Days 12-15

Post date: May 15, 2010 4:51:52 PM

Route

After Fort Wayne, IN, visited Mark and his fam in Columbus, Ohi0. Spent the nigt there then left early Thursday morning for Beaver Creek, Ohio, to visit my oldest sister and her daughte, my niece, Maddie. Left that afternoon, for the Louisville area to visit and sleep over at Terry and Sarah's, then hauled down to Muscle Shoals, Alabama and stayed two nights at my ol' pal Kalpesh's beautiful Comfort Inn. Total of about 850 miles.

Environment

The midwest fills your senses in spring with fertility. You can practically taste the dirt when you breathe in the moist air, and it tastes like food. Throughout the south at this time there is a rich aroma of lilacs and lavender. A dream-like smell that makes the idealist in one consider quyitting everything and laying down in a field to watch the clouds drift past. natural lakes and rivers full of fish, green fields with grazing horses, goats, and cows, woods crawling with squirrels, deer, and coyotes. I feel at home only when there's roadkill on the highway. Sad, I know, but that's my cue that there's life to be had here. This is a season of storms as the heat of summer moves in on winter's dominion. On the morning out of Ft. Wayne, I encountered 50 degrees and fog so thick they cancelled school. Later that day I got a fair drenching. It was blue eyed the next day as I motored through Ohio, passing the blackened wood barns leaning and gap toothed. We're sentimental and nostalgic here; we're loathe to toss old belongings. There's rusted out cars on the back lots of homes, surrounded by two foot grass. Every garage has buckets of spare nails, and every home has a junk drawer that is overflowing. We hate to see our barns go down; they are practially holy relics that beckon pilgramges to the the past. Now 90% of the farmland is owned by 1% of the farmers. There's little need for barns these days. As I passed through the hollers of eastern Kentucky, I sent a thank you to the lands of my ancestors, who settle there nearly 200 years ago. Since then they've chopped clean through the rock of those foothills to pave roads like I-71 that runs from Cinci to Louisville. Kentucky has so many trees because so much of it's land is so difficult to traverse by machine. It's either uphill or downhill. The natives scoff at we "Flatlanders" as being somewhat less hearty. Surely, mountain folk have some braggin rights, but there's too sides to every coin. Afterall, we all know what they say about Kentuckians... Passing over the Ohio River, I pull to the outer lane and stand up on my footpegs to get a better view. All those catfish... someday I hope to live on a houseboat on a river like that. Southern Kentucky on into Tennessee is a beautiful land of open, rolling fields, woods. Rivers wind and rush. The Barren River gave me a real tickle; it has more snags than a Rastafarian's dredlock, and that makes for good catfishing. I worried about the sky as I neared Tennessee because as I could see to the south, it was flat dark gray. No clouds, just a homogeneous darkness. I-65 was taking me right to it, so I dove in and got what I expected, a bath. "Ah, I'm hot anyways," I said. Two ambulances raced by shortly after the buckets started falling. I'm keeping my 70mph, passing cars, slicing that sheen on the road, trying to stick to the dry trail left by the car in front of me. Came to a halt in a jam, and I couldn't tell how far it went, but it wasn't my idea of fun to be sitting in this downpour, so I moved out of the most left lane to the median in the middle of the highway, a six foot wide path notched with tiny speedbumps. I jolted along in first gear, feeling sneaky and hated by all, and two miles down the road swung back into the traffic as it sped back up. Never even saw an accident. By the time I passed through Nashville, I was out of the thick, so I pulled over, wrung out the socks, and regrouped, counting my blessings. Turns out Nashville ended up getting baseball sized hail. That coulda hurt, helmet or no. Anyways, down into Alabama, and I'm feeling like I've stepped back into the pre-civil war days. I said, "Where are the slaves? I see the plantation and the master's four-posted front porch, but nobody in the fields!" I felt a little dirty and ashamed being there. Alabamans love their porches. The church, the bank, the grocery, and nearly every house has a four post porch. Some even had some rocking chairs. Alabama is hot. 91 degrees hot. In the two hours I left Nashville, I was dry as a whistle except under my butt, which was sheltered from the wind. My feet were prunes by the time I reached the hotel. The Muscle Shoals area, by the way, is known for two things: the birth place of Helen Keller (whose life, I hear, is even portrayed in movies in India), and the tragically infamous Cherokee Trail of Tears, a common ride for motorcycle enthusiasts. "Enthusiasts" should be a word banned fromed our language (sorry).

