Daytona Bike Week

Who knows what motivates people do things?   Logically, it was foolish, given the fact that early morning temperatures had been hitting in the 30° range.  Too, a decision was rendered from a conversation happening four days earlier that caused Gary (brother-in-law) and I to plan a last minute motorcycle trip  to Bike Week in Daytona, Florida.  Neither of us are big crowd people but the idea of a long ride was certainly intriguing.

Figuring hotels would be non-existent at that late date, we reserved some "Kabins" at a couple of KOA Kampgrounds.

So, with bikes packed up, we fired up on at sunrise Thursday morning, cut through the swamps and by the time we arrived at the Hammond, Louisiana exit, our hands were burning with cold.   After warming up with a cup of coffee, we continued on east into Mississippi where we stopped often for thawing and a nicotine break for Gary.  Each time we stopped, we would meet other riders headed to the same event.  At one stop, we met a guy whose enthusiasm for a week in Daytona was really overflowing.  We chatted with him a while and as we left, he handed us a business card with his name on it (bikers seem to be getting into business cards these days) and told if we wanted to party and hook up, to look for him.  He'd be wearing a furry white helmet with horns on it......oh yeah, I'll be looking (out) for him for sure.

The first day was somewhat uneventful and we arrived at our reserved KOA Kampground near Chattahoochee, Florida.  Certainly, not the Hilton but it beats having to throw up a tent then take it down and pack it back up if it's wet the next morning.

The next morning, we hit the road early again with temperatures still hardly any better in the early hours.  At a rest stop east of Tallahassee, we stopped for a break where Gary leaned up against his bike and it fell over.  Picking it up, we discovered he had broken a bolt on the right rear shock. It was absolutely nothing to do with maintenance error but just one of those times when road stress took it's toll.  His bike is much younger than mine with less road miles on it.

  We thought about riding on to a repair shop but the tire was rubbing the fender, so now he was immobile.  We had packed open end wrenches, socket sets, screwdrivers, Allen wrenches and even 8 point star sockets.  We had enough tools to overhaul a bike but we needed one thing......we needed a drill to remove the broken stub of the bolt.

Not knowing where any parts or hardware store was located, I began roaming the countryside until I located one in Monticello.  There, I bought a rechargeable drill and bargained with the store to charge it up for me while I went back to find Gary and determine what size bolt we would need.  I took the broken part out and headed back to the Ace Hardware where I retrieved the charged up drill and a couple of grade 8 bolts and some reverse drill bits.

Anyway, after getting back to Gary at the rest stop, where he drilled out the broken stud, we were on the road within 45 minutes and arrived in St. Augustine before dark.

Saturday morning we made the short ride down to Daytona.  As we expected, the road was full of bikes headed that way.  Arriving in Daytona, Main Street was already lined with bikes with no place to park unless we wanted to shell out $7 for the privilege.  We rode around a  couple of times before heading out to the interstate to Bruce Rossmeyer's Harley dealership, arguably the largest in the world.  It along with satellite stores selling anything from leather to Triumph Motorcycles covered acres. 

Back behind that, J & P Cycles has one of their only two brick and mortar stores.  To some, J & P is the holy of holies when it comes to motorcycle parts stores.  You could literally build your own bike from parts out of that store.  All this represented a bigger attraction than the downtown event. 

While Daytona Bike Week is not as wild and crazy as Sturgis, it does have it's sights and curiosities.  One major difference between the two is the type of biker they attract.  While Harley riders are the dominant group, Daytona pulls in the metric rider crowd, with Hondas, Yamahas and Kawasakis. 

It only took a day of these maddening crowds to make us consider

getting back home.  Originally, we had planned on taking two days but checking the weather conditions, we saw a line of thunderstorms and a cold front with it that made us think that a 13 hour ride was a doable thing.

With that in mind, we rode and rode and rode, arriving back home about 9:00 p.m. that night, tired and saddle sore from the experience.  I'm thinking around 680 miles that day.

We even forgot to buy a T-shirt.

I'm in Vidalia (Natchez)

No, not that Vidalia, the onion place, that's in Georgia.  I'm in Vidalia, Louisiana across the river from Natchez, Missippy (that's how they pronounce it).  There isn't a whole lot going on for this Vidalia except a couple of pawn shops, gas stations and fast food outlets. The hottest thing going on for Vidalia is the bridge taking you over the Mississippi River to Natchez where you can find a river boat casino and tons of beautiful antebellum homes, some of which date back the 1830s.

