Fuel Sipper - (Reformed Mile Eater)

I keep thinking about tenting instead of motels, don't think I'm tough enough anymore especially when it's hot and humid

My biggest challenge when sleeping in a tent is the fact that I’m a side and stomach sleeper which makes it more difficult to stay comfortable throughout the night. If I could sleep on my back it’d be a snap. And I’m tired of investing in expensive (and fragile) lightweight air pads that fail after not so many uses.

Although I rarely pack it (up until this point) unless I’m setting up a multi day basecamp somewhere, my secret weapon for a much better nights sleep is my Byer of Maine TriLite cot. It sets up and breaks down quickly, isn’t too big (but bigger and heavier than a pad) and is pretty comfy for side-sleeping. I’m thinking I should start packing it more often.

Picture of the cot (in the case) sitting across the back of the GSA for reference.

Interesting, what do the legs do to a tent floor

Traversing Appalachia
26 September 2021



I woke to a typical fall morning in the Ohio River Valley. The foggy 48-degrees reminds you that it's almost October.

Of course, a late 9 o'clock start as well, with at least 500-miles to cover; plus a slow stretch of Blue Ridge Parkway, just because I want to.

While it's nice to sleep in and loaf around - you always pay for it later. Especially when the sun sets at 7:30.

I've not been running as hard as I used to. I can. But don't want to. Don't want to flip that switch. For when I do it carries over into other aspects of my life.

Slowing down has thrown me a curve ball. It throws my typically aggressive travel rhythm off and then I can tilt too far towards slow. Have to relearn and find balance so I don't feel behind all the time; a feeling that naturally plagues me anyway.

Finally got underway. Crossed the bridge into West Virginia and didn't get 10-miles down the road before my low fuel warning light began flashing. Forgot to fill the tank last night! See ... when I slow down I become too laid back. Oh well ... at least I'm enjoying life. Don't need to be so damn critical all of the time.

Pulled in a gas station with a Tim Horton's. Since I'm stopped might as well get some breakfast. Tim Horton's is closed due to Covid. Used the facilities and ate a cold egg sandwich from the gas station. About to take off again. Wait a minute. Ran back in and used the facilities again. Those jalapeno's last night began rumbling!

Enter I-77 south and roll into that buttery V-4 and finally start getting settled in and making some miles.

After approximately 100-miles of interstate, the glowing copper and gold leaf dome of the capital building in Charleston captivated my imagination. As it has done countless times over two-decades of riding back and forth through the Appalachians. I'm always too anxious to stop. This time I'm going to investigate that mesmerizing dome! Being an impulse decision I had to whip over multiple lanes before just managing to grab the exit. Almost missed it.

Constructed of buff Indiana limestone and lined with Imperial Danby marble from Vermont, the State Capital Building is a superb example of Italian Renaissance architecture. Dedicated in 1932 with a cost of $10-million. The moon can be faintly seen in the picture too:



The Kanawha River runs along one side of the capital grounds:




Through the mountain!

Big Walker Mountain Tunnel on Interstate 77 in Southwest Virginia.
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I’d already passed through East River Mountain Tunnel (20-miles to the north) which crosses the state line. The north side is Bluefield, West Virginia while the southern side is Rocky Gap, Virginia.​

Shot (obviously on the fly) with the old Olympus Tough point-and-shoot.



Just after crossing into Virginia, two more Bald Eagles were flying over the Virginia welcome center/rest stop! Amazing. As I tooled down the highway, while battling my typical micro highs and lows, I flipped on the satellite radio to a classic rock station. Before long, in between songs, a throwback recording of a hippie came on the air - who began narrating a philosophical and enlightening story about a frog. The hippie had the coolest voice and attitude and interjected just the right amount of humor. I was laughing in my helmet and that don’t happen often. Wish I could recall or find the story. Then just as he had finished the story, leaving me in a state of bliss, the airwaves transitioned into an amazing remix of “What a Fool Believes” by the Doobie Brothers. To me, perhaps the most uplifting song ever produced. As the tempo and my state of euphoria crescendoed - I couldn’t stop the tears of elation from welling up in my eyes and rolling down my face.

