This is another of my verbose trip reports. This does differ from the others by offering a touching eyewitness perspective on the founding of that maternal bond between mother and child (or at least between rider and newly purchased bike). This was a special moment for me and the others and I'm sure everyone will benefit from the experience.

This story starts in early November when I decided to start a mailing list for riders in the southeast, hoping that it would bring about bike related discussions and possibly some group rides. Unfortunately, the coming of winter seemed to stunt conversations and the list wasn't seeing much activity. In an effort to boost solidarity, I proposed a group ride down to my parent's beachhouse on the Florida panhandle. The date was set for the weekend of December 11th. (a time when most of the wreck.moto posters will be moaning about having their bikes in storage)

Just as we pulled into Shoney's, I spotted a black Goldwing pulling into the parking lot. A couple moments later, netter and serider subscriber John Miller introduced himself. Although he was unable to make the trip, he decided to come down and meet whoever showed up. It was 30 minutes before anyone else arrived, and then it was Troy's wife Lisa. She said Troy and Dean were working on Dean's bike and would be along shortly. She also informed us that the weather had been generous enough to drop two degrees since the sun had come up. The original plan was to leave Shoney's at 9am. Dean had purchased his CB550 a short 14 hours before the trip and was busy finding all the little things that needed adjusting. And filling. Like the gas tank. By the time they got some fumes in the Honda's float bowls and made it to Shoney's it was 9am. Since the Weavers hadn't arrived from Athens, they grabbed breakfast. The power had blinked out earlier, so we all sat in the dark and swapped bike stories. At 9:15am, the Weavers arrived, shivering from the cold. We delayed a little longer so they could thaw and so everyone could experience the adventure of pitch black restrooms. Theres a joke in here somewhere about a Naked Woman but you had to be there...

At 9:40 we cranked up to go in search of gas. Dean seemed to be having some problems but would meet us at the gas station. The lack of power made gas station choices tough but the third one we tried had juice. We filled up and shortly the Casey brothers rolled in. It was another of those new bike lessons, specifically one involving the inter-relationship between kill switches, starter buttons and battery charge. At 10am we were finally on the road.

For the next hour we gradually escaped the suburbs of Atlanta and eventually got on GA-54. This was a great little two lane with lots of forests and fields. The temperature was on the way up but the wind was vicious. While riding past plowed fields, the wind was enough to blow the bikes around. The rearview mirror image of four bikes riding leaned over, gave the impression of riding around a really long curve.

Another highlight of the ride was the town square of Greenville, GA. This is one of those small southern towns with the courthouse in the middle of town and the main road circling around it. There was even an old man waving to us from a porch. The turns were sharp enough, some squidly voice was ` daring me to attempt draggin a peg but the Voice of Reason (TM) won.

We reached Warm Springs an hour late but immediately spotted the Sims pile of bungee cords with a CBR hidden underneath. While finding a parking spot, Bob and Laura found us. Introductions were made and the Weavers headed for some place that sold food. Meanwhile everyone else hovered around the CB550 for a round of repairs. The centerstand stop was missing, so the stand was pushing on the chain. Dean had ridden the past 80 miles using his left foot to push the stand away from the chain. A stack of pennies and some duct tape repaired that. He also noticed his front master cylinder was leaking some brake fluid and the headlight bucket was installed upside down. All this was corrected and the CB deemed ready to continue. The Weavers were back with full stomachs and the Sims had added another layer of clothes.

With Bob in the lead, we left, now running over an hour behind schedule. GA-190 is a nice sweeping road running along the top of Pine Mtn. After the first curve, we got behind a Lincoln that was apparently stuck in first gear. We failed to make up any time and missed out on the best curves of the trip. :-(

Just outside Columbus we discovered that the CB tank is good for a range of 100 miles. Unfortunately, we discovered this one mile short of out gas stop. So many lessons in so short a time. If only our educational system was so rewarding! It was now 12:30 CST, exactly the time we were supposed to be meeting Michael Palmer in Dothan, AL. We gassing up and headed out, now in "haul ass" mode. We circled around Columbus, entered Alabama and headed south.