As for food, it's a gosh awful mix of overly fried foods, poor presentation and so-so country style cooking.  One exception I enjoy is Fat Mama's Tamales.  I don't know why, I just do.  I've been going there since it was in the old log house on Canal Street they moved from a couple of years ago.  Fat Mama's is the kind of joint that's not what I would consider a traditional Mexican or even a TexMex place.  Maybe it's MissTex or MissLaTex.  Whatever it is, you'll find the signature dish is tamales, served up in styrofoam plates and eaten on plastic tablecloths. Everything centers around the tamale whether it's a taco salad, gringo pie or chili, it's all the same meat. The only thing else on the menu that isn't linked to the tamale meat is the poboys and boudin but since I've never tried those entrees, they very well could be made from the same stuff.  Any way you look at it, it's popular with locals and travelers alike

The architecture is well preserved which makes this city just gush with quaintness.  Each year there are a couple of pilgrimages that bring people in from all parts of the country where they pay to tour the old historic homes and ride through the streets in horse drawn carriages.

It is a mix of old, new and whimsical, often bordering on political incorrectness for which I definitely approve.

Over the years, I've been through here several times but rarely had the time to just drive around and soak it all in.  Aside from the horrid food fare, it really is a special place reeking of history.

Just a couple hours north of Baton Rouge, it's a great drive up a 4 lane highway.  Years ago, before the widening and 4 lanes, it was a treacherous trip that we all dreaded but when we saw Mammy's Cupboard, we knew most of the ordeal was over.  That's one part of the "good old days" I'm glad is over.

A push barge travels upstream under the bridge

 

Night shot of the bridge from the Vidalia side

An odd display at the end of Canal Street, Natchez

The Petrie House

Abandoned Natchez Shotgun Rowhouses

Inside Fat Mama's Tamales

Home again

Doing a fast exit from Waverly, Tennessee, I am home without and temporarily out of an assignment for which grateful.

This gives me a little time to catch up on a few things, so with the help from Gary, my brother-in-law, we put the boat port/garage in good order, hung a couple of shelves and sorted things out so we could at least walk through it without stumbling over a box or crate of motorcycle parts left over from the move back in August.

The best part was installing a pair of external oil coolers on Boudreaux.  Hopefully, this will keep it from completely melting down in the event of a really warm ride this summer.

Those things accomplished, I had a little time to do some much needed chrome polishing. 

It probably won't be long before I'll be exchanging the Harley for a Boeing so I'll probably be on it as much as possible for the next few days.

The Honda Guy

Since I've been in Waverly, Tennessee, most days have been rather disagreeable. My feet feel like they haven't thawed since I was home a couple weeks ago.  It's either been raining and cold or snowing and cold, except for the 2 or 3 days this past weekend that was in the 60s and rained in biblical proportions.

Today, as I broke for lunch at McDonalds, they had spread salt on the sidewalk to prevent slipping.  In the parking spot next to the door was a Honda motorcycle which I had seen in that same spot countless number of times.  Thinking to myself, this guy is tough if he's riding in 20 degree weather with ice, snow and rain.  You have to admire him.

Going inside, I made my order at the counter to the young lady and put up with the usual questions.

"Welcome to McDonalds, Sir! How can I help you?"

"I'd like a Grilled Chicken Caesar salad and a medium iced tea."

"And what kind of dressing would you like on that, sir?"

"Uh......................Caesar?"

Paying her the $7.01 for the salad and drink, I looked around.  There he was.  The lone Honda rider sitting at a table hammering away on his laptop with his helmet on one chair and a thick jacket draped over another.

Retrieving my salad and drink from the counter, I maneuvered myself to another table in sight of Mr. Honda Man.

I noticed 3 or 4 other patrons who had walked in, some wearing Harley-Davidson caps and shirts, none of which were on motorcycles but proudly displayed their affection for  Harley-Davidsons while unapologetically riding in their warm pick-up trucks with Harley stickers on the back glass.

Now, we have the one lone Honda guy, riding to Mickey D's in the cold and wet with Harley guys riding in trucks and cars.  What do you think that tells you about Harley riders?

It tells me they are not dumb enough to be riding in 28° weather on slick roads and smart enough to stay warm when possible. That's what it tells me.

Wasting away in Middle Tennessee

Having a break from the 20 and 30° temperatures and now in the mid sixties, brought lots of rain along the I-40 corridor in middle Tennessee.  Being literally 40 miles from a town of any proportions that would have any restaurant of acclaim, I stopped in at the Hot Spot Barbeque for dinner.

