Last year about this time, I made a long ride to Miami, Orlando, north Georgia and other spots, but had to curtail my full plans because of snow in Nashville.
I made the sorta same trip this year and didn’t have to make any changes to the itinerary. The total trip took a day over two weeks and I covered 4,488 miles. Can we round that up and say it was 4,500 miles?
The ride summary was McAllen, TX, (on the Rio Grande) to Houston, then over to Florida where I spent a couple of days with my son and his family, then to Miami to see an old college buddy who is in prison, then back through Orlando to Huntsville, Alabama, to spend time with my sister, then back to Houston where I picked up my daughter for a quick jaunt through southern Louisiana.
My daughter Trang had been home for Thanksgiving, so on the Sunday afterwards, we convoyed to Houston. Of course, that is the day when everyone and their cousin is on the way home, so it was like a 365 mile traffic jam. It was also terrifying to see how poor my daughter’s driving skills were on the highway.
But Monday was a fabulous ride. It started at a Waffle House. Normally, I stay away from chain restaurants, but Waffle House is special for me. Besides, I can order everything with extra grease if I wish. Then it was down to Galveston, where I crossed over to the Bolivar Peninsula via the ferry. That little spit of sand was literally wiped out by Hurricane Ike in 2008. (Here’s some good compare and contrast photos. http://coastal.er.usgs.gov/hurricanes/ike/photo-comparisons/bolivar.html ) Today, most of the area has been rebuilt, but at the north end of the peninsula, vehicular traffic makes a sharp left turn. Its easy to see that the road once continued north along the beach, but Hurricane Rita changed that in 2005. The road was destroyed all the way to the Texas/Louisiana border at the Sabine River, and never rebuilt. I’ve read stories of dual-sport riders taking the route. They say there are sections where the asphalt is still intact, but not much. If you look at the map, you can see I had to take a little jog to the north to get around the destroyed road.
After crossing the Sabine just outside Port Arthur, I rode another ferry into Cameron, Louisiana. (I’m told a guy named Phil Tarman once roamed the area.) The area is an interesting blend of petrochemical plants, offshore oil rigs and fishing boats. Riding through Cameron, I smelled fresh seafood and oil - at the same time. By coincidence, I'd had dinner in Houston the night before with a gentleman who once flew helicopters with the old South Vietnamese Air Force, then later flew them from Cameron out to the oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico.
Hurricane Rita did a job on the area. New buildings are constructed on stilts now - even churches. I checked the elevation on my GPS and noted that the highest I ever got while on the coastal road was 10 feet - and also 5 feet below sea level.
Just beyond Cameron is a highway intersection named Creole where I found T-Boy’s Cajun Grill. Fantastic fried oyster poboy.
I just cruised the rest of the day, arriving in St. Francisville a little after dark. Evening comes early in the northern lands.
Wanting to avoid cities, I figured out how to get from St. Francisville to Marianna, Florida without going through Mobile. It made for a long day with 432 mile day. There were some very nice curves going through the pine woods, but the fog of the morning kept me from enjoying them completely.
After awhile, the mist lifted and I was able to enjoy the countryside riding through Mississippi and Lower Alabama, otherwise known as LA.
It was well after dark before I arrived at my motel room in Marianna. I must do a better job of trip planning and try to account for the earlier sunsets of winter. I don’t like riding at night if I can avoid it.
Wednesday was the day to see family again. I have a son and his family living there, and planned to spend a couple of days with them. I had an easy day of 327 miles planned. Riding in northern Florida and riding in South Texas is same same, only different. Riding a motorcycle through deep south Texas is boring - flat and treeless. Riding through north Florida is boring too - flat and lots of trees. Then, when you get to central Florida, it turns into a traffic jam - and many of the jammers are old people like me. Lots of retirees here, and many of them on on motorcycles.
Two days catching up with my four grandkids. The one in green is married to a former Marine who served in Iraq and is the mother of my great grand daughter.
