I was going to bring Michael with me to the SME. Michael has a 1982 Yamaha Maxim 750. He likes the bike, but it needs some work. Namely, front brakes. The brake warning light was on all the time, and the front brakes were so spongy the bike would barely stop. About two weeks before the SME, Michael started this brake work. First, he bled the brakes. The fluid was really nasty. He bled them and bled them, until the fluid ran clear, but they were just as spongy as ever. Erik came in to help. They found a stuck slider in one of the calipers. They disassembled the caliper completely and broke that slider loose. The brakes were still mushy. They took the bike over to Erik's shop, where they disassembled the master cylinder and found that it was so badly pitted around the seal that it wouldn't push fluid properly. Michael went to the breakers and got a good used master cylinder. They installed it, and bled the brakes some more, and still they were spongy. By this time, it was Thursday. We were supposed to leave for the SME that evening. Michael had to cancel.

Erik and Dave met me at my house after work, and waited patiently while I finished packing. We waved goodbye to Michael a little after 7pm. Hmm, maybe Erik wasn't so patient. He led us south at a... um... spirited pace, I followed, and Dave brought up the rear. Ten miles from my house, US23 narrowed to one lane, because of construction. As the traffic merged, a truck got in front of me, behind Erik. This truck proceeded through the construction zone at ten miles under the speed limit. When the road widened to two lanes again, I passed the truck and led Dave at a pace I would never have traveled alone, but I didn't even glimpse Erik again. When we got to the Ohio border I decided I wasn't going to continue the attempt. At the border, the speed limit drops, and the Sylvania area is one big speed trap. I slowed. Just past Sylvania, Erik was waiting on the shoulder for us. He waved us past, overtook us quickly, and passed us to resume his leadership post, once again wicking the speed up. I've never crossed Ohio quite so quickly, but we managed to get through unscathed.

Near Dayton we stopped for dinner. Erik used his cell phone to reach Wyn, who we were supposed to meet. It turned out that Wyn had already finished her evening's ride, and was waiting for us in a motel room in London, Kentucky. We rode on to London to find her, arriving around 3am. We chatted a bit about our plans for the next day, and then we went to sleep.

Friday morning was sunny and the temperature was perfect, not too hot, not too cold. I was feeling antisocial, and I didn't want to make a plan. I wanted to make it up as I went along, but it's hard to do that when you're in a group of bikers. Unless you've all invested in communication equipment (and none of us had) you can't discuss the decisions as they come up. Also, I wanted to pick up a Thermarest, if I could find one. I didn't want to hunt for stores in unfamiliar places while leading other people, and I didn't want to follow other people who were hunting for stores in unfamiliar places either. Mainly, Thermarest or no, I wanted to be alone. I think I'm just too used to traveling alone, and at that moment I just couldn't handle the group thing. With a little encouragement, Erik, Dave, and Wyn left without me. I relaxed considerably once they left.

It's so peaceful to travel alone. I read my book while eating lunch. I stopped at three or four stores but did not find a Thermarest. That was OK; I let it slide. I picked my way southeast, choosing roads according to which ones looked prettiest from the intersections. Around 4pm, I decided I should hurry up and get there, if I wanted to have dinner with the 'maggots. I hopped on I-40 east. What an excellent freeway! Practically a twisty! I left I-40 to take US276 south through Waynesville to the campground.

Outside of Waynesville I stopped for gas. As I was about to put my helmet back on, a burly fellow with bristly blond hair and beard came up to me.
"Excuse me, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, go for it."
"I have a bike, a [mumble mumble something or other blah blah], it's just like that, it's the same color, I've had it ever since it was new, I've ridden it lots, [mumble mumble]..." I waited patiently for him to get to his question. "...so when you're riding, do you ever get lonely? Like when you're on the bike somewhere by yourself, do you feel lonely ever?"
Strange question. I don't think the guy was trying to be suggestive or to flirt with me. It seemed to me that whatever it was, it was something he felt strongly about, and that seeing me had somehow brought forth a desire to articulate this thing that he couldn't explain.
I didn't have any wisdom to offer, so I just answered the question.
"No. I feel perfectly happy riding alone."
For as far as it went, this was true. I didn't say anything about when I stop riding, and I do sometimes get lonely then. If his question wasn't a come-on, there was certainly no sense in encouraging him to turn it into one. But I felt vaguely guilty for my caution, like there was so much more I could have said.
I looked at him and he looked at me. It was one of those strange moments, when you can tell that someone would like to tell you something really deep, but they can't express it. You part ways never having managed to communicate the thing that is really important. The guy got in his truck and drove away, and I put my helmet on and continued down the road into Waynesville.

