[Author's note: begin today with hat's off the two brilliant American businesses. First Google, who screwed up the posting format of this blog. There was nothing wrong with it before, and they neglected to include a button that reverted to that version. Google, you suck. As seen below, I was able to restore the format and take out that blank line below the pictures, but this requires advanced HTML programming knowledge. And next, the Kappa Map Group, LLC. It takes genuinely truely inbred deep-seated rural Texas ignorance to print a road map on paper that sticks together when it gets wet. Insufferable ignorance. They've convinced me to go GPS.]
Below you'll read about a wasted day thanks to a combination of errors, I'll show a picture of just the most serious one. The Kappa Map Fiasco. If you look closely at the roadway south of Opelika, AL, you will see that highway 280 (shown here as 38) doesn't quite reach the Interstate. Look closely, you'll see it. It comes to an end between Auburn and Opelika. Ah, you think, I'll just follow the local signs. Not this time. You are on your own. [Author's note 2021: too many peole did not get that, so I'll explain. It's a joke, the dotted lines and such indicate a freeway that has not been built yet, but usually under construction. I've gotten through on a motorcycle, but you should not try this in a car.]
On the enjoyment barometer, today is mighty mixed. I made it to St. Augustine, but a camera malfunction lost some great views, such as a pea soup Alabama morning fog that would put London to the test. I took the secondary, which is confusing as hell because they don’t adequately post route markers. There is always a handy GPS, but I’ll shortly give you an example where that fails. And GPS does not do an adequate job until it tells single white (Anglo) travelers what parts of town not to drive through. I can type that in all caps in case anyone didn’t get my meaning. I had to haul ass out of northern Birmingham.
My quota was 400+ miles, but I had a minor breakdown in Opelika, GA. Not to be confused with Opa Locka, FL. Heck no, Opelika is a nice town, with a great looking heritage area. But the roads, GPS, and locals are unclear on how the freeways operate. When I have access to a scanner, I’ll show you the proof. There is actually a small 8 mile jog between where the two sections of 280 meet. GPS says take exit 60, except if it is blocked for some local repairs or celebration.
Everyone said, oh, just take exit 62. I teamed up with another motorcyclist, and we could not find that exit in an hour. (Turns out it was labeled “Phenix City”. The other guy gave up and drove to Atlanta, I pulled into a gas station and asked a total babe for directions. She said go to the first traffic light, go right. At the second light, go left. I asked her if there were any landmarks on the way to keep me on course. She said yes, there was a small white flower shop and bakery on the right.
Now, technically, she was right. The first light was just up the street, the second light was 31 miles away. I didn’t see the bakery, but lady, it was kind of hard to miss that half-mile causeway through the middle of the lake. I wasted two and a half hours in Opelika. But thanks to Patrick from that town, who pulled over and helped me get the Honda running again. It was a simple problem that would have taken me hours to figure out, he saved the day. In the process, I learned how to troubleshoot the fuel pump and lines. Thanks again Pat, this bike will make a mechanic out of me.
Running late, I sped past Albany and a dozen other small towns where the largest square footage was the cemetery. It was still too chilly, then near Tifton, I hit a splattering rain that forced me into my foul weather gear. Rain slows it down, as it limits visibility more than you’d expect. This causes a further slowdown, and I hit dark around the same time as the thermocline, about 25 miles north of the Florida border. This put me into Jacksonville after dark, not much nicer than Birmingham.
Then I thought, well, I know St. Augustine, I’ll press on. Took me another hour and a quarter, thanks to the crappy drivers in Jacksonville. Top of the pack would be license plate “TJ MARK”, a total peckerhead. Yes, you, the one who made a right on Sunbeam. You cut off a motorcycle in the dark. During a rainstorm. Hope you made it to the mill for third shift. Actually, I hope you choke on a fart.
Sorry for not dwelling on the scenery. I’m the type that likes to see the sights on the outbound. On the way back, I’m as broke and dusty as the next guy. Let me think what I recall. That 31 mile trip to the second light was nice. A back road through the Georgia pines, even if I was still in Alabama. Breakfast was a corn dog at the first gas station after another of the river valleys. I did not see that many cotton fields; the cash crop seems given over to corn. That most man-made of grains.
I add that I hoofed it all day, even the side roads. The Honda will do better, but I don’t like taking it over 70, and even then, only the best of roads. I’ve rarely been disappointed choosing the secondaries, that’s how I wound up in Demopolis. Tomorrow my plan is to dash down 95. That’s ironic the twice I’ve driven south that was in ’99 in a primo Cadillac, and ’12 in a semi-vintage sidecar.
What? The return from Wilmie in ’09? Hey, I didn’t drive that time, I rode Greyhound, the line owned by dogs. Except if Greyhound had stranded dogs that long, the SPCA would have stepped in. Up yours, Greyhound. Sixteen chairs for nearly 50 people. Remember that, you scumbags? Of course, your contract protects you from delays. But what about people going hungry because you refused to hold the bus if they walked across the tracks to the sandwich shop?
By now, St. Augustine seems like home. The motel gave me a parking spot under the canopy. I found a chair at the Brit bar across the bridge. And they had Karaoke, surprisingly professional, and the DJ substantiates my conclusion that every woman over 16 in that town has been snapped up. That’s reality, whenever the drinking age is higher than 18, you will never meet a single gal in a club. Unless there is something seriously wrong with her.
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