ODB Does Hawaii With SOB (Some Other Bike)

This morning I dressed in the dark. It was easy as I had my Motorcycle Man clothes laid out and ready. I’ve been thinking about this day, planning for it, and waiting for it from the moment Sue suggested we honeymoon on Maui for a week, and then have Becky here for a week as a graduation gift. My riding reservation at the Eagle Rider rental shop was for 9 AM. I was ready to walk out the

door at 5:30! Hawaii is my 49^th state. Only Alaska waits to be checked off my “States I’ve Ridden” list. I was eager to get going on the day’s ride, to say the least.

After waiting around for what seemed like six hours for Sue and Becky to get up and get ready it was finally 8:30. I dropped them off near Black Rock Beach for a morning of snorkeling, and then made it to the mo-cy rental place by 8:50. By 9:05 I was rolling northbound along Honoapilliani Highway, under sunny skies, with 80 degrees, a gentle breeze, and plenty of sunscreen on my arms and face. Although helmets are not required in Hawaii, I wore one. If nothing else, it kept the sun off my bald head. Though most of the native bikers I’ve seen here ride in shorts, no shirt, and flip-flops, I had on jeans, a T-shirt, and actual shoes – probably the only biker on the island thusly adorned. My motorcycle today was a second-cousin of The Mighty Mary Ellen, a 2013 Softail Heritage. I wanted my ride to be as close as possible to ME’s size and style. This was the best I could do. I was comfortable enough on my rental mo-cy and had no trouble acclimating to the differences.

 

For a map of today's ride, CLICK HERE.

 

I knew I was in for some narrow roads as I had done some checking with other riders as well as at the rental shop. Now I strongly suspect that no one I talked to had actually done this ride or they would have said something like, “You must be out of your freakin’ mind!”

There were sections of this road that made the Road to Hana look like a freeway. I am not kidding when I say this was the most dangerous, technically challenging, and terrifying “road” I have ever had the pleasure of riding. It was an adventure, to say the least.

The road narrows to six feet wide in places, with a sheer rock wall on one side, and a cliff to oblivion on the other. It twisted and turned so hard that 5 MPH was too fast in places. There is one move that this mo-cy rider dreads, that being the extreme right-hand hairpin that is also steeply uphill. They were there, but add a layer of gravel to make it more challenging.

“WATCH FOR FALLING ROCKS” signs were common – as were fallen rocks. So I not only had to wonder if a car might be coming along on this goat path, I had to wonder if there were going to be rocks that had to be avoided. Sometimes there were both.

Makena State Park

I met a car on a very narrow section. I had the inside, next to the rock wall; he had the outside, next to the precipice (Guardrail? What guardrail). He was over as far as he could – or would – go, I had so little room to pass that I had to lean the bike over so my handlebar didn’t hit his mirrors. Of course I had my feet down and was “walking” the bike at that point. But still, this was absolutely, ridiculously, outrageously, and unabashedly . . . fun (especially since I survived to write about it).

 

I have NEVER been so happy, relieved, and thankful to see a yellow line between two lanes of traffic as I was when that so-called road finally became an actual highway again.

I finished the loop around the northern end of Maui, and then headed down the west side of the lower portion of the island to an unbelievably beautiful area near Makena State Park.

 

From there it was back up to Lahaina. By the time I fueled the bike and pulled into the rental yard, it was 1 PM exactly. My four-hour rental time had expired and I was about ready to expire myself. Only 88 miles on the odometer, but it felt more like 500. Oh yes, it rained on the way back to Lahaina. Not a problem, really. It was warm water and it felt good to cool off. Besides, it wasn’t my bike getting road-sprayed. For $114, Eagle Rider can clean up their own mo-cy.

Home

Home

Salem, OR

We cross Shasta Lake in the moonlight under a sky filled with stars. Old Danny Boy had the throttle locked on 55, I wasn’t even in high gear. As we rumbled along the otherwise empty freeway, he made a resolution for the day. No moping. In fact, this would be a day of celebration – a ride to relish.

The trek across Northern California was beautiful. The sun rose over Mt Shasta and illuminated the jagged peaks to the west.

As the day progressed, so did the throttle. By midmorning we were flying along with traffic as I-5 drops from the Siskiyou Mountains into our beautiful home state, Oregon.

