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Camp XSEast 98 Ride Report by Darrell Newcomb
15-18 September 1998.
The days before XSEast I'm nervous about the upcoming trek. With all the recent threads about bikes not running, wrecks, and near wrecks, I question the wisdom of this trip. My wife's solution - don't go. Not quite happy with that answer I send Dave Hill an email about this. He tells me, don't worry, it'll be fun. Wednesday night he stops by with some extra bungies and we review the route. Dave tells me we'll meet Jim Latonick from WV, north of Fredrick, and Jim Macdonald, north of Harrisburg.
Thursday evening I spend packing the bike, a 78E - tent and sleeping bag constitute nearly half the load. I throw in a #3 carb body for a camp tutorial, my valve tool, and the colortune. I top off the oil and pump up the tires - don't do any else lest I break something good.
Friday. I wait till the wife leaves for work and the kids for school before I mount up. It is overcast, and I think this isn't bad weather for our trip, not too hot or cold. Leaving the house at 0830, I head over to Chantilly to meeting Dave at Anita's for some breakfast burritos. Dave pulls out his key, with the new XS key fob and proudly says, "Look at that." I pull mine out, just as proudly and say, "Look at that." We talk about how we packed and review formation riding. Dave forgot his cellphone so we return to his house to pick it up. Finally we hit the road, probably sometime after 1000. We head up Rte 50, with Dave leading. I notice an emu farm off to the right, they raise those ostrich size birds there. I beep my horn saying good morning to them and am surprised how little noise my horn makes at speed. Dave certainly doesn't hear it. But it gives me something to do, so anytime we pass critters near the road I give them a honk. We turn off Rte 50 onto a two lane road to Leesburg to pick up Rte 15. This part of Virginia is horse country with rolling hills, farms, and quite a few rustic stores and historical structures - something to come back to with the wife on back and examine in greater detail. Here, Dave, picks up the pace - we are doing 80mph. At this speed the wind force on my helmet is giving me a sore neck. We slacken the pace as we approach Point-of-Rocks to cross the Potomac and my neck muscles get a reprieve.
At Fredrick we make our first gas stop them begin searching for Jim Latonick. We're supposed to meet him at 1030, at a rest stop somewhere between Fredrick and the Pennsylvania border, but we are already running 45 minutes late. The rest stops aren't there so Dave pulls over and asks what should we do. I know of a rest stop on the south side just below the Maryland-Pennsylvania line. I say lets look for him there. We do. Once there I ask the information folks if anyone has asked about us. They say no, so we figure Jim is way ahead of us. Dave calls Jim MacDonald in Harrisburg and tells him we are on the way. We mount up again and press on.
At Camp Hill we turn on to 591 then I-83, one of those Pennsylvania interstates, no acceleration lanes, narrow lanes, and lots of repaired surface. Through Harrisburg, traffic is heavy but once we turn off north on I-81, the road is better, and traffic thins out. We pull off at Exit 27, and go to appointed meeting place, a Shell station with a Subway sandwich shop. Dave gives Jim a call then we get lunch and wait for him, Jim saying its about 20 minutes away from where he lives. Halfway through our meal Dave remembers he didn't lock his helmet down and wants to secure it. He heads on outside to see a man messing with his bike. Then realizes there are now two bikes where there was one, (I parked mine further around the building) and realizes the man is Jim. Then there were three.
We review our route and opt for the interstates. Jim agrees to lead. I tell him, "Keep it below 70mph, my neck needs a break." Of course first thing out the gate we are doing 80mph. Jim is leading on his dark maroon special, Dave is dash 2 on his special, and I'm way behind in trail. At one point I goose it up to 100mph just to catch up. We're shmoking, and make Allentown within 2 hours. There we pull off for a butt break and to review the route. We then zoom up Rte 33 hitting some construction restricting traffic to one lane, so our pace slows to a crawl. But after a few more miles of that we turn off on Rte 209 and finally we're in the Poconos.
We pull off for some gas about 30 miles south of Dingams Ferry. While refueling this fellow, seeing our bikes, walks up and asks our destination. Dingams. He tells us how great the canoeing is around here, recommends a half day trip, and informs us of a canoe outfitter located near the campground should we want to give it a shot. We take it under advisement. At that point we see a Special scream by and Dave says, "Hey, that's Jim Latonick." We get ready for a quick pursuit, but Dave can't find his key. Looking around he finds it by the pump. A car ran over it, bending it nicely. Out come the pliers and hammer as Dave works to get it back into his ignition switch. Finally, after 10 minutes, success.
Mounting up, we begin our final approach to the campsite. Lots of tourists are on the road for the resort hotels, so traffic is moderate. We hit the recreation area, no more resort hotels or tourist traffic. We are now traveling in the river valley with granite cliffs rising on both sides. A few more miles then we finally reach the campground. Pulling into a wooded area, we walk into the office to pay our money and find our sites. "Yes, some of your group is here, and yes, you have a site down by the river. That's ten dollars a camper, please." We follow the gravel road, through the woods, down an incline, across a flood plain to our campsites on a bluff overlooking the Delaware River. One other bike can be seen, has to be Jim Latonick.
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18 September 1998
Dave Hill, Jim MacDonald, and I pull up to the edge of the campsite, separated from the parking area by huge logs and cut our motors. Jim Latonick gives us a hearty hello and handshakes go around, or mebbe not, I don't remember. Anyway we talk about our missed rendezvous. I figure that Jim was about 10 minute ahead of us. If we didn't spend time searching for him we probably would've caught up with him. Anyway we are all together now.
We unpack the bikes and start eyeing where to pitch our tents. Dave asks who snores so he can situate himself away at a safe distance. I volunteer that I can be particularly sonorous so he pitches his tent way far away from me.
As we're setting up we hear two more bikes coming down the hill. Steve Pratel and Will Jones are returning from some local recce. We drop what we're doing and again we make introductions, handshakes and welcomes. That makes six of us, five Specials and one Standard. We look each bike over, comparing the differences and unique attributes of each bike.
Mine is the only Standard, painted with what I understand to be Macho Maroon, similar to the Chrysler minivan burgundy. Its is all stock, the stock exhausts have rusted out where the drip ports were on the back end. The seat has a new Travelcade cover. The chrome has rusted through here and there but overall I'd say its in good to excellent condition.. Jim M's also says his Special is Macho Maroon, but its more the color of a port wine. I don't know which is right. Dave has a black Special with a Kerker exhaust that he keeps trying to sell to me so he can buy a Hindle system. (Hey, since Barry Clarke wants a 4-1, sell it to him.). He's maintained it well and has never fooled with the carbs. Jim L also has a black Special that he bought for $250, is that right Jim? His still has a 4-2 exhaust and looks in pretty good shape, worth at least $300. Will has a black Special that takes your breathe away. "Marlboro Man" has elevated aluminum polishing to a high art, his bike simply gleams - sort of like a hot babe in a stunning outfit while the rest of us have stunning babes in curlers and old sweatshirts. His aluminum shines as if it were chrome. I ask him a dozen times what were the polishing compounds he used; "Brake fluid, Neverdull, and Harley Davidson Bright Metal Polish". We're all figuring ways to swap cparts while he's not looking. Steve has a white Special with a small fairing which compliments the black bikes nicely. It is a hoot to see them lined up together.
