Today's best photos never turned out. If you see any, they are random shots, but still fairly interesting. My helmet shield only covers my upper face and sunblock only works on skin. These are not things I ponder so imagine my surprise this morning at what looked back at me in the mirror. I’d noticed my “biker’s tan” y’day, and now the hair on my arms is blonde, first time in twenty years. And my goatee is bleached in the sun. Ever seen those pictures of the Ainu islanders in Japan? That’s me.
The ride is exhilarating but predictable enough that one should be able to imagine mostly how it goes. I didn’t anticipate a host of little pains, mostly muscle aches but then I have not been on a motorcycle six hours a day since I was 14. The weather has been “too damn hot”, another reason to avoid red lights. It is okay when you are moving but this is an unnatural illusion. Man was not made to spend all day in a 55 mph wind.
Aromas, you get the good and the bad. As with the bicycle, you can tell when there is a barbeque within the mile. You can also tell when you are near the ranch that raised the beef. The prairie grass I mentioned already, and although nothing like the big Interstates, the trucks still disgorge ugly fumes. Other memorable “road perfume” today includes roofing tar, mowed lawn, potato chip factory, and bakery.
But let’s get to the fun part, the motorcycle ride. That was the high point of the day, the rest was marred by bad weather and bad people. I hit a series of rainstorms out of High Springs all the way to Valdosta, and then on to some hick town called Thomasville and another called Bainbridge where I missed ten classic photos, including an idyllic lake, a highway tunnel of leaves, and three water towers including Valdosta. You see, I was born poor and don’t have a card for every device, and my camcorder is a piece of crap that does not warn you when there is not card present. I took pictures with the memory card absent, so I got nothing.
Against this weather, I made 320 miles all day. The travel time was nice, but the rest was a mixture of slow travel and even slower people. I understand that GPS has obviated the need for road maps, but it has also made the dumb even dumber. It is rare to find anyone who knows how to get to the next town any more. I’ve done 700 miles here by dead reckoning and seen some beautiful country. But it was not until I got stranded in Jaspar, FL, for two hours that I saw any beautiful women.
Jaspar was one of the pictures I missed. The cloudburst put me under an abandoned canopy of a long dead roadside business. Pieces of the shingles were so old, they fell around me. The typical Florida lack of road signs means I did not know which state I was in at the time. I hauled out my foul weather gear and made Valdosta. I circled around and snapped their water tower, it was fifty miles later I noticed the missing card.
The driving was the best part of the day. I finally got lost in a place called Enterprise, AL. I broke down and bought a $15 road map. I know most roads go somewhere and I was just looking to go west. GPS is no better at this type of directions than asking for directions. I took a route called 162 into Troy, AL, where I decided to stay overnight.
That’s probably some place you don’t want to bother with, although I met a couple of sparkling personalities there. Both were from elsewhere (MJ at the Alabama Tiki, and Clint at Cheers). Troy is a college town, but that might depend on what you consider to be college. When I found the Scottish Inn, the most economical place ($43.15), the room had no electrical outlets and when I asked for the nearest grocery store, the manager was unclear on the concept of food.
I understand this mentality, pretending to know nothing. Schultz on Stalag 13 and my brothers. If you help somebody, it might set a precedent, so never do it. After all, these types are on the planet to be helped, not the other way around. I know the Paki behind the desk wanted me to come back and beg for an outlet to charge my phone and computer, but that’s playing his game. I ran a 50’ extension cord I had in the sidecar trunk. That’s what I’m using right now.
The Scottish Inn, while the cheapest in town, also skimps on the brainpower of the staff. The guy pretended to have no idea where the nearest ATM was located and kept bunching up the rooms that were rented with some weird theory of making the place look busy, and therefore popular. Where do they find these clowns? Thus, the five occupied units out of 38 were all scrunched together where any noise, even closing the door, bothered somebody else. Clowns.