JP had a cold drink for ODB

We had an 11 AM meet-up set in Springfield with blog master, John Perry. He takes my e-mails, fixes them up pretty, and then posts them on the blog he set up especially for me. You may be reading it now.

...and a kiss for ME!

Jonathan Perry witnessed the event and Art Kennedy took the photos.

And then it was on to Salem. He makes this trip ten times a week; he lives in Salem and works in Springfield. But in the context of MMPAA 12, that last 65-mile leg seemed quite short.

If you’re interested in details, there is more information below.

But for now, I’m going to call this done. ODB is back with The Love of His Life who can, and does, love him back. He returns to work driving a big green bus that bends in the middle on Monday.

Me? I’m happy to be home safe and well. And frankly, I’m looking forward to some alone time with that lime sherbet Vespa scooter.

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Blog Master John Perry reports: “As of 12 Noon, August 3, 2012, (the blog) “Travels With the Mighty Mary Ellen (and ODB)” had 1,190 views, including 94 from the U.K., 86 from Russia, 4 from Germany, 1 from South Korea, and 1 determined soul from Malaysia.”

MMPAA 12 covered 11,193 miles in 31 days (25 riding and 6 resting).

We traveled in 32 states and the District of Columbia listed here in order of appearance.

Oregon

Idaho

Utah

Colorado

A memento for JP

New Mexico

Texas

Oklahoma

Kansas

Nebraska

South Dakota

North Dakota

Minnesota

Iowa

Illinois

Indiana

Ohio

Pennsylvania

New York

Vermont

New Hampshire

Maine

New Hampshire

Massachusetts

New York

New Jersey

Delaware

Maryland

Washington DC

Virginia

West Virginia

Maryland

West Virginia

Ohio

Kentucky

Ohio

Indiana

Illinois

Missouri

Kansas

Colorado

Utah

Nevada

California

Oregon

(Google Map Update)

(Ed. note:  It's been my intense pleasure to create this blog for my friend Dan.  What Dan has lived is one of the most amazing experiences anyone can hope to accomplish in a lifetime, and to "be there" with him is privilege I will never forget.  Like I said in 2009, what it is, is envy.  Congratulations Dan!  So where are we going next year? - JP)  

Last Day On the Half Dollar

Near Echo Pass on US 50

Redding, CA

Here we are, our final day on the Half-Dollar Highway. On day three of this journey we traveled the Million Dollar Highway across the Rocky Mountains. Today’s ride took us through the Sierra Nevada range.

The climb to Echo Pass was amazing. For starters, we had another one of those bright and cloudless mornings. My oversized engine was made for this sort of riding. Old Danny Boy did his best to hold me back but a motorcycle’s got to do what a motorcycle’s got to do.

The ride up the east side didn’t take that long. Carson City sits at 4,705 feet. The pass is 7,382. By the way; we’ve been through Yosemite on a clear day like this one. The El Dorado is Yosemite’s first cousin – stunning vistas and one very pretty lake, Tahoe.

We stopped in Placerville on the way down on the other side of the mountain. They call it Old Hang Town. She Who Holds Down The Fort calls it, “My home town.”

From P’ville things kept going downhill. Echo Pass is 7,382. Hang Town sits at 2,146. By the time we reached the official end of US 50, 94 miles from the pass, the elevation was 15 feet. That’s a long way down.

I’m afraid Mr. Boy was a bit down, as well. He was pleased that we did what we set out to do. He didn’t hurt himself, hurt me or anyone else. He didn’t get any tickets. We navigated The Most Dangerous and the Loneliest Roads in America. We followed 83 from Mexico to Canada. We followed 50 from end-to-end – Ocean City to Sacramento. We visited family and friends. And I wrote the journal. Still, his satisfaction was tinged with sadness. He’s been chasing this dream for a long time. Now, it’s almost over.

We’re northbound on I-5. This afternoon it felt a lot like a really long commute from Eugene to Salem. He thought about pushing all the way home but I wouldn’t let him. I insisted we follow the plan. We stopped at 102-degree Redding and parked it for the night.

Bright and early in the morning (I told him it was okay with me even if it was dark and early) we hit the highway for home. One more day to ride, one more report to post, and this trip is in the books.

(Google Map Update)

The Journey Is All There Is

“The morning breaks eternal, bright and fair.”

