Before "The Ride" Begins -

June 10, 2008 - Baltimore

Tomorrow is the first day of my "great adventure" ....

Here I am sitting calmly in Baltimore Washington airport (BWI to you frequent travelers, who speak in 3-digit abbreviations) on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday afternoon, waiting for my connecting flight.  What's different for me on this particular day is what lies ahead, for the next 30 days and many thousands of miles on my bike.
 
While the other passengers are re-reading their boarding passes for the umpteenth time, scanning the departure monitors, and trying to keep their kids from running amok, I'm in a completely different zone.
 
I'm trying to figure out what lies ahead, and not inconsequentially, why in the world am I doing this anyway?  I'm anxious, excited, and scared shitless all at the same time.    
 
In terms of what lies ahead - I guess that's the easy part of the story.  Four or five thousands of miles on a motorcycle, traversing the continent from Northeast to Southwest.  Although I know my ultimate destination (home sweet home in Encinitas, California) and I know my short term destination (New Brunswick, Canada in a couple of days), I still don't have a firm idea of the grand plan.  Go south before turning west? Go West before turning South?  How far east to go? Was the movie Deliverance set in West Virginia?  Or was that Tennessee?  What if, what if, what if.....
 
The unknows greatly outnumber the knows at this point.  The things I am sure of:
- I'm riding my 2007 Harley Fat Boy, which I will pick up at Manchester Harley Davidson in Manchester, New Hampshire in a couple of hours
- I'm armed with cameras and credit cards
- I will make it home in one piece
- This will be an absolute blast!  (in spite of the inevitible trials and tribulations along the way)
 
The rest I will have to figure out as I ride.
 
As to why I'm doing this - that's another story.
 
I've had this romantic notion of a cross country motorcycle kicking around in the recesses of my noggin for as long as I can remember.  I bought my first bike, a 1972 350 Honda, in May of 1975, and after a few minutes figuring out how the thing worked, off I went - blasting along the highway for about 60 miles to another town, wearing a silly grin from ear to ear.  I guess with a start like that, it's inevitiable that here I am 33 years later, still riding along on the open road, and still grinning from ear to ear.
 
Maybe I got the real itch from watching "Easy Rider" too many times, or got inspired by Kerouac's famous journey in "The Road."  Whatever the source, I decided I had to scratch this itch.  My incredible wife/partner/friend of 30 years, Claire, is even behind me 100%.  What a woman- thank you Claire!  There are not many people as supportive (translation: patient) about their partner's various whims and harebrained ideas as you are.
 
I've driven across the continent before, in a VW camper with Claire and our son, Julien, who was 3 at the time - and that was definitely a great adventure.
 
And I've ridden bikes around various corners of Canada and the US for years (and Japan too), but that was always 3 or 4 days at a time.  Very predictable, with a Point A and a Point B, and a finite number of miles in between.
 
But this is different - I know I am starting the ride at Point A, and will finish at Point B - but the details of the several thousand miles and weeks in between are fuzzy.  I know this will be about discovery, about roads never traveled, places never seen, and encounters with new people.  But most importantly, I will be discovering myself along the way.  Will I have the stamina and fortitude to pull this off?  How will I deal with the inevitible crap that will come up?  Will I have a "Zen" moment and discover a new "me" as I am cruising across the middle of the continent?
 
Bottom line:  Whatever will happen, will happen.
 
Let "THE RIDE" begin.......
 

 
First part of the Ride: - Manchester, NH to Hampton Beach, NH.  Approx 50 miles
 
Yeah, yeah - this is a pissant wimpy way to start a Great Adventure, with a wimpy little ride of an hour or so, but wait, let me explain....
 
Got to Manchester Harley Davidson about 6 PM, after a short taxi ride from the airport.  Despite my several phone conversations with the bike shop over the past 2 weeks, and the big note hanging off the handlebars, and the fact they have had the bike for over a week - the oil change isn't done.  Shit!  And the truck driver who picked up my bike in Encinitas and dropped it off here, had driven away with my windshield. 
 
Not a good start.  Called the truck driver.  He knows he has my windshield (has he known this for a week?), and he's in Pensalcola Florida.  But he says he can ship it to me.  Hmmmm... I'm riding and camping the next 2-3 days - does UPS deliver to campgrounds?  Hold that thought.
 
Try to buy a new windshield - $350!  Shit.  And it doesn't fit anyway.  After an hour of fucking around at the dealer, I give up on trying to get a new windshield and resign myself to getting my old one shipped somewhere or eating bugs for the next month.  Damn.
 
Ask for directions to some nice roadways heading Northeast into Main from the guys at the counter, and am warned about iminent hailstorms rolling in within an hour or two - with dire predictions that I'll be pounded into the pavement with hailstones the size of golf balls.  I look out the door - clear blue sky.  But, hey who am I to question the locals about the weather.
 
