Southern Hospitality in Saluda (LONG, get a cup of coffee)

So this past Columbus Day weekend I decided to take advantage of the last nice warm days we've been having here around DC. I closely monitored the weather the whole week before and planned my first "tour" with the 250, deciding on a little trip down to Virginia Beach. I planned to ride down during the week to avoid the traffic, but a weather system pushed into Saturday and so I ended up going down on Sunday instead and return Monday evening.

Sunday morning.
The sun is shining 60 degrees all across the region. A comfortable high of 75 was in store and having packed the night before I was now happy to have everything planned, ready and in place. Leaving my house at around 7am, I rode down to my favorite breakfast joint in Manassas and took my time eating and reflecting on the trip that lay ahead. After breakfast, I gassed up and hit the road. I would be taking an alternate route mainly along Rt. 17, which would avoid the Interstate and thus more potential traffic. Heading south on 234, I would take that to Route 1, which in turn would hit 17 South, carrying me all the way down along the coast to Newport News. After that, it would be a quick hop on and off of 64, and snake along Shore Dr toward First Landing State Park, my destination.

It was smooth riding all the way down; the little bike buzzed along at a constant 65mph without incident. I decided to stop every hour and stretch my legs, as the seat on the NH just plain sucks for long distance. After 210 miles down, I still had 90 miles in the tank to explore the town, going to the beach, etc. before flipping the reserve. It was great to solo camp; doing what I wanted, when I wanted, for as long as I wanted. I swam with dolphins, hiked the local trails, soaked up some local history and just generally became lazy on my time off! At night I built a little campfire and ate dinner and relaxed in the surrounding darkness, listening to the local wildlife sounds over the crackling of the flames. My butt was so tired from riding that soon after I was fast asleep.

Monday.
Woke up around 7am, made breakfast and went for a local ride on some of the surrounding coastal roads. In my opinion, this is the best time to head down to the coast; the weather is still warm but all the tourists are gone! I ended my late morning with a tour of historic Cape Henry Lighthouse and took a little guided tour of the area just for kicks. Made it back to camp just in time for the 3pm checkout, ate a late lunch of Maryland Crab Chowder, packed up and started back up to head home...

5:45pm.
After buzzing along for a while up route 17 I stopped at a 7-11 to grab a drink, snack and stretch my legs. This is where I saw a damn chicken just walking around outside the store... this was the country after all, I guess. Back on the road!

Back on route 17 I start to approach some construction up ahead. Traffic was light considering the right lane was blocked for paving/milling. I swung into the coned off left lane for about a mile and then as I exited back onto the freshly paved road it happened. I first noticed the steering getting a bit wobbly and soft. A quick glance down confirmed the worst: a front flat! I quickly checked my mirrors, gently applied rear brake and brought the bike to a stop on the right shoulder. The tire bead was by now completely open and detaching from the rim. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon now and would soon be down for the day.

Upon shutting the engine off it became apparent just where I was: in the middle of nowhere! I was used to the constant humming along of the motor but now all that remained was the continuous droning of insects chirping and clicking away relentlessly. The stillness of the fields seemed to stretch on forever to either side. The first thing I thought was to move the bike as far over onto the shoulder as I could and out of the way of traffic. I leaned the bike on its stand sideways and draped my jacket over it for further visibility from oncoming cars. I calmly took out a granola bar and bottled water and decided that now would be a great time to call Geico and their roadside service...

All I can say about the next hour is that I was on the phone with three different customer service people and I would have been better off served by robots on the other end of the line. I was put on hold for about 40 minutes total on the side of the road while they apparently tried to locate repair facilities in the area and figured out how much the towing fees cost, etc.... Meanwhile, two people had stopped by to ask if I was O.K., or needed gas, etc. but I had told them that I was ok, and that I was on the phone with my roadside assistance and that it would be fine. However, by the time I spoke to the last person, I decided that my situation was not getting resolved that evening; it was 7pm on Columbus Day. It was up to me to figure something out and do so quickly - after all, I did have my camping gear with me. I hung up the phone and began to assess my surroundings. Up ahead, I spotted a faint gravel drive. I had no idea where this led but I did know that I needed to get the bike off the main road and out of sight for the evening.

