago. Hard to tell for sure but many other establishments seemed either closed or to have a lot of spare parking spaces. The exceptions I saw in driving through many towns were rehabilitation centers for seniors, hospitals, schools, and government buildings. None of them seemed to have enough parking. The contrast between public and private stood out.
One other standout was that of all the cars I noticed passing me on the Interstates the most prevalent was the Chevy — Impala, Camaro, Malibu, Corvette, and trucks of various kinds. Nice to see them doing well. I have a hunch they will be profitable soon. My first car was a 1967 Corvette and a 2005 Chevy SSR is sitting in the garage at home. (My father was a car dealer from 1929 to 1976. Starting with the Ford Model T, my Dad’s dealership became Patrick Chevrolet in 1961. Dad would have loved seeing the SSR).
Friday morning started out cold but warmed up before 10am when I stopped in Brunswick, Georgia for gas. Most of the day was spent on back roads enjoying the swamps, bridges, historic sites, and surprisingly little traffic, even going through downtown Jacksonville. Things changed in St. Augustine — the oldest continuously occupied European established city in America — where it was bumper to bumper. I did not mind because I knew I was a half hour from my destination. The Fatboy arrived at it’s new home in the garage at Hammock Dunes by mid-afternoon of day number three. When I fly back North on JetBlue, I will be thinking of all the motorcycle riders 40,000 feet below but for now I will not wish I was one of them. The tweleve-hundred mile trip was exhausting but I am glad I did it. I unwound by taking a four mile walk on the beach. Today is wait mode to see if the iPad gets delivered as promised. More on that subject to come. Stay tuned.
