North America: Riding a 21 year old Goldwing: 13 - Leaving Town Again: Headed West

Before leaving, I had to fix the starting problem that happened in Western PA and continued for over 3,000 miles through VT, NH,ME & Canada. I didn't want to start the bike with a screwdriver any longer. So many starts had left my screwdriver pocked. Laying metal across the posts of the solenoid had gotten old after several hundred iterations.

You can see the two posts below, they are obscured by my hand above.

I disassembled the throttle-side handlebar assembly and cleaned the brass components of the starting switch. Problem solved. The bike starts and the headlight works. Outstanding!

I left Winston-Salem after viewing a Weather Channel radar map of the Southeast that was predominantly green. Being three hours away from Asheville, I was three hours from purchasing a full-face helmet. Riding in the rain in an open face helmet is an exercise in pain management. Having ridden exclusively in open faced helmets for the last ten years, I was used to it, but not looking forward to it.

The clouds threatened to sting my face with needle-like drops, but the rain held off.

I bought a new Arai Quantum 2 helmet (in flat-black of course) and hit the road. The rain began 15 minutes later and continued through WNC (Western North Carolina) and TN.

With raingear and face protection, the ride across the mountains was actually quite serene. On my new faux i-pod, I had some good Old-Time tunes playing. All the rain songs, train songs, and a few lonesome tunes. What a great way to kick off the trip.

The sun poked back out in KY and I kicked back on the highway pegs and enjoyed the Kentucky Mountains.

I made it to Hazard KY around 7:30 and stopped at a campground near the Daniel Boone National Forest. I thought it was a State Park, but it turned out to be a private campground. Though beautiful and on a river, I wasn’t prepared to spend $20. The nice lady who owned the place told me I could make Daniel Boone before sunset and camp free, and then offered a spot on the river to me and then offered to cover the $20. How generous! I unloaded the bike, set up camp, and enjoyed some tuna before firing up my stove to make a pot of tea.

After spending a month on the road without a stove, having a hot cup of tea after dinner seemed like the best way to end a day. It was amazing.

So I’m a bit of a pack rat. I hate throwing stuff away that I may use again one day. I also tend to buy food that is on sale and is non-perishable. Hence my collection of about a half dozen flavors of tea. I brought the remains of six boxes with me on this trip, about 50 bags in all. The Twinning’s Red Bush tea that I drank tonight is probably two years old. But there is a pretty good chance that it is not two years old, but rather five years. Anyhow, it was delicious and I’m finally eating the food I’ve been hoarding for so long.

It wasn’t very light out when I woke up at 5:30. The fog was so thick that from the tent, it seemed as if dawn had yet to break. I got up and dressed in ATGATT for the first time. All the gear, all the time (ATGATT) is a riding style many adopt that calls for riders to dress for the crash, not for the ride. Guys that ride Goldwings rarely go to such extremes.

The look of Lacrosse shorts and cowboy boots is almost enough to make me reconsider. After putting on my armored and waterproof pants, I didn’t look nearly so ridiculous. I grabbed my new helmet and posed for a photo and then jumped on the bike.

For some reason, I though I should ride through Hazard listening to the theme song from Smokey and the Bandit. I pressed play, but then decided that humming along to: “they boys are hot down in Atlanta, and the beer’s in Tex-Arkana” wasn’t the way to begin the day. Instead, I put on some Bossonova. Riding to a saucy Samba along a river in a gorge at dawn really set the tone for the day. (Though I did hum a bit of: “If I can keep it on the ground, when I put the hammer down, then I’ll be Texas bound and flyin’)

I hopped on the Hal Rodgers Parkway. It was a beautiful ride. After leaving the parkway for more rural roads, I came across this; a church named Egypt in Kentucky. An hour or so later, I went through Bagdad, KY. Interesting. I couldn’t pass up a restaurant called Lighthouse. As a fan of the old structures, I wasn’t expecting to see a Lighthouse themed place in Kentucky. Perhaps someone has opened a Derby restaurant in NC?

The Kentucky hills gave way to Midwest farmland. The ride wasn’t as great, but the scenery was great. I rode through Indiana and stopped at a town called Napoleon and a restaurant called Bonaparte’s Retreat. When I saw a sandwich called Waterloo, I didn’t even read the description, I just ordered it. Hilarious. It was good.

Back on the road. An hour later, I had to get on the Interstate, agggh. The GPS said I had 5 hours to Chicago and I had to be there in 5 hours. No time to take the scenic route.

My buddy and his wife are taking me out to see the town and I care more about seeing downtown Chicago than riding through farmland. I’ll have time for that after I leave Chicago.