I pushed the bike about half mile up the road and turned off onto the driveway. I could see an old barn from ages past and decided to stay put here for a minute or two to catch my breath. A few minutes later, the rumble of a large diesel engine followed by bright headlights briefly lit me up, as a truck turned into the drive. Behind it, a skid steer was in tow. The truck stopped and rolled down its tinted window. From the dome light’s projection, I could see the driver: a young man in his mid to late 30's with glasses. He wore a dark, weathered cap on his head and dirty work clothes. On his face was the silhouette of a few days’ worth of rough stubble. I promptly told him of my situation and about my flat tire. He glanced at me for a few seconds and then at my bike and gear, assessing for himself the validity of my story. I told him that since I had all my camping gear, I just needed a place to set up for the night, and would gladly pay him to use the land for the evening.

"You'll havta talk with mah grand-dad about that," he replied flatly, before offering me the option of getting an air compressor out to my bike to see if it would hold air. Not thinking twice I quickly agreed, grabbing my helmet and backpack and hopped in his truck. He put out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Drew.”

We must have then driven another half mile down that unpaved drive, passing old barns, corn fields and even a small confederate cemetery along the way. Beyond the illumination of the truck's headlights, the only things visible were the dirt road full of ruts out in front of us, a couple rabbits darting across the field and what seemed like every star in the universe up above! We finally arrived at the end of the drive and pulled up to an enormous modern brick mansion. As the truck rumbled to a stop, the cloud of dust generated by the truck caught up and engulfed us briefly. Off to the side lay what looked like a huge airplane hangar and few trailers used to haul heavy farm equipment, but none of these looked old or run down. The loud diesel engine had signaled our arrival and I could soon see grand-dad and his pit pull emerge from their garage and make their way toward the hangar and truck. The dog was in alarm mode and ran over to my door.

“Will he bite?” I shouted, now showing a bit of concern in my voice.

“Not unless ah tell him to,” the old man snapped back.

Here was a man of about 75 or so, tall like his grandson and a serious, weathered face and cautious demeanor about him. I stayed close by the truck and let the dog sniff me out as they both walked into the hangar, speaking softly about the stranger that was now on their property. I could make out the grandson explaining the flat tire and no place to stay. After the short conversation, he made his way over to me and put out his hand, which I shook firmly.

"What the hell are you doing out in these parts at this time of the night, son?" he demanded. "You some kind of eye-talian or sumthin'?”, the old man asked intently. I chuckled at the question, telling him about my weekend and what had happened to me on the way home. Seemingly satisfied by my story, he walked back to Drew and asked, "What the hell you plan on doin', then?". Drew told him about our plan to air up and soon we were headed back to the small bike. We drove back and put some air in the tire but to no effect; the pressure only lasted at most a couple of minutes. Drew told me that I could take the bike back to the hangar and store it there overnight. I agreed, but quickly reminded him of my situation at hand.

“You can stay at my house for the night, no problem. We’ll go inside, have a beer and watch some Monday Night Football -- tomorrow’s a new day,” Drew said, obviously tired from a hard days’ work. I thanked him for his kindness and after rolling my bike into the hangar for the evening, I threw my backpack into his truck, grabbed my helmet and we were soon on our way to his house, which he said was also on the property. He turned around and headed back to the fork in the road near the old cemetery, telling me about the history of the small fenced off plot and noting the small headstones belonging to babies that rested next to the soldiers’ sites, all of whom dated back to the Civil War era. We continued past an old barn and began to enter the thick blanket of trees all around, as the drive continued to snake its way deeper onto the property. At this point I must admit that I felt a bit uneasy. I had briefly told my family where I was, but nobody knew anything about an actual address or anything. My mind raced through all the films I had seen about stories just like these and how nobody would hear the screams should I happen to be thrown into a well in the basement of an old house. Great, and just in time for Halloween too, I thought.

No sooner had the image of Lecter’s face popped into my head when an opening in the thick trees gave way to streams of flood lights from another property hidden away. The outside lights were on and lit up the driveway, which had another car parked on it. Some lights were on in the house and I suddenly felt comfortable once more with the whole situation. Drew shut off the diesel engine and the frantic barking from dogs from within the residence could be heard. Walking up to the house on a nice flagstone walkway, I was brought back to reality. This was not like the movies at all. These were normal people, surely...they just happened to live in the middle of nowhere! He opened his front door and I was welcomed with the smell of BBQ and the sight of a beautiful glistening marble floor and a fully furnished and comfortable looking home! He took off his boots and I did the same. The dogs barked at our arrival, but were restrained from coming up the stairs by a baby gate. The Bears and Lions were playing on the T.V. and I stayed put for a moment as Drew walked over to the kitchen where his wife was fixing the dinner that smelled so damn good by now. Suddenly, I see his son of about 11 years appear from behind a wall and quickly glance at me shyly but look down quickly, as he zipped by, joined his family in the kitchen. I gave them a chance to discuss the new “guest” and I could hear them speaking softly in the kitchen.

