Saturday, April 27, 2002 Glade Spring, Virginia
Knowing there was work to be done today, I was out of the motel and on the
road just a little after sunup. Even skipped my breakfast routine in order to get moving sooner. This
actually helped, as when I finally did stop close to noon, I was hungry enough to dispose of a good meal
that kept me going the rest of the way to Dale City.
Although I had been warned that in Virginia the speed limit was pretty
strictly enforced, with the assistance of several rabbits who apparently weren't aware of that caution,
I arrived at Dale City in good time and found Leon's house without a problem. Leon had warned me that
I would be getting there in the midst of a family gathering, so I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible.
But it's not in Leon's nature to leave a friend in need to his own devices, and he was helping me within
minutes of my arrival.
Where else but in the world of long distance riding would you find friends
so willing to assist. Not only did Leon scrounge up every one of the needed parts long before I arrived
at his house, but in just a few minutes Dale Horstman showed up, ready to tear into the familiar
Concours as well. When I thought that everything that could be repaired had been repaired, Leon
found a piece of clear plastic and fashioned a replacement for the missing Baker Air Wing that looked
as good as the original. That's the kind of guy to have along on a long trip across the wilderness -
or available to help on a long trip around the U. S. Thanks again, Leon and Dale.
Not long before the repairs were completed, Russ pulled up at the curb,
ready to resume our quest for the final corner. The sun was dropping toward the horizon when we pulled
out and headed east to I-95.
Nearly five years had passed since the last time I'd driven around D.C.,
but nothing had changed. It is still a mess. Nevertheless, we were soon north and on our way to
Baltimore. Somewhere between the two cities the rain began. Softly at first, then with real
intent. We'd been through this a couple of weeks earlier, on a similar highway in similar terrain,
but there was something about the traffic on I-95 that differed from that on I-5, and we both felt
that it would be safer to pull off and stop for the night. Maybe it was the fact that riding south
from Seattle we were leaving the large cities behind and getting into the open country, and here we
were heading into the largest metropolitan areas in the country. Regardless, there was just too much
traffic, and the visibility was too poor on this rainy night, so we found a motel that would allow our
two sorry looking bodies to enter, and called it a night.
Sunday, April 28, 2002 Elkton, Maryland
With the deadline for completing the Four Corners Tour rapidly approaching,
Russ and I were up with the sun - if there was a sun to be seen that morning. We switched on the
weather channel and watched closely. We were going to get wet this day, there was no doubt about
it. Two weather fronts were moving eastward, directly in our path, and both carried heavy rain,
according to the forecasts. Earlier, we had debated going directly up I-95, through New Jersey and
then across the Bronx (on what has to be one of the worst pieces of pavement in the U. S.) to New Haven,
Connecticut. My own preference was to go north around the Big Apple and cross the Hudson on the Tappan
Zee bridge to miss most of the big city traffic. The weather made our decision for us.
By turning onto I-476 at the southwest edge of Philadelphia, we were able
to squeeze between the two weather fronts, even finding dry roads when we got to Scranton, Pennsylvania.
But shortly after we turned east there onto I-84, we caught up with the backside of the first front.
Thankfully, the rain wasn't terribly hard, and we only had to ride in light rain or drizzle the rest
of the day. Traveling was good enough that just south of Worchester, Massachusetts, we left I-84
and got onto US-20 to follow a stretch of two-lane that I'd enjoyed on one of my last trips up that way,
and stayed on it until we rejoined the interstates by getting onto I-495 near Marlborough.
We entered our eighth state of the day at Kittery, Maine, but ended up
backtracking on US-1 across the bridge into Portsmouth, New Hampshire to find a hotel. There is
a fine looking Best Western that, surprisingly, welcomed a pair of wet, bedraggled bikers into its warm
confines. It was 9:30 PM and the rainy night had cooled down to 37°F. The dry beds were a
most welcome sight, and we retired for another good night's rest.
