Steve Bream's 1000 mile Lunch Ride
© Steven C. Bream, 1998
When my original plan for an October Saddlesore attempt was derailed by family obligations, I thought I'd have to wait until spring, as Nov-Feb is not usually riding season in NC, but when it's 80 degrees on Dec. 6, anything is possible.
When my wife told me she'd switched shifts and was going to be working this past weekend, an embryonic plan took shape in my tiny brain. I laid down for awhile, and when my strength returned, I began to attend to the details.
A quick note to Bruce Barge confirmed that if I could get some of NC's finest BBQ to Jacksonville, he'd be willing to make the trip up from Melbourne to help me eat it.
A quick check of mapsonus revealed that if I went to Jacksonville via Rocky Mount, NC, I should have enough cushion to account for optimism on the part of mapsonus or my odometer.
A once over of the bike showed that there was tread on the tires, an oil change and more thorough exam revealed everything to be as up to spec as can be expected on an 86 Connie that's led a hard life (grandma may be old, but she ain't slow).
So I made list, checked it twice, edited it a couple of times, and by Thursday night the bike was packed and ready to go.
I downloaded the appropriate forms from the IBA website, passed them through my wordprocessor to get them on one page, printed, and bound them.
Friday at lunch I acquired 2lbs of Davis Family BBQ (Hwy 54, Morrisville NC) and a pound of slaw to go with. These fit nicely in my little cooler, which in turn fit perfectly on the Connie's rear rack.
Friday night email flew between Melbourne and Chapel Hill, last minute decisions, timetables, menu planning, and checklist review. The final plan had me leaving Chapel Hill at 0630h to meet Bruce at a rest area on the south side of Jax at 1630.
Off to bed around 2230h Friday night, I had no real trouble getting to sleep, but did have a recurring nightmare involving washing out the front end of the bike on I-95.
Up at 0500 Sat., my usual rising time during the week. Shower, dress, go make coffee... It turns out that SOLOML, who doesn't drink coffee, made a pot for visiting friends on Thurs., thereby using up the last of my coffee supply. Bitch and moan briefly, then eat toast, gear up, kiss wife, head out to find one of Carrboro's Finest.
On my way to the station, I spied an officer, in his cruiser, in the parking lot of a grocery store directly across the street from my planned start point. Unfortunately, the officer vehemently declined to sign anything. Not the last time this would happen.
Fortunately, the change of shift was in full swing when I arrived at the station, and Sgt. James Phillips signed me out, wished me luck, and informed me that the weekend shifts are staffed by the same officers on both Saturday and Sunday, meaning that he'd be on his way home on Sunday morning about the same time, or 24 hours and hopefully 1000 miles later.
Next glitch, the pump refused to read my card! I wasn't overly worried, as I had packed 2 spare cards (one gas, one debit), but it didn't start the day off very well. The attendant told me that the pump readers were down and he'd take my card inside, but after I only managed to cram $1 worth of premium into the bike, I was too ashamed to pass that along to Visa, and paid cash, asking for a receipt.
This improved the day considerably, as the date, time, and address were all clearly legible, and mostly accurate (the time was 10 mins slow, but I'm not picky). This would be a recurring theme for the trip. Nearly all of my gas receipts had clearly printed dates, times, and addresses.
Then, stop logged and receipt secured, North to Florida!
I can hear you all saying "That boy really needs a GPS, or at least some basic geography", but remember, just as Steve Miller claims "You've got to go through Hell before you get to Heaven", I had to go through Rocky Mount to get to Jacksonville, although I think that's where the analogy breaks down.
Chaps and winter gloves were welcome as I rode up US 64 toward Rocky Mt., but all in all it was a nice morning, until I proved, yet again, that I'm a bonehead. US 64 crosses I 95 7 miles short of Rocky Mount.
I had never travelled I95 between Rocky Mt. and Benson, always going North from Rocky Mount or South from Benson, never visiting anything in between on I95. Little did I realize that that was because there was nothing in between on I95. Still, I did manage to get a receipt in Nashville, NC, only about 5 miles down the road, and lost my anal retentive attitude at that stop. My wife had laughed at me while I was preparing for this ride, pointing out that after nearly 10 years together, she had no idea I could be anal about anything, but there it was.
In Nashville I figured, I've got time, I've got a cushion built into the route anyway, if I need more miles, I'll just ride some more.
A half a Mountain Dew to make up for my lack of coffee, a quick page to my wife to give her my status, and I began the "real" part of my trip. Real boring.
I 95 is the fastest way to get from Rocky Mount to Jacksonville. Other than that, it has very little to recommend it.
Stop in Florence, SC for gas. Removed chaps, thermal shirt, and heavy gloves. Gassed bike, got gatorade, left Mtn. Dew, paged wife, called Barge.
He was still at work and wouldn't be able to meet until the previously agreed on time, leaving me with about 5 hours to make a 4 hour trip.
So on the way I threw in a couple of extra stops to stretch and see points of interest, including a quick excursion to Cafe Risque, a bonus from FitE. I don't know what it looks like on the inside, but on the outside it looks like South of the Border meets Thee Doll House, located in a former Ron Jon's Surf Shop, never have I seen so many different neon colors in one place at one time.
Stopped in Pooler, GA. Pump gas, gatorade out, gatorade in, page wife, ride hard.
Got rained on twice going into Jax. Nothing major, 10 mins or so each time, just enough to turn the layer of dead bugs and grime on the fairing and windshield into a viscous paste that flowed over the top of the windshield and down the inside before flinging itself off in kamikaze leaps at my eyes.
Whistled into Jax, routed around on 295, my first time on that stretch of road, which purely beats hell out of going through town.