After we get the tints pitched, I break out my carb #3 body, and give a quick carb tutorial to those who have never seen the guts of one. "These are the float posts that break easily, this is the pilot jet, this is the main jet, here's that brass tube Dave Hogue talked about, and yep, that's the diaphragm" and so on. I also break out the Colortune so folks can see what that looks like. While doing this, we get to know each other beyond our Web personas, small talk about where we're from and what we do.
Will starts dropping some hints about how its dinner time and he's ready to eat. We start building a consensus on where to go, "Ah that's too much, that's too cheap, no McDonalds" etc. We finally have an idea of where to go so we fire up our rides. I haven't heard six XSs growling together in a long time, it was a sweet sound. I can't recall who's in the lead but, once we leave the camp entrance, bam, the throttles open up. In trail again, I have to haul to keep up. We go about ten miles on this two lane, doing some yanking and banking in the twisties. I glance down at one point, yes I dared take my eyes of the road, and notice we're doing between 50 and 60 mph. Its exhilarating but I'm not comfortable enough with the pace to keep up. We reach the restaurant, walk in, and raise our eyebrows, this is a posh place. Steve takes a look at the prices on the menu and says, "Nope." Will is already seated at the table with his napkin tucked in, so we beckon him out, we need someplace a little cheaper. Again we're hot out the gate, this time I'm #3 and keeping up. We backtrack our route about three or four miles, leaning hard in the turns again, before coming across a pizza place/restaurant. We pull in there. Inside we sit down, a table or four and two. Service is slow so we have a chance to talk and get to know each other further. The cuisine isn't the best Italian I had, but there's oodles of noodles. I get a heaping plate of sausage and peppers. Dave, you're gonna hear some snoring tonight! Jim L and Steve excuse themselves to make phones calls to homeplate.
After dinner we hit the grocery store next door for a few items then waddle out to our rides. Its dark now, so its time to spook some deer. Again, we bellow out of the parking lot and hit the throttles hard. As we pull up to the campsite entrance, Dave, Will, and I think one of the Jims, I don't recall, and I decide a little libation is in order. Now Pennsylvania has some unique booze laws. Beer can either be had at the ABC stores in cases or at bars in six packs. Will knows of a nearby bar so, bam, we're out the gate again, once more going the route we covered twice already. Since I know the road now I'm screaming along with the rest of them. Flying around a corner I see Will and Dave are stopped to make a left, so I grab a handful full of brake. Whew, that was close. After we make our turn, I open up the distance as we proceed on.
At our destination, a honkytonk bar, Dave and I walk in and order a six of cold Buds. Walking back we spot a Harley in the parking lot. Being pumped up from our rice burners Dave and I push it over and Will helps us turn it upside down. Gas is spilling all over the place and oil is running down its frame. I kick in the headlight as Dave is smashing the taillight, when the owner comes ripping out the bar, madder than hell, whipping this huge knife around and . . . gotcha!, just a little fiction here. No, we didn't touch the Harley, we do respect any person's bike and property. We just give it a glance, then we're off again. Now, someone at camp did relate how their bike once fell over all the way onto its back. I don't know how it happened, neither did its owner, but it makes for a good story.
Back at camp, a small campfire is going so we break out the beer. Jim M leaves to make a phone call at the office, its about a 1/4 mile away, so off he goes on his bike. Jim M is gone for about 2 beers now. We're expecting JP and as the hour is late, so Steve heads up to the office to see what's up. After the third beer and a half hour none of them have returned. Then one of the camp staff, a balding guy, with long remaining hair, about 30-40 who used to ride and now assembles computers, I found out later, comes down and tell us one of our mates was having trouble. Gotta be JP. That explains the absence of Jim and Steve. The staffer also says its OK to pull the bikes into the campsite proper so kids won't climb on them in the morning. He's a pretty bike friendly guy. Says we have to wear our helmets while riding in the campground or the rangers will tag us for $100, and we gotta obey the 5mph speed limit in the campground or the rangers will tag us for $50. We thank him. Since we don't know exactly what's happening and too much beer is consumed, and the fire is dying, we opt to turn in. I'm ready for some serious wood cutting.
Just before I nod off I hear some bikes approaching, some low hubhub and the clanking of tent poles before I finally fade for the night. I surmise JP has arrived.
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19 September 1998
Saturday has the makings of a fine day. I finally get to meet the renowned JP as does everyone else. Everyone knows the story now but I'll recap. Seems his bike died about 15 miles down the road with bad electrical and a dry and fused battery. The previous night, Steve took the battery out of his bike and with that, JP got to within 2 miles of camp. He left his bike behind some trees by an abandoned house. This morning, Jim L volunteers his battery to get him to camp so I pop it into a smaller cooler, strap it to my luggage rack, and two-up with JP to Great White's location. While he is replacing batteries I look it over, it's a Special with a small full fairing and an oversize tank built for distance. He's customized three hard-bags for the back end so he's got quite a lot of lift capability.
He's good to go so we ride on back to the campsite. JP pulls Great White over to his tent and prepares for surgery. While we're observing these preparations we see two more bikes coming down the hill. Its Bart Krieger, Chris Rawson and his lady, Alice. And, too boot, they brought bagels and donuts along.
Bart has a faired, brown 79F, in great shape and Chris rides the British version of the standard, an F.1? The tank looks similar to a Standard's but it has a higher rise, giving it another gallon of volume. And his shifter is bassackward with some sort of reverse linkage. He's on the prowl for a right, side cover so I keep a judicious look over mine. Anyways, it's more handshakes and introductions and again we look over the newcomers.
Somehow we got around to talking about fishing and Will goes ahead and shows us some hellgrammites he has in his bait can. Boy, they're ugly big buggers, looks like something right out of Star-Troopers. If you want to gross someone out dump a bunch of hellgrammites on him. Yeech! And Will is handling them like they're his pets.
This morning's trip is planned to get some fuses and another battery for JP and recharge Steve's with some healthy riding. Alice lives locally, so she knows where the best places to find these items are. About 1100 we head out. Jim L and Dave decide to relax some and remain behind. About two miles north of camp, Chris's bike cuts outs so six of us stop, squeezing in between the guard rail and the pavement. Chris unscrews his headlight, jiggers some wires, and he's ready to go again. We continue on up to Medford, where we find a Napa store. Medford is a picturesque, small town that caters to tourists. Today there is a town-wide flea market going on so the streets are thick with cars and pedestrians.
Napa has no battery but has located a source for one. We opt to check out Walmart first, so that's the next destination. Enroute we stop at a Gulf station for gas, then head on to McDonald's. At Mickey Ds, Steve, Will, Bart, and I sit together and chat for about 45 minutes. After some good yakking, we head across the parking lot to Walmart with the rest of our party to see if they have any batteries. They do and while JP is making his purchase the rest of us are gabbing in the parking lot. I buy some Mobil 1 oil since I'm getting low, and top off my oil. I pass the bottle. Will decides to create his own special oil mix. We chuckle at that. JP returns with his purchases but we need to go back to Napa since Walmart didn't have any 30 amp fuses. With the sun high and bright, its getting quite warm as we head back to Napa. JP finds his fuses there. We return to camp with JP's treasures.
