The MisterEd 8000; Grande Tour of America

Now, today was a great travel day.  Although I only took a couple of pictures.

Once again, I pretty much stuck to the Interstates.  Hot Springs out to I-30 and then over to I-40 at Little Rock and on across Tennessee all the way in to North Carolina.  The day remained hot - it got up to 102 in mid-afternoon.  But, overall, it wasn't as humid as the last two days had been and due to that, staying cool at highway speeds was somewhat easier.

I departed Hot Springs at 7:00 AM under a blood red hazy sunrise as the air dripped off everything it touched.  It had cooled off overnight into the high 70's and that, combined with the extreme humidity left the morning air like a cold sauna bath.

I mananged to hit commuter hour traffic at Little Rock and the highways around that city, seemingly like every other city in the nation, were under construction.  After a 45 minute crawl through 25 MPH stop-and-go traffic, I was ready for the open road.  Once I got east of Little Rock, I found it as I cruised at top speed along I-40 in the mid-morning calm.


I-40 highway bridge ove the Mississippi River into Memphis, Tennessee


I crossed the Mississippi right around lunchtime and took a few minutes to stop in Memphis.  Now, you can't do Memphis justice by stopping for 20 minutes at the border visitor's center, so I don't claim to have seen Memphis, I just passed through.

It was about 65 miles east of Memphis that I met my very first State Trooper of the trip.  I was crusing along passing semi's when I saw those red and blue lights in my rearview mirror.  Oops.

I pulled over for Officer Garret and, keeping my hands in plain sight, proceeded to remove my helmet and gloves so that I could hear the officer as he read me the riot act.  Officer Garret walked up to me with a big smile and said, in his best Tennessee, "What's your hurry?"  I explained that I was didn't like riding next to semi-trucks 'cause of the disturbed air and that I tend to pass them quickly.  He said I was going 80 in a 70 MPH zone as he was following me (I probably was) and then he told me that I wasn't getting a ticket and he then shut off his microphone.  As you realize, a lot of police departments now use dashboard cameras and wireless mics on their officers for safety, investigation, etc. with regard to traffic stops.  Officer Garrett then told me that he had stopped me only because I was the second V-Rod to have gone by in an hour or so and that we both had hard saddlebags.  Officer Garrett, it turns out, also owns a V-Rod and wanted to talk to me and look at my various add-ons and accessories.

The guy could have ended up being a jerk who issued a ticket, so I was OK with sitting there and talking motorcycles for a while.  We talked for about ten minutes, I got a chance to stretch a bit and then he sent me on my way.

Have a nice day, officer.

A bit later along I-40, about 50 miles west of Nashville, I stopped for a kid broken down on the side of the road on a nice blue Kawasaki ZRX1200.  He had a North Carolina plate and his bike's motor had just blown all of its oil all over him, the bike and the highway.  How he managed to come to a controlled stop still amazes me - he said he almost didn't, since his rear tire was bathed in motor oil.  I stopped after, it turns out, he had already walked five miles up the highway to the next exit and called for a tow.  He used my cell phone, though, because it had been over an hour since he had made the call and he realized that he had given them the wrong mile post for his location.

Interesting thing though - I was the first motorcyclist to have stopped to help this guy.  He said at least 20 other riders had gone by while he was standing there.  I don't get it.  I stop ANY time I see a rider stopped by the side of the road.  It could be me next time, so I like to keep the karma going.  He kept thanking me for stopping - said the bike had just been serviced and he didn't understand what broke.  He was amazed that a guy on a Harley would stop for a kid on a sportbike.  OK, so he didn't know his bike very well, didn't have any tools with him, didn't have a cell phone and was a long way from home.  But in a lot of ways, there but by the grace of God...  I looked at his bike trying to find an obvious blown gasket or something that would explain the oil explosion.  I talked to him about being a little safer out on the road (he wasn't wearing much in the way of protective gear) and such and just told him that stopping to help was just part of riding - you always stop to help.  Always.  Hopefully, I helped educate a younger rider a little bit.

It took me off the road for a total of ten minutes to stop, lend this kid my cell phone, talk to him a little bit, help him move his bike to a safer location and get back on the road once I knew he was all set with a tow and a pickup.  So, for you guys who won't stop to help, remember that not everyone carries a cell phone on the road and you might actually be able to help a fellow rider with a quick stop.

The Smokey Mountains

As the day began to wind down, I set my destination as Asheville.  Rolling into the foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains, the air chilled noticably and there was a scent of pine and balsam hanging thick in the mist.  About 50 miles out of Asheville, a light rain began to fall, making the winding freeway interesting next to the semi's - especially in the tunnels.

I rolled into Asheville around 8:00 PM eastern time and after grabbing a sub and talking to some of the local boys about my bike (it always seems to draw a crowd), I headed back to the motel, got a load of laundry going and settled in for the night.

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