In Waynesville, I pulled up at a light, and a little old Suzuki standard pulled up in the lane next to me. I nodded to the Suzuki rider, and he nodded to me. He started revving the snot out of the little bike. Wheee! Wheee!!! Wheeeyeeee! I watched in amusement. He was glancing at me, to see if I was looking, and I didn't pretend that I wasn't. I smiled. He smiled. Wheeeyeeee! Wheeee! I grinned and blipped Cordelia's throttle, ever so slightly. Roarrr!!!! The deep V65 growl made the Suzuki sound like a small insect. I laughed, the light changed, and I was out of there. I never saw the Suzuki again.

I arrived at the Blue Ridge Motorcycle Campground to find the parking lot by the entrance filled with bikes. Erik, Dave and Wyn had arrived before me. Tony, Carmel, David and Janine were there too, and Zimbob, and Pat Coffee, and others, too many to count. Pat Coffee immediately came over and gave me a present, a wide-brimmed leather hat with some kind of animal tail dangling from the back of the hatband. I didn't know what to say, so I just thanked Pat and put it on. I used to wear hats all the time, but I'd gotten out of the habit. It was fun to wear a hat again. I wore it around all weekend at the campground.

I picked a spot and pitched my tent. Wyn came over and asked if I wanted to go to dinner with them, at a nearby restaurant. She said it was a really neat place and that I would like it. I didn't doubt it, but I had just arrived and I didn't want to be dragged away. I told her I'd think about it. She didn't like that answer, and pushed me to be more definite, so I said no. Later I changed my mind and went anyways.

Ten of us went to the restaurant. It was called the Pisgah Inn. When we got to the parking lot, Phil immediately took off to do a quick run down route 151, and four or five riders followed him. Wyn wanted to know how far it was, but I didn't know. I just shrugged. No one else seemed to know either. She fussed and fussed about what time the restaurant closed, and would they get back in time, and how far is it anyways, blah blah blah... Half the group was already gone. However far it was, they wouldn't be back until they came back, and there was nothing any of us could do about this. Why was Wyn making such a big deal out of it? I was irritated. I scowled at her and said, "Why don't you ride down there and find out?" I reminded myself that she wasn't trying to be irritating, she was just concerned, and that I should be more patient. So I tacked a smile onto the end of the question. She stopped fussing, at least to me. I said I was tired, and I offered to go inside and request a table and be the one to wait for it, surely a table for this large group would take a while, and the others might as well take that ride down 151. Wyn and the others rode off to find out how far 151 was.

I have to admit, all day I'd been feeling a bit out of sorts. The twisties weren't clicking for me, and neither was the social thing. I was happy to look at the view and wait. I was supremely patient. There's something pleasant about waiting; it relieves me of the (mostly self-imposed) pressure to be accomplishing something. I'm waiting, so it's OK to do absolutely nothing. I stared out over the mountains and felt my soul becoming calm. Before long I was refreshed and ready to face humans again. A family came out onto the observation deck, and we chatted about the view, the names of the flowers that were blooming, and how excellent the weather was. They were asking about the bike when they got called for their table, leaving me and one remaining man out there, and he asked me about the bike, too. He told me he had come over from Ireland. His accent was very pretty. It was fun just listening to him speak.

Soon I was called for our table. I was starting to worry; where were the 'maggots? They should be back by now. Almost on cue, they appeared. They had been gone exactly the right amount of time; our table was ready and I had recovered from my attack of unsociableness. I learned that they'd been gone longer than expected because Gadget Dan had crashed. Fortunately he wasn't hurt, and the bike didn't take any serious damage. It just took a little while to dust him off, check him out, and pull his bike out of the ditch.

I've heard the tales, but I really don't know about Joey and waitresses. He was at the far end of the table from me, and the only part of Joey's restaurant experience that I saw, was when he got Phil to order for him. At my end of the table, we were served by a waiter, and this waiter only had eyes for Phil. At first, Phil was very friendly to the waiter, unintentionally encouraging him, telling him he looked familiar, asking him if he'd ever worked at any other restaurants in the area, etc. Phil's cute, he's friendly, who can blame the waiter for hoping? Later, Phil was complaining (in the waiter's absence) that the waiter kept touching his back, and if he didn't quit it, he'd knock his block off. I told Phil the waiter obviously thought he was cute, and it was too bad Russell wasn't here to get some of that attention.

