The screaming meanie was going off. Pressing the switch didn't make it stop, so Russell pulled out the batteries. It kept going off. We decided it had to be sacrificed. The phone rang and it was Gordon, the manager of the Van Dyke Parks Suites hotel, saying that he was getting complaints about the noise, and could we please keep it down? "We're trying!" I said, as the noisy component was isolated. The shiny round thing was still beeping as I handed it to Phil and said, "You have your shoes on, take this in the bathroom where there's a tile floor, and stomp on it!" Phil carried it into the bathroom and tried to stomp on it, but it skittered away, still beeping. We were frantically trying to catch it and stop it when...
...I woke from my dream and realized I was in a different hotel, and that the noise was emanating from Russell's vicinity. I sat up, and noticed Phil was also sitting up, but that Russell didn't appear to be moving. I leaned out of bed and hit him with a pillow, and he rolled over and turned it off.
It was 2 o'clock on a Sunday morning, and we were in a room at the North Bend State Park Lodge.
Friday night I'd ridden down to Columbus to Phil Ross's place. Matt and Becky were going to be stopping off there on their way to Iowa for the holiday, and it's always fun to hang out with them, so I decided to go south that evening when I got out of work at 8pm, rather than waiting for daylight the next morning.
The weather was warm for November, and with my electrics I was quite comfy as I rode south on US23. There was a lot more traffic than usual. I think a lot of people who travel for Thanksgiving were already on the way south.
I rode into some light fog, which became a heavy fog by the time I got to Marion.
In Marion, there are a couple of hotels, a full set of fast food places, a half dozen gas stations and a shopping center, all brightly lit and right next to the freeway exit.
I couldn't see any of them.
I got a brief glimpse of the sign offering exit services, or I'd never have known they were there. It seemed an eternity to the exit, and when it did arrive, I couldn't see what sort of ramp it was. I slowed way down, just in case it had a sharp curve. From the bottom of the exit ramp, I could see one gas station, so I made a beeline into it.
I knew I had enough gas to get the rest of the way to Columbus, but I filled up anyway, just to give myself the comfort of routine while I calmed my nerves and planned my next move. I noticed that with my shield up, I could see a bit better, well enough to see that there was another gas station next door, and some other businesses across the street. I decided to switch to my fog city shield, find a cage to follow, and keep going.
I don't like to use the fog city shield, because of the starring. But once I got on the freeway, the starring wasn't a problem because I couldn't see very many lights in this fog. A minivan cam along at exactly the right moment, and I merged on behind it. I followed it at about 35 mph, all the way to Delaware.
In Delaware, the fog got even thicker, and it was condensing on the outside of my shield; I had to wipe the shield with my gloved hand every few minutes just to see anything. The van overtook an even slower car, and I gratefully slowed down and tranferred my allegiance to this new guide.
About a mile south of the loop, the air cleared and I could see. The last mile or so was a cakewalk.
Phil heard me pulling in, and he opened the garage door. He'd cleaned his garage and there was actually room for my bike in there! He told me that Matt and Becky had canceled. Russell would come over in the morning, sometime not before 9am.
In the morning, there was a bit of fog still lingering. Phil and I listened to music and ate a leisurely breakfast while waiting for Russell. Finally he arrived, and we went straight to a historical marker dedication at Arena Park in Columbus. This was the site of the old Ohio Penitentiary, and the marker commemorated the escape of General Morgan, who was imprisoned there after leading the Union Army a merry chase across most of Ohio. There was an honor guard of uniformed Civil War re-enactors, and a lot of speeches, including some ranting old gents from the Confederate side who didn't seem to believe the war was over.
Later, I pointed out that the Civil War folks were not the only ones in uniforms, that the motorcyclists were also wearing a uniform of one-piece stiches and white Shoie RF800 helmets.
