I've been home from the rally long enough to rest, catch up on neglected tasks, and settle back into life in front of the computer screen. And we now have a newly refreshed forum! So I have no more excuses for putting off a ride report.
This one could take a while, since it was an eleven-day riding adventure - four days to the rally, four days at the rally, and three days home. I will try to take you along day-by-day, but bear with me as I rack my brain to remind myself how it all went. I think by reviewing the map and photos, it will come to me.
I'll begin the story two days before the trip. I had refreshed all the fluids in the bike and wanted one short ride to make sure everything was right. I also wanted to put my packed bag on the bike to make sure it fit.
That evening, I packed four changes of clothes, each day's worth in a ziplock bag. Plus a spare pair of jeans, a toiletries bag, two water bottles, and a few odds and ends. I put an E-ZPass transponder in the front pouch of the backpack. I rolled up a fleece jacket into its own ziplock bag and shoved it in the lower pouch. I bungeed the backpack to the back of the seat and rode to the nearby landing and back.
The bike itself was fine, but I was constrained in the seat due to the space which my backpack was hogging. This wouldn't do. I needed to be able to move around in the seat on a long trip. So I removed the fleece from the lower pocket. Perfect, except the fleece was too bulky to go in the main pouch. I found a much thinner long-sleeved quarter-zip pullover, put it in its own ziplock bag, and shoved it in the main pouch.
I mulled over this setup the day before the ride. I predicted that if I was making a mistake, it was one of three things: 1. leaving the fleece jacket, 2. not packing rain gear, or 3. not starting with a fresh set of tires. The trip could have me riding over 3,000 miles and the BT-54 tires already had 2,300 miles on them. Of course it was too late to do anything about the tires; that decision was made. Regarding the other items, I figured I would just deal with any issues as they came up. I would have a phone and a credit card, which could fix a lot of problems.
Day 1 - Thursday, August 27
Saint Inigoes, MD to Parkersburg, WV.
I slept well but woke early on day 1. I dressed, drank some water, grabbed my jacket and helmet and headed to the garage. My bag was already packed and sitting on the bike seat, so I bungeed it, geared up, and fired up. I took a photo of the bike in the early morning, as people do when they head to the CB1100 rally
I got rolling around 5:45 a.m. It was a fine, clear morning with the temperature in the lower 70s F. I headed east toward the highway. A single planet shone in the eastern sky, but it wasn't the lovely lady. I figured she must be in the other half of her orbit, gracing somebody's evening sky at that moment.
The bike purred as I passed Long Road, the place where I had to turn around last year with a bad spark plug cap. I continued past Budd's Creek, where Gone used to promote drag races. I contemplated his recent career change and wondered if I would soon have one of my own. My company is being acquired by a competitor, and no one knows who will land. If I need to look for a new job, should I try to find something I love? Or try to make enough money so I can do what I love in my spare time? I couldn't answer the question.
The sky was growing lighter as I crossed the Potomac River into Virginia. Evidently, my transponder didn't work, but the bridge toll camera did.
In Virginia, I stopped at the first gas station with the miles remaining indicator flashing "22." After filling the tank, I reasoned that it probably had more remaining than indicated. I continued on routes 206 and 218, the back roads to Fredericksburg.
I rode through the old town to a diner called the Twenty Four Hundred. It wasn't even 7:30, but the tiny parking lot was full, so I created my own parking spot. I took a seat at the bar since all the tables were filled except for one of those large round booths, which I did not want to occupy alone.
I ordered creamed chipped beef on toast, something I like to eat once every ten years. The lady who refilled my coffee mug pointed out the spots on the bar where the arms of the customers had worn the laminate thin over the years. I enjoyed my hot meal and decided that, as dive diners go, the Twenty Four Hundred was the genuine article. I also made a mental note that, when I take breaks during a long day of motorcycling, I would do better to rest my butt in a chair or a booth rather than a barstool.
I picked a new route out of Fredericksburg, staying as close to the Rappahannock River as possible. It worked out beautifully. I joined highway 3 at the site of the Chancellorsville battle. This enabled me to skip all of the traffic and stop lights which normally make 3 disagreeable. I now had a nice back road both into and out of Fredericksburg. I decided this would be my new favorite route when I get the itch to head for the hills.
I turned left at Wilderness and, while enroute to Orange, it began to rain. The rain was light and steady for a while. Later it intensified, and I started thinking that maybe I should start thinking. But as soon as I started thinking, the skies cleared and I pressed on. I was dry before long.
