The Road Less Traveled
By Shannon Wright
Let’s take a road trip; you know, down those country roads, the ones they make movies about. Places were the creature from Bogie creek lurks. Where Norman Bates, runs the local motel, or where Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda took their last easy ride. Are there still places, where there is some one with a chain saw, wearing his mothers’ skin on his face, lurking around the corner? Or 40-foot alligators waiting for you to stop and cool off in a back woods lake. Do these people and places actually exist? I don’t know, but I’ve had some experiences that would make you wonder.
My wife’s idea of camping is Motel-6. Don’t take me wrong, we’ve stayed at a lot of them, and many times, wished there was one around. Like the time I was trying to catch up with the rest of the group, when we were headed to the Gulf Coast. It was 49 degrees and pouring rain, when I left Salem. My rain suit wasn’t doing much good, and my leather, under it was completely soaked through. By the time I got into Arkansas, I was about frozen, and the wind was getting to be unbearable. When you feel the way I did, anyplace would look inviting, and with only one motel to choose from, I pulled in. It was a bit more expensive than I thought it should be, but it was clean, the shower put out lots of hot water, and there weren’t any left over hairs, on the bed sheets. Other than the last time it was remodeled was 1950, it wasn’t bad. They even put my leather in one of their big dryers, and air tumbled them for a couple hours, I guess that was worth the extra bucks.
Sometimes you’re lucky, sometimes you’re not. Sometimes all you have to do is pull up in front of one that you booked in advance and say, “I don’t think so.” I stayed in one down in Louisiana; I should have known better when I read the little sign that said no refunds, but it was late and the next one was about 45 miles down the road. The funny thing was the place was packed, and they wouldn’t give me another room when I started to complain. The worst of it was, that there was no towels, and couldn’t get any until morning. When we got up the next morning, they said I had to wait until housekeeping washed some. Well, I got my shower, and the bed sheets were easily made into towel size. It doesn’t take to many hard lessons, before you ask to see the room before you rent it.
Sometimes, looks can be deceiving. Bryan and I pulled into Jackson, Tennessee for the night; it looked like a good neighborhood, the motel was nice, and the rooms were clean. After we dumped our gear, we rode up a couple exits, to grab a bite to eat, and checkout the local Best Buy store. It was well after dark when we returned to the motel, and it was obvious that all the upper middle class people, in their nice cars, that we saw running around, just a few hours earlier, lived somewhere else. There were only two cars in front of the motel, and nobody around back where they put us. There wasn’t even enough light to read the numbers on the doors. Now what do we do, stay here or go look for another motel? We decided that if we could figure out how to get the both of the bikes into the motel room with us, we would stay. So I rummaged around in the trash dumpsters, at the business park, next door, and came up with a small piece of board and a brick, to get the bikes over the curve. With a little rearranging of the room, and a bit of finagling, to get the handlebar, through the door jam, we got them in. Housekeeping was a bit surprised the next morning, to find us still there, and no one parked in front of the room.
I could tell story after story about motels; like holes in the bathroom walls that lead into the room next door, or cockroaches the size of bic lighters, or rats chewing on the walls, or the front desk double booking the room, and you walk in on someone, or they walk in on you.
I hope I haven’t scared you to bad. These places are a small percentage, but when you stay in as many motels as I have, it just seems like a lot.
Lets get off the motels, and onto something good, like eaten places. Now there is something you have a little more control over. I can tell you more good experiences about eaten places, than riding places. I think I am more likely to revisit an area that the food was more memorable than the ride, than vise versa. Like that café in Kitty Hawk, the clam chowder was so good, that you would take small bites, to make it last longer, and let it sit on your tongue, to soak your taste buds in it. Then there was that buffet in Myrtle Beach; 4 tables, 50 foot long, with just about everything you could possibly imagine, running down both sides. They brought washtubs over to our table, to toss the remains of the crab legs in, and rolls of paper towels, to help with the juice running off our elbows. Then there are the simple places, the little mom and pop café, serving hamburgers so big, that I had trouble eating the whole thing. Don’t be intimidated, when riding down the road, and come across a place, with a sign clear across the top of their building, “Eat here and get gas.” A lot of these places have some darn good food, and the gas is for the bikes.
And where is the boogieman in all this? I’m sure they’re still out there; there remains or evidence of their existence, are found in small museums, antique stores, and in the tales the old timers tell, as you listen to them, during a soda break.
So get out there, and run the back roads, slow down and immerse yourself in the way things use to be. Enjoy life, and the beautiful creations, God has given us to enjoy. Take the good with the bad, and chalk it up as experience. A bad day on the bike, is still better than a good day, in front of the TV.