Monday, April 29, 2002 Portsmouth, New Hampshire
The view out the window that morning revealed the remnants of an early
morning snowfall in the parking lot and on our bikes. We took time for a leisurely breakfast, served
by a middle aged man who has to be in competition for the title of "grouchiest waiter in the state",
then loaded the bikes for what we hoped would be our last day of riding on the Four Corners Tour. At
this point we knew that all we had left to do was ride some 400 miles to Madawaska, Maine and we'd
have finished, but only two days ahead of the deadline.
The weather was 42°F and still a bit drizzly at 11:15 AM as we headed
north on I-95, back into Maine. There was some construction that held our speed down, along with all
the other traffic. Due to the drizzle and the congested traffic, I was riding with my modulating
headlight on quite a bit of the time. It helped in those infrequent times we were able to do some
passing. It was while I was following a dump truck through the construction zone at maybe two or three
miles over the 45 mph speed limit that I suddenly saw flashing blue lights in my rear view mirrors.
Hmmm, I was just keeping up with the flow of traffic, officer.
As I pulled to the shoulder, I glanced up to see Russ carefully continue
on by, as though he and I had never met. Thanks for the moral support, pal! I could imagine the
razzing I would get later, and was mentally preparing a stinging rejoinder even as I took my helmet off.
The officer's concern, it turned out, was my modulating headlamp. He
explained that "alternating" headlights were only allowed on emergency vehicles in the state of Maine.
Normally I have a copy of the Executive Order legalizing modulating headlights right with my registration,
and it might well have been at that moment, but I could find neither anywhere on the bike. Well, when
you pack for a long trip, you're bound to forget something.
Not wishing to spend time explaining the semantic difference between
alternating lights and a modulated light, I first explained that the modulating light was perfectly
legal on any U. S. highway, Maine's laws to the contrary notwithstanding. But then I assured him that
just to please the him and any others of Maine's finest, I would refrain from using it while within
that state. Not to be outdone, he explained to me that other motorists, upon seeing my flashing
headlight coming up behind them, might mistakenly think I was a police officer. With a grin I
responded, "Yep, they sometimes do - and pull right over. Sure helps get through traffic." He
grinned back, we shook hands as I wished him a pleasant day, and we both proceeded on toward our
respective destinations.
We were nearing Yarmouth, just north of Portland, when Russ signaled
that he needed to get off the interstate. Apparently his Honda was not running right. We pulled
in to a local gas station and borrowed their Yellow Pages to look up Honda dealers. Lo and behold,
there was an ad for Reynolds Motorsports - the same dealer that has perennially hosted an IBR checkpoint.
A good chance they would be more willing to help a long distance rider than the run-of-the-mill
neighborhood Honda dealer. So off we went to find Reynolds Motorsports of Gorham, Maine (but
really Buxton, Maine - or is it the other way around?). Luckily, we found them.
We must have had some pretty desperate looks on our faces, because they
took Russ' Nighthawk in right away to check it out. While waiting for the mechanic to do the diagnosis,
we walked in the drizzle up to the corner restaurant to have a little lunch. When we got back, Russ
got the bad news - his bike was pronounced DOA. Seems the compression was way too low, and a leakdown
test revealed it to be both rings and valves, with the rings being the worst. That meant at least
re-ringing the pistons just to get it to run for a while longer. No time for that if we were going
to finish the Tour.
While waiting for the results, we had wandered around the huge inside
showroom, looking at both new (wistfully) and used (wishfully) bikes. Afraid of what the
mechanic might find, Russ was considering the comparative merits of three of the used machines in what
he felt might be his price range. The one that rated the highest was a '98 Triumph with side bags and
tail trunk, and sharp looking to boot. Once he'd been told the Nighthawk wasn't going any farther
without major surgery, he started looking for a salesman. Realizing that this could take quite a
while, and watching the hour hand's steady advance, along with the darkening skies outside, I told
Russ I would run on up to Bangor and wait for him there, as I wanted to visit with a friend, and in
case he was delayed until late and wanted to stay over in a local motel. From there, I could also
give him a weather and road report, as we were hearing rumors of snow to the north.
