Alabama To Michigan

[Gadzooks Mike]

Mike’s Excellent Adventure – Trip Report

Before the actual trip started, there was lots of planning and asking questions. I had plotted a route from Alabama to Michigan via two-lane roads, or maybe I should say non-interstate roads, as some of the roads do become four lanes wide in some cities. I wore an armored mesh jacket that had with it a removable PVC rain liner, batting gloves with leather palms and fine mesh backs, jeans, chukka boots and helmet. And sunscreen for the neck and arms, as there was no sun protection through the mesh.

I started out heading from Opelika, Alabama north on highway 431. This is just a nice, pleasant drive, and one I have done several times in the past year. There are several small towns, a lake, a few farms, and a lot of woods to see. Flat with a few nice curves to break it all up. I hit highway 9 and took it to Centre, Alabama, took 176 to Ft. Payne, and then 117 to Tennessee. This northern part, from Centre on, is in the Appalachian mountains and was very, very beautiful. Many curves, up and down the hills, back and forth, and a few switchbacks so tight that I could actually see myself turning the corner in front of me. No kidding!

The southern part of Tennessee is the same as northern Alabama, with lots of mountain roads interspersed with small towns. Highway 117 in Alabama turns into highway 56 in Tennessee and I stayed on it all the way to Celina, where I switched to highway 53 to Kentucky. I should also mention that Tennessee has a stretch of mountain road that has a sign that says “Warning – bears.” With turns that tight, I’m glad I didn’t see one, as I wouldn’t have been able to turn around fast enough!

I need to make a short note here about my first night’s lodging. When you travel two-lane roads, the “nice” motels are where you cross the interstates. You just don’t find Comfort Suites and Holiday Inns along these roads. Anyway, I stayed the first night at a place called the Highway 56 Motel, which is south of Gainsboro, TN. As I pulled up, an older gentleman walked over and looked at me, looked at the bike, and said, “Can I ride your bike?” and then laughed. I said, “Sure, as long as I can have a room for the night.” His daughter runs the motel, but was busy, so he and his wife checked me in, made me a basket with coffee cups, coffee and filters for the coffee maker, and just made me feel right at home. There was also a nifty little drive-through next door that made some terrific spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. That was the special that night. They also had chicken, hot dogs, and hamburgers on the menu. Anyway, I stayed in quite a few small motels and such, but I will definitely recommend the Highway 56 Motel. These were just super folks!

Back to the trip – I left the Highway 56 Motel early in the morning, about 6am. This was probably a mistake, as I was heading for more mountains and it was very foggy and misty. And it stayed that way most of the morning. Driving through the mountains was beautiful, but I had to keep a small towel handy to wipe off the face shield every few minutes. I wore rain gear most of the day, although there was very little rain. The air was just thick with humidity and fog. Nice views, lousy weather.

Highway 53 turned into highway 61 in Kentucky, which runs into highway 55. I stayed on 55 though Kentucky, and again, saw some beautiful country. Less mountainous, more hilly farm country, with a few goats walking down the road to make things interesting.

Another little side step here to tell you what I was seeing. Every town, and I mean EVERY town, had flags flying. If the town was nothing more than a gas station and two houses, there were at least half a dozen flags flying. Many houses had red, white, and blue bunting on the porches, and the people were friendly. Very friendly. One guy, about 65 or so, asked me where I was heading, talked for a bit, and explained how that was something that always interested him – and he hadn’t done it. Never owned a bike but always thought about it. He said that I was living his dream. I met quite a few people who just wanted to talk and were interested in doing just what I was doing.

Oh yes, food. Food is very important to me. I stopped at nothing but local restaurants. No chains. Try it when you go out – get some home cooking, and you’ll be glad you did! And you’ll get a chance to meet some of those folks that I did, as well.

I road 55 up to the Ohio river, and crossed into Indiana over the Markland Locks and Dam, then followed the river up to highway 1. What a spectacular view! Barges moving slowly along the river, a few sport boats passing them by, and ever a few water skiers to boot! Here and there a farm next to the river – made me miss the north country for awhile and I was a bit homesick. I couldn’t wait to get to Michigan! I also was now getting used to the smell of skunks again. We don’t seem to have them down south, and although they can be strong, I’ve always thought they smelled good from a distance. Yeah, I might be considered quirky in some circles. But they use skunk scent to make perfume, right?

Just a short time through Indiana and then pushed into Ohio. From hog farms in northern Kentucky to cattle farms and corn fields in Ohio. More different smells and the rolling hills flattened out as I moved north. Corn, wheat, and hay fields, all square, with the roads turning at 90 degree angles between the fields. They patch the roads with tar, or something real similar, and there is NO traction at all on those patches. If you travel Ohio roads, be careful of this!! Those tar patches are just like ice. Oh, and watch for deer. They graze along side the roads and will dart out in front of you. I didn’t have any problems with them, but talked to several bikers who had.

