States: 39
Miles 8090
I arose in Pikeville at what I thought was an early hour. The Harley Dresser folks were already up, drinking coffee and cleaning their bikes, confirming my suspicions - old people. Many of the bikes had been covered up when I arrived the previous evening, and the old people were removing the covers and wiping away moisture. I felt like Quasimodo with what was now five layers of road grime covering Herm sitting amongst the other gleaming machines. Sitting about 30 feet away were three Ultras that had just been washed with great care by their owners. I had to take a picture.
Each of these bikes had more chrome the Elvis' bathroom. I was mesmerized. As I looked forlornly at my poor, dirty Road Glide an elderly couple approached me. I tried to hide Herm behind me and said hi, asking them about the group that I had stumbled onto. They explained that about 100 Harley Dressers were having their national rally at the hotel, and they filled me in a bit about the organization. It was formed back in the 70's when there were no organized groups for the dressers. You don't hear the term dresser among Harley folks these days. Now it's Ultras, Road Kings, and best of all, Road Glides - models that Harley seems to want to distinguish from each other among the Touring model of bikes. The couple told me that at one time the group had a membership consisting of up to 3000, but that had been whittled down to only around 400 or so, having been rendered almost obsolete upon the formation of HOG, the Harley Owners Group. Well, that, and the natural order of things, i.e., many of them have passed onto that great highway in the sky. I guess Herm wasn't so disgusting after all, for they gave me a card and invited me to check into membership in the organization. Had I known of this group before I could have officially hit two Touring model rallies in one trip, the first where I was one of the oldest, the second where I would have been one of the youngest. Opportunities lost. I thanked them and set off on my Day 14 quest.
It was relatively cool in Pikeville, meaning it was something less than the temperature on the surface of the sun. I put on my Deadwood Harley hoodie and hit the road. Beatrice guided us in the direction toward Tennessee and the Carolinas and soon we were back on the twisty, turny highway. However, I was now rested and it was once again great fun to buzz throughout the curves. The scene was very strange, though. Wispy clouds hung among the mountains and in the valleys, creating an eerie, ghostly effect.
Herm, Sigourney, Beatrice and I cruised down Country Music Highway, named so, I decided, in honor of all of the people along the highway who so closely resembled Conway Twitty. Present day Conway, that is. As did the women. It seemed inappropriate as my speakers blared out AC/DC. So I cranked it up even more. In no time we crossed into Tennessee. And in no time after that, North Carolina. And right after that, South Carolina. States were falling like Rupert Murdoch newspapers. Into Georgia we cruised, where Beatrice took me right through the heart of Atlanta. Past the campus of Georgia Tech University, the Olympic Flame, and the Coca-Cola headquarters, providers of my pending comfortable retirement. Traffic was reasonable, the weather was great, and the roads were superb. Until we got south of Atlanta, that is. That's when things got a little busy as I spent more than a little time dodging shredded tire shrapnel. Apparently the road surface in this area is a little rougher than other areas we had covered previously. Large and small chunks of rubber were everywhere. It looked like Richard Childress had invaded Kyle Bush's garage area (note: if you are not a NASCAR fan don't try to understand that last part, but trust me, it's really funny).
As we crossed the border into Alabama, we were welcomed with a sign proclaiming the state as "Alabama the Beautiful." And I had to agree. There's something about Alabama that's just really pretty. The roads are pretty, the signs are pretty, even the factories are pretty. And, oh, the license plates. The states of South Carolina and Alabama without doubt lead the nation in special interest license plates, but Alabama has to take the cake. They're like snow flakes, no two are alike. There are Wild Turkey Foundation plates. There are "Save the Saturn V" plates, and there are "Sons of Confederate Veterans" plates. If there's a special interest, Alabama has a plate for it. I think I even saw a "Polka Dot Unicorn" special interest plate. Police don't need a license number, all they need is the special interest. I've never seen anything like it.
It was getting late, and I tried to see if I could make it into Florida. That would give me six states in one day, a record performance. To my great surprise and good fortune I passed into the Central Time Zone. Hey, another hour! I decided I could make Florida - Pensacola. The Redneck Riviera. Before I knew it, Florida, and hundreds more shredded tires passed under Herm's wheels. I rolled into Pensacola, and promptly got lost. Beatrice guided me to a hotel in the downtown area. I rolled up to see if a room was available. I was lucky, there were several available. The clerk gave me directions to the room, and I got back on the bike, heading for the room. And once again got lost. I rolled right past the entire hotel complex. I was prevented from taking the next turn toward the hotel, because it was a one-way road. So I went to the next road, which was a one-way in the desire direction. My first attempt to turn back toward the hotel was thwarted by another wrong-direction one-way. The next intersection turned me in the direction away from the hotel. Lost again. If I had only dropped bread crumbs. I summoned Beatrice again, and she cooly guided me through the maze of one-way streets and in a few hours I was back at the hotel. I decided to just park Herm at the office and walk to the room.
Unusual things seen on the road today:
- A Trans-Am, Smokey and the Bandit vintage, with "Antique Car" license plates. That was my first new car - am I that old?
- A two-horse team pulling a man on a buggy - in the median of a four-lane highway
- A hearse speeding by me at an estimated 80 mph - who knew they went that fast?
Unusual city names seen on the road today:
- Big Otter
- Bat Cave
- Fair Play
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