From Orange I took 20 past Montpelier and 609 through Scuffletown, and joined 33 near Stanardsville. I would stay on 33 much of the day, so I didn't have to think about navigation for a while. Highway 33 cuts across ridges and valleys, offering some tight mountain curves as well as easier sections in between.
On a long, lonely straight section I suddenly realized I had never really opened up the CB to see what it would do. So I pegged the throttle and the bike accelerated steadily to 108 and stayed there. Like everything the CB1100 does, it was not dramatic.
I didn't stay there long. For one thing, I had no windshield. More importantly, I remembered that many years ago I was very unjustly cited for reckless driving in Virginia, and if officer Sutterwhite appeared out of nowhere, and if he remembered me as I remember him, I would surely spend the weekend in the clinker and arrive late to the rally.
The highway passed south of Massanutten and, approaching Harrisonburg, I took 726 around the south side instead of riding straight through town as usual. Rejoining 33, the next ridge crossing took me into West Virginia. I descended into Brandywine and stopped at the general store for a short break.
When I approached the coffee pot the gal was just starting a fresh pot, so I waited for it to brew before pouring mine. A few extra minutes on my feet would be okay, since I still had many hours of riding ahead. A few local boys gathered around the high top tables. By the time they left and gassed up their toys, I had finished my drink and was ready to continue.
I continued west into Franklin, stopping briefly to check the map on my phone. I saw no evidence of a gas station ahead at Seneca Rocks, so I filled up at the Franklin BP. After crossing the next ridge, I paused at the Germany Valley overlook to take in the view.
I continued the descent through Judy Gap and shot up the valley floor to Seneca Rocks, and westward on to Elkins.
It was early afternoon when I reached Elkins and I had many hours of good riding behind me, and a few still ahead. I rode up and down the streets of Elkins, looking for the cafe that I remembered from a previous trip. Eventually I realized the cafe was not in Elkins, but in another WV town. While touring Elkins, I spotted a handsome church and stopped to take a picture of it with a handsome motorcycle in the foreground.
I learned only afterwards that the building isn't a church, but rather the county courthouse. The statue on the edifice is not a saint but Lady Justice with her sword and scales. While meandering through town, a sign for Bob Evans grabbed my attention. I rode a couple miles south of town to the restaurant, ready for a break.
I sat down and had a piece of Reese's peanut butter pie and three jars of ice water. The pie was enormous and probably contained a thousand calories. Exactly what I needed. While eating, I studied the route to Buckhannon. Last time I took 48 which was boring, but this time I decided to take 151 as recommended by MTC. I stuffed a couple extra napkins in my back pockets for cleaning my visor at future stops.
Route 151 was indeed a nice motorcycle road, and it carried me into Buckhannon and twice over the river. I stopped at Jawbone Park and parked in the shade of a canopy. Under the shades were dozens of banners honoring the town's veterans, like those displayed in almost every American small town nowadays.
From Buckhannon I continued to Weston. After a zig and a zag to stay on 33 in Weston, I passed by a sprawling campus of old stone buildings, which I took to be a college. A large school for a small town like Weston, I thought. I resolved to find out later what college it was. It turned out to be the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. You'll be happy to know the asylum gets 4.7 stars out of 5 on google maps.
I finally turned off 33 onto 47, but not before stopping to fill up at the corner gas station. While I filled the bike, I thought about how glad I was that I was not the guy across the street, cutting the grass on a large hillside with a string trimmer. Some of the hills are just too steep to mow.
I took 47 through Burnt House, Smithville, and other tiny towns that barely exist. Somewhere on this route I felt a bug hit my neck, followed by a burning sensation. A bee or wasp had obviously hit me, stinger first. I brushed my glove over the place where I felt the pain, in hopes of removing the bee if she was still there, but the burning grew more severe. Finally I stopped along the road and looked in my mirror.
The stinger was still in my neck, so I removed my glove and pulled it out with my fingertips. By that time, I suppose, all the poison had gone in, nevertheless I was thankful that I don't react severely to bees. Before resuming, I snapped a photo of the bike parked along 47.
I turned south off 47 onto 53 towards Elizabeth. Since I was feeling good, I'd spend a few extra minutes on the twisty roads and avoid all interstates on the first day. That wouldn't be practical in the days to come, but it felt right for this first day. From Elizabeth, I traveled north and arrived at the Microtel at the interchange south of Parkersburg.
Ordinarily, I look for an affordable hotel in town with restaurant options within walking distance. But I had Wyndham points to burn, so instead I stayed for free just south of town. I cleaned up and walked to Cracker Barrel for soup and salad. It was a good day. I had ridden 410 miles, many of them twisty mountain roads or sweeping country highways. I had avoided the interstates, and I didn't need the rain gear that I didn't bring. The bike was running perfectly, and I was ready for an even longer ride the next day into Michigan.