Technical

Best news is that my self-installed rear tire stayed on. Secondly, it gripped very well in the river/road that I-65 became. My Stearns ATV Seat Cover came I put it on the bike. Had to cut some straps, and only two of them would hold due to fitting issues. First real test will be tomorrow. Oil level is pretty good, and I'm averaging 43 mpg. Gonna contact some riders on klr650.net about the oil consumption concern.

Social

In Nashville a cop chatted me up at the gas station outside the storm. He gave me some directional advice, but really he just wanted to tell me that he is a rider also and once rode 850 miles in 23 degree weather, never dipping below 95 mph. First thought: you're tough. Second thought: you're a cop bragging about speeding? And then he had the nerve to notify me of the speed limit around Birmingham.

Everyone wants to talk to me at the gas stations. "You like that bike?" "Where you headed?" "I took a trip a few years ago..." They'e pleasant. Should be interesting in the lands of foreign languages.

Kalpesh took me to this Ma-and-Pa restaurant near his place. They serve only two types of meals all day, every day. 1-meat and vegetables, and 2-just vegetables. I needed meat. I got pork roast (with gravy), creamed (mashed) potatoes (with gravy), okra (deep fried), green beans, and cornbread. All was yummers except the cornbread, actually. It was a fat plat for $5.50. I guess it's always busy. Understandable. I couldn't understand ther server's word "gravy" however. The accent! I haven't even left the states and I'm having a hard time understanding the locals! Another lady, a hotel worker here, tried to tell me something about washing and that she was "sore." I'm like, "okay..." Well, then I figured out she meant, "sorry." Her pause pulled it out of me: "That's fine, no big deal." I am now reprimanding myself for saying that I'm fine with something I don't even know the condition of.

Saturday, I visited the Sundown Saloon next to the hotel. I was welcomed by cowboy hats, boots, and pure southern country that later mixed with remarkable renditions of ACDC's "Highway to Hell" and Dylan's "Wagon Wheel." An older gentleman by the name of "Soti" cut up the floor, stealing the show. He swooned even the twenty something lassies; it was a mixed crowd. A bull ride machine completed the scene along with murals of running horses. A one-of-a-kind experience for me, but likely a common scene throughout the south.

Psychoanalytic

It's an emotional roller coaster saying hi then bye to so many people you haven't seen in years in such a short time span. I don't like it.

Wild and Weird

Since it's so hard to take pictures while riding (you have to stop), how about a waterproof, pivotable camera mounted like a gun on a turret on the windshield? It would require XXXtreme! image stabilization technology, but that could besold to the military and NASA for lots of money. Also, airplanes have driver ejection capabilites- what about for motorcycles?

Riding through that storm, dodging the hail was about as wild as its gotten the last few days.

Oh, and I danced with a 45 year old woman. That was weird. For the longest time I thought she said her name was "Dinger" then I found out it was "Ginger." She is part Cherokee and told me about the tragedies of her life.

Then there's the best Indian food I'll probably ever eat prepared by my pal Kalpesh. I ate the soupy goodness in the traditional style, with the bare hands. What a trip, scooping gravy and rice with my fingers then slurping it up. Kalpesh showed me a neat trick of using my thumb to sorta shovel it into my mouth from the cupped fingers. So, so good. What an intimate, sensual way of eating. Love it!