Fallon, NV

Lonely? Yes it was. Desolate? Not at all. Neither was it hostile nor harsh. In fact, “The Loneliest Road in America” segment of US 50 may have been the best ride of the 3073-mile road.

Yes, there were long straightaways as it traversed huge basins. However, the rider was rewarded at each end with twisty turning climbs into or out of those basins, often sandwiched between towering rock formations.

The ride down into Austin, UT from the east was downright hair-raising. (Didn’t mean to leave you out, Old Danny Boy, I was just a saying . . .)

So Mr. Lead Fist actually took it fairly easy today. The road is posted 65 in Utah, 70 in Nevada. We stayed under 80 most of the time. Not a problem until the very end of the day when we came up behind what turned out to be a sheriff. We were going 75-78ish. Evidently that wasn’t fast enough to get us pulled over. Still, it was close. ODB lucks out . . . again.

But here’s the thing. They call it “The Loneliest Road in America” for a reason. (Other than because it’s in America.) All that solitude – with hours between towns and very little traffic – lends itself to introspective contemplation. I knew this was brewing. I know ODB better than I know myself.

He calls these trips his MMPAA (Major Motorcycle Pilgrimage Across America). We’re getting close to the end of this one and he’s getting tired. I think that helped him get out of his own way as we talked today about the journey.

We decided that going from Point A to Point B is a myth. There was no Point A. There is no Point B.

That’s true in life, as well. I didn’t come into existence when I left the assembly line door. I am the sum of my parts that previously existed. Just as ODB didn’t come from his mother’s womb. He came through it.

We remembered how it felt when we got to the end of US 20 on the 2009 MMPAA. We followed that thing relentlessly from Newport, Oregon to Boston, Mass. When we finally arrived in Boston, there was nothing there but another road. When we started the trip, we didn’t just magically appear in Newport, we got there from somewhere else.

ODB has been around death in the past few months. In March, he and Al the Fisherman held their friend Rich as he died and witnessed first-hand the miracle of death – the transformation from a person here to a person forever gone. Three months later Erin, the mother of his youngest daughter, died. He went with his daughter to visit Erin’s body one last time. Again, witnessing the wrenching finality of death.

Today, the spirit of Erin and Rich were present on our journey. Of course his dad paid a visit, as well. It was reassuring to have their company.

The end of life’s journey is not the end of the road, nor is birth a starting point. They are turning points. Just like US 20 was in Boston and Newport, and just like we’re going to find tomorrow where US 50 ends in West Sacramento. The road we follow ends. We make a turn and keep moving forward.

There is no Point A. There is no Point B. Life is a journey. The journey is all there is.

(Google Map Update)

Every Moment a "Kodak Moment" at 11,000 Feet

US 50 (I-70) near Green River, UT

Salina, UT

Stung by my observations regarding his obsessive riding-before-daylight behavior, Old Danny Boy cooled his jets this morning. We didn’t roll ‘til dawn’s early light. Or was it the passing thunderstorm that gave him pause. He even put on his rain gear BEFORE he got wet. I’m thinking the guy is starting to pay attention to what I’ve been telling him. Maybe he had to see it in print.

After a nice forty-mile ride in the rain, we arrived at the Rocky Mountain’s foothills. They quickly became the real deal. The rain stopped but ODB was glad to leave his raingear on for warmth. The thermo was stuck on 62 degrees. Climbing elevation negated the sun’s warming power.

At our first fuel stop, ODB called Al the Fisherman in Eugene, Oregon and sang him the Happy Birthday Song. AtF is 74 today. He’s a good friend of mine and is like a brother to ODB.

A few more miles down the road we started ascending Monarch Pass. Things did not look good. A few miles up, and I mean UP, the road disappeared into the massive black cloud that obscured any view of the mountain. He had his raingear on already, but it was getting colder and his gloves were wet from the morning rain. It was time to stop and change into warmer clothes.

Here’s the thing about mo-cy riding. You are outside. When conditions are stable, even if they’re bad, you dress once and go. When conditions are variable, changing stops are needed. Hence, an underpass becomes the riders changing room. With no underpass available today, ODB found a safe place to pull over out in the open.

