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elizillaThe ride south along I-75 was dreadfully windy. Erik was leading, I was second, and Dave was behind me. I could see Erik hit a windy patch, and I'd brace myself, and lean into the wind. It felt like I was almost continuously turning to the right, and only the degree of the turn changed. If I'd have been a blind pillion passenger I'd have felt like I was going in circles. It seemed to me that Erik was doing much better at staying upright and travelling in a straight line than I was, but Dave later told me that he could see us both and I looked more steady than Erik did. I sure didn't feel that way, but if that's what Dave saw it was probably because I had warning of what was to come, as Erik went through the spots where the wind howled unbroken ahead of me.
I hoped that when we turned to the east it would get better, but it was actually worse. I was in the lead by that point, because I knew the route from Delaware east. There were slow cages and trucks but I didn't want to pass them, what with the wind making things so exciting.
In Newark we passed a building shaped like a giant picnic basket. I don't know what to say about it, except it was so bizarre to see this, that I just had to comment on it in my report.
Near Zanesville we stopped for gas and discussed what route to take. We were running a little later than we would have liked and we were pretty tired already. We decided to take the freeway all the way to 800, rather than opt for a technical twisty route. The weather, while not wonderful, improved enough that it wasn't completely miserable, and the wind died down a little bit.
We arrived at the Aldeco Motel to find some other riders already there. We had unloaded the bikes and were about to go to the campground when the sound of the dark side was heard, and a mob of bikes roared into the motel parking lot. There was much noise, bike sniffing, and milling about. One of the riders was sporting a leather jacket with a name patch that said "Ozzie". Ah-hah, it was good to identify him, because I had something to give him. I opened up my tank bag, found the gift, and handed it to Ozzie. Fishnet stockings. He thanked me and quickly stuffed them out of sight. Hmm.
Then we all hopped on the bikes and took a twisty route to Marietta for dinner. This was probably the point of least rain for the weekend, the pavement was damp but not pooled with water, and I was actually feeling pretty good. I pushed myself, not to the point of crazed danger, but a little bit, and I found that I was keeping up with the riders ahead of me. Maybe I'm getting a little better at this twisties thing.
Dinner was at Ryan's, a buffet-style restaurant where we covered a six-person table with helmets and mounded raingear, leather and stitches on the chairs. We made a lot of noise and ate a lot of food. Then we went back out into the damp night, and rode back to the campground. Bikes peeled off at every gas station along the way to fuel up in preparation for the morning's events. (Even so, in the morning we discovered that some people had failed to heed Phil's request to buy gas the night before so as not to slow the group down in the morning. These dumbasses know who they are.)
We stood around the campfire in the rain. I had met maybe 1/3 of the people there before, and I was enjoying the opportunity to meet the others. But the names hadn't yet all sorted themselves out for me, so I can't really give a good accounting of who said what or did what. I did learn that we were riding out at 8:30 the next morning.
I was supposed to be sharing the room with Dave Pelletier and Gadget Dan, but Dan wasn't there. Dave went back early, because he had to study, but I stayed by the fire until around midnight. Then Richard was leaving to go back, and I said I'd ride back with him. I was pretty tired and cold by this point, so it was none too soon. I forgot to put up my sidestand (dumbass) but Richard hollered to me about it before any harm was done. I stopped to put up the stand, and he passed me. I wasn't completely sure how to get out of the campground, so I followed. We came to a spot where the road forked. He turned right, and next thing I knew we were going around in a circle. He didn't know how to get out either. So when we came to the turn again, I signaled left, and he either thought of this on his own or got the hint. He turned left and sure enough we got out.
Back at the motel Dave was sound asleep, but our next door neighbors were still having their own private party. Next morning I awoke at around 7:45, woke Dave, and started getting ready. Others were awake outside, I could hear people moving around. We rolled down to the campground and got there pretty close to on time.
When we got to the campground Gadget Dan was there. He'd arrived during the night and pitched his tent because he couldn't find the motel, and he wouldn't have known which room we were in anyways.
