Day 9
States: 28
Miles: 6227
After a wonderful night at a real home, it was time to pack up and move on. I thanked my hosts for their hospitality, said goodbye to Stanley and readied Herm for the next leg of the adventure. Rick had wanted to show me some of the terrific roads around New Hampshire, but because I was behind schedule I had to get going and he instead decided to accompany me for a while as I knocked off more New England area states as I continued my adventure. I showed him my intended route, which he roundly rejected based on my silly inclusion of way too many interstates. "I'll show you how to get there," he said as he mapped out two lane roads that I never would have known about. I was hoping to get to Pittsburgh to join Hutmo's tour of Pittsburgh and subsequent tour of the Lincoln Highway, route 30, the nations first true highway. Taking two-lanes was going to put me behind schedule. I didn't care. Taking in the beauty of the area and enjoying the experience were more important to me. We set out for Maine, and he asked if I wanted to stop by the office that he worked in to say hi to some of my former work mates. Of course I did. I had worked with some of these guys for well over 20 years, but had never been to the office. I'd seen them in other cities when we worked together, and on occasion they had visited California. But never had I been given the opportunity to get to their small town office. I was able to catch Jim again, and I was also able to catch old friend Paul, who had been waiting for me the previous night. My exploits in trying to find and get through Vermont caused me to miss him, though, so it was good to be able to see him and visit for a bit. We bid them farewell after a while, as they were working and I was trying to separate myself from the working world as much as possible.
We turned towards the state of Maine, which was a mere 20 minutes away, motoring across the Piscataqua River over the Memorial Bridge and into Kittery, Maine. This was an exciting crossing, as exciting as a bridge can be, as one never knows when this particular bridge might be closed due to safety concerns. This has happened a couple of times recently, and now they are trying to upgrade it. However, with the economy, the funding to do so is limited, so bridge crossers do so at their own peril presently. It managed to stay up for both of our crossings and we set off to conquer our next state, Massachusetts. This took another 20 minutes or so. I had hit three states within the span of 20 minutes. At the beginning of my trip, it took me two full days to reach three states. The contrast did not escape my attention. Venturing through Massachusetts we soon found ourselves crossing the border into Woonsocket, Rhode Island, a classic, well-preserved New England town. Things don't appear to have changed much at all in the last 200 years - in a good way. With the exception of donut shops, that is. New Englanders appear to really love their donuts. If it's not Dunkin Donuts it's Honey Dew Donuts and if it's not Honey Dew it's Mimi's home made donuts. They're on every corner and in between corners. I wonder if the girl eating the waffles knows about this place.
The next state line to conquer was Connecticut. The road we traveled offered scenic views with trees that hung over the road, forming a canopy in places, making the road a shear joy to navigate.
States: 28
Miles: 6227
After a wonderful night at a real home, it was time to pack up and move on. I thanked my hosts for their hospitality, said goodbye to Stanley and readied Herm for the next leg of the adventure. Rick had wanted to show me some of the terrific roads around New Hampshire, but because I was behind schedule I had to get going and he instead decided to accompany me for a while as I knocked off more New England area states as I continued my adventure. I showed him my intended route, which he roundly rejected based on my silly inclusion of way too many interstates. "I'll show you how to get there," he said as he mapped out two lane roads that I never would have known about. I was hoping to get to Pittsburgh to join Hutmo's tour of Pittsburgh and subsequent tour of the Lincoln Highway, route 30, the nations first true highway. Taking two-lanes was going to put me behind schedule. I didn't care. Taking in the beauty of the area and enjoying the experience were more important to me. We set out for Maine, and he asked if I wanted to stop by the office that he worked in to say hi to some of my former work mates. Of course I did. I had worked with some of these guys for well over 20 years, but had never been to the office. I'd seen them in other cities when we worked together, and on occasion they had visited California. But never had I been given the opportunity to get to their small town office. I was able to catch Jim again, and I was also able to catch old friend Paul, who had been waiting for me the previous night. My exploits in trying to find and get through Vermont caused me to miss him, though, so it was good to be able to see him and visit for a bit. We bid them farewell after a while, as they were working and I was trying to separate myself from the working world as much as possible.