Dave and Jim L are enjoying a meal they picked up at the deli next to the Italian place we ate at the previous night. While they finish up JP returns to his project while Steve and Chris plan the afternoon's ride. A scenic ride through the tri-state area, NJ, NY, PA, is agreed upon. Jim L is intrigued by JP's efforts so he decides to remain behind and help him. The rest of us prepare to leave.
Chris and Alice, two-upped, lead the pack followed by, Will, Dave, Jim M, Steve, Bart, and me, I like that trail spot. We motor up the west bank of the Delaware then cross over to NJ. Immediately we turn left onto a secondary road and open up the throttles. Chris was a racer, and even with Alice on back, he isn't holding much back.
We're banging through the curves when I notice Bart leave the pavement for some grass cutting and guard rail burnishing. God protects fools and XSsives, JP almost had his parts problems solved there and then. Bart slows down, with a silly grin., shaking his head I figure he's deciding whether to clean his BVDs now or later. He says he's fine and for me to move on. I do so keeping a lookout for him in my mirrors while I try to catch up with the main body. Bart takes it easy so I open up to catch up. I'm reaching 100mph at some points though de-accelerating for the curves when I catch sight of the group ahead on a straight but hilly section. I notice a 4x4 coming the other way and decide to play model citizen. A law enforcement officer of some ilk passes by. When he's over the hill I pick it up again. Bart and I finally rejoin the main group when they halt at an intersection. Bart gives a brief summary of his experience. We push off for the highest point in NJ, 1803 ft.
A state park houses this location which has a tower, built in 1929, marking the spot. We park in a lot at the base of the tower providing a panoramic view to the northwest. We walk up to the tower itself, a stone obelisk built along the lines of the Washington Monument. As we walk around its base we chat about a variety of topics. Chris and Alice have them so they smoke them. Bart goes into greater detail about his near death experience and we marvel at the weeds on his footpegs. Steve recounts how in the last segment of twisties, he hit an acorn, and it felt like his front tire was going flat, and experience he had once before. We enjoy the view and take some photos. After a bit, we walk back down to the parking lot and move the bikes over to the scenic overlook for a group shot. Then its back on the road. We descend the west side of the hill, fill up at a Gulf station, then cross back over the Delaware into NY at Port Jervis. We come to a stretch where I understand they film car commercials. A river is to the left 400' below, cliffs are to the right 400' up and the rode is a series of curves hugging the cliffs. We stop at one overlook to take in the view and watch the canoes and rafts far below. A number of bikes are on the road today, crotch rockets, what Steve calls cartoon bikes - bright colors, and of course Harley's. We enjoy our location for about 20 minutes then push off again.
We howling along at 80mph when I spot a trooper with radar coming the other way. I grab the brakes and slow to 70mph, but I figure we're dead meat. Maybe he's off duty because the lights stay off and he continues on. Whew, that was fortunate.
We turn off to a secondary road and wind through the NY forests. As we approach a T intersection, Jim M pulls off with a cracked through right muffler. Out comes the wire to hold the pipe in place. Conveniently, a food market is right there so Bart runs in for some vittles. Jim M is ready by the time Bart comes out, and bam, its out the gate again.
A truss bridge takes us back into PA for some more forest roads. I'm enjoying this immensely and the exhilaration returns even as I write this. Finally we're back in Medford right by the Napa store we visited this morning. We decide we'll need beer for the evening and head to the nearest beer mart. We buy a case of Molson Ice and strap it to my backrest. Bam, we're off again. We eventually stop at Alice's home so she can pick up some additional clothes. Leaving there, we hit this very nice leg, freshly paved with some very sharp curves. We slide through the curves only to hit the last leg that really sucks. Its late in the afternoon, the light is fading, and the gravel all over the road is hard to see. Its real easy to feel as the bike gets squirrelly sliding through the curves. It's second gear time. Just as well, because the local gendarme is leading the pack. This road dumps us off the main road near camp, so in ten minutes we're back at camp, reveling in the days experience. Will and I stop at the camp office to grab some bags of ice.
We arrive to find JP and Jim L still at it trying to trouble shoot the problem. A couple of us hint that its time to get a U-haul and enjoy the rest of XSEast 98. But JP loves to tinker and as Jim L is his willing apprentice, they continue on.
Steve starts breaking camp for he has to return home this PM. He has three services to conduct tomorrow and his bag is only on third filled. As he bundles up his gear and loads his bike Bart and I enjoy a few minutes of conversation with him.
7:00 PM rolls around and it's time for the virtual toast. We charge our cans and bottles and toast all the XSsives, an august group that we're proud to be part of. For the life of me I can't remember what else is said. I guess there are a few remarks about The Bart Almost Memorial Guard Rail, hellgrammites, and alternators. I think Bart's thread best covers the gist of our toast so I repeat some of it here.
Reading this list mostly every day, I associate email addresses and names with links other than faces... physical characteristics and voices become nothing more than projections of my own fantasy and expectations... and when reality testing comes via the personal meeting, a kind of shock takes place... and all the anxieties of meeting strangers, "who are not really strangers", come to play... I felt all of this today...
Through it all, the common threads that we each shared led to a fellowship that formed a "tight weave". and that experience was excellent!"
And, Bart, bless his soul, has brought steaks for everyone. Will, camper extraordanaire, prepares the charcoal. The rest of us, consume the beer. Steve has to get going so we lift a beer as he rides off into the sunset, how poetic.
The steaks are ready so we start working on them. A good marinade job, Bart, but, gee, you forgot the baked potatoes and salad. So it's just steak that we devour. After that excellent repast, Bart, too, wants to return home, so with handshakes and fairwells, he leaves us. Chris and Alice are ready to go, they soon follow.
The rest of us decide a campfire is in order so Dave and I walk up to the office to get a load of firewood, $4 an armful. We stumble back with a dufflebag full of wood and recruit Will for the next load. We try to con him into carrying the load all the way back but he isn't buying that so Dave and I stumble back the remaining distance with the second load.
We enjoy the fire and babble on, now and then walking over to JP to give our two cents worth of advice. Its about this time that JP runs out of ideas, so he heads up the hill to begin making phone calls. I think he reaches Dave Hogue first then Gary LaPook home who's still out flying. While JP is making calls I review with Jim L progress made to date. Jim swapped his alternator and regulator separately, and JP's bike still didn't charge. I asked if he switched them both, Jim L said no. We checked both alternators with the VOM meter finding the values for the stator winding where 0.8, 0.4 above the max. However since Jim's bike ran fine we figured that was OK. JP's field winding was showing 0.4 when it should've been 3.5. With everything covered in grey dust we figure its shot. JP returns with the idea of checking the main wire for continuity. Jim L and I point out our findings to him. His wire does have continuity so he concludes its probably both the alternator and regulator.
