jeff conlin - The Trip

7-14-2007
Day -3... LAST DAY OF WORK

So I got to work this morning, and had to look at this chunk of prime corner-cube real estate one last time. What, you don't keep a Touratech catalog at your office desk?

Looking at this right now just makes me think of all the unbelievable conversations and interactions with customers over the years. For now, I'll just say its book worthy. If you want some examples, find me at Cro-Mag. If only these cubicle walls could scream...

So just before leaving, I took part in what's become a tradition... the chucking of the nametag high up in the rafters where no one will see. Two tags exist there now, Colin and Omar (OMI1150GS). They're both now at RideWest BMW in Seattle. Hmm...

I took one look back at my poor boss among the canyons of BMW parts, and aimed myself for the canyons of rock and sand. By way of the bar down the street.

(I'm the class act with the empty pitcher and the "loud pipes, small penis" shirt.)

Some work, music, even old high school friends showed up, and these great old riding friends from moto-crewing DC AIDSrides and Avon Breast Cancer walks. People who find ways to combine riding and charity are a special breed. Karen just came back from a swing around Lake Superior, and her, Rob, and Bob are about to head out to Nova Scotia. Its been a while since I've hung out with actual riders, but I'll save that for the book as well...

Unfortunately, I couldn't merge schedules with them, so my trip will be largely solo.

It was a good end to a good day... which in itself was a good end to a very long three years... a long three years without two-day weekends. With the house sale wrapping up last week, and now finally being unemployed... I'm glad I'm jumping into the trip right away. I wouldn't know what to do with idle time.

Speaking of idle time, walking one of my friends back to her car, we spotted this :

Right on, brother! Right on.

Started the day at 2:45am, just about an hour and a half after I'd fallen asleep. My brother took me to the airport, where I discovered that my tankbag would cost an extra $80. No matter how I reconfigured my luggage, something had to be "an extra $80". Wonderful.

While waiting for the 6am flight to Dallas, I fell into a conversation with an aging hippie Mensa member about everything from long-term urban development strategies to the history of midwestern manufacturing to some guy in Washington state that uses mushrooms to purify water. The show has officially begun.

Finally hopped to the Texarkana airport, and met Jim, the Strom's seller. On the way back to his place we stopped by his office, where he said something to the effect of, "Screw y'all, I'm going riding today." Jim very kindly offered to give me a break-in ride 'round about 300 miles of his secret roads right there on the TX/AR/OK border.

I checked out the bike, and it was everything Jim said and more. Jesses, Works shock, Renthal bars, Autocom already hardwired with relay block, hell he even left the XM receiver installed and let me use it for the day to see if I wanted to grab my own subscription for the trip (and now I do.)

We rode about 100 miles north to the Talimena Scenic Drive... it felt like sort of a Cliffs Notes version of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Not a very long run, but beautiful, fun, and empty. At the peak is a great lodge with possibly the cheapest food and best hospitality I've seen in a decade. I opted for the $2.95 grilled cheese platter and a glass of sweet tea. The view from the lodge gave a little more context to the twists and turns of the road.

Coming off of Talimena, we got on to US-259 southbound, which was a great series of very high speed switchbacks through the hills... it had been a while since I've been on a Strom, but I reacquainted quickly as I tried to keep Jim's FJR somewhere on my horizon.

I wanted to take a few pics of that area, but didn't want to put a kink in Jim's schedule. His hospitality was already way above and beyond. Once we got back to his place, I filled up the cases and finished setting up the bike.

I briefly met Jim's lovely wife and daughter (who had some barbecue chicken and gatorade ready - they know road food well), said goodbye, and I took off going southeast. I was going to stay there, but Jim had a doctor's appointment at 5am and had already done more than I would have ever asked for... and after the snack, I was ready for more miles.