We turned towards the state of Maine, which was a mere 20 minutes away, motoring across the Piscataqua River over the Memorial Bridge and into Kittery, Maine. This was an exciting crossing, as exciting as a bridge can be, as one never knows when this particular bridge might be closed due to safety concerns. This has happened a couple of times recently, and now they are trying to upgrade it. However, with the economy, the funding to do so is limited, so bridge crossers do so at their own peril presently. It managed to stay up for both of our crossings and we set off to conquer our next state, Massachusetts. This took another 20 minutes or so. I had hit three states within the span of 20 minutes. At the beginning of my trip, it took me two full days to reach three states. The contrast did not escape my attention. Venturing through Massachusetts we soon found ourselves crossing the border into Woonsocket, Rhode Island, a classic, well-preserved New England town. Things don't appear to have changed much at all in the last 200 years - in a good way. With the exception of donut shops, that is. New Englanders appear to really love their donuts. If it's not Dunkin Donuts it's Honey Dew Donuts and if it's not Honey Dew it's Mimi's home made donuts. They're on every corner and in between corners. I wonder if the girl eating the waffles knows about this place.
The next state line to conquer was Connecticut. The road we traveled offered scenic views with trees that hung over the road, forming a canopy in places, making the road a shear joy to navigate.
I don't know who was having more fun, me or Rick, but the experience and being able to share it together was worth everything. In no time, it seemed, we came to the point where the road meets I-84, where Rick planned to cut out and turn back toward his home, while I would continue on my way to Pittsburgh. We took some pictures and said our goodbyes. I felt some sadness when we parted.
Rick is a great friend and a great guy, and those qualities are often hard to find. We share a lot of common interests and we were both loving the experience. Plus I would be riding alone again. I know he was feeling the same. But I was reassured with the knowledge that I would return to the area in due time.
Once on I-84 I was immersed into an entirely different world. The trip along this section was the very antithesis of what motorcycling should be. Instead of lazily cruising through tree-lined curves and scenic country homes I found myself immersed in a fight for survival. I-84 features more trucks traveling at higher speeds than I've ever experienced anywhere. It was one of the more nerve wracking rides I've ever had on a a motorcycle. But I fought through it, for I still had to get to PIttsburgh and I was several hundred miles away. Plus I had to knock off one more state, New Jersey. Trucks flew by on my left and my right, switching lanes without warning, most of them seeming to be attempting to break the sound barrier. Cars darted in and out, seemingly frustrated by the 18 wheelers that were unable to maintain the 90 mph pace. And it suddenly occurred to me - all of this, just to get to New Jersey?? There was no alternative, though, so on I went. Through Waterbury, Southbury, Middlebury and Danbury. If it was a bury I was passing through it. I guessed that the state's nickname is "The Bury State." I"m told that it's The Constitution State. I don't believe it.
From The Bury State it was back into the state of New York, passing close to the home of Orange County choppers. I hear they have some bargains now, but I resisted the temptation and moved on to Port Jervis, where I exited the interstate and dipped my toe into New Jersey. Actually, I dipped a gas pump into Herm, because I was low on fuel - and gas was a full 70 cents cheaper per gallon compared to Connecticut. A young man approached me and asked if he could help. I was momentarily confused until I recalled that New Jersey, like Oregon, does not allow individuals to pump gas. Evidently, extensive training is required. I said to him, "Oh, I forgot, I can't pump gas here." But he told me it would be OK for me to do so. I soon came to learn that even though it's not quite legal, most stations in both states allow motorcyclists to pump their own gas. That extensive training doesn't seem to include the part about avoiding spilling gasoline onto the fuel tank when disengaging. We motorcyclists are quite adept at doing that ourselves.
