travellingbennetts

There was a reason for stopping in Boone, North Carolina on Days 37 to 40. Yes there was an appetite for Appalachian awesomeness. But the reason was 7/4, or everywhere besides the USA 4/7. This year the 4^th of July fell on a Friday so we were very nervous about travelling on what we expected to be a monster weekend. Cindy had planned well, we were in a hotel right on the edge of the strip – Walgreens, Walmart, Food Lion, and the full range of diners within easy walking distance. While talking about walking, it is an important subject to broach for the USA traveller. If you’re out there walking, you’ll be the only one, and if you aren’t sporting an activewear costume it is frankly embarrassing. They don’t give you a footpath. They seem to prefer you were struck by a huge pickup and your worthless vehicle-less stain of a body forever removed from the shirtfront of society. People we met admit it is a thing, the car is so ingrained that even if going 500m to get something, it’s straight in behind the wheel.

So plenty of time to do whatever. Motorcycle maintenance was covered, we were at the 10,000km mark and the service light had come on, but we’d called Harrisonburg Triumph to book them in, and that was only a day’s ride away. We had passed from the panic maintenance to the planned maintenance phase with the resultant calming of the farm. So let’s do a ride to Grandfather Mountain and adjacent coffee venues and do something nothing to do with shame walking or motorcycling – tubing. This isn’t inserting anything, you need to get your mind back on the job; it is floating down a river on an inflatable tube.

Moments of excitement verging on terror followed by ages of cruising along, tubing was a bit like adventure motorcycling. Although we could have towed cool beverages on a special esky tube, not easily done behind the motorcycle. After about 2  hours drifting we got out at the point the river was flowing fastest. Luckily a burly young chap grabbed us even though some made more of an effort to do it themselves than some pseudo-swooning others. Back into town, dinner, and then up early and ready for the big one, the 4^th of July parade. Which didn’t actually start until 11am so getting up early was pointless. The shops all being shut and everything dead turned out to be wrong, this is the USA after all, so even normal shops were still open. Off we went up to the main street before the appointed hour and found ourselves a spot in the shade. We were asked by locals: “Which way is the parade going this year?” That way we said, which turned out to be correct or 180° out as we pointed both ways. The parade started, and assumption is a wonderful thing. You know, the 4^th of July will be an expression of patriotism of a people who have zero doubt about what their country has achieved and can achieve. There is a lot of that, with lots of flag waving, but the surprise was the advertising. Many of the floats were “Cyril Smidken’s Tractor Outlet, come and see Cyril for your next tractor!”, with Cyril’s missus and kids in an enormous pick-up waving US flags. Of course, it is the middle of school holidays, so the expected primary school kids don’t appear – they are off in Maine at this time of year.

Right, that was easy. Back to the hotel and loiter about until sundown. As Queenslanders we live the fireworks dream, even on the summer solstice it is pitch dark at 7pm, but in Boone it was after 9:30pm. We’d discovered a secret viewing platform outside the hotel pool, so headed there with our special esky tube, and managed to get a seat. As per Part 4, a USA joy is that anyone can buy fireworks, as long as they have money. So lots of punters kept us amused with their surprisingly violent fireworks displays from their 1 bed 1 bath apartment windows, before the big boys took over.

Day 41 was getting back on. And onto the famous Blue Ridge Parkway. This is a bit like the Natchez Trace Parkway – not a great twisting motorcycling road but lots of great scenery and history. We learned a lot about fences, split rail and snake and a weird design that is actually really effective – the Buck Rail.

Down off the Blue Ridge and through Lynchburg, the target was a very notable Civil War town – Appomattox, where R.E. Lee finally ran out of options and surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia, effectively ending the war. We decided it was too late for the site, and headed into our B&B. There are always nerves with a B&B, they’re a bit like taking a pill given to you by a chap named Rogue at a music festival. B&B can mean anything from just a bed, and just a breakfast, to full on luxury with honesty drinks as per Mandeville Lose-e-anna. This one was interesting. Are you having dinner? Yes thank you, should we wander up to the servo to get some quality wines? No, we have a full selection. Righto. Cindy had the salmon, I had the beef. At time of writing, still the most fabulous meal we’ve had in the USA. And we discovered it was included in the B&B rate, no extra cost. But for every awesomeness there must be an anti-awesomeness, in this case it was the first B. King Single mattresses have extra width, making them a great option for older children, and rapidly growing teenagers. Fortunately, neither demographic was in there with us.