The sun was going down, but I figured I could make it to Shreveport by dark. The highway was rural and only had a few tractor trailers on it. Fully loaded, the Strom handled a bit differently... the tail seemed to wag out a little bit approaching 90+mph, but it was certainly manageable... until it wasn't.

Merging onto I-220, a misalignted concrete joint on the exit ramp caused the bike to heave violently. Something was very wrong... mentally, I was going through the checklist. Tomorrow's plans involved catching up with one of my favorite old shop customers (Chuck House in New Orleans), who certainly knows a thing or two about suspension work... but it got worse and worse. The bike felt like it was on a see-saw. I finally figured it out as I pulled into the parking lot of the Days Inn advertising a $39 room and free wireless.

Now I knew this trip would have some flats. I had no idea Day 1 would be the first. Metzeler is a hell of a tire manufacturer. I don't know just how long that tire was leaking, but my guess is about 35 miles at 80-85mph.

See, the funny thing is, the namesake of the eponymous BMW shop I recently departed thought it would be a great idea to take all the tire repair kits we had to the big BMW rally in Wisconsin last weekend when I was getting my last round of at-cost gear for this trip.

Oh well. 400 miles was enough on 1.5 hours of sleep. XM is awesome. Free wireless is a bonus, though it was nulled out by mild electrocution courtesy an evil light fixture in my room. Unfortunately, this hotel is on the south side of Shreveport, and my nose is bleeding and eyes are puffy from the chemical-laden air.

Guess what? F the tire, I'll figure something out tomorrow. I'm sleeping.

The Strom is sleeping, too.

So the string patch held... I took the slab all the way from Shreveport to Baton Rouge... not a terribly exciting ride, but I got to explore the greatness that is XM radio on my new account.

Not much to see out there but supreme farmy flatness (and some damn impressive crop duster aerobatics!), but a good opportunity for some fashion shots.

a pilot's eye view

my girlfriend made me a half-helmet wearin' badass sockdog to go on the trip with me. Good thing he can't reach the bars or else the bike'd probably be gone by now.

Splitting off the interstate onto 190 for Baton Rouge, I passed where my good friend Repo must have come from. Turns out they're practically giving repos away. The irony is priceless.

I danced with a few massive thunderstorms and kept doing the raingear on/off maneuver throughout the day, but managed to avoid 'em all. Actually, it was a great travel day for the slab.

As I approached Baton Rouge, I called Nick who PM'd me earlier. These guys are incredible. They found me a cheaper tire at a Suzuki shop near them, who would also be willing to mount it. Then they rallied their local troops and set up a dinner at a local grease joint.

Food came first...

...then smiles.

So not only did they coordinate this, they covered the meal. THEN Nick said I could stay at his place since it was just a few miles from the 'Zook shop.

I swear, I am beside myself with gratitude.

We got back to Nick's place and I almost cried.

...unfortunately, the PBR wasn't for me. But an Abita (always a winner) and a rare Dixie (very impressive) were.

Naturally, like all good ADVriders, we completely blew away the macho moto traveller essence by flocking to respective laptops as soon as we got home.

DSRL folks (especially Nick and wife)... I can't thank you enough. What an awesome way to skirt a potential pain in the ass, and to begin this trip right. If you're ever in Seattle... or Baltimore... or wherever the hell it is I live... please look me up.

The Strom is running well. It could use the clutch basket update, maybe a throttle body sync... and the front end feels very loose (much more so than a regular loaded-down Strom) Will have it all checked out tomorrow... and will probably switch back to the stock front sprocket. This mileage and speed seems terribly optimistic.

But for now, I'm goin' sleep again.

Woke up at Nick's place and jumped right onto the bike. The folks at Lightspeed Powersports were better than most Big 4 dealerships I've interacted with (or the one I worked at for a month), and not only mounted a new Tourance at a major professional-courtesy discount, but also took a look at the front end for me. To sum up, it occasionally steers like an early-80s GM car. Got a few degrees of freedom on severe inputs, and a bit of resonance if you wiggle the bars. Obviously, smooth throttle control and steering inputs dull it down, but I'm more concerned about emergency maneuver stability.

