Dixie Biker

It was a rainy day and I was surfing on the web. As usual I perused the Dixie Biker website to see what local events were coming up. I pulled up an article titled, “Where Was I When Things Changed? Who Changed the Rules for Our Benefits, Runs, etc. And Wile E Coins a New, Improved Acronym” by Wile E. Mr. Wile E expounds on the selfishness of motorcycle enthusiasts that have been crashing biker events. As much as I like Wile E’s take on the topic, two things crossed my mind. First of all, this divisive attitude was the basis for the formation of the Brotherhood of One. Once we point out the wrong of one group, we create division and who among us without sin dare cast the first stone? If one likes or even loves hawgs, they are a motorcycle enthusiast. So what makes a biker, a biker?

What Makes A Biker?

What makes a person a biker,
is it something that you can see?
Is it something that can be acquired
or is it hereditary?
What makes a person a biker,
is it the leather that he wears?
Is it the kind of scooter he rides,
or the length of his hair?
What truly makes a biker
is what's inside the heart!
A love for freedom of the road,
with freedom being the best part!

Dwayne Bailey

If we agree with Dwayne Bailey in his poem titled, “What Makes A Biker?” then the lines are blurred and we are all more similar than different. But we clearly know that, as beautiful the notion of this poem suggests it is not the reality. The reality is it is what you see. It is the leather, the kind of scooter he rides and the length of his hair. It is tattoos, attitudes, reckless partying, and belonging to a group that looks and act alike; like it or not.

The second thought that occurred to me is that Wile E has been here the whole time. He has just awakened to the fact that this is the world we live in. His nemesis, the Motorcycle Enthusiasts are no more self-centered and thoughtless than any other American; yes, even bikers. In Wile E’s lifetime we have been conditioned to be self serving, thoughtless, spoiled, immature idiots. Our pursuit of our own ideal of our perfect world, as created in our own pathetic minds has weakened our families, our communities, our nation and our world. When a husband and wife cannot live together and must divorce because their own needs are not being met, how can we expect them to understand that we have been put on this earth to take care of one another? When our personal happiness takes precedence over our children’s, when we judge each other on the amount of chrome on our bike or the emblem on the tank, how can we expect to improve our community?

I applaud Wile E’s courage in making a statement. I agree with his perception and join his cause to assist the less fortunate in our community, but let’s not draw the lines too narrow. We are all the brotherhood of one.

Rough Waves

Bro’s, I went out for a ride to clear my head. I wasn’t particularly feeling like an asshole, but I was stressed and needed some seat time. It was a beautiful day as any day is here, and my eyes were on the road and my mind was in the moment. There were a lot, and I mean a lot of bikes on the road and as always, 9 out of 10 bikers that I passed waved. There have been many times when I’ve been out for a ride and returned many a wave; there have also been a few occasions that I have initiated the wave--but sometimes the wave is just too much. Sometimes I just want to ride to get away from it all, the further the better; it’s just that I have to ride through high traffic areas to get there. So let me apologize in advance for not waving, it is not my intent to be rude, only to separate myself from society...from the world.

Oh, I get the wave; I know the symbolism of the wave. I am not even saying that you shouldn’t continue to wave. We are brothers and sisters because we ride motorcycles; I don’t need a wave to appreciate you and honor you as a member of the brotherhood. I don’t think less of you for the type of bike you ride or whether you wave or don’t wave.

An Ol’ Dog Can

Can an old dog learn a new trick? You betcha. That’s because it’s a dog’s nature to live in the moment. A dog lives by its instinct and conditioning.

Ace woke up this morning and made a pot of coffee. He sat sipping a cup of the hot brew; black of course, looking out the window and the sun was shining down. The blue sky inspired him to saddle up his iron horse and go for a ride. He walked out to the garage and rolled out the shining beauty and fired up the rumbling beast. He rode out to the highway and looked north; the sky had an ominous dark hue of an impending storm. Ace wound the throttle back and headed south embarking on a beautiful ride out through the country. He rode out beyond the traffic on the rolling and twisting two-lane byways, among acres of pastures and stands of pine forests. He rode for a while. He rode through an area where it had been raining just moments before and the cool moisture spat at him from his tires and passing vehicles. Ace knew it might rain before he returned home and he didn’t care; it’s all part of the deal.

