Comanche
0
This is the third year I've made this run at this time of year - a ride from my home in deep south Texas to Orlando, then Miami, then on to Huntsville, Alabama. I see family and old friends - and see back roads again. I try to choose different routes each time, but sometimes, I just hafta ride the same ones. Some are so enjoyable, I like to ride them again.
So why the label "Weather Ride?" This year, there was a lot of wind and rain, though the temperatures were warmer than usual. Must be that El Neenyo thang. I know that once I get into the northern hinterlands (otherwise known as northern Alabama) I can expect some cold, but didn't expect to head out on the Sunday after Thanksgiving with a temperature of forty nine here in McAllen. That's cold enough to send some of our Winter Texans back to Wisconsin or Minnie-Snow-Tah. Strangely, that was the coldest day of the trip. No rain, just cold and windy. Because I live in the subtropics, it doesn't make any sense to buy heated riding gear, so all I have is a pair of battery-operated gloves. As usual, I rode along the coast and stayed off the highways with 75mph speed limits until I got to Houston.
Dinner with my daughter in Houston, then the next day along one of my favorite routes - down to Galveston, then ride the ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula, onward to Port Arthur, Texas before crossing the Sabine River into Louisiana. The Louisiana coast in this area is very quiet, but pretty in a strange sort of way. The weather warmed up - strangely, since I was a lot further north - but marred by fitful bouts of light rain all day. Nightfall found me in Hammond.
Started out the next day right. One of the things I enjoy on a long ride is the chance to try different eateries. Forget McDonald's (unless I need wifi). After leaving the motel, I found Paul's Cafe in Ponchatoula, Louisiana. My kind of place - table full of the locals swapping the news over coffee, a skinny waitress who asks "Whatcha want, Honey?" and grits with my eggs.
While filling up the coffee cup, Paul the Owner was happy to tell the story of the big cross standing outside. Seems as though somebody donated it to the city a few years ago, but the ACLU protested that the cross was on city property, whereupon Mr. Paul put it in front of his place - on private property. After a short sermon on the need to push back against the wanton heathens, Paul sent me on my way with a happy "Hope ya come by again."
Most of the rest of the day was along the beaches of Mississippi, Alabama and Florida - and most of it was condos and fast food joints. Yuck! But, the ferry ride across the mouth of Mobile Bay was nice, where I was surprised to see oil rigs and service boats in the bay. Night time came early in the north lands at this time of year, so I got into Marianna, FL, just at 5:30.
Morning, and I found the weather front that I've been playing tag with since Houston. I've ridden in the rain lots of times, but never loaded up the bike in the rain. It was just a light rain - no drama. But, I was looking forward to the clear skies and eighty degree temperatures of Orlando. As I had last year, I enjoyed breakfast at another cracked-vinyl seat place in Blountstown, south of Marianna.
I went to college in central Florida way back a long time ago, and I am still amazed at the growth of what was once a sleepy agricultural area. Much of the area is now crammed with retirement villages which produce blue-hairs driving cars in a very alarming manner. You do see lots of motorcycles, though - a lot of trikes, big Harleys and Gold Wings.
Two days at my son's house ( won't bore you with the family photos - or even stories of the new great granddaughter I met for the first time), and it was time for a leisurely ride to Miami. I went there on "the back way", down through Wauchula, Zolfo Springs, Arcadia and Immokolee. (Don't you love those names?) Short day in the saddle, but the traffic in Miami is nutso. I love to tease my daughter about the craziness of Houston traffic, but Miami has it beat. Thirty five minutes to go along 36th Street for a distance of four miles. Again - the weather just played with me - warm, but showery. The predictions were for some toad-choking rain the next day.
And the weatherman was right. I awoke to a drizzle. Being a Saturday morning, I knew the traffic would not be quite as crazy as during the week, and I was right.
When I visit my old college buddy Jim, it is (obviously) different than a visit with someone in their home. You see, Jim is in prison. At seventy two (same age I am), he will probably die in prison. Being in prison, I can't wear my riding clothes. (Too many pockets and places to hide bad things.) I normally wear street pants, then drape my jacket over the seat and hang my helmet on a hook while I'm in the prison. It's safe - the bad guys are inside the walls, and there are guards in the towers. But, after checking the weather forecast in Orlando, I knew heavy rains were forecast for Miami, so I left a lot of stuff at my son's house. It drizzled on the way to the prison, and I stuffed my jacket, gloves and helmet in the top box and panniers when I parked. After the five hour visit, it was pouring rain - tropical kind of rain. There was no way I would be able to take my boots of to get my street pants off and put on my riding pants, so . . . .