A few triple clamp bolts were slightly out of spec, but the steering head bearings were fine, and for the most part they chalked it up to "The Strom Experience"... though a fork rebuild would probably be good sooner than later, too. Now that I think about it, my 650 did a little bit of that also, especially with the Jesses on. We'll see how it does when the roads get curvier and crappier as the trip rolls on. I may just go for new springs and fork oil when I get back to MD briefly next week.

Thanking the Lightspeed guys profusely, I got back on I-10 by noon, hightailing it towards New Orleans to go to Chuck House Motorsports.

In summary, Chuck is the coolest damn guy on earth... trained at the Ducati factory in Italy and was high up in the Ducati NA personnel roster, was the one-man support crew for 2 Cagiva Elefants in the Rally South America in the early 90s, stayed in Argentina and maintained the police BMWs in Buenos Aires... and that was just the first 5 minutes of our lunch conversation. Born and raised in New Orleans, Chuck went back there after the Ducati rockstar career burned out, and opened up a Euro bike shop on Magazine St. He took care of pretty much every Guzzi, BMW, Cagiva, and Ducati in New Orleans. A few months before Katrina, he relocated the shop to Claiborne Ave, across the street from the Superdome. He had to forego insurance because he sunk all his money into the new place.

The thing is, Chuck bought *thousands* of dollars of parts from us *every month*... for years. He knew what he wanted, didn't waste time, but at the same time was just the most pleasant person to deal with. By the time Katrina hit, I'd say Chuck paid for at least one year of college if not two for the son of the old shop's namesake.

A few weeks after the storm, he called us up, voice shaking, saying that even though he lost everything (including his home) he was determined to keep going, but as much it killed him to say it, he needed some short-term help to replenish his parts inventory and get rolling. My boss and I completely went to the mat for him. He already had a standard shop discount, but we figured a few at-cost orders to get back up and running was more than reasonable. The shop's namesake saw differently, saying more or less, "This is a business, not a charity." (ironic in light of the Lightspeed guys at-costing that Tourance for me today and they didn't even know me)

We almost walked out that day. Why we didn't is still beyond me, frankly.

But because of our inventory and speed, he still stuck with us. I couldn't believe it, but I wanted give him something... anything. I never met the guy in my life, but I knew just talking over the phone that, beyond his love for keeping European bikes alive and his obvious technical skill... he was just a damn good human.

Naturally, he was on the big list of people I go see when the trip finally came together.

He kept the water mark on one of the walls just for a reminder. The shop is rough, but fully functional and constantly at peak capacity. They've been cranking out fully restored water-damaged bikes for longtime customers almost non-stop since the flood, and still have a shop full of them.

Barney even found something more his style...

Today, he was busy as usual, but we still got some time to go grab lunch and take a lightning tour of the city from his point of view. He told me stories of the bureaucratic bullshit he's had to endure in the rebuilding process, and it makes me wonder why he even bothered... but the simple fact is, he absolutely loves the bikes, and he absolutely loves the city. Its hard to argue with that... and to hear him talk about it will put a lump in your throat while you try not to laugh your ass off.

Feeling inspired (and rehydrated - damn it was hot today), I jumped back on I-10 to the Ponchartrain Causeway. That 3 mile drive took about an hour and I lost about 4 pounds of sweat... but doing the causeway on a bike is pretty badass. Best 20-some miles of straight road I've seen so far.

I took some back roads to get up to my aunt & uncle's place in Franklinton (mostly gravel) and felt the amazing Flexi-Steer action kicking back in again... but it was manageable (and kind of fun).

the road to Val & Eddies is paved with good intentions and not much else

After about 6 miles of gravel, I pulled into the driveway, and got the grand family welcome. My uncle looked the bike over, "That doesn't look like a Harley Davidson!"

that doesn't look like a Harley Davidson

I showered, hung the jacket and pants and Febreezed the hell out of 'em, and we headed to dinner on the water : lemon-butter salmon with veggies and sweet potato hushpuppies... 2 Abitas... and a piece of cheesecake doused in chocolate and pecans.