Too many times Ace has pulled up a barstool next to a black leather clad bro to have a cold beer and have had to listen to the bitching and moaning of pour riding conditions. He’s smart enough to know that if the ramblings weren’t anything more than mindless babble of a beer soaked brain, then the dude would have to apply considerable effort to think of something pleasant or meaningful to say. But the fact is we ride in the elements, so what. We ride to live in the moment, just like an ol’ dog. In Ace’s view we could learn a lesson across the board from that ol’ dog.

A Joy Ride

I got the call today, I didn't wanna hear
But I knew that it would come …
(Don Henley – Heart Of The Matter)

Actually, I am honored to get the call. I am being deployed through work to assist in the recovery of the flood victims in the Midwest. I’ll be gone for a few months so I jumped on the bike to enjoy what may be my last ride for a while. I usually ride with a windshield, but this time I wanted to go without it to feel every moment up close and in my face. Living and riding in Florida is an experience that we often take for granted. Nearly year round we can walk out, jump on the bike and go. Today was no exception, low 90’s, sunny with a slight sea breeze. I wasn’t a few hundred yards down the road and I was getting sand blasted from some fine grains zipping through the air. I could feel the temps radically change as I rode in and out of the shade along the water. I could smell the aromatic watery mixture of salt and algae in the air. I watched the reflection of the palm trees slip over the arced chrome top of my headlight. I drank in each moment to carry me over until I return home. Mission Accomplished!

Drunken Rider

I had an unusual encounter with a brother biker today. My wife and I were dining at a restaurant where this dude had been obviously over served. He was leaving as we were being seated. He went out and promptly laid down his bike twice in the wet parking lot. He was back on it and trying it again when we left and once again he laid it down leaving the parking lot. My wife and I knew we could not let him ride in good conscience, unlike the establishment that over served him (they stood and watched him through the windows). I walked up and tried to reason with him and offered him a ride home. I offered to call someone for him or pay for a cab ride home. He wouldn’t hear of it (of course, he was drunk!). He got the bike restarted and took off. He pulled out onto the main thoroughfare and rode off.

My question to you is, what would you have done? Call the cops? Physically stop him from riding? Any suggestions?

A Lost Weekend - Chapter 1

My friends were all busy this weekend with women and work. I decided to go for a ride and since I was going alone, I could take any road and ride as long as I wanted; it was an enticing thought. On Friday morning I put in a half a day for “the man” and then fired up the Harley Davidson and left the clubhouse around 11:30 am. As I rode out the thoughts of my weekend of freedom once again ran through my mind; ride where I want for as long as I want, stop where ever, eat when I’m hungry, drink when I’m thirsty. About ten minutes later I was thinking about eating and I laughed to myself, “Well, that didn’t take long.” I already knew where I was going to stop; Frog’s Bar-b-q in Williston. The other thought that had crossed my mind is that I live in a really nice and scenic place. I needed to take my time heading out of town and enjoy each moment and really set the tone for this trip. I noticed that as I rode through town, many folks in work trucks and minivans looking at me with a distant stare. I am pretty sure that having my luggage pack on the back of my hog stirred a longing for the freedom I was living; at least I’d like to think that.

Frog’s did not disappoint. The weather was fine too; no rain in the forecast and little white cotton ball clouds powdered a light blue sky. I rode to US 41 and turned north. Each mile, each turn of the road brought an incredible experience. God was smiling down on me as I was unencumbered by traffic; as a matter of fact I never really saw another vehicle in my mirrors and I had open road ahead of me 99% of the time. The road is smooth and the scenery is something to experience; live oaks draped in Spanish moss, pastures, planted farm fields, cabbage palms, and rows of slash pines. It’s a tapestry of green and gold against the blue and white sky.

I stopped in the quaint town of High Springs for fuel where 41 and 441 merge. Continuing north through Columbia County it was more of the same, just a great, enjoyable, stress free ride. A change in attitude was necessary getting into Lake City which is the county seat for Columbia County and is a pretty busy area. It was time to be more alert in navigating the city. It wouldn’t be the last time I wished I had planned some routes around some congested areas, but not having a plan is the price you pay and all in all wasn’t that bad. Next time I will find some county roads that take me out around those areas.

