The Devolution of a Ride

"Best laid schemes of mice and men/ Often go awry" - John Steinbeck

Eric and I decided to take Labor Day weekend away from our families and go for a ride of epic intent. Two goals were agreed upon: 1) attempt a SaddleSore and 2) ride through seven new states.

SaddleSore is an endurance test on your motorcycle. It is one of several activities that people can engage in to acquire the moniker of an Iron Butt. SaddleSore is achieved when you ride 1,000 miles in a 24 hour period. There are strict rules and regulations that are involved with acquiring a SaddleSore certificate. You can read all about it here. We felt that working towards this endeavor first and then spend the rest of the weekend traveling to new states on our motorcycles was the best plan.

The forces of nature had something to say about our so-called, "Plans". Rain does not necessary deter me from riding- that's why I bought all my gear with Gore-Tex (super-duper waterproof material that 'breathes'). However, hail does bring about a certain amount of trepidation. Riding at seventy miles per hour with golfball-sized chunks of ice flying at you gives the mind pause. Yet, bravado sometimes trumps sense, and I packed my bags with the intention of riding and headed to Eric's house.

Once there, after pouring over weather maps we decided that we would forgo riding through a total of eleven states and only ride on Sunday with the hopes of unlocking our SaddleSore achievement. The weather was too horrendous. Drinks and merriment were had to celebrate our mature decision of not being struck my chunks of ice.

All systems were a go on Sunday. We woke early, left at our decided time of 4:30 AM. We stopped at the gas station where I added air to my tires, fueled up, and had our SaddleSore documentation signed by a witness (Brandy) with a time stamped receipt to designate our starting time. The Iron Butt rules are rigorous, and they take up to three months to verify your claims.

Riding early in morning on US 190 was a very vitalizing experience. The outline of the trees (cypress, I believe) in the night sky is haunting and beautiful. There was an element of fear due to the darkness, but it heightens your awareness of your surroundings. For several hours the landscape changed from Atchafalaya Basin wildlife preserve to small towns. That juxtaposition is lost when traveling the straight and narrows of interstate paths. For me, it gives me a sense of the evolution of villages, towns, and cities. Back roads remind me of the greater world that exist outside of the city that I live in, and how we are interconnected. These are the thoughts that roll through my head as we travel.

We crossed into Texas with the dawn horizon to our backs. I was excited. We were going to start heading north up East Texas to Oklahoma before turning around and headed back to Baton Rouge. About  twenty miles into Texas, we stopped for some gas, a digital receipt, and a bathroom break.

All things seemed to be in order. Heading north, I noticed a disturbing sound and feel from my motorcycle. It was almost a pulling sensation. I flashed my lights to notify Eric, and immediately pulled over. My first thought was that something was dragging against my back wheel. We took turns riding and looking. I removed my rear guard, but that did not abate the problem. Eric suggested we get off the side of the road and headed back to a parking lot to safely work on the motorcycle.

We parked next to a non descriptor red, aluminum barn*. I was focused on trying to fix the problem- the SaddleSore was at stake. We had only traveled about 220 miles. Since the rear guard did not appear to be the problem, the next thought was that there was something wrong with the back brakes. I pulled out my half-charged phone (didn't think I would need a full charge), and started reading about how to remove your bake breaks. Eric was reviewing some technical information as well. These are good signs of mechanical prowess, right? I got the back brake off and we started the motorcycle, but the jerking was still occurring.

This is where the mechanical declined person makes a bad situation worse. My motorcycle has a computer on it that basically does a lot of really cool things. One of the things it does is not start if there is a problem with your brakes. In all my tinkering, I had, probably, most likely, broke my calipers. Now my motorcycle would not even start. So, we were stranded in the middle of Bruna, Texas, twenty minutes from Beaumont on a Sunday. We had luckily packed some sandwiches and snacks.

We tried calling motorcycle shops in Beaumont on Sunday, the day before Labor Day. Yes, nothing was open. We started calling friends and family to see if we could get someone with a truck and/or trailer to come and pick us up. However, an idea was born- rent a U-haul to strap both bikes in it and drive back home. U-haul was open, which was promising. Eric called the 1-800 number to rent a truck. They had a truck large enough to fit both our bikes. Things were looking up for us because we could get our bikes together and tow them back for relatively cheap without inconveniencing anybody.

Eric drove to the rental place. They did have a truck large enough, but it wasn't going to be available until 4:45 PM. The shop closed at 5:00 PM. The next day was Labor Day. Things were not looking promising. It was about 10:30 AM, and we had been at the same location for about two to three hours. Waiting there until nearly 5:00 PM for a 'maybe' truck did not sound like a good idea. Honestly, I thought we were up a creek without a paddle or piece of board or a boat.

Cue heavenly music.

The newly minted Mrs. Malatesta's mother and step-father had recently acquired a trailer. They lived about ninety minutes from our current location, and were generous enough to offer to come a pick us up form Nowhere, Texas. I am incredibly grateful for this generous act- seriously. The rest of trip went back without a any problems and we arrived safely back in Baton Rouge well ahead of schedule.

The trip was initially to be a nearly epic 2,000 mile trek through eleven states with a SaddleSore involved. Then it was reduced to getting only a SaddleSore in one day to riding. Finally, it devolved to 220 miles and spending six hours on the side of the road next to a drive-thru beer shop.



Until I ramble on again. . .  


*The aluminum barn was a drive-thru for beer. People would literally drive-thru the middle of the barn and someone would grab them the beer, ice, or snacks that they wanted pay and drive out without ever leaving the coziness of one's car.

An Adventure in Two Parts: Part 2 Shoe Shopping

For Part 1 of this adventure, go here. 

After 615 miles (this is only an approximation as I did not have any of my mileage counters on), late starts, and Atlanta traffic, we arrived to a luxurious setting in the foothills of the Appalachian. Mr. Fred and Ms. Pat, Eric's father and step-mother respectively, provided us with a delightful home cooked meal, beer, and beds to sleep (fluffy, cloudesque beds).