Entering the Heart of Appalachia. I'd follow I-77/64 to VA-69 to US-52 south through Hillsville to Fancy Gap before entering the Parkway.



Passing through Hillsville:






Ran the Blue Ridge Parkway to the Meadows of Dan, stopping at Puckett Cabin on the way. It's just a small pioneer cabin with a bit of history. Another time I may post a picture of it and some history.

Stopped into Poor Farmers Market in the Meadows of Dan for some lunch. I'm familiar with it from when I camped at Willville M/C Campground on the other side of the Parkway.

Had all intentions of running the BRP all the way to the northern terminus (at I-64) where it meets Skyline Drive (Shenandoah N.P.) then run I-64 down through Richmond and into Surry.

But reality started setting in as I ate my sandwich. My late start, the miles involved, my location, and dusk arriving around 7:30 didn't equate. Plus my enthusiasm had been waning - as I'd ridden the BRP so many times. Makes me feel ungrateful to even write that.

So instead, I'd opt to follow US-58 across Southern Virginia (paralleling the North Carolina border) over to Surry. And I'd due it carefully - as last time I ran this road it cost me dearly. Got popped at 20-mph over. He wrote me at 18-mph over. That was during a period of time when I had been taken over and possessed by a spirit of long distance speed and endurance.

Not too far east of the Meadows of Dan is Lover's Leap Overlook at 3,000-feet. I stopped for a moment to reflect as a few years ago I explored the gravel switchbacks that lie under the green canopied mountains off in the distance while on the GSA.



Too Many Electronics. No one will ever believe I'm a luddite at heart - while sporting all of these gadgets. Underway on US-58.



Finally arrived at Dad's well after dark. Along the way I'd pull over and slip into my old heated jacket liner (the old ones with the heavy gauged wires running through it that you can feel) that I'd bought down in the Hampton Roads area (Harley Shop) from a clearance rack on a previous trip down here that seems like a lifetime ago.

Walked in and gave Dad a big hug before sitting down with Baby (the first cat that he brought down there from Michigan) as he shoved a plate of roast and a Coca-Cola in front of me. Ate a few bites before running out to the bike for something. As I came back to the table Baby was pulling a chunk of roast from my plate. That's fine ... she don't eat that much.

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No worries about the tent floor - due to the fact that instead of individual pointy legs, this compact cot uses multiple metal hoops to support it. And just as extra insurance, I cut sections of plastic tubing that I slid over the contact points just to fatten and soften them up some.

I’ve probably used this cot on and off for ten years. Scott and Kenny bought one also. We’ve never experienced a problem. Primarily this cot has been used in the expensive “Hotel Hilleberg” which is my basecamp tent and I wouldn’t take a chance of damaging that tent if I wasn’t confident in the cot’s design.

If I remember, tomorrow I will take a picture of the supports.

Here is a better (old) picture of the cot packed up on the GSA along with the Hilleberg Keron GT 3 - just before deparure for the OBX:



And one inside after setting up the "Hotel Hilleberg" at Frisco Dunes on Hatteras Island. Can't see the cot as it's covered with my Kelty Cosmic Down, but you get the idea. Sometimes it's hard to leave camp when holed up in that Swedish gem!

Lazy Days
27 September 2021



Two of the main goals of this trip was to spend some time with Dad - talking about old times while just relaxing and spending time together. And to document some quality photographs of him (at this point in his life) and the cats. All eight of them. Six of them live inside the house while the two roughnecks (who can’t assimilate) reside outside and in the old motorhome. Sometimes Dad sleeps outside in the motorhome with Blackie and Sweetie. He loves them cats.

After all, it's not all about riding. We must interject some humanity into the mix. Especially in these times. That is what expression is all about. That's why I'm an explorer ... in search of it.

It’s hard for me to sit still for long though. But I’d do my best. Besides … I was still reeling from Covid. Especially emotionally. Hadn’t fully recovered yet. Didn’t feel completely myself.

The house faces the northeast, so I take my morning coffee on the southeast edge of the porch - taking in the warm rays as the sun climbs above the field. The magical sun. I totally understand why primitive cultures would worship the sun and consider it God.

The morning temperature was a refreshing 54-degrees.

