Ain’t Never Hurt Nobody

Staying in the Meeman Shelby forest outside of Memphis I awoke knowing that today, of all days on this trip, was going to have an emotional impact.  Of course, that would end up playing out much differently than I expected.

Stopping for breakfast at the general store I was greeted with good food and great conversation.  Sharing about the purpose of my trip the conversations became poignant as we talked about how suicide has shown itself in our lives.  There was an honesty and openness that I think suicide truly needs.   To talk about it and find a way to bring hope to so many lives.  I feel for so many it is the lack of love they are shown as they slip into the grasp of the monster.   And here a statement was made that I would spend the day dwelling on: “A little more love ain’t never hurt nobody”.  This is truth if ever there was.

Memphis was one of the few cities that I looked forward to getting to.  A tough old city that has seen many blues musicians call it home.   I wandered through the projects and into downtown.  A heaviness was growing as my main reason for getting to the city was what could easily be considered a loss of hope:  The Lorraine Motel.   This is the site of where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.

I have a dream…. These four words are for so many the anthem that they live by and hope for.   I was here for quite a while just taking in the heaviness of the place.   It would be understandable to feel that hope was lost here.  A hope that for many has still delayed after his death.  The tragedy that too many people are treated as 2^nd class citizens is a truth I’ve seen played out on this trip a few times.  There’s  a darkness and heaviness to hate that is home to many hearts.  My father believed and lived the ethos that everyone deserved to be treated with love and dignity.  This is a belief I’ve instilled in my own kids and know they hold to.

As I headed out of the city I was still dwelling on the heaviness of an emotionally heavy morning.   I found a route (the old HWY 64) that would lead me through what looked to be a few little towns.  Of these generally struggling places I came across Cotton Plant.   Of the many towns I’ve seen lost to the ravages of time this one seemed just about lost.  The main street was completely barren save one realtors office and a distant little shop at the end of town.   I didn’t see the realtor but wondered if there was someone hoping to save their town.   I envision and hope it’s someone full of hope and defiant in the face of what could easily consume the one shop still open.   I went in and found an example of the legacy MLK left behind.   It was an oddly mixed group here and they were amused by the craziness of my trip.  I was glad I stopped in as seeing such a diverse group just existing together gave me hope for tomorrow.

Grabbing a huge fish lunch to go I headed off West towards Hot Springs, AR.  I was told it was pretty there and figured I’d find some old sleepy highways to wander through the Ouchita National Forest there.   Staying along the old 64 I ended up in Perryville and took the 9 south towards Hot Springs Village.   This is a fun ride and the views of the mountains are fantastic.  As I moseyed along I noticed a sign for an overlook just up a little dirt road.  A dirt road isn’t a big deal so I figured a few mile detour on the way wasn’t going to be a problem. This would have been true had I the sense to just turn around at the viewpoint.

Nooope… Not me.  I headed towards the lake content with the fact that I at least had a map on my phone showing all of the random offshoots.   You’ll remember that this is Arkansas and it’s spring.  So to say that I encountered mud, wet roads and multiple points I should have turned around would be an understatement.  I was in the thick of it and pretending the Harley was a dual sport made for this nonsense.   As I sat weaving in and over boulders and washed out paths I was thankful nothing hung below the frame of the bike.  Bottoming out and dragging the frame more times than I’d care to admit I was sweating and having a blast.   At one point I was spinning the tires over a rocky outcropping as I straddle two washed out portions.    I spun the tire hoping for traction as tumbling back down the hill didn’t sound all that fun.

As I made it to the top of one of the roads I got off, yelled some joyous expletives I just realized how ridiculous this whole thing was.   I am fairly sure not many motorcycles most especially a Harley, have made it to Lake Winona using the route I took.  Probably for good reason.  haha.  It was awesome!

 

Stopping and enjoying my lunch I decided I should return back to civilization.   This would have been much easier had the bridge on the road not been completely covered by water.   A local fisherman advised me against trying to cross it and as I thought for a moment about having to explain why my bike and I were floating down the river I decided I’d turn back around and find a proper normal paved road.   This little journey that should have been about 3 miles became nearly 50 miles as I finally found my way back onto the 9 near Paron.   Finally sitting on tarmac I just marveled at how much I enjoyed this two hour detour.