I got on highway 127 and followed it all the way to Michigan. Again, it was very pleasant. Not a lot of traffic, just locals, and as I found most of the way, groups of bikers doing what I was doing – traveling around and enjoying themselves. I saw quite a few trikes on this trip, too, which surprised me. They seem to be more popular now than they used to be. Nearly everyone gave me a low five in greeting and through this whole trip I always felt like there was a friend nearby because of that.

Soon enough I made it to Michigan, land of no road signs. I’m not kidding. I had a map that directed me to certain roads. There were roads, but no signs. Pretty country, but pretty baffling. I had to stop and ask directions many times, and even got lost on the way to Hell. I did find Hell finally, but the road to Hell is NOT paved with good intentions. It’s paved with very poor blacktop with many potholes. I bought a few over priced gifts at the Hell gift shop (there is cold beer and ice cream in Hell!) and hit the road again.

I said that Michigan is the “Land Without Road Signs”. That’s not altogether true. Although lacking in signs, they do have a few. Ah yes. So here I am looking for Fenton Road. It goes to the town of Fenton, Michigan. It’s called Fenton Road. I can’t find it after driving around the city for nearly 20 minutes. So I stop and ask. Oh, says the guy, it’s called Leroy for the first two miles. Huh? Fenton Road is called Leroy? Well, why not? And that’s how that part of the trip went. I finally got to a spot that I had traveled many times before and didn’t need directions. And closed in on Davison, Michigan and finally, after three days on the road, pulled into my sister’s driveway.

We went to a Tiger’s game, but they lost. Bummer. On the other hand, I spent some time at the ball park with family. How bad could it be? My niece’s softball team won the championship, she got a trophy, and my brother-in-law’s trotter came in second by a nose in the sulky race. The week went by too quickly, for sure.

The trip back was mostly the same for nearly two days. I had planned to peel off the route and head east in Tennessee to see my friends who live near Newport. I hit some rain, not heavy, just a drizzle, but after the trip north, I knew it could get miserable. Fortunately, there was a picnic area just off the road and I pulled in. This is where stupid hit. I parked next to a twin pine tree – where two trees had grown together at the bottom and branched off as they grew. It was on a slope, so that the left side of the bike was up hill. When I put the kickstand down, the bike was nearly upright. I knew this was a bad thing and for some reason, figured it was be fine. I’ll tell you right now, do NOT ignore your first instinct. Never ever.

I got off the bike and pulled out my plastic rain sheet. I tied it off with bungee cords on the handlebars in front and the sissy bar in back. Then I unzipped the tank bag and got out the phone so I could call my wife and check in, since I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a bit anyway. Then I got on the bike. Sort of. I had two small duffle bags strapped across the passenger seat, so mounting and dismounting was a bit of a trick. To mount, I had to lift my right leg, then sort of jump up a bit on my left leg to get my right leg over the seat. Sometimes my right foot would touch the seat a bit. Like this time. Except this time, the bike was balanced upright. I got my foot nearly over when the bike fell. I had enough leg over the seat for it to send me down the hill doing two summersaults and spewing the contents of the tank bag over approximately five acres. Looking back, I realize that it couldn’t have been five acres and must have been closer to ten.

The bike got off pretty easy. The right handlebar weight was bent a bit, and I had some scratches on the right mirror and break handle. I guess they hit some stones that were around the area. The front fender has a small scrape at the front corner, too.

I was lucky, too, but it didn’t seem so while it was happening. I landed on my right side with my arm tucked under my ribs, which knocked the wind out of me and I couldn’t breathe for a bit. I also managed to hit my left forearm on something (the mirror?) but don’t remember it and didn’t realize it for a bit. Then it swelled up to twice its’ normal size and got really black and blue. It hurt a bit, but not at all as bad as my right side ribs.

I got off lucky with me and the bike. Two lessons – don’t park on a hill and listen to your first instinct. Oh yes, let’s toss in another lesson as well – all the gear, all the time. I believe that if it wasn’t for the armored jacket, I probably wouldn’t have faired as well. I may not have broken anything, but my arms would have been even more torn up and scraped, as there were quite a few rocks and stones in the area.

Because of this incident, I cut short my side trip to Newport and headed straight home. Even then, it took an extra day, as my arm and ribs were quite sore and I couldn’t ride as long each day as I had been. Up until this, I had been doing about 325 miles per day at a leisurely pace. I was now down to 200 or so, and it hurt, even though I hadn’t broken anything. And I missed a terrific pizza and root beer party and the fireworks with my buddies. All for a stupid thing.

So, I pulled back into my driveway on the 4th of July, having seen a tremendous amount of patriotic, small town, America. America the Beautiful. After she oohed and ahhed and told me not to do a stupid thing like parking on a hill again (yes, dear.) my wife asked me if I’d do it again.

Oh yes, you bet. Just not today. Maybe next week. I need a rest.

If you have a chance to take a trip, long or short, to go down a side road to a small town or pass through a country road – take it. You’ll be glad you did.

Man, what a ride. Man, what a country!

Gadzooks Mike