Ride Around The Sound

Ride Around The (Albemarle) Sound, Early March, 2008

This is a ride I did alone in early March of 2008, with my ‘new’ 1998 Honda 750 American Classic Edition. I had just gotten back into motorcycling after being off of them for over 20 years, and was exploring the roads and highways that circumnavigate the Albemarle Sound.

The weather this day was borderline for a ride of this length, for me anyway, considering the lack of a windshield, and proper clothing. I’ve made the trip again since then, on a better day, with some friends. These are some of my observations.

Daylight savings time has it’s benefits, unfortunately in the Spring, these benefits don’t manifest themselves that first morning after moving the clock ahead the night before. Your eyes begin to register light through your eyelids way before your mind is ready to acknowledge it.

But when I woke up to the bright sun beaming through the blind slats, I was encouraged, given that the weather during the past two days was dominated by rain and high winds. (I had to tie my kids trampoline to the side porch yesterday to keep it in my yard.)

But when I looked at the temperature outside, my enthusiasm diminished slightly. It had dropped to 34 degrees from a balmy 62 the day before, bummer.

I had been anticipating a ride around the Sound, starting here in Elizabeth City, then ride either south or east, on a route that takes you through farmland, swamps, coastal beach towns etc., to travel around the Albermarle Sound area.  But the flu and other bugs began dropping the groups riders, so it began to look like we’d have to cancel for this month.

I decided that despite the temperature, I might just give it a shot. If it got too cold, I could always turn around and come home…(Yea, right..)

So as I got to Camden, about 8 miles from home I pulled into the gas station there, as I only started with about a gallon of fuel left in the tank. I anticipated filling up then, and again about 60 or so miles into the trip so I’d end up at home with over a half a tank left. I knew there were plenty of gas stations along the way, so I could stop at my convenience.

But also as I was pulling in, I was quietly grateful for the stop because my fingers were already cold, and my cheeks were a bit numb. Remember,  I’m less than 10 miles from my house. Now, I have no windshield, and I use a 3/4 helmet with a full face shield. I have some whiskers on my chin, but not enough to break a 60 knot wind. And I still have about, oh, 150 miles or so to go. But the forecast was calling for 50 degrees, as well as a decrease in winds through the day so I felt that it was only going to get better from that point on.

Nevertheless, I had already started a mental to-do list for when I got home:  1. Put insulating liner back in your leather jacket when you get home. Better gloves. Something for your face. Thermos with coffee, hot.

I topped off my tank, and pulled out heading east. I passed through Bellcross, and soon I was passing the Currituck Airport. By the time I got to the next intersection that turns south towards the Outer Banks, I was having serious numbness issues with my fingers, and my chin was numb. But I figured, “Well, I can always stop at the Harley-Davidson shop just before the Wright Memorial Bridge over to the Outer Banks and pick up some better protective gear.”

I did my best to distract myself from the cold, and I finally started seeing the signs for the Harley-Davidson shop. But I didn’t know if they were open on Sunday.. “Oh well,” I thought, “if they weren’t, I could stop at Wal-Mart on the other side of the causeway, and get some gear there.”

Thankfully when I pulled into the parking lot, there were brand new Harley’s out on the corner of the lot, and a guy hanging a sign from the porch roof. I pulled into the closest parking spot to the door, and after I peeled off my gloves and removed my helmet with my frozen fingers, I walked up to the guy hanging the sign and asked if they were open, which he assured me they were.

I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside, and was just standing in the doorway taking in the warm atmosphere and the smell of new motorcycles, when a quiet voiced asked me if I needed anything. She was well camouflaged behind the displays on the counter, but when I saw her I asked her where the gloves, and warm stuff was. She led me to the back of the shop, and left me standing at a rack with many things that would help me stay warm on a cold ride around the Albermarle Sound in early March.

The problem was, that Harley-Davidson is obviously very proud of that gear, and they don’t want to let it out the door for just a little bit of money. I put my hand inside a fleece-lined, windproof goat skin gauntlet glove, and was instantly feeling better about this trip until I turned over the price tag. At which time I carefully slid my hand OUT of the glove, placed it back on the rack, and started to ponder how I could make my insufficient gloves a bit more sufficient with a bit less of an investment than, say, the 90 dollars Harley-Davidson wanted for the fleece-lined, windproof goat skin gauntlet gloves.

