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Last chapter: After a good night’s rest, I showed, skipped shaving, brushed teeth, and unplugged all the electrical stuff I have come to depend on (MP3 player, cell phone, GPS, Bluetooth headset, and laptop) packed it all in my new touring bag and went down to the lobby to catch the free breakfast and read the paper. It was looking like another 90 degree plus day in Florida with a chance of showers north of where I was heading. I was originally aiming for Savannah to visit another friend from the “old days”, but she had emailed me last night that she was called out of town for a week. I was bummed, but figured I could make it home in 10 or 11 hours if I got underway early. Loading up the scoot I left the west coast of Florida behind me and headed toward Orlando. I had thought to stop at Head Trip to see about getting one of their helmets, but checking for their address online I saw that they had a recall on all motorcycle helmets. I guess they didn’t meet the DOT standard, which bummed me out. I have a small head and most skid lids look like a mushroom on me so getting one with a thinner profile was attractive; not happening this trip. At any rate, I loaded up the scoot, applied a bit of sun screen, switch on the GPS and the Bluetooth headset, set the MP3 to bagpipes and rock ‘n roll, cinched up the helmet, pulled on the summer weight gloves, and fired up the bike. Jeez, all that just to go for a ride.
Heading east out of Tampa and into the early morning light I followed the signs toward Orlando and watched the sun, all red like a Japanese battle flag, slowly climb up above the multi-layered overpasses. The traffic filled the roadway and apprehension began gnawing at my consciousness as I tried to stay away from semi-trucks, lane jumping sports cars, and cell phone talking SUV driving women. The highlight of Orlando, other than getting out of it, was seeing the electrical wire towers shaped like Mickey Mouse. Kicking the bike into overdrive after the stop and go of rush hour was certainly a welcome feeling especially as the music playing in my ears shifted to “Hell Bound Train” by Mac Talla More. I was tapping my feet, bobbing my head, and blasting along at just above legal speed; bitchin’, as we used to say in Southern California, back in the day.
Signs for the coast began to appear and I figured I stop in Daytona Beach again to give Destination Daytona a better look over then I gave it on the way down. Connecting up with the 95 a bit south of Daytona I started looking for the J and P store, which is part of the “Destination” complex. I pulled in about a half hour before the store opened, backed the bike into a motorcycle only slot and park my butt on a bench beside the door. I spent about an hour looking around and limited myself to a package of leather treatment wipes before deciding to get back on the highway. North toward Jacksonville began the shift in my comfort level, I noticed that I was feeling really tired and it wasn’t yet noon. Up through Jacksonville, and its inevitable highway construction, I continued on into Georgia. I was beginning to wonder if trying to make it all the way home was such a good idea. The heat of the sun was starting to be more and more uncomfortable and I started to ride closer to the left hand side of the road to catch the occasional shade cast by the trees in the median. By the time I passed through Savannah I was really beat and seriously thinking about stopping even though it was only 2:00 pm. Pulling over for lunch I called my Daughter and told her not to expect me until the following morning. After lunch, I felt a little better and thought I might make it anyhow, but crossing the border into South Carolina I began to imagine strange things and saw a sign that I thought said, Waterloo, France. Now even in my drug using days, I never was that high, so I began looking for a motel. Comfort Inn looked good, so I got off the highway in some little burg about six hours from home, unloaded the bike, turned up the air-conditioner, and lay down for a nap. Right, by morning I was still in my cloths and feeling pretty grimy so it was shower, pack, breakfast, etc. get on the bike and head towards home. I stopped for gas about an hour up the road figuring that one more gas stop would be all I’d need to finish the trip. Keeping the speedometer at just over 70, the miles melted away as the music played in my ears and the wind buffeted my body. Soon the North Carolina border passed beneath my tires and I was on the last stretch of the journey. A final stop for fuel just outside of Fayetteville and I started looking for the exit that would take me home. I pulled in just before noon by a minute or two and jockeyed the bike into the building where I keep it. Pulling the touring bag off of the bike and locking the building behind me I lugged my tired ass inside to be greeted by my Daughter and my cat. It had been a grand ride, but I was very glad to be home.
Lessons learned: 1. Only take half the crap you think you might need. 2. When I was younger I could go 10 to 15 hours and still party at the end. At 65 years old, six hours is plenty. 3. Even a crappy car feels like a luxury vehicle after a week of riding 2370 miles.
I trust you have enjoyed sharing the road with me, even if it was vicariously.
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Enjoy the rest of the trip and keep it safe.
