The RT has been dying in the rain. This has been a problem since it rains pretty much every afternoon in the summer in Florida. Maybe the bike is trying to tell me something. After all, it has over 140,000 miles on the odometer, but I keep saying that those are 'loving' miles. We won't talk about all the off-road adventures we've had or why it is now called an RT/GS.
Finally, thanks to the first rate service of BMW of Orlando and the help of my friends Brooks and Mike, the bike is back to normal. A decrepit hall sensor was the culprit which in turn shut down the fuel pump. I keep asking myself, "Is it really fixed." Other shops have told me that they couldn't find anything wrong. At least there is now some evidence.
After a brief run to Orlando for some finishing touches, I'm ready to go. It's almost 1pm and I'm looking at a 1270 mile run to Midland. That's from Tampa, but I don't believe I'm any closer to Midland in Orlando.
The first thing that strikes me is the oppressive heat. I thought I was used to this stuff, but it's sucking the life and electrolytes and water right out of me. I find that I can only do 100 miles before I must get off the bike, consume vast quantities of liquid and fill the Darien pockets with ice. This is a great exercise, by the way. My usual technique is to ask the convenience store clerk how much he or she charges for ice. Most of the time it's free, but occasionally it's 25 cents. Either way it's a bargain. I then proceed to pour cup after cup into the front pockets of the Darien. With the Gortex lining I'll stay dry, not counting the gallons of sweat I'm generating. The looks from the customers is worth paying $5.00.
This is hard to say, being a motorcyclist and all, but I NEED RAIN. Fifty miles north of the Florida/Georgia border it looks as if I'll get my wish. Maybe I should have been more specific. A little rain would be nice, but what is looming on the horizon has the makings of a 'made for TV' movie. I'm going to get wet and we're not talking sweat anymore. When I pull off at a gas station to put on a pair of Totes a convincing bolt of lightning knocks out the power. Then the rain hits. Frogs begin leaving their ponds and try to jump into the sky since there is more water in that direction.
Will the bike keep running in this mess? It usually doesn't and I'm tired of either pushing it or getting a Uhaul. So, I sit for 10 minutes watching other vehicles try to get gas from pumps with no electricity. Although that can be very entertaining, I'd rather be riding and take off.
After 5 miles I'm ready to pull off again. Visibility is down to almost nothing and I have no desire to get friendly with the back end of a semi. At this exit all the power is off also. Man. The whole scene is a repeat of the last service station. How long will this last?
The CB begins to become one of my favorite bike toys. A call lets me know that, not only has the storm knocked a tree across the southbound lanes of I-75, but the storm diminishes greatly only 5 miles north. I'm outta here, much to the amazement of the 4-wheelers at the station.
It's true, the rain has stopped, but it's still cloudy, which keeps the temperatures down. North of Atlanta the sun comes out again, but it's also starting to set. Ahead lies Tennessee. For me that is a state I've never been in on a sunny day. That's not to say that I haven't been this direction before. I been through many times and got wet each and every time. Just so I wouldn't be disappointed, it starts to rain. Fortunately it's now dark.
Time has come to worship at my road trip altar. IHOP! The International part makes for an unusual combination in the south. Her it's not just crepes, it's crepes ya'll. That must be from the southern part of France. I strike up a conversation with a couple of local deputies since we both have the same religious background. They are experiencing the Belgian Waffles Ya'll. One of them is a motorcycle cop, but is riding out the rain in a car. He's attracted to my RT and starts drooling. Since I've had enough liquid hitting my shoes for now I bid my farewells.
Kentucky seems to be where I've been finding the most Iron Butt Motels lately. The spare tire on the backseat makes for a GREAT backrest. With my feet on the handlebars and my back against the tire the sound of the freeway lulls me to sleep. An hour passes before I realize it and I'm refreshed. The little window of dry weather has held and it's time to go north.
I enjoy crossing the Ohio River into the Buckeye State, the state of my birth. Cincinnati is lit up in front of me as the RT hums through town. Yes, the rain killing curse has been officially exorcised. The sun is starting to come up and the temperature is perfect. It looks to be a beautiful day.
In Toledo, there is a strange site on the bypass. It's the most modern looking mosque I've ever seen and I'd love to get a picture. Since rush hour is around the corner, survival takes precedence.
Can we talk about the roads in Michigan, although in doing so we would admit that they are roads? Let's see if we can figure this out. You take a truck, add a begillion tires to it, increase the carrying capacity to that of a dwarf star, and wonder why the roads are in the condition they are in. Who says there aren't mountains in Michigan? They obviously haven't changed lanes on 23 or I-75.
Ok, enough is enough. I'm in Flint and, after over 1,200 miles I'm ready to call it a day. The bulletproof glass in the lobby of the Super 8 gives me pause, but it's near the freeway and Midland is only 56 miles up the road. There's also a place to get my tire changed nearby, even though I felt violated when I got the bill. It's 10am.
After a quick nap, the sound of motorcycle talk seeps under my door. I was alone when I went to sleep, but now there are a dozen bikes at the motel. Cool! The rally has officially started and we spend time looking at our modifications. I meet Eddie Jordan from New York. He's got the same bike as I with the beautiful black color. We elect to head to the rally together in the morning.
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