I headed back up the 9 towards Perry as my eventual destination for tomorrow was Oklahoma City.  This would put me roughly on the path there.  I took the 10 over to Ola and enjoyed what was actually a pretty cool ride.   Taking the 28 over to Dardanelle I found a campsite west of there along the 22.  Staying at an offshoot of the Arkansas River in New Blaine I was greeted with yet more of the local hospitality.   There was rain threatening and it was supposed to turn into quite the storm.  They told me that if it got nasty that I was welcome to pound on their door and stay in the camper for the night.  I was welcomed as a guest over to the local VFW and enjoyed a few beers with another local who I can’t even begin to describe his accent.  I couldn’t understand much but I loved it.

The night was clear and I enjoyed falling asleep to the sounds of the crickets and wind blowing through the trees.   It was a beautiful day.

Mud Stained Saviors

Arriving into camp after dark can present many problems and should be avoided when at all possible.   Sometimes those problems present themselves very early the next morning…

As rain began to fall a bit after midnight I noticed that my feet were getting wet.  I figured my inexpensive tent was showing why it was cheap.  However, I’d come to realize at dawn that I had set up in a bog with a few inches of water right where my feet had been.    As the night progressed so did the rains…and the thunder…and the lightning… and the guys having to clear out the swollen and clogged river with this amazing machine.

I was not going to get much sleep but thankfully the tent did indeed keep me dry.  Finally falling asleep around 3:30 I knew dawn was going to come all too soon.   As I stepped out of my tent I came to the realization that I was standing in a soup like mud and decided to just head on my way regardless of my exhaustion.

After loading the bike and getting ready to move it I realized it too had tried to become a submarine overnight.   Thankfully I had used the kickstand base thinking it may sink a little bit.   She now sat about 4” into the mud.   Deciding that unloading the bike and fighting to get it out sounded like crap I went and asked the park manager to pull me out.   He sadly did not use the monster above, but a quick tug from his truck and my fat pig of a bike was on solid-ish ground.   I thanked the guy for his help and offered to buy him breakfast as thanks for saving me what would have been a very long and muddy morning.

As we sat over breakfast at a local joint our conversation ranged across many topics that are dear to my heart.  As a veteran he saw 3 years of service in Vietnam.  He spoke with grave recollection the atrocities that were committed by so many during his time there.   Noting that his first experience back was being spit on by fellow Americans as he got off the plane.   Of the many truths in the evils that Vietnam represented, the way that many Americans treated the soldiers was irreprehensible.   Yet rather than digress into bitterness about his time he mentioned how his relationship with God (within the Christian ethos) was what got him through that and many other trials that are tragic beyond words.

I mentioned my own beliefs around religion and what I envision in the ideas of god.   We discussed rather than argue our differences and found the common bond that seems pervasive on this trip for me.   We can agree on some simple truths that could change the world:  Living a life that exemplifies sacrifice and love is always a beautiful thing, no matter what your reasons for doing it are.

What this gentleman and I agreed upon was that love and sacrifice are often ugly and messy things.   It requires a willingness to dive into the muck and mud to save those you love.   This is the savior that he spoke of in the man of Jesus.   This is the same mentality and belief that I have seen in my own life.  Often when I’ve been the one pulled from the mud it isn’t by a clean and dry passerby.   It is often a messy and muddy friend who’s been willing to just sit in the muck and wait to pull me out.

I know this to be true in the lives of so many people who’ve been involved in suicides grasp.   What so many need is a willingness to see you get dirty and bring them from the muck.  Maybe you’ll be the evidence of the savior they’ve been needing.

Thanks for letting me rant…

The ride today wasn’t really much worth mentioning.   I took a route towards Memphis that honestly netted me way too much traffic and entirely too many miles of two lane highways.   That isn’t to say it wasn’t pretty at times but doesn’t warrant much recognition other than to say that finding a fun backroad or two is always nice.

I will say only that taking a detour that adds 30 minutes by wandering into Amish settlements was definitely worth it.   Seeing the old wagons being pulled by horses while I road by was cool.   It’s a people I’ve always been fascinated by and would have loved a chance to chat with.   Another time I suppose.

Some Detours Are Justified

I started the day in a brilliant campground just inside the Cumberland Gap.   Sitting amongst the trees I wondered how many times people had slept in this very spot at a time where the world so much different.  I was able to skype my kids and I missed them like crazy.   Although it felt good to be there I knew I was now on the long way home ready to start heading back to Colorado.

Pointing west I naturally decided that one final “big” detour was in order.  I’m a huge fan of the TV show Justified.  It is set in Harlan, KY and I just couldn’t be that close without going through the area.   Granted, I didn’t see any meth labs or gun fights, but I can assure you I was far enough out in the sticks that I’m sure it could have been.   From Cumberland itself I went east on the 217 and 987 towards Cawood.   I was loving the route and without any traffic to speak of I enjoyed all the twists and turns that I could handle.  It was a nice way to start the day and although I started on the road way too late I knew the detour was worth it.