After the dedication, we made our way out of Columbus. We stopped for gas, then we stopped at Re-Psycle, a shop that sells used BMW stuff, where Phil wanted to get some new hinges and one new lid for his side cases. While we were there, we found a case that matches my side bags perfectly, only it was set up for a top case, with a backrest. $85, used, in good condition. Sold! I have a three case rack and only two cases, so I was able to take it outside and just snap it on. Phil had to futz around a bit more with his stuff, and in the end he just bungeed the new lid to his passenger seat rather than assemble it there. Russell paced like a rat in a cage, all the while proclaiming that he knew full well that riding with others meant he would suffer these endless holdups, and that he had made his peace with this. He's so saintly.
In the Hocking Hills, Russell led us into the parking lot of the Rock House. We went for a walk down into the caves, which are spectacular.
As we were turning out of the parking lot, some squids went by, and Russell and Phil lit out after them. There was a new Katana coming, who had obviously dropped behind the front-runners, and I waited for him to pass before turning out of the lot myself. The Katana and I caught up with Russell, Phil, and the other squids at a stop sign where they were waiting for us. I could see them talking, but before I got to the stop sign, Russell and Phil took off, with the lead squids in hot pursuit. I waited courteously for the Katana guy to go first, and then followed. For the next ten or twenty miles, Phil and Russell played with the leading squids, and I played with the slower squid on the Katana. A good time was had by all, until our paths diverged.
Then it was up through Nelsonville, and out 78. We passed 555 by in favor of the next road south. At a little store in Pennsville, Phil and I each had a donut and something to drink, while Russell ate boiled eggs, raw potatoes, and canned tuna from his saddlebags. Since it gets dark so early, we decided to ride until dark, then eat dinner in a restaurant. (Russell gave me and Phil the obligatory digs for not bringing camping gear and food from home.) We discussed where we might find a motel on a dark hilltop where we might be able to see the meteor shower from someplace within walking distance, and couldn't think of anyplace. But by the time we stopped for gas an hour later, Phil had come up with an idea. Why not go to the North Bend State Park, in WV, and stay at the lodge? It was about thirty miles away, he said, it's in the middle of nowhere, and it has a restaurant. I said sure, and Russell agreed as well, though he had to say he was only doing it because we were wimps, that if he'd been alone he would have camped.
Thirty Philometers and fifty miles later, we pulled into the parking lot of the lodge. The fates were smiling on us! It was open, and a suite with two beds and a foldout couch was only $57. The food was great, too. The only problem was the overabundance of lights in the parking lot. But the park ranger at the desk suggested we could watch the sky from the nearby temporary campground, about five minutes away. OK, good enough. Russell set the screaming meanie for 2am, and we went to bed not long after 8pm.
So, there I was, getting up at 2am to go out into the cold. Russell teased me for being sleepy, but I really wasn't in that bad of shape. It's very normal for me to be awake at 2am, it's just that I usually haven't had six hours of sleep first.
We rode off in search of the temporary campground. After what seemed an eternity of twisty, deer infested, gravel-strewn roads, we came to a small town. I was way behind, and as I pulled up, Phil turned around and went back the way we'd come. I pulled up next to Russell, and he asked me where Phil was going. As if I would know? So we waited, there in this small town, under the streetlights, and even though there was light pollution around us, we could still see shooting stars overhead.
Eventually Russell got tired of waiting and we went to look for Phil. We met him at the edge of town, coming back. So we turned around again and followed him back through the town, and another thirty miles through dark, twisty roads, until we reached his farm. It was then I learned that the campground had been gated shut and shrouded in fog. I hadn't even seen it when we passed it.
The view from the farm was spectacular. There was fog in the valley below but sitting on the hill we had a great view of the sky. Russell had brought a tarp to lie on, and I'd brought my thermarest and sleeping bag. We lay on the ground in our stiches and helmets and looked at the sky. There were so many shooting stars, it was like fireworks without the noise. Sometimes, Russell would start counting aloud, one, two, three, and in a minute or so he'd be up to seventy or eighty, and as he was counting, I wouldn't see all the ones he saw, instead, I'd see different ones, since I was looking in a different direction. Some of them were so bright they lit the sky like lightning. Some of them had trails that glowed for five or ten seconds after they went past. Sometimes the trails were straight lines, and sometimes they had little breaks and bends in them like the meteor was skipping across the atmosphere.