With Lake City disappearing in the mirrors I crossed under that concrete monster called I-10. How busy that highway is and how passive the byways are that run adjacent to it. North Florida is more “Southern” than the southern part of the state. It’s remote, it’s rural and a great place to ride. Not knowing what was ahead made this ride an adventure and I was not disappointed riding into White Springs. A little road weary, I wish I had stopped in White Springs but I was enjoying the scenery and the road. As you find with many small towns, you ride in and before you know it you’ve ridden out the other end. All of these places are little gems, jewels of America. White Springs is no exception where smooth black water has carved a twisting channel along high bluffs of moss covered oaks and lime rock cliffs.

I rolled into Jasper and was ready for a stop. As much as I love riding, there is nothing like an ice cold drink and a stretch of the legs after several hours of seat time. I met some nice folks there and I realized that I was probably about 15 miles from the Georgia boarder. It was 98 degrees on the bank clock in town that late afternoon, and I was starting to think about where to spend the night. I knew that I was maybe 30 miles from Valdosta Georgia and that seemed about right from that way I was feeling. I got back on 41 and rode the narrow road to the state line. I stopped to take a picture as a keepsake, a milestone in my travels. I was somewhat taken aback at how uneventful crossing the boarder was; just a sign on the edge of a country road. No welcome centers or tourist traps, no rest areas or big fancy signs like one might see on an interstate. If I thought 41 in North Florida was narrow, it was a asphalt ribbon in Georgia. Thankfully, as was the case with most of my ride this day, there were few other vehicles on the road. I was able to ride at my pace and enjoy the moment. I noticed how cool the air felt where scenic swamps lie sleepily on the sides of the road. What a great stretch of road.

I rolled into Valdosta and knew of a good hotel there. Unfortunately I had to drive through the center of the hot city during rush hour traffic but it was still pretty cool. It’s a nice southern city and you get a flavor of its history passing the courthouse with the statue of the confederate soldier watching over the traffic. I thought it appropriate to jump into a cool pool before hitting a shower and enjoying some hot wings, cold beers and Hooters girls.

A Lost Weekend - Chapter 2

After a “free” breakfast at the hotel I mounted my hog, gassed up and hit the road. My plan was to ride to Alabama. Why not, it was something to achieve. I was on 133 (N. St. Augustine Rd) but wanted to get to highway 84. Trying to stay off of the big interstates I found a nice road, James Rd. that ran along I-75. It dropped me right onto US 84; I turned right and was on my way. They call US 84 the Wiregrass Georgia Parkway and it is a divided 4 lane highway with a grassy median. Obviously 4 lanes aren’t quite as intimate as the two lane county roads, but this wasn’t a bad ride. You get a little bit of everything, curves, hills, rural stretches and plenty of scenic small towns. There was little traffic, much like the day before, and though the speed limit is 65 mph, I hovered most of the time around 60 mph and enjoyed the view. I went through some great little southern towns with plenty of amenities of hotels and restaurants; towns like the very picturesque Quitman, Thomasville, and Bainbridge. There are other smaller towns that if you take the time to pull off and explore, you can get a real sense of life in the south.

One such place that I pulled off in was Climax which caught my eye because of the name and the huge old metal and iron agricultural structure. It turns out that Climax was so named because it is the highest point on the railroad between Savannah, Ga., and the Chattahoochee River. The Climax Community Club hosts the Swine Time Festival (www.swinetimefestival.com) as I found out by noticing a sign painted on the side of a brick building. I took some time to cool off in the shade of an old store front and reapply some sunscreen.

Further on down the road I was just east of Donalsonville passing yet another peanut farm when a green sign of the Golden Peanut Company caught my eye. When I was a young boy in upstate New York, I sold peanuts door to door to finance my trip to Boy Scout summer camp. They were golden peanuts from the Golden Peanut Company and here I was, 35 years later, in the middle of nowhere looking back into my own history! How cool is that? It wasn’t long after that I was crossing the Chattahoochee River into Alabama.