When I awoke in the morning, I was initially confused. I slept so soundly and was basking in the lap of luxury that I did not where I was or if I was still dreaming. A part of me was half expecting/hoping a beautiful women to murmur next to me to ensure that I was sleeping/dreaming. With a slight sense of disappointment, I hopped out of bed and bounded upstairs hoping to witness the grandeur of the rolling hills outside of Mr. Fred and Ms. Pat's home.

The rain that we had hoped to avoid on Saturday was rolling in and across the hills. Overcast, a mist of rain, and fog seemed to be the forecast for the entire day. The 30% precipitation predicted was 100% in effect. My childlike optimism was not abated by what some would consider "bad" or "dire" conditions. I rode along Blue Ridge Parkway in slightly worse conditions this summer (see post here). I have been feeling more confident in my riding abilities and believed with care the day would provide safe, clean, wet fun.

The plan was to go through North and South Carolina by way of various winding roads. This was actually a last minute change as we were planning of heading to the famed Dragon's Tail, which was the impetus to this adventure. However, with the conditions as they were we thought it best not to attempt such a challenging road.

Eric loaded up his GPS with a different route and we were off.

The roads were fun, but at some point Eric should have turned left and turned right, or vice versa. Nevertheless, we ended up doing a large three hour circle that brought us to Dahlonega, GA, about 15 minutes from our start point in Big Canoe. Unsure of exactly where we need to go, we ventured to find appropriate directions.

Through a series of probing inquiries, we ascertained the geographic coordinates of an establishment that could provide pertinent information. In other words, we walked into a boutique and they told us to go to the local motorcycle shop.

What started as a 10 minute information gathering session turned into two hours of "should I buy the Sidi Charger, which they have in my size, or wait and order the Sidi Adventure Rain. Decisions, decisions. . . I mean on the one hand the Adventure Rain. . . " Side information: Sidi is a brand of Italian motorcycle shoes. They are high quality shoes. I'm sure I mentioned they are Italian shoes. At some point, I pulled Eric aside and made him listen to my pro-con list. I have never cared about clothing in my entire life. I spent most of my life in jeans, various t-shirts, and sandals. Yet, I become an indecisive prima donna when shopping for motorcycle shoes.

Once I got the shoe shopping out of my system (I ended up not buying the shoes that day), and realized that I had wasted hours, we made a plan. Essentially, Eric's wrong turn prevented us from entering North Carolina, and my shoe shopping prevented us from entering South Carolina. With our limited time, we decided to find some lively roads in and around the area.

I took the lead when we left Riders Hill. Coming up on a section of road that we knew would be difficult, traffic came to a standstill. There was an accident ahead of us. It was bad, but did not appear to be fatal. Eric pulled up next to me and I could see fear and anxiety mingling in his eyes, which would be apt in this situation. He stated that he was nervous, but would follow me if I wanted to continue. There was a moment that I thought it might be wise to turn around and head safely back to the storage unit to the cozy confines of our accommodations.

Yet, I had no real intentions of turning back and wanted to conquer the fear that was brewing in my chest. I wanted to dig down, find that nagging fear, kick it in its proverbial testicles, and later drink a scotch in celebration of vanquishing my foe. Lads and Lasses, I enjoyed the hell out of some scotch later that night.

Epilogue Bullet Points

- I slept so well that night. Shoe shopping and motorcycle riding wears a person out.
- I headed back Monday, solo.
- I completely circumvented Atlanta, GA
- I traveled approximately 1,600 miles in total

Until I ramble on again. . .

P.S. Eric has been recording our trips on his GoPro. He posted a video that is a collection of photos taken every 10 seconds or so from the side of his motorcycle. You can watch the video here, and see our riding conditions.        

An Adventure in Two Parts: Part 1 The Great Debacle

Eric and I headed to North Georgia. Pertinent information: We needed to be at a storage unit near Eric’s father’s (Mr. Fred) house because the community that his father lives in does not allow motorcycles. Mr. Fred was kind enough to find us a place to park, which was a storage unit. The storage unit facility has a fence around the perimeter that the owners lock up at 6 p.m. It isn't a fancy place with a coded entry so that you can get in at any time, like most storage units. We had to leave very early and on time to ensure that we could make it to the storage unit before it closed down for the night.

100,000 Miles Achieved

There are many adjectives that one could use to describe me, but I think disorganized ranks the highest (maybe forgetful is tied for most relevant). I often work very hard organizing my life, but I have more often than not failed at organizing. 

December has been a roller coaster of a month for personal and work related reasons. I will preface in saying that I’m not excusing my disorganization and general forgetfulness; rather, I’m detailing how I folly. The week leading into my trip, I had an explosion of work, personal fun, and endeavors. I wanted to leave New Orleans and head towards Baton Rouge around 5:30 p.m., but through timing, last minute cleaning and packing I didn’t leave until 7:30 p.m. 

I had all the items I needed for the trip organized on my chair. I began loading up my car, and on the second trip of lugging the luggage to my car, I thought, “You got everything now get moving!” I closed my trunk, hopped in my car, and was off to visit with my brother for 30 minutes.

Pleasantries provided and back in my car head to Baton Rouge to start another adventure! About 30 seconds from Eric’s house, I think, “Did I pack my riding pants?” The reassuring part of my brain said, “You are just being paranoid. You never forget the important gear, the necessary gear.” Wrong. The part of your brain that reminds you of things was, as usual, two hours late in reminding me to do one last check of my apartment to see if I forgot anything. Stupid brain. I forgot my pants. I could ride in jeans, but for maximum protection my pants are needed.

