CHRISTIANBURG VIRGINIA

Stayed at Bill and Arlene's house north of Charlotte for four days... really, really nice place... one of the new areas of North Carolina that boomed over the past ten years, now struggling. But they got a great deal on a lovely six-bedroom house on a cul-de-sac, and Bill has been improving it ever since. They added a gorgeous in-ground pool; there's a full, screened-in porch on the back as well as a large patio. Out back is dense, piney North Carolina forest for quite a distance. Quiet, clean and lovely... three lovely kids who seemed to be ecstatic with my presence there for some reason, (the fireworks?).. and the room they gavce me was plush, clean and spacious, with my own cable TV and a bathroom that the kids don;t use much. Really easy time... and the chatter of very young kids sqwaking and hooting was really happy and welcome for me. I rode around with Bill a little and saw the basic area, but the real treat was hanging out in a full, roraing family unit. Oh, and latenight cockatils around the firepit. I got spontaneous hugs from the little kids every night before they went to bed. Nice.

BILL's JR AND SR

Thanks, guys.

TWO BEAUTIFUL BLONDES SHARING MY BIKE

Earlier today I left the Leyden's and headed west towards Asheville. Originally I thought to go out to Deal's Gap, Rte 129 "The Dragon"... but I already rode it a year or two ago... and it was a long way off my route, so I took the Blue Ridge Parkway instead for a while. A tough ride... pretty, but the speed limit is 45 and there's no humanity along the way... just scenery... which doesn't quite measure up to the Yosemite/Yellowstone stuff I saw a few weeks ago. After a few hours I carved back to Interstate 77 and headed for Roanoake... which is a couple of exits up Rt 81 from here.

So now I'm holed-up in a Howard Johnson's hotel... got a deal after an Indian (Hindu) man in a convenience mart handed me coupons for motel discounts in the area.
After a slight check-in hassle I went out looking for a few quick drinks and a bite. As I rode around I realized that this was certainly Jerry Falwell Country. Lots of Baptist churches everywhere... Pentacostal, etc., and there was a big statue of Jeb Stuart on the front lawn of the town hall. Funny; this stuff now exists next to Applebee's and modern Ford dealerships).
I finally found a little sports-bar of sorts across town; went in and drank just two drafts beers while the locals peered at me curiously... (PS..no liquor in this semi-dry town where you aren't allowed to advertise beer). On the five mile drive back I had to go through the center of the old town... I luckily noticed a 25 mph speed sign at the last possible second before I crossed past a town cop lurking by the roadside with his lights out. I was driving fine and within the limits, but he immediately pulled out after me and drove alongside on the four-lane road, five feet behind, matching my speed (26 mph) for a full mile, waiting breathlessly for this black motorcycle with strange NY plates... a rider with a pony-tail and no luggage, to make one.. please God, just one mistake.

I didn't give him the satisfaction. Eventually he gunned it angrily through a light and roared off.

Mooresville, North Carolina

Lucky break in Daytona. Believe what you want... I'm calling it DEE-vine intervention.
Had a lot of that on this trip. Some say that what you imagine you will find. You make your own Reality. Yeah, well.... I'm not that clever, I think, and I've sensed the presence of a Lucky Presence along this whole trip. Surfing the coincidences as I coined it to someone.

Yep. So I headed north out opf Daytona... sort of happy to be leaving. It seemed like just another East Coast beach/tourist town, with a big racetrack to glue it all together, (because most of the other beach towns I've seen out East are decrepitating)[love that fake word]

Let me look over my atlas.. ehh..
Took I-95 up to Jacksonville because I wanted to make some time... and, well, there isn't much other option. Feature-less.. or at least, memory-less.

Into Georgia and onto state Rte 17... all the way north. Muuuuch better; local poverty and other such odd sights.

Up through the Georgia swamplands along the coast.. beautiful swamps, if ever there be any.