Russell said he wished he'd brought a date, he could have got laid.
When we first got there I wasn't sure I could sit out on that frozen hillside for three hours. But dawn arrived all too soon, a hazy glow in the fog on the horizon off to the right, and Phil started making noises about coffee. I realized that dew had gotten all over my sleeping bag and frozen.
We rode back to the lodge, where we were the first ones in the restaurant for the breakfast buffet. The food was spectacular! After making inroads on the buffet, we went back to our room and slept for another couple of hours before checkout time.
The weather was beautiful! We rode twisty roads through West Virginia for the next several hours. I don't know what direction we went in, and I don't care, the roads were so great. Over a Subway sandwich lunch, Phil told us he didn't think the roads get any better than what we'd ridden that morning. I told him I'd be happy to continue this line of research!
After a stop at Phil's family's other farm and visiting with his family, we crossed the Ohio River on a ferry, and rode off to look at the Big Muskie coal shovel. This is a shovel the size of a house. It appears to be chained to the rocks with chain links the size of park benches, as if someone might be able to steal it!
During the last ten miles before Big Muskie, my bike coughed several times, like it was trying to sputter and die. Each time it picked right back up again, but it was pretty scary when it happened while I was leaning into curves. At Big Muskie, I told the guys about this, and they had me ride in the middle. About three or four miles later, the bike coughed again, surged to life again, and then died. It came briefly to life, just long enough to fire a tremendous backfire at Russell as he raced past me to flag Phil down. I pulled the clutch and shifted down to neutral and concentrated on coasting it far enough to reach a driveway and get it out of the road. I didn't quite make it. The guys circled back and parked, and gave me a push over the rise, and I coasted down a slight incline to a cemetery driveway.
Before I had my helmet off, Phil had the side cover off and was going for the main fuse. Russell had a screwdriver, and all that remained was for me to do, was to say yes indeed, I do have spare fuses, to turn the key on and off on command, and to wring my hands. Before I could even get the spare fuses out, Phil had discovered that the positive terminal on my battery had loosened up. I dug out a wrench, and he tightened it up. When I turned the key, it lit right up, and when I pushed the button, it started. (I'd like to say it gave me no more trouble that night, but it did stall on me as I pulled into a rest area outside of Bowling Green on my way home. I was able to start it again, and rather than risk stopping and not being able to start, I just kept going. I could make it home without the break; there was only another hour to go. I don't think this was the same problem, though. I think it just stalled; this bike does that sometimes. I need to adjust the valves and sort out the carbs.)
We rode on into Zanesville and stopped at Shoneys for dinner. The restaurant was pretty empty, so we commandeered a second table for gear. The waitress came out and asked if we were on motorcycles, and if so, why didn't we have chaps? We learned that she was a frequent passenger on a Road King. During the meal we engaged in much Harley vs. Honda type banter. I think she thought Phil was pulling her leg when he told her that both Russell and I had visited Alaska on our Hondas that year. She'd never heard of the Iron Butt.
Russell didn't want to eat restaurant food, so he was standing around looming over us at the table as we ate, until Phil told him to sit down. (Russell kept asking me what is so funny, but I was never able to adequately explain why I keep laughing at his spending habits. I couldn't seem to make it clear that I don't think they're silly, and I don't argue that he saves money this way, but I still find it comical.)
After dinner, we said goodbye to each other in the parking lot. We would ride down I-70 together for almost an hour, then split off in all directions when we got to Columbus.
My ride home was without incident, apart from stalling the bike in that rest area. I made it from Columbus to my house in less than three hours, and got home by 11:30. Not bad!
In the light of day, my memory of the shooting stars feels more unreal and dreamlike than my memory of that vivid dream where we disassembled the screaming meanie. I'm glad the other two were there to verify that we really did see them.