It all started out with a plan. Ride to Moonshine for burgers and visit with some friends on Saturday. My schedule was written and work was over on Friday afternoon, with the entire weekend free. The bike was packed on Thursday evening for the morning ride into work, camping gear strapped across the back seat and all the electronic farkles mounted. The GPS had the waypoints loaded for a carefree trip and the radar detector poised to keep Big Government out of my pocket. Right.
Quitting time approacheth Friday and so did the rain. Monsoons, buckets and fire hose type rain. I'll say it right out. I chickened out because I hate riding in thunderstorms. After surviving a couple close strikes over the years, if I don't have to do it, I won't. I rode home, unpacked the camping gear and put it away, but I left the overnight bag in the bike. You never know what will happen.
The alarm was set for Real Early o'clock, to see if the weather had broken. I can't sleep. The anticipation and desires keep me awake until midnight. Knowing the lack of sleep will only make it worse doesn't help me nod off.
Three hours later, the alarm goes off. Yeegads, it's painful to rise well before the sun. Click on the Weather Channel and look out the window at darkness. It's still drizzling, but the big stuff is harassing Canada now. YES!!! Nudge the wife, tell her I'm leaving and get a growl back saying I knew you would. hehehehe 25 years of marriage and she knows me well.
Don the gear, fire up the bike and roll it out of the garage. Warm up the GPS, set the destination, turn on the radar detector and Spot ( a personal locator beacon that also allows route tracking). Flip the PIAAs on and roll out. It's 4 am and lunch is set for 11:30, 425 miles away. The open roads call me. I duck and dodge my way down to the freeway and set the throttle at 70. The driving lights clear the path for me. Nary a car to be seen at this early hour helps lower the stress level. Mile after mile, the drizzle lightens and finally stops about dawn, finding me at the Indiana/Michigan border on I-69. Crank it up a touch.
Fort Wayne falls by the wayside after a pit stop for fuel and to return the rental coffee with Indy just ahead. No hassles, no jams, no critters to be seen. Life is good and the fun is still in front of me. Indy appears, it's still not 9 am and I gain an hour crossing the Illinois border. Rethink the plan. I don't want to arrive too early. At the second gas stop, the maps come out and I see Route 267 heads south to 67 west. will get me around Terre Haute to the south and right into Moonshine. A few quick lefts and rights gets me onto 67 headed in the proper direction. Civilization disappears in the mirrors and the open country smells fresh and clean. As the miles go by, the road weaves right and left then straightens out along some railroad tracks. The utter devastation of the recent storms is rudely visible. The tracks are washed out nearly every 500 feet. Crews are working to restore them to a useable state with huge mounds of large gravel and sand. Their work is crude but effective, standing out glaringly against the old trackbed. There is water standing everywhere. Crossing the Wabash River, it's overflowed it's banks and taken out a poor farmer's entire field. These folks are going to be hurting for a long time to come due to this weather. Their financial worries haven't even set in yet, as they are still busy saving themselves.
Bitchin' Betty from Garmin directs me thru small farming communities with nary a sign of life this morning. There's little traffic to be seen and less people. Each succeeding mile reveals more destruction with tree limbs laying along the road and crops drowning in the abundance of water. Sad to say, but most years, farmers are crying for rain to enfuse the wheat and corn with life. They got it all and more this spring.
Ahead is the Illinois state sign. We're nearly there now. Friends new and old await everyone's arrival. Betty tells me to take a few more turns and we're in Moonshine. Mmmm, no, we're not. This is a farmer's field. I don't remember the cross roads from April, so I wander aimlessly looking for an open business or anyone out and about. There's a car repair facility. Slow, turn and take the helmet off to talk to the good folks waiting for work to come in. Inquiring about the General Store, they chuckle and say where? Like they know I know they're having fun with me, I play along and laugh. I only missed by about a couple miles. Back out to the bike and follow the directions to the store. I can see it in the distance now. There's a whole parking lot of bikes strewn about. I see some familiar faces on the porch of the store and others in the lot taking off riding gear. As I wander over to the store to say hi and order up lunch, several others greet me and we renew old friendships. The riding community is wonderful that way. Food gets ordered, drinks selected and out to the picnic tables to chew the fat. I get razzed for my appearance at lunch, having posted a note that I wasn't coming due to the weather difficulties. The talk roams freely to who's doing what and where everyone is riding next. Congratulations are shouted to riders who placed well in recent rallies. Life is good and the food delicious.