Into the rest area on the dot of 1630 by Connie's clock to find Bruce waiting with a cold can of something that claimed to be tea. Of course it wasn't, but did I mention that it was 80+ degrees in Jax on Sat., and my winter riding jacket is unvented? It really hit the spot, thanks Bruce.
What really kicked ass was Mama Barge's Pepper Sauce (if it ain't TM, it should be). I wolfed 2 barbeque sandwiches while we talked about the ride. Of course I'm sure you're all familiar with the rest stop phenomenon, where you park two bikes together and the next thing you know there are 4. A couple of local guys on an R100 and a Buell S3T stopped by and we chatted. They understood the concept of riding for food, but they couldn't make the leap required to carry that to it's logical conclusion, that either you have to go to the food or it has to come to you, and NC barbeque comes from NC. There was alot of that on the trip ("So what do you get for this?" "I don't get nothin', I have to pay fifty dollars and pick up the garbage")
BBQ consumed, riding notes, rally plans for 99, and general bs exchanged, we snapped a few pictures of the bikes and said our goodbyes. Total downtime, just over an hour.
A quick note. If you're going to meet someone at a stop on your ride, it really helps when it's another ldrider. Surely most folks would have been a little pissed if they were taking a 378 mile round trip and I only spent an hour with them, but of course Bruce understood, it's about the ride.
At the next southbound exit (96), I gassed up, paged the wife, and headed North in the growing dusk. Time, 1732h. Note: if you ever get the chance to cross the St. John's River on 295 at dusk, do it! The moon was reflected in the clouds, the lights of the city turned the water orange, and boats dotted the river like seagulls, rocking gently on the tide.
The northbound leg was, if anything, less exciting than the southbound, with one notable exception. I've become very used to the occasional attempts on my life by cagers when I'm riding, I look for them, I figure they're all going to take a crack at me, and I'm rarely disappointed. On 295, however, I had a new experience. As I motored northward at speeds that are just barely okay to talk about in front of Uncle Bob Higdon, if he's been taking his blood pressure medication, I passed a GSXR something ridden by a young guy in camo. I waved, he didn't. No biggie. I motor on down the road, the gixxer's distinctive yellow headlights receding into the background. The next thing I know, those same distinctive yellow headlights are closing on me fast, then there's a screaming sound in my ear, and I'm looking at his taillights as he brakes hard to avoid ramming the car in front of me. The little shit passed me in my own damn lane!!! I was moving along pretty well (~5300 rpm in 6th, for you Connie riders), he had to be doing 130 or more to pass me that quickly. These are usually the last signs of testosterone poisoning.
I resolved to keep an eye out for wayward squids, shifted toward the center of my lane a little, and left a bit more space to the car in front of me, but there were no repeats of the incident.
Stopped Hardeeville, gas in, gatorade out, some kind of funky green powerade that tasted like air freshener in. page wife, ride hard.
Stopped at South of the Border ~2300h gas in, powerade out, mountain dew in. Call wife, get no answer. This makes me worried, so I call again, still no answer. If you ever need a quick pick me up when you're on a ride, try calling home in the middle of the night when you know someone should be there and getting no answer. This was also the only gas stop without time, date, or address on the receipt, but since I was only 80 miles from Benson and would need a receipt there anyway as it was a corner, I didn't sweat it. The ~80 miles to Benson disappeared with little effort.
Called wife immediately, got no answer, left long message. I left the cell phone on while pumping gas, and she finally calls back. Turns out the phone in the bedroom isn't working. Breathe huge sigh of relief. Notice that the "no cruising" ordinance passed with much fanfare in Benson last year and under which I was stopped not once but twice, only blocks apart, on my way back from Bike Week in Myrtle Beach, has apparently fallen by the wayside. The same three cars, each filled with evidence that many of the fine folks in Benson don't believe in evolution, chlorine for the gene pool, make about 9 circuits of town while I'm pumping, paying, and talking to my wife. Each has a different rap CD blasting from the open windows, and their tires squeal as they make a circuit around the gas station at roughly 40 miles per hour, then roar back down main street. Ah Benson, where the big annual festival, Mule Days, was cancelled last year because there were rumors of a gang war. Ride hard.
Stop Chapel Hill, 0136h, 12/06 gas in, receipt in, ride hard. Stop Carrboro, 0155h at my original starting point. Buy kippered beefsteak and sit in parking lot enjoying the flavor and answering the drunks questions about what I had just done and why. I have made it, it's in the bag.
Not so fast there cowboy. In Carrboro, they roll up the town when the bars close, 0100 EST. Not even the cops are at work, at least not at the station. No biggie, the Chapel Hill Police Headquarters is only a few miles away, surely they'll be there.
Don't bet on it, and don't call me shirley.
I ended up going to Chapel Hill/Carrboro's only all-night eatery for a truly vile chicken biscuit and waiting for the 0600 shift change, when I was signed in and headed home.
1141 miles, 19h27m from first receipt to last
You don't just go home and go to sleep after something like that, so I checked my email and sent one to the folks who knew I was out telling them that I was in. By then it was time to shower if I was going to breakfast, so I hosed off, saddled up, and went to breakfast.
From breakfast, a little jaunt down 15-501 to Sanford, then across 42 to Fuquay-Varina, then ~65 mi back to
Chapel Hill, arriving about 1. A quick round of tea and home for a well-deserved nap, except that 2 hours into it, our neighbors are calling wanting to use our shower, as they have no water.
I know when I'm beat, so I got up, let them in, fixed a gourmet dinner, complete with cheesecake for dessert and a couple of beers for the chef, and then I really needed to lie down for awhile....
steve, i can't believe i ate the whole thing