[ST] Devil Went Down to Georgia: The Report II

[Steve Lawler <slawler@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

I got through the Norfolk area without any problems. Rt. 13 to I-64 East
to I-264 West to I-664 North to US 58 West. The 75 miles on 58 between
Norfolk and Emporia is very much like the Del-Mar-Va Peninsula. Farm
land and gentle curves and hills. I had to stop about 10 miles from
Emporia to fuel up the Devil and my belly. It had been a little over 200
miles since my last gas stop. After filling the tank, grabbing a drink
and a snack, I paced around the Devil and tried to guess how much
further I would push myself before calling it quits. The sun was hitting
that angle at the end of the day when things take on that vibrant hue. A
yellow swallowtail butterfly floated down and landed in the clover
nearby. I crouched down to stare at it. I was mesmerized by this
graceful insect. It took from my mind all the insects that I had so
mercilessly destroyed with my face shield, my leathers and my steed as I
had crossed the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp. I called the wife and
told her where I was. She felt that I was making excellent time. I just
wanted to get going further and faster. I hit the head, washed the
entomological study from my tinted face shield, swapped it with the
clear visor, started the Devil and the music, saddled up and rode off
into the sunset.

Emporia, Virginia is where US-58 runs into I-95, about 10 miles from the
North Carolina border. I was past the halfway point on my journey. It
was dark and the cars and trucks were moving along at a good pace. NRBQ
was pouring out of my earphones. I felt like I could ride all night.
Pearl Jam's "Last Kiss" came up. I started thinking about my son that is
in the army and how he will probably be in Iraq in November about the
time of his 19th birthday. I was feeling quite depressed and lonely.
That was enough of a sign for me that I was fatigued. I made a vow to
stop in Rocky Mount, NC, another 25 miles down the road.

In Rocky Mount I pulled into the first motel that I found that had a
restaurant and a bar attached. It was 9:00pm, 9-1/2 hours, and about 500
miles after I had left work. The girl at the counter was amazed at the
number of bugs on my face shield. When I told her that it was clean in
Emporia she was shocked. I laughed and said that I was only doing my
part to eradicate all the pests from North Carolina. I got my room,
removed the panniers and top box from the Devil, changed my clothes and
trotted off to the restaurant. I grabbed a stool at the bar and ordered
a beer and some food. My posterior was so happy to on something that was
not moving or about to move when the light changed. The Devil's stock
seat is not made for touring. It's not as bad a Ducati 748's saddle but
if I was to attempt a longer ride I would want to have a better seat.

In the bar, there was a trucker and his wife, a lone trucker and a
retiree heading for Florida. We were talking bikes and trucks and having
a real pleasant time. The truckers left at about the same time. It was
just me, the retiree and Sarah, the cute bartender. The retiree asked me
where I was heading. When I told him, he asked me why I was riding a
motorcycle from New York City to Savannah. All I could do was smile and
shrug my shoulders. There is not enough time in the world to explain to
those that do not know.

The next morning, with a clean visor and a full belly I was on the road
by 8am. The speed limit on I-95 is 70mph. This allowed me to make some
better time. I would be on I-95 until exit 5 in South Carolina, 320
miles away. I decided to start the day out with Pink Floyd's "Animals."
"Pigs on the Wing" was half over by time I got to the bottom of the
on-ramp. After a mile or two I noticed an incredibly obnoxious odor.
"Did I step in something? Did I run over something? Did something climb
inside my air intake and die? Did some nasty bug meet its maker at my
helmets air inlet? My god, what is that awful smell?" About five minutes
later I found the source, a livestock truck carrying pigs. Once I passed
it the odor was gone. About 50 miles later it happened again.

I didn't need to get gas until I got to Dillon, SC. Home of South of the
Border, a gaudy tourist trap selling more cheap plastic crap than you
could ever find in all the Wal-Marts in all the world. I had been there
before and decided to steer clear of its filthy restrooms. I went west
off of the exit and stopped at an Amoco. When I went to purge my bladder
and rinse the morning insect collection off the visor I had one thought,
"Wow! Somebody actually has dirtier restrooms than South of the Border!"
I had 200 miles to go to Savannah and I wouldn't have to worry about
dirty restrooms until the return trip. I continued on my merry way
listening to

One hundred and fifty miles later the effects of the achy butt, and the
vibrations of the road made me stop to use a restroom. This one was OK.
A state run rest stop. I called my son Colin and told him that I was
about an hour away. As I stretched my legs and my gluteus maximus I
gazed to the south. Storm clouds were off in the distance. I estimated
that I would be fine. "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the
wind blows."

Fifteen miles the sky was looking quite impressive. The were four well
defined columns of rain to the southeast. I hoped that they would be
gone by time I got there. Suddenly I noticed someone on a Beemer heading
north wearing his raingear. I thought nothing of it. Soon all the
northbound car had there headlights on. "Uh-oh, this doesn't look good."
The road curved to the left and when it straightened back out, there it
was, a wall of rain. I started to zip up the right jacket flap. It was
closed when I hit the deluge. By the time that I had the left flap up
the rain had stopped. Another mile and the pavement was dry.

When I arrived in Savannah at 1pm I rode straight to Colin's dorm. Here
I was having ridden 850 miles on a beautiful bike, wearing my dark
leathers and there is not a single coed in sight. "Damn!" Was it the
bugs? We made arrangements to meet for lunch after I was settled into
the hotel.

I pulled the Blue Devil up to the hotel entrance and strolled in to the
tastefully decorated, wood paneled lobby. I give my name to one of the
clerks and he informs me that my room is not ready but they can get me
parked. A woman behind the desk looks over, "Oooo. What kind of bike do
you have?" I tell her. She says she wants to see it. I tell her its
right outside. When the clerk is done poking keys on his keyboard he
tells me that my room will be ready by 4pm. "Where can I park?" I had
been in the hotel before But I figured if I asked they would let me park
in the basement garage instead of the open lot across the street. Before
he can answer the woman chimes in "I'll show you."

After she comes around the desk and we're out of earshot of the clerk I
whisper, "Between you and me, I know where the garage is. You just
wanted to see my bike."

"You got that right!" When she sees the Devil she says, "Wow! You're
from New Jersey?"

"Yep."

"I'm from Connecticut!"

"Well actually, I only live in New Jersey. I'm from Connecticut." We
start talking about the UConn Huskies and how she was ostracized there
in the heart of University of Georgia land.

"Come here," she says. "I'll show you where to park. I take care of my
motorcycle guests." Now I know that really sounds like a come on line
but she really did show me where to park.

http://home.comcast.net/~slawler/Triumph/SavPark.jpg

To be continued, eventually, in part III "Devil! Get Thee out of Here!"


- -- 
Steve Lawler
Verona, NJ, USA, Earth

2001 Sprint ST "Blue Devil"

"The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time."
            -- Bertrand Russell


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