Days 2-4. Happy Independence Thingy!!!

So, I made it to Frederick MD, on Sunday, the 1st.

Stopped in at the Frederick Coffee Company and Cafe, and had a visit with Mary Ellen Mitchell. Lovely, and an excuse to wait for the most blistering of the midday heat to burn off before heading for Breezewood, which was an easy 90-minute drive away, after the inly slightly grueling run from the shore.

I'm still trying to get the hang of the GoPro Hero, but there should actually be some footage from this leg, though not when Ireally wanted it, crossing the Bay Bridge. I'll get better. I did a quick Google search, and the best price I got was at the Breezewood Budget Inn. It's aptly named. BUT - the only room available was the "accessible" room, so I got the biggest bathroom with an actual tub. That was nice. And then I asked for a wake up call at.sksksksksksk.........

Day 2: 6.a.m.
I hope I am going to learn to sleep past 6 a.m. at some point on this trip. But it wasn't to be, just yet. Up, though, and a quick jaunt to the Breezewood Bob Evans.... which really didn't on the inside, look like a Bob Evans at all, more like a sort of better-designed Cracker Barrel...

but the breakfast was the same decent quality I have come to expect from BE, excepting the strange almost not-quite-like-toast object that came out in response to my request for "rye." I guess I'm giving up grains early this trip.

But a chicken-fried steak later, and I was ready to go, pack up the trusty mount, and hit the road.

Riding out of Breezewood felt sooo familiar, as if I was going to Pennsic War early... and just as hot. Balls hot. Satan's nethers kind of hot. I was ready to hunker down for a looooong run to Maumee, OH. But somewhere along the climb to the Allegheny Mountain tunnel, things just kind of clicked, and a lot of the stress of preparing for the ride began to fall away. On the other side of the mountain, (I always forget this) the weather was completely different - clear, dryer, easily 5 degrees cooler, maybe more. Suddenly, I felt like I was riding, actually catching the "flow" or what Pirsig would call the "groove".

I started to really put down the miles, and the traffic wasn't too bad, and I made a straight run to the Ohio border,

stopping for gas and to hydrate at the first service stop across the border. This was my first mistake, but a beneficial one,a s it turned out: while I was inside ordering a drink and some chicken strips, a giant squall broke out - i panicked, because I hadn't put the rain covers on the luggage before coming in, and half the stuff on the bike is electronic, it feels. But when there was enough fo a break in the monsoon for me to go out and check, I dscovered that the Nelson Rigg bags were surprisingly rain-resistant, and the contents were all mostly dry. (this would prove later, not to be as true as i hoped, abut that's for later. I ventured back out, after radar showed the bulk of the storm system had passed, and I realized how lucky I was that i had not been on the road when it hit - I might have drowned before I made it to any overpass to get covered up and in safe "wet" riding gear. As I struck out through Ohio, the best feeling yet overcame me, and even though Ohio is still the most boring place in the world that I personally have driven, the wake of the storm left a sweet smell in the air, and the air much drier and cooler than it had been - it was, honestly, perfect riding weather, and really for the very first time, i felt that I remembered why I had had this whole stupid idea.

Here: I took a picture of Ohio for you. This is what ALL of it looks like

Two thirds of Ohio passed as though it was a jaunt to the grocery around the corner, and I found myself pulling into the familiar parking lot of the Maumee, Ohio Motel Six.

So, all I had to do was hope that the young man with whom I struck up the conversation about the election a year and some months ago was still working here, was on this shift, and remembered who the Eff I was.

Alas, first hitch in my plan to open a national conversation: Tariq (probably not his real name) no longer worked here. (I mean, in retrospect, it was a stupid idea: what are the odds that a perfectly intelligent young immigrant with a green card and great language skills was still going to be working in  Motel 6 more than a year later...?) But anyway, I was safe, dry, (-ish) and I was in a bedroom with air conditioning.

Note to self: try to get rooms with outdoor exits that are very close to  the bike. Because, you don't want to be dragging when you finally get the luggage all moved back out to where the bike is actually parked. Wait, I should write something tonight, and organize photos andsksksksksksksks....

6 a.m.

Up. I know exactly where Bob Evans is , because this is where Bonnie first introduced me to the moral superiority of the Bob Evans Chicken Fried Steak (sorry, Waffle House, not this time, either...)


So breakfast in the Bob Evans across the street, with Lauren, the lovely waitress who is FASCINATED by what I am doing, and winds up in a long-ish conversation with me.

I wonder how this whole "Border Scrambler" thing is playing in the current political climate, or am I the only one?

Chicken Fried Steak is the order of the days....

 I'm going to Chicago? Lauren's daughter is taking classes in Chicago, for computer animation, and we have a bit of a chat about how hard to was for Lauren to accept that this is what her girl wants to do. but how she is keeping an open mind, and she thinks her girl is going to so anything she sets her mind to, and I'm not sure but but I caught a sense that she thinks that her daughter may be gay, and she loves her all the more - but if she is by-God going to move to L.A., she'd better understand that she is taking Lauren with her, because Lauren wouldn't mind getting out fo Maumee, too.

Holy Toledo.