If you get past the idea that you're stuck out in the middle of nothing, you begin to look around at the curiosities and odd little things that the locals do.  Here at the Hot Spot, you're confronted with a collection of corny gun and Harley Davidson signs (although there is no evidence this is a biker place), handwritten menus on the walls, plastic table cloths and..........9 pound turnips.

At first I thought it was fake but the owner soon confirmed it was the real deal  The 11 pound sweet potato behind was an added benefit.  I was amused and almost brought to tears at times as the locals bantered with the owner and kidded the two 70ish something waitresses about wearing sexier clothing.  Can you imagine Granny Clampett wearing skinny jeans?  Me neither.

Saturday, I had to get out of the hotel so I took a ride through Bucksnort, heading south through small back roads that sometimes became dirt roads where deer, turkey and rabbits abound.   I think I saw 6 deer in various places, 5 of which did not have a tire track across their bodies.

Looking down at my instrument gauge, I saw that I had a very low tire so I began to seek out a service station with an air pump.  Stopping at a small convenience store near Ethridge, I was amazed to see an Amish looking buggy pulling up.  Sure enough, two young men dressed in traditional Amish attire got out and went into the store.  Later, after checking the internet,  I found out there is a small enclave of Amish in middle Tennessee.  As one website says, it's in no danger of out populating Lancaster, Pennsylvania or Holmes County, Ohio but there is a presence as well as a few in Alabama and maybe even in Oklahoma.





Amish with a southern accent.  Who knew?

The winter blahs

Wow, this winter has been one of the more uneventful ones for me in quite a while.  Maybe that's good but really leaves me not much to write about, let alone, take a picture of.

Let's see, since Michigan, I've had a short stay in Kaufman/Mesquite, Texas, a week and a ½ in Moss Bluff/Lake Charles, a couple of weeks in Grenada, Missippy (that's the way it's pronounced there) and the week before Christmas, I was sent to Buggtussel, Tennessee. Actually, it's Waverly, a little burg in north central Tennessee and a very long drive from Memphis, especially when it's snowing and cold.

I'm guessing it will be a fairly short stint or at least that's what I'm hoping for.  Aside from being about 7 miles north of  Loretta Lynn's Ranch, on the banks of the Hurricane Creek, there's not much I find noteworthy.  Possibly there may be to it during the spring and summer months.

An update may be forthcoming once I get out of the hotel for the weekend.

Update:  Saturday, 12/29/12.

I could not take sitting in this hotel room.  I've looked at motorcycle websites, cruised bike and camera forums, edited pictures and watched some of the most awful TV ever broadcasted, so I thought I'd check out some of the local towns nearby.

Gray and gloomy with a light snow falling, the drive through Bucksnort and Dickens just wasn't much of an inspiration.  I had heard Franklin was a nice spot so I took the new 4 lane down that way.

Franklin proved to be a very nice and vibrant downtown with trendy shops, coffee shops and even the old theater was still in business.  Even though it was in the low 30° ranges, people were out, some with friends, some with their little kids and some with designer dogs.

 After having a reasonable gumbo (who would have thought) at Papa Boudreaux's Cajun Restaurant, I headed back to the car and looked at a map.  I was only 30-35 mile from Nashville.  Oh, what the heck, I have nothing better to do.

Still, a light snow was falling when I arrived and parked near the Ryman Auditorium, the original home of the Grand Ole Opry and walked a few steps down to Legends Corner on Broadway.  I hadn't even made it to the corner before I was accosted by bums looking for a handout.  Sure, I'm a softy, it was cold and wet so I handed him a few bucks.  On Broadway, dodged a gaggle of other tourists with Canons and Nikons dangling from their necks.  Even with it cold and wet, there was a significant amount of foot traffic walking by the ever present mandolin or guitar picker, playing for tips.

Broadway still has quite a few bars, clubs and pubs on it but I can see how it is becoming Nashville's version of Bourbon Street.  Broadway has it's T-shirt and tourist traps like Bourbon but being what it is, there's also boot and hat shops.  The thing about those shops are, they still carry those  old pointy toed roach killers worn mostly by entertainers and are almost a cartoon of western wear.

So, having my fill of walking in the rain and snow, I took leave and made my way back to the parking garage  through a gauntlet of beggars and hustlers.

OK, the party's over

Over the past week, I've strained out a few days of vacation and really enjoyed myself.  It included a day at my grandson's school Grandparents Day, a motorcycle trip up to get my mother for Thanksgiving (she didn't ride the bike), a very nice Thanksgiving at my son's house and to top it off, a Sunday ride supposedly sponsored by the Harley dealership.  Well, it was on the website calendar.