We all went to the picnic shelter, and got a very confused description of the route from Phil. I don't think there were more than two or three people who understood where the route went, and everyone was sort of standing around stupidly waiting for someone else to take the lead. I understood about half of it, and I knew where the meeting points were, so I figured I'd be all right. There were way too many people for Phil to lead alone, and he couldn't get anyone to volunteer as ride leaders. Erik and Mike asked cogent questions but didn't want to lead. I thought about offering to lead but I decided I wouldn't be a good leader even though I understood the route, because I'm a new rider. (Next time I will lead if I am needed.) Phil volunteered Russell, but it still didn't really sort out very well. Then the group mind decided to go to breakfast in New Matamoras, and Phil said let's just skip the first stop.
We went to New Mat and terrorized the waitstaff at the New Frontier family restaurant. Some non-bikerscum stormed out when they couldn't get served in reasonable time, but the bikerscum were quite cheerful and patient, at least from what I could see.
Soon I found myself following a small group of bikers out of New Mat. At the edge of town we overtook Phil's group, and melded into a larger group of a dozen or so. At a stop, Phil insisted we break this up, and Erik took over leadership of a second group, which I was in. Phil asked for a sweep rider. At last, something I could do to help. I know where I'm going, I have tools, cell phone, and first-aid training, and I don't mind being last. I volunteered.
Phil's group roared off. A few minutes later, Erik's group followed at a more sedate pace. We rode this way and that, over lovely twisty roads. I carefully kept track of where we were on my map, just in case something happened and I needed to get myself and some other rider out of there. It continued to rain.
About an hour later, we came to a stop sign. Up ahead, I saw Erik turn right, and the others followed him one by one. According to my map and my understanding of the route, we should have turned left. I wondered what was up. I came to the stop sign myself, looked to the right and saw that perhaps fifty feet from the corner, there was a driveway, at the bottom of a little hill. This driveway looked treacherous, it was all dirt and mud. In this driveway were Phil and company, plus the other members of my group. I paused at the stop sign and thought, "We're supposed to turn left here, and I really really don't want to ride down there into that driveway and then have to turn around in that mud. Why the hell did they stop there? Stupid, stupid, stupid." I waited for a minute, hoping someone would come to their senses and keep going. But they didn't, and I knew a car would come behind me any minute, so I resigned myself and rode down to join the others in the gravel and mud. I tried to pick a spot with more gravel and less mud, where I wasn't too close to anyone else. I could see Erik and Phil talking, but between the running bikes, my helmet, the speaking people's helmets, and my earplugs, I couldn't hear a thing they were saying.
Finally Phil roared out to the left, and was followed by some of the riders. Then Erik went to the right, now leading a slightly different group than he had been originally leading. I waited until all had left, and then as designated sweep to Erik's group I followed. I suspected Erik was cutting the ride short and I really wanted to go the whole route, but I knew I'd never catch Phil's group, and I felt responsible to continue as sweep until such time as I let my ride leader, Erik, know I wasn't going to follow anymore. I almost fell over getting out of the mud, my rear wheel lost traction and the whole back of the bike started going sideways. I had to put my feet down hard to save it, and they sank three inches into the mud. If my feet had slipped or sank even a little bit farther I could never have saved it. When my wheels finally achieved the pavement I put my feet on the pegs and almost wiped out again as they slid off like they'd been greased. I knew my tires were caked with the slippery mud so I didn't want to stop or turn too tightly. I rode very slowly in a straight line, and dragged my feet on the ground to pull the mud off, then scraped it from my pegs with my feet, which I dragged again. Then I slowly brought my speed up, and wove back and forth very carefully to scrape some more mud off the sides of my tires. It was a mile or so before I overtook my group again. I wore mud for the rest of the weekend, and the Sabre is still muddy. I'll clean it later.
We stopped for gas in the small town of Glouster, OH. At the gas station Erik told me he and Wyn were turning back. I wanted to continue. So did Dave Pelletier. The others turned back with Erik. Dave was completely disoriented, so I became ride leader. I was all set to go, so I pulled out of the gas station and into a parallel parking space across the street and waited for Dave to be ready. While I waited, Erik and company left, headed in the same direction I was planning to go. I thought that was odd. Dave took a while to get ready, but finally he started moving. As Dave was pulling out of the gas station, I spied Phil and Kevin in my rearview mirror, pulling into the gas station, but I decided not to wait for them. As we rode out of town, I saw Erik and company coming back the other way, I guess they were disoriented too.