Hitting Harlan I wondered around the town a bit and felt satisfied that I had sufficiently fan-girled and down the 119 towards Pineville.   This wasn’t a bad road but the traffic made it a bit less enjoyable.  A quick jaunt up 25E you’ll want to hit the 92 all the way into Pine Knot.   A great road that would have been even better had I not come into a weird uneasiness.   I was making up time and for the first time on the trip I really exceeded the speed limit.  I knew the state trooper going the other way may have realized that when he flipped around and headed my direction.   Although I’m thankful we didn’t meet I decided to make a slight little detour onto a backroad to slow it down for a while and keep a cool head.  As is the theme on this ride, I have no idea where or how I ended up at a few spots.   It’s a good rule that I break entirely too often, but once you’re pissed on a bike, get off and go do something else.

I wandered back into Tennessee and took the 297 from Oneida through the Big South Fork River area.   Lots and lots of twists, tons of hills and a fair amount of it to myself I found myself fighting to get back into a good emotional state.   I ended up stopping at a random lookout and had a conversation with a vet who at 87 is still fighting with the VA for his benefits.  It was a reality that for too many people that is a truth.  We had a good chat about things and I headed on my way.

From here it was a long slow ride down the 127 to Crossville and then taking the 70 all the way into Franklin.  I was frustrated with myself today.  So many good days and beautiful moments and I couldn’t find a focus.   I knew the only way I was going to find a good way through the day was by hitting some random detour that would only add time and miles to an already long day.  Yes, that seems backwards, and it probably is.  But, by making myself deal with the delays I was able to find some focus.   Turning off my music I found a good rhythm and spent about 100 miles with nothing but the wind and engine to listen to.

I finally made it into Franklin to meet with an old friend from my days of living in Ireland.   Although our beliefs are anything but aligned I’ve always known her to just be a positive person who lives out the faith she believes.   I’m drawn to the passion that people have in the light of a life that could easily deny it.   She made a point that hit in a way that underlines the truth of hope:  That nothing, even death itself can separate a believer from the the love of their God.   Although my beliefs around religion are different for sure, I can support the idea that death itself can not separate the beloved.

I will never cease to be fascinated by an all encompassing love.  For the hope and difference that love makes in the world will always be beautiful.

Consumed In The Clouds

Waking up in the rolling fog I left the old moonshine camp near Balsam, NC and found a diner near Waynesville along the 74.   The sun had not yet risen but I was greeted with a warm smile and a delicious (and huge) chicken fried steak and biscuits and gravy.  I was told this was the small plate.  Good lord… Having a good chat with some old guys about the purpose and plan of the trip I bid them farewell and headed towards the Hookers Gap Road.  Taking all back roads to get there I ran into some great little towns that I would have loved to explore.   If you’re looking for a route that is both extremely challenging and pretty to boot, this is the way to go.   Tight curves and steep drop offs kept me on my toes and the encroaching fog reminded me to keep it slow.   Although it’s a short route,  I would easily call it better than the dragons tail.  From here you’ll want to take more back roads to the Blue Ridge Parkway towards Cherokee.

Of all the areas I was anticipating a view of endless miles this was it.  The clouds certainly covered more miles and views than I could count.   Yet, in spite of that I felt a continued sense of peace from the last few days rides.   The “in-ideal” weather conditions that made the locals think I was balmy for going up to the mountains netted me more hours of solitude and uninterrupted wonderings.  You see, much like the clouds today the mind of someone who has been through tragedy will often ebb and flow like the fog blowing through the mountains.   Sometimes without provocation or reason a day can go from happy to emotional devastation without notice.   As hard as that can be to deal with, the toll is often unbearable for those who love that soul.   I know this in my own life and as I crested the 80 or so miles of mountain tops and fog covered valleys I wondered upon these thoughts.

The few conversations I had along the route were the usual formula: talking about the bike and leading into why I’m on the road.   It’s amazing how willing people have been to share about their own experiences both in the service and in their own battles.   I shared about mine and thought about the fact that as much as I liked doing this on my own, the beauty of it was indeed worth sharing.    I thought of Christopher McCandless writing towards the end of his life that “happiness only real when shared” (Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer).   If I were seeing all of this for only me I know it wouldn’t permeate the way it has.  Not only getting to share it with everyone reading this, but getting to share the message and purpose of the journey.

It’s Tim Burton everybody!!