Al-165 was a good road for making up time and we had a nice blitz to Eufaula. We didn't have much time to enjoy the town, but there were some wonderful old buildings and homes along 431. I'd like to beat around the town one day to see some of the early antebellum architecture. Since we were running so far behind, we took 431 the rest of the way into Dothan rather than enjoying some more backroads. This was uneventful but also a tad on the boring side. We arrived in Dothan at 14:30, exactly two hours late.

Upon entering town, the first thing I noticed was a huge billboard for Rush Limbaugh's radio show. Being of the long-haired, raving liberal variety, this was a frightening thing. I did a mental check to insure that my hair was tucked into my jacket, I wasn't wearing any tie-dye and that my earring wasn't visible through my helmet. Thus assured, we ventured downtown to find The Poplar Head Mule Co Bar and Grill. It was pretty easy to spot, as there was a red Goof2 out front with a slight coat of dust forming.

Michael Palmer was quite gracious, considering how long he'd been waiting. We all ate, joked around with the staff and swapped plenty of insults and bike stories. After everyone had finished with lunch and witty repartee we headed out with Palmer leading. We all questioned this choice when he led us directly to a gas station which was closed. Fortunately, there was another nearby and we were able to fuel up without mishap.

The sun was frightfully close to the horizon and we were still 90 miles from the beach house (and two hours behind schedule). The roads heading south from Dothan were similiar to those we'd been traveling, mainly two lane state highways over rolling hills in farm country. Michael had a radar detector, so our pace was quickened considerably. At times the group would stretch out, only to regroup 30 miles later at the next turn.

Just after we crossed into Florida, the sun dropped below the horizon and took the comfortable temperature with it. Naturally, I'd changed out of my winter gloves at lunch and my summer gloves, even with a thinuslate liner, weren't doing much good. Michael was still wearing his tinted visor and everyone was getting a bit cold. We passed through lots of little towns and took a half dozen roads but eventually ended up on US-79. We went through Ebro as a group and then began to string out again as folks passed the increasingly heavy traffic.

At Panama City the lead bikes pulled into a gas station for a catch-up. Mike Mitten hadn't seen any bikes behind him (Troy, Dean or the Weavers) in the last 10 miles and almost immediately a car pulled in to tell us one of the bikes had stalled out on a bridge about 5 miles back. Since it was late and cold we decided to break up, with the Sims and Palmer heading for the beach house while Mike and I headed back. Since Michael had been in the area, I gave Palmer directions and then turned back to look for the missing bikes.

Just before the bridge, all three bikes went past, headed south. Mike and I turned around and played catch-up. It turns out that a spark plug boot on the CB 550 had fallen apart after the previous owner had taped it together. The resultant misfiring caused the bike to stall.

Once we were all together, I took the fast route the last 15 miles. Surprisingly, we arrived at the beach house first. While the others brought things inside, I walked down to the road where Palmer and the Sims were expected "any minute now". The minutes stretched out a bit but eventually I saw them and flagged them down. This still left Tom Gent who-knows-where. There was some discussion as to the accuracy of my directions, eventually traced to an incorrect road number. Worse yet, the road number I had on my list was an actual road but one that was 10 miles east of the beach house.

While we where discussing this, Tom called from a nearby restaurant and asked for directions. Amidst a flurry of nay-saying, I took the phone. In addition to giving directions, I said we'd flash a light from the balcony. A few minutes later, those of us outside got to watch as Tom rode past a few times, while we were unable to get his attention. When he called back, Michael volunteered to wait at the road for him.

Now that everyone was together, the idea of dinner rolled around. Troy and Dean had already raided the cabinets and found a bottle of Rum. That seemed sufficient to them, so it was left for the rest of us to put on more layers and head back out on the bikes. Despite there being lots of good local places to eat, all of them were closed for the season so we ended up at an Applebee's. Another round of food, jokes, stories and jibes was enjoyed. I tried to get folks interested in riding the 20 miles to the micro brewery in Ft. Walton but apparently wasn't very persuasive.