The visit over, I came down the "back way" to Miami, rather than take the Florida Turnpike or even US 27. I was to find that going through Wauchula and LaBelle is not all that different from the days of my youth. Any route takes you from rolling hills of citrus to the Everglades, interspersed with a few cattle ranches and small towns that have grown into small cities.
A panther crossing? Yep - the Florida panther has his own refuge. And, I just love the name of the town - I wonder if the place is named for someone named Zolfo. Snowy egrets and grass and lots of water - that's the Everglades.
Saturday morning and early afternoon was spent with Jim. Sorry, but I can’t show you any pictures of his residence. My old college buddy is in prison. We had a great visit for our allotted five hours. Strangely, we don’t talk much about “the old days”, but rather where we are today. I know it is hard on him when I leave, but we do talk on the phone for fifteen minutes each Sunday.
I do have to tell a story about the visit though. I know the rules, so I knew to only have my ignition key, no more than $50 in my pocket, and my driver’s license. I left my riding jacket, gloves and helmet with the bike, and wore my riding pants and boots for the visit. No dice on the pants. The little pockets that hold the armor were verboten, so I had to go back to the parking lot, retrieve a pair of street pants out of the top case, duck down between two cars and change pants.
I left the prison at three, then just took a straight route back to Orlando, and made it in time for pizza with the family. The next morning, my son woke me up and the two of us had some time to ourselves to chat while I ate breakfast. His holiday work schedule meant I hadn’t seen a lot of him during the other two days. Thanx, Keith.
The second week of the ride began with a very nice ride from Orlando to Eufaula, Alabama. I found a little nicer riding country on this route by going through the horse country near Ocala. Lots of live oak trees draped with Spanish moss. Saw quite a few bikes on the road too, and many different makes and types than the cruisers and sportbikes I see at home.
I’d ridden through some light sprinkles leaving Orlando, and knew by the bite in the air that I was moving into the other side of a cold front. By the time I crossed into Alabama, I knew the next day would be cold.
It was a bit "brisk" on the ride from Eufaula to my sister's home. My new heated gloves (thanx for the recommendation, Warren) came in very handy. The sky was overcast almost all the way, except around Gadsden when I stopped and had lunch with Carolyn and Larry Hood. Great time with them - Larry and I served together during the war in Vietnam.
No pictures today, though there was some nice winding roads along the way. The dull light from the overcast skies didn't inspire me, but I confess the real reason was that I didn't want to go through the hassle of taking my gloves off.
I truly enjoyed my short visit with my sister. We had a good time sharing and talking and catching up.
Wednesday, December 10th, saw me on the way to Tupelo, MIssissippi where I picked up the Natchez Trace Parkway. Gee, I wonder why I only saw two other motorcyclists all day. One was a commuter riding into Huntsville, and the other inside the gas station where I refueled. Maybe it was because it was 37 degrees when I left my sister's house east of Huntsville, and barely warmed up all day. Cloudy again - kinda like riding in a cold version of Mordor.
I love "see throughs" - old abandoned barns that are falling down so you can "see through" them. I saw lots of them today, but loved the old gas station I rode past in Alabama.
I had planned this leg to ride the Natchez Trace Parkway, and I'm glad I did. If you're in a hurry, don't drive the Trace - the speed limit is 50 mph. It is a two lane road with limited access - and that makes it feel weird. No clover leaf entrance ramps like you see on four lane highways. There are no towns either - nor billboards - nor stores - nor restaurants. No big trucks or busses. It is a national park, and the scenery is gorgeous. I wanna see it when the area is green.
Poor trip planning - I didn't take into account that the day's long ride would end after nightfall. I saw a lot of deer at dusk and afterwards, and that is spooky. You never know if Bambi is going to run away from you or charge you.
The gloves worked well, but I went through both sets of batteries, so the hands were a little chilled the last part of the day.