All too soon, the crowd begins to disperse. These riders are not used to sitting still for long, no matter how pleasant the company. Like chaff to the breeze, they head for the four corners of the compass. My plans to ride to Memphis are tossed because of the road conditions down here and my lack of sleep the night before. I team up with another couple riders headed back to Louisville with the intent of getting to the Ohio River near Madison. I'll spend the night there and ride around Big Bone Lick State Park the next day. John takes the lead and we cruise back east across Route 54. Traffic is much heavier now, to the point of frustration. We drop south and find open country roads. John stops in one little town to talk about plans. I ask for his wisdom as to which roads are best. He gives me some road numbers and tells me it's just 30 miles down the way. I tell him I'll just split off and make the turn while him and the other rider head south to home. Route 50 is an outstanding ride. It twists and turns for nearly 15 miles thru hill and lush forest. Passing the end of the fun, I plug Madison into the GPS as my destination and say GO!
The directions take me down some really twisty back roads to Route 60 eastbound. Countdown to arrival is just 85 miles. The end of the day is in sight. Wrong. There's no open rooms in town. Change in plans yet again. Well, how about running up to one of the riverboat casinos and relaxing there? There's three north of me in Belterre, Rising Sun and Lawrenceburg. I rode thru all three. Yup, no room at the Inn anywhere for this old boy. Screw it. Let's go home then. I plug Dayton as an intermediate waypoint into the GPS and pull the trigger. 55 miles to go. I know there's going to be rooms along I-75 somewhere. The bike and I head upriver. Hey, there's a bike up there. It's a cruiser, but he's making good time. We drop in about a quarter mile astern and pace him. Dang, he turned too soon. It's good having a rabbit in front to deflect radar beams.
After dealing with the construction on 275 around Cincinnati and jumping onto I-75, I run hard to Franklin. There's a Quality Inn I've used before. Yup, they got rooms, smoking only. Gaaaaa! Ok, how much? $50. Do it. I need food and sleep. There's a Waffle House across the parking lot and a McDonalds next to it. Want fries with that dinner, boy? After choking down the food, I faceplant into bed. 9 hours later, it's morning. I think. Where's the coffee? Shower next. Oh, the humanity! 30 minutes later, feeling somewhat humanlike, it's breakfast at the motel. Nope, the entire dining area is overgrown with parents and rugrats. Fudge. Well, Waffle House is cheap and the quality consistent. I check out, wash the windshield on the bike and putter over to the restaurant. Coffee, my good lady and lots of it. Gimme the heart attack on a plate with a side of thick cholesterol. What??? No bacon?? I'll settle for the sausage patties, but it's coming out of your tip.
Sufficiently stuffed, it's time to go home. My conscience won't let me go play today. There's work to be done and it's all mine. The bike rockets up 75 thru and around the snails blocking my path. Nary a sign of any enforcement working and the few that were out, were occupied with writing. Thankfully. Let's just say I was not respectful of their speed suggestions and let it go at that.
In hardly any time, the Welcome to Michigan signs appear and home is not long now. 50 minutes across the border on our rutted "roads". Near home, I put into the DIY car wash bay and blast the accumulated crud off the bike to make it look presentable for another week. Glistening in the noontime sun, she says lets go play some more. Sorry, darlin', but I gotta see the wife now. We'll play again next Friday.