Bear with me now, please. If I can do it, you can too. Okay, his rain pants and jacket come off. Heavy over pants go on over his jeans. A thick leather jacket goes on over the liner, which he already had on under the raingear. The rain pants go back on over the over pants. The rain jacket goes back on over the leather jacket. Don’t forget to thread the wires for the heated gloves down the sleeves of the rain jacket. Get the gloves plugged in to the wiring harness, and the harness plugged into the mo-cy. There. He’s good to go. And we’re off.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention all this happens at 8000-something feet. After bending over to get the stirrups of his rain pants situated under his shoes, he stood up and darn near passed out from the lack of oxygen.

So, what do you think happens immediately after putting on three pair of pants?

Yup. He has to go.

“Are you kidding me? You need to go?”

“I know. I just went, too. It’s crazy. Maybe if I just ignore it, it will go away.”

“Right.

We head up the road and into the dark cloud. It doesn’t rain, but it is cold enough to make him glad he went to all the trouble of getting into his heated gloves and warm clothes.

“Okay, I gotta go. I’m pulling over.”

“Right.”

"No. No. I can make it. We'll just keep going. It's probably a false alarm."

"Right."

A few miles later, we stop.

While he heads off to do his business, I calculate just how many fastening devises he’s going to have to undo and redo to accomplish this feat. Elastic waistband on rain pants; a Velcro-strip buckle, two snaps, and a zipper on the over pants; a belt buckle, a button, and zipper on jeans; and that gets him down to his underwear.

Up we go through the clouds. The altimeter reads 10,000 feet and we’re still climbing. On our way east we topped out at 11,111 feet on the 550. Today, we crest Monarch Pass at 11,312. This point is also the continental divide. On the Pacific side we find nothing but azure-blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Unbelievable.

Before long we’ve stopped again. It’s pushing 80 degrees now and ODB is eager to get out of all those clothes. It takes another good while to get everything put away.

We saw hundreds of bikers today, all headed east. We presumed that most of them were headed for the Sturgis, SD motorcycle rally. Several times while we stopped for fuel people asked if we were headed for Sturgis.

“Nope. We’re headed home to Oregon.”

I could hear a note of relief in ODB’s voice when he said it. We’ve been on the road four weeks today.

The word for the day was “Wow!” What with Colorado’s Rocky Mountains and Utah’s amazing geology, every moment was a “Kodak moment.”

An intersection of note today – where the 550 begins in Montrose, CO. We were headed southbound here on Friday, July 6.

Another factoid: My trip odometer passed the 10,000-mile mark today.

Tomorrow we go deep into “The Loneliest Road in America.” There is one place where it’s153 miles between gas stations. I hold five gallons. If Mr. Lead Fist takes it easy, I’ll give him 40 MPG.

The odds of him taking it easy on this lonely stretch of desolation?

Not good. Not good at all.

(Google Map Update)

"Danny, We're Not In Kansas Anymore"

Well-worn elevator on the Kansas 50

Pueblo, CO

The plan, as explained to me by Old Danny Boy as he parked me for the night, was to sleep-in until “AT LEAST 5:00.”

So, along about 4:15 here he comes, all perky and cheerful, asking me if I’m "ready to rise and shine and greet the day?” There are reasons he rides alone. This is one of them (the list is long).

There was absolutely NO reason for an early start. We gained an hour crossing from Central to Mountain Time, and we had a relatively short, 400-mile ride. Evidently that information was lost on Mr. Morning Person. Soon enough we were on the highway, riding merrily along, in the dark.

Why he does this, no one knows.

Not surprisingly, traffic was sparse, as was the scenery. I’m not sure what we would have seen were we able to see anything. The road was a straight-as-an-arrow two-laner with good paint, which is most helpful when it comes to staying between the lines. Still, it was good to see those first rays of daylight in that forever Kansas prairie sky.

We rolled through the infamous old west towns of Dodge City and Cimarron. We noticed more cowboys on ATVs than on horseback. Still, there was no mistaking them for city slickers.

And then we arrived in Garden City, KS, a city we remember from our ride north on US 83. On July 10, we rode this very road. It was the day we departed Dog Food Motel in Abilene, TX. This morning we stopped to commemorate the event (no, not the dog food; the crossing of the paths). You can see by the light and shadows that it’s still early in the morning. Check out ODB in my rearview. (right)

While this point seemed to us like the center of the lower 48, the actual “Midway USA” was 88 miles back the way we came, in Kinsley, KS. We looked for but could not find this sign. Turns out it was a relic of Hwy 50’s early days and is now long gone.

