A ride through Hell

I've already said my piece about riding in the rain. I'll take any day on a bike over any day in a car. That being said... My ride from Boone to Asheville was a bit of an ordeal.

The first leg of the trip was pretty tame. After a great time in a cozy town like Boone, I was feeling down-right warm and fuzzy. As we proceeded to make our way through the mountains, I felt the storm brewing, and knew it was time to face the music. I switched over to my rain gear and expected to get a little wet. "Maybe it'll be like my trip through Connecticut. Ooh, won't that be exciting!" I thought, naive head up optimistic ass. Turned out I was off by orders of magnitude.

How to describe this storm... I'm coming up with a bunch of cliche shit like, deluge of biblical proportion,  or sheets/buckets/fuckloads of rain, but you get it, it was bad. Roaring, surging waves of cold, evil sky-hate assailed me. It made me wonder how there could be a single desert on this entire planet when rain like that can happen. Cars were pulling off the road. Yes, cars. Pulling over because they feared for their safety.

I splashed through puddles that reached my brake rotors. I hydroplaned across rivers of run-off that crisscrossed the road. The speed I had to hold was fast enough to not get bullied off the road by the inevitable asshole that would wind up right behind me, but not fast enough to sweep the rain off of my face shield. The only way I could see anything was to actually keep my shield open and get peppered on the bare eyeballs. The utter absurdity of my situation was too much for me to bear with a straight face. Every blinding splash from an oncoming semi made me laugh harder at myself. I amused myself by playing the "what part of me is wettest?" game until it was a tie across the board. After that came "what part of me is coldest?" I didn't find it difficult to keep my spirits up. I thought ahead to the deep South, when I would be broiling hot. I thought of the open desert of the southwest, where sun and heat would surely conspire to burn me to a crisp and explode the air-cooled heart of my trusty steed. I shared a moment with The Monster.  "We're gonna remember this one!" Contentment comes easy when you leave sanity behind.

My Fellow Traveller and I descended from the mountains and circled the city toward our campsite amid crackling lightning. I think you can still see the finger marks on her steering wheel to this day. 

All told, it took five days for my boots to dry out completely. They still squeak when I walk, which I don't even understand. I think they are still wet on a sub-atomic level. The Monster needed a new chain and a front sprocket, but we survived it. Turns out, it will take more than that to stop us.

Coming in my next posts, Asheville, day trips up to the sky and back, and I finally introduce you to my hands-down favorite person of my trip thusfar: Yosemite Sam. 

A ride through Heaven

"Where I come from, the roads around here are famous."

That's what I usually say to the people I meet in Appalachia about rides like the Blueridge Parkway, Skyline Drive,  etc.  It's no lie. These are the roads I've been hearing legends about for as long as I've been a Biker. I had heard about the twisty roads, the views and the combination of it all that made it all worth talking about a thousand miles away.  It was time to drop it into gear and lay a patch toward the highcountry!

Skyline Drive was first on the list, and it would take us through Virginia to our a campsite I found in Waynesboro. With my Fellow Traveler behind me and my gear stowed in her car, we turned into Skyline. I was immediately treated to a healthy climb in elevation on a winding ribbon of pristine asphalt through a corridor of green. The first thing that struck me was the condition of the road. Scenic byways like this are closed to commercial traffic and parts are shut down seasonally. They are spared the rigors of heavy trucks and plow blades. The result is an absence of the split road surface and Biker-launching potholes that are so common in New England. The grueling highway miles loaded down with gear had done a number on my tire. It was time to give the middle of my tire a rest, and keep it on the edges. The Monster was devouring the turns, and my face was starting to ache from the ear-to-ear grin.

All along the road are scenic overlooks that are so gorgeous, you could just lean out your window and get a postcard quality picture. Since you ride along the ridge, you get views of the overlapping peaks and valleys of West Virginia and Kentucky on one side and the expansive hollows (pronounced "hollers" apparently) to the east. The weather at some points on the Appalachians moves East to West, so as I watched fog rolling over the top, the feeling of heading north one moment and South the next added to my euphoria. Even in the middle of the day, turkeys and deer made appearances occasionally, but not often enough to make me lay off the throttle. It was what I can confidently call the ride of my life so far.

