After much disappointment following the cancellation of our 4-day trip to the Adirondacks due to the delivery of a subpoena, George and I decided to ma
ke the most of it and at least plan a day ride to test our fortitude in the saddle of our beasts. I own a 2003 Yamaha V-Star 1100 Custom and George has a 1997 Kawasaki Vulcan 1500 Classic (which he stole at an unreasonable low price from the previously, unknowledgeable owner - but that's another story).
We mapped out our route from my house in Bruceton Mills to the Blue Ridge Parkway at Waynesboro, VA. At 5:40 am George met me at my house and we left in a slight drizzle that quickly turned to a hard rain a mile down the road. After we gassed up and took some kind ridicule from some friends at the gas station we headed south on route 26 to 72 through Rowlesburg to route 50 east. By the time we got to Rowlesburg the rain had stopped and the road was dry. Route 50 is a biker's paradise full of great turns and changes in elevation. We reached our breakfast destination in Aurora, WV and was pleased at the $2 biscuit & gravy we saw on the menu, although our first bite would disappoint us. While the food was mediocre at best, the hospitality of the owner/waitress made up for the gravy; but while eating one gentleman approached us in fear and consternation and mentioned that it had started raining again, so I went outside to get our jackets.
We headed east once again, which looked promising, hoping to leave the rain, while suddenly south looked better, so just across the Md. line I headed south on 219, forgetting that it ran SW, and before long the road was wet again and there was drizzle in the air. At Thomas I turned down 32 south as the sky continued to look promising to our south and east, but the rain would prove to be relentless and every time we thought we were out, it sucked us back in. Finally on rt. 33 east we hit clear sky and dry pavement, which allowed us to enjoy the full extent of the cornering clearances of our bikes. In Franklin we gassed up and shed the rainsuits for the first time that day, with the sun to our east and clear skies to our south, 220 would be our road to Monterey, VA.
250 east out of Monterey would prove to be the best motorcycle road to date that George had ever ridden. The climb up Shenandoah Mtn was full of switchbacks and tight corners that allowed one of us to drag a peg on the road. At the top we were forced to stop for photos and talk about our ascent through motorcycle nirvana. Then it was on to Waynesboro after a short jaunt across the interstate and south on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The scenery from there is always spectacular and worth the trip, even if just for the day. The first few miles down the Parkway for a newcomer is almost sensory overload. Because we were there to ride, we had to fight the temptation to pull over at every scenic overlook. One would have to suffice.
After 27 miles, the time had come to leave the Parkway and begin the search for biker grub. The rule is "NO CHAIN RESTAURANTS." Dropping off the Parkway was an exhilerating experience as the curves were not marked well, and some had the recommended speed signs halfway through the curves covered by tree limbs, so they proved to be pointless. Rumbling through the small town of Vesuvius (perhaps named after the volcano in Italy that destroyed Pompeii in 79 AD), I spotted a little joint called "Gertie's" that had a sign posted on it - "Homemade BBQ Everyday." We turned around and parked our bikes. After taking a few pictures outside of Gertie's, George, being the novice, mentioned to Gertie, "I bet you don't have too many bikers stop and take pictures before coming in." With that, Gertie replied, "All the time." George - what a rookie. He'll learn. There wasn't a single BBQ item listed on the menu, so I asked Gertie about the sign outside. It was pulled-pork sandwiches, homemade coleslaw and french fries, so George and I both ordered the platter. If it hadn't been for Chester the Local Farmer (name changed to protect the innocent and also because I can't remember), it would have ranked as one of the best lunches ever eaten on a motorcycle ride. But Chester sat down beside us and didn't shut up the entire time we ate. "What do you do for a living?" he asked. The one question I dread while riding. Needless to say, I could have run for mayor of that town and won by a landslide - Chad, the biker-preacher. He was so dumbfounded that a pastor rode a motorcycle, he introduced me to everyone he met, while virtually ignoring George, and they felt obliged to walk over and shake my hand. He even introduced me to one gentleman by saying, "If I tell you something right now, you'll call me a liar. See this biker right here in the black do-rag? He's a pastor from Morgantown, WV and even has his own church." Following our interrupted lunch, we noticed that the entire wall and ceiling of this establishment had been signed by previous visitors, so we asked to sign the wall.
ke the most of it and at least plan a day ride to test our fortitude in the saddle of our beasts. I own a 2003 Yamaha V-Star 1100 Custom and George has a 1997 Kawasaki Vulcan 1500 Classic (which he stole at an unreasonable low price from the previously, unknowledgeable owner - but that's another story).We mapped out our route from my house in Bruceton Mills to the Blue Ridge Parkway at Waynesboro, VA. At 5:40 am George met me at my house and we left in a slight drizzle that quickly turned to a hard rain a mile down the road. After we gassed up and took some kind ridicule from some friends at the gas station we headed south on route 26 to 72 through Rowlesburg to route 50 east. By the time we got to Rowlesburg the rain had stopped and the road was dry. Route 50 is a biker's paradise full of great turns and changes in elevation. We reached our breakfast destination in Aurora, WV and was pleased at the $2 biscuit & gravy we saw on the menu, although our first bite would disappoint us. While the food was mediocre at best, the hospitality of the owner/waitress made up for the gravy; but while eating one gentleman approached us in fear and consternation and mentioned that it had started raining again, so I went outside to get our jackets.