I looked forward to getting in to Houston to see my daughter again. It was a crisp 37 degrees when I pulled out of Natchez, and a balmy 72 when I pulled into my motel in Houston. Needless to say, I had to shed some layers as I went. The heated gloves and the wool shirt got put in the luggage.
Nice easy ride from Natchez to Houston. I noticed that the road in Louisiana - two laned byway through the pine woods - was 55 mph. When I crossed the Sabine River into Texas, the same road changed to 75 mph.
The piney woods of east Texas make me feel like I'm back in south Georgia. You can smell the pulp wood mills in the area. When the logging truck goes past, you're looking at your next roll of toilet paper or maybe some paper towels or even some school notebook paper.
And Smitty's BBQ - a plateful so good, it makes you wanna slap yo mama! Larapin.
The next day I spent in Houston with my oldest daughter. I’d bought some riding gear for her and we wanted to try that out, along with the new Sena communicator I put on our helmets. Just a short ride as a shakedown before the two of us set out on a jaunt.
Saturday put us on the road again. The day was different - very different. First, I've never had a pillion rider for more than a few miles, much less all day, and second, Trang had never ridden all day either. She found out that putting a lot of miles down is different than hanging on for an hour on the back of a guy's liter sport bike.
Starting with time. She kinda gagged when I told her I would pick her up at eight. To this old timer, starting out early is a way to compensate for the inevitable delays that always happen. And the inevitable delay happened soon - she couldn't find her gloves. That meant buying new gloves, and the store didn't open until 9am.
Off down I-45 to Galveston and a great breakfast at Shykatz, a local restaurant tucked back in a residential neighborhood. We were able to ride right onto the ferry for the trip to the Bolivar Peninsula. We jinxed ourselves by commenting on the beautiful weather, as the day turned cloudy and the wind picked up. We stopped long enough for her to take some photos of cattle being herded across the road (I stayed on the bike ready to boogie if one of the bulls got upset), then on to Port Arthur.
Next delay - and once again, gloves were the cause. After we rode across the Sabine River into Louisiana, she asked to stop for some photos. "Thay, I can't find a glove." Huh? How does one lose a glove? It seems she took one off so she could handle her camera - and she took it off while we were riding on the bridge. A return trip across the bridge. We spotted it, then I waited until there was no traffic. We had to stop on the bridge while she hopped off and retrieved it.
Another ferry ride, then into Cameron. This place intrigues. In the same small town, the offshore oil industry and shrimping coexist.
A lunch stop at T-Boys Cajun Grill again - love those fried oyster poboys).
Delay three. I could tell she was getting cold. Finally, we stopped along side the road, we found a bush for her to hide behind and she put on another layer (or so) of clothes.
I had intentionally planned a short ride, but the delays still meant we got into New Iberia after nightfall. She was more tired than she thought she’d be too - and a little abashed that the “old man” was feeling better than she did.
Sunday dawned a fabulous morning. I was up checking the bike as the sun came up. The temperature was a bit airish at 49, but after a too-long breakfast, we set out and the day was already warming up nicely. I plotted our route through such Cajun towns as Gueydan, and scared up flocks of geese and ducks from the marshes. Wonderful riding.
A long lunch in Lake Charles, and we discovered time had gotten away from us, so I threw the planned route out and we got on the Interstate. Not my favorite way to ride, but if we hadn't done that, we would have arrived late and in the dark.
Thanx for the ride and the company and the conversations, Trang. I had a great time.
But now, home beckoned. The NT has taken the route between Houston and McAllen so many times, it doesn’t need me to steer it. The ride was fun, but it was also great to be back home with my bride.
On a sad side note, my wife had been giving me nightly updates on the status of our twelve year old cat. She hadn’t eaten in a week, but when I came in the house and called her name, she responded with outstretched neck for a scratching. But it was time to let her go. We took her to the vet, and Bao left our lives, but not our hearts.
