Thursday, July 26, 2012

National Parks Tour - Rebel Edition

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.




No comments:

Post a Comment