We descended back to earth and jumped on the highway for a bit and camped out at a TA Travel Center. That's right, a tent site at a truck stop. I thought it was awesome and it fit the budget nicely at 15 bucks. Despite a passing 18 Wheeler blowing a tire a hundred feet away early the next morning, it was pretty relaxing.

The next day we made our way towards the next stop: Asheville, NC! My Fellow Traveler once lived in a great town by the name of Boone, and with high recommendations of a thai restaurant located there, I was happy to get to Asheville via Boone.

Boone is a big magic trick... A commercialized college town somehow hiding behind a tiny, tight knit village. Everyone there seems to know everyone else, and I couldn't help but feel like I was in Vermont. Artisan bakeries, craft beer brewpubs, locally sourced restaurants, art galleries, you name it. All the awesome food and art snobbery you could imagine, and not so much as a whiff of the college hooliganism you'd expect with the school right there in town. And I say that as a UMass Amherst alumni, so I know my shit. How do they do it? Whether by design, or good fortune, the malls, the department stores and all that commercial garbage are all a mile away from the village, with a buffer zone of residential neighborhoods in between, dorms included. The swanky thai restaurants and Moroccan tea room don't fit the college budget, so they all steer clear. We met with some old friends of my guide, and I had an unforgettable dinner with all of them. Great food, warm people and a cozy town. We found ourselves going back to Boone often during our time in NC, and we always got the best of their hospitality.

Departing Boone was where things got a little dicey... And by dicey, I mean soggy. And by soggy I mean absolutely fucking soaked. Find out in my next post when I take you on A Ride Through Hell. 

Finally, some pictures: DC

A few good ones from Washington.  More to follow.

The geek-o-meter is over 9000!

I arrived in Washington with spirits high at the prospect of some opportunities I wanted to make the most of: WASHINGTON DC, A chance to meet up with a friend from back home also doing some traveling of her own promising a guided tour of Appalachia, and a car to stash my gear in for a couple of states! How could I pass that up? I met up with my hosts on a hot and sticky night in DC after my marathon run from Boston. I'm told the Satan's-butthole level of humidity is to be expected this time of year in a city built on a swamp. Who knew? Anyway, the Monster and I both needed some maintenance, his in the form of a wash and a copious grease job on the chain, mine in the form of wine, air conditioned rest, Game of Thrones and getting my ass handed to me at Monopoly Deal.

Humidity and roaches, that's it for the negatives. Other than that, the residential parts of town I saw were gorgeous; Brownstones dripping with wrought iron, all with little "yards" out front. You can tell the people that didn't give a shit about maintaining them. I saw one that was a ten by ten square of meticulously groomed lilies and Japanese maples with a meandering slate walkway winding through the mulch. The yard right next to that? Not a word of a lie, a square of astroturf.

The people are youngish. A slightly older, more professional demographic than the iconic urban collegetown in Cambridge I had just left. Dressed for business and a bit brusque, but not in a razzing New England "Good to see you, ya sonovabitch" way, but still no detectable malice. I didn't mind it one bit, but being immersed in that for too long doesn't sound like my kind of thing.

The touristy stuff is awesome. The Air and Space Museum is basically Mecca for me. I started to geek out before I even got through security, and when I walked out into the lobby, I turned it up to eleven. I buzzed from one exhibit to the next. 30 minutes in the lobby alone, for godsake. The Apollo 11 capsule and lunar lander, Gemini and Mercury capsules, a one-to-one scale copy of The Twins in the Mars exploration exhibit, the fucking Saturn V engine!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? Just awesome. It always bothered me that I had never seen a shuttle launch, but my time at the museum made me resolute in my goal to see the Space X launch this fall from Cape Canaveral. Somewhere between John Glen's flight suit and rounding the corner past Skylab to the shuttles main engine, I had one of the moments I've been seeking. I was starting to feel like the planet I've been living in for 31 years, the one I've heard so much about, is a real place. All the most heroic people and exotic places you've ever heard of, all the most beautiful poems and songs ever written, all the good deeds ever done, they all happened on this planet. And you live there! Do you not feel lucky for that?

Next up was the Natural History Museum, which was better than I expected. Quite a bit bigger too. I could have spent the whole day there. The Early Origins and Human Genome exhibits were great, but no T-Rex! WTF! I could have looked at more  paleontology, but I to get back to meet my hosts for dinner and hanging out. And laundry! Thanks again guys.