Not delaying any further, I rolled the Concours out into the rain and
headed by the quickest shortcut to I-95. It was raining steadily, and getting cooler, as I rolled up
to the toll booth to get onto the Maine Turnpike. The toll taker said something to me that I couldn't
understand with my helmet on, so I removed it and asked him to repeat it. He said with a smile "No
charge. Anybody riding a motorcycle on a day like this deserves to ride free". I grinned back,
thanked him and, putting my helmet back on, got out of there before he had a chance to change his mind.
On the way up to Bangor, one of those things happened that made a lasting
impression on me. I'd stopped at a rest area to use the men's room, and in addition to several other
men, there was a pair of young men who appeared to be in their early twenties or younger. I noticed them
giving me funny looks, almost sneering. With the "Hi-Viz Lime Yellow" Roadcrafter on, I often got
second looks from people, but these two were making a point of looking at me, and not trying to hide
their apparent amusement. But what really impressed me about the incident is that the youngest of
the two had dyed hair that was a near-perfect match for the yellow Roadcrafter. And they thought I
looked strange.
Nearing Bangor from the west, there's a slight elevation gain before
dropping back down into the Penobscot River valley in which the city is situated. For about two miles
near the crest of this rise I was riding in light, but threatening, snow. Thankfully, it was left
well behind and the temperature was back up to 36°F when I exited to the Bangor Mall at 6:15 PM.
As I'd ridden north a few days earlier, I had recalled that a young lady
of my acquaintance from Glennallen was going to college here in Bangor. So I phoned her father, a
friend of mine back home, and found out where she was working and how to get hold of her. Turned out
she, who is an absolute teetotaler, was working as a bartender at Ruby Tuesday's in the Bangor Mall.
It was dinner time, I had worked up a pretty good appetite from the afternoon's ride, so as soon as I
had unloaded my things into a motel room, I headed over to eat. First, however, I left Russ a voice
mail to let him know where I was, the conditions I'd ridden through on the way here from Buxton (or
was it Gorham?), and the motel phone number.
Having not the slightest inkling that I (or anyone else from Glennallen)
was in the area, my young friend was delightfully surprised to see me. She even offered to buy my
dinner (which, being the old-fashioned, chauvinistic male that I am, I refused). We had a pleasant
visit, during which I was introduced to nearly every other employee of the establishment, and I got
some photos of her mixing drinks to take back home for her parents to see, as they couldn't picture
her working at this job any more than I could.
Later, back in my motel room, I kept expecting either the room phone
or my cell phone to ring at any moment, with Russ on the other end telling me what time he expected
to arrive in the morning. At the same time I kept a watch out the window, just in case.
Some time after 9:00 PM my vigil was rewarded, as I watched the double
headlights of a motorcycle turn in to the motel parking lot. There was no doubt in my mind that
it was Russ, as no one else was so insane as to be out on a motorcycle on such a miserable night.
Intercepting Russ as he pulled up to the registration office on a shiny Triumph, we went inside and,
being so happy to see that he'd made it on through, I paid for a separate room for him as well.
We were going to make the final corner together, and on time!
This time we left the bikes parked, and walked across the street to
the Applebees so Russ could have some dinner. He hadn't eaten since our lunch together in Buxton (near
Gorham, I think), and was pretty hungry. I went along to hear about his afternoon. Between bites,
Russ related what had gone on after I left. Once he got the purchase of the Triumph taken care of, he
had to see what he could get out of the Honda. Turned out to be heartbreakingly little. One
of the mechanics gave him $250 for it - less than he had invested in his auxiliary fuel cell, which he
couldn't transfer onto the new bike. But despite the loss, I could tell Russ was happy with the
Triumph, and wouldn't be missing the Nighthawk as we rode back west to Seattle.