Tales from the road.... sounds a bit like musings from the asphalt, but, enough about that.
Coming home from the NY rally this year, Terry, myself, and Barry were having a good ride - great scenery, little traffic, no hurry. I like it that way.
We make our way through NY and cross over into PA.
There's something about crossing that border into your home state. Even though we were still over 200 miles from home, we were "home" somehow.
We pulled into an odd little gas station, Wimpy's, that sat up on a small hillside on the left side of the road. After refueling we pulled off to the side next to the guard rail and went back in the place to get something to drink and eat. Back at the bikes, we talked about maybe going to Georgia next spring, if there is a rally, and talked about wives and riding and stolen rocks and life in general. And about how much we enjoyed the rally we just came from.
Terry and Barry went back into the store and as I stood there waiting a guy in a car pulled up next to me. "Which way you guys headed?" he asked. South. He proceeded to tell me there had just been a head-on collision in Port Allegheny and traffic would probably be backed up for an hour or more. I asked him if there was a way around it and he gave me directions. Nice guy. Didn't say whether he rode or not, but I bet he does/did or wishes he could. I remember thinking how many people would approach a stranger on a bike and help them out like this?
Made me feel good about mankind in general....
Terry and Barry come back out and I explain the new route we need to take. We set off and since Barry mentioned he had been in this area before (fishing) he took the lead. We head west toward Smethport to catch Rt.6 and head east to get back on 155. As we're riding, I realize that Rt.46 out of Smethport, although a bit windy and long, would take us the same place (Emporium) without having to cut back east to regain Rt.155. So as we near Smethport, I pass Terry, and catch up with Barry just in time to tell him we want to take 46 instead of 6. Roger, wilco, over and out.
We head down 46. A winding road that follows a creek and a set of railroad tracks, over the river and through the woods. Beautiful, but a bit longer and more curvy than we wanted at the time. I'm now in the middle of the three of us.
As we ride along, the sun is beginning to fall to the point where entering shady areas is a little unsettling. The change from bright to dark leaves you momentarily blinded as your eyes try to adjust. Barry seems to be braking each time we enter shade. I figure it's just the light playing tricks on me. But, we take it slow and easy and finally make it to Emporium.
We stop at the corner QuickyMart for a drink and a snack and pull in next to two other bikes, a HD and some other touring bike - never did figure out what it was. The owners were standing there, taking a break, and we shared a few pleasantries and tales with them. I like that. Common ground, no airs. "Nice Triumphs!" and that sort of thing.
They leave and we finish our snacks and start preparing to leave ourselves.
A starting-to-rust small Pontiac pulls in beside us, closest to me. An attractive, but harried-looking woman gets out of the car and heads into the QuickyMart, leaving behind an older woman on the front passenger side and an indeterminate amount of children in the back seat. I have no reason to acknowledge them and suddenly the crone in the front seat says something to me. I look over and say "Pardon me?" She says "Why don't you ride a real man's bike?" "What?" "A Harley Davidson" she replies.
Several replies flash through my mind, the first being, well, nevermind, but since I was raised to respect my elders I simply said " I don't know how to answer that.." to which Barry added, "politely"....
As we chuckled over what might have been said, and the crone giggled over her perceived "score", we left. As we rode along towards St. Marys and the final legs of our journey, I couldn't help thinking the rally is over, this is real life again.
We make our way through St. Marys and head towards Du Bois, where we will split up - Terry going his way and Barry and I going ours. Barry seems to be a little more erratic in his riding as we near Du Bois - I wasn't imagining things coming down 46 into Emporium - he's falling asleep! I was a nervous wreck wondering how to do anything , I can't very well elbow him or blow my horn every minute...
We finally make it to the Sheetz in Du Bois and I feel like I've ridden a thousand miles.
Terry suggests Red Bull and we make sure Barry has some. Actually, at this point, we all have some. None of us has ever had Red Bull before. Barry makes a statement that I will remember for a looong time - "Hey, This tastes like ******!.. I think I'll have another".
We share a few more observations, I give Barry a hard time for scaring the crap out of me, and then we say our goodbyes to Terry and hit the road again.
The ride home from there is spent avoiding traffic and the glare of the setting sun, which we seem to be riding directly into, 100 miles of silence, except for the sound of the bike and the wind. Barry and I stop for the last time before we go our separate ways. We shake hands and wish each other a safe final journey, then head off towards home and the life we escaped for a few fleeting days.
At that point I finally realize the rally is really over and it's just me on the same local roads I've ridden hundreds of times before. But I also realize I've just shared something special with two friends. Something I will remember and enjoy even if I never ride again....