The crop field across the street was hosting corn, which the farmer happened to be harvesting during my short stay. Last time I was down, it was a cotton field. The cotton fields especially appeal to me. I like the way they look (all speckled with white). Plus they are foreign to my mind.

This particular Jetboil has been faithfully serving me on the road for over a decade.



Took some shots with my 35mm Minolta while hanging out front.

Finished up a roll of Fuji 200 before loading a fresh roll of Fuji Superia 400. As of this writing I still haven't finished using up that roll.

Getting the roll of ISO 200 developed had returned a shot of the old house where Dad stays.



So I will interject this 35mm film image - into the string of digital archives. I feel the film evokes a particular and familiar essence (especially when a soul (person or animal) is involved) for those of us who grew up with such. And it doesn’t hurt to have an assortment of negatives as a hard record in the event of a digital catastrophe. The feel of shooting with a more mechanical device and the suspense of waiting is rewarding as well. A supplement and occasional change of pace to the digital workhorses.



One of Dad’s old friends stopped by to chat and meet me as we were hanging out front.

You don’t know how good you have it - until you sit around and listen to these good ole boys talk.

Dad told his friend, “Rich might be calling you tonight. He is putting feelers out to see if he can borrow $5.00 for gas to get him through the week.”

(Now this is on a Monday mind you. And when gasoline prices were relatively cheap.)​

Dad’s friend replied, “I ain’t been outta surgery long … don’t know if I got an extra five layin’ around.”



I would get out for a short afternoon ride. A laid-back affair consisting mostly of meandering asphalt through old Virginia’s crop fields. A smattering of soybean, cotton, corn, and peanut fields. The peanut fields intrigue me as well - since I’m not accustomed to them up north. Bought a sack of peanuts from the gas station that came out of these fields. The fields of Bacon’s Castle to be exact; which is a few miles from Dad’s house. This is the peanut-belt of the Commonwealth of Virginia. The asphalt around them parts is smooth but wavy. There are no sharp-edged, jarring, high-speed compression events, but instead, often a continuous succession of low-speed compression events attempting to make you sea-sick. I pretty much made a big loop through the countryside and passed through Wakefield and Historic Smithfield on the way back. Smithfield is a charming town and home of the famous ham that is cut from the carcasses of peanut-fed hogs. Didn’t stop for any pictures this time through Smithfield, as I’ve still got to go through the ones I took a few years ago.

We'd finish the evening talking and watching television.

My smell (since Covid) must be more compromised than I imagined; despite Dad’s incessant smoking of cigarettes … I never caught even a whiff. The realization was delayed but hit me like a ton of bricks when it came. Years ago when crammed in tiny, dumpy motels the raunchy smoke was stifling.

While sitting around talking, Dad mentioned one of the local characters, saying he is an older, thin black man that is often bumming around and asking for money up at the corner gas station.

I briefly interrupted him, “Does he have really intense eyes?”

Dad acknowledged as such.

“Yeah, I met him last night when I rolled into town and parked up by the door of the gas station to grab a few can of beer. He asked me for money, so I gave him a couple bucks and thanked him for watching my bike. There was something different about him.”

Dad said, “That’s him. Crazy history with that guy. He went to the prestigious college of Williams and Mary in Williamsburg. He is incredibly intelligent and even went on to become a professor at the campus. Then alcohol and drugs radically transformed his life into chaos.”

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Great report while drinking some coffee this Sunday morning. Thanks Jeff. Is that an aeropress you are using? If so, do you like it? I got one last year as a gift but have never used it.

Yes sir! I like it so much that I use nothing else. Even at home. Even at work. I brew, er … press … every cup of coffee I drink. Other than grabbing an occasional cup at a proper coffee shop while on the road.

That has been my modus operandi for probably seven or eight years now. Thousands of cups I’ve pressed. Wherever I’m at. I have accumulated multiple presses over the years and even replaced the rubber ends on the plungers when they need it. The company sells all the parts.

Last year I transitioned to their new “Go” version which is more compact for travel. I’m happy with it as it takes up less space and has a built in cup. The whole kit nests inside of the cup. Really slick. But either unit is fine. After all, we’re not backpackers who stress over every ounce of weight.