On the way back we decided to pick up some beer for the evening. Like the local restaurants, the pickings were very limited and five stops later we found a gas station that sold beer. A quick DOD nominal blast later and we were back at the beach house for yet more joking, talking, etc. It was late into the night before everyone retired to the beds, couches and sleeping bags.

Naturally, the Cajun place was closed until lunch during the off-season so we were again stuck searching for a Florida restaurant that did business after November. A few miles down the road I spotted a breakfast spot that had cars up front so I hit the blinker and pointed it out. Just as I started applying the brakes, I noticed some action in my peripheral vision as bikes came zooming past. Palmer seemed intent on heading on past, while Troy showed some motocross moves on the near shoulder. This was only surpassed by Dean's similar stunts on the opposite shoulder. Everyone else managed to stop. A few sheepish folks made their way into the parking lot and we descended upon the place at prime pre-church breakfast hour.

Ten folks in leathers seemed to make a bit of a stir but no police showed up so I guess we weren't too scary looking. Dean had discovered that the banjo bolt on his front master cylinder was loose and had leaked out all his brake fluid during the night. (Troy and Michael had no such excuses other than gloating over the extra 30 minutes of sleep they got while we looked for a spot to eat.) Breakfast was delicious and the waitress had a blast joking around with us. However, the highlight of the morning was the older lady that clutched her purse with both arms while walking past our table. If I weren't such a nice guy I'd have snarled or barked or something as she walked past.

With a full stomach and a caffiene rush we started mounting back up. Tom Gent was heading back to south Florida, so he would split off here. The rest of us headed to a gas station to gas up and put some brake fluid in the CB. While we were there, two Harleys pulled in for gas. We exchanged greetings and were told about a big Toys For Tots run being held in Ft. Walton Beach. We waved them off and soon headed out ourselves. The trip west was uneventful and we turned on US-85 to head north.

For the next 30 miles, we saw bike after bike headed south to FWB. Most waved, one saluted and others just rode on past. It was great seeing so many bikes, as we'd only seen two the previous day. Soon we rolled through Crestview, my home town. Fortunately, it didn't present anything particularly embarrassing and the only event of note was seeing a young boy bicycling around wearing a motocross helmet.

Just north of Crestview was Cash's Farm with about 15 *huge* statues of animals. Looking back, I wish we'd stopped for photographs. The bikes parked among these immense tacky beasts would have been great. Perhaps one day I'll get a photo of the place to send into Rider magazine for their notable-road-sites.

The next stop was Florala where Palmer needed to see a friend. The rest of us gassed up and had some munchies at the nearby Hardee's. Laura Sims did her part to entertain everyone by juggling her soft drink. Its an act that she could use some more practice at but at least the guy sent out to clean up was pleasant. A surprisingly short time later, Palmer showed up and we were off again.

Since Troy's family had once owned a farm near here, he was chosen to lead. These roads are straight and deserted but still marked with a speed limit of 45 mph. After exchanging some puzzled looks we sped up a bit in an effort to make things exciting. This proved wildly successful as a spike buck deer bolted from along side the far side of the road at the sound of our approach. Troy was even with the deer, so a quick burst of throttle proved that bikes are faster than deer in roll on. The buck didn't stop there but decided to cut between Troy and my bike, apparently not aware of physics and intercept vectors. A quick look in my rearview mirror showed that Palmer and the rest had done an outstanding job of emergency braking and were probably in the previous county. This simplified things to me and the deer, other factors being safe or momentarily insignificant. As I was coming to a stop (thanks of the MSF emergency braking exercises) the deer executed the quick hop required for his cut back but found his hind legs on slick pavement rather than soft dirt and promptly lowsided with a bewildered (yet panicked) look. Seizing the opportunity, I nailed the throttle and shot past the buck, now struggling to regain his feet. After the adrenaline wore off, I got a real chuckle out of the look on the deer's face as it slid along the asphalt.