I led Dave to South Bloomingville. South Bloomingville is one of those towns that is just a dozen buildings at a crossing in the road. The sort of town that you can stand in the middle of, and see everything in it. We came in on Route 56, and I looked right and left for Jimbob's. I didn't see it. It looked like there were slightly more buildings to the right, so I turned that way, maybe it was around a bend in the road. No Jimbob's, and the houses quickly thinned out. We turned around and went back, and just around the curve in the other direction we found it. We parked the bikes and went inside. It was a quarter to three. The set meeting time was from three to four.
Jimbob's was a country-western bar, with a small stage and dance floor at the back and a dimly lit bar area up front. It was quite spacious and comfortable, and there were perhaps a dozen people there to stare at us when we came in. The bartender told me the bikers had been and gone, but I wasn't sure whether or not to believe him, he had the look of someone who would think it was funny to lie about that. Since we were early to the meeting time, I ignored him and stayed. (I also ignored him later, when he told me I had to wear shoes if I was going to go into the bathroom.)
Dave and I staked out a table at the back, away from the bar, and took off our gear. My boots were soaked through. Off they came, and off came the socks. I was very glad I'd worn wool socks; they're warm even when they're wet. Cotton socks would have been miserable. Even with the wool socks my feet were miserable.
A few minutes later, Phil, Kevin, and Carl came in. Of all the riders, we were the only five who made it there. Phil gave me some of his spare socks, and got some plastic bags from the bartender, for me to put my feet in before putting my wet boots back on. That's one more thing to add to my list of things to carry, dry socks; how wonderful to have such a thing on a day like that.
The five of us rode back together. We didn't take the planned route, instead we opted for something a little more direct. Everyone was tired of riding in the rain. Carl brought up the rear. As we rode, I thought about commuting by bike, motorized or not. When I bicycle commuted, I was rock solid on bicycle tours, even when conditions were miserable. Riding every day in every kind of weather, you develop a comfort level and a degree of mental fortitude that makes you so much stronger than your fellows who are just weekend touring riders and fair weather bikers. I was glad to have Carl behind me, I figured he was ready for anything. Even so, he got separated from us on the outskirts of Marietta. Phil and Kevin went back to look for him. I figured that two people were enough to be doing that; Phil didn't need to have all of us following him while he looked for the lost sheep. Better to stay in one place and not get underfoot. I waited by the side of the road, and so did Dave. It was hardly a minute before they came back, all three of them. I don't know what happened.
Over the course of the day's ride, I felt my rear tire sliding out from under me several times, which was scary. Usually it was sticks or gravel in the road, but the scariest instance was probably some kind of cage fluid, because I didn't see anything in the road at all, and it was definitely very slippery.
We came back to the campground to find that most everyone was there ahead of us. Dinner was excellent. That evening, tales grew tall around the fire. Here are some highlights:
Russell Stephan and Mike Stewart came back saying they'd ridden the farthest but failed to find Jimbob's. They were in the wrong town, that's why.
Ozzie said he'd gone to Cleveland. When asked why, he said because he'd never been there.
??michael told the tale of his lowside, and of the guy who wanted his phone number. I'll let him tell the details of that story for himself.
Lori Lovejoy and her husband came out for dinner, and I was no longer the only person there with fringe.
I talked about science fiction with Steve Stokes and Lady d'Sabreman, a.k.a. Linda.
At one point I heard Russell raising his voice a little ways away, to grouse, "What is it about me that people are always thinking I'm gay???" and found myself laughing, because I had wondered about that very thing, when I first met him, and then I had decided he was not, once I'd gotten to know him a little better. Though it's a hard thing to formulate into words, I would have made the attempt to tell him why I myself had thought this, but he didn't really want to know, he was just peeving and asking it as a rhetorical question.
I was sitting by the fire not saying much and Chris asked me what I thought of the 'maggots now that I was meeting them in person. Some rather outrageous stories were being told by others around the fire. I said to Chris, "The thing that amazes me is how unworldly they are!"
A little while later ??michael started spouting loudly about how the 'maggots were a bunch of freaks. He noticed me looking at him and said, "Except for Katherine, here." I said, "Excuse me?" He repeated that all the 'maggots were freaks except for me. I looked him straight in the eye and said 'Hey!!!! I refuse to be excluded!" The others laughed, and ??michael amended his statement to say that everyone there was a freak.
The crowd had thinned out, maybe a dozen people were left, when Ozzie wandered away into the dark. A few minutes later he came back wearing his leather jacket, shorts, scruffy white sneakers, and fishnet stockings! He pranced around the fire while the others roared with laughter. Several blackmail shots were taken.