I made the sorta same trip this year and didn’t have to make any changes to the itinerary. The total trip took a day over two weeks and I covered 4,488 miles. Can we round that up and say it was 4,500 miles?
The ride summary was McAllen, TX, (on the Rio Grande) to Houston, then over to Florida where I spent a couple of days with my son and his family, then to Miami to see an old college buddy who is in prison, then back through Orlando to Huntsville, Alabama, to spend time with my sister, then back to Houston where I picked up my daughter for a quick jaunt through southern Louisiana.
My daughter Trang had been home for Thanksgiving, so on the Sunday afterwards, we convoyed to Houston. Of course, that is the day when everyone and their cousin is on the way home, so it was like a 365 mile traffic jam. It was also terrifying to see how poor my daughter’s driving skills were on the highway.
But Monday was a fabulous ride. It started at a Waffle House. Normally, I stay away from chain restaurants, but Waffle House is special for me. Besides, I can order everything with extra grease if I wish. Then it was down to Galveston, where I crossed over to the Bolivar Peninsula via the ferry. That little spit of sand was literally wiped out by Hurricane Ike in 2008. (Here’s some good compare and contrast photos. http://coastal.er.usgs.gov/hurricanes/ike/photo-comparisons/bolivar.html ) Today, most of the area has been rebuilt, but at the north end of the peninsula, vehicular traffic makes a sharp left turn. Its easy to see that the road once continued north along the beach, but Hurricane Rita changed that in 2005. The road was destroyed all the way to the Texas/Louisiana border at the Sabine River, and never rebuilt. I’ve read stories of dual-sport riders taking the route. They say there are sections where the asphalt is still intact, but not much. If you look at the map, you can see I had to take a little jog to the north to get around the destroyed road.
After crossing the Sabine just outside Port Arthur, I rode another ferry into Cameron, Louisiana. (I’m told a guy named Phil Tarman once roamed the area.) The area is an interesting blend of petrochemical plants, offshore oil rigs and fishing boats. Riding through Cameron, I smelled fresh seafood and oil - at the same time. By coincidence, I'd had dinner in Houston the night before with a gentleman who once flew helicopters with the old South Vietnamese Air Force, then later flew them from Cameron out to the oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico.
Hurricane Rita did a job on the area. New buildings are constructed on stilts now - even churches. I checked the elevation on my GPS and noted that the highest I ever got while on the coastal road was 10 feet - and also 5 feet below sea level.
Just beyond Cameron is a highway intersection named Creole where I found T-Boy’s Cajun Grill. Fantastic fried oyster poboy.
I just cruised the rest of the day, arriving in St. Francisville a little after dark. Evening comes early in the northern lands.
Wanting to avoid cities, I figured out how to get from St. Francisville to Marianna, Florida without going through Mobile. It made for a long day with 432 mile day. There were some very nice curves going through the pine woods, but the fog of the morning kept me from enjoying them completely.
After awhile, the mist lifted and I was able to enjoy the countryside riding through Mississippi and Lower Alabama, otherwise known as LA.
It was well after dark before I arrived at my motel room in Marianna. I must do a better job of trip planning and try to account for the earlier sunsets of winter. I don’t like riding at night if I can avoid it.
Wednesday was the day to see family again. I have a son and his family living there, and planned to spend a couple of days with them. I had an easy day of 327 miles planned. Riding in northern Florida and riding in South Texas is same same, only different. Riding a motorcycle through deep south Texas is boring - flat and treeless. Riding through north Florida is boring too - flat and lots of trees. Then, when you get to central Florida, it turns into a traffic jam - and many of the jammers are old people like me. Lots of retirees here, and many of them on on motorcycles.
Two days catching up with my four grandkids. The one in green is married to a former Marine who served in Iraq and is the mother of my great grand daughter.
The visit over, I came down the "back way" to Miami, rather than take the Florida Turnpike or even US 27. I was to find that going through Wauchula and LaBelle is not all that different from the days of my youth. Any route takes you from rolling hills of citrus to the Everglades, interspersed with a few cattle ranches and small towns that have grown into small cities.
