Motel, road, gas, road, gas, road, motel. A rhythm emerges and I won’t bore you with the practicalities or pain of persuading old components, mechanical and biological across 362 miles of sun bleached wind blown highway. We both made it although the portion of my large nose that protrudes below my visor is now shedding its second skin.

“That’s your problem Timothy, you just don’t think” my mother would say after my latest mishap. She was right, of course, I don’t think, not in that organised safe, all outcomes considered, all risks evaluated way. I envisage a happy path or sometimes a sad one, often a little above achievable or below believable, and off I go. Bags on bike, gas in tank, cash in wallet, let’s rock! Impulsively swinging between optimism and pessimism. What was I thinking?

Continue reading “Day 18 Tornado Alley” →

I rose at 7, the fishermen had departed at 4 am and managed to hitch up their overpowering boats to their overpowered pick ups without recalling me from the land of Nod. Wandering around the corner to a gas station that I had spotted the night before, I was disappointed to find the shop closed and the pumps signed ‘card only’. I hate ‘card only’ because my English cards don’t work on account of not having a zip code to enter on the numeric key-pad at the opportune moment, sometimes they do not need a zip code but, as disappointment often offends, I avoid them like the plague. Instead I have to go into the shop, proffer a deposit greater than the expected tank full and then return for change having filled up. I kept walking, sure enough there was another around the corner, like London buses they cluster.

Continue reading “Day 17 Plain sailing Sunday” →

As I returned to my room last night around midnight a family of four were packing up and getting into their car complaining loudly about bed-bugs, I was not troubled, well perhaps a little by the prospect but not at all by the critters.

The morning and the outlook on the weather radar was ominous and made me glad I’d come further west. I delayed my departure in the hope that would help, perhaps it did.

Continue reading “Day 16 Radar love” →

I forgot, perhaps on purpose, to mention the road-kill, a fine variety, ground hogs, possums, squirrels, armadillos and yesterday, a man. Lying, rag-doll, between two police cars on the verge, he wasn’t going anywhere and the ambulance that came wasn’t in a hurry. I don’t know why this slipped my mind, perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of self preservation, perhaps I’m forgetful.

Continue reading “Day 15 Making tracks” →

I awoke to find that the tooth fairy had left me a present wrapped up outside.

It turned out not to be a new motorcycle so I left it there.

Continue reading “Day 14 Chased by the dragon” →

The Homestead Inn was a nice, safe place to wake up in. I made coffee and blagged some WiFi to feed you good people and record what my synapses will no longer persist. After a little light wrestling with WordPress, that insisted my updates had failed, please let me know if you see issues, I packed up and headed back to the ridgeway.

What a difference a day, and a night’s sleep, makes. My head was clearer and the nameless bike, I considered “Miss Daisy”, was running sweetly, she seems to like the thin air. The Blue Ridge Parkway gets more and more beautiful and higher as you go South/West. I make no apologies for the excessive panoramas, it is jaw-droppingly scenic, come here it is stunning.

Continue reading “Day 13 The end of the road” →

There was drama at the ‘Bates Motel’, I didn’t sleep well, trying to ignore my neighbour pleading with his recent ex on the phone to have him back, I dozed off into dreams of mechanical calamities. In the morning one of not so good not so old boys, that had wandered off into last night, was back with distressed tales of cruelty. The other was apparently locked up in the cells. As the story went the pair had departed to view a property that the jail bird allegedly owned however that still entailed climbing in through a window. There was further craziness as the erstwhile homeowner turned psycho resulting in the tearful survivor calling the cops having recorded some of the violent threats on his cellphone. He was genuinely distressed and I empathised even when some of the details, including the cops coming to the motel and knocking on every door, didn’t quite hang together. I packed and gave the key back to dressing gown lady.

Continue reading “Day 12 Where is my mind?” →