Just before we crossed into Colorado, we arrived in Coolidge (pop. 95). ODB made a U-turn and stopped to look around. Here’s what Ol’ Dan discovered on this dazzling 30^th day of July. 
 (Google Map Update)

 

The Phone Company

ODB Talks to God

South Hutchinson, KS

Tallgrass National Preserve near Emporia, KS

It’s a good thing we weren’t here last night. Eighty mile per hour “micro-burst” winds took out power in general and tore roofs off several buildings in this area. Now, the sun is shining brightly, there’s a gentle breeze, and it’s a warmish 104 DEGREES!

Old Danny Boy was ready for this one. He did his research and knew it would be wise to be off the road by noon. Therefore, we pulled out of Union, MO this morning at 0330.

What ODB didn’t count on was a line of thunder storms marching through Missouri about that same time. As he prepared his gear for takeoff, lightning flickered in the distance.

“Chances are it will have moved on by the time we get there,” he assured me.

“Chances are you’d better put your rain gear on before you get wet instead of after,” I replied.

 A few miles down the road we took shelter under a gas station canopy while Mr. Wet Pants pulled on his rain gear. With hours to go before sunrise, we were in for an adventure.

Eastern Missouri’s US 50 is two lanes of curving, rolling highway. Straightaways are rare and short. Other than the strobe effect of flashing lighting, it was pitch dark. Rain came in waves from pour to sprinkle. As one storm-cell moved on, another arrived to take its place.

We were lucky that the lightning was directly overhead only once. Once was plenty.

KA BLAM!

It made Old Danny Boy talk to Jesus.

“Excuse me, Jesus. I’m Mary Ellen Dreier’s son, Dan. She’s been asking you to watch over me, not electrocute me. If it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to ride out of this in one piece, please.”

A short while later the rain stopped. Before long, a rising sun in the east lit up clouds in the western sky. It was 80 degrees by 6:30.

The landscape slowly transitioned from rolling forested hills to prairie land.

By the time we pulled into South Hutchinson, Kansas at 11:30, it had been 100 degrees, or more, for two hours. The forecast high here today is 108.

Highway 50 takes many shapes and forms. It’s an old system, but in places it has been rebuilt, combined with other routes and on occasion, paired with Interstates. However, there are some sections that go way back. In these areas, we’ve noticed a few old gas stations that were built for the horseless carriage. We saw one in Syracuse, MO today.

Here’s a link to it on Google Street View and a couple of Internet photos.

This link is just down the street in the same town, Syracuse, MO, population 170.

I wanted to stop so ODB could take some pictures, but no. ODB was hell-bent on getting to his motel. There’s no stopping when he’s like that.

(Google Map Update)

MME Answers Mail in St. Louis

Union, MO

He sings hymns. He can’t help it. He was born into it.

We’re westbound on the Half Buck. The sun, rising directly behind us, illuminates misty fields. Our long shadow precedes my front wheel.

These hymns reside someplace in his brain where memory cells still function. They come to him, usually in multiple verses, these old-time gospel songs. This morning, it was “When the Roll Is Called up Yonder.”

Especially the lines:

“On that bright and cloudless morning.”

And, “When the morning breaks, eternal, bright and fair.”

This time of day is Old Danny Boy’s fix, if you will, – the open road, the purr of my engine (remember, he’s deaf and rides with his hearing aids in an Altoids box). He feels close to Whomever and Whatever it is that isn’t here. He is peaceful, happy, and content.

I asked him, “What if the roll WAS called up yonder this morning and now you ARE there?”

He allowed, “That may have happened. There sure aren’t many people about.”

Then we remembered . . . it was Saturday.

Okay, YOU ride with somebody every day for a month and see what YOU talk about.

US 50 did what it does, mutating from two lanes of local access to busy divided four-lanes, then back. Being Main Street for Small Town, USA. Going through larger cities is a challenge as the “50” signs disappear. GPS isn’t always reliable as it wants to be efficient and practical. So it’s seat-of-the-pants dead-reckoning when it comes to following the Five-O in cities.