The next morning I faced the next leg of my journey with my new traveling partner/Appalachian tour guide ("guides" actually if you count her four legged bodyguard). It was great to see them again and they are much more well-traveled than I, so I was happy to join up.

More to come, including the most jaw dropping beautiful views of my life, two epic rides; dubbed The Ride Through Heaven and The Ride Through Hell, AND a genuine recurring character like nobody I have ever met! I couldn't make this guy up!! Meet him next time. See you then.

Where to begin?

Hard to believe,  but I am almost a week on the road! Things have been nearly too exciting to keep up with mentally,  much less to keep up with blogging. In fact, I've barely talked to my family, so don't feel left out. I'm composing this entry just south of Asheville,  North Carolina! I know, I didn't expect to be this far already either, but I had some good opportunities, so I made a move, and I'm glad I did.

So this is what you've missed! I marked the beginning of the voyage in Montpelier, VT. With a warm send off from my sister and my niece, I continued through NH to bid farewell to some friends and family on my way to my first stop: Boston!

I arrived in Boston late Saturday afternoon to meet a long time partner in crime at his new apartment in Cambridge. He's only a few blocks from Harvard Square, and we spent a night out with a few of his friends and coworkers. Everywhere was a beautiful mix of ethnicities and languages that made me remember how trapped you can feel if you let your world get too small. Eventually we found ourselves at the Tavern on the Square ("in the Square"? I'm not sure) and I got a lesson on why Patron is so damned expensive from a Mexican guy. I forget every word. I spent the next day ripping around Boston on the Monster. About halfway through, I found myself making some genuine Masshole maneuvers, and decided I no longer blamed these people for the way they drive. That night I ate at pretty kickass korean place. Chilled noodle soup, which hit the spot on a hot night. We then rounded the corner for a few drinks at a bar where the waiters wore shirts that said "Will work for soju". Pretty awesome, but ironically I didn't drink any soju. The latest Korean pop videos played on huge flatscreens while we drank some kind of fermented rice wine served in a copper teapot. The drinks were great, the videos made me feel like all of the very worst influences from American popular culture are the ones that other cultures seem to pick up on. Just the same, I caught the green line back, the train driven by a man with the most gigantic gold Rolex I had ever seen. I could have spent weeks in Boston, and the new and old friends I spent time with would have made me feel welcome, but got word from some friends in Washington DC, and I couldn't pass up my chance for some time there! My last morning in Boston came too soon, but it was time to hit the road. I spit on John Harvard's statue, and was on my way.

As I pulled out onto Cambridge St from what's got to be the biggest loophole in the City of Boston's entire parking scheme (no, I'm not telling) I thought,  "Okay, Boston to DC, I'll be leaving during rush hour and arriving during rush hour, rain in the forecast, and I'm riding a motorcycle with my entire life strapped to it... Am I out of my mind?" Turns out, they're right about the "desperate times, desperate measures" thing. That day, I broke a vow I made long ago; I went through Connecticut.

My return to the state where I spent the worst year of my life was rewarded with a slap in the face in the form of a rain storm. Pretty light at first, but by the time I hit Waterbury, I had switched over to my rain gear, and kissed my ass goodbye. Everything held up fine and I made it through in one soggy piece. Something occurred to me about riding a motorcycle in the rain. I kept thinking,  "It could be worse, John. You could be stuck in a car." Maybe I had lost my mind, but I think some of you will understand what that means. The route I wanted to take kept me away from I95 and gave me a shot at some nice riding once I cleared NY. I went through Scranton and Gettysburg and who the hell knows where else. I was so determined to destroy my prior record for hours on a motorcycle in a single day that I didn't give a shit if I was riding through Somalia or Antarctica or the fucking Gobi Desert, I was going to make it. And make it, I did.

My neck was a ball of knots from the cold rain and the disregard for speed limits. My wrist was locked up like a rusty hinge. My legs were jello from clamping onto a rocket for 11 hours. I was spent, but let me tell you, the beltway into the city felt like a victory lap.

Lots more story to tell; Washington, Skyline Drive, Boone NC, and the torrential downpour of biblical proportions that was my ride from Boone to Asheville!! More to come soon, with pictures (I promise!) but I'm out of time for now.

Engage...

Alright, it's you and me, World. Let's do this...