I rode back to Orlando in riding jacket, gloves and street pants. My legs were soaked before I'd gone five blocks. What's more, the water trickled down the pants legs into my waterproof boots. Luckily, it wasn't cold, and what's more, I survived. I also found out good rain-proof gear doesn't work very well when it isn't worn.
Most people know why people continue to play golf. They remember that one really great shot - that hole-in-one or the eagle they shot last year, so they keep playing golf, waiting for that moment again. The ride from Orlando to Columbus, Georgia, was like that. What a fabulous day to ride! Temps in the mid 70s, sunshine, no wind, and great scenery. I wanted to get a photo of myself in front of a big "Fort Benning" sign, but it was dark when I rolled through the memories of where I'd been once upon a very long time ago.
Dawn broke at thirty seven degrees, and after eggs and bacon served with extra grease at Waffle House (love those places), I put my battery gloves on and was comfy the whole day, after switching to summer gloves at the halfway mark. Great scenery, and except for having to negotiate my way through Anniston and Gadsden, it was a nice day.
Again, I'll spare you the family photos and remembrances of the two days I spent at my sister's house. It was balmy the day I left, with a hint of rain in the air. From Huntsville to the Natchez Trace (rode it last year too), then enjoyed dinner at a great place on the river in Natchez.
Most days, I forgo the "breakfast" served at motels and find a Mom & Pop local place, and skip lunch. But knowing I was going to ride through Cajun country, I decided to eat lunch on the road. I wasn't disappointed. Noon found me in DeQuincy, Louisiana. Though I know I shocked the waitress when I ordered unsweet tea (that may be illegal in many parts of the South), the shrimp etoufee I was served was nothing short of fantastic! Just what I was hoping for. You gotta stop at Comeaux's if you ever go through DeQuincy.
But the nasty weather was coming in again. The cross wind howled as I was riding between Port Arthur, Texas and Winnie. Not fun at all, and my arms were aching. The wind piled up some sand on the roadway on the Bolivar Peninsula, but I made it into Houston before the skies opened up. Dinner and late night conversation with my daughter made for a short night.
I love these two week trips. I see family, see new places and eat new foods, but by now, I wanted to be home. A massive storm was over Houston when I loaded up the bike, and the rain's intensity was exceed only by the strength of the wind. I was cold too. Temperatures in the high 40s don't seem cold, but when they're born on a strong cross wind, I was cold. When I stopped for gas, I put on a mid layer and changed to Gore-Tex gloves.
The wind died down and the sun came out about twenty miles from home. After 3,855 miles, it was good to be home again. As always, the NT performed flawlessly, despite being ten pounds heavier with all the dirt and grime on it.
Wonder where I'll go next.
So why the label "Weather Ride?" This year, there was a lot of wind and rain, though the temperatures were warmer than usual. Must be that El Neenyo thang. I know that once I get into the northern hinterlands (otherwise known as northern Alabama) I can expect some cold, but didn't expect to head out on the Sunday after Thanksgiving with a temperature of forty nine here in McAllen. That's cold enough to send some of our Winter Texans back to Wisconsin or Minnie-Snow-Tah. Strangely, that was the coldest day of the trip. No rain, just cold and windy. Because I live in the subtropics, it doesn't make any sense to buy heated riding gear, so all I have is a pair of battery-operated gloves. As usual, I rode along the coast and stayed off the highways with 75mph speed limits until I got to Houston.
Dinner with my daughter in Houston, then the next day along one of my favorite routes - down to Galveston, then ride the ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula, onward to Port Arthur, Texas before crossing the Sabine River into Louisiana. The Louisiana coast in this area is very quiet, but pretty in a strange sort of way. The weather warmed up - strangely, since I was a lot further north - but marred by fitful bouts of light rain all day. Nightfall found me in Hammond.
Started out the next day right. One of the things I enjoy on a long ride is the chance to try different eateries. Forget McDonald's (unless I need wifi). After leaving the motel, I found Paul's Cafe in Ponchatoula, Louisiana. My kind of place - table full of the locals swapping the news over coffee, a skinny waitress who asks "Whatcha want, Honey?" and grits with my eggs.
While filling up the coffee cup, Paul the Owner was happy to tell the story of the big cross standing outside. Seems as though somebody donated it to the city a few years ago, but the ACLU protested that the cross was on city property, whereupon Mr. Paul put it in front of his place - on private property. After a short sermon on the need to push back against the wanton heathens, Paul sent me on my way with a happy "Hope ya come by again."
Most of the rest of the day was along the beaches of Mississippi, Alabama and Florida - and most of it was condos and fast food joints. Yuck! But, the ferry ride across the mouth of Mobile Bay was nice, where I was surprised to see oil rigs and service boats in the bay. Night time came early in the north lands at this time of year, so I got into Marianna, FL, just at 5:30.