I finally point out, testing aside, the regardless of whether JP finds the problem, tomorrow is Sunday, no dealers will be open, whether they have parts or not, hence, "JP, you gotta review your options. We gotta go and you have to move this thing one way or another. U-haul sounds the best bet." JP takes that under consideration as he continues working.
Dave turns in early with a beer induced headache. He wants to be fresh for the trip home tomorrow.
JP rides up on Jim L's bike for one last set of phone calls. I walk up, soon after, to use the head. On leaving I pass the camp office where JP is talking on the phone and met the camp staffer from the day before. He seems quite knowledgeable about electrical systems and gives his opinion of what happened. An overcharging regulator dried out the battery causing it to fuse creating a massive amperage spike frying the charging system. Ergo JP needs a new battery, regulator and alternator. He agrees that U-haul is his best bet, but offers to house Great White at the camp, if JP chooses that option.
While JP was still talking I walk back to the site through a pitch, black forest, proceeding 95% by feel, and 5% by gray vision. JP comes back down, and soon after and is ready to call it a night. Will, Jim L, JP and I enjoy the last embers before turning in.
As I'm drifting off to sleep I hear this incessant drumming, which ain't bad. Each session concludes with an exclamation, "Rock n Roll". Will is having a good time. Goodnight.
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20 September 1998
Well, its departure day, and all of us are reluctant to see XSEast 98 end. As I lay in my tent I hear drops on the fly. Bummer its raining out, I don't want to ride home in the rain. But once outside I see its just condensation on the leaves dripping down. Still its foggy out so it'll be a cool running.
JP is still troubleshooting Great White to nail down the problem. Dave and I walk up to the showers for our last scrub-a-dub and dose of poison ivy. When we return we see that Bart has rejoined us, in his cage this time, and brought donuts. All right, Bart. We start packing our gear and taking down our tents. JP is reassembling Great White. He intends ride it over to Alice's where he'll have easy access to a phone. He'll call around to see what his cheapest option is for getting home.
We discuss our route back. Jim M wants to get home fastest so he can catch the Steelers game. I'd like to do some more backroads, but I consider group integrity paramount so I go with the consensus. We decide on Rte 209 to I-80 to I-81.
We finish packing and start saying our good-byes. Bart will follow JP over to Alice's and drives him up to the office so JP can call her about his plans. Will, Dave, Jim M, myself and Jim L, head out. There's two-way traffic out the gate so of course we lose Jim L immediately. He catches up about 15 miles down the road. Will keeps up a steady pace. We come to a three way intersection where we have to make a left turn and Jim L gets left behind again. He soon rejoins us but now we're behind a slow U-haul. Will, in the lead, sees a break in the traffic and gooses it to pass. There's too much closure for the rest of us to follow so that's the last we see of Will. And then there were four.
We jump on I-80 with Dave taking lead. He has a 70mph pace as we cruise through the countryside. I-80 is a newer road that's lightly traveled. The overcast is thickening and the temperature dropping some. I'm beginning to chill out, literally. About this time, Dave heads for an exit. Dave and Jim take the ramp fast, I'm not ready for the transition so I chicken out, brake and downshift and take it slower. We pull off for gas and decide on Burger King for lunch. We take our time eating, reliving the weekend's experience. Jim M heads out for smoke of his pipe, Jim L calls the wife, and Dave and I pull out some warmer clothes for the next leg.
We're off again, a more leisurely pace just at the speed limit when we pass through a radar trap. Thank God we took a break the exit before or we all would've won 3 points. We reach I-81 and turn south for Harrisburg. With road construction ongoing, I-81 constricts to one lane. Traffic is stop and go so we can give our butts a stretch on the pegs and talk to each other. Jim L jokingly suggests we take it up the left side where the left lane is blocked off. I smile at that thought. We slow for congestion only twice before the pace is back up to 70mph.
As we approach Harrisburg the cloud cover thins and its beginning to warm up. With sore butts, the four of us stop at a rest stop NE of Harrisburg on I-81 for a stretch. Looks like an AARP convention with all the wispy, white-haired folks, making their way to the rest rooms on walkers and canes. I'm not quite there yet. Jim M wants to press on to catch the second half of the Steelers game. After a round of handshakes he roars out. Then there were three. Jim L also has some miles to go before home so he mounts up and roars out. Then there were two. Dave and I linger a few minute more, savoring the end of the weekend and our trek. Its becoming warm again so we shed a layer of clothes, I change from my leather to my cloth jacket. Mounting up and we head out to I-83, 591 to Camp Hill, then Rte 15 south. After one last squirt of petrol Dave suggests I take lead for the experience. We set out on our last leg. If it were earlier in the day it would have been fun to explore the environs around Gettysburg, but alas it is late so we press on towards home.
Just inside Maryland, we pull into the Maryland Welcome rest stop, same one as two days ago, for one last stretch. I see a scout leader, older, stout, and kind of crabby, (hell, that sounds like me) and his son, a Cub scout, a slender, blond-haired kid with glasses, sitting on a nearby park bench. Suddenly the boy starts running about screaming swatting at his neck. Seems he offended some of the local yellow jackets and they were taking their due. His father was trying to hold the crying boy still so he could swat them off. Mother comes out to console her child, tells Dad to get some ice. He says there isn't any, but goes to get a cold soda can out of the machines nearby. He can't make it work and you can tell he's getting agitated by the tone of his voice. I smile to myself, that'll be me in another two hours.
It's even hotter so I shed another layer. Dave and I depart and run on down 15, cross the Potomac at Point-of-Rocks and continue on to Leesburg. Both our butts are sore, we stand on the pegs when traffic slows. At Leesburg we take Rte 7 - traffic is denser and our speed drops. Dave and I part ways on Rte 7 and 28. We give each other a nod and he veers off on to 28. Then there was one.
After running at 70+ for most of our journey it is frustrating slowing to 40mph because of congestion - I must be back home. Lights, backups, and folks turtleing along. I jump off Rte 7 onto Beluah Rd, a local, twisty backroad, moderately developed, for some final thrills. An old couple is taking their time and following them is not an option. When I see some clear road ahead, I pass them at a healthy clip. Beluah finally straightens and dumps you off into downtown Vienna. With a greater density of homes and cops its time to become a model citizen again; I realize the trip is truly over. I motor the last 2 miles home at a sedate 25mph, lamenting that I am once again just a mere mortal.
And boy is my butt sore.
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Epilogue
As I said before, putting this to print, I relive the exhilaration. I try to explain this to my wife but she just doesn't get it. The dads of the boys I coach in football asked me about my trip and when I gave them a brief summary they seemed to get it. Maybe it's just predominantly a guy thing. I know when I was riding I felt more than just a mere mortal. Not that I feel superior to our four wheeled brethren, but the experience has helped me grow in some way personally. I confronted my fears and broke new ground on distance and endurance, and pushed myself on handling. Thanks to you hot shots for that.
The next time I think we should try to get some cabins. Probably wouldn't cost much more and we wouldn't have to carry quite so much gear. Plus we'd have a fridge for food and beer, and electrical to work on broken rides. Maybe such a place can be found in WVA for next year's XSEast.
