Canada 2001
 
 

Day 02

October 2

 
 

Being an early rise and devourer of all things pig, I cook me a real breakfast of eggs and sausage as Guy merrily snores on. The day we have waited for is finally here. I microwave some cheese grits for Guy, one of my less spectacular culinary efforts. As we raise the garage door, Bubba (the rotten weiler), wiggles all over in anticipation of a ride in the truck. When he sees the bikes, he gets sad cause he knows Daddy is off again.

 
   
  I warn Guy it will be a little cool and misty on the road. We head out and run a back road along the Cumberland River with the mists rising from the water. We head up to the Kentucky border and I decide to get a picture of every state border we cross (it turns out to be fourteen states, some twice). This will be the first state line picture I take. Little did I know that this will eventually turn into a quest to visit all 49 states and capture pictures of the bikes in front of each sign.  
   
  We stop for gas and I go for my wallet. Drat, where did I put it? I begin to think that I have left it at home - 100 miles back. The good/bad of a Darien suit is all the blame pockets! But I finally remember which pocket it's in and pay up. We make good time until Springfield. Then, as often occurs, the road signs disappear for the road we want. At the junction, Guy pulls into the lot on a slope, and the rest, as they say, it history. I'm heavily loaded and a bit top heavy. The slope proves too much for my legs and my bike starts to fall over on top of Guy. I manage to let to it down easy and it does little damage to either bike. In my haste to get my bike up, I grab the windshield like a dummy and snap part of it off. With a broken shield, I think 'Now where did I put that tape?' Left saddlebag, in the zipper pocket of the tape case. I really wanted an excuse for the new Clearview, but not right at that moment. No more stopping on slopes for this boy. We provide some entertainment for the folks in the motel as we struggle to pickup our bikes then we're off again. The Kentucky tobacco barns appear to be on fire, with smoke coming out from every crack. But it is just firing time for the tobacco crop. The smell is something akin to coarse cigar, not really bad, just different. 79 proves to be a pleasant surprise as we float along. As we pass a feller on a bicycle pulling a little trailer behind I make a mental note that Guy will probably go back. Sure enough, I look back and no Guy. I turn around, knowing where he is. Amazing thing, No Clue (the gentleman's handle) has the same type riverbag on his little wagon that I do. We get a great laugh out of that and sing the praises of riverbags for a short while. His name does not do him justice, for he has more clues about life that most people I know. We chat awhile about life, love, and motorcycles and then we part. Before long we come to the Indiana state line, so I grab another picture for my record. It's actually got some nice landscaping around it to pretty it up a bit.  
   
 

Doing a few mental calculations as we roll along, I know we will not make the campground before dark. I figure we should stop for supper just before we get there so we don't have to cook. Arby's works fine for me so we stop for a quick bite. As we get on the road again, Guy is leading. I see the ramp to right we need to be on, but he doesn't. It's a divided highway with no way back. I stop at the ramp and think

"What makes good sense? Do I wait or do I ride on?"

I decide to wait 15 minutes then ride on. As I watch the roadway, I see what appears to be an ST headlight go across the bridge from the opposite direction. I mount up and crank up the wick. My map pocket decides to depart with the Indiana map in it. Oh well, I've got the route in my head to Michigan, so no big deal. But I circle back just to see if I can find it with no success. Guy comes back and we hook up again. This will not be the last time we get separated. We arrive at the campground and the ranger meets us. I think -

"Hmmm, what's up?"

He kindly escorts us to where Coop is instead of jail, way back in campground. He's got a small fire going in the pit. We unload and set up camp, thanks to Coop's steady hand on a flashlight. I decide to talk a little stroll into the woods for firewood to liven up the fire a bit and find some nice pieces - one about six feet long. Coop says -

"It'll take while to chop that up, won't it?"

"'Nope, I just happen to have a sharp hatchet and had lot's of practice - I heated with wood for 16 years" I tell him.

The log becomes pieces and makes a nice addition to the fire. But Coop had actually done the hard part - getting a fire started. I break out the super glue and Coop helps me mend the RedBird's shield. It would hold the entire rest of the trip through snow, hail, rain, fog and various speeds. We enjoy the good company around the fire and turn in, knowing we're on the road again.