Lovely scenery... warm for early October (for me)... mid Seventies. Humid but not uncomfortably so.

WHERE I COME FROM WE CALL THIS, "YIELD"

aHHHH, the Southlands. The Low Country as it is often referred to.

I crossed the line into South Carolina and headed for Hilton Head Island where my old guitar-playing buddy has been living for five or eight years in a low-slung ranch house a block or two from the Atlantic ocean with an ex-Lersey-ite bartender named Ted. El Ted-o-rino.
It's a blurr. The first day there it POURED endlessly.

The Rock & Roll Lifestyle... sleep all day and Rock all Night. My pal Craig is a very good professional guitarist who has taken his signbificant musical skills and made them work to his advantage in Hilton Head, playing gigs steadily... enough to pay his bills. Problem for me is the endless, late-night party-life going on amidst the Locals... and I found myself rising out of bed at 4 PM, following Craig to hios gigs, then fire the Midnite Oil past 5AM, locked in deep Hippie Discussion.

This shit went on day after day... not a lot of thought given to Proper Nutrition, but Craig and Ted provided me a warm welcome, and for a few days we partied like champions. Craig introduced me around diligently for which I was grateful; too many times you go somehwere and the "host" leaves you in a corner by yourself. But he did a great job of mentioning me as his buddy of 25 years who was completing a 10,000 mile trip around the US on a motorcycle... which pleaded me. I'm very aware that this whole Event may go un-noticed by too many of my friends.
So for a few days I tagged along with Craig and we burned it Down... meals for 48 hours consisted of Stouffer's frozen pizza out of the local 24-hour bleary Walgreen's. Okay, no sweat.. a fun time of the Island of Lost Boys... a lot of Trust-a-farian kids and people who don't give a damn about growing old.

After a few days of this I took a breath and split north to see another old band-mate, Al, in the Charleston area, three hours away. A good move. Al is a fine old egg of a Russian Cossack who hasd a huge brain for computer logistics and a quasi-believable fantasy regarding the End of Civiilization As We Know It.

THIS IS A TERRIBLE PHOTO OF AL WHO JUST WOKE UP MOMENTS BEFORE BUT IT'S OKAY SEEING AS HE TRULY DOESN'T GIVE A RAT'S ASS BECAUSE BY THE TIME THE SHIT HITS THE FAN HE'LL AREADY BE TUCKED COMFORTABLY IN HIS SMOKEY-MOUNTAIN HIDE-OUT AND YOU YOU CAN TRY TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO SURVIVE, AND WELL, FUCK YOU, BECAUSE YOU AREN'T THINKING ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY AT ALL  RIGHT NOW, ARE YOU? ADMIT IT.

Al is another great NY guitar player and he took me out to some music and bars in the Charleston area... including downtown King's Street...Isle of Palms... Folly Beach. We saw a great bluegrass jam-band called the Acoustic Syndicate in a great club that had equal stages indoors and out. Al gave me a clean, comfortable room to myslef and took good care of me for two nights.
Here are some Chareleston photos.

FORT MOULTRIE, USED IN THE REVOLUTION AS WELL AS THE CIVIL WAR.

BAD SHOTS OF FORT SUMTER

FROM ATLANTIC TO PACIFIC TO ATLANTIC

Back to Hilton Head where most of my gear remained. A few more late-nights with the Coogey Brigade... flurries of disfunctional Carolina chicks seeking... God Knows What... strange burnout people who son;t seem to be worried about Al-pocolyto's scenariao, that's for sure.

With very little A-dieu I packed-up and with some relief was off again onto the American Roadways, this time heading north to see my old pals Bill & Alrlene, who had moved to the north Charlotte a year before. This would be quite a wrench in my mind, as Bill was an old friend, highly pragmatic and although wide-minded, was quite critical of people's surreal nonsense. Bill is an experienced landscaper and over-all construction wiz; he works hard to support his family and doesn't tolerate slackers. I love the guy, despite my predilictions towards being a slacker myself.