This one could take a while, since it was an eleven-day riding adventure - four days to the rally, four days at the rally, and three days home. I will try to take you along day-by-day, but bear with me as I rack my brain to remind myself how it all went. I think by reviewing the map and photos, it will come to me.
I'll begin the story two days before the trip. I had refreshed all the fluids in the bike and wanted one short ride to make sure everything was right. I also wanted to put my packed bag on the bike to make sure it fit.
That evening, I packed four changes of clothes, each day's worth in a ziplock bag. Plus a spare pair of jeans, a toiletries bag, two water bottles, and a few odds and ends. I put an E-ZPass transponder in the front pouch of the backpack. I rolled up a fleece jacket into its own ziplock bag and shoved it in the lower pouch. I bungeed the backpack to the back of the seat and rode to the nearby landing and back.
The bike itself was fine, but I was constrained in the seat due to the space which my backpack was hogging. This wouldn't do. I needed to be able to move around in the seat on a long trip. So I removed the fleece from the lower pocket. Perfect, except the fleece was too bulky to go in the main pouch. I found a much thinner long-sleeved quarter-zip pullover, put it in its own ziplock bag, and shoved it in the main pouch.
I mulled over this setup the day before the ride. I predicted that if I was making a mistake, it was one of three things: 1. leaving the fleece jacket, 2. not packing rain gear, or 3. not starting with a fresh set of tires. The trip could have me riding over 3,000 miles and the BT-54 tires already had 2,300 miles on them. Of course it was too late to do anything about the tires; that decision was made. Regarding the other items, I figured I would just deal with any issues as they came up. I would have a phone and a credit card, which could fix a lot of problems.
Day 1 - Thursday, August 27
Saint Inigoes, MD to Parkersburg, WV.
I slept well but woke early on day 1. I dressed, drank some water, grabbed my jacket and helmet and headed to the garage. My bag was already packed and sitting on the bike seat, so I bungeed it, geared up, and fired up. I took a photo of the bike in the early morning, as people do when they head to the CB1100 rally
I got rolling around 5:45 a.m. It was a fine, clear morning with the temperature in the lower 70s F. I headed east toward the highway. A single planet shone in the eastern sky, but it wasn't the lovely lady. I figured she must be in the other half of her orbit, gracing somebody's evening sky at that moment.
The bike purred as I passed Long Road, the place where I had to turn around last year with a bad spark plug cap. I continued past Budd's Creek, where Gone used to promote drag races. I contemplated his recent career change and wondered if I would soon have one of my own. My company is being acquired by a competitor, and no one knows who will land. If I need to look for a new job, should I try to find something I love? Or try to make enough money so I can do what I love in my spare time? I couldn't answer the question.
The sky was growing lighter as I crossed the Potomac River into Virginia. Evidently, my transponder didn't work, but the bridge toll camera did.
In Virginia, I stopped at the first gas station with the miles remaining indicator flashing "22." After filling the tank, I reasoned that it probably had more remaining than indicated. I continued on routes 206 and 218, the back roads to Fredericksburg.
I rode through the old town to a diner called the Twenty Four Hundred. It wasn't even 7:30, but the tiny parking lot was full, so I created my own parking spot. I took a seat at the bar since all the tables were filled except for one of those large round booths, which I did not want to occupy alone.
I ordered creamed chipped beef on toast, something I like to eat once every ten years. The lady who refilled my coffee mug pointed out the spots on the bar where the arms of the customers had worn the laminate thin over the years. I enjoyed my hot meal and decided that, as dive diners go, the Twenty Four Hundred was the genuine article. I also made a mental note that, when I take breaks during a long day of motorcycling, I would do better to rest my butt in a chair or a booth rather than a barstool.
I picked a new route out of Fredericksburg, staying as close to the Rappahannock River as possible. It worked out beautifully. I joined highway 3 at the site of the Chancellorsville battle. This enabled me to skip all of the traffic and stop lights which normally make 3 disagreeable. I now had a nice back road both into and out of Fredericksburg. I decided this would be my new favorite route when I get the itch to head for the hills.
I turned left at Wilderness and, while enroute to Orange, it began to rain. The rain was light and steady for a while. Later it intensified, and I started thinking that maybe I should start thinking. But as soon as I started thinking, the skies cleared and I pressed on. I was dry before long.
From Orange I took 20 past Montpelier and 609 through Scuffletown, and joined 33 near Stanardsville. I would stay on 33 much of the day, so I didn't have to think about navigation for a while. Highway 33 cuts across ridges and valleys, offering some tight mountain curves as well as easier sections in between.