When Eric and I see each other just before the trip we turn into two teenage girls. “I packed this and this I was going to pack this did you see the route I haven’t decided what way is the best did you get the maps this is going to be so much fun.” It is a series of run-on sentences between the two of us. In the midst of overlapping talking at each other, I mentioned my pants failure. In true Eric fashion, “O.K., we can leave 30 minutes earlier to go to New Orleans so you can get your pants.” Instead, of dwelling on the problem, he is always trying to “re-route” and find a solution. 

This is the tip of the debacle iceberg.

I woke up at 4:45 a.m. in a panic. I’ve been having problems with my motorcycle battery, due to some wiring issue that I need a mechanic to check. I haven’t had any problems since I changed the battery several months back. However, that same delayed brainnag prompted me to check if my motorcycle would start. I went outside put in the key, and the lights turned on, meters where reading all the techno stuff, I hit the starter button, and . . . I hear the painful sound of click, click, click, the sound of a low battery, not the glorious roar of riding possibilities. Facepalm. Playing musical cars, I move my car next to my bike and charge up the bike’s battery. I pack up my motorcycle, start getting dressed, then notice something vitally important missing from my luggage. I turn to Eric, and asked, “What is the one thing that a motorcyclist has to have above everything else?” 

His face turns ashen and a look of disappointment/frustration/worry travels across his eyes, and replies, “A helmet. . . You forgot your helmet. . .? 

Eyes cast down, “Yeah.”

“Of all the things to forget.”

“I know.”

“You can grab my extra helmet.”

“I also forgot my gloves.”

“Really!? Anything else?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“. . .”

Things were rapidly going downhill and the depth of this debacle were beginning to show itself, but it was not over. 

My motorcycle started up fine once I charged it up, and I was feeling confident that it just needed a little juice (that is the technical term, right?), and now it was fully charged up. I pulled it out next to Eric’s in the driveway and turned it off to finish getting ready.

Gear loaded, gear on, and on time. We were going to make our estimated leave time! I turn my key, all looks to be working. I hit the start button and. . . click,click,click. &*%$^#$@#*!!!!!!!! Fill in the blanks as you will because I’m sure you can figure out what was rolling off my tongue.

I look to Eric and it takes him a moment to realize what is going on. Eric’s car is closer, so I run into his house, grab his car key, and move the car close to my motorcycle. Eric runs to the gas station to put air in his tires, and I set about starting my motorcycle. While he is gone, I cannot find the battery in his car. He has a Mini Cooper, and the battery is not evident. I’m becoming more flustered. Eric pulls up, and I ask him where is the battery. He doesn’t know. I say, “Screw it, I’ll just pull up my car.”

In that moment, the mother of Eric’s daughter calls. Eric forgot to pack his daughter’s medication, and she needs it. I wish I was making all of this up. 

He needs to travel a little out of the way, but needs to leave right at that moment to get the medication to her. I tell him to go on, and we can meet at the Clearview Mall in an attempt to make up time. 

It starts drizzling, but my motorcycle started within seconds of me connecting the jumper cables and starting my car. I know the battery will get recharged on the journey, so I am not worried. As I was removing the cables, I forgot to stop the car, and burned my thumb. Haste creates injuries.

Not caring, I put my seat back on, played musical cars, and hopped on to my BMW R1200 GS- my favorite toy ever. I was finally on the road. There was no rain on the interstate, just directly over Eric’s house as I’m trying to jump my motorcycle and leave. The Universe uses me to get a laugh. 

I race to my apartment, making good time, even though we are starting later than planned. I get to my apartment, put my appropriate gear on, and head back to Clearview Mall to meet up with Eric. The last layer to the overarching debacle is that it took me 15 minutes longer to meet up with him because I got stuck behind the slowest drivers in the world. I think this was a team of record holders following together like a herd of cows.  

We finally head off on our journey at 9:15 a.m., but Eric wanted to be in Mobile, Alabama by 9:30 a.m. So, we were way off time, but we were riding and the frustration slowly languishing away. 

The Parking Spot

Epilogue Bullet Points to Day 1:

-We made up time by staying around 80 m.p.h., and only stopping for gas

-We actually made the 6 p.m. deadline with 25 minutes to spare (see pic above)

-I think Atlanta traffic has by-passed my hatred for Dallas traffic

-My motorcycle reached 100,000 miles on this day.

Until I ramble on again. . .

Finding The Road

On another camping expedition, I find, even in the murkiest of mornings my trusty cup of coffee rolls back the fog in my mind. This camping trip that I went on in November was a group trip. I arrived at the campgrounds via my usually means of transportation- BMW R1200 GS (a beautiful body on two glorious wheels). It was a fun weekend full of good eating, drinking, and boating. A merriment of laughter and relaxation. This is a story of my adventure home.

On Sunday, I packed up my items and set out on a generally direction- south and east. I had the entire day to wind along roads and find roads off the pavemented path. I found a path most amusing.

It started as a small two lane road that ran along a levee. Small, quaint houses where across the road, and it felt like modern America. There was nothing overly distinguishable between the houses, speckled with small boats. Only the trees gave off an character, or acknowledgment of where in America I was currently located.

As I was traveling, I came to an incline with a sign at the top that stated, "Pavement Ends Here," which is probably my favorite street sign that has ever existed. Without any sign that says, "No Trespassing" or the ilk, I forged forward with a enormous grin across my face (I suspect).

The road was large, but littered with ruts that took a small amount of skill to traverse them. It was great fun! I found another path that headed in the right direction- south and east. I took a moment, consulting my GPS, and took a quick shot of the road ahead of me.

The road was more narrow, I had plenty of gas, GPS, a full belly, and time. I continued onward at a careful speed as to not hit any deep ruts obscured by the grass. Time was passing by and I was excitement was carrying me forward. My GPS was still acknowledging this as a "road," but it doesn't differentiate between a paved, dirt, or set of tracks. My mind was focused on the challenge at hand, when I noticed that the road had changed width and apparent use. Glancing down at my GPS, it assured me that my growing sense of disbelief in the validity that I was on a road was invalid. 