Alas with further searching on a less conspicuous shelf, I found some polypropylene liner gloves for about  3 dollars. They had the Harley-Davidson logo tag sewn on them, and I was skeptical about the 3 dollar tag. HD must not be as proud of these. But I didn’t care. I knew from my days as a rescue swimmer how much that thin layer of this man-made material could improve your outlook on your situation if worn inside your regular gloves in a cold environment. After I made sure that they would stretch over my fat monkey fingers, I started looking for something to remedy my cold face. Right there on the table next to the gloves, was a very inviting balaclava that was advertised as “The best balaclava for use with a motorcycle helmet in cold weather.”
They couldn’t have been more concise at pinpointing my problem, and providing me with a solution. And to make it even better, this one was NOT tagged with the Harley-Davidson logo, and therefore could be purchased for a pittance.

I cleared that shop with about 8 bucks less than I came in with, but figured it worth every dime. I was also reminded as Miss Quiet Voice handed me my receipt, that I should not miss Bike Week, (obviously sponsored by this establishment), AND that I was talking to who was to be “Miss Harley-Davidson” for the event, herself. I wondered to myself, how does someone get to be “Mr. Harley-Davidson” for the event?? I assured her that I would do my best to return and see her with her crown.

Back on the bike and down the road with my new gear on, I felt warmer already. But now I had to deal with another problem, but all I needed was a bathroom, and to not drink anymore coffee. Did I mention the nice rest stop about a mile after you cross the causeway?

It was a joy to finally get on the beach road, and to be able to see the ocean between the cottages as I rode south. It was a near flat day, with small breakers beating up the sand.
The speed limit is 35 mph through there, but there was no traffic, and I cruised at a leisurely 40 or so miles per hour. As you drive south, the road becomes further from the beach, and the beach becomes more developed with more modern rental homes and condos blocking the view of the ocean. It’s not the same beach I knew when I was living here back in the mid- 80’s.

As I passed the mostly empty cottages and restaurants, I was really looking for a spot to pull into and get a hot cup of coffee. I was hoping for one of those little coffee specialty shops that grinds their own beans, and make each cup of coffee just for you. I know, not a very manly endeavor. But I had chosen to travel down the beach road, and I realized most of the specialty shops that I was familiar with were on the bypass. So I resigned myself to wait until I got out over the bridge and into Manteo before I stopped for coffee.

After crossing the Manteo Causeway bridge I quickly began lowering my standards as far as where I got my next cup of hot coffee. I turned north towards Manteo, and the first place that I knew had coffee was McDonalds. I know, not exactly a specialty shop, but by now I was just wanting a hot cup of coffee.

I got a sandwich and some fries with my coffee, since by now it was lunchtime. I found a spot by a window where the sun was streaming in, and sat down and soaked it in like a tomato seedling in a greenhouse. I called my friend Bob to see how he was doing, and then I dialed up my Mom in Texas and had a nice conversation with her.

Once I finished my lunch and that wonderful cup of coffee, I suited back up and walked out into the sunshine. I could have used another cup, but that would have had me stopping again, sooner than I wanted to.

My shiny maroon and black Honda was sitting there patiently in the parking lot. I got my new glove liners on under my gloves and balaclava on under my helmet, started my bike and rolled towards the driveway. As I sat there watching the traffic roll by, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to just go back out to the highway and head towards Creswell, or cruise up Manteo Island towards Fort Raleigh, and cross at the old bridge. Decisions.. The old bridge won out, mostly because I had only been as far as Fort Raleigh with the family once on a day trip, and I wanted to see what was on the other end of things.

If you’ve never done it, it’s a pleasant drive out towards the old bridge, at least during that time of the year. Not much traffic at all, and it was sunny, after all. All too soon I found myself passing the Fort Raleigh site, and could see the opening at the end of the island where the bridge extends out over the sound. I pulled over into a parking area at the foot of the bridge just to look around. I was still in the trees, protected somewhat from the breeze, so I wasn’t feeling too chilled just yet.

I realized that the day was beginning to get past me as I pled back my glove and looked at my watch. I rolled out of the parking area turned around,  got back onto the highway, and out on the bridge.

The William B.Umstead bridge is a narrow bridge, opened in 1957, making it a couple of years older than me. Just two concrete lanes about 20 feet off of the Croatan Sound. Out towards the middle I could see it rise up into an overpass, I guess to allow boat traffic to pass back and forth underneath. This bridge reminded me of portions of some of the old bridges that connect the Florida Keys, as A1A heads down to Key West. Except that it was 43 degrees, I had 2 pairs of gloves on, a balaclava under my helmet, and the coffee had lost it’s warming effect about 3 miles back. Oh, and the water wasn’t that turquoise-aquamarine color of the Caribbean either. But aside from that, just like the Keys..