The restaurant obligingly gave us all separate checks. As I was waiting in line to pay mine, a smiling drunk came staggering up, stuck out his hand, and introduced himself.
"Hi, I'm Gary!" He stuck out his hand to shake.
I paused and stared before shaking his hand. "Umm... Hello, Gary. I'm Katherine." Gary turned to meet Joey.
What did he think this was, a receiving line? It was obviously ??michael's karma catching up to us all. I looked around for ??michael and didn't see him. Gary finished introducing himself to Joey, who was standing next to me. I said to Joey, "Where's ??michael? He should meet Gary."
Gadget Dan fled.
I paid my bill as Gary worked the line. Joey drifted away, and a few minutes later I looked up to see him leading ??michael across the lobby. "Gary, I've got someone here that you've just got to meet. ??michael, this is Gary. Gary, this is ??michael." Gary reached out his hand to shake, and engaged ??michael in conversation. Everyone was grinning ear to ear.
I went outside. Soon I was joined by the others. We stood outside on the steps in the dark, whooping with laughter. Gadget Dan said he had to run away when I asked about ??michael, because he couldn't keep a straight face. Joey had gone and fetched ??michael specifically to meet Gary.

Out in the parking lot, Joey asked, "Who wants to ride a little tiny bike?"
I decided that the novelty might do me good. "Sure, why not?"
I gave him the keys to Cordelia. Then it occurred to me that this was maybe not the best idea in the world. I did not want to be ditched and left alone in the dark on this strange bike. I wanted someone there to pick me up if I crashed. I asked Gadget Dan (crash expert that he is) to follow me and keep an eye on me as I rode this bike, and he agreed to do this.

Joey took off on Cordelia. I rode slowly and carefully on Lisa Marie. It was a terrifying experience. The misty darkness, the curves, and the unfamiliar bike had me quaking in fear. The stretch of the Blue Ridge Parkway was so scary I could hardly stand it, and then we turned onto 276, which was even worse. I slowed to about 10mph, creeping around the curves more slowly than any bicycle. Everyone else ditched me, but Gadget Dan, sweet friend that he is, stuck right behind me. I took great comfort from his presence. I though we'd never get to the campground! Soon, Joey came back, and rode with me too. It was reassuring to see Cordelia there close by, with her tank bag full of tools, her cell phone, and her first aid kit, all those good things to have if I crashed Lisa Marie. Finally the campground came in sight. Joey and I traded bikes in the driveway, so I didn't have to ride Lisa Marie over the wooden bridge or the loose gravel inside the campground. Thank goodness. Cordelia felt so familiar and solid after riding Lisa Marie. I love my bike! I suppose it would be different to ride Lisa Marie in daylight, someplace familiar, but that night it was hair-raising! Maybe Joey will let me try it again sometime when it will be easier.

That night by the fire, I enjoyed the chance to visit with many 'maggots. There were so many, many people there, it was almost overwhelming. Angie Kirkendall dared me to comment about her hair, which baffled me because I couldn't even see it in the dark. (Next day I noticed she'd lightened it.) I made her laugh by telling her how I frightened Kevin with my threat to take him for sushi if he stayed for lunch, and how he hightailed it out of Michigan as fast as he could. Ozzie asked if I'd brought him anything to wear? Several times he expressed disappointment that I had not brought him anything, and said he'd been hoping for something in rubber. (Rubber? Did he realize how this sounded? Later I decided he didn't, he was just being his eccentric self. But I made a mental note of it for later.) Chris was his usual congenial self. I'm in awe of that man's social skills; he instantly puts people at their ease without ever appearing to try. I don't know how anyone could avoid liking him.

Saturday morning I didn't want to rush. I knew that the only people leaving early would be the deranged morning people and the nuthammers. I can't keep up with the nuthammers, and why struggle out of bed to ride with the morning people, when there would almost certainly be other people to ride with, people who were leaving at a more reasonable hour? I got up when I felt like it, and had a relaxed breakfast.

I ended up leaving the campground with Ozzie, Chris and Stephanie. We stopped at the first lookout on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and hooked up with another small group which was nominally led by Carl Custer. Carl led us down the BRP at a pace that was just about perfect for me. Fast enough to stretch me, not fast enough to scare me. Each time we stopped, Ron Rosensweet would ride up and join us a few minutes later, and each time we left, he'd dwindle to a speck in our rear-view mirrors. Ron is totally relaxed; he rides his own ride and has nothing to prove to anyone. He doesn't get tense about not keeping up. He rides slow and steady and maintains a comfortable pace for himself. It's admirable.