One of the key aspects that appeals to me is that the acid is reduced by using this method. The less time the water is on the grounds the less acid it pulls from the coffee. And the whole pressing process only takes 20-seconds. I like strong, bold, black coffee. But I want it fresh and smooth. Not acidic. A lower brewing temperature helps reduce acid as well.

Just so happened that I was at Roo’s Roast in Ann Arbor today when I saw your post - so I snapped this shot of their Aeropress offerings on the shelf. You can see the new smaller travel press along with the classic. Either online or Bed, Bath, and Beyond are good places to purchase not only the press units but to resupply the small round filters.

. That picture of your pop's cigarette in hand, coffee at ready, staring out the window, I can imagine he’s thinking where did the time go. Fantastic picture Jeff

Great info. I've watched a few youtube videos and some of these people take making their coffee incredibly serious! I'll PM you some more specific questions when the time comes. Thanks again!

Over 40 years of trucking, any coffee is good coffee, I’ve drank enough of vending machine coffee to float a boat.

This is all you IBA guys need right here, black no sugar and a pack of old golds.

Synchronicity Strikes - The day before you posted those pictures I mentally relived those old cigarette dispensers and even pulled up a similar image from the net while reminiscing. Love the nostalgia (Americana). Especially the cigarette machine. I can still feel pulling that knob and the sounds associated with the pack of smokes dropping and sliding. I’d mentioned before that I started smoking (before my Dad) very young. There was an exact looking machine as to what you posted in the Woodville Mall in Ohio. It was against a wall at the end of a long corridor leading to the lavatories. Tiring of the Virginia Slims and True Blue’s that my friend would steal from his sister, when this young country boy happened to make his way up to the mall, unsupervised, I’d make sure to have three quarters with me in pursuit of a proper pack of Marlboro’s or Winston. When the coast was clear, I’d bolt to the machine and drop those quarters, pull the lever, grab my smokes, tuck them in my pants and casually walk away, all the time stressing that someone would come out of the bathroom and see what I was up to.

Concerning the Coffee - When I was young I could drink any kind of coffee. Now I’ve turned into a coffee snob with age, sensitivities, and (I would like to think) intelligence. In those young days of desperation, while spending weeks on end of living like an animal in the mountains of Korea, often with minimal amounts of sleep - I’d occasionally resort to chewing up and swallowing raw coffee grounds from the packs that came in our MRE’s. There was rare occasion to heat anything up due to operating in a perpetual state of tactical awareness while practicing noise, light, and litter discipline. Not to mention we rarely stopped moving for long.

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Funny how those little things stick in your brain, so insignificant but a powerful memory trigger, how about the feel, sound and smell of a zippo lighter. I’d better shut up, good thing cigs are so expensive nowadays, I chucked them when they got to $1 a pack.

Since reading your post this morning I have been thinking of sucking on the coffee packets from my C-rations. Not necessarily good memory's....

Jeff; I've got a little cigarette machine story for you from 52 years ago. First job I had after graduating high school was pumping gas for the summer at a local Sunoco station. In the lobby/office area there was a cigarette machine similar to the ones in your pictures. Being as I didn't have a lot of money to support my habit I took a very detailed look at that machine to try and find a way to get free smokes. Working alone on the night shift gave me plenty of time to figure it out. When actually paying for a pack I noticed from the sounds that the money after going through the coin sensor dropped into a coin box near the bottom of the machine. The door on the front would open to fill the racks and so there was a gap between it and the rest of the machine. I took a piece of writing paper and inserted it into the gap; put my 35 cents in the slot and was delighted to find that the coins were stopped by the paper and could be pulled out through the gap as they were laying flat on the paper. Not proud of my petty larceny today but then it was a way to get my cigarettes free all that summer.

The Historic Triangle
28 September 2021



The day was calling for mid-80 temperatures and humidity. Which is typical of this region.

After spending the morning with Dad and soaking in the sun on the front porch again, it was time to get out for a short day ride. At least half a day. Can’t sit for long … unless I’m sitting in a saddle and moving! Seems I constantly need stimulation; physical, mental, or better yet … both.

So ... I’d start the days ride by boarding the ferry, fording the James River, and cruising the historic triangle of Jamestown, Williamsburg, and Yorktown.