Leaving the Blue Ridge Parkway I headed down 441 through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park towards Gatlinburg.   This was a very pretty route but is quite a bit more trafficked than the Blue Ridge.   Watch your speed as there are plenty of patrol vehicles.   Even more though, keep it slow and enjoy the scenery around you.   This felt more rugged than the Blue Ridge did and the waterfalls and rock outcroppings were quite cool. There’s even a few loop roads along the way.   It felt like the old orange hot wheels tracks doing a big circle and going right underneath where you just were.   Gatlingburg itself is a cool little town with a ton of history.  Not one for tourists myself I then headed on towards Pigeon Force (Dollywood if you’re interested).

No, I didn’t go to Dollywood.  I instead sat at a random Mexican grocers and enjoyed strange Mexican pastries.  This became an unintentional staple very early on this trip.   I enjoy them, they aren’t too sweet, and they stay fresh for many days.    I recommend completely.

I got onto the 25E towards Ewing, Virginia.  I’m sure there are plenty of routes to take to get here, and this just happened to be mine.  Although I initially planned a different route I was not dissapointed at all.

You’d have a hard time finding anything other than beautiful scenery the whole time you’re in this part of the country.   My goal for the night was the Cumberland Gap National Historic Park.   This area has tons and tons of history of which books and books have been written.

I made an impromptu stop at the Abraham Lincoln museum just a few miles away from the park.   Walking through the exhibits I was reminded not only of the brilliant man that he was, but of the political climate he found himself in.   A climate that I still see to this day.  Wars and battles, both foreign and domestic are fought over race, over religion and over creed.   On this trip I’ve seen quite a bit of it myself.   I had coffee one morning with a black man and had lunch with someone I’ve gathered was a white supremacist. The truth of the matter is that life is too damned short and entirely too precious to waste time fighting about these things.   But, I digress and will save that soapbox for another day.

I wandered my way into camp here at the Cumberland Gap area.   This is my final “detour” on my way back home.   I’ve gone east for the last time on this trip.  With less than a week to go my mind has been on home and everyone I miss there.   Yet here today I know that at least there is a truth that one of the guys back at the diner said, “whether you’re from here or not, once you get here; you’re home”.

And that my friends is truth.  Home for me is a sense of belonging, a sense of being drawn into something and a sense of finding the beauty around you.  Thank you for letting the words of Christoper McCandless ring true as well.  That the happiness is made real in the hearts of all of those who I find home in.

Aslans’ Country

“Further up, further in”

I could almost hear the call of the great lion himself today.   Each turn beckoned me to come in and see what was in store.  Over each hill I found myself in a world that seemed altogether too big to be where it was.   A sense that as I climbed further into the forest I was only getting closer to the voice that was calling me.   I mean it in all sincerity.   Today felt deep and new yet somehow home.   A sense that I was finding where I was supposed to be.  I felt drawn into this world here, this magically beautiful place.  Even more than the sense of Narnia I’ve written before, this truly felt like Aslans country; the place I was always meant to walk with the lion.

Leaving Cleveland, GA this morning I went up the 19 through Georgia and found what can only be described as a nascar track turned into a roadway.   I’ve never driven banked curves like that.   They literally felt out of place as normal cars and trucks seemed to motor along without any thought.  If you’re in North Georgia, take this route, it’s worth it.   Just point the map or GPS towards Tellico Plains and you’ll see some of the most enjoyable and pretty roads you’ll ever find.

Hitting Tellico to go onto the Cherohala Skyway I had no idea what I was about to see.   I don’t even have a fancy way to put how freaking pretty this was.  The rain that dropped the day before left the roads wet and the encroaching fog kept the surface damp.   This was not a problem as I could have stopped to take pictures at each and every turn.

Although the fog no doubt covered many views I can only say the beauty it provided at others.   Being high up I was able to stand and look down at what seemed the entire world.  Fog covering everything but the areas I was standing.   I expected to see a ship or two, perhaps a sky vessel, maybe even a distant torch signaling the oncoming storm…

I was struck at how much this area felt like the stories of Aslan running through his country.  A place that only got bigger the further in you went.    I found peace along this road.   A call to believe and hold onto something bigger than myself.   Not in a sense of a god or mystical thing, but that life holds something beautiful for me.   That I was here to realize that even I, the screwed up and broken self I often see, that yes, even that guy deserves a beauty to believe in.   I stood in awe of what I was seeing and feeling.   I could have died there and woken up in heaven and probably seen the exact same view.

As I must continue the journey I headed towards what for many bikers and car aficionados is a holy grail of sorts.  The Dragons tail.   People have lost their lives in pursuit of taming the 318 curves along a small 11 mile section.   And many more have written those tails.  So, I will spare you of it.   It was neat enough to do (and I did it twice because of the direction I was traveling.  But, compared to the beauty of the Skyway I felt as though nothing could compare the rest of the day.

