Sojourn Chronicles – Page 7

August 8, 2013

A scary beginning and end: Georgia

Day 4, August 8

I’m covering lots of ground. In fact, I’m covering so much ground my friends are asking about it.

Ara Gureghian, Oasis of My Soul, says, “I hope you are enjoying yourself. It sounds more like you are on a mission covering the States versus looking around you. I use to do that… “ and then Rachel, author of Fuzzygalore.com, Tweets, “@dbrentmiller hope you’re enjoying your travels. Are you taking the scenic route or making tracks?”

Yes, I’m making tracks. I’m on a mission to ride my motorcycle through every state in the lower 48, and this trip covers a pretty large corner of the country. But it also has me thinking … “Just what am I doing out here?”

About 30 minutes after starting out this morning, I crossed into Georgia … twice. The first time, I was on US 27, which was not the road I wanted, but here is the sign. So, I stopped and took a picture just in case the other road was not marked.

I turned around, rode back into Florida and then took this little spur of a highway that headed northeast, SR 111. But then, sure enough, another Welcome to Georgia sign in front of a house set back from the road about 150 feet. So I pull over to take a pic with my phone. I get off the bike, snap a picture and then another and then one more.

As I turn around and start back to the motorcycle, I hear fierce barking and growling. Two dogs are charging towards me through the yard. One is a black mutt who breaks off his charge about half way. The other is a white pit bull who keeps coming. It looked mean. I stepped next to the motorcycle placing it between me and the dog, and put my helmet on all the while thinking where am I going if that dog comes around the motorcycle. I’m standing there. Getting ready. Then, about thirty feet from me, he stops. barks, turns around and goes back to the house! I put my gloves on and got the hell out of there.

Welcome to Georgia, Brent.

As I rode away thinking about this, I was there for a couple of minutes taking pictures before these dogs came at me. Frankly, I am wondering if someone let them out of the house. And, why did the dog stoop its charge when I was behind the motorcycle with my helmet on?

I think that Blytheville, Arkansas, farmer’s prayer for my safe travels was still working!

A ways down the road, I spotted a jewel of a building. I love it when communities restore or preserve pieces of their history, and the old passenger train station in Homerville, Georgia, is one of those. I chatted with two ladies at the building as I was taking pictures. The building was bought and restored and is now used for parties and receptions. What a jewel.

Finally reaching my destination for the evening, Augusta, Georgia, I was ready to get off the motorcycle. Tired and hungry and hot, I certainly did not want the excitement that unfolded in front of me as I am getting ready to exit I-520. About five or six cars were involved in a high speed fender bender. Car parts were flying all over the place. There were maybe four or five cars behind the accident that slammed on their brakes to come to a screeching halt. The car in front of me took to the ditch. I locked up my rear wheel and was looking in the rear view mirror to see how close traffic was behind me, and there was a very good amount of space for safety. It was close. Very close. Car parts all over the road.

The damaged cars pulled to the side, and a few cars in front of me wound through the road debris to move along. I did not actually see the accident. I only heard it and reacted. I rode through, took my exit and pulled off at the Holiday Inn.

I need a beer.

Stay tuned for the Carolinas.

See you on the highway.

Brent

August 7, 2013

South by Southeast: Mississippi to Florida

Day 3, August 7

The humidity was so bad, my glasses fogged up when I walked out of the motel to pack the bike. After a little time, the fog disappeared, and I pulled out to head southeast.

For a poor state, Mississippi has some mighty fine roads. Four-lane divided highways with smooth pavement. In fact, Louisiana had some nice roads too, as did Arkansas. Some of those state transportation folks from Ohio should come down here to learn a thing or two about highway maintenance and construction.

The day was pretty much one of travel. Thoughts ran through my head like a penny arcade. The landscape was beautiful, a treat for the eye. But in travels like this, you will often see things you don’t want to see. Maybe make you feel uncomfortable.

When I finally reached Mobile, Alabama, I needed gas, food and a restroom. Not necessarily in that order. I spotted a McDonalds in the near downtown area, pulled in, parked and went inside. It was nice and cool. The place was packed.

With the first order of business out of the way, I ordered my food and waited for it to be delivered to the counter. With food and drink in hand, I found a place to sit near the front window—it gave me an advantage point to keep an eye on the bike. There was a guy sitting near me like he was waiting for someone. Another guy sat in a booth with his head in his hands. Another seemed to be just wandering back and forth. It finally dawned on me that these people were homeless or on the street. They were sitting in the cool of McDonalds, but it was the next scene that reinforced my observations.

Another guy walked into the place, looked down into the trash bin, pulled out a crumpled sack, and went through it. No food, but a couple of cups. He selected one of the cups and shoved the bag back into the bin. Then he walked over to the drink dispenser area, filled the cup with ice and selected a drink.

What these guys were doing was waiting for people to throw their meals into the trash and then grabbing the leftovers. Surely the McDonalds staff and management know what’s going on. The whole scene was sad. I have worked with homeless and at soup kitchens, and it has always amazed me how people sometimes survive while trying to maintain their sense of dignity.

I rode away from Mobile with a heavy heart and much on my mind. On the other side of Mobile Bay, I found gas and proceeded down I-10 towards my destination for the night. There was no opportunity to stop on the Interstate with the state line in the middle of a bridge, so a quick stop at the Welcome Center provided the photo opportunity.