The drive home was a surprising but darkly hilarious discussion of family politics, and even though this side of the family is fairly new to me (we've only been in regular contact for about the last 4 years or so), I love 'em to death. My uncle had the quote of the night : "I think some folks just forget they're human sometimes. Its kind of a shame.
Amen.

Woke up to coffee, scrambled eggs, sausage, and birdwatching with my aunt and uncle. Retired life out in Louisiana is pretty damn nice.

Today's route took me across to Natchez for about 50 miles or so of the Trace (meh), then up the famous Route 61 and over to MS-1 for an immersion into the birthplace of American music.

I didn't take many pictures and I'm not quite sure why. It was miles and miles of cottonfields, shotgun shacks, boarded up old stores and churches, abandoned schools... exactly what you'd expect the Mississippi Delta to look like. The roads were long and flat... I averaged about 85mph with miles-long sightlines and no other vehicles in sight. Bill Wax (DC blues personality and XM radio host) was picking the perfect songs for the ride.

I stopped briefly in Vicksburg to get something to drink and enjoy some surprise hills and twists. There are a series of murals there along the river wall that are really impressive...

honkies with guns...

Trying hard to stay off of "new" 61 as best I could, I found some great things along old 61, like this juke joint...

... and this mission from God...

Joined back up with New 61 briefly to make up some time, and was lucky enough to pass this spot :

If you didn't know, Rt. 61 is famous as it connects New Orleans to Memphis, via the Mississippi Delta. It is more or less the de-facto birthplace of blues, soul, gospel, and rock music. More musicians have come from this patch of land than just about anywhere else in America.

Clarksdale took the banner as it has the famous crossroads of 61 and 49, but Leland is just as important. There's a big blues museum in Clarksdale, but I had never heard of this smaller one in Leland and had to take a peek,

I was surprised to find out... the Delta isn't just home to hundreds of old black musicians most people can't name, but the mayor of Leland 80 or so years ago was one E. Winter, and his grandkids are known to get funky now and then

who knew the Winters were from there too?

I wanted to, but they stopped me....

There was also an amazing selection of portraits taken by local photographers.

All in all, a highly recommended stop if you have any remote interest in American music history. They are scheduled to be moving across the street to a much larger location next year.

But the sun was going down and I still had more of MS-1 to see. I jumped back over and resumed my scorching pace. All through the south, I've been fascinated by the crop duster pilots. That they get paid to have so much fun with a plane is inspiring. While hustling along MS-1 in some cotton fields, I gave a thumbs up to one who had just pulled out of a perfect hammerhead and crossed over me. He looped around and dipped down alongside me for a few seconds. The pilot gave me a thumbs up and tipped the wing. I gave him a little slalom. I'd have given anything to have a small pocket camera. Maybe that's the next purchase.

Blew through Clarksdale... some other time. Got into Memphis around 8:30 for blackened Grouper in a red wine reduction, jalapeno cornbread, and a Newcastle at one of my favorite restaurants (Cafe 61 downtown). It was country music night on Beale, so I left and found a cheap airport hotel and called it a night.

If the Mississippi Delta is where American music was born and raised... Memphis is where it first got laid. Honky country, bluegrass and "southern" gospel mixed with negro blues and "black" gospel in the 40s and 50s, and their illegitimate babies became rock and soul.

I'm more a soul guy myself, and while Sun Studios is what some people associate Memphis with, I'm all about Stax Records. In one of the country's most segregated cities, at its most racially-charged time, a fully integrated house band (Booker T & the MGs - who weren't even allowed to actually play in the city) made some of the best known tracks on earth for Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Wilson Pickett, etc.