I blast off in the direction of the coast and after an uneventful ride East on Highway 101, I hit the Atlantic Ocean in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire.  I immediately spot a grungy biker bar with bikes out front and pull in to consult with the experts.  Welcome to Wally's Pub.  www.wallyspubnh.com   This place is a classic biker hangout, complete with a blonde, Harley riding big-breasted lady behind the bar, who i having challenges keeping tube top from rolling all the way down to her knees.   I watch carefully for a few minutes but no free show.  She seems to have the boob-concealment situation under control, in spite of the basic laws of physics. 

There's a bunch of guys sitting on the outside patio along the street telling tall tales and watching the world go by.  It's only 8 PM but I see groups of drunken partiers walking around looking for action.  Welcome to Tuesday night in Hampton Beach.
 
These guys also warn me of a massive hailstorm that's going to roll in any minute.  The ringleader, a big guy with lots or hair and tatoos, tells me he can tell from the pain in his shoulder that the storm is 45 minutes away and moving up the coast as we speak.  Now this guy should work for the Weather Channel, with skills like that.
 
I decide to do the logical thing (which is not my usual approach), and glance across the street and lo and behold - the Nautilus Motel.  The perfect combination to wait out a storm - a motel with a car port, and right across from Wally's Pub.  I am in heaven.   The Nautilus is a far cry from the Four Seasons, but it'll keep me dry and I'll do my best not to touch too many things in the room, just in case.
 
Got my ass kicked playing pool with the waitress at Wally's.  Hmmm.... need to sharpen up my game or switch to checkers.  This is embarrassing.
 
As I am about to roll across the street to my dingy motel, the only other patron at Wally's, a woman on the other side of the bar, buys me a beer, and asks me if I would spent the night with her.  Guys - I know that James Bond, and most of you, might be real cool and know how to handle a situation like this, but I stumble on my words, muttering something like: "gotta go, need to get home and feed the dog...." or something equally nonsensical. 
 


Wow, if this is the way things are going to be for the rest of the trip, maybe I should buy a ring and put it where a wedding ring is supposed to be (Claire and I never did the ring thing).  This is only the first night!  I don't know whether to be flattered or worried about the rest of my days and nights on the road.
 
But bring on the adventure ........
 
 
1st full day -  Coastal Maine - aprox 175 miles
 
Beautiful ride up the coast today, mostly on Highway 1 and occassionally 1A.  Managed to avoid I-95 which is full of trucks and the usual highway traffic.   Left Hampton Beach (after spending the night alone) and took in the sights and smells of the Altantic.  This is peak season for the forests and fields to come back to life in the summer sun after a long winter. Incredible smells of pine, spruce, and just everything growing as fast and ferociously as it possibly can.   Sweet.....!
 
By the way, there was no fuc...ing hailstorm last night, after all those dire predictions.

 

And  big bonus - Maine, like New Hampshire, lets motorcyclists decided whether or not to ride a helmet when they ride.  I choose not to - going for that full-on wind in the hair feeling.   Yeah baby......!
 
 
Stopped in a a really cool looking place called Bentley's Saloon. www.bentleyssaloon.com/      Bentley's is a biker bar/ restaurant with live entertainment, and the added bonus of a campground. It even looks new and clean (unlike most biker bar hangouts, which as a general rule are dingy, worn, yet oddly comfortable).  



But it's only 10 am and they're not even open yet, so I snap a couple of pics and move on.   PS - Bentley's is near Kennebunkport, where the Bush clan live.  I wonder if George rides on over on Friday nights?   I can imagine George and Dick Cheney showing off their tatoos while downing a few beers.
 
Nice scenery, plenty of neck twisters to catch scenic spots along the beaches, and not too much traffic.  School's not out yet, so the tourists haven't shown up yet.
 
Lunch in Portland at Arabica Cafe, where i get great coffee, free internet connection, and suspiciously cheerful waitresses.  Do they know about the lady at Wally's Pub from last night?  Or are they just genuinely cheerful.  Hmmm.... another mystery to contemplate.   Get the truck driver on the phone in Pensacola and tell him to ship my windshield to the Fedex depot next to the airport in Bangor, Maine.  Hadn't planned to go to bangor, but I'm not going to eat bugs every day either.  He complains that it'll cost $240 to overnight it to me, but only $30 if I wait around for 3 day delivery.  I hold firm, he gives in, and I cross my fingers that he follows through and actually ships it.
 
Continue on Hwy 1 Northeast, as the Maine towns go by - Freeport, Brunswick, Bath, Waldoboro, Rockport. Blue sky and sunshine - an absolutely perfect day, and I'm grinning like a fool and singing off-key as I cruise along, figuring I'm probably the luckiest guy in the world - doing what I love to do.  Life's good!   It's late afternoon when I come across Camden Hills State Park, just a couple of miles north of Camden.  Nice campground, nice town - so I check in and pitch my tent.  Then head in to Camden for dinner and night # 2 on the road.
 
