Thread: Taking a Trip? Part Two

The morning of the twelfth day on the road began a new chapter in my trip. The Mississippi River and a land of familiarity was behind me, before me was an uncharted wilderness brimming with adventure. In true pioneer spirit I headed west out of St Louis, forcing myself to endure the hardships with little more than cruise control, XM radio, and a power adjustable windshield. Ok, yes I had an expensive custom seat too...and some other farkles...but still it wasn't a Conestoga wagon...

From here on, my only agenda was to get home in about a week. Riding to the West Coast has always been a goal for me, but I had to face the fact that I wouldn't achieve it on that trip. Doing so would have required an all-out effort. That wouldn't be the way I would want to do a trip like that, and truthfully, I probably could not have kept the required pace. I wasn't sure how far west I would get as I started off that morning, but it soon became evident that this would be the beginning of the real riding!

Highway 94 is part of the Lewis and Clark Trail highway system. The two-lane blacktop hugs the northern bank of the Missouri River, undulating through the river bluffs in a series of curves that were often blind and decreasing in radius. Elevation changes were frequent and abrupt. As the road coiled into challenging twisties, I was thankful for the time I had spent on the track at Grattan. Before, I might have been tempted in such circumstances to search for the bike's limits, or mine. But having so recently explored both on the track, I was now content to roll along at a comfortable pace that allowed for whatever might be hiding around those blind turns.

Herman on the Missouri River

On my way to spend the night with forum friends in Columbia, MO, I stopped in the towns of Herman and Fulton, where I found a small motorcycle accessory shop with an old Harley-Davidson Legeroo in the window! That 65cc two-stroke bike was very similar to the one my cousin rode while trouncing my Honda 50 cub when we were kids. It occurred to me that things are a bit different now, as I motored away on my 140 hp FJR.

A rusty link to my Moto past... Then and now.

I greatly enjoyed my time with my friends in Columbia. Seeing their young family in action took me back to a different time in my own life.
After a nice dinner, they strongly recommended I consider riding in northwestern Arkansas, so I decided to head that way in the morning.

The road got interesting almost immediately as I headed south on Highway 19 into the Ozarks. The pavement descends, twisting and turning, through the dense hardwood that covers the foothills into the Mark Twain National Forest, south of Jefferson City. Factor in a few interesting small towns in which to stop for a snack and you have a perfect sport/tour section!

All the way down Highway19 I was treated to more of the same, until just past Winona. There, the road ran almost arrow straight, but made up for it by rolling up and down a long series of parabolic hills. Some of the descents were huge and seemed to go on forever, making me feel as if I was riding around the outside of a basketball! Just as I would begin to wonder if there was a bottom, it would suddenly appear, and quickly send me climbing again. It felt a lot like a roller coaster, though I did resist the urge to throw my hands in the air and scream.

Highway 19 resumed the pattern of twisting curves on until I crossed into Arkansas and turned west on Highway 62. Here, the road was more sweeping and open, with numerous passing lanes - nice. After a brief stop at an ATV junk yard, I spent the night in a small motel near Mountain Home. The room was thoughtfully equipped with a flyswatter, which came in handy.

The Buffalo River................. Summertime fun-Arkansas style!

As I continued west on Highway 62 the next day, the landscape became very picturesque, with plenty of scenic vistas, bridges and clear trout streams along the way. The area looked like a great summertime vacation spot, and I marked it as a place I hope to return to. The road carried me through small towns with names like Flippin and Yellville, finally intersecting with "Scenic Highway 7" at Harrison. I made the turn south onto 7, and almost immediately entered motorcycle heaven!

Highway 7 was not as tight as Deal's Gap, but it was plenty challenging. Thankfully, the traffic was relatively light. The scenery was breathtaking, so I lessened my pace to take it all in. I discovered an old, closed amusement park not far from Harrison: 'Dogpatch, USA'. Very interesting...I think it could make a nice motorcycle themed resort. Hmmm...

Dogpatch USA

The turns on Highway 7 varied in radius and visibility, with plenty of elevation changes thrown in. Some sections were very technical, others open enough to rail through the curves and short straights. About twenty miles down the road, I turned west onto Highway 16 in search of the Pig Trail near White Rock - and it got even better! For the rest of the afternoon I rode my own pace on perfect roads, only encountering one other vehicle the whole time. A friend of mine claims that 'every ride is a gift', and this was a great one! Well, until the fuel light came on...

I was having so much fun I lost track of where I was, or what road I was on. The small towns in that area are typically nothing more than a water tower and a few houses, with few gas stations to be found. I finally found fuel in Huntsville, AR, 25 miles into reserve. It was time for some great BBQ at a little roadside joint while I figured out where I was, and where I might go. The proprietor revealed that I had actually ridden on part of the Pig Trail without realizing it, and that some of my intended route back to 7 would include extended gravel sections. Having proved to my satisfaction earlier in the trip that gravel was the FJR's Achilles heel, I decided to re-plan.