The answer to life, the universe, and everything – Day 42. Firstly out to the original town site of Appomattox, a bit north-east of the expanded town. This is a good site, with the old village including the McLean house chosen as the site of surrender on display.

Target for the day was Harrisonburg, not that far away, but it was important to avoid cities as it was still very warm. Sweating our way up through Scottsville, then Charlottesville, we hit the continuation of the Blue Ridge Parkway which goes through the Shenandoah National Park along Skyline Drive. This is 100 miles long but the speed limit is a maximum of 35mph – and in places 25mph due to recent “deer collisions”, so she’s a slow ol’ trundle. But plenty of spots to pull over and let the people who’ve decided 35mph is way too quick for their blood, only for them to pull over in the next spot then pull out just as you approach.

There are only two places to exit Skyline Drive, and we probably should have taken the first because dehydration had set in by the second. Still, we managed to make it into Harrisonburg without dying, and luckily the hotel let us check in early. This hotel was classic USA – a long way out of town along the servo – fast food – chain accommodation strip. Chosen for one reason, and one reason only, it was 400m from Triumph of Harrisonburg. Both bikes were due a service and Cindy’s rear needed a refresh. Why had we chosen Triumph of Harrisonburg on Day 43? For one reason, and one reason only, it was in roughly the right place for us. Then dumb luck came charging in – Triumph of Harrisonburg is one of the USA’s best. The staff are mainly current or ex-Motocross champions and mechanics, and the quality of work and attention to detail was only exceeded by their friendliness and wanting us to know how important we were. Their range was something I could have stared at all day, but Chris the service manager had both bikes serviced and out in very quick time. The icing on the cake was the manager Tyler insisting on giving us his details and to call whenever we needed advice or any help whatsoever. But the quality of work was so high that at time of writing I haven’t even needed to put air in the tires and we are nearly due another service.

Only disaster caused by the experience was that Bryce forced me to install Instagram to see their post on us and other interesting things. I’m now hooked on another social media platform, my third. After the service and a last longing look at the stock, into Harrisonburg to a craft brewery celebration. Our Uber driver was Jesus, can’t complain about anything.

Day 44 was 33. US-33 to be exact, a recommendation from Bryce. It was over the Allegheny Mountain, which is confusingly part of the Appalachians, but never mind, the roads were spectacular. This crossing into West Virginia was our luckiest border sign, we were held up at roadworks and were the last ones let through, so could stop, and we needed to in a dodgy spot because there was very little option.

Spectacular roads and a touch of Hatfield and McCoy were the feature of West Virginia. That rather messy dispute had actually occurred near the West Virginia – Kentucky border, not that far from where we’d been a few days before. A theory is that the McCoy’s had a genetic disease that caused anger, a bit like NCS. NCS is an example of the USA’s need to come up with weird diseases then give them a weird name and an acronym. The telly is fantastic – every station has pharmaceutical ads that follow the same basic formula – active person with treated condition, now involved in the community and smiling while handing out foodstuffs to the less fortunate, or just generally enjoying life on a bicycle or in the sea. The condition can be anything from light bladder leakage (LBL) to horrible skin disease (HSD), smoked a bit too much (SABTM), or bog-standard heart disease (BSHD). The ad then says your HSD can be treated by Scumeraza. But Scumeraza may cause suicidal thoughts and tendencies, and you should consult your health care provider (± your doctor) if you develop light bladder leakage, have an inflamed pancreas, start smoking a bit too much, develop a rash between the anus and genitals (all the pharmaceuticals in the US seem to pose this risk) and in a joyous leap into the ironic – a horrible skin disease. Don’t take Scumeraza if you have BSHD or liver problems or a slightly off-colour bowel movement. Anyway, back on topic, NCS is No Coffee Syndrome. May cause MA (murderous anger) or a rash. You know where.

Back into Virginia, we did some nice roads then tough interstate miles in bucketing rain into our destination, following the path of Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia to Gettysburg. This is truly the most visually obvious Civil War battlefield, with the key high ground features held by the Union forces from Round Top in the south following Cemetery Ridge to Culps Hill in the north easy to see from our table in the craft brewery.

Up on Day 45, some went to the Gettysburg battlefield centre while some were suffering from NCS and went into town to support the local caffeine establishment. The battlefield centre was excellent, again a movie with excellent detail on the before and during of the 3 day battle, then into the Cyclorama, painted in 1883 by the French artist Paul Philippoteaux. The 360° Cyclorama is amazing, depicting the disastrous Confederate Pickett’s charge on the third day. A bit like the Omaha beach scene in Saving Private Ryan, it shows the reality of the confusion and wreckage and horror of the battlefield.