Standing on my pegs and maneuvering my way through the trail that was not much larger than two set of tracks, I came to a point of the road that showed the lunacy of trusting a machine. Unless the GPS led me towards this desolate location with the nefarious intent of my destruction. Could it be working in conjunction with some larger silicon-based intelligence to slowly exterminate all carbon-based life? Maybe there was a plan to upgrade me into a more efficient being by wiping away my humanity? Maybe I was too cunning for his/her/its plan. What others would call heedless stupidity could not be taken into account by the pragmatic and logical machines. I'll lay out the facts as succinctly as possible. 

 The "GPS" deemed the "path" in front of me as a "road". It is clearly not a traveled area by any vehicle. There are no marks to show a path. The levee that I had previous been riding next to had returned on my left. This meant that a body of water was surely on the other side. I became a touch worried as to how to get back to a road with some level of validity and reliably get me to a tarmac road. I was getting close to needing gas. I had maybe 60 miles left, and without any knowledge of the area or the nearest gas station, I had to be somewhat conservative. About 6 miles back there was a path that veered west, and I thought about heading back and venturing down its path, but it did not give me any clear indication of how close to a road/town it would lead me. I decided to push forward down the path in front of me.

Before long, I could see a gravel road on the horizon. I became excited. I pushed forward, increasing my speed. There might have been a holler of excitement, but no one was there to prove that it ever happened. Just before I arrived at the road, I noticed a barrier. There was a metal fence that was partially down. This fence blocked my way to the road. Weighing my options, I decided to risk the levee. I knew it was a very small path, but it was only a short ride to get pass the fence. It seemed that the reward out weighed the risk. Up I went, and onto the levee top I rode. Down pass the fence and in the clear I continued.


Until I ramble on again. . .

Recharging: Part 4

This is part 4 of my trip with Eric to Florida. 

After leaving Fort Pickens, we decided to drive into town, grab lunch, and plan dinner. I picked what looked like a little sports bar and grill with a patio. It was a beautiful day, and the prospect of sitting outside was enticing. I'm only telling you about lunch because of Eric. Whenever we travel, Eric likes to banter with strangers. He pretends a stranger is a long awaited friend. One of his favorite shticks is to make a passing comment as though we are a gay couple. This makes me laugh, so of course I play along, nothing over the top, you have to make it believable. At lunch Eric poured it on so thick that it elicited the response from the waitress, "It's alright, I have gay friends." If she would have ventured a look at me instead of staring intently at her pad, she would have seen me barely keeping the laughter bated.

After lunch we ventured on the other side of the bridge to secure provisions for the evening. We decided to take camping to a whole 'nother level. Below you can see we had some choice cut ribeye, corn, and vegetable kebabs. Along with this unquestionable great meal, I procured a bottle of 12 year old Glenfiddich, an affable single malt scotch with a smooth and mellow finish. From previous posts, it is evident that we don't normally travel and eat in this capacity, but sometimes it is nice to treat oneself in a luxurious manner; albeit, with some strain on decorum.

That night we slept well, bellies full and senses dulled. Waking up was easy, as it was another beautiful day for riding. We had the necessary java jolt, packed, and on our way. We stopped at Fort Morgan, and had a nice history lesson. I won't bore you with more historical information, since there are some frank similarities between Fort Morgan and Fort Pickens.

Before we could get out of Alabama, the clouds were overcast, and the ride was not beautiful, but we were riding and that is that matters.


Until I ramble on again. . .

Recharging: Part 3

This is about a trip I took in October with my riding Buddy Eric. You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Whenever I go camping, I always talk about the morning coffee. It could be my favorite thing about camping. I know that seems weird, but it is sense memory. Going camping with my dad, uncle,and brother (there were other people that joined at various times, but it was at least the four of us 90% of the time), the smell of coffee was always mingled with the fresh morning dew in the morning. Before, I started drinking coffee, I would sit on the ice chest, pick out a sugary cereal, and enjoy my pick me up as the adults would enjoy there stimulating breakfast. When older, I started partaking in this ritual with coffee. From the time of a small child, you got up, without a sound, enjoyed your stimulus, and felt this sense of calm. It wasn't a calm-before-the-storm feeling, but a feeling of peace. No one really talked, and you would sit in silence allowing the natural beauty of the landscape to hold your attention. Even in large camping areas where the campsites are very close together, I am able to simply enjoy that morning. It is as though the coffee triggers that calm feeling behavioral modified all those years ago.

Here is Eric's view from his tent in the morning and enjoying his coffee.

I had told Eric that there was a path not far from our campsite to the beach on the bay side of the peninsula. After the ceremonial coffee, we decided to stroll along the beach. Actually, I took a cup with me for good measure. With the tide, many jelly fish ended a washed on the beach. They were huge.

Here is a picture of me walking across a "bridge" back to the campsite.

When we arrived back at our campsite, a Park Ranger swung by and told us to go make sure we register and pay our fee. It was pushing on 10 a.m. We put on our gear and headed to the station. I'm not sure if some one had reserved the space prior, or we waited so long to register, but the site that we were currently in was not available for another night. After a few minutes of finding spot from a poorly hand-drawn map, we picked a spot not far from where our current was located. It made the move very easy.

After moving, we headed to actual Fort Pickens. If you don't enjoy your history, you might want to scroll down. Also, for brevity, I'm going to refer to certain people and elements in there American colloquial form. 

Some quick facts about Fort Pickens:

-It was started in 1829 and completed in 1834

-It is the largest of the four forts built in the area to defend the bay/naval yard

-It took 21.5 million bricks and a plethora of slaves. 

- It was named in honor of Major General Andrew Pickens, a Revolutionary War Hero, who was referred to by Cherokees as "Wizard Owl" (I think they were making fun of him because owls are stupid, nocturnal creatures).