More rolling hills and southern two lane roads brought us through Samson and Elba. Folks were still in church during all this, so we encountered virtually no traffic. (As opposed to virtual traffic which is quite a different matter.) AL-87 from Elba to Troy was a great road but the speed limit was about 40 mph too low. Even with the paranoia brought about by the deer encounter, the roads were just right for Autobahn type speeds. We kept our cruising speed below those that temptation suggested and arrived in Troy, AL around noon. After passing what was probably an excellent small town diner, the next food opportunities were found along Troy's fast food strip. We opted for a Pizza Hut since it offered the variety necessary when travelling with vegetarians.

Similar to our breakfast timing, the place was slowly filling up with church goers, making a strong contrast with our leather and helmets. After ordering, those with the preferred drive train headed out to lube and adjust the chains. After lots of jibes, it was discovered that the CB didn't need work done to it during this stop. Surely this was a good sign. Since this was our first stop since encountering Bambi, that was the predominant topic during lunch. A big surprise came with the bill... news that they didn't accept credit cards. I made a quick deal with Troy and Mitten to exchange gas on my card for their lunch cash. Whew!

After gassing up, we were again headed north. The manager of Pizza Hut told us a back way to our next turnoff so we wound our way through the outskirts of Troy on some nice little country roads. Soon Palmer decided this was a good spot to split off and he soon headed off to Huntsville. The rest of us headed northward on more Alabama state backroads to Union Springs. There seemed to be an unusually high number of odd signs along the roadway but I can't seem to remember any of them now. I do remember the sign for a city called "Smut Eye" that caused me to raise an eyebrow. We ran up on a 'Bago that was putting along well below the speed limit. I hadn't noticed how hilly the country had become until I realized how sparse legal passing zones were on the road. Fortunately the lack of traffic allowed everyone go get around the rolling roadblock without too much trouble.

At Union Springs, the soft drinks from lunch had caught up to some of our stalwart commpanions, so a quick relief stop was enacted at the first fast food place. Troy and I had a quick consultation about routes and quickly realized we were again running out of daylight. I changed to my winter gloves as we decided to keep plugging for Columbus and decide what to do there. Unfortunately, the 'Bago passed us while we were stopped. Just outside Union Springs the road became a four lane, so repassing the 'Bago wasn't the hassle it had been the first time. We blazed along some enjoyable county roads lined with pastures and old homes en route to Seale. The closer we got to Seale, the more traffic picked up. US-431 is the main road in the eastern half of Alabama and has a surprising amount of traffic on a Sunday evening. As we turned north onto US-431 the sun was just peeking over the horizon and the temperature was slowly dropping. Does this sound familiar?

It didn't take long before the traffic on 431 had separated the group again. It is about 12 miles to Phenix City/Columbus. We passed two different police cruisers in this but cages kept us within the safety zone. At Phenix city, the Casey brothers were nowhere in site. Since the sun was already below the horizon, I left the Weavers, the Sims and Mitten at a BP and went back in search of the missing folks. For some reason traffic was much lighter going south, so I hit afterburners and hoped neither of the cops had circled back. After four miles, I spotted the bikes on the side of the road. Apparently the littlest Honda had cut out. The bike would crank and run for about a quarter of a mile, then go dead. After the third of these, I asked if the fuel had gone on reserve yet. Troy and Dean switched bikes, the fuel petcock was switched to reserve and the Honda struggled for the BP. Fortunately, it was only a couple of miles away, so it made it without dying again. Whew!

By now, the skies had turned dark and it was getting quite cold. While all the bikes were gassed up, the Sims decided to head on home. The rest of us decided to blaze up the slab to Atlanta in hopes of getting home before the temperature got unbearable. I put on my rain suit over my leathers and Dean put his rain suit over his jeans. Quite determined to get home quickly, we set out.

The wind chill of a fast moving bike is quite astonishing. Despite all my layers, my upper body was still getting chilled! We suffered through about 50 miles before I started looking for some place to warm up as my hands were getting painfully cold. This thought occurred to the others was well, since Troy pulled up along side and gave a pitiful shivering look. It was another few miles until we found an exit complete with a gas station and a Hardee's. We gleefully charged for the Hardee's parking lot!