Morning, and I found the weather front that I've been playing tag with since Houston. I've ridden in the rain lots of times, but never loaded up the bike in the rain. It was just a light rain - no drama. But, I was looking forward to the clear skies and eighty degree temperatures of Orlando. As I had last year, I enjoyed breakfast at another cracked-vinyl seat place in Blountstown, south of Marianna.
I went to college in central Florida way back a long time ago, and I am still amazed at the growth of what was once a sleepy agricultural area. Much of the area is now crammed with retirement villages which produce blue-hairs driving cars in a very alarming manner. You do see lots of motorcycles, though - a lot of trikes, big Harleys and Gold Wings.
Two days at my son's house ( won't bore you with the family photos - or even stories of the new great granddaughter I met for the first time), and it was time for a leisurely ride to Miami. I went there on "the back way", down through Wauchula, Zolfo Springs, Arcadia and Immokolee. (Don't you love those names?) Short day in the saddle, but the traffic in Miami is nutso. I love to tease my daughter about the craziness of Houston traffic, but Miami has it beat. Thirty five minutes to go along 36th Street for a distance of four miles. Again - the weather just played with me - warm, but showery. The predictions were for some toad-choking rain the next day.
And the weatherman was right. I awoke to a drizzle. Being a Saturday morning, I knew the traffic would not be quite as crazy as during the week, and I was right.
When I visit my old college buddy Jim, it is (obviously) different than a visit with someone in their home. You see, Jim is in prison. At seventy two (same age I am), he will probably die in prison. Being in prison, I can't wear my riding clothes. (Too many pockets and places to hide bad things.) I normally wear street pants, then drape my jacket over the seat and hang my helmet on a hook while I'm in the prison. It's safe - the bad guys are inside the walls, and there are guards in the towers. But, after checking the weather forecast in Orlando, I knew heavy rains were forecast for Miami, so I left a lot of stuff at my son's house. It drizzled on the way to the prison, and I stuffed my jacket, gloves and helmet in the top box and panniers when I parked. After the five hour visit, it was pouring rain - tropical kind of rain. There was no way I would be able to take my boots of to get my street pants off and put on my riding pants, so . . . .
I rode back to Orlando in riding jacket, gloves and street pants. My legs were soaked before I'd gone five blocks. What's more, the water trickled down the pants legs into my waterproof boots. Luckily, it wasn't cold, and what's more, I survived. I also found out good rain-proof gear doesn't work very well when it isn't worn.
Most people know why people continue to play golf. They remember that one really great shot - that hole-in-one or the eagle they shot last year, so they keep playing golf, waiting for that moment again. The ride from Orlando to Columbus, Georgia, was like that. What a fabulous day to ride! Temps in the mid 70s, sunshine, no wind, and great scenery. I wanted to get a photo of myself in front of a big "Fort Benning" sign, but it was dark when I rolled through the memories of where I'd been once upon a very long time ago.
Dawn broke at thirty seven degrees, and after eggs and bacon served with extra grease at Waffle House (love those places), I put my battery gloves on and was comfy the whole day, after switching to summer gloves at the halfway mark. Great scenery, and except for having to negotiate my way through Anniston and Gadsden, it was a nice day.
Again, I'll spare you the family photos and remembrances of the two days I spent at my sister's house. It was balmy the day I left, with a hint of rain in the air. From Huntsville to the Natchez Trace (rode it last year too), then enjoyed dinner at a great place on the river in Natchez.
Most days, I forgo the "breakfast" served at motels and find a Mom & Pop local place, and skip lunch. But knowing I was going to ride through Cajun country, I decided to eat lunch on the road. I wasn't disappointed. Noon found me in DeQuincy, Louisiana. Though I know I shocked the waitress when I ordered unsweet tea (that may be illegal in many parts of the South), the shrimp etoufee I was served was nothing short of fantastic! Just what I was hoping for. You gotta stop at Comeaux's if you ever go through DeQuincy.
But the nasty weather was coming in again. The cross wind howled as I was riding between Port Arthur, Texas and Winnie. Not fun at all, and my arms were aching. The wind piled up some sand on the roadway on the Bolivar Peninsula, but I made it into Houston before the skies opened up. Dinner and late night conversation with my daughter made for a short night.
I love these two week trips. I see family, see new places and eat new foods, but by now, I wanted to be home. A massive storm was over Houston when I loaded up the bike, and the rain's intensity was exceed only by the strength of the wind. I was cold too. Temperatures in the high 40s don't seem cold, but when they're born on a strong cross wind, I was cold. When I stopped for gas, I put on a mid layer and changed to Gore-Tex gloves.
The wind died down and the sun came out about twenty miles from home. After 3,855 miles, it was good to be home again. As always, the NT performed flawlessly, despite being ten pounds heavier with all the dirt and grime on it.
Wonder where I'll go next.