Today was about east, avoiding cities and interstates quite successfully. Cruising along the Pennsylvania border with Maryland, we were eventually forced to cross. And then into state No.1 and our No.24: Delaware. This area was a bit scary, the states are packed in and there was some anxiety we’d miss one, but we ticked them off.

Rehoboth Beach on the Delaware coast was the destination. Going to the beach was completely undesirable, it was very hot. Let’s take a walk and get groceries. 6 lanes of traffic to cross, no pedestrian crossing, but we’ve been long enough in the US now to just go for it. Into the servo convenience store. Had some stuff but not all. Let’s go to Walmart. A deviation here to discuss Walmart, famous all over the world for being the “get anything” mega supermarket. Our first one back in Yucca Valley California had the lot and even an optometrist to fix Cindy’s broken specs. But there are Walmarts and UnterWalmarts. Sometimes you just can’t get a Walmart because of state laws, around 8 of the 48 don’t permit alcohol sales in supermarkets, very like Australia. But sometimes it is just an UnterWalmart for unknown reasons, and it will have very limited or no groceries, but heaps of frozen foods. And they are so big that it is quite hard to find stuff. So Walmart is no longer our go-to. But Crabby Dick’s next to the hotel certainly was.

Lewes and the ferry were planned for Day 46. It was still a bit humid but not as bad, so loitering about in our own lane with one other motorcyclist was tolerable especially as I got into a lengthy conversation with the policeman who makes sure security protocols are followed. In fact, this was the first time we’ve ever had to unpack the bikes and show what was in our bags. The ferry crosses Delaware Bay, and only takes about 90 minutes, and actually crosses the border halfway over. Hard to get a photo because there is no moored sign.

Cape May and state No.25. If you want to tick states off quickly, the north-east is the go, many are tiny up here, or skinny in one direction. Riding into NYC was never going to happen, so we’d found a place at Red Bank in New Jersey. But first I had to get to a place a little further north, to complete the project that had started back in Coffeyville Kansas, my visor. Into Cross Country Powersports in Metuchen, another bloody enormous motorcycle dealership, they had the biggest selection of Pinlock visor inserts imaginable. Ashley was the Pinlock insert expert, so using her skills my Pinlock was in and secure. She also had one for Cindy’s Schuberth helmet, so I watched carefully while she did mine as Cindy had gone straight to the hotel. No more fogging and having to open the visor in the bucketing rain to clear it now people.

As cityphobes one could validly question why we were in one of the most relentlessly populated regions in the US. The answer was to see just two of the relentless population, old mates Craig and Kathy from our 2017 African odyssey. Day 47 was off the bikes, and into Kathy’s Mini Cooper. Off to Point Pleasant on the Jersey Shore where Craig spent his summer holidays as a kid. Point Pleasant beach is just to the north of that weird style of coastline peculiar to the US east coast, a long narrow spit of sand separating the Atlantic from the mainland. Besides the joys of a whole day to remind each other of the funny and stupid things we’d done in Africa, it was a nice place to wander about. Craig even convinced us that we had to play Skee-Ball. What on earth is Skee-Ball? It’s Skee-Ball says Craig, at a loss to come up with a way to make it obvious to the foreigners. OK, but let’s start in our comfort zone – motorcycle racing.

Skee-Ball turned out to be running a ball up a ramp and trying to get it into a hole with big points. After the game, a roll of tickets comes out with the value of your points. Some people in the arcade are sitting in a mountain of tickets in their quest for a giant stuffed flamingo. I was happy with a bouncy ball and a toy skateboard for Cindy. Besides the fun, the beaches in NJ are interesting. Companies lease the beach from the state, so you can’t just wander on and have a swim. Unless you’ve paid $15, and only between 9:30am and 5:30pm, weather permitting. Some things about Australia are still very good. Dinner at another very nice seafood restaurant, and the wonderful day was done. Hoping the next one won’t be so long away.

These vagabond shoes weren’t longing to stray right through the very heart of it – New York, New York. But they did want to see a Broadway show and that’s hard to do outside Manhattan. So Day 48 was into an Uber then onto the train to Penn Station. Yes we went into our 26^th state but it didn’t count as trains are not an approved form of motorcycling. Penn Station is in 34^th Street, the Broadway theatre district is in 49^th Street. So 15 blocks, and Times Square sucked us in like a Dyson Black Hole.