-Designed by French Engineer Simon Bernard

-Helped create wicked kill zones with Fort McRee and Fort Barrancas

-Imprisoned many Native Americans from varying tribes in the area, but most notably it imprisoned Apache leader Geronimo from October 1886 to May 1887.

I am not familiar with Military history, but other cultures in relation to historical context is interesting. I have mentioned in previous posts, that I had a real fascination with Native American culture. One of the things that interested me while meandering around Fort Pickens was that Geronimo (his Chiricahau name has been written as Goyahla, Goyathly, or Goyaale) who was born in the Southwest (present day New Mexico), was a prisoner at Fort Pickens for a period of time. This had me wondering, "Why would they bring Native Americans from the west to the east? Weren't European settlers pushing the native tribes onto reservations and westward?" I did a touch of surface research, and did not find a direct answer, but drew my own conclusions. A note: this is not real in-depth research. This is some Google searches and reading a couple of passages from some books. 

Fort Pickens was a fort that had been out of use from about 1850 (after Mexican-American War) until 1861 when the Union saw it as a highly defensible post during the U.S. Civil War. For about 10 years, the fort was neglected. When it was once again put in use it was reported to be dilapidated, but still a better position than the other two forts in the area. Then came the fighting with confederate soldiers. I'm sure this created more damage to the unkempt fort. 

It is difficult to summarize Geronimo's place in history. He fought against the encroaching Mexican and American armies respectively. He helped to create treaties that would be later ignored by Americans. He was a fierce warrior. He became the most famous Native American of his time due to eluding capture. There is controversy over Geronimo's surrender. I won't go into all of that, but Geronimo surrendered to the US army on September 4, 1886. He stayed at Fort Sam Houston for 6 weeks before being shipped to Fort Pickens with other Apache "prisoner's of war." This is twenty years after the end of the US Civil War. 

My supposition is that the US used Native Americans that were deemed "war criminals" and turned them into slave labors to fix, update, and renovate Fort Pickens with minimal cost. I think it probably took longer to repair after the US Civil War because the fort was in dilapidated conditions before the bombardment. During that period of time there were improvements and more batteries installed with larger cannons as seen above with Eric. Slave labor is really cheap- just food to keep them going. Geronimo stated in his autobiography, "Here [Fort Pickens] they put me to sawing large logs. For nearly two year we were kept at hard labor in this place and did not see our families until May, 1887." The 'we' that Geronimo referred to was other Apaches, but I wonder if there were other Native Americans from that area 'helping' with upkeep and continuous restoration.

The minimal research that I have done does not state directly my thoughts on the use of Native Americans as slave labor, but there are a lot of indications that they were. I think it is important to take a critical look at how the actions of European settlers shaped our current cultural climate, and for us to recognize that our ancestors (those of us of European descent) were not always wonderful or great people. They did some horrible things, and to lose site of that is to lose site of making things better for everyone from all walks of life today.

THUS ENDS THE HISTORY PORTION

I honestly, enjoyed roaming around fort and learning more about a history that I am not as well versed. There is more to come concerning this day of leisure and fun, but this post is getting long, and I will save the rest for later.

More to come.

Until I ramble on again. . . 

Recharging: Part 2

This is about a weekend trip I took with my riding buddy Eric in October. You can read Part 1 here.

Once in Mississippi, we exited within mile two, and headed towards Highway 90. Once over Bay St. Louis, you are riding right next to the beach. As mentioned before, we had wonderful weather, and riding next to the beach was sublime. There was no feeling to ride fast or find winding roads. The bright sandy beach mingled with a relatively calm ocean juxtaposed with the steady rhythm of riding on a motorcycle was settling any lingering thoughts on previous stressful events. Traffic on Friday morning was limited and made for steady driving.

Around Long Beach, we happened upon a large group of motorcyclist out for a ride. Instead of by-passing, we joined in with this large group. First time riding with a large group of people. Eric attempted to find out where they were going, but couldn't understand due to helmets, ear plugs, and age (cheap shot). After riding with the group (I noticed a variety of different plates from the southeast), we had to make pit stop, and lost the group afterwards. It was nice while it lasted.

Once in Alabama, we took Highways 188 to 193 heading towards Dauphin Island. We found some curves to have touch of the adrenaline. For some reason, Eric and I like to ride ferries [insert inappropriate joke here]. So, part of the planning was to take the ferry from Dauphin Island to Fort Morgan, and check out Fort Morgan. I think we have ridden the majority of current operating ferries in Louisiana, and feel like we have ridden 1 or 2 more in other states. I should keep better track of our journeys. Here we are waiting for the ferry.

The ferry ride was about 35 minutes. There are observational decks on the boat to enjoy the view, but I was too busy admiring myself and my bike.

The waves were a touch choppy, and our bikes rocked back and forth. We were a little nervous they might fall over, and lifting those bikes is not fun. Although we do riding off road and there is a greater chance of dropping your bike, we try to avoid from picking them up as much as possible. However, the suspension held and no bikes fell.

On the other side was Fort Morgan, and part of the initial planning was to stop there and have a look around. With the days getting shorter, we decided to visit on our way back to ensure that we have enough time to wander around and get our history on.

The drive through the rest of Alabama and into Florida was in a single word- sublime. Clear skies, cool breeze, and pulchritudinous scenery provided a relaxing and refreshing ride.On a side note the GPS ( a favorite rider of ours refers to his as Doofus/Dingus), took us oddly through downtown Gulf Breeze. It was unnecessary, but the GPS doesn't know better. The many times that I have passed through that area, and I have never seen the quaint downtown area.

We arrived at Fort Pickens with a couple hours left of daylight. The place was packed! There were a few spots open, and it seemed everyone was getting in there last bit of camping before the temperatures really went south. Although that night, the temperatures were in the high 40s, but I love the cold.

