golf
course had become a full fledged lake that was only starting to recede from
overflowing the main road into the resort.August 16, 2002
Riding Home
"Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain . . "
But mostly, it was rain . .
Now is a good time to tell you that today, August 16, 2002 was
our second anniversary. The rains from the night before had continued non-stop
until just before dawn. By morning, the little pond that was on the
golf
course had become a full fledged lake that was only starting to recede from
overflowing the main road into the resort.
Our plan for this day was to ride straight to Tampa from Clayton
Georgia. We would ride to Athens, s
top
for lunch and then just ride straight out until we got home. We took the
time to wipe off the bikes, check them for any damage and make sure the rain and
flooding hadn't put any electrics at risk before we left.
Athens was a neat town a week ago when we stopped the first
time, and it was equally nifty neato on our way back the second time. I
had a surprise in mind for Tonya,
something
that I had spotted the first time we were in town, and I was in a particularly
jovial mood over lunch. Here I am singing "A little less conversation -
the remix" at a smoothie place in Athens. One of my more redeeming
qualities, I am told, is my complete willingness to humiliate myself in public
without really caring.
After my stirring dance-mix rendition (and the smoothie shop
desk clerk politely asking me to stop before he called the cops
)
I had to ditch Tonya for a few minutes while I procured my surprise. She
didn't know that was what I had in mind, which made the surprise that more
delicious. We had purchased an ENORMOUS poster at a shop on the way up and
I had been told that they would ship it immediately. It had been a week
since I had been there last and I felt that I should drop in to see if the
poster had shipped. If it hadn't shipped (and Tonya and I were convinced
it wouldn't be) I would get my money back. Tonya doesn't like to be around
when I am a jerk, so it was the perfect excuse for me to let her head off for a
few minutes. It took 45 seconds in the poster shop to determine that the
print did not ship and that I was getting my money back. It took another 5
minutes for me to then go and get Tonya's surprise. Note the smirk and
swagger of a man completing a job well done.
We rode from Athens to Tampa and only stopped for food, gas, and
pee breaks. The rest of these shots are from the ride home.
Again,
the switch from Cool and Crisp to stultifyingly hot and humid took its toll on
me. Here I am at a gas stop trying to balance out my body temperature and
nurse a throbbing headache. I think this is just one of my body's little
nuances, it bothered Tonya, but she coped much better than I seemed to.
Here I am at one of
the
numerous gas stations we visited along the way. Since Tonya's bike had a
gas tank the size of a squirrel's prostate we stopped for gas every 80 miles or
so. The BMW is good for twice that, but it wasn't as if I was going
to leave and wait for her to catch up.
Here was the first of the SERIOUS rain on our trip home, as mother nature had decided that from here on out we would be peppered with thunderstorms. In Macon, Georgia we were hit with literally a wall of rain. We saw the wall as we approached it and we hit it as if it were a wall of solid rock. It was pouring so badly it flooded the freeway. For the second time I was in water nearly at my footpegs and Tonya was as well. Now, we were geared, though not in rain gear. Riding in a half helmet or no helmet in the rain is just agonizing. Imagine all of your friends lining up and shooting you in the face with BB guns - it is a little less fun than that. Tonya and I saw a couple of very macho looking Harley riders tucked under an overpass - apparently the tattoos, and leather vests, and chaps didn't do SQUAT to actually protect someone from the environment, and they were huddled together like a couple of soaked kittens. Tonya, a small woman on a small bike, putted by at about 15 miles per hour. Putt, putt, putt (wave to the Leatherman from the Village People) putt, putt, putt.
About an hour later the rain let off - sometimes we rode full speed in it, depending on the traffic.
An amusing little story comes to mind about the roadside
restaurants along the highway. As you are traveling through America's vast
and clearly world class highway system you will see signs for places to stop and
eat. Some of these places are really just places to pee (like McDonald's -
the traveling man's urinal) and others are legitimate dining establishments.
Somewhere
in that family lies the "Cracker Barrel" restaurant chain. What makes
Cracker Barrel so interesting is that it is exactly what it claims to be, a room
full of pasty white people listening to Patsy Cline and eating bland meatloaf
and mashed potatoes. Don't get me wrong, I love Patsy Cline. There
aren't even minorities in the kitchen this place is so white. Being that
these places are inevitably in the middle of nowhere you can't help but think
that this isn't an accident. Even more amusing, right across the street
from the Cracker Barrel is another restaurant named - unbelievably - Bojangles.
Keep in mind that we were still in Georgia. I can just imagine if Tonya
and I were African American, being told "Suh, you may
have made a mistake. We ah Crackah Barrel, and ah believe you ah looking
foah Bojangles, which is raht across the street. If you'd kahndly take
yoah business theyah, suh, ahm suah we'd all be moah comfoahtahble."
Well, we aren't and they didn't and I wasn't in the mood - so I ate the bland
food, and we headed on.
The ride to the Florida border was fairly uneventful with
occasional showers, lots of heat, and nothing too impressive to talk about.
We did notice that the drivers became immediately more hostile the minute we
crossed I-10. I blame Disneyland - those bastards have candied the air so
badly around them that everywhere else there is a huge backlash of assholishness
to compensate. We just wanted to get home.
We
were maybe four hours North of home when I looked up and saw a HUGE
thunderstorm, literally a mile ahead of us. We had taken off our raingear,
as it was cheap, sweaty and sticky, but this storm coming up looked fierce.
We pulled over at the nearest stop, gassed up, geared up and got back on the
freeway. No more than 30 seconds later we were immersed in a hot summer
shower that lasted nearly 60 miles. If you look at this picture you'd
think it was blue skies - you'd be wrong, right behind me was a storm that made
the sky look like a bruise, black and blue with that tinge of yellow and green
that lets you know there is more than a little energy in the air. I like
to ride with a large car antennae strapped to my helmet at times like these -
just to make it that much more interesting.
From that point on we almost continually rode in the rain, the mists, or the brief drying out period between storms. More than once we pulled into a gas station in the pouring rain with water over our ankles. Families stuffed inside steamy minivans all put their faces to the glass to see the insane motorcyclists riding in weather that wasn't safe enough for the automotive equivalent of a rolling uterus and its contents within.
We actually missed a REALLY nasty storm that was about an hour ahead of us and had already rolled through Tampa by the time we got in. We saw the lightning ahead of us and heard colon liberating thunder but we missed the rain. We also missed the unfortunate prospect of cleaning sound induced defecation off of the bikes. It was loud thunder.
Once
we got home we dried off, took a shower, dried off again, took the barest of
necessities out of our bags and fell over in front of the TV. I gave Tonya
her surprise, and she gave me one too . . .
Well, that wraps up the anniversary story. Hopefully it changed your life, possibly helped you reconsider sterilization, suicide, or voting straight Libertarian (they are all equally effective). We may have more to tell as Christmas 2002 we are planning a trip to Key West. I will be sure to include pictures of floppy breasted topless lesbians for your edification and titillation.
Live free, ride hard
Scott