I have wanted to ride my motorcycle out to my parent's place in Alabama for a long time. Last year my dad was to have some minor surgery and I had planned a trip for then but the surgery was rescheduled a couple of times and it never worked out for me to go. But over the holidays I got word that my sister's husband was going to be ordained as a deacon on Sunday night, January 4. My wife and youngest daughter were to start back to school the following day so I was going to go by myself anyway, so why not take the bike. I began watching the weather to make sure the way out would be safe and pleasant. There was rain early in the forecast but that all gave way to just cloudy skies, so I decided to make the trip.
I packed all my stuff (being cautious in sealing the clothes in a plastic bag inside my luggage just in case. Wired up my new cb radio system and antennae and planned to head out Saturday morning.
Everything seemed cool, I started out on the road and upon hitting the first good bump my cb lost power, the cigarette lighter I installed wasn't working right so goodbye cb!
But the weather was fine, even a bit warm for such a heavy leather jacket. I was thinking how glad I was that I hadn't brought the additional jacket I sometimes wear under the big leather one.
I stopped in Hazen and traded the cb headset for my iPod and hit the road again. No rain, just a little cloudy. Life was good.
I had opted to go across the Helena bridge and up through Tunica county to Hwy 302 across Olive Branch to Hwy 72, Memphis and motorcycles didn't seem like a good combination. So I pulled into the rest stop in West Helena and completely disinstalled the cb system and put it in my luggage. I was on my way. Hwy 302 was a nightmare. I hit every red light (I think they call it 302 as that seems to be the number of traffic lights there are!). Anyway, I finally hit 72 and I'm off. I get to Corinth, MS to stop for fuel and call my dad to tell him where I am. All is well, I'm still warm and dry...flying high.
I arrive at Mom and Dads just before dark and enjoy a nice visit. We get up the next morning and prepare for church and Bro. David Gregg gives me the blessing of asking me to preach for him that morning. What an honor. I did what I could and then head back home for a great afternoon visit with the folks.
Monday morning reality hits. There is rain all over Arkansas and Mississippi and most of Alabama, but I am convinced a little rain never hurt anybody, especially with a full face helmet and some rain gear. So I pack up again (plastic bags inside luggage) rain gear on and head for home.
I get about halfway down the Natchez Trace and realize I'm a mite chilly so I pull in to the Buzzard Roost stop and put my rain gear jacket on under my leather jacket and adjust my head/neck warmer and head out again.
Halfway to Corinth, MS I notice my rain gear pants are coming apart (or at least the layers are seperating) that's when I remember them being so economical when I bought them at the Bass Pro Shop in the hunting department (not the highway speeds on motorcycles department!)
I get to Corinth for fuel still dry and I throw the rain pants away (I will soon regret that decision) and head on down the road. At about Walnut I begin to notice that the windshield has some water droplets playfully wandering about on it to which I think, ha...this rain this is gonna be no trouble. Cut 15 miles down the road to where the rain has stopped being playful and is soaking me to the bone. I pull in to a gas station to readjust and being shivering. Not a good sign. I pull my gloves back on, zip everything all the way up and head back out. I think for a moment about not going through all the traffic lights on 302 again but remember the alternative is downtown Memphis...nevermind. So 302 traffic lights and rainfall looking for a place to stop and buy some decent rain gear. Which brings up the question, why are motorcycle dealers never open on Monday?
Anyway I make it to Walls, MS and call my other brother in law hoping he is at home and I am close by. Of course he's not home but close to my father-in-law's house so I tell him I'm gonna warm up a second and be back on my way. My flannel lined jeans are soaking wet and weigh 200 pounds. My boots (which are not water-proof) are holding water as are my long gloves and liners. I get a pair of uninsulated yet dry jeans out of my saddlebag and head to the restroom to find some form of relief. Thanks goodness for floor drains in bathrooms. My boots were full, my socks were soaked. I emptied my boots, wrung out my socks and changed jeans. I stumbled barefoot back out to the store tables to where a couple of city employees were taking a break discussing the miserable weather and began putting my wet socks back on. I smiled and asked them if they had ever seen such a crazy white boy, they laughed politely...I assumed the answer was no.
I bought a roll of trashbags and retrieved my duct tape from the bike and made some temporary plastic chaps for my legs. Maybe they would last the 22 miles to Pop's house? Nope, but nice try. When I pulled to the house Ms. Anne was aghast at the lack of wisdom I had shown starting out in this mess, but she found me a pair of sweat pants and some dry socks to begin my rehabilitation. A fried chicken dinner and I found myself under the electric blanket at 5:30 pm!
The next morning I hopefully tuned in to the weather channel hoping for a break in the action. No dice. The precipition was all over eastern Arkansas, but there was a potential lull in the early afternoon. Hopeful, I loaded up in a light sprinkle and headed for the Helena Bridge. These old highways are rutted up from use and heavy traffic and dodging standing water was quite the adventure, especially since the water was accumulating on my faceshield (which also fogs up with the slightest breath at anything less than 45 mph!).
I make it across the bridge and begin thinking, I'm not as wet (thanks to the roll of saranwrap I have wrapped around my legs) but I am colder. I stop at a laundromat in Marvel, AR and throw everything I can take off tastefully into the dryer. After a 30 minute break I'm back on the wet road looking for a break in the clouds. Have I mentioned I was wet and cold? When I got to Brinkley I opted to turn left on Hwy 70 rather than head for I-40...another mistake. Hwy 70 on a motorcycle bears a close resemblance to riding a bucking bronco in a rodeo. Plus seeing all the ice covered trees just adds to the cold I'm feeling. At Hazen I stop for fuel again and opt for the freeway. Much drier, much smoother but at a higher speed the windchill was brutal. I take the Remington Road exit and pray for just 12 more miles. I do make it, but when I pulled into my garage (covered by the way...I think my bike is still mad at me for leaving her out in the rain Monday night) I get off the bike and walk directly into the laundry room...helmet and all to begin disrobing and seperating myself from all things wet and cold.
I don't know I've ever appreciated a hot shower more. It took a good while to realize that it was, in fact, a hot shower. But I retained my normal skin color, found sweatpants, sweatshirt, terrycloth robe, socks and houseshoes and went looking for the hot soup. Life is good. I survived and boy, have I learned a lesson. When planning a motorcycle trip, check the weather for the whole trip...not just the first leg!!!