After setting up camp, instead of forging for our own wood, we decided to purchase pre-cut wood at the little story very close to the campsite. How to you transport wood on a motorcycle? Stacking and bungee cords- that's how. However, on previous trips, I have used duct tape.

The first night of camping we consumed some dried backpacking food. On a previous trip, Eric and I found out that one of these packs of food is enough for two people. We figured it out as we were both eating our own bags and became full with plenty left in the bag. Using our higher level skills of cognition ( we both have Master level degrees), we were able to deduce (read) that the packs clearly stated that it contains two 14 oz serving sizes. These are made for people that are exerting a lot of energy, and are very filling. I can eat a lot (I once ate 5 omelettes with 4 eggs per omelette and wanted more, but was forcible cut off), and have been called Mikey or Trash Compactor to give you an idea of my ability to consume large quantities of food per sitting. I was only able to eat half of one of those bags after a very full day of riding. With this previously found information of quantity, we shared a single bag of Kathamandu Curry with a glass of scotch per usual celebration.

Here is Eric prepping the meal.  

Catching some great shows on Caveman TV:

More to come.

Until I ramble on again. . . 

Recharging: Part 1

Where to begin a story can be difficult. Do I start this tale from when Eric's girlfriend (the fabulous Brandy) sent me a text (because he was driving) about having a motorcycle trip weekend? Do I start from the preparations of the trip and why we chose the direction to head? Do I start from the day of the trip? Do I start from the end and work my way backwards? Do I go Memento style and jump around?

I'll start here:

Combining an old love with a new love has proven to be an experience that proverbial recharges my batteries. I know you wonder, "Rob, why do you need to recharge your batteries so often. I mean I don't get to, and I have more headaches than you- you bum." My response is everyone needs to engage in self care on a regular and basis, and I'm sorry you don't get to as often due to responsibilities. Make a concerted effort to take care of yourself so the everyday stressors are set to 5 instead of 11. My juvenile response is, "Don't be jealous!"

 I have been camping from a very young age, and it is one of my favorite things to do. There is nothing like sitting around the fire (also known as Caveman TV) and oscillating between conversations and comfortable silence. Even large national campgrounds, there is a sense of privacy and respect for the natural beauty, which equates to people actually being respectful of their neighbors. The infinity of the sky is awe inspiring. I'm not much of an astronomer, but outer space is cool. Also, coffee never taste better than when it is brewed after a night in the sleeping bag.

 I find complete tranquility in the late evenings and early mornings of camping. I believe this is a perfect counterbalance to riding a motorcycle.

On top of Gizmo, I have solitude, but feel connected because there is not much between you, the pavement, and cars. Senses tend to run high while maneuvering around turns and the flow of traffic. There is excitement, concentration, and technical challenge while riding a motorcycle. On a side note, I will never understand not wearing full gear and driving reckless. Florida has no helmet laws and we say many people riding topless (top of their head, naughty person). It is infectious riding a motorcycle.

Combining motorcycle riding and camping has the additive effect of minimizing what you can bring. I have side panniers that hold 39L and 25L respectively; plus two waterproof bags that can be strapped down, as noted above. When packing, you have to consider length of stay, weight, bulk, and necessity. It is a big puzzle to work on. Honestly, I'm already planning my next couple of camping trips (the perk of limited responsibilities and attachments).

It had been a tedious period leading up to my weekend getaway, but I was excited. We decide to go to Florida for our trip. Part of the reason is that Florida is a short drive away, there are some beautiful stretches of road, and I had not been to Fort Pickens for camping since 2002 with my brother and dad. The other reason is that after riding in Florida, I had ridden in all the southeastern states on my motorcycle: Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida was last on that list.

We left Baton Rouge in the morning, and we could not have asked for better weather. It was cool with a slight breeze. As previously stated, I ride in full gear all the time, and riding through traffic in summer it can be less fun, but this weather it is no bother to move slow. The first leg of our journey was I-12 (the dreaded tarmac/pavement), which is just straight. Once we hit Mississippi, it was time to get off the interstate and enjoy more picturesque roads.

More to come.

Until I ramble on again. . .

The Naming of Gizmo

I've always had a fascination with naming things. Whether it is a nickname or given name, it is interesting how one arrives at a name. According to my mom, the names that my parents had picked out for me were Elizabeth or Jay depending on gender (obviously). In a moment of genius, my dad suggested 'Robert' to my mom and she readily agreed because she had been in labor for about 20+ hours. I dodged a bullet there. The reason he named me 'Robert' is that it is his father's name (my grandfather). My dad could be nostalgic and sentimental, for he was named after his grandfather as well. I was 'Robert' until I went to college. It was there that I started introducing myself as 'Rob'.

I introduced myself as 'Rob' because it didn't feel like I was saying my own name. 'Rob' was somebody different and I didn't feel like I was talking about myself. It was a weird self-conscious thing about saying my own name. Also, college is a huge shift, and I felt changing my name would be a way to reinvent myself. Nope. Still the fool.

During college I took up the moniker of Mitch Moon for my college radio station. I play the drums, and I named myself after Mitch Mitchell and Keith Moon. Most of my friends from college were DJs, and we still call each other by our chosen nicknames- except me. Maybe it doesn't role off the tongue or fit me. Maybe if I called myself 'Jester' that would have stuck.

From previous positing about my adventures (if you haven't read about them, start here), you know I named my motorcycle Simone. This is not her original name. I originally named her 'Helga' because she is German (BMW) and there is something hefty about her.When I hear the name 'Helga" I think a hearty woman. As I rode her more and more, I realized there was a beauty to her that left me enamored. I met a beautiful German girl named Simone years ago (10 years in December), and she left me enamored. I didn't name my motorcycle after the girl. I'm just alluding to her- it is an association thing. Stop judging. However, after testing the waters with a couple of different name, I have finally found the perfect name- Gizmo III.

