It's A Long, Long Way From Miami to Daytona

Originally published on fotocycle.net, 2004.

I figured out a while back that Miami's just not for me. I'm not into rap, "fades," phony attitudes, and lowered econoboxes with flashy stickers all over. I realized I needed to find another city to live in, and so far I haven't found it in Florida. Biketoberfest was coming up in late October, and I thought I could check out Georgia while I was already up by Daytona Beach.

But I'd already been to Georgia, so I thought of Alabama. Then, Mississippi came up. I kept thinking and eventually decided it wouldn't be too hard to keep going just a little more and check out New Orleans while I was at it. And Houston too.

My bike was ready to go. It had been my trusty commuter for just under twelve full months of riding, or about 14,000 miles. It's my learner bike, purchased after failing a riding course but with an obsessive determination to ride well. By now, I considered myself an accomplished rider who should have no trouble on a long trip like this. Never mind that I had just learned how to ride a bicycle in late summer of '03 - that was thousands of miles ago.

Day 1

I start out at 1 p.m. for my first stop, an overnight stay at a friend's place in Gainesville. I end up taking the ol' scenic route, i.e., I missed my turnoff for the turnpike, adding about 80 miles to the ride and four traffic jams. It takes almost seven hours to ride 400 miles, including one meal stop and two fuel stops. Heavy winds wake me up a few times, till I get further inland. The gusts were so bad through one sweeper that I took the whole curve almost upright at 70 miles an hour. My average of 90 mph helped drop about five miles from every gallon, bringing it down to 35.

A decent night's sleep should get me ready for Louisiana tomorrow evening.

Day 2

Over 600 miles today. Too many fuel stops. Riding into 'Bama I let out a good "Yeeee-haw!" I love arriving at a new state. It always makes me feel like I'm the first man on the moon or Columbus stumbling onto the Americas. Alabama came and went, though, and I cross the state in what seems like minutes. I was going to stop for lunch in Mobile, but dark clouds overhead push me on. Mississippi is a beautiful place. The marshlands remind me of the Everglades and of Florida in general, but healthier and prettier.

Out in the passing lane on the I-10, no one moves out of the way for the big rigs or the SUVs, but I show up in their mirrors and they clear out almost instantly. Does a sportbike in the rear make them jittery, or do they just not want to stand in the way of my irreverent two-wheeled freedom machine?

By the time I arrive in Baton Rouge I can hear a revolving kind of sound emanating from my back wheel. A quick inspection shows that nothing's loose and no parts are rubbing, so I press on and decide I'll give it a good check in the morning. It's been a long day. As I lay in bed, I feel alone and displaced. Did I really need to come out all the way over here? Will I find what I am looking for out by the bayous and swamps? And now the bike is not at a hundred percent - I don't know how much exploring I will be able to do if I can't figure out what's wrong with it.

Day 3

My noisy wheel woes are gone. I figured I'd check my brake pads, and sure enough, they were down to mere millimeters. I should've replaced them before I left, truth be told, but I hadn't been too worried. I hit three shops before I found a new set at Lightspeed Motorsports, a Kawi dealer in Gonzalez. They did a quick job of the install and I am back on the streets in no time. After lunch, I'm off to St. Francisville and Simmesport, home of the old plantation houses along the river.

5:27 PM - Nature really took some of the joy out of this ride. Like an exciting lover, the wind can be soothing and sensual to the biker one moment, intense and unpredictable the next. Gusts of 24 mph, out in the open fields, constantly threatened to knock out the wheels from underneath me. The broken pavement found throughout Louisiana sure didn't help.

11:07 PM - After the ride, I hang out with Tyler, a fellow I know over the Internet, and have the best chicken strips ever at a little Louisiana gem, Raisin' Canes. I get to know this state and its people better through our conversation. I'm having good feelings about the trip again.

Tomorrow: Houston! It's over 200 miles from here. Can I do it in three hours?

Everyone tells me it takes a full day, but I don't see why.

Day 4

Houston.

Almost as soon as I arrive in Texas, I want to leave again. "Drive friendly - the Texas way." Friendly? After well over 1200 miles of riding, this is where I encounter my first road-rager. The incident didn't go beyond some mad hand gestures on his part, but it still annoys me. I have to put up with this crap all day long in Florida.

Beaumont looks just like downtown Miami - run down and ugly, with an out-of-place "culture district" (museums and such) in a port city. And no fast-food joints in sight. Roads are worse than back in eastern Louisiana - I almost have a spill on a curve when my rear wheel bounces off one of the football-sized clumps of tar that riddle the asphalt.

I'm already missing Louisiana. Extreme eastern Texas is off my list of potential living spaces, but you can't judge a country, er, state, as big as Texas by such a small portion of it. I'll go back, to explore Houston in better detail and check out Austin and Dallas, but for now I'm thinking only of Baton Rouge.