The show was The Book of Mormon, still running after its Broadway debut in March 2011. We’ve seen it twice before but seeing these things on Broadway is always next level. No wonder it is the highest grossing musical in history, it is hysterically funny from start to finish. Even with the long train rides and late return to the hotel it was another great fun day.

Anyway, back to motorcycling reality on Day 49. An addition to that reality starting in New Jersey was toll roads. We’d done some research on this and someone on the Horizons Unlimited chat had summed it up for another foreign traveller on their own bike – how are they going to send you a toll invoice or a fine? So the QLD number plates happily sailed through the EZPass lanes as we took a long detour west and way north avoiding NYC and Newark. It did allow an official New York state border crossing, but the sign was on a 75mph road and appeared suddenly, so was probably the most dangerous one we’ve done, and only I could stop without dying. Never mind, got it and continued the ride east from Fishkill. This area wasn’t about the accidental or deliberate deaths of fish or cats or other things, it was inhabited by the Dutch back in the olden days and kill is a creek. It’s still funny when thinking about the Catskill though, hold on maybe it means the skill a cat has, can’t think of any off-hand except destroying fabric covered furniture. Now you have a flavour for the sort of things that run through the mind when the riding isn’t particularly inspirational. Out of NY and into Connecticut, the day had been a real slog with endless built-up areas and crowded interstates and the ever-present high humidity. We were nearly at our destination of Old Saysbrook and decided to stop in the pretty little town of Chester. After being unable to convince the café lady that an iced coffee is like a billion times better with vanilla ice-cream in it, we decided to check out the ferry. This area is not inhabited by people below the poverty line, there was a Ferrari parked in front of us in the queue with the number plate PHONE 1 and a Porsche pulled in behind. Onto the ferry and another feature of the area came to light – people were very interested in us. This works well, because the inevitable result is getting local knowledge on what to avoid and what to see. One very nice chap insisted we must do the Joshuatown Road down to Old Saysbrook, and it turned the day around.

Old Saysbrook achieved, we had the weekly drama of Sunday evening dining. I went off to the Walmart, which turned out to be an UnterWalmart, but luckily found a Stop ’n Shop which filled all the breakfast needs. Tragically it wasn’t until I’d got back to the hotel that we discovered the excellent looking restaurant over the road was shut on Sundays, so Uber Eats and an Uber small box of red perfectly paired with our Tater Tots, our first ever grog delivery.

Day 50. Another 2 states planned. But first some rolling through Connecticut along the coast, which was a little less busy than back there over the Connecticut River. We were still attracting attention, a quick stop for coffee at a very nice little café ended up taking a long time chatting to a few nice locals. They appear way more into boats than motorcycles in this part of the world.

Rhode Island was the only state we crossed without stopping, it isn’t even 100km across, and there just wasn’t a need to pull up. Keep on going into Massachusetts, the hardest state in the nation to spell. We kept heading east to get to Plymouth, site of the separatist Puritans landing in 1620. Lobbing up to take a look at the rock, free parking was very hard to find, so we applied the EZPass philosophy – if a parking inspector sees the bikes, what can they do? Nothing! Ha ha! Or maybe apply clamps or something, OMG, maybe we’d better be quick.

We wandered along to Plymouth Rock, which has a history a bit like many of the religious spots in Jerusalem. Plymouth Rock was never mentioned until 124 years after the landing, got broken trying to move it, and has been relocated many times. A bit like the birthplace of Jesus in Bethlehem, although that was like 300 years later, it seems like a Real Estate agent somehow got involved and then it just suddenly was, it was a huge moment so we must put it somewhere, what about there? A big moment while staring at the small rock was hearing an accent, like us making some quiet jokes about the rock. Gidday. Gidday. A lot of stories and laughs with fellow countrypeoples later, we decided we’d better get back to the bikes in case they’d been clamped.

The final challenge of the day was getting through Boston with very slow and sweaty riding, before moving north through Salem and into our destination, Bev. The full name is of course Beverly, but we’d just seen our first Australians since Memphis so needed to be respectful. To quote The Book of Mormon, tomorrow is a latter day, and it starts in a very interesting place: Salem.

Here’s the map, we had awful Wi-fi so it looks like the Exxon Valdez making its way up every little kill: