I am a son of the south. I just happened to be born and raised a yankee, in Philadelphia, PA. I still say yes maam and no sir unless I am speaking to children, much to the chagrin of the lady folk. Sorry Miss Kathy... Dixie's colors flew above my dining room table as a child. For all of her egregious faults which that flag may represent, the people of the south are different than the one's which I call neighbor. It's time for a visit.
I had the opportunity to live with my grandparents on a sand road in the back woods of South Carolina. We spent a week there for Easter every year, but those 2 summers so long ago changed me in many ways. The house was in the middle of a tobacco plantation, with the owners 4 acre hog pen 20 feet from my window. My grandparents had a "garden" larger than most community parks where I grew up. They were a self sufficient lot. They received protein from the fruit of their hens, and occasional supplementary income from the prize money of the hot blooded males. I shot bb guns with gusto and proved Newton's second law true more times than I can remember with the local songbird community. I shot the 22, which I now have in my possession, quite a bit as well. Though, I was sent back to bb land due to the minor levels of destruction on objects I thought were junk. I met my first black folk. They lived across the street in a house they built out of construction scraps. There was a rusty coffee can over the makeshift chimney. Peaches, the only other person within 5 miles of tobacco within 5 years of my age gave me a different perspective on life, as did her father Mack and the rest of the family. He was a modern day share-cropper with an infinitely small percentage, as he used Mr Johnson's tractors, diesel and spray. The man worked from sunup to sundown. I knew because my grandfather got up every day at 3am for coffee and a pipe on the porch. A porch no black man dare step upon. Though many came to call, all knew the unwritten rule of staying 2 feet from the bottom step. Oddly, it felt like a world of bi-directional respect, not of racism. Another time, another world.
Back to motorcycles.
IBA National Parks Tour. That's how this article started. I have 6 states down. I have a strategy, time will tell if it is successful. I care only about states and I care about the one's furthest away most. PA, NJ, MD, WV, VA, OH and DC I am considering in the bag and can hit all of the above in a winter day-trip. That gives me 13 I will consider done. Barely 1/2 way to the 25 required. I am leaving in 2 weeks for my trip out west. Here's the rub on the NPT. To get the stamp, you have to visit the center between 8-5, 9-4, sometimes smaller windows. That makes planning crucial, and also makes the distances a bit of a challenge. The windows for hitting these do not coincide with good mileage strategies. What to do? Well, time to head south and pick up some insurance. Other side benefit is that I will get 2,000 miles or so on the oil and can send it away to see how the new 15w-50 is working out.
Did I mention the bike was out of commission since my northern excursion? It's good to be back on 2 wheels. I am hoping to visit the Carl Sandberg National Historic site. It's off my route, but anyone known by the phrase "Who am I, where am I going and where have I been?" has to make my book right?
You can follow along on spotwalla as this weekend plays out.
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