The ride into the city was hell. I’ll leave it at that as I don’t care to recall it. The traffic, the confusion, the weight of a 1,000 lb motorcycle; it was most unpleasant.

I found a place to park on the street and then lugged my gear inside. A few quick hellos, a not-so-quick shower, a cold beer and a couple of stories and then we set off for dinner and drinks (with me wearing a borrowed shirt.) My buddy's passport is full of stamps while mine is not. Perhaps I'll make it to Chile one day. If not, at least I got to wear the t-shirt.

It was a great day followed by a great night.

We decided to see an afternoon Cubs game and the three of us walked to Wrigley. On the way, we passed this bar. Great sidewalk decor! I have a new goal: Don't let my Goldwing suffer such a fate and end up planted in a Chicago "flower garden."

The search for tickets didn’t go so well. We couldn’t get in, so we watched from across the street. The Cubby (?) was a great bar with a diehard crowd. My Chicago Dog was delicious and the beer was cold.

The sun was shining and we could hear the roar from the stadium. The Cubs spanked the Astros and Chicago was a happy town.

We went to an Outdoor Store and I got a new headlamp. I can’t complain that my old one suddenly started shorting out while in Hazard, KY. I’ve used it hundreds of times and have put it through some rough use. A headlamp is a necessity, as I rarely have a fire.

This morning I’m up early and writing about the last couple of days before heading off to see the Busch race at Chicagoland speedway. Tomorrow morning, I’ll ride along Lake Michigan. Then, Huron will be the only one that I haven’t ridden a good stretch of coastline.

The forecast is sunny and I’m anxious to get back on the road, though today I’ll only ride about 60 miles. Tomorrow I’ll log some miles. But for now, I'm off to see my 4th NASCAR race of the year; the 8th if counting local short-track races.

We said goodbye and I left to ride the hellish streets of Chicago. It would be nice to be in a car... a very big car with a loud horn and a solid bumper. Oh well, the Goldwing will have to do.

The ride along Lakeshore Drive was spectacular and quite manageable. The toll-road out of town was a bit dicey, but the downtown ride made it all worth while.

I found a great spot right across from Turn 1 and the lady, skeptical at first, then offered me a spot for $10. Once she knew what I was doing and why, she became very friendly and offered a spot to me for a small fraction of what the other guests paid.

I set up and left for the race. Good luck continued as I found a guy who’s buddy bailed and so he had an extra ticket. Brian sold it to me at a great price and we headed off to catch the green flag.

After returning to camp around 6:00, that's when the post-race fun began.

The guys camped next to me were great. They were two friends in their mid career, who came down to watch racing.

Here are a few of the characters I met at the campsite. One guy was drinking Red Bull and Liquor of some sort. He insisted that everyone take a sip. After all that insisting, he didn't have many takers. Drinking liquor from a leather canteen isn't many people's idea of a raceday. How about some burgers, potato salad and a cold Budweiser?

I met this guy a few yards from my tent. Just for fun, he'd built a replica '57 Chevy Bel-Air Body for a golf cart. It was immaculate. The doors opened and were precise. The paint appeared ready to drip, though it had dried months ago. Amazing!

Someone told me that I could walk into the infield during the evening. Wow! I grabbed a cooler of beer and my camera and started walking. The infield score tower marks the spot.

I spent the next five hours meeting some really cool people and seeing a lot of unique things. Right away I noticed the difference between the infield tailgates and those camped outside of the track. There were so many custom busses alongside the $1M diesel pusher motor homes. Some of the busses were quite elaborate. I decided to spend my night hanging out with “bus people.” The quest began and during the evening I went on a dozen busses and have pictures of some. The people were regular people who decided that a few times each year, they would travel in style to a place where they could have the most unique tailgate among 100,000+ tailgaters.

The guy taking this picture had been playing "drinking horseshoes." True, he'd been winning, but clearly even a good game hadn't spared his sobriety. It's a good picture of the bus, though having my head in the picture would have been nice.

I hung out with the folks from this bus for a bit. The bus wasn't great, but the slogan on the back made me think of Jim Collin's book Good to Great. The book is about having "the right people on the bus."

The folks playing Jenga made from pressure treated 4x4’s cut into two foot lengths were all family. Over 50 family members came to have an annual get-together at Chicagoland. This little dude had won the last three consecutive games. He had become a family legend.

The asked me to sign a Jenga piece and then insisted that I play. I was glad it was the beginning of the Jenga game as Jenga and I have a love-hate relationship. I love when my turn is over and hate when it comes around again.