North of Beaufort I headed up State Rte 17 through Orangeburg and Columbia. Gorgeous Carolina landscapes, often flecked with images of gritty rural poverty.  Cotton fields and abandoned Buicks. Young black men sitting in clumps by the side of a rural road, seemingly doiung nothing except hanging out. Ghost towns. Deliciously beautfiul agricultural landscapes.

REAL BULES CROSSROADS IN BLACK PEOPLE TERRITORY

DANGEROUS SPEED-TRAP. JUST BEFORE THIS BEND THE LIMIT WAS 60. LOCAL COPS AWAITED IN THE SHADOWS.

It was a spectacularly beautiful day, and with the Mp3 playing my favorite music in my earplugs and an occasional stop for a smoke, it was just ... heavenly.

AFRICAN-AMERICAN GROCERY STORE AT A CROSS-ROADS; THOUGHT IT LOOKED GOOD TO DOUBLE AS A FRIDAY NIGHT JUKE-JOINT.



THE ISLAND OF LOST BOYS

South Sea Peter Pan
Carolina Palmetto
dark island dream..
Where the Boys sleep all day
in the moss-drooping forest
and eat Slim Jims & Brownies & Stouffers Pizza
and drink Gin Bracers and
Tequila Delights..
Where the girls are smiling and sleepless
sun-worn, surf-frazzled
herb-burnt and coca-crazed..
where the Action never stops
forever Monday Football
forever giant video golf compete
pre-dawn bleary Cable James Cagney
laughs
Where the Boys sleep all day and
when the sun drops low,
wake to
snap-on fire sizzling Amps
click-in plug chrome chords into
glossy guitar backs
ringing out rolling rythyms
and Dance ecstatic
while the bright Atlantic moon
moans across the
endless rumbling surf
And then
the Boys sleep all day
And then
dream...
of endless youth

DAYTONA FLORIDA

Headed out of Wet-Pampers-smelling Perry after a breakfast of local cuisine in a "family restaurant called Pouncey's and you can try and guess the pronunciation. Here it is: Smoked Ribs and Cheese Grits and Hush Puppies and Dump Cake, with a big Mason jar full of iced tea. They claimed to "butcher their own meat", but I cant say I really liked the ribs... smoked... nice taste, but too chewy.

Across the room middle-aged women seemed to be stariung at me curiously... maybe iot was the ponytail... and eventually a man about 60 came in wearing huntin camoflage and a stiff ball cap and I don;t theink thius guy had smiled in a very long time. He looked like all of your worst Deliverance nightmares.. who knows,. he was probably the nicest guy in Christemndom... but he gave me a chilly feeling and I paid up smoothly and exited smelly Perry. (Oh, PS... the waitresses in Pouncey's were very friendly and smiling).

Ouyt across the neck of Florida, and boy, is it ever the Heart of Dixie. Very serious church-goers for the most part,... but also a lot of very opionated... I'd have to say uneducated... folks as well. Really, I must say again that almost everyne I met in the South was simply kind and friendly... but for sake oif that I kept my Yankee Tongue toi myself.

WAAAY DOWN UPON THE SWANNEE RIVER

Lots of Southern Povery apparent, and the economic problems in this nation hit the Poor the hardest. All the "little", foo-foo businesses dry up as people begin to save for Basics.. so hobby shops and nail salons and Special Bar B Q places foild and disintegrate,.

HOLY BAND HEALING AND DELIVERANCE CENTER

Across the flatlands... pretty countryside ... tree-lined and green... ruural, agricultural. Churches and anti-government messages all over. Numerous police cars... sheriffs and State Patrol and a few times I found mysel;f being tailed for a while. But I was being extra cautious with my spoed; 75 was no problem with cruisers on my ass. in a 70 zone (most of Florida).. I generally kept a careful control because they certainly poipped up unexpectedly at times. Generally though , trasffic controls were lax and Florida people kept up 80 mph most of the time.

