December 20, 2016

One year ago today: December 20, 2015, I used to hate that song.
Five years ago today: December 20, 2011, on cheating the casinos . . .
Nine years ago today: December 20, 2007, the Cocaine Cowboy.
Random years ago today: December 20, 2002, database, Paris Hilton.

MORNING
           Thanks to a bogus weather forecast, I got a late start. It was raining at dawn and there was light fog until mid-morning, off the Gulf. I’m on the Rebel, taking back roads and finding out the seller must have known about a number of problems with the motorcycle that did not appear during a 15-minute test drive. These would be items like the brake light getting stuck on when you put the handlebars in the locking position, the chain tension is not set, and after running the bike in overdrive any length of time, the transmission gets sticky on the downshift.

           I had twice asked the guy about everything that was wrong with the machine, but he plainly has the buyer beware attitude that was probably better advice back when most consumer products were simple and hand-made. I’m in the Hollywood library this morning, and I am not getting good news from the mechanic. He reports there is definitely something wrong with the carburetors.

           It was 8:30AM before I got on the road. I made a wrong turn less than forty miles away. I’m already glad I opted for the 450 although it seems a little sluggish for that size of motor. Until the fuel leak problem is attended I can’t say for sure. After two hours on the road I realize I need a set of upper foot pegs. That found me in Ona, where I tanked up just in case, since the Honda has no fuel gauge. The best way to check is rock the bike at a red light and feel for the slosh. Here is a photo of the bike in travel configuration before I modify anything and install larger saddlebags.
           One thing I can recommend is the sixth overdrive gear. In combination with the larger motor, that makes this bike a far better choice for longer trips than the 250. I’ve gone over these points in detail, what I’m saying now is the combination is a winner. The Rebel is still a bit light duty for major highways, subject to buffeting by the larger trucks.

Picture of the day.
Chinese ghost city.
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NOON
           Noon found me in Arcadia, having lunch on the banks of the Peace River. I packed a thermos and sandwiches. I’m making great time but I’m also taking the scenic route. Git yer atlas and follow along if you’d like. From Mulberry south on old Hwy 37, to Ona. Then continue south past the Limestone Country Club. The traffic is mainly gravel trucks and pickup trucks, all speeding. I stopped for promo photos at the Limestone, where I met the lady whose son runs the place. Ah, now the facts emerge. They own the land and building.

           We talked a little politics, then I continued on toward Alva, which I bypassed and turned west onto I-75, the only stretch of freeway because none of the available maps showed a clear route through east Ft. Meyers to the Immokalee road. I ran the bike at close to 80 mph for a few miles and there was still some top end left.

           Immokalee, I didn’t care for. It seems another of those interior “agriculture ghettos” where every shack and shanty possible is rented out to a guest population of Mexican/Cuban background. Those who talk about large settlements of undocumented aliens probably have some place like Immokalee in mind. Straight south from town I was alone on the road for nearly an hour into Everglades City. That’s the place with the Elvis car, where the women flashed JZ around ten years ago now.
           This is already one of the more enjoyable motorcycle trips I’ve taken in Florida. The Rebel is not as much fun to drive as the batbike. I’d cap the daily comfortable maximum mileage to be less than 300, while at times on the batbike I’ve gone 400. This limits the Rebel to shorter day trips, though let’s see if the addition of that windscreen makes a difference. There is also a chain rattle during acceleration that appeared around this time.
Technically, the intersection where I turned is called “Carnestown”. Notice on the map, I got a bug in the eye at this location. I was driving with the visor up and the sucker got inside my helmet and smashed into my eyelid. I was not so much the bug, but the beetlejuice, oh man that stung. I’m getting that windscreen tomorrow.

           [Author’s note: that bug put me out of commission for an hour. My eye was swollen shut and stinging. I sat down at the tourist center and flushed my eye for fifteen minutes, but that was of questionable utility as I could not stand to really open my eyelid.]

Country Song Lyric of the Day:
“Saddle Up the Stove Ma, I'm Riding the Range Tonight.”
NIGHT
           Calling ahead to let the mechanic and JZ know of this delay, the rest of the trip along route 41 into Miami took me well over an hour. That’s driving with one eye and running into all kinds of roadwork. They are resurfacing the road in sections. I confirm that Monroe station is burned to the ground, but there is something there. A memorial, or a tourist plaque. I didn’t stop. I’d already spent too much time at the tourist center, where I downed the last of my sandwiches and hot chocolate. I don’t want to travel at night.

           Rumors that it was the world’s smallest post office that burned are false. I drove past it and hit Miami at rush hour, then over to JZ’s to get settled. He’s going out for dinner, reporting later that they all showed up at a restaurant on Indian Creek to find the doors had been padlocked by the health department. They chose a secondary location that seems to have been a disappointment all round.

           Myself, I took the Rebel to Hollywood to get some chasing around done. It’s still important for me to maintain a presence in that town. For reasons. Ha, I found out Fred quit his job at the bakery and now regrets selling that beautiful custom motorcycle he had. I warned him! Anyway, I’m going to visit over there tomorrow and catch up.
           Then over to the old club. Wow, what a reception. You’d think I was the lost orphan found. Free beer, and a big invite to an Xmas party in Lake Placid. Plus, I may now have an alternative place to crash right in Hollywood. I’ll get back to you with more details about the trip time permitting, but it’s a fact: I made it all the way to Miami on $9.90, and if you take away the $1.90 I spent on salted drink (Clamato), it was an $8.00 trip. All gasoline. My appointment for the windscreen is confirmed tomorrow.


Last Laugh


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