Thanks to all for the great memories.
The days before XSEast I'm nervous about the upcoming trek. With all the recent threads about bikes not running, wrecks, and near wrecks, I question the wisdom of this trip. My wife's solution - don't go. Not quite happy with that answer I send Dave Hill an email about this. He tells me, don't worry, it'll be fun. Wednesday night he stops by with some extra bungies and we review the route. Dave tells me we'll meet Jim Latonick from WV, north of Fredrick, and Jim Macdonald, north of Harrisburg.
Thursday evening I spend packing the bike, a 78E - tent and sleeping bag constitute nearly half the load. I throw in a #3 carb body for a camp tutorial, my valve tool, and the colortune. I top off the oil and pump up the tires - don't do any else lest I break something good.
Friday. I wait till the wife leaves for work and the kids for school before I mount up. It is overcast, and I think this isn't bad weather for our trip, not too hot or cold. Leaving the house at 0830, I head over to Chantilly to meeting Dave at Anita's for some breakfast burritos. Dave pulls out his key, with the new XS key fob and proudly says, "Look at that." I pull mine out, just as proudly and say, "Look at that." We talk about how we packed and review formation riding. Dave forgot his cellphone so we return to his house to pick it up. Finally we hit the road, probably sometime after 1000. We head up Rte 50, with Dave leading. I notice an emu farm off to the right, they raise those ostrich size birds there. I beep my horn saying good morning to them and am surprised how little noise my horn makes at speed. Dave certainly doesn't hear it. But it gives me something to do, so anytime we pass critters near the road I give them a honk. We turn off Rte 50 onto a two lane road to Leesburg to pick up Rte 15. This part of Virginia is horse country with rolling hills, farms, and quite a few rustic stores and historical structures - something to come back to with the wife on back and examine in greater detail. Here, Dave, picks up the pace - we are doing 80mph. At this speed the wind force on my helmet is giving me a sore neck. We slacken the pace as we approach Point-of-Rocks to cross the Potomac and my neck muscles get a reprieve.
At Fredrick we make our first gas stop them begin searching for Jim Latonick. We're supposed to meet him at 1030, at a rest stop somewhere between Fredrick and the Pennsylvania border, but we are already running 45 minutes late. The rest stops aren't there so Dave pulls over and asks what should we do. I know of a rest stop on the south side just below the Maryland-Pennsylvania line. I say lets look for him there. We do. Once there I ask the information folks if anyone has asked about us. They say no, so we figure Jim is way ahead of us. Dave calls Jim MacDonald in Harrisburg and tells him we are on the way. We mount up again and press on.
At Camp Hill we turn on to 591 then I-83, one of those Pennsylvania interstates, no acceleration lanes, narrow lanes, and lots of repaired surface. Through Harrisburg, traffic is heavy but once we turn off north on I-81, the road is better, and traffic thins out. We pull off at Exit 27, and go to appointed meeting place, a Shell station with a Subway sandwich shop. Dave gives Jim a call then we get lunch and wait for him, Jim saying its about 20 minutes away from where he lives. Halfway through our meal Dave remembers he didn't lock his helmet down and wants to secure it. He heads on outside to see a man messing with his bike. Then realizes there are now two bikes where there was one, (I parked mine further around the building) and realizes the man is Jim. Then there were three.
We review our route and opt for the interstates. Jim agrees to lead. I tell him, "Keep it below 70mph, my neck needs a break." Of course first thing out the gate we are doing 80mph. Jim is leading on his dark maroon special, Dave is dash 2 on his special, and I'm way behind in trail. At one point I goose it up to 100mph just to catch up. We're shmoking, and make Allentown within 2 hours. There we pull off for a butt break and to review the route. We then zoom up Rte 33 hitting some construction restricting traffic to one lane, so our pace slows to a crawl. But after a few more miles of that we turn off on Rte 209 and finally we're in the Poconos.
We pull off for some gas about 30 miles south of Dingams Ferry. While refueling this fellow, seeing our bikes, walks up and asks our destination. Dingams. He tells us how great the canoeing is around here, recommends a half day trip, and informs us of a canoe outfitter located near the campground should we want to give it a shot. We take it under advisement. At that point we see a Special scream by and Dave says, "Hey, that's Jim Latonick." We get ready for a quick pursuit, but Dave can't find his key. Looking around he finds it by the pump. A car ran over it, bending it nicely. Out come the pliers and hammer as Dave works to get it back into his ignition switch. Finally, after 10 minutes, success.
Mounting up, we begin our final approach to the campsite. Lots of tourists are on the road for the resort hotels, so traffic is moderate. We hit the recreation area, no more resort hotels or tourist traffic. We are now traveling in the river valley with granite cliffs rising on both sides. A few more miles then we finally reach the campground. Pulling into a wooded area, we walk into the office to pay our money and find our sites. "Yes, some of your group is here, and yes, you have a site down by the river. That's ten dollars a camper, please." We follow the gravel road, through the woods, down an incline, across a flood plain to our campsites on a bluff overlooking the Delaware River. One other bike can be seen, has to be Jim Latonick.
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18 September 1998
Dave Hill, Jim MacDonald, and I pull up to the edge of the campsite, separated from the parking area by huge logs and cut our motors. Jim Latonick gives us a hearty hello and handshakes go around, or mebbe not, I don't remember. Anyway we talk about our missed rendezvous. I figure that Jim was about 10 minute ahead of us. If we didn't spend time searching for him we probably would've caught up with him. Anyway we are all together now.
We unpack the bikes and start eyeing where to pitch our tents. Dave asks who snores so he can situate himself away at a safe distance. I volunteer that I can be particularly sonorous so he pitches his tent way far away from me.
As we're setting up we hear two more bikes coming down the hill. Steve Pratel and Will Jones are returning from some local recce. We drop what we're doing and again we make introductions, handshakes and welcomes. That makes six of us, five Specials and one Standard. We look each bike over, comparing the differences and unique attributes of each bike.
Mine is the only Standard, painted with what I understand to be Macho Maroon, similar to the Chrysler minivan burgundy. Its is all stock, the stock exhausts have rusted out where the drip ports were on the back end. The seat has a new Travelcade cover. The chrome has rusted through here and there but overall I'd say its in good to excellent condition.. Jim M's also says his Special is Macho Maroon, but its more the color of a port wine. I don't know which is right. Dave has a black Special with a Kerker exhaust that he keeps trying to sell to me so he can buy a Hindle system. (Hey, since Barry Clarke wants a 4-1, sell it to him.). He's maintained it well and has never fooled with the carbs. Jim L also has a black Special that he bought for $250, is that right Jim? His still has a 4-2 exhaust and looks in pretty good shape, worth at least $300. Will has a black Special that takes your breathe away. "Marlboro Man" has elevated aluminum polishing to a high art, his bike simply gleams - sort of like a hot babe in a stunning outfit while the rest of us have stunning babes in curlers and old sweatshirts. His aluminum shines as if it were chrome. I ask him a dozen times what were the polishing compounds he used; "Brake fluid, Neverdull, and Harley Davidson Bright Metal Polish". We're all figuring ways to swap cparts while he's not looking. Steve has a white Special with a small fairing which compliments the black bikes nicely. It is a hoot to see them lined up together.