Leaving the Dragon in my rearview I headed down the 28 towards Almond.   This was an incredibly peaceful and pretty ride.   I enjoyed this infinitely more than the dragon.   Not only was this extremely pretty, the turns and twists were more enjoyable in my mind.  I’m not trying to make speed and certainly won’t set records in the twisties, but I’m learning to enjoy slowing down and finding peace in the midst of the clouds.

From Almond I headed for a wee jaunt down the famed Blue Ridge Parkway.  This extends all the way into Virginia for some 470 miles or so.  I made about 30 miles further to my eventual camp in Balsam.   Sitting by a creek and listening to the water flow over the rocks I am reminded again of the blessing my life has been.   Without looking past what promises lie ahead this last week of the journey I am confident of this:  I have found peace that I have longed for and a renewed sense of direction towards hope.

Gritty

If you’re ever in the South you’ll no doubt find yourself faced with the choice of a porridge looking mess they call grits.  It’s corn kernels mashed with a bit of butter and some salt if you’re feeling frisky.  It’s a simple meal that is both comforting and delightful.  In this way it reminds me so much of the people I’ve met along the road in the south.  A simplicity that underlies a comfort and truly delightful nature.

Leaving Fort Benning I weaved my way through Columbus trusting that the GPS and google would indeed take me where I wanted to go.    I couldn’t begin to break down each road or route I ended up on.  I’ve found that the benefit of having the GPS where you can see it is that often a simple route suggestion can lead you down fun and strange places.

I made my way along 80 towards Junction City.   Somewhere near Junction City I wandered into a little café as has been my tradition on these adventures.  I was not disappointed either.   Walls and the staff were covered in various shades and patterns of camouflage and my presence was greeted with a “sit wherever you’d like darlin”.   I asked the waitress what she’d suggest and the biscuits and gravy with a side of fried green tomatoes were un-freaking believably delicious.   During the hour and a half I sat there, I was the only person not a regular.   These are my kind of diners.

While waiting, an older gentleman came in and asked me about the motorcycle.   We got chatting about bikes and the adventures he had “back in the day”.   As we spoke he invited me to sit with him and I was glad to do so.   Lonnie progressed quickly to his days as “a black man driving an old truck in some crazy old places down south”.  He spoke with sincerity how he believed what kept him safe was that he was just kind to people “even when they ain’t”.   He shared about his time in the service and how it lead him to believe in kindness.  He shared about losing his wife a few years ago and finding someone crazy enough to put up with him.   Story after story that showed that the kindness in his heart.   He had nearly died a few years back and lost over half his weight.  He shared simply “I guess God isn’t done with me”.   As I was leaving he told me he was hoping we’d see each other again “in this life, or the other side of things”.   I sincerely look forward to it.

To get to Musella from Junction City I set my GPS to avoid highways and headed down little backroad after little backroad.   At one point a bridge was being repaired so rather than going back the way I came I figured a dirt road or two would be in good order.   I was not disappointed to be off the tarmac for a while and enjoyed cruising along in the thick red clay of these roads.  Twisting through fields I eventually was dumped back on the road about 30 minutes later.

 

I’m not even go to try and figure out where I ended up at this point before eventually giving up at an old hippy camp outside of Helen, GA.   Really, if you want to do the route, just start in Columbus and head towards Helen.  Make sure to “avoid highways” per google and basically take every route it tells you will be “X” minutes longer.  This way you’ll have an excuse for yourself to keep it slow and enjoy the journey.

With about two hours more to go I decided to gas up.  When I mentioned I was heading towards Tennessee the attended simply told me that I better like getting wet.   I had watched the weather report and knew full well that she may be right.   Well, 15 minutes later I was in the rain.    I thought a lot about what Marti had said back in Texas about staying dry and where to find shelter in the storm.  Although tonight I write this in the comfort of a camper I can tell you right now that it was thinking of him that kept my spirits high.    Riding in the rain isn’t all that fun but it is very pretty to see the rolling hills of Northern Georgia even if you’re having to wipe your goggles every few minutes.

Sitting at this memorial I thought of the gritty people I’ve met along this journey.   Some who’ve seen friends lost in war and watched lives unravel in front of them.    I think Lonnie is right.  Maybe all someone needs is a little kindness.