BBQ joint run by a motorcycle addict

I determined I would take Highway 412 back to 7, head south again and stay in one of the small cabins I saw along the road. Though this meant re-riding some of Highway 7 again I didn't mind it a bit. I bedded down that night in a little Swiss-style chalet right on an awesome set of turns. While the sun went down, I watched a variety of vehicles negotiate the curves from my balcony. That was an unforgettable day, a street riding high point in my experience. This area should be on everyone's list of great American motorcycle roads!

Swiss Chalet Balcony views of the proper line

After coffee on the balcony the next morning, I headed south on 7 again. After winding my way through the Ozark National Forest, I stopped in Russellville for an oil change at the local Yamaha dealer. It started to rain as I left the place and didn't let up till close to Hot Springs. That section of 7 is a bit more open than the northern part, but it's still quite a challenge in a heavy downpour. That's why we have grooves on our tires, I suppose.

Hillbilly General store. Had everything... ...including hummingbirds!

At Hot Springs, I turned toward home for the first time in over two weeks. From here to Tifton, Georgia, I would ride secondary highways, the old traveling roads before the super-slab came along. While it wasn't boring, rolling along sweeping curves through large and small towns, it was nothing like the challenging ride in the northwestern corner of Arkansas.

Something happens to me when the turn toward home is made and the end of the trip is imminent. Even though I still had a couple days before I made it back, things became different. It probably had a lot to do with the lack of intensity in the road itself, as I now had more time to think. Many things have happened in my life in recent years; the last few months were particularly intense. Knowing what was missing in the home I was going back to was becoming harder to ignore. At times I felt an almost total lack of emotion, then a thought, sight, or a song would trigger a memory that would hit me like a sucker punch...

Not all of my reflection was emotional. I got a chance to evaluate the performance of my partner on that trek; my 2006 Yamaha FJR. Riders will intuitively understand the bond that forms between man and machine on the road, even though they are inanimate objects (really?). A sport-touring machine should do many things well: droning on the highway, railing a coiled two lane, or possibly even knee down on the racetrack. At all these the FJR performed beyond my expectations, I only found fault when the pavement ended. The real surprise was the way its loaded weight of over seven hundred pounds seemed to disappear when the road became twisty. The factory hard bags and GIVI top case stashed more than enough gear to keep me dry and comfortable, yet the massive, broad torque allowed the laden FJR to fly when required. She has earned my respect, but... I am moto-fickle- I want something that can venture off road. While the perfect bike doesn't exist, I will keep searching.


A good portion of those two days getting back to Florida was spent in the rain, and it wasn't without adventure. I stopped in Leland, Mississippi to visit the Highway 61 Blues Museum, hoping to soak up some talent, but I just got soaked. Yeah, I went down to the crossroads...but the damn joint was closed...(twelve bar in "A", pick it up)...An' the rain caught me dead on Main street-Laud, it was so coOold... Maybe it wasn't in vain after all... I spent the night in Montgomery, AL, and visited a Hooter's for the first time in a long while. It reminded me of a South Park episode... and how old I am now.

Lake Eufala

I got to enjoy blue skies while crossing Lake Eufala on the Alabama/Georgia line and on to Tifton. And that's where my fortune changed-for the wetter! While fueling up, an intense thunderstorm cell struck. Complete with horizontal blowing rain, and multiple CLOSE lightning strikes. I took refuge inside the gas station/Burger King, where the manager was kind enough to check the weather radar for me when we had power again. Yep, plenty of storms to the south, so on with the rain gear. True to the radar, I encountered rain during most of my ride south until I stopped for the night just west of Gainesville, FL.
Nope, neither the Michelin Man nor the Pillsbury Dough Boy...me near the Florida line


The final day of my trip was the usual Florida summertime mix of intense rain and intense sunshine, occasionally at the same time. I got to ride with a guy on a beautiful custom shopper near Crystal River. I don't think he appreciated my goofy waving at other bikers while in formation with him, or the way the FJR left him at a stop light. I should be more mature.

I made a few stops to see family in the Tampa Bay area, and then started the final leg south to Fort Myers. The feeling of coming home was overwhelming, lots of familiarity, lots of memories. I had missed my son considerably. I was anxious to see him, but the rest I wasn't so sure of.

I made it home without further drama. Corey hadn't even trashed the place! Or, alternatively, had cleaned it up before I got there. While it was good to be home, everything was different.

And my trip was over. The route

After parting ways with Corey in western Michigan I spent eighteen days on the road, and logged close to four thousand miles while traveling through nine states. It wasn't quite as "epic" as I would have desired, but it was a great time. I got to spend time with a lot of people on my journey: some that I had known a lifetime, some I had only known previously in cyberspace, some that I had never known before. I also got to spend a bunch of time with no one but myself. I wrote before that the solitude found on a motorcycle is soothing, and it is. More than that, it can be a time to get an elemental look at oneself.

So did I find what I was looking for, out there on the highway, in whatever came my way? You know, I am not sure. I do know that if I have my way, I'll be back out there again. Soon.