Yes, I understand

Adventures in New York City...

I had a training session in Queens on Wednesday, just across the 59th St. bridge in Long Island City. I had stayed overnight in one of the apartments Met owns in the East village, and took the subway over for the class in the morning. I had lucked into a parking spot on the street and my parallel parking skills saved me the aggravation of parking in a garage. Had a nice walk around Union Square, a couple beers in a pub, and a good night's sleep.

When I got there, the first thing the trainer said was that we'd probably be done around 3. As Ashton Kutcher would say, "sweeeeet!" I'd be at the Holland Tunnel by 4, easy, and have a nose out in front of rush hour. I got off the train and walked up to 20th street, and that's when things began to unravel quickly.

My $%#&ng car was gone. See, they don't tell you this, but if there is one of these signs anywhere along the length of a street, you're illegally parked, no matter how many other no parking signs there may be. And per NY code blah, blah, blah, section umpteen, of 1959, the entire city is a tow-away zone. Now mind you, there's a sign 20 feet behind my car that says no parking Tuesday and Saturday mornings, and the No Standing sign is 50 feet in front of my car with an arrow pointing to Denmark. And, as noted, I had to parallel park in the only open space on the street.

The lady in the tow pound is royalty when she's behind that window. Nobody would probably give her the time of day on the streetcorner, but at work she's the Queen of England. From businessmen in $1,000 suits to punks whose cars are worth less than their sneakers, we are all equal --all subjects of the Queen. There are 10 bulletproof walk up windows, and one lady. And she's in no hurry to get you back in your car. Stand in line, "yes, ma'am, I understand," have a seat. Get called back up to the window, "yes ma'am, I understand," have a seat again. Never spoken, but crystal clear to everybody in that room, was the reality that any other response would cost you as much misery as Queen Latifah cared to dispense. Your car might depreciate before you see it again.

Called back up, "yes, ma'am, here's my $185". Down the hall to another room, hand over the paperwork, have a seat. After 2-1/2 hours, I finally get to my car and realize that my contribution to the city did not end with the towing fee and the chamber of horrors. There's still the matter of the two $110 parking tickets tucked under the wiper. When I get a parking ticket at home, it costs me 5 bucks and I don't even need a stamp.

What a racket. The city owns a fleet of tow trucks, buzzing in and out like blue bees with NYPD emblazoned on the side and armed cops inside. Probably 100 tow trucks, and ONE uninspired, underpaid lady to process all the paperwork. When she got up from the "information" window and walked over to the "cashier" window, I almost peed myself. No wonder they're behind bulletproof glass.

So, $405 and 3 hours later, I'm back in business, sitting behind 10 blocks of traffic trying to get thru the Lincoln Tunnel at 6 pm. New York thanks me for my visit - come again soon.

Pizza Provi Wit

For people who live so close to Philadelphia, I have always been sort of ashamed to say we have never been to the birthplace of our nation. I mean, we've been to Philly plenty of times, and I even visited the Liberty Bell when I had jury duty, back when it was displayed in that little shack on Market St. But we've never seen Old City, the National Park, or Independence Hall. So, taking advantage of a visit with my good friend Liz, we did the tourist thing and actually stood in the hallowed hall. Very, very cool. We also walked down Elfreth's Alley, billed as the oldest continuously-occupied street in the nation, and of course had to take Katrina boutique shopping so she could fawn over all the Coach and Burberry stuff.


Also, I finally made it to Pat's for a cheesesteak. I've had a Philly cheesesteak before from Tony Luke's (not bad) but the center of the cheesesteak universe has always been where Passyunk crosses 9th; where Geno's and Pat's square off from opposite corners. For the record, the girls each got a Whiz with, and mine was a Pizza Provi with. You can get real good cheesesteaks in lots of places in the Lehigh Valley, and honestly I wasn't expecting much. I was surprised -it really was all that.
Notice how this space is basically kevinstravelblog.com?

Brace Face

OK, I said I'd update with important stuff if important stuff happened, and then it did and I didn't. In October, I had a visit with my friendly neighborhood orthodontist, and for the next 2-1/2 years or so, I will look like a teenager. The way the timing worked out, the big day was October 30, and I had the perfect Halloween costume for work the next day. Unfortunately, the next morning, the novelty was gone, and the braces were still there.

If you've had braces, you know the first couple weeks are just hell. I was totally miserable, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and was seriously reconsidering my decision. But then I figured if a teenage girl can take it, what the hell is wrong with me? So, they're still here. Still a pain in the ass, too, but at least I'm not in constant pain anymore. In 4-1/2 months, my teeth have moved quite a bit already and I'm pretty impressed. Only 2 more years to go.