A panther crossing? Yep - the Florida panther has his own refuge. And, I just love the name of the town - I wonder if the place is named for someone named Zolfo. Snowy egrets and grass and lots of water - that's the Everglades.
Saturday morning and early afternoon was spent with Jim. Sorry, but I can’t show you any pictures of his residence. My old college buddy is in prison. We had a great visit for our allotted five hours. Strangely, we don’t talk much about “the old days”, but rather where we are today. I know it is hard on him when I leave, but we do talk on the phone for fifteen minutes each Sunday.
I do have to tell a story about the visit though. I know the rules, so I knew to only have my ignition key, no more than $50 in my pocket, and my driver’s license. I left my riding jacket, gloves and helmet with the bike, and wore my riding pants and boots for the visit. No dice on the pants. The little pockets that hold the armor were verboten, so I had to go back to the parking lot, retrieve a pair of street pants out of the top case, duck down between two cars and change pants.
I left the prison at three, then just took a straight route back to Orlando, and made it in time for pizza with the family. The next morning, my son woke me up and the two of us had some time to ourselves to chat while I ate breakfast. His holiday work schedule meant I hadn’t seen a lot of him during the other two days. Thanx, Keith.
The second week of the ride began with a very nice ride from Orlando to Eufaula, Alabama. I found a little nicer riding country on this route by going through the horse country near Ocala. Lots of live oak trees draped with Spanish moss. Saw quite a few bikes on the road too, and many different makes and types than the cruisers and sportbikes I see at home.
I’d ridden through some light sprinkles leaving Orlando, and knew by the bite in the air that I was moving into the other side of a cold front. By the time I crossed into Alabama, I knew the next day would be cold.
It was a bit "brisk" on the ride from Eufaula to my sister's home. My new heated gloves (thanx for the recommendation, Warren) came in very handy. The sky was overcast almost all the way, except around Gadsden when I stopped and had lunch with Carolyn and Larry Hood. Great time with them - Larry and I served together during the war in Vietnam.
No pictures today, though there was some nice winding roads along the way. The dull light from the overcast skies didn't inspire me, but I confess the real reason was that I didn't want to go through the hassle of taking my gloves off.
I truly enjoyed my short visit with my sister. We had a good time sharing and talking and catching up.
Wednesday, December 10th, saw me on the way to Tupelo, MIssissippi where I picked up the Natchez Trace Parkway. Gee, I wonder why I only saw two other motorcyclists all day. One was a commuter riding into Huntsville, and the other inside the gas station where I refueled. Maybe it was because it was 37 degrees when I left my sister's house east of Huntsville, and barely warmed up all day. Cloudy again - kinda like riding in a cold version of Mordor.
I love "see throughs" - old abandoned barns that are falling down so you can "see through" them. I saw lots of them today, but loved the old gas station I rode past in Alabama.
I had planned this leg to ride the Natchez Trace Parkway, and I'm glad I did. If you're in a hurry, don't drive the Trace - the speed limit is 50 mph. It is a two lane road with limited access - and that makes it feel weird. No clover leaf entrance ramps like you see on four lane highways. There are no towns either - nor billboards - nor stores - nor restaurants. No big trucks or busses. It is a national park, and the scenery is gorgeous. I wanna see it when the area is green.
Poor trip planning - I didn't take into account that the day's long ride would end after nightfall. I saw a lot of deer at dusk and afterwards, and that is spooky. You never know if Bambi is going to run away from you or charge you.
The gloves worked well, but I went through both sets of batteries, so the hands were a little chilled the last part of the day.
I looked forward to getting in to Houston to see my daughter again. It was a crisp 37 degrees when I pulled out of Natchez, and a balmy 72 when I pulled into my motel in Houston. Needless to say, I had to shed some layers as I went. The heated gloves and the wool shirt got put in the luggage.
