Things Best Said

782 miles

About a week ago my father and I decided to put our motorcycles on a trailer and take them with us to North Carolina. We chatted briefly, but with high-spirits, that the riding along the coast would be something quite extraordinary. Separately we must have envisioned long stretches of open views, waves lapping the sand and a winding trail…but neither of us had any experience at the Outer Banks nor, it seemed, looked at a map of the road there.

So, we fought, pulled, cursed, sweated, cursed more and managed to put his Kawasaki Nomad 1500 and my Honda ST1300 on a *very* small trailer. While physically a very strong trailer the width was not meant for hauling two of these bikes side by side. Every bag, top box and (in the case of the ST) mirror cowling had to come off in order to make them fit. Though we were careful not to scratch any paint or chrome the left mirror on my ST was folded beyond its breaking point and shattered.

After loading the bikes we had no room for our saddle bags or extra bike parts or gear. Knowing the possibility of new roads was ahead, we trailer’ed off and found ourselves in Southern Shores, NC some 13+ hours later.

(cue time lapse music – make it swell but leave it running low in the background…)

The Outer Banks of North Carolina are great. Lots of open beaches, sand and a water temp of about 72Ëš…but no great roads to ride on. There’s basically one long road that travels the entire length of the islands (Ocracoke in the south and up through Nags Head, Kitty Hawk and Corolla). And, that road isn’t very exciting if you’re used to the twisties in other parts of North Caroliina. In fact, most parts of the island this 2-lane road is the only access road for all local and tourist traffic and it’s quite busy.

So, the bikes basically sat the entire week with only a few short jaunts out to justify (to our wives) that we should have brought them at all.

(back to that time lapse music)

Friday night, after spending all day out on the ocean fishing my father convinced me that we should hook up a mostly empty trailer for the girls to tow back and he and I should brave the long trek on two wheels.

Now, he was sick all day on the boat popping dramamine in betwixt heaving the contents of his stomach or passed out. In retrospect, he may not have been in his right mind…but he’s my father and I agreed to make the journey with him.

(imagine the slow prelude build of adventure music)

Before dawn we mounted our mechanized horses and pulled away. The first few hours were great. The sun hadn’t come up yet, it was a bit chilly but not horrible and we had the road almost all to ourselves.

Now, my ST will do about 280 miles on a full tank but Dad’s Nomad will only do about 150 miles – allowing us to stop about every two hours. Honda’s Motorsports division, that’s the group that makes the motorcycles, ATVs and jet skis, make stops like this a necessity rather than an option. Sure, the ST will go a long distance between petrol stops but your ass won’t. The seats on most motorcycles are merely an afterthought. They are what the manufacturer is spending the last few dollars on when everything else is done and the budget is nearly cut off. The STs seat is slightly better than my old Honda Shadow…but not by much.

We endured the slow build of Saturday traffic, got stopped by construction in Raleigh, blasted through the Blue Ridge mountains, braved more construction (not to mention HEAT) in Knoxville and got rained on (without a bit of rain gear, mind you) only 13 miles from home.

(cue highlight montage music — fun and flowing)

Things I will never forget about the trip home…in no particular order.

• The thick-as-pea-soup fog and 61˚ temps outside CoinJock, NC
• Passing through Hertford, NC – the hometown of Jim “Catfish” Hunter
• The blood red sun that came up behind us that I saw reflected numerous times in my broken mirror.
• The squat, fading, hand-lettered sign on the side of the road asking “Where is John Wayne?”
• The morbidly obese family of 6 in the brown GMC Sierra who couldn’t pay attention to the road at near 90mph because they were busy eating McDonalds and wouldn’t leave the left lane.
• The blister I got while fishing that popped during the ride and oozed a pasty, yellow puss.
• “Fort Knox” is really a mini-storage facility in Winston-Salem.
• The Tennessee State Trooper who didn’t give me a ticket when I blew past (with several other cars) on a downhill doing ~85mph.
• Large ribbons of shredded Semi tires that formed a slalom course through the downhill portion of the Blue Ridge mountains.
• The (un)fortunate band that broke down on the side of the road who made the best of it by pulling out their banjos and guitars and played happily while waiting for a tow truck.
• The driver who sat pimp-style in his red Saturn Vue who had his mechanical arm (complete with pincher-hook) propped up on the steering wheel.
• The myriad waves from other bikers on all kinds of two and three-wheeled bikes.
• The left-leaning (literally) Toyota ‘Orolla with two nearly flat tires and the woman driving who wouldn’t stop singing long enough to notice.
• The rain outside of Nashville that left us wet but not the road 100 meters ahead.
• The little kid who pointed, laughed and motioned to his sister who pointed and laughed at me stuck at a stoplight while it rained.
• My father, the traveling Terminator, who doesn’t stop unless he needs gas or Full Throttle.
• And finally, the good looking blonde driving a big, red Suburban who had her index finger stuck two-knuckles deep in her nose just as I pulled along side.

Sitting here, the morning after, I’m still a little tired even after a full night of sleep. My head in some ways doesn’t comprehend the 782 miles I rode yesterday. Averaged out, that’s ~60mph for 13 hours worth of riding (including all the stops). Not bad for a very full day of riding and my longest in the saddle yet.