Stax fell apart in the early 70s (the Isaac Hayes period) and was demolished in the early 80s. A few years ago, they made an effort to rebuild it as a museum, and add a music school for inner city kids. I was one of the first private donors, and try to get by there at least once a year. If you're a music fan, its another must-see (and catch the new PBS documentary on Stax that airs August 1st). /plug

There was a field trip group from a local elementary school just wrapping up their museum tour as I was leaving. I tried asking them questions about what they learned, quizzing them on some names, but they saw me holding a helmet and immediately wanted to know what kind of bike I had. On the way out, their teacher carefully lined them up single-file, then when she opened the door, they went crazy. The teacher laughed and started asking me questions about it as well... such as, "How come you don't have a co-pilot?" Hot damn!

Over breakfast, I decided to skip the trip up to St. Louis to see my grandparents' headstones and the house my great grandfather built. I've had enough wistful sentimentality for a decade or so. This trip is all the new era. So I just pointed the bike east and saw what Tennessee had to offer.

It didn't take long to get out of the cotton fields and into the foothills. The last few days have been light on curves and hills, but central TN offered a nice transition. 80mph sweepers turned into 50mph sweepers... then I spotted this cute little jailbait off to the side of a state road.

This IS Adventure Rider after all, and my cute little family-oriented travelogue has been pretty damn light on what you come here for, right?

It followed a small river, then snaked up into the hills... there was a whole network of the suckers for almost 10 miles. The higher they got, the less they were made of, until they started to look like this

Then the water crossings began. The first one was easy. :)

Then came a big puddle, but with a tricky entry and exit.

Then it got serious. I came to one that was a foot and change in the middle, strong current, very sandy soil. I tried to stop and take a picture, but the soil was so soft i couldn't put the bike anywhere. I went through, but felt my "skills" start to reach their limit. Where the hell was I anyway? About 5 miles from anywhere.

About 3/4 of a mile further, the road became very rocky and rutted... reality set in that I was solo on a ~650+lb bike somewhere I've never been and miles from the last house I've seen, and the sun was going down. I retreated, but at least that meant I got to cool my legs off in the stream again.

I found my way to TN-100 which cut west and had a few fun sweepers in it. 100 eventually intersected with the Natchez Trace, which means I was able to do the first 30 miles and the last 5 miles of it... good enough for me.

How TN-100 intersects the Natchez Trace, though, is pretty damn impressive.

(I know... I have to clean my lens...)

The trace wound its way back into suburban Nashville, and I picked up the interstate into downtown.

None of my friends here were free tonight, so I checked out everything on or near Broadway. It was mostly the touristy country bills since it was a Friday, so I didn't recognize any names, nor would I be sitting in with anyone. But there was a trailer-trash-themed bar that was intriguing enough...

Then someone mentioned a decent local jazz group was playing at BB King's (there's one in Nashville, go figure), so I finally sat down with some blackened chicken, a pitcher of water, and a shot of Woodford Reserve (more on that tomorrow). A good end to a good day, until...

as I was trying to finally relax a bit and enjoy the music, some well-meaning guy kept bugging me with questions about the bike. Not just simple conversational questions, either... but he was grilling me about riding like I was his college professor. The rugrats this morning were charming, but but this guy (who also claimed to be a musician, but kept talking over the band's set) was asking for a fist. Luckily I first tried to be polite, and eventually he got the message.

None of the other bands seemed interesting until the 10pm sets started, and by then I figured I'd be out of steam. I packed up, left the lights of Nashville behind, and headed north into Kentucky.

Tomorrow I'm hitting my two favorite distilleries, then going to finally find a good place to camp. A cold front has settled in nicely around here, and damn if its not just perfect out right now.

Today had the largest number of people asking me what the hell I was doing. Each time I said, "I sold everything and am going riding", I finally started to believe it for myself.

"Well good for you, young man," laughed one woman at a gas station, "I don't retire for another 10 years."