In the countryside, there always seems to be a sign on the far side of any intersection with a numbered highway. ODB likes it best when the GPS screen reads, “Continue on US 50.”

Continue on we did, right on to St Louis. Freeway construction afforded us a place to pull over while he snapped the “Gateway to the West” arch. The west? Seems like we just started through the Midwest yesterday. We have six days of “the West” stretched out in front of us.

 

This afternoon we passed a Six Flags amusement park here in Missouri. My rider paid me a nice complement when he said, “I have all the thrill ride I’ll ever need right here under my butt.” He’s a sweet guy, that Old Danny Boy.

And that brings me to this, a couple of e-mail queries:

This from “Your Faithful Reader” in Eugene, OR:  “How can you write? You’re a motorcycle and don’t have any fingers.”

It is not necessary to have fingers in order to write. All you need to write is to have something to say.

Furthermore, I have staff.

And this from “Just Wondering” in Poughkeepsie, NY:  “You and ODB seem to be in a relationship. Are you two in love?”

I had to check in with Old Dany Boy on this one. It’s a toughie. First of all, I’m not a person. I’m a thing (and proud of it). Hey, according to the US Supreme Court, some things ARE people. But I, like Bad Hat’s John Perry, digress. . .

Mr. O. D. Boy remembers not only hearing, but believing that “You shouldn’t love something that can’t love you back.”

Fair enough. But wait . . . What about your country. Do you love your country? And freedom, do you love that? Those are not people. One is a place, the other a state of being.

Personally speaking, I’m a machine. (That was a joke, right there. In case you missed it.) Okay, I’m a machine. I can’t love any thing, any place, any way of being, or any body. So that’s easy. I just am. It just so happens that other than my motorcycle attributes, I can write.

The big question is, Does Old Danny Boy love me?

He loves She Who Is His Life Partner, his family, and his friends. He loves his country and his freedom. He loves to play music. He loves to write (He’s a MUCH better writer than I). And he loves the way he feels when he rides me, his motorcycle.

When I pressed him with, “But do you love me?” he thought about it. He considered how much money he has spent on me, how much time he has spent with me, and how much fun, agony, terror, and thrills he has had with me.

After a period of silent pondering he sighed, nodded, and confessed . . .

“Yes.”

(Google Map Update)

Heading West On the Half Dollar

Newport, KY

Raindrops splashed on Old Danny Boy’s bald head as he packed me up for this morning's ride. After yesterday’s sizzler, he said the rain felt good. Though the morning air was warm, he put on his raingear, threw a leg over, pressed “Start”, and there was thunder . . . Mine!

ODB and I are dedicated to following US Hwy 50. The GPS continually challenges that commitment with suggestions for more direct or faster routes. But no, we’re doing The 50 from end to end. Later, that meant backtracking when He Who Navigates took us down the wrong road. We dutifully turned around, went back, and picked up the Half-Dollar Highway.

It was one wet morning as we crossed Virginia, West Virginia, western Maryland, and more of West Virginia. The 50 is two lanes of blacktop as it snakes across the Blue Ridge Mountains. Areas of fog made for an extra challenge. Still, it was warm, the roads generally in good repair, traffic was sparse, I was running well, and ODB was in good spirits after a tough day in DC.

Note to travelers in these parts: When the suggested speed for a corner in the Blue Ridge Mountains says “25 MPH”, it means that you COULD make the corner at 25 MPH on a good day IF you were at the top of your riding/driving game, and IF you wanted to challenge your cornering skills. Otherwise, better take it at 20. ODB found this out the hard way, drifting me into the oncoming lane – unable to hold the line at the posted speed. We encountered several 15 MPH corners along the way that were extremely difficult due to steep grades. All in all, ODB found the morning’s ride to be technically challenging, exciting, beautiful, and most enjoyable.

The day heated up, the rain stopped, and my rider changed out of his raingear. At Bridgeport, WV the 50 suddenly morphed into divided four-lane – a welcome change of pace. After 125 miles of that, it was back to two lanes as the world around us transformed to Midwestern-style farms and fields. We toured Main Street in dozens of small communities along the way.

Check out Hillsboro, OH (right) http://goo.gl/maps/WvcO where eleven roads intersect. One of them is US 50 West.