I rode very slowly back to the motel late that evening. I hadn't been drinking, but I sure felt like my reflexes were poor. And the road felt slick. I think it may have dropped below freezing during the night.
When I got to the motel, I found that Dave and Dan had gone to sleep with the lights on. Dave was on one bed, curled up around his chemistry textbook; his glasses were laying there on the book just waiting to be rolled onto and crunched. I took the book and the glasses away. Dan was on the floor in a sleeping bag, and actually woke up enough to say hello when I came in. Sheesh, the man had just had surgery on Tuesday, he's ridden 500 miles or so in the past two days, and he thinks I'm going to let him sleep on a thinly-carpeted concrete floor? Dumbass. I made him get in the bed. I have full confidence in my abilities to say no to any non-sleep activities, and it's stupid for people to sleep on the floor when there are double beds that are only half full. He got in the bed and was asleep again in minutes.
Sunday morning we had another breakfast at the New Frontier. The New Frontier has a short history of New Matamoras printed on the front. I read this and learned that the man who invented plastic wrap is from New Matamoras.
Erik, Dave and Gadget Dan decided to make a straight shot home to Michigan. I was having too much fun to go home that quickly, so I made an alternate plan. Kevin and I took a twisty route west, and had lunch together before returning to our respective homes. The sun came out as we rode through Athens, and I cheered.
Unfortunately it was starting to rain again when we got to Chillicothe, where we had our lunch. While we ate, we saw buckets of rain coming down outside. After lunch it was still raining. We got gas across the street and went out separate ways. By the time I was ten miles out of Chillicothe, the sun was out again, and so bright that I stopped to put my sunglasses on. Fifteen minutes later I had to stop again and take them off. And fifteen minutes after that, hail was falling on me! The weather cycled between sun and heavy rain, four or five more times before I got home.
I got home just after dark. Despite the miserable weather, I had a blast. My bike is caked with mud, and so is much of my clothing. I don't care. All the weather did was bring the inadequacies of my gear to my attention. My rain pants tore at the crotch during the last few hours of the trip home, the water seeped in and was very cold. The pants are too short anyways, water came right over the top of them and into my boots, so I'll probably just pitch them as soon as I find a replacement. My chaps are even more stretched than they were before; their protective qualities are declining as the fit becomes so sloppy they'll hardly stay on my body. I think I'll be making a road trip to Duluth in the next month or so, to look into buying a 'Stitch.
I hoped that when we turned to the east it would get better, but it was actually worse. I was in the lead by that point, because I knew the route from Delaware east. There were slow cages and trucks but I didn't want to pass them, what with the wind making things so exciting.
In Newark we passed a building shaped like a giant picnic basket. I don't know what to say about it, except it was so bizarre to see this, that I just had to comment on it in my report.
Near Zanesville we stopped for gas and discussed what route to take. We were running a little later than we would have liked and we were pretty tired already. We decided to take the freeway all the way to 800, rather than opt for a technical twisty route. The weather, while not wonderful, improved enough that it wasn't completely miserable, and the wind died down a little bit.
We arrived at the Aldeco Motel to find some other riders already there. We had unloaded the bikes and were about to go to the campground when the sound of the dark side was heard, and a mob of bikes roared into the motel parking lot. There was much noise, bike sniffing, and milling about. One of the riders was sporting a leather jacket with a name patch that said "Ozzie". Ah-hah, it was good to identify him, because I had something to give him. I opened up my tank bag, found the gift, and handed it to Ozzie. Fishnet stockings. He thanked me and quickly stuffed them out of sight. Hmm.
Then we all hopped on the bikes and took a twisty route to Marietta for dinner. This was probably the point of least rain for the weekend, the pavement was damp but not pooled with water, and I was actually feeling pretty good. I pushed myself, not to the point of crazed danger, but a little bit, and I found that I was keeping up with the riders ahead of me. Maybe I'm getting a little better at this twisties thing.
Dinner was at Ryan's, a buffet-style restaurant where we covered a six-person table with helmets and mounded raingear, leather and stitches on the chairs. We made a lot of noise and ate a lot of food. Then we went back out into the damp night, and rode back to the campground. Bikes peeled off at every gas station along the way to fuel up in preparation for the morning's events. (Even so, in the morning we discovered that some people had failed to heed Phil's request to buy gas the night before so as not to slow the group down in the morning. These dumbasses know who they are.)