Having completed my required feet-down act, I left New Jersey and crossed into Pennsylvania. it was getting late and I was still quite a distance from Pittsburgh. I was resigned to spending a good deal of time in the dark. Beatrice routed me through Scranton, Wilkes-Barre, place of my birth and on through State College, home of Penn State and the Nittany Lions. If you've ever wondered what a Nittany Lion is (I know I was confused by this), it turns out that the school lacked a mascot some time ago and someone suggested the local mountain lions that were seen on nearby Mt. Nittany. There's your history lesson for the day. I myself was hoping that the Nittany Lions had eaten all of the Nittany Deer, because by this time it was that dusky time of day that Nittany Deer are known to favor. Luckily I didn't see any, and eventually I found my way to Pittsburgh and after a very long day of riding I found the area where about 20 other Road Glide pilots had gathered in preparation for Hutmo's Lincoln Highway Tour. I was ready for bed and excited about the upcoming Shark Week festivities. I will be highlighting that tour and Shark Week collectively later. In the meantime, it's time for a little break in blogging and riding. But stay tuned in, for come Sunday, the 17th, Herm, Sigourney, Beatrice and I all hit the road again as the 48 state adventure continues!
Unusual things seen on the road today:
Once on I-84 I was immersed into an entirely different world. The trip along this section was the very antithesis of what motorcycling should be. Instead of lazily cruising through tree-lined curves and scenic country homes I found myself immersed in a fight for survival. I-84 features more trucks traveling at higher speeds than I've ever experienced anywhere. It was one of the more nerve wracking rides I've ever had on a a motorcycle. But I fought through it, for I still had to get to PIttsburgh and I was several hundred miles away. Plus I had to knock off one more state, New Jersey. Trucks flew by on my left and my right, switching lanes without warning, most of them seeming to be attempting to break the sound barrier. Cars darted in and out, seemingly frustrated by the 18 wheelers that were unable to maintain the 90 mph pace. And it suddenly occurred to me - all of this, just to get to New Jersey?? There was no alternative, though, so on I went. Through Waterbury, Southbury, Middlebury and Danbury. If it was a bury I was passing through it. I guessed that the state's nickname is "The Bury State." I"m told that it's The Constitution State. I don't believe it.
From The Bury State it was back into the state of New York, passing close to the home of Orange County choppers. I hear they have some bargains now, but I resisted the temptation and moved on to Port Jervis, where I exited the interstate and dipped my toe into New Jersey. Actually, I dipped a gas pump into Herm, because I was low on fuel - and gas was a full 70 cents cheaper per gallon compared to Connecticut. A young man approached me and asked if he could help. I was momentarily confused until I recalled that New Jersey, like Oregon, does not allow individuals to pump gas. Evidently, extensive training is required. I said to him, "Oh, I forgot, I can't pump gas here." But he told me it would be OK for me to do so. I soon came to learn that even though it's not quite legal, most stations in both states allow motorcyclists to pump their own gas. That extensive training doesn't seem to include the part about avoiding spilling gasoline onto the fuel tank when disengaging. We motorcyclists are quite adept at doing that ourselves.
Having completed my required feet-down act, I left New Jersey and crossed into Pennsylvania. it was getting late and I was still quite a distance from Pittsburgh. I was resigned to spending a good deal of time in the dark. Beatrice routed me through Scranton, Wilkes-Barre, place of my birth and on through State College, home of Penn State and the Nittany Lions. If you've ever wondered what a Nittany Lion is (I know I was confused by this), it turns out that the school lacked a mascot some time ago and someone suggested the local mountain lions that were seen on nearby Mt. Nittany. There's your history lesson for the day. I myself was hoping that the Nittany Lions had eaten all of the Nittany Deer, because by this time it was that dusky time of day that Nittany Deer are known to favor. Luckily I didn't see any, and eventually I found my way to Pittsburgh and after a very long day of riding I found the area where about 20 other Road Glide pilots had gathered in preparation for Hutmo's Lincoln Highway Tour. I was ready for bed and excited about the upcoming Shark Week festivities. I will be highlighting that tour and Shark Week collectively later. In the meantime, it's time for a little break in blogging and riding. But stay tuned in, for come Sunday, the 17th, Herm, Sigourney, Beatrice and I all hit the road again as the 48 state adventure continues!
Unusual things seen on the road today:
- A one-legged truck driver
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