Thanks For Stopping By

This pretty much ends my motorcycle adventures for the foreseeable future. I somehow made it through the last month without ending up in divorce court, and as I like to say, I'm brave, but I ain't stupid. In an extended summer engagement, my face will be shown exclusively at home while I catch up on my honey-do list and my own responsibilities that have been building up for so long (Welcome to KevCo, home of the 8,000 mile oil change.)

This, then, also pretty much ends the regular blog updates. As fun as this was, blogging is kind of a girlie thing, number one, and number two, with precious few exceptions, most blogs end up being either gossip, ranting, or incredibly boring drivel. I'm not real big on either gossip or ranting, and my life is no less boring than anybody else's for 50 weeks out of the year. So, I'd say if you liked the road trip story, check back next year and see if I'm going anywhere. (We have a very tentative idea so far.) I might throw something up here in the meantime if it's really noteworthy, but otherwise, hey, it's been real.

Hope y'all enjoyed the ride!

Fuggeddaboudit

I don't like surprises. Especially when it comes to me holding up my end of a promise to other people, I like to have a plan, a backup plan, and then a contingency or two. After Jim and I announced our New York City ride to the chapter, my first order of business was to seek professional help. Who better, I figured, than the NYC chapter of HOG? Calls were placed and e-mails were sent.

Bless their souls, the NYC gang was willing to not only provide advice, but meet us and escort us through the city. From the word go, Vinny (their director) treated me like we grew up together. "You tell us what you want to do, and we'll make sure you're taken care of." This was great, of course, but I never really did get an exact itinerary or a whole lot of details. "We'll take good care a you. Fuggedaboudit."

The day came, and Vinny was good as gold. I never thought a ride through the city could be so stress-free. His crew was zipping around us, behind us, between us, seemingly everywhere at once. Once our guys got the hang of ignoring traffic control devices and kicking cab fenders, it was a piece of cake. From muscling into parking spaces directly in front of Ground Zero, to merging onto the BQE from the Brooklyn Bridge, to riding right down Broadway into Times Square, they had everything under better control than I thought was even possible.

They even provided security. Whenever we got off the bikes, Bill would dismount, extend his telescoping cane, and stand menacingly in front of the 30 bikes. Bill is a solid, bulky Oriental man, and he looks like he came straight out of a James Bond movie. If you walked back to your bike for something, he'd say, "Your bike is OK. Go. Enjoy. Take pictures. I am watching your things." Priceless. If you look closely, you can see him on duty in the photo of the bikes lined up at Ground Zero.


I had to take the lead of a sub-group after Vinny and some of his boys had to take off, but I don't think there was more than a minute or two where I couldn't see the last bike of the group ahead. These guys are good! During the time we were planning our visit, one of their members got notice that he was being redeployed to Iraq. They set up a big send-off for him, but Vinny remembered his commitment to us and made sure we were in good hands. All for some guy from PA who called out of the blue and asked him for a favor.

The neat thing was, as fast as our passengers were snapping pictures, the other tourists were taking pictures of us. You don't see a lot of bikes in the city, so we were part of the sights that day, I guess. All told, it a great day all the way around. Even the weather was cooperating; the sun was obscured most of the day, and it was 10 degrees cooler than the forecast. Eventually, we made our way uptown to West Harlem, where our tables were waiting for us at the Dinosaur BBQ. You could see the GW Bridge from the front door, and soon we were on the highway home, with everyone present and accounted for.

So, Kevin came through, although it was due entirely to the help of our brothers from the five boroughs. We all had a great day, and I suppose we'll have to do it again in a few years.

And Now, For My Next Trick

Just when you thought the fun was over...

Come back Monday and see how this weekend goes. This Saturday, Jim (pictured) and I are leading a club ride into Manhattan. We had done this ourselves last year and didn't get killed, so we thought we'd invite the gang and do it again. I looked up the NYC chapter and recruited some help (Yo, Vinnie!) but people are really coming out of the woodwork for this and I was starting to get a little stressed. Herding 30-some bikes through Manhattan promises to be tough enough when you know all the people you're doing it with. Throw in a bunch of people who have never ridden with us, and it could get pretty interesting.

Vinnie says they've done this plenty of times, though, and if they can get people from England through the city intact, we shouldn't have a problem. He's bringing a bunch of his gang to look out for us, and after everything I went through last week, I'm really not too worried about it anymore.

Famous last words...