My brother-in-law, Gary and I fired up Sunday morning and left the garage early in 32° temps.  Well bundled, we arrived at the and found another half-dozen bikes/bikers who had planned on doing the same thing.  However, there was no representative from Harley there so we discussed amongst ourselves what would be a proper ride.  Gary and I are not veterans of sponsored rides so we didn't interject much except to voice the opinion that we wanted to stay off the interstates as much as possible.  That was fairly unanimous.

There was this really vocal rider who was riding a pretty slick looking Road Glide and boasted that he had spent over a hundred grand at the dealership this year.  I understand a 110 cu Harley engine is a special and they cost out the yang to have one made, but heck, it didn't even have pontoons and a propeller.

Since he talked a lot and had a lot of gadgets, we decided to make him our leader.  A man spending 100 big ones on a motorcycle should have something to show for it.

We made a tour around Port Vincent, through French Settlement and across the Sunshine Bridge at Donaldsonville headed to Pierre Part.  Somehow, Dear Leader took the wrong turn and we found ourselves meandering the back streets of Napoleonville, touring a bunch of cane fields and eventually coming to a dead end at Lake Verrett at the Attakapas boat launch.

While it was fun laughing while Dear Leader whipped out his Magellan GPS trying to locate Pierre Part, it really wasn't that bad.  I knew where it was but I wasn't the leader and it wasn't in my job description.  After all, it wasn't about the destination, it was about the ride and it was good ....... plus, we got to see a lot of wildlife.

Abandoning our quest for Pierre Part, we made our way back over the Sunshine Bridge and located a restroom at a gas station.

After a few minutes a chatting, we shook hands, fired up and split in different directions.

My party is over and it's time to call in to the office to see what the friendly skies has in store for me.

Oak Alley

Since leaving Michigan, I took a quick tour through Kaufman, Texas and another couple of weeks in Moss Bluff, Louisiana.  Feeling a tad under the weather through both assignments, I simply just did not feel like going out on photo excursions.

However, my mother had not seen our new digs since we bought the new house in August, so I rode up on Boudreaux (the Harley-Davidson) Tuesday and drove her down in her new car for the Thanksgiving holiday.

Oh, I mentioned "new car" didn't I?  Well..... It seems that Mama failed to negotiate a narrow corner near her home last week, nailed a metal gate post and managed to knock the bumper completely off her 13 year old Chevrolet Lumina.  Neither Mama or the fence post on the corner suffered any damage but the cost to repair her car was more than it was worth, so she and my brother went on a car shopping spree and came up with a Chevy Malibu to replace it.

Not that it was a burden but when you have your Mama down, there is this innate drive to do your best to entertain her.  So, today I chose to drive her down the river road to Oak Alley.  Oak Alley is a historic plantation site dating back to 1840.  The trees that gave the plantation it's name were actually planted 100 years earlier by an unknown French settler.

Mama and I took the paid tour which turned out to be a really nice half day trip.  She and I both truly enjoyed hearing the history from the guide.  The giant Live Oak trees were spectacular and with rows of Crepe Myrtles and beds of Flocks, I'm sure it's even more lovely in the spring.

Here's a few pictures.

 

 

She will be 91, January 12, 2013.

Oh, dey pass a good time, yeah.

When I left the Grand Rapids airport, I was dressed in a leather jacket, wool pants and an Indiana Jones hat which was fitting and appropriate for the 30° western Michgan temperatures.  A few hours later, landing in Lafayette, Louisiana, it was evident that I was way overdressed in more ways than one.

With no particular plans, Darlene mentioned a festival in Girard Park, near the University of Louisiana at Lafayette.  "We're here, so we may as well go", was the agreement.

Lafayette isn't shy about having some kind of festival, party or fais do-do, so here we are with the Festivals Acadiens et Créoles featuring 50 Cajun and Zydeco bands.

The music was loud and plentiful which released the inhibitions of many, not that it took much encouragement as evidenced by the late morning crowd.   I'm sure it would become more "interesting" later in the day or early evening when the Budweiser and Abita beer took control.

Aside from the bands, we found rows of tents selling local artwork, trinkets and displays of handmade musical instruments.   No self respecting south Louisiana festival would be complete without the food tents.  Darlene and I feasted on boudin and cracklings, passing up the jambalaya, barbeque, poboys, fried alligator, funnel cakes and beignets.

After a couple of hours, we enjoyed about as much of the heat and humidity as we could stand in a pair of wool pants, so we made our way back home and left the party life to the creoles, cajuns and those who aspired to be.

It's vacation time for me next week, with no particular plans in mind but just cooling my jets and trying to get business off my mind.