After we get the tints pitched, I break out my carb #3 body, and give a quick carb tutorial to those who have never seen the guts of one. "These are the float posts that break easily, this is the pilot jet, this is the main jet, here's that brass tube Dave Hogue talked about, and yep, that's the diaphragm" and so on. I also break out the Colortune so folks can see what that looks like. While doing this, we get to know each other beyond our Web personas, small talk about where we're from and what we do.
Will starts dropping some hints about how its dinner time and he's ready to eat. We start building a consensus on where to go, "Ah that's too much, that's too cheap, no McDonalds" etc. We finally have an idea of where to go so we fire up our rides. I haven't heard six XSs growling together in a long time, it was a sweet sound. I can't recall who's in the lead but, once we leave the camp entrance, bam, the throttles open up. In trail again, I have to haul to keep up. We go about ten miles on this two lane, doing some yanking and banking in the twisties. I glance down at one point, yes I dared take my eyes of the road, and notice we're doing between 50 and 60 mph. Its exhilarating but I'm not comfortable enough with the pace to keep up. We reach the restaurant, walk in, and raise our eyebrows, this is a posh place. Steve takes a look at the prices on the menu and says, "Nope." Will is already seated at the table with his napkin tucked in, so we beckon him out, we need someplace a little cheaper. Again we're hot out the gate, this time I'm #3 and keeping up. We backtrack our route about three or four miles, leaning hard in the turns again, before coming across a pizza place/restaurant. We pull in there. Inside we sit down, a table or four and two. Service is slow so we have a chance to talk and get to know each other further. The cuisine isn't the best Italian I had, but there's oodles of noodles. I get a heaping plate of sausage and peppers. Dave, you're gonna hear some snoring tonight! Jim L and Steve excuse themselves to make phones calls to homeplate.
After dinner we hit the grocery store next door for a few items then waddle out to our rides. Its dark now, so its time to spook some deer. Again, we bellow out of the parking lot and hit the throttles hard. As we pull up to the campsite entrance, Dave, Will, and I think one of the Jims, I don't recall, and I decide a little libation is in order. Now Pennsylvania has some unique booze laws. Beer can either be had at the ABC stores in cases or at bars in six packs. Will knows of a nearby bar so, bam, we're out the gate again, once more going the route we covered twice already. Since I know the road now I'm screaming along with the rest of them. Flying around a corner I see Will and Dave are stopped to make a left, so I grab a handful full of brake. Whew, that was close. After we make our turn, I open up the distance as we proceed on.
At our destination, a honkytonk bar, Dave and I walk in and order a six of cold Buds. Walking back we spot a Harley in the parking lot. Being pumped up from our rice burners Dave and I push it over and Will helps us turn it upside down. Gas is spilling all over the place and oil is running down its frame. I kick in the headlight as Dave is smashing the taillight, when the owner comes ripping out the bar, madder than hell, whipping this huge knife around and . . . gotcha!, just a little fiction here. No, we didn't touch the Harley, we do respect any person's bike and property. We just give it a glance, then we're off again. Now, someone at camp did relate how their bike once fell over all the way onto its back. I don't know how it happened, neither did its owner, but it makes for a good story.
Back at camp, a small campfire is going so we break out the beer. Jim M leaves to make a phone call at the office, its about a 1/4 mile away, so off he goes on his bike. Jim M is gone for about 2 beers now. We're expecting JP and as the hour is late, so Steve heads up to the office to see what's up. After the third beer and a half hour none of them have returned. Then one of the camp staff, a balding guy, with long remaining hair, about 30-40 who used to ride and now assembles computers, I found out later, comes down and tell us one of our mates was having trouble. Gotta be JP. That explains the absence of Jim and Steve. The staffer also says its OK to pull the bikes into the campsite proper so kids won't climb on them in the morning. He's a pretty bike friendly guy. Says we have to wear our helmets while riding in the campground or the rangers will tag us for $100, and we gotta obey the 5mph speed limit in the campground or the rangers will tag us for $50. We thank him. Since we don't know exactly what's happening and too much beer is consumed, and the fire is dying, we opt to turn in. I'm ready for some serious wood cutting.
Just before I nod off I hear some bikes approaching, some low hubhub and the clanking of tent poles before I finally fade for the night. I surmise JP has arrived.
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19 September 1998
Saturday has the makings of a fine day. I finally get to meet the renowned JP as does everyone else. Everyone knows the story now but I'll recap. Seems his bike died about 15 miles down the road with bad electrical and a dry and fused battery. The previous night, Steve took the battery out of his bike and with that, JP got to within 2 miles of camp. He left his bike behind some trees by an abandoned house. This morning, Jim L volunteers his battery to get him to camp so I pop it into a smaller cooler, strap it to my luggage rack, and two-up with JP to Great White's location. While he is replacing batteries I look it over, it's a Special with a small full fairing and an oversize tank built for distance. He's customized three hard-bags for the back end so he's got quite a lot of lift capability.
He's good to go so we ride on back to the campsite. JP pulls Great White over to his tent and prepares for surgery. While we're observing these preparations we see two more bikes coming down the hill. Its Bart Krieger, Chris Rawson and his lady, Alice. And, too boot, they brought bagels and donuts along.
Bart has a faired, brown 79F, in great shape and Chris rides the British version of the standard, an F.1? The tank looks similar to a Standard's but it has a higher rise, giving it another gallon of volume. And his shifter is bassackward with some sort of reverse linkage. He's on the prowl for a right, side cover so I keep a judicious look over mine. Anyways, it's more handshakes and introductions and again we look over the newcomers.
Somehow we got around to talking about fishing and Will goes ahead and shows us some hellgrammites he has in his bait can. Boy, they're ugly big buggers, looks like something right out of Star-Troopers. If you want to gross someone out dump a bunch of hellgrammites on him. Yeech! And Will is handling them like they're his pets.
This morning's trip is planned to get some fuses and another battery for JP and recharge Steve's with some healthy riding. Alice lives locally, so she knows where the best places to find these items are. About 1100 we head out. Jim L and Dave decide to relax some and remain behind. About two miles north of camp, Chris's bike cuts outs so six of us stop, squeezing in between the guard rail and the pavement. Chris unscrews his headlight, jiggers some wires, and he's ready to go again. We continue on up to Medford, where we find a Napa store. Medford is a picturesque, small town that caters to tourists. Today there is a town-wide flea market going on so the streets are thick with cars and pedestrians.
Napa has no battery but has located a source for one. We opt to check out Walmart first, so that's the next destination. Enroute we stop at a Gulf station for gas, then head on to McDonald's. At Mickey Ds, Steve, Will, Bart, and I sit together and chat for about 45 minutes. After some good yakking, we head across the parking lot to Walmart with the rest of our party to see if they have any batteries. They do and while JP is making his purchase the rest of us are gabbing in the parking lot. I buy some Mobil 1 oil since I'm getting low, and top off my oil. I pass the bottle. Will decides to create his own special oil mix. We chuckle at that. JP returns with his purchases but we need to go back to Napa since Walmart didn't have any 30 amp fuses. With the sun high and bright, its getting quite warm as we head back to Napa. JP finds his fuses there. We return to camp with JP's treasures.