On a long, lonely straight section I suddenly realized I had never really opened up the CB to see what it would do. So I pegged the throttle and the bike accelerated steadily to 108 and stayed there. Like everything the CB1100 does, it was not dramatic.
I didn't stay there long. For one thing, I had no windshield. More importantly, I remembered that many years ago I was very unjustly cited for reckless driving in Virginia, and if officer Sutterwhite appeared out of nowhere, and if he remembered me as I remember him, I would surely spend the weekend in the clinker and arrive late to the rally.
The highway passed south of Massanutten and, approaching Harrisonburg, I took 726 around the south side instead of riding straight through town as usual. Rejoining 33, the next ridge crossing took me into West Virginia. I descended into Brandywine and stopped at the general store for a short break.
When I approached the coffee pot the gal was just starting a fresh pot, so I waited for it to brew before pouring mine. A few extra minutes on my feet would be okay, since I still had many hours of riding ahead. A few local boys gathered around the high top tables. By the time they left and gassed up their toys, I had finished my drink and was ready to continue.
I continued west into Franklin, stopping briefly to check the map on my phone. I saw no evidence of a gas station ahead at Seneca Rocks, so I filled up at the Franklin BP. After crossing the next ridge, I paused at the Germany Valley overlook to take in the view.
I continued the descent through Judy Gap and shot up the valley floor to Seneca Rocks, and westward on to Elkins.
It was early afternoon when I reached Elkins and I had many hours of good riding behind me, and a few still ahead. I rode up and down the streets of Elkins, looking for the cafe that I remembered from a previous trip. Eventually I realized the cafe was not in Elkins, but in another WV town. While touring Elkins, I spotted a handsome church and stopped to take a picture of it with a handsome motorcycle in the foreground.
I learned only afterwards that the building isn't a church, but rather the county courthouse. The statue on the edifice is not a saint but Lady Justice with her sword and scales. While meandering through town, a sign for Bob Evans grabbed my attention. I rode a couple miles south of town to the restaurant, ready for a break.
I sat down and had a piece of Reese's peanut butter pie and three jars of ice water. The pie was enormous and probably contained a thousand calories. Exactly what I needed. While eating, I studied the route to Buckhannon. Last time I took 48 which was boring, but this time I decided to take 151 as recommended by MTC. I stuffed a couple extra napkins in my back pockets for cleaning my visor at future stops.
Route 151 was indeed a nice motorcycle road, and it carried me into Buckhannon and twice over the river. I stopped at Jawbone Park and parked in the shade of a canopy. Under the shades were dozens of banners honoring the town's veterans, like those displayed in almost every American small town nowadays.
From Buckhannon I continued to Weston. After a zig and a zag to stay on 33 in Weston, I passed by a sprawling campus of old stone buildings, which I took to be a college. A large school for a small town like Weston, I thought. I resolved to find out later what college it was. It turned out to be the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. You'll be happy to know the asylum gets 4.7 stars out of 5 on google maps.
I finally turned off 33 onto 47, but not before stopping to fill up at the corner gas station. While I filled the bike, I thought about how glad I was that I was not the guy across the street, cutting the grass on a large hillside with a string trimmer. Some of the hills are just too steep to mow.
I took 47 through Burnt House, Smithville, and other tiny towns that barely exist. Somewhere on this route I felt a bug hit my neck, followed by a burning sensation. A bee or wasp had obviously hit me, stinger first. I brushed my glove over the place where I felt the pain, in hopes of removing the bee if she was still there, but the burning grew more severe. Finally I stopped along the road and looked in my mirror.
The stinger was still in my neck, so I removed my glove and pulled it out with my fingertips. By that time, I suppose, all the poison had gone in, nevertheless I was thankful that I don't react severely to bees. Before resuming, I snapped a photo of the bike parked along 47.
I turned south off 47 onto 53 towards Elizabeth. Since I was feeling good, I'd spend a few extra minutes on the twisty roads and avoid all interstates on the first day. That wouldn't be practical in the days to come, but it felt right for this first day. From Elizabeth, I traveled north and arrived at the Microtel at the interchange south of Parkersburg.
Ordinarily, I look for an affordable hotel in town with restaurant options within walking distance. But I had Wyndham points to burn, so instead I stayed for free just south of town. I cleaned up and walked to Cracker Barrel for soup and salad. It was a good day. I had ridden 410 miles, many of them twisty mountain roads or sweeping country highways. I had avoided the interstates, and I didn't need the rain gear that I didn't bring. The bike was running perfectly, and I was ready for an even longer ride the next day into Michigan.