Humility And Honor

I really don’t know where to begin to demonstrate what the last few days has shown me.   I have no motorcycle stories to share, no cool routes or overly pretty scenery.   I’ve been sitting alongside a military family for the last few days.   My brother in law is a Chaplain for the Army and has seen his share of tragedy.   Although the stories of the people he’s worked with are theirs to share I can assure you of the difference his actions have made in their lives simply in what I’ve seen over the last few days.   This is even more evident in the respect and honor he is shown by the servicemen and families I met today.

It is easy to think that because we don’t share religious beliefs I wouldn’t respect what he does.   That would be the furthest from the truth.   What I respect more than my beliefs is the truth that if more people gave a damn about their fellow man then the world would be a better place.    In the lives of the Serviceman I’ve been introduced to in the last few days I can see the obvious care and respect that they share for each other.    Respect must be earned, and this is never truer than in the hearts of people who’ve experienced the hell that is war.   Multiple stories of how a simple act of a listening ear blossomed into friendships and trust that has brought life into the hearts of many people.   I know that’s all some cats need.   Just someone to listen and authentically care about them.   To live out a belief that love is the greatest of gifts you can give.

The truth is that PTSD and the battles fought outside of war affect soldiers and civilians of all walks and countries.   I was able to participate in the Anzac Day traditions of the Australians posted here at Fort Benning.   It was a fun and jovial time and I was honored to be able to just participate and have fun along with the families here.   This simple memorial honoring those who have been lost stood in stark contrast to the fun atmosphere.   That’s what was so cool about it all.   The knowledge that fun and laughter is all too often a healing process that too many veterans never get to have.

I was honored and beyond humbled to be thanked for what I was doing with the Mission22 group by multiple veterans.   Guys who’ve seen service and deployments stood to thank me, to shake my hand and show their appreciation… I couldn’t begin to say how much that meant to me.    What I’m doing is nothing compared to what they’ve gone through, yet here in the midst of a celebration I was the one being thanked.   To have a man who’s been serving in the military for as long as I’ve been alive to stand up and thank me for what I’m doing, to tell me how suicide has affected his family, to open up his history to me…  Man, I was at a loss of words.

Honestly, for the men and women I’ve met who may end up reading this, please know that I am truly blessed by your grace and humility.  I am truly honored to be a part of supporting you.   You deserve more than I could ever give.

Thank you for your service.

 

Cutting Across Georgia

After spending a great evening with my brother and sister in Bluffton, SC I headed over to Hilton Head Island just off the coast.    I was told this would be an amazing and beautiful ride.

If you’re inclined to hit Hilton Head on two wheels I suggest doing so on the pedaled variety.  I was turned back multiple times because motorcycles weren’t allowed in various areas of the island.   It was very pretty, but one of the few spots on the trip I would have been inclined to miss.    Now, Bluffton itself is really quite pretty and has some very cool history.   This church was one of the few structures not burned during the Civil War.

I left Bluffton along the 46 towards the Savannah National Wildlife Refuge along 170.   This was a very pretty little drive through the hanging trees or “tree tunnels” as I once was told.   I wanted to stop every few minutes and take pictures but figured it was time to mosey along towards my goal of Fort Benning along the Alabama/Georgia border.   At this point I contemplated hitting the interstate to save some time as my wandering around Hilton Head had delayed me quite a bit.   Oddly, a little church along the way (of which there are tons and tons) had a sign that said something about shortcuts never being worth what you miss along the way.   I reminded myself to enjoy this journey and jaunted over to Bloomingdale to hit the old 46.

For 50 or so miles you’ll weave in and out of old pine forests and sleepy little towns.   A neat swamp like little pond will great you with pretty sights and more bugs.   Make sure to wear sunscreen on this route.  You’re basically following the sun the whole way.   I was thankful for a tiny bit of cloud cover and was mesmerized about how much this area reminded me of Colorado.   I missed home and my kids.   Before I let myself get into a bad place of regret or anything negative I started to wonder how the people I’d come across on this trip were doing.  I wondered how Marty was getting along, hoping that he had a roof over his head.  I figured Gary was still figuring out which gear and set up he was going to use.    I thought about a girl we met in New Orleans who was a stripper that we had a great conversation with about PTSD and the affects that war has on not only soldiers but on the families left in the wake.    I hoped that the people I had been blessed to know were finding peace of their own.

In Eastman you’ll take the 341 a few miles into Hawkinsville.   From here it’s a long 100 miles into the Columbus area.   After so many days of wondering along so many different routes it was a bit weird to have spent over 300 miles on basically two roads.   You’ll have a lot of time to think and contemplate on both of these.  It was a pretty enough ride and would have been very easy to open up the secondaries and make some speed.  DON’T DO IT!  Not only is speed a good way to miss out on all of the little backroads but it’s a good way to get to know the local police departments.   No, I didn’t get pulled over.  Yet I can assure you this area was heavily patrolled.   I just kept thinking about Marty saying “65mph a time man”.   I slowed it down here and found a good rhythm.