The BRP was just stunningly beautiful. The sky was blue with fluffy cottonball clouds, and the mountainsides were covered with pink and purple flowers, mountain laurels and rhododendrons. We stopped and got a cager to take a group picture in front of a sign proclaiming the highest point on the parkway. I hope that picture shows up on some web site soon, I'd like a copy of it.

After seventy miles or so, some folks needed gas. We ended up taking a side trip down into Cherokee to seek a gas station. Cherokee was a three-ring circus, with tourist traps everywhere. The place was just crawling with cages and pedestrians. Gridlock is not a pretty thing in a town that's just a few blocks long. We lost Ozzie and Mark in Cherokee, but we did find lunch. While we were eating, Carl went off to seek the lost sheep, and returned claiming that he'd found them, though he didn't bring them back. I guess they picked a different restaurant. After lunch we set out for the Gap.

At the Gap, we found many other 'maggots. One 'maggot had crashed, and though he was gone his bike was parked at the Cross Roads of Time, with a broken clutch cable or something. I never did figure out which face went with that bike. We met up with Ozzie again, and with Erik and Wyn, and others. Wyn had had a close encounter of the gravity kind, and Erik had had a close encounter of the legal kind, but both were in good spirits.

Ron wanted to take a group picture, but before he could get his act together half the group had gone off up the Gap. I stayed for a little while and talked to Ron about routes back to the campground. He wanted to ride over the Gap but he didn't want to come back over it. He was ready to stop riding twisties for the day. We looked at the map for a good route for him to take back from the other side. Unfortunately for Ron, all the roads in the area are twisties. He was interested in what I could tell him of the roads on the Tennessee side. I told him the Foothills Parkway had nice sweepers and at his preferred speed he shouldn't have too much trouble with the RV traffic, but that he should make sure to steer clear of Pigeon Forge if at all possible. I wished him luck, and went off to face the Dragon myself. This time, a few bikes did pass me as I rode.

I overtook Dave, Ozzie, Chris and Stephanie and others at the lookout. We stared out at the view. I got out my cell phone and called home to see how Michael was doing, but he didn't answer. I told the answering machine that I was at the lookout atop Deal's Gap, and that I was thinking of him.

Ron Rosensweet pulled up as I set out to ride back down. I didn't see him again until late that evening at the campground. I never did get to hear how his lone trip back went, or what route he took.

Back at the CRoT, I stopped for a little while. It was getting towards late afternoon, and I decided it would be best to take a quick route back to the campground so as not to miss any of the evening's festivities. I ended up leading a small group of riders back. I felt very good on the return trip. Dave tells me I looked far more confident than I had earlier, and that I set a very good pace, and I know I sure felt better. I need to get down there more often, it makes me a better rider. As we rode along 28, we passed a group of V4s coming the other way, but I couldn't spare enough attention to determine who they were or even to count them. Then a few cars, and then I did recognize Joey and ?? on their matching Interceptors. I later realized that the first group must have been Mike, Phil, and Jack.

Back at the campground, I got to see Mark Mackinnon take Pegasus on his inaugural flight, and I helped Janine carry birthday cakes for Zimbob.

Richard Wainwright had asked me to make armbands for Tim Freeman. I had painted the initials on twenty or thirty of them, as requested, but my painting skills are not that great, and I didn't like how they were turning out, so I'd left most of them plain. Richard sat down and painted some himself. Despite his history of better living through chemistry, the man has a very steady hand. His armbands looked far better than mine. He also gave a very touching speech when we distributed them.

Soon, it began to get dark. I found myself in a small group that included Ozzie. I reached in my pocket and found the object I'd placed there earlier that day, and waited a little while for the topic to come around. It didn't, so I played instigator:

"Well, Ozzie, I know you were disappointed about me not bringing you anything else to wear..."
Before I could say another word, Ozzie leapt onto that conversational gambit. "Yeah, too bad you didn't bring me anything to wear. Y'know, I was really hoping for something in rubber!"
"Well, here's something. It was the best I could do at such short notice, and I want you to promise not to model it for me." I brought the item out of my pocket and handed it to Ozzie.
He held it up to see, looked, and blinked several times. There was a long pause.
Then he handed it back to me, and said, "Nah, it's too small, and besides my wife would kill me if I came home with that!" I laughed. So did Ozzie.
The others just stared.
In a somewhat awed tone, Zimjeff said "Wow, I never met a woman who had her own condoms before!"
I think Zimjeff needs to get out more.

