Ireland 2010
  
 

Day 09

June 18

  
  Since I hate to wait on folks, I try to make sure that folks don't have to wait on me. I'm up early as is my usual drill and take all of my stuff down to the bike except for the tank bag. Mike is out early enjoying the quiet of the morning and filling his lungs with noxious fumes. But they're his lungs, so I reckon he can fill them with whatever he chooses. We swap good mornings then I set about getting my 'bivet' packed. A bivet back where I'm from is ten pounds of crap in a five pound sack. With my VFR bivet loaded, I head back upstairs to my room to catch up on my journals since we are not leaving til 9 AM.  
   
 

As I am waxing poetic on my little Toshiba netbook, I hear a knock on the door. Wondering what's up, I open it to find my friend Dave all kitted up and ready to ride -

"We decided we would try to get away early" he tells me.

"No problem, just got to get my gear on and check out" I tell him as I proceed with that bit of business. Since all I have left to do is put on my tank bag, I am ready to go before the others are ready - which is the way I prefer it.

  
   
  The Travelodge is right at the motorway, and we do not have very far to go to get to breakfast.  
   
  It's nice just to follow the pack of hounds and they already know where we'll stop for breakfast. It favors what I would call a truck stop back home, and usually truck stops do a fine job on breakfast.  
   
  The parking arrangement is a bit different, but I guess it provides good protection from truck drivers gone bad against motorcyclists.  
   
  This place functions a little different in that you go up and order what you want, then they bring it to you. Of course, I get my usual - hen fruit and pig meat - and the server lady and I strike up a good conversation when she fetches it over. I've been told I could talk to a fence post and get a reply, and she's much more fun than a fence post to talk to. She's a real hoot and we have a great exchange back and forth - none of which I can now remember.  
   
  But I do remember the breakfast, as it is pretty tasty, mushrooms and all. Eggs, sausage, maters, taters, and shrooms - what more could a hungry hillbilly ask for?  
   
  After breakfast, we head for Lloyd's Honda just off M6 so Dave can get a new rear tire fitted for his ST1100 and Paul can pick up some rear brake pads. The rest of us just sort of wander around, checking out the different iron horses.  
   
 

Moff spies a Goldwing to his liking and I tell him -

"It's you man. Just what you need and you know you want it. Just pull the trigger."

The rest of the group also encourage him to go for it. But discretion is the better part of valor, and Moff is certainly a man of discretion so he passes.

  
   
  This is a really nice shop and it has a customer lounge upstairs overlooking the showroom. And the best part is that they provide free tea and hot chocolate which we avail ourselves of while we wait.  
   
  Soon they have Dave ready to roll with new dancing shoes for his lady and we're on the road to Tewkesbury.  
   
  Once we're back on the M6 motorway, we make haste quickly as the traffic has begun to pick up a bit.  
   
  The skies do not look to friendly at this point either, but I've got my Stich on so I'm not too concerned - as of yet. Since traffic has started to pick up on the motorway, the decision is made to switch to the backroads from here to Tewkesbury.  
   
  This decision, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on if you own a clothes shop and need some business), brings us to the next stop for food at the Famous Midway Truck Stop a local eatery of some fame - 'located at the junction of the A41/A49 in Prees Heath, near Whitchurch, Shropshire the award winning cafe provides a friendly welcome to all road users ' (or at least that's what they say). The food is good and the atmosphere friendly, and I am able to add more calories to my already rapidly expanding frame.  
   
  The weather is taking a bit of a nasty turn, so Dave and Mike sort out which way they will take this herd of miscreants.  
   
  Soon we are in the thick of things pretty quickly. It's busy for this time of morning and we do a lot of stop and go. At least over here you can filter (lane split for you colonials) and that helps us to move along. Filtering on the VFR is a little more difficult than on a ST1100 or a ST1300 as the saddlebags stick out quite a bit more on the side. The steady downpour makes seeing to pass a more laborious task than usual. As we near our destination, the gang decides to take a break and decide on our options from here.  
   
  I am staying at the rear and following as Mike is directly behind me. Due to the heavy traffic, we get separated by several cars. When I come to a roundabout, there's no one around for me to follow. Since Mr. ZUMO has long since died the death and is now buried in one of my saddlebags, I just have to guess which way they went. When I select one of the spokes, I pull over and wait for Mike since I do not have clue as to which way the rest of the group went. He has his GPS and has our destination programmed in. So I just jump in behind him and continue to follow.  
   