I enjoyed a detour onto one of the red dirt roads for some much needed offroad time.  It had been too long.  Holy moly though… The talcum powder like feel of the top few inches immediately reminded me to keep it slow.   I had good fun throwing a rooster tail or two before finally getting back onto the tarmac.

As you get closer to Columbus/Fort Benning the hills get steeper and even prettier.  I was excited to see my sister and her family.   My brother in law is a Chaplain with the Military who served time with the US Airborne and Army Rangers.   I’m thankful that so many times on this journey I’ve been blessed to have friends and family to see.   It’s been a crazy 3 weeks and I’m excited to see what this last week has in store.

Riding Towards Redemption

 

The  idea of redemption is found in just about every form of belief and religion that I’ve ever come across.  It’s a human hope that no matter what hell has been gone through that at the end of the day they can be redeemed from it.   This thought was on my mind for much of yesterday.

I started the day with a cup of coffee looking over the campgrounds of a self proclaimed old hippy.   She shared stories about what led her to this place and the dynamics of her family and her hopes of eventually being in contact with her kids.  What led this woman to end up in a place in between a swampy river and an old creek was quite interesting.   If you’re ever near Moniac, Georgia I’ll send you her contact info and I know you’ll enjoy your stay.

As is the standard on this trip I ended up having to divert back south to avoid the closures from the recent fires the area has been having.   I made my way into Baldwin for the last of my Florida grits and hit the 301 and 200 towards Yulee and the scenic route along the old HWY 17.

HWY 17 is a strange little highway that weaves around old the main interstate 95.   Beyond the ridiculously green and pretty scenery you’ll come across ruin after ruin. There is this continual sign of the loss that the interstate left behind.   For the sake of speed and brevity the destination took place of the journey.   How many people who watched their lives fall apart when the promise of speed replaced their places?   The land seemed to take back the buildings and reclaimed them as their own.  If you get off the 17 anywhere before Savannah do it only to explore a back road or two and wonder about the life that once bustled there.

Before you get to Brunswick, GA you’ll see signs for Jekyll Island.  Here you’ll definitely want to make a detour.   The area was beyond pretty and the ride itself was quite nice.   I’d actually suggest riding it on a bicycle as the road is slow and the ride itself would be only heightened by the leisurely pace a bicycle would afford.   I wandered around little roads checking out the scenery and old homes along the way.   I stopped to write the blog from the day before while sitting on a pier with my feet dangling over the water.   It was a nice little detour and added to the sites of the day.

I decided that after passing multiple signs of the old Plantations that I would finally stop at one and check out the history there.     I felt a presence here, an almost heaviness that reminded me of the time I spent in Dachau wandering the grounds and feeling the oppression of the history of that place.   I wondered how many people had found themselves at the end of a life spent in slavery at this place.  A beauty bellied by a horrendous history.  I couldn’t find joy here and left a bit darkened by a sadness I wasn’t expecting.

As I neared Savannah I ignored the route that would have lead me around the city and instead went into town.  Seeing an old cat on his scooter I pulled up and asked how to get into the “cool” part of town.   We weaved through the projects and stopped at each light and shot the breeze like old friends.   An old black guy and a white dude just rolling around town enjoying the sun and lightness of the day.   Our races didn’t matter, our bikes didn’t matter.   For the 30 minutes we weaved in and out of the city we were old friends out for the day.   Savannah is unbelievably cool and I absolutely would have loved to spend a day walking around the city.    He pointed me towards South Carolina and went back towards town on his own adventure.  We shook hands and I thanked for the little ride through town.   A sign of the redemption from a past too recent where this never could have been.   I was blessed by a guy who’s simple act of detouring to show a stranger around had lightened the darkness I felt from the plantation before.

Running the HWY 17 bridge over Hutchinson Island I made my way into SC for the day. Wandering onto 315 and the 46 I rode into Bluffton to spend the night with my brother and sister in law.   It’s a cute little town with tons of history as many towns in the area have.   Wars have been fought on the grounds now occupied by shops and homes that hopefully will remain testaments to the sacrifices many have made.

What hit me here was the stories my brother and I shared about our very different upbringings.   We are separated by nearly 30 years so although we share a family, our stories are accordingly unique.   We talked about my trip and how we’ve each seen so much devastation in our lives.  PTSD and depression has reaches beyond what so many realize.   But what we shared was more beautiful than the fear and terror.  We shared about how redemption has shown itself in our lives.   Through a religious belief we don’t share we found the common ground of hope and belief in the potential of tomorrow.

