Day 1, Friday August 16th
New York City to Bartow, West Virginia
430 Miles, 65mph average

Adam and Zac in Brooklyn. Man those leather pants are hot

Adam, Zac and I started out at by meeting at the Moondance Diner on 6th Avenue at the ungodly hour of 5:00 am. Adam used to work there and the food is good, but we mostly chose it because it sits right at the entrance to the Holland tunnel. My girlfriend Diana also

all filled up and ready to go

came down to wish us bon voyage and to have breakfast, of course. After filling our bellies, and Zac graciously picking up the tab, we went outside and mounted up. I rigged up my camera on my bike, with the intention of getting some action shots in the tunnel. Not surprisingly there wasn't enough light inside, so we are stuck with the entrance shot you see here. We looked around admiringly one more time at all our fancy new luggage, gear and each other. I kissed Diana good-bye and we were off! Well at least 'til a couple of miles into New Jersey where I had to pull off to break the camera gear back down. And then we were off!

Ugh. We did about 5 straight hours of butt bruising, knee knackering, wrist weakening super slab till we finally stopped for lunch at some McDonald's McSomewhere. We were all riding sport bikes and would have been in major pain except for the fact that we were so stoked to finally be under way. Unfortunately, when we retraced our steps on the last day there was no such enthusiasm to get us through, and it sucked.

McSomewhere

About an hour and a half after lunch we reached Harrisonburg VA, the real start of the trip. Here we left the interstate for route 33 heading into West Virginia. We pulled over to gas up so we could do the last stretch to the Motel in Bartow without stopping. With our brains having been crammed in our helmets and vibrated like a paint mixer for the last seven hours, it was not all that surprising when Adam filled his tank with diesel as instead of gasoline. Luckily, after starting her up, he rrealized his mistake pretty quickly and hit the engine kill switch. The gas station attendant was kind enough to help Adam siphon out the offending diesel, and he filled back up with the good stuff. He told us people do this all the time. Adam pushed his bike over to us and hit the starter. Not surprisingly, the bike didn't start and the exhaust just belched grey smoke. We kept at it though until the battery made it pretty clear that it was getting a little tired of our shenanigans. Adam got on the cell and started to try and locate a nearby Honda dealer. After being put on hold, he gave another push on the starter and though it didn't start, it seemed to be slightly more optimistic about belching smoke. When another five minute wait followed by a starting attempt produced even more optimistic belching, we realized it was just a waiting game. It finally did start, about an hour after we first pulled in to the gas station. The bike continued to belch smoke every time Adam accelerated or shifted for a day or two but by the end of the trip it was back to normal. The bike is now safely home in California, and Adam says he has noticed no ill long term effects form the mishap. He did give Zac and me a valuable tip as we waited around for the bike to start. If the pump nozzle doesn't fit in your tank (diesel nozzles are bigger) and the liquid coming out is bright green, don't pump. It's diesel.

Zac outside the Hermitage

After the long hours on the interstate and then the diesel delay, we were all raring to go. This lead to three very heavy throttle hands, and it wasn't long until we were behaving badly. I made an ill advised pass or two, Adam drifted wide across the double yellow in a turn, and about five miles into West Virginia one of us (I am prevented for legal reasons from saying who) was pulled over for speeding. The state trooper was extremely nice and only handed out a warning. Being pulled over so early in the trip turned out to be a real boon. While parked at the side of the road we all reminded ourselves that in order to have fun you don't need to be riding out of control or at a ten tenths pace. We reeled it in for the remaining miles to the hotel and for the rest of the trip.

At The Hermitage, our hotel, we met up with Matt who had made his own way down to WV. He was coming from further up in New York State, so he wisely chose to take two days to get down south. After mutual gear inspection and discussions, we went off to a quite tasty steak dinner in the hotel restaurant. After dinner we tried to go for a nice leisurely stroll through the surrounding countryside but were attacked by tens of thousands (seriously) of gnats. They don't bite, but we could barely see through the swarms, so we retreated to our rooms, Day 1 in the bag.