THE ATLANTIC

I rolled over the bridges into Daytona Beach proper, and from the beginning I noticed and felt the run-down edginess oif the place. Daytona ois obviously in the same straits as say, Virginia Beach and other places where reduced tourist revenues have resulted in urban decay and an up-swelling in the minal element. I rolled aorund the road closest to the beach until I found a motel just across the street, (there were many) that advertised $35 rooms... bought one from the young ((yes) Indian woman. No Wifi... dark, well-used room... tattered carpet and squeaky bathroom faucets... another grim, drug-dealer's motel. But it looked safe enoiugh, and I went out of the bike, eager to explore what Biker Mecca Daytona had to offer. I left my helmet home for a change..s Florida doesn;t require one, and I knew I;d be just gouing to Main Street eight bloicks away. I did need to weasr sunglasses though (eye protection rule) and the dakr shades made it somewhat difficult for my eyes to adjust eadh time at night.

Down to Main Street and I found there were half a dozen bars with numerous motorcycles out front... not all Harleys, but a majority anyway. I went to the famous Boot Hill Saloon... nothing so imposing as coloirful. The whole inside looked like someone had beaten it with a ball-peen hammer... then painted it black and covered it with clever bumper stickers. A few dozen biker types present... and some wannabees. I had a couple of beers there and a shot... then over to Froggies where I chatted wit a couople of large-bodied local Florida women in too much make-up... then one open aor place where a band was starting up. I probably had a handful of beers and three shots or so.

Decided to take a quick spin back to my roiom for a moment to make soime adjustments. On the way back I was looking half-heartedly for somewhere to eat and saw an interesting Barbecue place. I turned in quickly and came to a stoip in the empty parking lot... saw that the place was closed, unfortunastely, started to put the bike in gear when WWWWEEEEEEEEE-WWWWWWWWW!!!! A white Daytona Beach police car comes screaming in and stutters to a stop just inches from my bike. WHAT THE.....

 Cop jumps out.

"LICENSE AND REGISTRATION PLEASE!" he commands;

What the HELL...

"I was just SITIING here!" I blurted out.

The young officer looked a little confused for a moment.

"Do you knoiw why I'm pullling you?" he asks. "You ran that red light when you pulled into this lot."

I peered backwards and didn't see anything. But he still had his hand out so I fished in my wallet for my license. I had no registration paperwork (left it home) so instead just gave him a copyt oi my insurance card. This is it, I thought grmly. He's going to ask iof I've had anything to drink and I'll be screwed. I had no choice but to stand tall and breathlessly waited for the Wave.

Officer clicks his shoulder mike and radios me in. "New Yawk Alpha Mary Alpha One.

That curious plate again... AMA1.... in a serious AMA motorcycle racing town.

He looks at my license card and flips it around in his fingers.

'i like the way New York makes these lecenses flexible like this," he says distractedly.

"Heh heh... yeah,... uhh they arte kind of nice... err  ehh" I stuttered.

long pregnant pause ensues. Bullets of sweat are springing from my head

"Well I can see that your from out oif town," he says quietly. "We get a lot of problems around here.. and well, you ARE on a black bike."

"Oh, ahh.... really? I mumble.

He looks thoughtful for a second, sees the short distance between my bike and his strobing patrol car.. looks suddenly sheepish. Hands my liucesne back.

"uhh... sorry I came in so fast... uhh, lots of black bikes around here... umm. Well, you be careful and have a good night".

He got into his cruiser and pulled back onto the beach road.

I simply coul;dn;t believe it. The break was unbelieveable... but truly kept in keeping with the absolute Divine Intervention that I have felt so celarly ever since I took off on this highkly risky adeventure. As soon as I started breathing again I dredged up one of the most profound THANK YOU GODs that I've ever uttered. Did so repeatedly during the night... especially as I was parking the bike at my motel and heading out on foot.

\