 

After a couple of minor detours, Mike and I arrive at the Lower Lode Inn , a fairly 'new' eat and stay, built about the 15th century. When I see Dave, who has arrived a bit earlier after leaving me behind, I tell him -

"Thanks for leaving me to die in the dirty, buddy."

"I knew Mike was with you, so I wasn't worried about it" he says with a grin. "Besides, I had to have some fun."

I make a mental note to be sure to return the favor the next time he comes over so he can have some special American fun ...

  
   
 

I thought that I was staying at the Lower Lode so I am more messed up than Hogan's Goat. (A proper definition is in order here -

Hogan's Goat - In 1855 a European goat farmer by the name of Hoek Hogan raised a particularly disgusting goat. This goat quickly became famous for being the most horrific smelling and ugly creature to wander the fields. It is legend that his scent could be detected from over a kilometer away. )

As it turns out it was completely booked and Peter had me book a room in town. He knows the details and he and Miss Fi gladly guide me into the place that I will be staying, the Tudor House Inn . It is another establishment of recent construction, started around 1540 by the Pilgrim Fathers.

  
   
  Steve, a new friend I had only met on the My-Mc.Com site, Annie and Luc, who I met in Belgium, Ray and Patti, who rescued me in the Alps, and Gareth, a gentleman and a scholar and quite a rider, are already there. Thankfully at least there are a couple of roses amongst the thorns at this gathering.  
   
  We decide that we'll car it back to the Lower Lode rather than suit up and ride. After much discussion, we figure we can get real close and friendly and all squeeze into Ray and Patti's car. It's a short ride and everybody still had their deodorant working, so it is quite uneventful. More folks have arrived since we left, as the small parking lot has a larger dose of STs in it now.  
   
 

I get to meet some more of my 'electronic' ST friends - Derek and Jackie, Pat, Freddie and Lucy and many of my friends that I have ridden with before. It's a great time to catch up, and everyone is asking questions about 'Aunt Sharyn' and how she is doing. I appreciate their concerns and tell them I will let her know of all their kind thoughts. This is my kind of place - it even has a resident dog that is quite a connoisseur and beggar. When Dave tries to feed him a mushroom, Mr. Pooch gives him a look like 'What do you think you are trying to pawn off on me?" Having seen that look before, I holler at Dave -

"Dave - He's a carnivore - try giving him some meat!"

Alas, Dave has already devoured what Mr. Pooch is interested in, so he wanders off to scout for more tempting morsels. Someone has abandoned their plate - either prematurely or intentionally, so Mr. Pooch just stands up on his hind legs and proceeds to help himself. I call tell that this is not his first rodeo, for he is very professional in his demeanor and approach to the matter of dispatching the plate contents..

  
   
  Obviously, the occupants of this area back in the 15th century were a bit shorter than me since I do not see any real forehead imprints in this low hanging beam. As I say back home, this is a real 'head banger' if you ain't paying attention.  
   
  Wherever I go, I find ST folks a lot of fun to be with. I've seldom met a stranger, so I have great time getting to know Derek, Jackie, and Steve. Andre, an ST1300 rider from Russia is here, and it is neat to pick his brain and talk about things where he is from.  
   
 

My friend Pieter from the Netherlands has also come and brought his friend Hans with him. And I finally get to meet Pat, AKA Shadowfax, another ST1300 rider from the UK. After dinner, I pass out the load of GooGoos that I brought with me. The poor lady serving us looks like she didn't quite get the number of the truck that hit her, so I even give her a GooGoo. She doesn't know what to make of it, but I tell her -

"Don't worry it's pretty tasty. Besides, chocolate is good for what ails you."

  
   
  Peter is acting as the local tour guide, so he lets us know to be back here at 10 AM in the morning. We'll be taking in a bit of local culture and only doing about 125 miles for the day. With that matter settled, Ray, Steve and I decide we should head back to town before it gets past our bedtime. When we get back to hotel, I get to meet Arthur on my way to my room. He's a rather stoic sort of feller and doesn't say a lot, but there ain't no kinks in his armor.  
   
  My room is near the back and upstairs, so it takes a few twists and turns to get there. But is very nicely appointed and the bed feels really nice when I hit it. I drift off into a solid sleep, thinking about what lies ahead.