As I approached the end of the bridge I was anticipating the calming effect of the tree line on the winds, glad to lose this exposure to the increasing cross winds, and seemingly decreasing air temperatures. It wasn’t long before I was rolling through Mann’s Harbor, which starts right at the foot of the bridge. Up until the Umstead Bridge was built, a ferry used to call Mann’s harbor home, plying the waters of Croatan Sound carrying passengers and goods back and forth.

It didn’t take long to get back out onto Highway 64, so I only hesitated briefly at the stop sign, turning out onto the highway and accelerating towards the northwest. I had no idea of the mileage left between me and Elizabeth City. No, I didn’t bring a map, I was keeping track of my mileage for fuel reasons, but that was about it. I was guessing there would be a gas station coming up soon, but uncertainty reigned as I scooted down the road.

After about 13 or so miles I came up on the Lindsey C. Warren Bridge. Located near another old ferry landing located just to the east of the foot of the bridge.
Nothing about this bridge stands out in my memory except how the wind was blowing at about 25 knots directly perpendicular to it. As I neard the foot of the bridge, I slowed in anticipation of the crosswind, and saw the whitecaps down on the surface of the water. I involuntarily leaned into the crosswind, and pretty much maintained that posture all the way across the 2 and 3/4 mile long span.

The next few miles don’t stand out, but I was grateful to come upon Columbia, and an opportunity to tank up, and stretch my legs. I was beginning to have problems with my hands again, so I needed to get the circulation going back into my digits.
I know, you’re thinking to yourself, ‘geez Rick, that’s not THAT far, and the sun WAS out..’ I know, and I was feeling pretty wimpy. But more than that, I was dreading the rest of this ride. I was starting to shiver, which is a bad sign, especially with the layers of clothing I had on.

Back out on the road, I got onto the four lane, and was becoming desperate for a sign pointing me to Edenton, which would get me to Highway 17, and eventually Elizabeth City. All of this angst could have been avoided had I just put a map in my saddlebag, or at least memorized this section of the map I had read before I left the house.

Alas, a sign directing me to exit towards Edenton, and thankfully not far beyond that was the sign pointing me to Hertford. Before I got there, I saw the traffic on 17, and felt a renewed sense of where I was, and that I would be home soon.

I stopped just long enough to check for oncoming traffic, and rolled out onto the highway feeling encouraged and for the moment, not too concerned with the cold. But that feeling of exaltation ended when I reached 70 miles per hour, and the cold crept quickly back into my hands, legs and face.

So, let’s stop and review. First, equipment. No, let’s skip that for now and let’s move right into judgement. Should I have gone, prepared, or UNprepared as I was? Probably not. Was it life threatening? Nah, not really. Distracting, uncomfortable at worst, but not so distracting that I couldn’t pay attention to what was important. I could have waited for a warmer day, but I have a history of pushing the weather on other outdoor activities, so having to deal with this was second nature.

OK, back to equipment. A windshield would have made an incredible difference. And those of you that have been doing this type of riding for at least one season are sitting there chuckling and nodding your heads. I had a good leather jacket, but I had removed the insulating liner and LEFT IT AT HOME. In the very least, it should have been thrown into a saddlebag. My gloves were insufficient, as was my helmet, as far as wind-blocking qualities of each. Windproof gauntlet-style insulated gloves would have kept the cold breeze from running up into my armpits, and a full face helmet would have kept not just the wind but the noise from being so intense.
And I will tell you now that I will use ear plugs from now on, as noise fatigue was a very real part of why I felt so tired after the ride. And finally, an insulating layer between my legs and my jeans would have been nice, even though I had good wind pants on, over my jeans.

So, how was the rest of the ride back into Elizabeth City, Rick? Well, I turned off into Hertford before the bridge, because I thought I wanted to just look around. The truth is, I just wanted to slow down for a few more minutes to warm up. After I got back onto the road, E-City rolled up onto the horizon none too quickly, and before I knew it I was running the back roads towards the house, and finally a tub full of hot water to soak in.

Will I make this run again? You bet, and I actually already have, since I began writing this. But I DID wait for a warmer day, I now knew where I was going, I knew the mileage between road changes, and I didn’t go alone. I had more appropriate clothing, and was able to take fewer breaks, making the trip in better time, and getting home sooner.  Which was important, because I had bought a new grill the day before, and I had promised my family bar-b-que for dinner.

There are so many good routes to check out in this part of the state on a motorcycle. I plan to get on a few this summer, and hopefully explore further to the west and south as time rolls by. There are just a few organizations to get involved with if you enjoy some fellowship along the way. But sometimes, for me anyway, there’s nothing wrong with getting out by yourself, picking a spot on the map separated from you by just a few miles of winding backroads.

As my friend Bob says, keep the rubber side on the road.