Jerry's Final Thoughts

*** PHOTO ALBUM IS UP ***


Like every road trip, my adventure to the Gulf Coast has become its own story, unique from all the others. Having had a little time to reflect on everything, I'm left with a few thoughts...

Things I've learned:

• 1,000 miles in 24 hours ain't all that bad, even when things don't go perfectly.
  
• America is slowly becoming homogenized. Blame satellite TV and the internet, but every place is starting to look like every other place, and areas that retain their unique local flavor are shrinking into smaller and smaller pockets. Places where that flavor remains are often intentionally preserved, and sanitized for your protection.
  
• It's colder than you think up there.
  
• No two bartenders make a hurricane the same way.
  

Things already learned, proven again:

• A problem that goes away by itself, will come back by itself.
• Nothing ever goes as planned.
• Reward and risk follow the same curve. Little risked, little gained.
  

In the end, it was a an interesting week, just not quite like I expected. Some people thought I was crazy to travel alone. Some think I'm crazy for traveling on a motorcycle. I could have had 10 friends, a nice safe Volvo station wagon, or maybe just waited two weeks and walked down to the pool every day and stayed in the shallow end. But the shit *did* hit the fan, and although it certainly could have been much worse, I did survive and I'm much richer for the experience.

Would I do it over again, knowing what I know now? It depends.

If I knew the whole story and how it ends, yes. You betcha. Worse than the sitting, the waiting, baking, and begging was the uncertainty that hovered for days. Not knowing if my bike was being stolen while I lay in bed, not knowing when (or if!) I would ever get picked up, not knowing if it was really fixed or was about to die before the next mile marker --that was what really ruined a large chunk of my vacation. I wouldn't go through that again.

But life itself is uncertain, and your number could come up while you read this. I understand that while these things do happen, they're the exception and not the rule. If you told me that I would get stranded once every 50 times, I'd do it 100 more times.

Tune in next year and find out where!

Heading Home

Saturday morning, and I'd planned to get home tonight for a day of relaxation Sunday. It will be another long day, but I'm accustomed to that by now. Besides, I have to get home today: I used the last of my toothpaste this morning!

All I can say about today is that it was fun spending it with Mom & Dad, and that the scenery is absolutely stunning. I could have filled 100 pages with postcard photos. It's tricky to sneak a peek and keep yourself on the road, so we pulled into lots of overlooks and idled past a few more. Yesterday, I was disappointed getting back on the Parkway, but things quickly improved today and reached a nice happy medium. Fun to ride, but not overly tedious, and breathtaking views around every bend. I cannot recommend enough that you take this drive yourself one day, whether by car or whatever. It's gorgeous.

We reached the end in Front Royal, Virginia around 5:30 and gassed up for the remaining 225 miles of interstate. It was still windy as hell down here, and we were getting blown all over the place. In my mirror, I saw Dad's big Ultra Classic swap lanes once or twice, and I was fighting pretty hard at times as well.

Things calmed down soon after we entered PA, and after a quick food stop, we were one more gas stop from home. We got to Coplay around 10 under the light of the full moon, and Mom and Dad split off onto Third Street.

I unpacked the pint of whiskey first. It had travelled 3399 miles in 9 days, (but not the 8 miles on the flatbed truck), through rain, sun, cold and heat, swamps, beaches, and mountain ridges, through big cities and a hundred one-horse towns. I opened it up, and there was just enough left to toast myself on another successful journey. It's good to be home.

Friday: Blue Ridge Parkway

After loading up and leaving Deal's Gap, I headed for the Blue Ridge Parkway entrance in Cherokee, NC. This is a tourist trap at the entrance to Great Smoky Mountains National Park, but a significant one. It's the Cherokee village from which the Native Americans were moved, and I believe now it is an official reservation.

The Parkway is an engineering marvel, a strip of asphalt clinging to the side of a mountain range a mile in the sky. It took about a half hour to reach 6,000 feet, and by then I was freezing. I pulled over to add a sweatshirt, and ran into the Gettysburg HOG chapter I'd met the night before, doing the same thing! We took some photos, and the thermometer on one guy's bike read 50 degrees. After days in the 90's, it felt good to bundle up a little. I said goodbye again (got to make Roanoke today to meet Mom & Dad) and took off.

Since reaching the Cherohala Skyway on Thursday afternoon, I'd been seeing more bikes than cars. After about another half-hour of 15-mph turns, tunnels, dips and ridges, I came across a bunch of bikes parked all willy-nilly with flashers on, signaling me to slow down. I quickly spied a mangled Sportster (100th Anniversary, just like mine) that had been retrieved from the woods. I stopped to see what I could do, and saw a body lying there. Ugh.