My grandfather had a boat called Gizmo. Then there was another boat called Gizmo II, which is the source of one of  my favorite stories concerning my dad and uncle. My dad and uncle were in their 20's and just the two of them took Gizmo to go water skiing. My dad's version was that he was on the skies and my uncle was driving, sitting on the side, while steering. My uncle hit a wave and it through him out of the boat. My dad fell of the skies. My uncle claims that he was skiing and my dad was driving. However, what happened next they both agreed on.

The boat started going in circles with no captain. As the boat was circling, my uncle grabbed on to the ski rope and tried to pull himself to the ladder to get on the boat. This is very dangerous because of the boat propeller. As my uncle got closer, the force push of the propeller took my uncle's bathing suit clean off him. He let go and tried to find his swimming suit to no avail. Dejected, my dad and uncle waded in the water as the boat just circled around until the ski rope tangled up in the propeller and stalled the engine. They swam to the boat and drove back in to the boat launch. However, the two young guys in their infinite, youthful wisdom did not bring a towel or extra clothing. The only bit of clothing was my uncle's shirt. He wrapped it around his waist to cover his naked half, hoping not to offend too many people. Fortune was not on their side as the boat launch was crowded. My uncle had to dock and help load up Gizmo on a trailer in nothing but a shirt wrapped around his waist. In my mind's eye, he has it wrapped like a diaper because that makes me laugh.

I came to Gizmo III as a remembrance of my deceased ad and grandfather, and the many adventures they had in those boats. I'm having my own adventures just on land- so it is Gizmo III

Gizmo III and Rob(ert)

Until I ramble on again. . .

Shunpiking to Sanity Tour: Day 11 (The Final Day)

July 21, 2013
Today's Mileage: 296
Final Total mileage: 2,565

Work it Girls!

Silly Guys

So, in the final night camping, all seemed well. At about 2:30 a.m. I was awoken from an intense, scary dream by a hollowing raccoon. Raccoon's make horrible screeching noises because they are d****. After the adrenaline rush wore off and flashback from the time that I had almost been eaten by a bear while camping (a story for another time) subsided, I feel back asleep. My brain decided, "Hey, you know what will be a great dream? How about dreaming that a raccoon bits your head through the tent!" Awesome, brain. So sleep did not come easy on my final night of the trip.

Another use for the motorcycles is as a laundry line. With a touch of Frebreze, and hanging the items out, they smell- not as rancid. Honestly, I do not care, but I try to be considerate to people that might have to come into contact with my odor. See I can grow as a person. Here are the motorcycles being used in another capacity.  

Hopping back on the Natchez Trace Parkway after a sink shower, no rinse shampoo, and copious amounts of deodorant, I led the way and we meandered through dirt roads in the area. Knowing we needed to arrive in Baton Rouge, LA around 4 p.m., we just spent the morning on the dirt roads.This picture is the last dirt road we were on before we were back on paved roads.

Just before we arrived in Jackson, Ms, I became fatigued. The mixture of lack of sleep and hours of adrenaline fun- my body was sapped. This can be a dangerous time for a motorcyclist because being vigilante is being careful. Cars and trucks aren't as considerate or cognizant of anyone but themselves. The feeling was on my suddenly. Eric noticed right away and pulled in the first gas station to ensure that I was OK and take a break. After getting gas, and making sure that I was well to ride, Eric gave the lead position to me to stop where ever I wanted for lunch. I noticed that we were right near Interstate 55 and 15 miles from Jackson, MS. Doing the calculations in my head, we were a mere 15 minutes from Cool Al's restaurant. I knew that I could easily make it there and relax and enjoy a delicious hamburger. I made the decision to head there. I was so excited. The best restaurant that I had eaten ate in the beginning would provide a fitting end to my journey. However, the stars were not aligned as we pulled up to Cool Al's it was closed. So I picked the closest thing to us in despair and abject disappointment- Hooters. 

Hooters were the lonely and sad patronize (insert deprecating humor here). Saying you go there for the wings is like saying you read Playboy for the articles. I went there because it was right next to us and I was hungry (hurrah for convenient excuses). Any food was acceptable.

After an uncomfortable lunch, for more reasons than one, we were back on the road. About 20 miles from the Mississippi/Louisiana border, my back started knotting. I was starting to feel feeble. I was not tired just in pain. As soon as we crossed the border, I indicated to Eric to stop at the border rest area. Here is a picture of me doing I-don't-care-what-you-think Yoga. 

During this time, a good Samaritan tried giving me Lortabs, and when I declined, a Red Bull. Seems contradictory, huh? Here is a muscle relaxer and a stimulant. I declined both and after a few minutes of rest, I hopped on the motorcycle, cranked up the tunes, and made it back home in one piece.

So there ends this journey, but there is more to tell. Although I won't be posting everyday, I will continue this blog of adventure, wonder, and rambling. Stay tuned for The Epilogue and Outtakes from this trip. Thank you everyone for taking the time and reading my inane words. At the time of this posting, there have been over 500 views on this blog! Keep reading, sharing, and hopefully enjoying.

Until I ramble on again . . .

I already miss you.

Shunpiking to Sanity Tour: Day 10

July 20, 2013

Today's Mileage: 243
Total mileage: 2269

Family Photo

Leaving from Wally Doxen, Eric and I headed north towards Tennessee. We have decals (I do realize this is somewhat childish, but I do not care I like stickers) and every state that we travel in (or just cross the border) we put that state's decal on our motorcycles. Eric had yet to cross into Tennessee, so why not?) At this point, I have Louisiana, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee, North and South Carolinas, and Georgia. It is real life achievements, it gives life more replay value. Riding north we did start the day off road. Here is Eric and I stopping to check the mud road ahead. It is beautiful riding.