It’s hard for me to grasp the reality of what difference this trip will make to those I hope to reach.  But what I do know is that it’s reaching me, that it’s reaching a long too dormant part of my heart that I ignored for too long.   I don’t get why life puts so many people through hell.   Yet I know that by believing in redemption there is so much more potential for hope.   A potential I believe and know I’ll see in the lives of those I love.

Deeper Than A Divide

This country is a kaleidoscope of people and places.   This was beyond evident in the experiences of the last day and a half.

You see, I had the privilege of spending time with one of the coolest and most unique families I can call my friends.  Without telling too much of a story that is theirs to tell I can assure you they’ve seen their fare share of hell and disappointments.    As a Puerto Rican family they are sensitive to the recent climate that the political scene has created.   Yet, through their own struggles and identities I believe they embody what is beautiful about people.    They aren’t a sob story but a story of embracing the trials and coming out of it even stronger and more beautiful.   It was a blessing to see them and reminded me that this trip is about more than just making miles on a bike but memories in hearts.   I am grateful for these friends.

I decided that because of the delays from the last few days that I would only go down the coast for a little bit and instead go through more of the middle of Florida.  I was in North Jacksonville so I headed East to the coast.  I had just about the most amazing breakfast ever at the Metro Diner just off the coastal road.  If you’ve never had chicken and waffles this is probably not the place to get it. You’ll be spoiled forever.    I was feeling good about things as this breakfast was a good cap to my weird time in Jacksonville.  From here you’ll want to point South and keep left as often as you can.   The A1A is pretty clearly marked and my plan was to make it to Daytona Beach and then turn back North.

Stopping St. Augustine I came across a fire station and asked where the best place was to access the beach. I was able to chat a bit ascot the trip and was given a handshake and a thanks for being a part of this.   I went towards the spot but unfortunately was turned away due to beach and sand conditions.     I can’t really say if driving down the A1A is all that worth it.   Sure, it is definitely pretty but it was becoming evident that I’d be in more traffic and congestion than I wanted.   So, I made it Crescent Beach and turned back towards Georgia.

 

As my goal now was to hit the swamp areas as much as possible I headed across the 312 and wandered up to the Twelve Mile Swamp Conservation area.  It was here I had yet another conversation with a couple guys about the motorcycle.  We got talking about what I was doing and my general plans on the trip.  They assured me that avoiding Key West was best “because of all of the gays”.   Without getting into the specifics of these guys beliefs and generalities what it portrayed to me was yet again the diversity of our country.    We had a commonality of our interest in motorcycles, but it was apparent that was all we shared.   I thanked them for the directions and headed on my way towards 16 and across the St. Johns River.

As is obvious on this trip, I’m not sure why or how I ended up where I was going.  The 16 was actually quite pretty and an enjoyable pace lead me to Camp Blanding.   It was here that I stopped into the Museum and had yet more interesting experiences and conversations.  I got to talk with a 3rd generation retired veteran about PTSD and what I was doing on this trip.   He thanked me for what I was doing and I was honored to have a great conversation with him.   Inside I talked with another vet about how the military needs to do a better job and bring hope and peace to the cats who’ve fought so hard for the country.

Yet here I read through a different part of the military service during WWII.  The colored infantry.   Yep, colored.   I don’t even like writing the term as it indicates the most simplistic of differences yet creates some of the most complex of problems.   These men served a country that rejected them not on merit but on the shade of their skin.   Reading about their experiences not in war but at home is what hit me.  To fight in battle is one thing, but to rejected in peace is a whole different ballgame.

I was feeling a bit heavy about it all and left just wondering what difference any of this trip makes.   Sitting at a light I gave a guy a thumbs up about his truck and he honked his horn and gave me a wave.   Of all the experiences I’d have on this trip, this one hit me.   Two people just acknowledging something we liked.    We have differences, but damn it, we have some simple similuarities.   I want to embrace that.  Beyond just a truck or a motorcycle, but the fact that we are all someones child, maybe their father or mother, brother or sister.   We are a people that is diverse and that is beautiful to me.

I headed up 301 through Lawtey just relaxed about the day and thankful for the little experiences I was having.  From here I branched over to Macclenny on the 228 and headed up towards the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge to find a campsite and detach for a time.

Florida was as diverse in climate and scenery as it was in people.  I am thankful that what binds us together as a human race is much deeper than what divides us.  That is the beauty I’ll celebrate.