Now, I am just starting to establish a rhythm - wake - basic ablutions, breakfast, taking the un-laden bike, and then gassing it up and doing tire rituals unladen so that I don't have to mess with the luggage around the pumps. Then I go back to the motel, and load the bike up. Now - this is where i think I screwed up:

When I went back to the Motel 6, there was no one parked in any of the handicapped spaces, which are the only ones in the front right by the door. What many of you may not know is that I HAVE a handicapped (or "accessible" - I don't know what the PC term is these days, and it's describing me) placard - I got it for my knees and will probably keep renewing it until the other knee is replaced. I don't use it often, anymore, (except to park at school) but it comes in handy on "bad knee" days, or at times like this - when I have a ton of heavy luggage to carry from a room at a motel with no carts. So, when I returned from breakfast, and there was no one parked in any of the spaces out front - I parked the bike in one. This, I will always feel, fairly or unfairly, is what drew down the dreaded Joseph's Vehicle Karma (tm), dormant for so long, on my head. I went in to start carrying out the luggage, and came out with the saddlebags first - threw them over the back of the bike, and bent to start to seat them properly, when I realized that a) one of the small straps on the near bag had snagged on the bike frame, and b) the forward momentum I had given the bag had thus all been imparted to the bike, which was leaning AWAY from me and the side stand on which it had been leaning.

It was already too far gone for me to try and catch it, certainly without hurting my self, so all I could do was try and ease its fall. So... Happy Monday: my bike is lying on the ground, and there is no sign of anyone around.

Just then out the door comes running this woman, yelling "Are you all right? I saw what happened... do you need me to go get help?" Grateful for her offering I said, "yes, please go get anyone you can find inside, there were just some men out here smoking..." She said, "They won't come: they hate me." Not in the mood to question her perception of her own social status in the Motel 6 hierarchy, I just started to try and lift the bike myself, worried because a motorcycle left lying on its side can go from bad to worse. The next thing I know, the woman is next to me, grunting and giving it her all. Now, I know how to pick up a motorcycle - I've had to do it and even practiced in in demos - but it involves getting down on the ground and basically standing up into the seat of the bike - and now my OLD knee is not up to the task of getting that low and still lifting. So I am trying to do it the old-fashioned, stupid way, which is by just trying to lever a 600-pound bike up using the frame and bars alone. But the assistance of this woman was juuuust enough extra "umph" that between the two of us, we got it stood up. We stood there, together, panting a little bit, and wouldn't you know it, the two men I had seen before came out the doors, eagerly offering to "help." I turned to the woman they supposedly "hated" and asked her name. "Teddy - like the bear" she said. "Thank you, Teddy, I couldn't have done that without you." "You're welcome, dear - just pay it forward," Teddy said.

Now, Teddy bears some signs of a life hard-lived that I recognize from my mother and from my own time around people with substance issues. If I had to guess, I would say that Teddy's drug of choice is alcohol, and that Teddy might just live at the Motel 6, possibly, based on some of the conversations I heard, by working to earn her keep. But the fact that Teddy was the only person who rushed out of that building to help me when it was clear that a number of other people heard what happened is not lost on me - so I will be looking to pay it forward. If the manager at the desk ever returns my call inquiring about whether Teddy needs someone to pay for a night of her stay, I hope she won't mind too much if I pay it backwards, too.

So, the bike is pretty banged up from falling - but the most important thing is that the brake lever has broken. The cosmetic damage is one thing - and I am still debating whether or not to report it to insurance - but I figure that I should get the bake lever looked at. Fortunately, I am supposed to have an appointment with the Honda dealership in Chicago, and maybe they will HOLY S___, what time is it - I have lost all sense of time, now that the bike is finally loaded up again, and ready to go. i have two things on the agenda today - stop at Notre Dame and light candles, and male to to the DuPage motorcycle dealership by three p.m. Okay - this should still work. Off I go.

But there's a detour, and yesterday's beautiful weather has turned decidedly... sultry? I mean, it's gross. I have to stop to hydrate. (at the Ernie Pyle rest stop in Indiana - the "best in roadside repast" - I remember this from when I was in college at ND - but boy, how it has changed...)

Here I realize that I am not making great time, and I am going to ask them to do an extra thing - better call ahead. Yes, maybe they have a suitable part in stock, but will I still make my 3 pm appointment? I look at the time, and say "Yes." and shove off, with renewed determination. As I draw abreast of South Bend, IN, where I should begetting off to light candles at the Grotto and see my old dear friend Lorri, who just had Carpal Tunnel Syndrome surgery, I check the ETA on Waze - 2:58 for a 3 p.m. appointment. I sigh, and cave to inevitability - I am not going to be able to stop in South bend this trip, which is a little bit if a failure. I buck up and soldier on, until... as I look down and Waze is instructing me to take a different path than I expected, half an hour past South Bend... and I notice that my ETA has changed...

To 1:58.

Because I am an idiot. Neither I, nor, apparently, Waze, has taken the time change into account, until it is too late for it to matter - at this point, to turn around and try to go back to South Bend will leave me without enough time to retrace my steps.

I get to the shop, they are all great - I got a pic of the service manager.

As "bike people" they are all fascinated by what I am doing - some envious, some incredulous. Chris Murphy has met me at the dealership

Sane people would choose the bike nearest the photographer for an adventure like mine. I.... didn't.

- we go to have a cool drink and an appetizer while they install my new tires and valves, and replace the broken brake lever with one they have stolen from another bike on the showroom floor. Great guys, all, they seem.

From the dealership, Chris leads me to his home in Chicago,

where we relax after getting the luggage up the two stories of their apartment house. I am safe with Chris, my oldest friend, and his new bride Elspeth (who swears she enjoys it when I call her that.)


Today is July Fourth, and I am going to give us all a break by doing laundry, charging and repairing things, rethinking my pack, and just being with my dear friends whom I haven't seen in too long. I hope everyone has a safe, quiet, and reflective Independence Day.