Felling a little too good after my perfect day on the road and enter a pool tournament, figuring I'll show the locals a thing or two and win the $200 pot.  Shit, I get my ass kicked in both my games and leave the place suitably humbled by the local sharks. 

Walk around the harbor in Camden enjoying the picture perfect jewel of a coastal village built around a small natural harbor.  Couples are walking along arm in arm, a young cutie is sketching boats on her easel, and all looks great on the planet - at least from the perspective of Camden, Maine.





So far the Great Adventure road trip is pretty easy to take.  No sign of any of the characters from "Deliverance" here.

Spend an uneventful night in my brand new ultra-compact tent and compact sleeping bag (way too compact, as it turns out).   Wake up to birds singing and a beautiful blue sky. 



Time to get.... "on the road, again"   (Good thing Willie Nelson can't hear me destroying his classic road trip theme song!)


2nd full day-

Leave Camden about 10 am, continuing my meandering trek up the coast on Highway 1.   Much of this is A+ riding,   so if you're in the neighborhood on 2 wheels, check it out.   My short term destination is Bangor, to pick up the windshield which I hope my trucker buddy has sent by Fedex for me.  I have my doubts, since I had to slowly and carefully spell out FEDEX for him on the phone the day before.   I'm not that hopeful, but hey, it's a beautiful day - why sweat the small stuff?

 

Switch from Highway 1 to 1A in Stockton Springs, then ride by Prospect, Frankfort, and Winterport before rolling in to Bangor.  After 30 minutes of following confusing and sometimes contradictory directions, I find the Fedex depot hidden behind a bunch of trees near the Bangor airport.

It's a miracle!  My windshield is here.  I quickly snap it on, thus widening the foolish grin I'm wearing, and ride off.  Only problem is that I'm now a long way from the coast and have a navigation dilemma - to head back down to follow the coast or take the direct route to my intended border crossing at Calais, Maine/ St. Stephen, New Brunswick.   I opt for the short cut (unusual for me), and follow route 9 for about 100 miles through trees, lakes, trees, and more trees.   Nice road, light traffic - all good.   Stop for a late afternoon bite in a little cafe in Calais.  End up having a very weird conversation with a daily regular at the counter - George.  George is not quite all there (Down's Syndrome?) but stops in every day for a couple of hours to do crosswords and Soduku puzzles.  He talks to me in a series of grunts, numbers and occasional words.  George, like me, seems to be having a good day.

Stop at the border crossing and get a surprising grilling from the cute young Canadian customs lady.  Why are you coming to Canada? How long will you stay?  Where will you stay?  etc.  Shit, I am a Canadian citizen (despite having lived most of the last 27 years outside the country.  Doesn't she see my Canadian passport.  I start to get pissed off at this third degree routine, but I think back to the times that my attitude at border crossings has resulted in meetings "in the little room." and hold my tongue.  I still don't get the drill, but hey, gotta keep Canada safe from marauding motorcycle gangs, right?

Regretfully, I strap the helmet on to keep the local authorities happy.   Pick up Highway 1 (the Canadian version this time) and head east.  Lo and behold - I see a sign for a town called Utopia, and ride around for 20 minutes looking for a sign saying, "Welcome to Utopia."   Thought i could snap a picture and make this the theme of my trip, but alas, I can't find the sign.  (Hard to find much of a town either, just a few houses and farms). 

About an hour or so later, just before getting into the port city of Saint John, New Brunswick, i head North on Highway 7 for a few miles, then cut off to the 177, for a scenic 10 miles or so along the shores of the mighty Saint John River, with beautiful old homes, lush fields, and huge elm trees.  I used to ride this road regularly, but haven't been on it for decades - doesn't look much different on my big new Harley than it did on my Triumph in 1976.

Take the 102 (the old river road) for a few more miles along the shore - with more great scenery.  Roll into an old friend's house in Browns Flat, and walk straight into the Comeau family's annual reunion.  I've met many of them over the years, and Warren and his family quickly adopt me into the fold. 

Up till the wee hours of the morning drinking beer and some Kahlua/Bailey's/something concoction - telling tall tales that will be forgotten in the light of day to come.  Get into a bit of an argument with Warren.  Seems we had a difference of opinion on which of us actually beat the other in a marathon many years earlier.   I thought I had done a 3:38 time and had dusted him by 20 minutes.  Warren claims he passed me at about the 20 mile mark as I lay writhing in pain on the side of the road, and beat me by 15 minutes.  After a couple of hours of back and forth recitation of our respective 'facts" complete with lots of mutual insults, we agree to check our records.  Ha, you just wait till I get home buddy - I find my old bid with the time written on it.  Then you'll owe me 100 bucks.