Nice easy ride from Natchez to Houston. I noticed that the road in Louisiana - two laned byway through the pine woods - was 55 mph. When I crossed the Sabine River into Texas, the same road changed to 75 mph.
The piney woods of east Texas make me feel like I'm back in south Georgia. You can smell the pulp wood mills in the area. When the logging truck goes past, you're looking at your next roll of toilet paper or maybe some paper towels or even some school notebook paper.
And Smitty's BBQ - a plateful so good, it makes you wanna slap yo mama! Larapin.
The next day I spent in Houston with my oldest daughter. I’d bought some riding gear for her and we wanted to try that out, along with the new Sena communicator I put on our helmets. Just a short ride as a shakedown before the two of us set out on a jaunt.
Saturday put us on the road again. The day was different - very different. First, I've never had a pillion rider for more than a few miles, much less all day, and second, Trang had never ridden all day either. She found out that putting a lot of miles down is different than hanging on for an hour on the back of a guy's liter sport bike.
Starting with time. She kinda gagged when I told her I would pick her up at eight. To this old timer, starting out early is a way to compensate for the inevitable delays that always happen. And the inevitable delay happened soon - she couldn't find her gloves. That meant buying new gloves, and the store didn't open until 9am.
Off down I-45 to Galveston and a great breakfast at Shykatz, a local restaurant tucked back in a residential neighborhood. We were able to ride right onto the ferry for the trip to the Bolivar Peninsula. We jinxed ourselves by commenting on the beautiful weather, as the day turned cloudy and the wind picked up. We stopped long enough for her to take some photos of cattle being herded across the road (I stayed on the bike ready to boogie if one of the bulls got upset), then on to Port Arthur.
Next delay - and once again, gloves were the cause. After we rode across the Sabine River into Louisiana, she asked to stop for some photos. "Thay, I can't find a glove." Huh? How does one lose a glove? It seems she took one off so she could handle her camera - and she took it off while we were riding on the bridge. A return trip across the bridge. We spotted it, then I waited until there was no traffic. We had to stop on the bridge while she hopped off and retrieved it.
Another ferry ride, then into Cameron. This place intrigues. In the same small town, the offshore oil industry and shrimping coexist.
A lunch stop at T-Boys Cajun Grill again - love those fried oyster poboys).
Delay three. I could tell she was getting cold. Finally, we stopped along side the road, we found a bush for her to hide behind and she put on another layer (or so) of clothes.
I had intentionally planned a short ride, but the delays still meant we got into New Iberia after nightfall. She was more tired than she thought she’d be too - and a little abashed that the “old man” was feeling better than she did.
Sunday dawned a fabulous morning. I was up checking the bike as the sun came up. The temperature was a bit airish at 49, but after a too-long breakfast, we set out and the day was already warming up nicely. I plotted our route through such Cajun towns as Gueydan, and scared up flocks of geese and ducks from the marshes. Wonderful riding.
A long lunch in Lake Charles, and we discovered time had gotten away from us, so I threw the planned route out and we got on the Interstate. Not my favorite way to ride, but if we hadn't done that, we would have arrived late and in the dark.
Thanx for the ride and the company and the conversations, Trang. I had a great time.
But now, home beckoned. The NT has taken the route between Houston and McAllen so many times, it doesn’t need me to steer it. The ride was fun, but it was also great to be back home with my bride.
On a sad side note, my wife had been giving me nightly updates on the status of our twelve year old cat. She hadn’t eaten in a week, but when I came in the house and called her name, she responded with outstretched neck for a scratching. But it was time to let her go. We took her to the vet, and Bao left our lives, but not our hearts.
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)helicopter and we headed offshore. After about 150 miles, we turned around and came back due to thunderstorms, and got on a boat for the 250 mile ride to the platform. Then when I was working for SiiDrilco in Lafayette and Houston, I caught couple of helicopters and several boats going offshore from Cameron. Sure do miss those fried-oyster po'boys!
