Larry Black
For The New Era
Alex Paul’s phone message to get back to him was troubling me.
How was I to tell the story he wanted for the paper?
I had made a cross country motorcycle trip last spring, 7,000 miles and 32 days. He wanted the story for The New Era.
Where to begin? How long? How detailed? All questions to confuse a rider trying to be a writer.
Here goes.
The tornado slammed into Kansas City, Kansas with F-4 fury the week before Mother’s Day. My concern as I watched the television news in Quantico, Va. was for my parents who live in Kansas City.
It was also that the storm system would take its wind and rain towards my first day of travel west.
On the phone, mom said all was O.K., a miss of one mile. I decided to sit out one more day to let the storm pass over in the night instead of meeting it somewhere on the road in mid-afternoon.
I had been lucky on the eastern leg of my journey with only some gusty winds and high (mid-90 degree) temperatures to cause problems. Discomfort would be a better word than problem. On a motorcycle, the rider is exposed to the elements and lives in the moment the great outdoors provides.
My bike provides the best of comfort and protection, coupled with high performance.
It is a 2003 Honda Goldwing, built around an 1,800 CC, six-cylinder engine with faring and windshield.
On this trip, I have the trunk and saddlebags full and tent and sleeping bags strapped on.
I can cruise all day at high speed or carve the curves of a back byway with road-hugging confidence.
The 3,100 miles to Quantico started in Desert Hot Springs, Calif. The experience of motorcycle riding goes back to high school and encompasses so many friends, machines and good times it would take a book to tell them all.
I will detail one day.
Tuesday morning in Quantico was cool and damp. The fierce storm of the midwest has passed in the night as a steady rain with light winds.
The Gold Wing was ready and on the road by 8:30 a.m. Full of gas and riding on new Dunlop radial tires installed the day before. I had seen my four grandchildren off to school earlier and waved a final good-bye to my son, Gunnery Sgt. Mike Black, USMC.
The trip west to Sweet Home would not be a direct route. We (the Wing and I) would take the interstate freeways to Kansas City and then the scenic back highways home. We would pass through 12 states and meet new friends as well as old and spend too short of time with family along the way.
The back roads would take us mostly across Virginia. This is where the Civil War was hotly contested and the rolling timbered hills are marked at the roadside with plaques showing battle sites and positions.
I followed a road called the Constitution Hwy. Along with Civil War history, it takes in the origins of our nation including President Madison’s home. As the names of historical figures passed by, the smooth road hummed along beneath us with small towns appearing about every five miles.
In 90 minutes, I had I-64, the route I would take to St. Louis, Mo. My goal was to make my cousin’s home just east of Kansas City in two days. The interstate would be the quickest route and there were no scenic areas I wished to see on this leg of the trip.
That is not to say the route is not beautiful. The whole way was lush and green with spring bursting out all over. An occasional shower kept me in my leather chaps and the liner in my jacket kept me warm.
We crossed through West Virginia, then the longer state of Kentucky. As we took the by-pass around Louisville, we ran into a downpour. A small thunderstorm was really dumping rain on the area. By keeping the bike at 50 mph or better, the faring and windshield kept most of the water off me and I made do with my leathers, skipping a rain gear change.
Crossing into Indiana, the sun came out and at the exit 20 miles in I was tired and hungry, ready to call it a day after 620 miles.
Now you probably think that arriving in a totally strange place that a stay in a motel or tent camp is to be the way the night is to be spent.
The open “secret” that made this trip so enjoyable is the Gold Wing Road Riders Association.
The GWRRA publishes a “Gold Book” every year with every member’s name and phone number and a list of codes A through E. The codes indicate what that person will do for other riders passing through their area.
The nearest town this day was Corydon, Indiana and one member was listed with all five codes by his name. One code meant he offered tent space for fellow riders.
John Voyles’ wife Inez answered my call about 6:30 p.m., then John himself answered my request with “Wow, I’ve been a member nine years and you’re the first person to ever call.”
He also said tenting was out of the question as the family had a spare bedroom available.
Five miles down the road I made a new friend.
Their daughter was staying around to see what kind of complete stranger her dad had invited, sight unseen, into his home. In five minutes we all had a good laugh about that and she was satisfied that Gold Wingers weren’t hell-raising biker dudes bent on death and destruction.
The reception was warm and filled with hours of long conversation of families, jobs, motorcycles and life in general. John invited me to stay a few more days and to think about meeting him on his trip to Colorado in August. Regrettably I had to push on and after breakfast the next day, was on the road at 10:30 a.m.
That was one day and I haven’t mentioned a lot of the beautiful country passed through.
John and I still keep in touch. There is a whole chapter to write of my visit with him and the other Gold Wingers I stayed with on this trip. Their stories would fill a book.
The next time you see a bike breezing down the road, think of this story. We all have a story, but seldom stop to share it with strangers.
The joy of life is in sharing it.
I’m glad to have shared this little bit with you.