A Lost Weekend - Chapter 3

US Highway 84 from Valdosta through South Georgia is a pretty nice ride. Where it crosses the Chattahoochee River into Alabama, the river has cut a deep gorge and there is a pretty cool railroad trestle that runs next to the highway bridge. I would have liked to get a picture of it, but with traffic it wasn’t safe to do so. One sign at the boarder states that Alabama is beautiful, but the surface of highway 84 isn’t; it’s a kidney jiggler. I was considering going on to Dothan and maybe spending the night, but it was too early, only about noon, and I was in no mood to ride much further on this road. I got to thinking that the further west I navigated the Harley, the further I am getting from turning to ride home. I passed a sign for 95 South so I U-turned and rolled into a gas station. I bought a cold Gatorade and asked for directions. They told me that if I took it south I would wind up on US 90, north of Tallahassee. I finished my drink and fired up the hog for another adventure.

I wasn’t 100 yards down the road and I knew I made a good choice. A smooth winding 2 lane that travels through woods before breaking out into some backwoods farm land and also runs along the Chattahoochee State Park where I stopped to take a few pictures. I crossed the Florida/Alabama state line and then Route 2 where 95 turned into Route 164. I got to the end of the road and guess what, I wasn’t at US 90. I took a guess and turned left and hoped that I’d come to a major, well marked road. After a few miles I could see some buildings coming into view. I passed a green sign indicating that I was in the town of Two Egg; yep, that’s right, Two Egg. Laughing to myself I thought, “Well, I guess I’m somewhere.” I pulled up to a storefront and took a picture. No one appeared to be manning the store and luckily I noticed a sign on the adjacent road for 69 South and I knew I wanted to go south so I followed it. It took me down to US 90 where I stopped to get gas. I checked my map and saw the 90 would take me through Tallahassee over to Monticello where I could get onto US 19 and head south; and that’s just what I did.

Riding across the rolling hills of US 90 was a pretty nice ride and crossing the Apalachicola River west of Chattahoochee is a sight. There is a dam there holding back Lake Seminole that is enormous. For a few moments you're eyeball level with the top of the dam and the huge body of water eerily suspended behind it. The genesis of the river flowing from the base of the dam is far below in a U-shaped gorge.

Tallahassee was a little too busy and once again I wished I had planned a better route away from the area, but Route 90 from Tallahassee to Monticello was great. It’s a beautiful road and the small town of Monticello was another antebellum gem. Connecting to US 19 I had few thoughts on my mind except at what time I might get home. This last part of the ride was pure road warrior, 162 miles of 4 lanes at 65 mph. Not much to see and hardly a turn in the road. I rolled through Perry and stopped for gas in Cross City and then traversed the Suwannee River at Fanning Springs and rolled on south through Chiefland. I could have stopped at any of these towns and spent the night and started fresh in the morning, taking an alternate, more scenic route, but I was alone and doing what I wanted to do and sleeping in my own bed was an enticing thought. I pulled into the clubhouse 596 miles later at about 6:30 pm and was glad to be back safely.

It was a great trip and one for the record books. I’m already thinking of the next time and a few things I would do differently but only because I don’t like to do the same thing the same way twice. It was a trip I had wanted to do and as someone told me, from here on out, at any time I can close my eyes and remember all the great things I saw.

America

If you’ve read the blog above, thank you. As I rode through the rural landscapes, I was so impressed with the well kept homesteads and thousands of acres of well-maintained and orderly farm fields. Contrary to the battering our psyches take from the “news”, my ride filled my heart with hope for this country. It is obvious that most folks cherish their homes and their meticulous care proves that people of America have values. It takes a considerable amount of time and effort to not only take care of a home, but to dress it up so to speak. We all have the freedom to choose where we’d like to live as well as styles, colors, and landscaping. We work long and stead hours to be able to afford our homes.

This work ethic is evident in the thousands of square miles of farmland that must take untold endless hours work. Not just from the farmers, but the people that manufacture and sell all of the equipment, the truck drivers that pickup and deliver the goods, the agriculturists that are constantly working to improve the farmer’s and rancher’s methods, and so on.

The next time you ride, I challenge you to open your eyes to more than just the traffic and potential obstacles in your way. Look at America. It is around us all the time and it’s beautiful. When you get back from your trip, take a few moments to think about your participation in it for you are an American. Your behavior and the image your portray effects all you encounter; from the neighborhoods you roll through, the stores and restaurants that you patronize, to children watching from the back seat of a car.

Finally, thank you to all the Americans that work hard and made my ride all that much more enjoyable.