We headed east once again, which looked promising, hoping to leave the rain, while suddenly south looked better, so just across the Md. line I headed south on 219, forgetting that it ran SW, and before long the road was wet again and there was drizzle in the air. At Thomas I turned down 32 south as the sky continued to look promising to our south and east, but the rain would prove to be relentless and every time we thought we were out, it sucked us back in. Finally on rt. 33 east we hit clear sky and dry pavement, which allowed us to enjoy the full extent of the cornering clearances of our bikes. In Franklin we gassed up and shed the rainsuits for the first time that day, with the sun to our east and clear skies to our south, 220 would be our road to Monterey, VA.
250 east out of Monterey would prove to be the best motorcycle road to date that George had ever ridden. The climb up Shenandoah Mtn was full of switchbacks and tight corners that allowed one of us to drag a peg on the road. At the top we were forced to stop for photos and talk about our ascent through motorcycle nirvana. Then it was on to Waynesboro after a short jaunt across the interstate and south on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The scenery from there is always spectacular and worth the trip, even if just for the day. The first few miles down the Parkway for a newcomer is almost sensory overload. Because we were there to ride, we had to fight the temptation to pull over at every scenic overlook. One would have to suffice.
After 27 miles, the time had come to leave the Parkway and begin the search for biker grub. The rule is "NO CHAIN RESTAURANTS." Dropping off the Parkway was an exhilerating experience as the curves were not marked well, and some had the recommended speed signs halfway through the curves covered by tree limbs, so they proved to be pointless. Rumbling through the small town of Vesuvius (perhaps named after the volcano in Italy that destroyed Pompeii in 79 AD), I spotted a little joint called "Gertie's" that had a sign posted on it - "Homemade BBQ Everyday." We turned around and parked our bikes. After taking a few pictures outside of Gertie's, George, being the novice, mentioned to Gertie, "I bet you don't have too many bikers stop and take pictures before coming in." With that, Gertie replied, "All the time." George - what a rookie. He'll learn. There wasn't a single BBQ item listed on the menu, so I asked Gertie about the sign outside. It was pulled-pork sandwiches, homemade coleslaw and french fries, so George and I both ordered the platter. If it hadn't been for Chester the Local Farmer (name changed to protect the innocent and also because I can't remember), it would have ranked as one of the best lunches ever eaten on a motorcycle ride. But Chester sat down beside us and didn't shut up the entire time we ate. "What do you do for a living?" he asked. The one question I dread while riding. Needless to say, I could have run for mayor of that town and won by a landslide - Chad, the biker-preacher. He was so dumbfounded that a pastor rode a motorcycle, he introduced me to everyone he met, while virtually ignoring George, and they felt obliged to walk over and shake my hand. He even introduced me to one gentleman by saying, "If I tell you something right now, you'll call me a liar. See this biker right here in the black do-rag? He's a pastor from Morgantown, WV and even has his own church." Following our interrupted lunch, we noticed that the entire wall and ceiling of this establishment had been signed by previous visitors, so we asked to sign the wall.
We were finally able to pry ourselves away from Chester and his one, long, run-on sentence and continued west to find fuel. At Rapine, VA we fueled up, and while George ran into the gas station to use the restroom, I heard a motorcycle rumble up behind me, and sure enough, it was Chester from Gertie's. He stopped to finish his sentence since it ended with a preposition. Suddenly, he stopped and yelled, "Hey Bobby, I'd like you to meet Chad Harvey...Pastor Chad Harvey. He rides a motorcycle and has his own church in Morgantown, WV." While chatting with Chester and Bobby, they both took out their Skoal cans to take a dip. At this point I saw George coming out of the station with a look of horror on his face. We would never get home. While Chester continued his sentence, we fired up our bikes, said goodbye and rode away.
We had to stop briefly to add some fluid to Fat Sally's (George's bike) clutch reservoir, and then south on 252 to 39 west, which both turned out to be beautiful roads throughout the Virginia countryside with farms on each side. Had it not been for the scenery, we may have stopped for the day because the temperature had reached the blistering point. Even the wind was hot and stifling. Crossing the state line back into WV, we stopped in Huntersville to get a drink and cool down and talked with 4 Harley riders on their way home from a long trip. They began their travels in Missouri, had slain the Dragon in TN, on through GA, north through SC, NC, and they hit the Blue Ridge through VA and were heading back home, all 2-lane roads. George and I were envious, although our day was worth talking about (at least posting on a Blog).
In Marlington after some fuel, we headed north on 219 to Mill Creek, where we took a back road to Buckhannon; a road that I will probably never ride again. George enjoyed the road, but I was less than thrilled. It was unlined, narrow and many curves had gravel strewn throughout them. And also, because much of it was covered with trees, my eyes couldn't adjust rapidly enough between the sun and the shade. I should have changed glasses. At Buckhannon we continued north on 119 to Grafton and stopped for some of the best pizza at Hometown Pizzeria. For $11 we split a large Supreme Pizza and had 2 fountain drinks. While there was plenty of pizza for both of us and were filled to capacity, we were disappointed when the last slice was eaten because it was that good. From Grafton we rode the last leg of our journey up 119 to I-68 where we would part ways at the Cheat Lake exit. A great day had by 2 friends on 2 impressive motorcycles - 516 miles, all 2-lane roads with the exception of about 30 miles of interstate out of necessity. The only thing this ride did was make us want to ride more.