In order not to stall out on this report, I’m only going to post a handful of pictures and gloss over some of the highlights and thoughts. More pictures (as I come across them and have time) can be posted later in subsequent random entries. All in good time. 'Cause if I get carried away, next thing you know and I’m writing out a book on a week-long trip.


The James River pilings are a favorite gathering and nesting place for the local water birds. The Cormorants are sometimes referred to as foul fowl when they nest in close proximity to residential areas - as an adult will eat a pound of fish a day. The consummation of the fish is not of concern, but the excessive aftermath of guano often leaves the trees glistening white in the sunlight - as if it just snowed.



The upper deck and lavatory of the ferry were closed off ... due to Covid I'd presume.

Underway on the ferry “Williamsburg” and my spirit was elevating. The fresh air blowing across my face and body as I stand against the bow and watch the old skeletal structures of Jamestown come into view is always stimulating.

The people don’t get out of their cars. They are on the boat … but not going for a boat ride. Not feeling the magical air. Robotically staring ahead. Not in the moment. Not seizing the day. Or so it seems. I know that feeling too. They are probably mostly locals who’ve made this crossing a thousand times. But still. Just my thoughts. Some people fight to remain in the same comfortable state of illusion, while others traverse a gamut of disillusions.



The ST feels right at home on the peaceful Colonial Parkway. We've travelled this stretch so many times as it is the corridor connecting the three historic towns where it all started ... when survival wasn't a game.



In between Jamestown and Yorktown I’d stop into Williamsburg. Mostly I rode around at a slow pace taking things in as I felt like keeping the wheels turning. I only briefly dismounted the bike to walk around a few familiar streets and people-watch.

Reflections in Colonial Williamsburg:




En route to Yorktown - on the Colonial Parkway:




Yorktown's Quaint Beach - Note the traditional schooner off in the distance:



My Way is the Highway - After parking the ST and walking across the gravel lot towards the pub to grab some lunch, a husband and wife came riding in on their motorcycles. Each their own. We chatted for a spell as they were exceptionally friendly and passionate about the bike-life. He was riding one of my favorites: An old Evolution Springer Softail and she was on a sweet Dyna Super Glide. Both done right and maintaining the stock nostalgic look.

It's all in the details:






Lunch was pricey, but delicious. Doesn't bother me to pay high prices (as much) when the food quality delivers.

One night, probably sixteen years ago, got tangled up with a bottle of Jagermeister (with Dad) in this pub, and didn't leave - ‘till I was speaking in tongues.

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Old Richmond
28 September 2021



After lunch in Yorktown, I felt like doing something different. I'd already decided to forego my typical run down to the Outer Banks. It was mid-afternoon and I wasn't ready to head back to the house. Traveling to and from this area, I'm always blasting through or around Richmond. Why not run up into the heart of the city and search out some murals or maybe I'd find some interesting architecture. So, instead of boarding the ferry back to Surry, I would pick up I-64 and hammer northwest (60-miles) into Richmond.



The Old is Uncovered. The asphalt has crumbled away over the decades, revealing the old stone streets of another time.



Your muralographer at Work. I'd mostly be working in the "Fan District" of Richmond - near Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU).

Saw 87-degrees in Richmond. The sky kept shifting and threatening rain. A light sprinkle is all that ever came.










These row houses were appealing. I like how, while even though they are attached and share adjoining walls, they yet remain distinct entities (showing individuality) within a greater whole.



St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church - On Laurel Street in the Oregon Hill neighborhood of Richmond, Virginia.

A Gothic wood-framed structure (in 1877) preceded this (1903) turn-of-the-century Gothic Revival structure.






This is one of my favorites. As you already know ... I've become not only obsessed with light and shadows - but also reflections.









An Ideal Bar - Now I'd like to drink there; an enticing setting. This place caught my eye and forced me to circle back around in order to snag a reflective snapshot of the quaint and unique watering hole.



After burning off my remaining restlessness running around Richmond in a frenzy snapping off pictures, I'd take the rural Route 10 back through farmland to Surry. Along the way I found an interesting roadside display that prompted me to once again dismount and retrieve the camera for a few more instant classics.










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Outstanding!

Been watching this great thread since the beginning,
Really like your wanderings, comments and photography.
Thank you!