What do you do when you're in the middle of nowhere and a bike doesn't start? The thought was crossing my mind as Lonnie pressed his starter button repeatedly.
Okay, we weren't quite in the middle of nowhere, but Folkston, Georgia, doesn't exactly qualify as densely populated, either. You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach when - in all the different scenarios you play out in your mind - none of them ends particularly well, and some you don't even want to think about?
Yeah. I was so there.
It had definitely been time to fill the tanks, so stopping at the gas station just down from the BBQ place was the right thing to do. So why was I rethinking that now?
At least the bike was turning over. Mostly. It was trying to, anyway - it sounded tired.
Lonnie's Victory Touring Cruiser was the same vintage as my Suzuki Boulevard C50 - an '05. They liked galloping in lockstep down the road, and while it really made no sense to compare the wear on the two, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about the battery I had just replaced.
I started trying to remember if we had seen any auto parts stores on the way into town just as the Victory fired up. Lonnie smiled, and I did, too, as we clacked the two bikes into gear. But I knew this probably wasn't the end of that story (and I was right, but let's not get ahead of ourselves).
Now there are those who like the comfort and ease of a well-sealed modern automobile. One that whispers down the road making little noise on the outside and damn near none on the inside. And I have to admit, there are times when a quiet conversation in a cabin cut off from the outside world is a fine thing.
But there's something awesome about the sound of air going past your helmet at 60, 70, or 80 MPH, mingled with the roar of your pipes and the sounds of cars a few feet from your legs. And don't kid yourself - there are more than the average number of people in Florida and Georgia who want to go every bit that fast, so if you don't want to be run over, you'd better be ready to keep up.
Blacktop blurs by at that speed. There's no detail once it gets closer than 20 feet in front of you. It's a constant buzz - a few inches under the soles of your boots.
So, among other things, you watch the surface of the road about a tenth of a mile ahead as you approach it for hazards. Construction crews are quite adept at either creating interesting surprises or ignoring the potholes that develop and will swallow you and your bike whole. (Then there's South Carolina. Those guys proudly patches the holes - leaving bumps that will jar your fillings loose.)
I've seen some interesting things in that window rushing at the bike. Today, it was a five foot Indigo snake. Well, honestly, that's the best guess I have, since it too went by at about 65. Still, I got a better look at it as it raced across the road than anyone in a car would have.
A few more hours and day one on the road was done.
We checked into our hotel and took the advice of the girl on the desk, who referred us to a local pub for a cold one. Still stuffed from that great BBQ lunch, neither of us could eat more than a few tater tots, but the beer on draft sure went down smooth as we let the road buzz dissipate.
Tomorrow would be Saturday, and another nearly full day of riding. The Carolinas would prove challenging in their own way ...
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