We stood around the campfire in the rain. I had met maybe 1/3 of the people there before, and I was enjoying the opportunity to meet the others. But the names hadn't yet all sorted themselves out for me, so I can't really give a good accounting of who said what or did what. I did learn that we were riding out at 8:30 the next morning.
I was supposed to be sharing the room with Dave Pelletier and Gadget Dan, but Dan wasn't there. Dave went back early, because he had to study, but I stayed by the fire until around midnight. Then Richard was leaving to go back, and I said I'd ride back with him. I was pretty tired and cold by this point, so it was none too soon. I forgot to put up my sidestand (dumbass) but Richard hollered to me about it before any harm was done. I stopped to put up the stand, and he passed me. I wasn't completely sure how to get out of the campground, so I followed. We came to a spot where the road forked. He turned right, and next thing I knew we were going around in a circle. He didn't know how to get out either. So when we came to the turn again, I signaled left, and he either thought of this on his own or got the hint. He turned left and sure enough we got out.
Back at the motel Dave was sound asleep, but our next door neighbors were still having their own private party. Next morning I awoke at around 7:45, woke Dave, and started getting ready. Others were awake outside, I could hear people moving around. We rolled down to the campground and got there pretty close to on time.
When we got to the campground Gadget Dan was there. He'd arrived during the night and pitched his tent because he couldn't find the motel, and he wouldn't have known which room we were in anyways.
We all went to the picnic shelter, and got a very confused description of the route from Phil. I don't think there were more than two or three people who understood where the route went, and everyone was sort of standing around stupidly waiting for someone else to take the lead. I understood about half of it, and I knew where the meeting points were, so I figured I'd be all right. There were way too many people for Phil to lead alone, and he couldn't get anyone to volunteer as ride leaders. Erik and Mike asked cogent questions but didn't want to lead. I thought about offering to lead but I decided I wouldn't be a good leader even though I understood the route, because I'm a new rider. (Next time I will lead if I am needed.) Phil volunteered Russell, but it still didn't really sort out very well. Then the group mind decided to go to breakfast in New Matamoras, and Phil said let's just skip the first stop.
We went to New Mat and terrorized the waitstaff at the New Frontier family restaurant. Some non-bikerscum stormed out when they couldn't get served in reasonable time, but the bikerscum were quite cheerful and patient, at least from what I could see.
Soon I found myself following a small group of bikers out of New Mat. At the edge of town we overtook Phil's group, and melded into a larger group of a dozen or so. At a stop, Phil insisted we break this up, and Erik took over leadership of a second group, which I was in. Phil asked for a sweep rider. At last, something I could do to help. I know where I'm going, I have tools, cell phone, and first-aid training, and I don't mind being last. I volunteered.
Phil's group roared off. A few minutes later, Erik's group followed at a more sedate pace. We rode this way and that, over lovely twisty roads. I carefully kept track of where we were on my map, just in case something happened and I needed to get myself and some other rider out of there. It continued to rain.
About an hour later, we came to a stop sign. Up ahead, I saw Erik turn right, and the others followed him one by one. According to my map and my understanding of the route, we should have turned left. I wondered what was up. I came to the stop sign myself, looked to the right and saw that perhaps fifty feet from the corner, there was a driveway, at the bottom of a little hill. This driveway looked treacherous, it was all dirt and mud. In this driveway were Phil and company, plus the other members of my group. I paused at the stop sign and thought, "We're supposed to turn left here, and I really really don't want to ride down there into that driveway and then have to turn around in that mud. Why the hell did they stop there? Stupid, stupid, stupid." I waited for a minute, hoping someone would come to their senses and keep going. But they didn't, and I knew a car would come behind me any minute, so I resigned myself and rode down to join the others in the gravel and mud. I tried to pick a spot with more gravel and less mud, where I wasn't too close to anyone else. I could see Erik and Phil talking, but between the running bikes, my helmet, the speaking people's helmets, and my earplugs, I couldn't hear a thing they were saying.
