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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Text only for now, I’m a bit off the grid, use your imagination and then add some. I’ll edit in the pictures once I’m closer to an irradiation tower or military grade WiFi.
Thanks to Brendan for pointing out that I should check the tyre pressures, they were high and I headed over to Walmart to pick up a digital gauge and pump, and spare tail light bulbs and some arthritis painkillers that I thought might help my hips. I also fitted the tank bag and relocated my tools and spares into it. The handling seems more stable now.
Deliberately I left the hotel at kicking out time, the weather radar had the rain clearing and I wanted dry roads for today’s adventure. Google maps didn’t want to play along, who could blame it, its algorithms finely tuned for the fastest or most economical route, I was an outlier in a data world. It took four waypoints to finally persuade it to get with the plan.
Blow me! Did it blow, from when I left Joe Paparo in West Lancaster, across the long span over the Susquehanna River and through York the wind blasted me, at times pushing the bike sideways a couple of feet. The sun shone but it was cold and uncomfortable, it took 58 minutes (not 59) for a cramp in my leg to demand a stop at a pizza shop, thankfully closed, to stretch and put on more layers.
Gettysburg was historic and a little spooky, monuments to the dead, cannons to show how they died, odd wooden fences that funnelled them to their deaths and re-enactors dressed up to show how they looked before they died. Nothing very civil about war.
Donald drove me in to the diner this morning, I drove myself back.
Donald was economical with his words, I am not so inclined, if you prefer Donald stop now, you know what you need too.
The diner crew were in residence and I was flattered that I no longer need to say “I’ll just have a coffee” my habits are known. It was tipping down as I arrived and that was some concern to me because my motorcycle lift is situated next to a blocked drain that doesn’t. Joe had bought a couple of Gazebo’s to erect outside covering the bikes that need to be displaced for any activity to happen in the workshop. We put them up to cover the eight or so bikes moved outside. I used a snow shovel to displace the standing water before it breached the threshold into the workshop and set about fitting the new spring and replacement gears.
It made much more sense for me to request that Roland overnighted me the gear that he had found, but where’s the fun and adventure in that? I rose with the larks, or oversized robins that pass for larks around here and bade farewell to the my landscaping friend Francisco, not before he could cadge a roll up.
Nikki, a young mum with a down to earth plan to raise her kids then buy an RV and see the country, drove me in to announce my plans to Joe and the diner boys. Joe, Ben “lock her up”, Bob who is over 90 and John were there. John has a great story of how he was keeping a 1968 Triumph to eventually build when he retired and his son approached him saying that a friend wanted to buy it so he let it go. Some time later, probably years, his son invited him around and showed him the restored bike and told him it was for him. Car SOS watch out! That stuff always gets me welled up.
Le Mans man 