Florida … check.

About an hour from my destination, I ran into some rain. At first I thought it would be just a little spit, but it soon turned into a downpour. I pulled over and put on the rain suit. Before getting back on the bike, I documented the conditions.

Down the road, the rain was heavy. I proceeded on. I was ready to get off the bike after 10 hours of riding and nearly 500 miles.

Stay tuned for more tour reports. Coming up: Georgia, South and North Carolina.

See you on the highway.

Brent

August 6, 2013

Soldiers, farmers and cops: Arkansas and Louisiana

Day 2, August 6

A restful night. The rain is to the northwest and moving my way. If I get out of town and ride south, I should be able to avoid that large mass of green and yellow on the radar screen. I start packing the bike.

There are quite a few soldiers staying at the motel, maybe a dozen. U.S. Army. As I complete the packing of the bike. I wanted to put new batteries in my GPS. I dig into a bag, pull out a couple of batteries, remove the back of the GPS and install them as one of the soldiers walks over to me. He’s a captain.

“Where you headed?”

It’s always the same question when someone sees a motorcycle packed for travel. We engage in some conversation about motorcycle travels, and the bike, when I ask him what the group is doing.

“We’re from all over the country, and we’re here on a mission. We’re all medical technicians, dentists or doctors, and we’re serving some of the rural areas near here to give exams and dental care to kids.”

That’s pretty cool. Why don’t we hear more about military serving in this capacity here in the USA?

I also shared with him how I was working with Veterans with Project Healing Waters. It’s a recreational therapy for wounded warriors and soldiers with PTSD. He seemed very interested and wrote it down on the business card I handed him. I wished him well and thanked him for his service.

I pulled out of the motel and headed towards US 61 to take the two-laners for the day. Riding through town I spotted the neatest Art Deco building—the Greyhound Bus Station. What a wonderfully preserved building.

As I headed through town, I kept trying to turn on the GPS so that I could know where I would intersect US 61, but it would not turn on. I must have installed the batteries wrong, I thought, and looked for a place where I could pull over to check. Just up ahead, I saw the sign for US 61, approached the stop sign, turned left and then into an empty Pizza Hut parking lot to check the batteries.

Yup. I Installed one battery wrong. Fixed it, and put the GPS back together, and then into its holder. I start the bike back up when this big F-250 diesel Ford pickup truck with dually wheels pulls up next to me in the parking lot. It’s the kind of truck you see in any farming community. The driver shuts off his vehicle and says, “Are you traveling? Is that a V-Strom?”

We have a good short conversation about motorcycles and travel and the KLR 650 he used to own, and I notice glimmer of a dream in his eyes. It seems like a serendipitous moment.If I had installed the batteries correctly back at the hotel, this conversation would not have happened. Then he says, “Have a good day. I’m going to pray for your safe travels.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

I ride south hoping I can stay off any and all interstates today. Two-lane travel allows you to see a lot more and experience more of small town America, like the blue lights behind me.

I rode down US 79 and planned to buy gas in Marianna, Arkansas. As I pulled into town, I came up to a stop light. I pull up to the red light and wait for it to change. There had not been much traffic. In fact there was very little cross traffic. Just 100 yards down the road was a gas station, the object of my desire.

I wait for the light. I wait some more, and then I realize that my motorcycle is not tripping the light. Everyone who rides knows this is sometimes a problem. Motorcycles often times are not heavy enough to trip the sensor that lets the electronic system of the traffic lights alter traffic.

Now what do I do. There is no traffic behind me to trip it. I make the decision to proceed cautiously and safely. No traffic from either direction, I pull out, and turn into the gas station. I stop next to a pump and get off the bike, and there is a law enforcement vehicle behind me with his blue lights on. Damn.

I remove my gloves and then my helmet, and walk back to him. “I bet I know why you’re here.” I’m putting on my best face and smiling. “I must have sat at that light for four or five minutes, and I could not trip that light. I thought about backing up, turning right and then going around it. But, I decided to wait for traffic to clear and then safely proceed through the light.”

He asked for my license, but didn’t want to see registration or insurance, and then he tells me several other motorcycles have not been able to trip that light. So, he decides to let me go. I thank him. Then he asks about my travels and the bike! We had a nice short conversation. He turns off the blue lights, and then pulls alongside my V-Strom to get a better look. “Nice looking bike. You ride safe.” And then he was gone.

Serendipity? Maybe. But …. just where did this guy come from to be behind me in the blink of an eye? I sure didn’t see him. Maybe there was something special in that farmer’s prayer back in Blytheville.

Arkansas is rural, and the land on the west side of the Mississippi River is flat. Fields are full of soy beans, corn and rice. The rice was a surprise to me, but then the bottom land is probably good for growing rice because it is nearly like wetlands.

The motorcycle rolls along, purrs actually, mile after mile until finally, those state line markers roll into sight. I pull over and grab a photo or two.

Louisiana … check.

About an hour later, I pull into the motel. It’s 96 degrees with a heat index of 105. The air conditioning feels great. After getting cleaned up, I walk down to the front desk recommendation for walking distance dining, Fat Mama’s Tamales. The margaritas are to die for. Smile

See you on the highway.

Brent