Day 5

My daily routine for this trip: cleaning out all the bugs off of my gear. It's thoroughly disgusting. I'm not a squeamish guy at all, but thoughts of lunch quickly evaporate after I begin the day's cleanup. Tiny wings and legs everywhere, like in a more realistic version of Starship Troopers. One specimen is almost intact, save for its squished head that got smeared onto my helmet visor. Yuck. I make a mental note to apply a fresh coat of wax on my helmet before my next road trip, to help with the cleaning process.

Evening - New Orleans! After a couple of wrong turns and somehow missing my exit for the interstate (is this a new habit?), I end up in my second target city. I stroll in right around rush hour but don't care. The slow traffic lets me take in the place easier. I am finally in one of the few major U.S. cities on my life list. Right away, rolling down Poydras, I know I'm in love. The only other city I've ever been infatuated with was New York.

Although it's Thursday, and not a whole lot going on, there's a good crowd out on the streets leading to the French Quarter. I park in the garage for the Hilton on Poydras, a tip Tyler had given me, and I head off to the Riverwalk marketplace. I eventually hit the French Quarter, and stop in at the infamous House of Voodoo on Decatur to pick up the few souvenirs for which I'll have space. I stop for a Coke at Coyote Ugly - yeah, I know, but I'm not a drinker and it's the only drink on tap with no alcohol in it. I watch some pretty girls dancing on the bar for the few patrons, picturing the bumping party this place must be every weekend night.

I'd been wondering where all the hot girls were in Louisiana, but I figure out where they've been hiding when I hit N'awlins. Now all the elements needed for a good new host state have come together: big city, beautiful countryside, friendly locals, and pretty girls. Louisiana has now moved to the top of the list for potential places to live.

Day 6

Back to Florida today. I quietly bid farewell to Louisiana as I get on the interstate.

The ride to Gainesville is hellacious; it takes twelve hours and the temperature just keeps on dropping the darker it becomes and the closer I get to the panhandle. I'm not ready for the change in weather, but thankfully, I had remembered to pack the zip-in liner for my Joe Rocket jacket and put it on.

One of the bigger delays was at the western tip of Florida, heading into Pensacola. Hurricane Ivan hit this area hard in September, devastating eastbound I-10 over the Gulf and turning the west bridge into a single two-way road.

Traffic on the bridge was slow on my way out a few days ago, but coming back into the state the cars and big rigs are at a near standstill. I make it almost all the way to the end of the congestion, though not without at least two jerks trying to block my progress, and one dude in a battered van angrily yelling at me for having made it ahead of everyone. I make no apologies. I would have roasted away in my leather jacket had I stayed back there, waiting out the traffic in the hot sun. Filtering needs to be legal in more states than California.

I finally make it to G-Ville at around 10:30 PM. No hotel has a vacancy so I get back on I-75 and head south to the next city, Micanopy. I find a rat trap for $35 a night. I'm happy. According to a series of enticing billboards on the highway, there's even a strip bar just down the road. Could life get any better, really?

After the bar proves to be something of a disappointment, I set out to explore my new surroundings. It's cold and a light fog has settled over the dark, dark streets. After bumping into the few locals on the road, it doesn't take long for me to figure out Micanopy is more Twin Peaks and less the rural America I've been riding through these past few days.

Back in my room, I tuck in for the night. After rigging the barely functioning toilet to work, I get into bed to let the television lull me to sleep. Every channel has a green tint over the screen, but a flick with Rebecca Romjin - in alien green and all - insures sweet dreams after a long day on the road.

Day 7

Daytona!

I wake up late, still living in central time. I set out for Daytona Beach to meet up with some friends from New York and Alabama. We do lunch at a Chinese buffet, and then hit the beach for Biketoberfest. This is my first time in Daytona, and my first big bike gathering. I check out the infamous Main Street scene, the bars, the bikes, and the women. (Oh, the women!) I even manage to sprain my

left wrist by falling off the mechanical bull at the Hog Pen.

The hundred-mile ride back to Micanopy is cold. That vicious cold that makes you think twice about riding fast. I have two shirts on, one with long sleeves, but have to stop after only a few miles to get my rain jacket from under the seat. I'm still freezing, but I can stand it now. Just. As I get closer to the little town, my hands have lost all feeling. I stop on the shoulder of the interstate to walk a little and warm up. I leave the bike on and put my gloved hands on the hot exhaust can. They're so chilled that it takes no less than half a minute before I can start feeling the warmth from the muffler.

I get back to my room shortly after and get my stuff ready for the ride back home in the morning.

Day 8

After checking out, I make a brief detour to Ocala to visit an old friend. Once back on the road, it takes me six hours to get to Miami - a distance of just over 300 miles. As I approach my hometown, I hit mile after mile of heavy traffic, crashes and rubberneckers, not to mention the usual poorly thought-out construction zones. This is all too familiar, and I want to turn back around and go… anywhere else. I'm finally home at around 8:30.

It's now Sunday, eight days and 3,216 miles since I set out on this roundabout ride to Daytona Beach. I feel different. More focused, more in control. This trip wasn't just a refreshing vacation, but also something deeper. Life is clear again, and more meaningful than I remembered it to be when I left. I found a new outlet through touring, and now feel like I have much fewer limitations.