Dave and Jim L are enjoying a meal they picked up at the deli next to the Italian place we ate at the previous night. While they finish up JP returns to his project while Steve and Chris plan the afternoon's ride. A scenic ride through the tri-state area, NJ, NY, PA, is agreed upon. Jim L is intrigued by JP's efforts so he decides to remain behind and help him. The rest of us prepare to leave.
Chris and Alice, two-upped, lead the pack followed by, Will, Dave, Jim M, Steve, Bart, and me, I like that trail spot. We motor up the west bank of the Delaware then cross over to NJ. Immediately we turn left onto a secondary road and open up the throttles. Chris was a racer, and even with Alice on back, he isn't holding much back.
We're banging through the curves when I notice Bart leave the pavement for some grass cutting and guard rail burnishing. God protects fools and XSsives, JP almost had his parts problems solved there and then. Bart slows down, with a silly grin., shaking his head I figure he's deciding whether to clean his BVDs now or later. He says he's fine and for me to move on. I do so keeping a lookout for him in my mirrors while I try to catch up with the main body. Bart takes it easy so I open up to catch up. I'm reaching 100mph at some points though de-accelerating for the curves when I catch sight of the group ahead on a straight but hilly section. I notice a 4x4 coming the other way and decide to play model citizen. A law enforcement officer of some ilk passes by. When he's over the hill I pick it up again. Bart and I finally rejoin the main group when they halt at an intersection. Bart gives a brief summary of his experience. We push off for the highest point in NJ, 1803 ft.
A state park houses this location which has a tower, built in 1929, marking the spot. We park in a lot at the base of the tower providing a panoramic view to the northwest. We walk up to the tower itself, a stone obelisk built along the lines of the Washington Monument. As we walk around its base we chat about a variety of topics. Chris and Alice have them so they smoke them. Bart goes into greater detail about his near death experience and we marvel at the weeds on his footpegs. Steve recounts how in the last segment of twisties, he hit an acorn, and it felt like his front tire was going flat, and experience he had once before. We enjoy the view and take some photos. After a bit, we walk back down to the parking lot and move the bikes over to the scenic overlook for a group shot. Then its back on the road. We descend the west side of the hill, fill up at a Gulf station, then cross back over the Delaware into NY at Port Jervis. We come to a stretch where I understand they film car commercials. A river is to the left 400' below, cliffs are to the right 400' up and the rode is a series of curves hugging the cliffs. We stop at one overlook to take in the view and watch the canoes and rafts far below. A number of bikes are on the road today, crotch rockets, what Steve calls cartoon bikes - bright colors, and of course Harley's. We enjoy our location for about 20 minutes then push off again.
We howling along at 80mph when I spot a trooper with radar coming the other way. I grab the brakes and slow to 70mph, but I figure we're dead meat. Maybe he's off duty because the lights stay off and he continues on. Whew, that was fortunate.
We turn off to a secondary road and wind through the NY forests. As we approach a T intersection, Jim M pulls off with a cracked through right muffler. Out comes the wire to hold the pipe in place. Conveniently, a food market is right there so Bart runs in for some vittles. Jim M is ready by the time Bart comes out, and bam, its out the gate again.
A truss bridge takes us back into PA for some more forest roads. I'm enjoying this immensely and the exhilaration returns even as I write this. Finally we're back in Medford right by the Napa store we visited this morning. We decide we'll need beer for the evening and head to the nearest beer mart. We buy a case of Molson Ice and strap it to my backrest. Bam, we're off again. We eventually stop at Alice's home so she can pick up some additional clothes. Leaving there, we hit this very nice leg, freshly paved with some very sharp curves. We slide through the curves only to hit the last leg that really sucks. Its late in the afternoon, the light is fading, and the gravel all over the road is hard to see. Its real easy to feel as the bike gets squirrelly sliding through the curves. It's second gear time. Just as well, because the local gendarme is leading the pack. This road dumps us off the main road near camp, so in ten minutes we're back at camp, reveling in the days experience. Will and I stop at the camp office to grab some bags of ice.
We arrive to find JP and Jim L still at it trying to trouble shoot the problem. A couple of us hint that its time to get a U-haul and enjoy the rest of XSEast 98. But JP loves to tinker and as Jim L is his willing apprentice, they continue on.
Steve starts breaking camp for he has to return home this PM. He has three services to conduct tomorrow and his bag is only on third filled. As he bundles up his gear and loads his bike Bart and I enjoy a few minutes of conversation with him.
7:00 PM rolls around and it's time for the virtual toast. We charge our cans and bottles and toast all the XSsives, an august group that we're proud to be part of. For the life of me I can't remember what else is said. I guess there are a few remarks about The Bart Almost Memorial Guard Rail, hellgrammites, and alternators. I think Bart's thread best covers the gist of our toast so I repeat some of it here.
"I find it somewhat of an anomaly that so diverse a spectrum of people can share a common thread and become connected to the point of bridging a gap between the fantasy of the net and the reality of sharing time together in person. Since this was my first time ever doing this, I must say that it was nothing short of incredible and wonderful...
Through it all, the common threads that we each shared led to a fellowship that formed a "tight weave". and that experience was excellent!"
And, Bart, bless his soul, has brought steaks for everyone. Will, camper extraordanaire, prepares the charcoal. The rest of us, consume the beer. Steve has to get going so we lift a beer as he rides off into the sunset, how poetic.
The steaks are ready so we start working on them. A good marinade job, Bart, but, gee, you forgot the baked potatoes and salad. So it's just steak that we devour. After that excellent repast, Bart, too, wants to return home, so with handshakes and fairwells, he leaves us. Chris and Alice are ready to go, they soon follow.
The rest of us decide a campfire is in order so Dave and I walk up to the office to get a load of firewood, $4 an armful. We stumble back with a dufflebag full of wood and recruit Will for the next load. We try to con him into carrying the load all the way back but he isn't buying that so Dave and I stumble back the remaining distance with the second load.
We enjoy the fire and babble on, now and then walking over to JP to give our two cents worth of advice. Its about this time that JP runs out of ideas, so he heads up the hill to begin making phone calls. I think he reaches Dave Hogue first then Gary LaPook home who's still out flying. While JP is making calls I review with Jim L progress made to date. Jim swapped his alternator and regulator separately, and JP's bike still didn't charge. I asked if he switched them both, Jim L said no. We checked both alternators with the VOM meter finding the values for the stator winding where 0.8, 0.4 above the max. However since Jim's bike ran fine we figured that was OK. JP's field winding was showing 0.4 when it should've been 3.5. With everything covered in grey dust we figure its shot. JP returns with the idea of checking the main wire for continuity. Jim L and I point out our findings to him. His wire does have continuity so he concludes its probably both the alternator and regulator.