The body was having a conversation with somebody, though, and was making sense. She was a weird pear shape (don't ask me why I remember that) and didn't remember what had happened, but was alert and her leg was in a lot of pain. I said "y'all have phones, right?" but was informed that they were all useless up here. Someone had gone for help a while ago, and I took off with a guy from Wisconsin to make double sure.
I was reading my Parkway guide indicating where gas was available, and at the next opportunity, I headed down the mountain while Wisconsin streaked on toward the ranger station.

What they didn't tell you in the guide was that it was 20 minutes to scale the mountain, and another 15 miles to the nearest traffic light. I stopped at a park point of interest near the bottom to see if it was staffed, but nothing. I heard sirens, though. By the time I got to the gas station, it was a half-hour later and I sheepishly figured everything was under control up there by now.

Realizing that it was lunchtime and I still had 300 miles of this after I climbed back up the mountain, I got out the map and looked for a way to cheat. I was meeting Mom and Dad in Roanoke and wanted to get there in time to eat dinner. I found the straightest route to the interstate, and ran almost two tanks of gas out at 75 mph.
Getting back on the Parkway south of Roanoke in Fancy Gap, I was shocked at what it had become. It was "only" about 2500 feet in elevation, and in many places was a fairly straight country road past farms, people's backyards, etc. I was disappointed that I'd likely missed so much, but I still had 75 miles to my stop and it was already suppertime. I got to Roanoke and found out where they had gotten our rooms, and headed for the hotel. I missed dinner, so mom and I went for take out and a six-pack.

Tomorrow (Saturday) is the final leg.

Deal's Gap, NC - Tail of the Dragon

It turns out Deal's Gap not only didn't have internet access, there was no cell signal, and no phone in the room! And the payphone wouldn't let me make collect calls. Talk about getting away from it all!
This is what I've been talking for the last couple days:
http://www.tailofthedragon.com/maps_dragon_road.html
And this is the placed I stayed:
http://www.dealsgap.com/



I got there after 7pm so, as promised, Room 1 was unlocked with the key inside. Directly next to me were a half-dozen crotch rockets, and a few doors up was a bunch of Harley tourers. I struck up a conversation, and it turns out they're the Gettysburg, PA HOG chapter. I'd hung out with some of them at NJ Bike week last year.



Friday morning was surreal. I got up at the crack of dawn, packed my gear (but didn't load it), and went to "check in." The office wasn't open yet at 7:10, so I cranked over the bike and set off into the twisties.

I can guarantee that I used up more front brake pad in those 20 minutes than I had all week. Wide open throttle, hard on the brakes, pitched over till the footpegs hit. Over and over again 100 times. What an awesome ride! The protocol is that if you get someone behind you, move over and let 'em by. That worked for me a few times, but I caught some guy on a Harley who would NOT let me by. There's no place to pass safely without some help. So I slowed to walking speed to give myself a little room, and was quickly caught by two sportbikes. They go by me, and I see the Harley give 'em some room. So, I nailed it, and slipped right through along with them ;-)

Like the song says, I'm not as good as I once was. This is supposed to look smooth and flowing; finding out you overcooked a turn and and grabbing a fistful of brake to save your ass is neither graceful nor fast. But if it works, it's better than bailing and hanging crashed parts on the Tree of Shame. By then, I had gotten into a little rhythm, though, and believe it or not, these guys didn't run away from me. Most of the time, it looked like ballet. Three of us, in sequence, dropping hard down into a turn, one, two, three. Then in an instant, snapping up past vertical, and settling into a hard bank the other way, flashing out of view, one, two, three. Not that they couldn't have outrun me on their FZ1's if they really wanted to, but we were definitely rockin'. My Sportster is by no means a fast sport bike, but if there are a set of conditions in which it can at least hang, those (relatively) slow, technical sections are it. If I could get into the corners just right, the wide torque range of the H-D engine is ideally suited to shoot me out of them in hot pursuit.

We reached the end, and the reward was a peaceful view over Calderwood Dam, with about 8 other bikes, in the crisp morning air with the fog breaking up over the water. One of those once-in-a-lifetime things. If I were a girl, I would have cried.

I turned her around and made another banzai pass past the motel and back to the other dam (Cheoah Dam, which Harrison Ford jumped off in the movie "The Fugitive") then went to have breakfast and check in/out. The next leg would be the Blue Ridge Parkway, which will be a separate post.