As quick as helmets could come off, everyone was saying how cold it was out. Mike Mitten seemed the least affected, as he merely commented that it was nippy out. Every one else ranged from "$#%$%#^ I'm cold" to Dean's "J-J-J-J-j-j-je-e-s-s-sus-s-s-s-s, It's-s-s C-C-C-c-old." I grabbed another two layers worth of shirts out of my tail trunk and headed for the bathroom. While changing, a high school kid asked me if I rode one of "them ninja bikes". If I'd been more thawed and thus witty, I'd have made a smartassed comment about Kawasakis, since Troy was standing next to me, but instead I mumbled something about riding a Suzuki and how cold it was out.

We got plenty of attention as we sat around a table bundled in our gear gripping hot coffee cups. Apparently the cold has strange effects on hormones. It seems the number of attractive females patronizing Hardee's was uncommonly high. The cold was also affecting Dean's vision as he pointed out a young lady that turned out to be *very* young. Needless to say, ribbing him became the entertainment for the warm-up break.

After another round of adding layers, the group trundled outside to remount for the final stretch home. The temperature had dropped even further but the added layers help me keep from getting chilled just from standing outside. Since there was a gas station right there, we opted to do our final fillup here while it was convenient. The quick ride across the street was also pretty warm, so I felt much more confident about my attire.

After filling up, we said our goodbyes to the Weavers since they would continue on to Athens the rest of us turned off in Atlanta. With that out of the way, we again headed for the slab. This time it wasn't nearly so cold. In fact, other than a little chill from time to time, I was pretty comfortable. Dean, however, wasn't nearly so lucky since he had fewer layers than I'd had on the trip to the Hardee's. I was expecting to stop again so he could warm up but he didn't show any signs of pulling over.

It was a long 40 miles to Atlanta but the signs for I-285 soon appeared and Mike Mitten pulled alongside to wave good-bye. He was opting to head straight into town, while the rest of us would take the perimeter around the city. After another 10 miles, my and the Casey's exit came up. We gave the Weavers a big wave and pulled off. The last couple of miles were taken at slower speeds, despite the fact that one was a favorite curvy section. We were all just too tired to enjoy it. We pulled up at Troy and Dean's place at 11pm.

I stuck around there for almost an hour telling Troy's wife Lisa about the trip and generally B.S.ing about Dean's upcoming bike repairs, how the KZ handled, etc. While I was there, I took off my rain suit since it was warm inside. When I headed out it seemed like too much trouble to put it back on since it was a short ride home. When I mounted the bike, I heard an odd sound. When I looked down, I saw that the morning dew had frozen into a thin sheet of ice! That was the last thing I saw for awhile, since my visor promptly froze over. The Fog City Face Shield works by sealing air between the FCFS and the inside of the visor. This vapor barrier prevents the warm of your breath from freezing when it encounters the cold visor. This same vapor barrier works against you when you come from a warm environment to a cold once, since it seals some warm air in which immediately fogs over.

It took about a mile before the visor cleared up, and I rode this distance with the visor open and going very slowly. The cold wind was causing my eyes to water which would immediately freeze! Yikes! Once the visor cleared up, I was able to ride a little faster but then the wind started blowing through my leathers. It was a nearly unbearably cold for the 10 miles home. Just as I was making the last turn before home, I saw another bike. When I went to wave, I saw that it was Mike Mitten, just heading home himself after telling his tale to some friends.

At midnight, I pulled back up at home. With my last bits of energy, I carried all my gear inside and collapsed in a heap under my heaviest quilt. It has been a great weekend with about 800 miles of riding. I'd enjoyed the company of some old friends and met some new ones. The trip had been, literally, an ice-breaker.

footnotes:

• Despite all the problems with the little Honda, it is a great little bike. All of the problems could have (and in fact were later) repaired with a spare weekend. Dean ended up as the butt of a lot of jokes since it was his bike that suffered the gremlins. Oh well, it was a good initiation for him.

• It was later discovered that Troy "Supercrosser" Casey managed to blow a fork seal during his offroad excursion. I guess the a KZ750/PD it ain't.

• The Weavers did in fact survive all the way to Athens, though they made another warmup stop at Mike's parents house along the way.