After a minute, Drew’s wife emerged and met me in the foyer. She politely introduced herself and ushered me inside, telling me to take a seat and offered me some dinner. She told me about how she could maybe help me out; she worked for a Ford dealership and her boss owned a motorcycle, too, and that maybe I could get a patch there. I also met their son, which talked my head off about video games for some time.

I was offered a shower, cold beer and hot dinner, with the football game playing in the background as we covered a wide range of subjects from motorcycles to fishing and hunting. Drew told me all about his family and as it turned out they were from my area in Northern Virginia! His grandfather had moved down there in the early ‘90’s, and he’d been there for about 5 years, being forced to leave because of the “sprawl ‘n’ crawl” of the DC metro area. He showed me family photo albums of their outings to Alaska and their hunting trips in the wild, his early years as a teen and about his wish to one day own a motorcycle. His cousin was in Iraq and left his heavily customized Harley Sportster in the garage. A beautiful bike, but unfortunately I didn’t get a photo.

“I tried to ride it once, but the sucker was just too damn heavy for me, it seemed,” Drew sighed sadly, recalling the one time he took it out on his driveway.

I told him about my riding experiences and how he should actually start with a NH to learn on, but maybe not a 250, seeing as how he was a big guy. We talked about motorcycles well into the night as well as first crappy cars from back in high school. By quitting time at around 12:30am, it seemed we had known one another for years! I was offered the option of either a clean bed or a couch in the living room, to which I took the latter. Needless to say I slept really comfortably that night.

The next morning I was offered coffee and eggs and got Geico on the phone to make arrangements for a tow. The closest available bike shop was in Richmond!! Before heading off to work, Drew’s wife asked me if I'd slept alright and told me that I was welcome any time and that I should return next month for the 54th annual Oyster and Seafood Fest, which is held in Urbanna, and that I would have a place to stay. I thanked her for their generous hospitality and that told her that they would be hearing from me soon! Drew helped his son get ready for school and then we all hopped in the truck again to Gran-dad’s house next door to get the motorcycle. As we arrived, the old man was waiting for us with the dog, Ozzie in the driveway and offered us coffee while we waited for the tow truck to arrive.

We went inside and talked for about 30 minutes. He was more laid back this morning, too. His wife fixed breakfast in the kitchen as he showed me his “game” room from their outings in Alaska. The heads of bear to wild boar to elk and even a rabbit with antlers(!) adorned the walls of the great room. He filled my head about his tales of war in Europe during WW2, and his outings hunting big game all over the Great White North. Sooner than we would have liked, we heard the dog barking at the approaching tow truck. As the driver prepped my bike, I could sense a certain degree of sadness about the situation. We had exchanged so many stories and found so many things in common in such a short period of time that it was as if we’d known each other all along. Even the old man was in a better mood now, and he had just found someone new who would listen to his stories of how Europe was saved. I gave Drew some money for the hospitality and naturally he didn’t want to accept at first. I insisted as I thanked him once more before we parted ways.

Motorcycle ownership is unlike anything else I’ve felt. I believe there’s a certain vulnerability to it all, and I believe people are just more inclined to lend a helping hand. Even during my hour-long ride in the tow truck to the shop in Richmond, the tow truck driver and I spoke of nothing else but motorcycles! He was an older guy in his early 50’s that had just purchased a used BMW K1200LT for him and his wife to see the country in. He spoke of 1971 when he and a buddy, both on CB350’s toured the hills of West Virginia with nothing more than rudimentary backpacks. They would ride around asking locals where the best swimmin’ holes were at!

Even when we arrived in Richmond, it went further; one of the two mechanics in the back was told to put his current job on hold and get my bike up on the lift and that tire changed out ASAP. They had me in and out in no time, trying to get me on my way before the next wave of rain showers arrived. I’ve encountered nothing but nice folks in my travels of the south and I believe having a motorcycle lends to that ease of speaking to people. It’s a natural conversation starter and evokes questions of where we’ve been and where we’re going.

My ride back home had me winding up and down country roads through a constant mist the whole way through the heart of rural Virginia. I didn’t get any pictures but truthfully pictures wouldn’t have done these places justice. They were beautiful and I wouldn’t have seen them had I not been forced to make such a “detour”. I got home without incident but with a hunger to plan my next trip; not necessarily farther, but to just go somewhere and see different things and meet different people. I can't wait until next month for that seafood festival.

	Author	Topic: Southern Hospitality in Saluda (LONG, get a cup of coffee) (Read 319 times)
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