I finally point out, testing aside, the regardless of whether JP finds the problem, tomorrow is Sunday, no dealers will be open, whether they have parts or not, hence, "JP, you gotta review your options. We gotta go and you have to move this thing one way or another. U-haul sounds the best bet." JP takes that under consideration as he continues working.
Dave turns in early with a beer induced headache. He wants to be fresh for the trip home tomorrow.
JP rides up on Jim L's bike for one last set of phone calls. I walk up, soon after, to use the head. On leaving I pass the camp office where JP is talking on the phone and met the camp staffer from the day before. He seems quite knowledgeable about electrical systems and gives his opinion of what happened. An overcharging regulator dried out the battery causing it to fuse creating a massive amperage spike frying the charging system. Ergo JP needs a new battery, regulator and alternator. He agrees that U-haul is his best bet, but offers to house Great White at the camp, if JP chooses that option.
While JP was still talking I walk back to the site through a pitch, black forest, proceeding 95% by feel, and 5% by gray vision. JP comes back down, and soon after and is ready to call it a night. Will, Jim L, JP and I enjoy the last embers before turning in.
As I'm drifting off to sleep I hear this incessant drumming, which ain't bad. Each session concludes with an exclamation, "Rock n Roll". Will is having a good time. Goodnight.
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20 September 1998
Well, its departure day, and all of us are reluctant to see XSEast 98 end. As I lay in my tent I hear drops on the fly. Bummer its raining out, I don't want to ride home in the rain. But once outside I see its just condensation on the leaves dripping down. Still its foggy out so it'll be a cool running.
JP is still troubleshooting Great White to nail down the problem. Dave and I walk up to the showers for our last scrub-a-dub and dose of poison ivy. When we return we see that Bart has rejoined us, in his cage this time, and brought donuts. All right, Bart. We start packing our gear and taking down our tents. JP is reassembling Great White. He intends ride it over to Alice's where he'll have easy access to a phone. He'll call around to see what his cheapest option is for getting home.
We discuss our route back. Jim M wants to get home fastest so he can catch the Steelers game. I'd like to do some more backroads, but I consider group integrity paramount so I go with the consensus. We decide on Rte 209 to I-80 to I-81.
We finish packing and start saying our good-byes. Bart will follow JP over to Alice's and drives him up to the office so JP can call her about his plans. Will, Dave, Jim M, myself and Jim L, head out. There's two-way traffic out the gate so of course we lose Jim L immediately. He catches up about 15 miles down the road. Will keeps up a steady pace. We come to a three way intersection where we have to make a left turn and Jim L gets left behind again. He soon rejoins us but now we're behind a slow U-haul. Will, in the lead, sees a break in the traffic and gooses it to pass. There's too much closure for the rest of us to follow so that's the last we see of Will. And then there were four.
We jump on I-80 with Dave taking lead. He has a 70mph pace as we cruise through the countryside. I-80 is a newer road that's lightly traveled. The overcast is thickening and the temperature dropping some. I'm beginning to chill out, literally. About this time, Dave heads for an exit. Dave and Jim take the ramp fast, I'm not ready for the transition so I chicken out, brake and downshift and take it slower. We pull off for gas and decide on Burger King for lunch. We take our time eating, reliving the weekend's experience. Jim M heads out for smoke of his pipe, Jim L calls the wife, and Dave and I pull out some warmer clothes for the next leg.
We're off again, a more leisurely pace just at the speed limit when we pass through a radar trap. Thank God we took a break the exit before or we all would've won 3 points. We reach I-81 and turn south for Harrisburg. With road construction ongoing, I-81 constricts to one lane. Traffic is stop and go so we can give our butts a stretch on the pegs and talk to each other. Jim L jokingly suggests we take it up the left side where the left lane is blocked off. I smile at that thought. We slow for congestion only twice before the pace is back up to 70mph.
As we approach Harrisburg the cloud cover thins and its beginning to warm up. With sore butts, the four of us stop at a rest stop NE of Harrisburg on I-81 for a stretch. Looks like an AARP convention with all the wispy, white-haired folks, making their way to the rest rooms on walkers and canes. I'm not quite there yet. Jim M wants to press on to catch the second half of the Steelers game. After a round of handshakes he roars out. Then there were three. Jim L also has some miles to go before home so he mounts up and roars out. Then there were two. Dave and I linger a few minute more, savoring the end of the weekend and our trek. Its becoming warm again so we shed a layer of clothes, I change from my leather to my cloth jacket. Mounting up and we head out to I-83, 591 to Camp Hill, then Rte 15 south. After one last squirt of petrol Dave suggests I take lead for the experience. We set out on our last leg. If it were earlier in the day it would have been fun to explore the environs around Gettysburg, but alas it is late so we press on towards home.
Just inside Maryland, we pull into the Maryland Welcome rest stop, same one as two days ago, for one last stretch. I see a scout leader, older, stout, and kind of crabby, (hell, that sounds like me) and his son, a Cub scout, a slender, blond-haired kid with glasses, sitting on a nearby park bench. Suddenly the boy starts running about screaming swatting at his neck. Seems he offended some of the local yellow jackets and they were taking their due. His father was trying to hold the crying boy still so he could swat them off. Mother comes out to console her child, tells Dad to get some ice. He says there isn't any, but goes to get a cold soda can out of the machines nearby. He can't make it work and you can tell he's getting agitated by the tone of his voice. I smile to myself, that'll be me in another two hours.
It's even hotter so I shed another layer. Dave and I depart and run on down 15, cross the Potomac at Point-of-Rocks and continue on to Leesburg. Both our butts are sore, we stand on the pegs when traffic slows. At Leesburg we take Rte 7 - traffic is denser and our speed drops. Dave and I part ways on Rte 7 and 28. We give each other a nod and he veers off on to 28. Then there was one.
After running at 70+ for most of our journey it is frustrating slowing to 40mph because of congestion - I must be back home. Lights, backups, and folks turtleing along. I jump off Rte 7 onto Beluah Rd, a local, twisty backroad, moderately developed, for some final thrills. An old couple is taking their time and following them is not an option. When I see some clear road ahead, I pass them at a healthy clip. Beluah finally straightens and dumps you off into downtown Vienna. With a greater density of homes and cops its time to become a model citizen again; I realize the trip is truly over. I motor the last 2 miles home at a sedate 25mph, lamenting that I am once again just a mere mortal.
And boy is my butt sore.
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Epilogue
As I said before, putting this to print, I relive the exhilaration. I try to explain this to my wife but she just doesn't get it. The dads of the boys I coach in football asked me about my trip and when I gave them a brief summary they seemed to get it. Maybe it's just predominantly a guy thing. I know when I was riding I felt more than just a mere mortal. Not that I feel superior to our four wheeled brethren, but the experience has helped me grow in some way personally. I confronted my fears and broke new ground on distance and endurance, and pushed myself on handling. Thanks to you hot shots for that.
The next time I think we should try to get some cabins. Probably wouldn't cost much more and we wouldn't have to carry quite so much gear. Plus we'd have a fridge for food and beer, and electrical to work on broken rides. Maybe such a place can be found in WVA for next year's XSEast.
Thanks to all for the great memories.