Finally Phil roared out to the left, and was followed by some of the riders. Then Erik went to the right, now leading a slightly different group than he had been originally leading. I waited until all had left, and then as designated sweep to Erik's group I followed. I suspected Erik was cutting the ride short and I really wanted to go the whole route, but I knew I'd never catch Phil's group, and I felt responsible to continue as sweep until such time as I let my ride leader, Erik, know I wasn't going to follow anymore. I almost fell over getting out of the mud, my rear wheel lost traction and the whole back of the bike started going sideways. I had to put my feet down hard to save it, and they sank three inches into the mud. If my feet had slipped or sank even a little bit farther I could never have saved it. When my wheels finally achieved the pavement I put my feet on the pegs and almost wiped out again as they slid off like they'd been greased. I knew my tires were caked with the slippery mud so I didn't want to stop or turn too tightly. I rode very slowly in a straight line, and dragged my feet on the ground to pull the mud off, then scraped it from my pegs with my feet, which I dragged again. Then I slowly brought my speed up, and wove back and forth very carefully to scrape some more mud off the sides of my tires. It was a mile or so before I overtook my group again. I wore mud for the rest of the weekend, and the Sabre is still muddy. I'll clean it later.
We stopped for gas in the small town of Glouster, OH. At the gas station Erik told me he and Wyn were turning back. I wanted to continue. So did Dave Pelletier. The others turned back with Erik. Dave was completely disoriented, so I became ride leader. I was all set to go, so I pulled out of the gas station and into a parallel parking space across the street and waited for Dave to be ready. While I waited, Erik and company left, headed in the same direction I was planning to go. I thought that was odd. Dave took a while to get ready, but finally he started moving. As Dave was pulling out of the gas station, I spied Phil and Kevin in my rearview mirror, pulling into the gas station, but I decided not to wait for them. As we rode out of town, I saw Erik and company coming back the other way, I guess they were disoriented too.
I led Dave to South Bloomingville. South Bloomingville is one of those towns that is just a dozen buildings at a crossing in the road. The sort of town that you can stand in the middle of, and see everything in it. We came in on Route 56, and I looked right and left for Jimbob's. I didn't see it. It looked like there were slightly more buildings to the right, so I turned that way, maybe it was around a bend in the road. No Jimbob's, and the houses quickly thinned out. We turned around and went back, and just around the curve in the other direction we found it. We parked the bikes and went inside. It was a quarter to three. The set meeting time was from three to four.
Jimbob's was a country-western bar, with a small stage and dance floor at the back and a dimly lit bar area up front. It was quite spacious and comfortable, and there were perhaps a dozen people there to stare at us when we came in. The bartender told me the bikers had been and gone, but I wasn't sure whether or not to believe him, he had the look of someone who would think it was funny to lie about that. Since we were early to the meeting time, I ignored him and stayed. (I also ignored him later, when he told me I had to wear shoes if I was going to go into the bathroom.)
Dave and I staked out a table at the back, away from the bar, and took off our gear. My boots were soaked through. Off they came, and off came the socks. I was very glad I'd worn wool socks; they're warm even when they're wet. Cotton socks would have been miserable. Even with the wool socks my feet were miserable.
A few minutes later, Phil, Kevin, and Carl came in. Of all the riders, we were the only five who made it there. Phil gave me some of his spare socks, and got some plastic bags from the bartender, for me to put my feet in before putting my wet boots back on. That's one more thing to add to my list of things to carry, dry socks; how wonderful to have such a thing on a day like that.
The five of us rode back together. We didn't take the planned route, instead we opted for something a little more direct. Everyone was tired of riding in the rain. Carl brought up the rear. As we rode, I thought about commuting by bike, motorized or not. When I bicycle commuted, I was rock solid on bicycle tours, even when conditions were miserable. Riding every day in every kind of weather, you develop a comfort level and a degree of mental fortitude that makes you so much stronger than your fellows who are just weekend touring riders and fair weather bikers. I was glad to have Carl behind me, I figured he was ready for anything. Even so, he got separated from us on the outskirts of Marietta. Phil and Kevin went back to look for him. I figured that two people were enough to be doing that; Phil didn't need to have all of us following him while he looked for the lost sheep. Better to stay in one place and not get underfoot. I waited by the side of the road, and so did Dave. It was hardly a minute before they came back, all three of them. I don't know what happened.
Over the course of the day's ride, I felt my rear tire sliding out from under me several times, which was scary. Usually it was sticks or gravel in the road, but the scariest instance was probably some kind of cage fluid, because I didn't see anything in the road at all, and it was definitely very slippery.