The difficulty with riding mud roads on two wheels are the tires and potential lack of momentum. Motorcycles want to stay upright due to physics, well it is geometry, mass distribution, and gyroscopic to be more accurate. To continue moving forward, the tires need traction. Tires with "knobs" sort of scoop the mud out of the way to create traction. Just call me Rob the Science Guy. Eric and I have the same tires, which are designated as 80/20, meaning 80% on road (tarmac) and 20% off road. The mud that we were in pretty much caked our tires removing the little extra traction that our tires create. Forward momentum was maintained through rigorous maneuvering and dumb luck. Much of my life relies on dumb luck. These tires are good for loose gravel and packed mud. Even in those scenarios it can get hairy and led to a fall. Yet, we didn't fall. Go us! However, my next set of tires will be 50/50 tires- the Heidenau K60s. We passed by two BMWs on the trail someone on a F800 GS and another on a GSA and one of them had the Heidenau.

Part of the thrill of riding off road is the unknown. What will happen next? What problems will we have to solve? What is the wing velocity of a swallow? These are all profound questions that swirl around in my mind. Ok, that is not so much true as it is just an adrenaline rush to fight your way through a difficult area or brake your back tire as you slide downhill or giving some gas for more momentum to make it up that daring hill or threading the gas as you round a turn standing on your pegs. The concentration is tiring and invigorating simultaneously. Here is another view from the road we were on that day.

Just marvelous. We stopped at a restaurant just inside Tennessee. Worn from the day, we stumbled into the restaurant and ordered some mediocre food. We tracked mud into the restaurant. They were really sweet about it, but we felt somewhat embarrassed. Have no fear gentle reader, I provided a 50% tip to compensate- we walked on carpet. 

Before heading back south we had to decide on a place to stay. A decision was reached to jump on Natchez Trace Parkway and either stop at Jeff Busby Camping Area of Tombigbee National Forest (not to be confused with Tombigbee State Park, which we had at some point). Tombigbee was slightly east of the Natchez Trace Parkway, but we didn't know exactly how far. We ended up at Jeff Busby for two reasons 1) it was directly off the Parkway and 2) it was getting late and it is better to set up camp in the daylight. Jeff Busby Camping Area is a primitive camp ground meaning no power hook ups or water. There were fountains near us and a toilet, but no shower. I think another motorcyclist stopped in at some point in the evening, but they were far enough away that I never saw them. Here is a picture of our campground. 

This campground was more open and could hang out with the stars as I sip on my scotch. This is the good life. Tomorrow is the final day of my trip.

Until I ramble on again . . . 

Shunpiking to Sanity Tour: Day 9

July 19, 2013

Today's Mileage: 313
Total Mileage: 2026

Wow, I have traveled over 2,000 miles on this trip.

Today was back to Shunpiking. I was only on the interstate until Tuscaloosa, Al then, on to the highway. It was a nice scenic ride, nothing spectacular. I waited in an Exxon parking lot for Eric. He decided that he wanted to take some off-roads before we met up. He might have fallen off his bike twice and had to pick up 900 lbs bike by himself in the middle of a really hot, sunny day. He made it to our meeting location, slightly haggard and tired. Like the cowboy he is, he complained about it, drank a bottle of water, and headed back out on the dirt roads with me.

This is a picture from my bike on one of the many 'roads' we took.

It is not so much falling off these bikes, because when you are taking these types of roads it will happen at some point, that is tiresome. It is picking up these large bikes with gear on them that can wear a person out. 

We camped at Wall Doxey. We were fortunate enough to have a couple of R/V campers bring over some hamburgers they had just made. I do not pass up free food. Later that night, I was worried that they might have drugged me and would re-enact scenes from Deliverance. That movie has scarred me for life. I'm writing this, so nothing bad has happened- that I know of. . . 

Until I ramble on again . . . 

Shunpiking to Sanity Tour: Day 8

Note: The last few days were written on the day of riding, but due to limited internet accessibility there are being posted over the next couple of days.

July 17, 2013

Mileage Day 8: 544
Total Mileage: 1,713

Back on the road again. However, this riding is not the kind that I enjoy. I, of course, ate up the miles today because it was ALL interstate. I rode from Morrisville, North Carolina all the way to Birmingham, Alabama.

Side note: Atlanta Traffic, you suck. Ten lanes, a bypass, and you still can't get your stuff together (edited for vulgarity). Come on. I almost developed as much anger for you as I have for Dallas Traffic and Houston Traffic (number 1 and 2 respectively on my s@*t list).

I was in South Carolina when I enjoyed my packed lunch. Auntie Dey was kind enough to pack me a lunch. It was the highlight of my day. This is true for two reasons: 1) I love Auntie Dey's cooking as much as Sharbari's and 2) I was on the interstate all day.

Whenever I eat a packed lunch of homemade Indian food (which doesn't happen often these days), I always think of Tiffins. The first time in India Sharbari explained to me (if any of this information is inaccurate it is not due to her) that in Mumbai all the men go to work and there lunch is brought to them by an intricate system. There is some cultural aspect to this about men wanting a hot meal that is cooked fresh and not heated with sound waves. Tiffin is a slang term for second breakfast, but in Mumbai it refers to a packed lunch. Everyday tiffin wallahs pick up the prepared meals from the persons home as prepared by mother or wife. There are a series of markings on the tiffin to denote where that owner is located in town. To blow your mind, Mumbai's metropolitan area has over 20 million people that covers about 1,651 square miles. Even if 50% of the population used it (trust me it is way more) that is over 10 million people that are being brought lunch every day without fail. I can't remember how accurate it is, but I want to say it is over 97% accurate. It could be more, and Google could tell me, but guessing is way better. There is a great episode of Top Gear (Series 17, Episode 7) where they attempt to carry tiffins to the correct location. I thought I had a picture of the tiffins from my travels, but this is a picture of a man moving cloth on top of a bicycle. I think Indians invited Tetris.

Tomorrow I will be meeting up with my friend, Eric and get back to Shunpiking.

Until I ramble on again . . .