My thermo read 102 when we reached Cincinnati and crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky for the night. We’re right across from the Great American Ballpark, home of the Cincinnati Reds. ODB is relaxing in his motel room. I’m out here in a thunderstorm working my tailpipe off getting this report ready.

I don’t mind a bit. It’s good to be back in the Midwest.

(Google Map Update)

Emotions at 102 Degrees

Winchester, VA

We turned the corner at Ocean City, Maryland before sunup. Old Danny Boy parked me on the side of the street, and then walked to where he could get a shot of the “Sacramento CA 3073” sign. It was already warm, windy, and muggy – a combination we’re not used to.

Rehoboth was a very quiet place unto ODB pulled the trigger on my ignition at 4:45 this morning. Ocean City was a different story. Quiet, yes – but far from deserted. OC is a big-time resort and party town, There were plenty of folks making their way home as daylight encroached over the Atlantic. One lip locked couple leaning against a utility pole evidently believed they already were home . . . with the door closed . . . to the bedroom.

Okay, that was interesting, but not worth going around the block for. But hey, he’s the driver, not me. What’s a mo-cy to do?

He claimed the reason he went around the block was to get the sign shot.

Right.

That corner in Ocean City was a big deal for Mr. Boy. He’s big on end-of-the-road phenomena. And he’s been obsessing about US 50 for years. We even stopped long enough for him to have a cup of coffee from the 7-11 at that very corner.

Then we were off, barreling eastbound and down on a nearly empty US 50 in rural Maryland. Conditions gradually changed the closer we came to Washington DC. By the time we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge (one impressive structure, this) US 50 was four lanes of madness. Later, I would understand why.

This is a guy thing. I know all about guys. My rider is one. Guys understand that before they get into DC, traffic will come to a standstill. Therefore, they take that into considerations when they figure how fast they will drive. In this case, the speed limit is 55. However, since a fair amount of time will be spent below 10 MPH or stopped altogether, one must drive 80 when one can in order to average things out at 55.

The lack of city governance is obvious in DC traffic. Timed lights? No way. Arbitrary street repair with no warning of lane closure? Who needs warning signs? Just start digging and let drivers figure it out when they get there. Street blockades? Hell yes. We wouldn’t want anyone driving past the White House for cryin’ out loud. Parking? Park in Virginia and take a tour bus back to DC. The tour companies need the money and DC doesn’t have room for such mundane stuff as parking. After all, legislators are dropped off and picked up by one of the hundreds of dark windowed town cars that park illegally in the outside traffic lane.

By now the thermo’s at 102. Humidity must be pushing 99%. ODB, in his mo-cy gear of long sleeved cotton shirt and heavy jeans, decides he needs to visit Arlington. I wait in the parking lot, one of the few in DC. No wait, Arlington is in Virginia. I rest my case.

So, off goes Mr. Tender Heart to see Arlington. When he comes back he’s a basket case. Not only is he exhausted from the heat and humidity, he’s completely overwhelmed by what he’s seen: JFK’s Eternal Flame. Ted and Robert Kennedy buried under simple wooden crosses. Reports fired in the distance in threes – funerals are underway. A horse-drawn cortege passes. The Tomb of the Unknowns and the changing of the guard there. But most of all, rows and rows upon endless rows and rows of perfectly aligned marble gravestones.

I tried to get him to leave, but no, he “has to” visit the Viet Nam Wall. He would not listen to reason. So, with My Rider about ready to fall over from heat and emotion, we head off to The Wall.

It took a while to find a place to park. We’re back in DC now. Finally, we land a spot; he leaves me to walk across a field of grass. It’s so damn hot! He’s thinking about sacrifice and how silly it is to complain about the heat, considering what so many have faced. He arrives and walks down to the monument. Again, he is overwhelmed. These soldiers were his peers. His name could easily be on the wall had things gone just a little bit different back in ’64. It was just too much. Too many names. Too much heat. Too much humidity. Too strong a reflection back from The Wall. He kept seeing himself.

We try to flee DC but are unable to get through jammed traffic. He’s taking a beating from a relentless sun. My engine is throwing off even more heat as we sit in a stagnant sea of iron.

About the time he starts seriously contemplating criminal behavior, traffic breaks and we start moving. That brings some relief. At least the air is moving. The thermo drops to 100-even and stays there until we reach our motel, two hours later.

(Google Map Update)