We came back to the campground to find that most everyone was there ahead of us. Dinner was excellent. That evening, tales grew tall around the fire. Here are some highlights:
Russell Stephan and Mike Stewart came back saying they'd ridden the farthest but failed to find Jimbob's. They were in the wrong town, that's why.
Ozzie said he'd gone to Cleveland. When asked why, he said because he'd never been there.
??michael told the tale of his lowside, and of the guy who wanted his phone number. I'll let him tell the details of that story for himself.
Lori Lovejoy and her husband came out for dinner, and I was no longer the only person there with fringe.
I talked about science fiction with Steve Stokes and Lady d'Sabreman, a.k.a. Linda.
At one point I heard Russell raising his voice a little ways away, to grouse, "What is it about me that people are always thinking I'm gay???" and found myself laughing, because I had wondered about that very thing, when I first met him, and then I had decided he was not, once I'd gotten to know him a little better. Though it's a hard thing to formulate into words, I would have made the attempt to tell him why I myself had thought this, but he didn't really want to know, he was just peeving and asking it as a rhetorical question.
I was sitting by the fire not saying much and Chris asked me what I thought of the 'maggots now that I was meeting them in person. Some rather outrageous stories were being told by others around the fire. I said to Chris, "The thing that amazes me is how unworldly they are!"
A little while later ??michael started spouting loudly about how the 'maggots were a bunch of freaks. He noticed me looking at him and said, "Except for Katherine, here." I said, "Excuse me?" He repeated that all the 'maggots were freaks except for me. I looked him straight in the eye and said 'Hey!!!! I refuse to be excluded!" The others laughed, and ??michael amended his statement to say that everyone there was a freak.
The crowd had thinned out, maybe a dozen people were left, when Ozzie wandered away into the dark. A few minutes later he came back wearing his leather jacket, shorts, scruffy white sneakers, and fishnet stockings! He pranced around the fire while the others roared with laughter. Several blackmail shots were taken.
I rode very slowly back to the motel late that evening. I hadn't been drinking, but I sure felt like my reflexes were poor. And the road felt slick. I think it may have dropped below freezing during the night.
When I got to the motel, I found that Dave and Dan had gone to sleep with the lights on. Dave was on one bed, curled up around his chemistry textbook; his glasses were laying there on the book just waiting to be rolled onto and crunched. I took the book and the glasses away. Dan was on the floor in a sleeping bag, and actually woke up enough to say hello when I came in. Sheesh, the man had just had surgery on Tuesday, he's ridden 500 miles or so in the past two days, and he thinks I'm going to let him sleep on a thinly-carpeted concrete floor? Dumbass. I made him get in the bed. I have full confidence in my abilities to say no to any non-sleep activities, and it's stupid for people to sleep on the floor when there are double beds that are only half full. He got in the bed and was asleep again in minutes.
Sunday morning we had another breakfast at the New Frontier. The New Frontier has a short history of New Matamoras printed on the front. I read this and learned that the man who invented plastic wrap is from New Matamoras.
Erik, Dave and Gadget Dan decided to make a straight shot home to Michigan. I was having too much fun to go home that quickly, so I made an alternate plan. Kevin and I took a twisty route west, and had lunch together before returning to our respective homes. The sun came out as we rode through Athens, and I cheered.
Unfortunately it was starting to rain again when we got to Chillicothe, where we had our lunch. While we ate, we saw buckets of rain coming down outside. After lunch it was still raining. We got gas across the street and went out separate ways. By the time I was ten miles out of Chillicothe, the sun was out again, and so bright that I stopped to put my sunglasses on. Fifteen minutes later I had to stop again and take them off. And fifteen minutes after that, hail was falling on me! The weather cycled between sun and heavy rain, four or five more times before I got home.
I got home just after dark. Despite the miserable weather, I had a blast. My bike is caked with mud, and so is much of my clothing. I don't care. All the weather did was bring the inadequacies of my gear to my attention. My rain pants tore at the crotch during the last few hours of the trip home, the water seeped in and was very cold. The pants are too short anyways, water came right over the top of them and into my boots, so I'll probably just pitch them as soon as I find a replacement. My chaps are even more stretched than they were before; their protective qualities are declining as the fit becomes so sloppy they'll hardly stay on my body. I think I'll be making a road trip to Duluth in the next month or so, to look into buying a 'Stitch.