Before long, people started drifting off to bed. Soon only Ozzie and I remained, and then he wished me goodnight, and it was just me. I was wide awake and completely wired. And it was so cold! I wasn't looking forward to trying to get to sleep in the tent; I knew I would toss and turn. I walked back up to visit the bathroom, in the hopes of not having to make that trek in the middle of the night.

I was in the bathroom when I heard the telltale rumble of V4s outside. It was Mike, Phil, ??, and Joey returning from their ride. They were amazed to find everyone else in bed before midnight. I was amazed myself, and I'd seen it happen. I was happy to come back out to the fire and hang out with these late arrivals. Ozzie came back, too. We scavenged some wood from the edge of the campground, and stoked the fire up again. Mike brought out some beers and whisky. I had a few swallows of whisky. It tasted good and felt so nice and warm going down. It completely drove away the cold I had been feeling earlier. After awhile, Ozzie, Phil and the evil twins went to bed, leaving Mike and myself to polish off the whiskey. I was enjoying the fiery sensation as it went down, but I didn't need much to get that sensation, so I didn't push myself to drink enough to even get tipsy; I just took small swallows. From what Mike said later, I guess he was taking much bigger pulls on that bottle. It was almost gone when we parted ways and wandered off to our beds. I wasn't cold at all, and I went to sleep easily. Perfect!

Sunday I was not anxious to leave early. I had two days yet before I had to be home, and I didn't want the SME to end. I still hadn't gotten to visit with people enough, and I hadn't gotten enough twisties. I watched each bike roll out of the campground, and restrained myself from screaming, "Come back! We haven't played nearly enough yet!!!!" I packed my things slowly, with extreme care. Dave kept me company for a little while. Gadget Dan stopped to say goodbye, and told us of a t-shirt he thought of, one that the CRoT could sell to the non-bikers: "I caged the Dragon." I thought it was cute. The problem is, would non-bikers brave the horde of biker scum to come in and buy this shirt? Maybe not.

I stopped by to see Phil. He gave me an envelope from Karen Ferguson, she'd sent me an actual paper letter and some snack bars. He asked me to see if I could distribute the remaining cookies, because he couldn't carry them.

Erik and Wyn headed off towards Cinci. Dave headed out alone, he was going to go hiking. Eventually I got lonely and rode out. My Sunday destination was the Stewart residence in Charlotte.

On a recommendation from Phil, I followed 276 right on across the BRP, and continued down the other side. It was a stunningly beautiful road. It was pretty long, too, but not long enough. Soon it took me back into civilization. The sky was getting cloudy, like it might rain, and I was in need of lunch, so I didn't turn around and go back up 276, though I was sorely tempted.

I was riding down some road, (couldn't say just where it was, but it was not very interesting) and I came to the top of a hill, and there were cemeteries on either side. Three or four cars ahead of me, a car slowed to turn into the cemetery on the left. The cars behind it stopped, and I stopped on the left side of the lane, as is my habit. This habit served me well that day. I saw something scary in my rearview, and almost reflexively moved forward to a lanesplitting position on the very centerline of the road, as the cage behind me squealed his tires and swerved off into the ditch on the right hand side of the road. I don't think it was a failure to see me and the bike, so much as it was a failure to pay attention at all. Even if I hadn't been there, he would have hit the car in front of me, had he not managed to go into the ditch. Idiot. I was glad I had stopped on the left.

I stopped for lunch, and the sky looked even more threatening by the time I'd finished. I decided to make tracks for the Stewart household, by the quickest route I could find. I discovered that Mike is just as good at giving directions to his house as Russell and Tony are. He said his house was just past the second 45mph speed limit sign, but it was actually the third one. I think maybe they all spend so much time riding that they never go home, so they don't know exactly how to get there. I arrived in late afternoon, just as it started to rain. Or maybe not. Katherine Stewart told me it had been raining there off and on all weekend. Perhaps I just rode into the rain, and if I'd stayed in the twisties the sun would have continued to shine on me all afternoon?

Katherine's arm is healing well. She rode that day, before I arrived, bringing Graybeard up to the house for Mark. He didn't want to attempt the quarter mile of gravel that passes as a driveway to Mike and Katherine's place. By the time I arrived he had long since gone to the airport. Katherine and I sat and visited, and she made some really yummy bean and cheese dip that we ate with tortilla chips, mmm.

Soon, Mike, Phil, and Richard arrived. Richard loaded the Bandit onto the trailer, and then came in to visit for a while before leaving. He showed us his photo album of bikes he has owned. He's owned so many different bikes I don't know how he keeps them all straight. It was amusing to see the "before" pictures of La Bordello, the name was perfect!

Richard left, and Katherine dished up a marvelous dinner of grilled chicken. We watched The Day the Earth Stood Still, by which time it was midnight. Mike and Katherine had to work in the morning, and Phil was tired, so they all went to bed. I sat up and read my book for a while, then went to sleep myself.

Monday morning it was still raining lightly, off and on. Katherine drove off in a cage, and Mike, Phil, and I suited up. Phil went back to the BRMC. I followed Mike on the expressway portion of his commute, since I needed to slab it all the way back to Michigan that day. I waved goodbye to him as he exited the freeway, and I continued making tracks north on I-77. I stopped at the Virginia welcome center rest area to pick up a map, and discovered that somewhere between Charlotte and this stop, my tent poles had managed to break free and fall off the back of my bike. So now I need to find a source for tent poles before I go camping again, or else carry my large tent.

The rain continued, never enough to make me wish I had my rain gear on, but never letting up long enough for the pavement to dry out. I came to the Big Walker Mountain Tunnel. It was an incredibly long tunnel, which once again made me think of the subway. I came out the other side, and blinked in the bright sunshine. The sky was a crystal clear deep blue, with perfect big white fluffy clouds. The pavement was bone dry, not a puddle in sight. It was like the door into summer! I've since read other 'maggots accounts of the SME, and it seems that the weather in that area is very localized. Some people saw no rain at all, some saw lots, and yet we were all within a couple hundred miles of each other. I guess the mountains are a natural weather barrier, and the tunnel took me from one zone to the other.

I-77 across Virginia and West Virginia is almost as wonderful as I-40 east of Knoxville. It's amazing that the slab can be this much fun! I've got to go back there sometime and check out some of the back roads.

Now that I was in the sunshine, I started to get very warm, and once I got warm I started to get sleepy. I stopped three or four times crossing West Virginia, and each time I stopped I met bikers. I was swimming upstream against a horde of Hondas on their way to the Hoot. I briefly considered stopping in Marietta to scope the STs, but decided I just didn't feel like it. By then my afternoon sleepiness had passed, and I was just interested in piling on the miles and getting home before it got too late.

I saw another strange meteorological phenomenon, as I was approaching Columbus. The sky was half clear, half cloudy, and the sun was in the cloudiest quarter of the sky, sinking low ahead of me. A little ways to the left of the sun, up there in the sky, was a little tiny piece of rainbow. I couldn't see any rain, the clouds didn't look like rain clouds, and the rest of the rainbow's arch was completely absent. A rainbow spot, visible through a hole in the clouds. It persisted for about ten miles, and then faded.

I stopped for dinner north of Columbus, and when I came out it was almost dark. It's so much cooler and more pleasant after dark, at this time of year. I watched the lightning bugs flicker in the fields on either side of the road. The grooved pavement on US23 north of Delaware had finally been covered in normal pavement, the construction north of 37 seemed to be finished, so I didn't get to see how my new tires compared to my old on that nasty surface. Can't say I minded.

By the time I got to Findlay I was feeling a little chilly, and by the time I stopped for gas in Perrysburg I was uncomfortably cold. I got out my electric jacket. I'd just ridden through the longest day of the year, and here I was hooking up the electrics! I thought about the pagans. The nights had been cold all weekend. Had the pagans shivered in their sacred groves of trees, as they celebrated the solstice last night? It was awfully cold to be out there making offerings to the Goddess.

As I made my way around Toledo, I started getting sleepy again. I kept shaking myself, but I couldn't seem to snap out of it. I stopped at the Michigan welcome center rest area, and checked into the iron butt motel for a catnap. I parked the bike, kept my helmet on, sat down on a cold bench, and dozed for 15 minutes or so, until the discomfort woke me. The long distance folks were right. It worked like a charm, I made it the last 30 miles home without any trouble. It was just past midnight when I got home. Total trip distance was approximately 1800 miles.

Return to Katherine Becker's home page