Scott Bogue's Report for TWO 2002
May 11-20 The VX Rally. After a year of planning and
anticipation, the big noisy airplane dumped a rotund bearded Englishman into
Concourse C at Raleigh, NC on May 11. Brian was identifiable by his riding
jacket and boots, but didn't complete the disguise by wearing his helmet as
expected. Off to home in the Pontiac, in wonder at the weight of his satchel
which was approximately the size of a drugstore and weighed over 700 pounds. It
was full of metal goodies and, it turns out, contraband English cheddar that was
toothsome indeed when melted over toast. I wondered what he saw as we traveled
on I-40 away from Raleigh in afternoon rush hour traffic. He has been to the US
before but never before with the intent of riding a motorcycle among swarms of
demented SUV pilots who all drive on the wrong side of the road. On arrival
about supper time, we got to see what all the weight was about. A marvelous
spread of chrome goodies, in the Brian's Bits tradition, to include a set of
mirrors, three bar clamp bridges, a pack of chrome nuts, three rear drive plugs,
and headlight brackets. A certain amount of back-and-forth ensued in an effort
to find a common language, then it was toddle off to bed to recover from the
week to come. Just before bedtime we got a call from Dan Flowers, the young
Englishman we bought Brian's Bike from. He was trying to get in touch with for
Doc Steve, who planned to meet Brian the next day at Michael's Bar and Grill in
Carrboro, NC for the Sunday bike gathering. We invited Dan to ride up with Doc,
or by himself if Doc was busy.
Sunday morning early came Charlie and Julie from their chez in Lewisville.
Brian hopped onto Brian's Bike and pronounced it good, and in the clear fragrant
Spring we rode the 60 country miles down to Michael's. Met some friends and
habitués, a bit of a small crowd, then saw Doc Steve and Dan heading our way
through the chrome and plastic. Intros all around, then off to the tables and
troughs for breakfast. Quinn Miller was there, with his daughter Maggie and her
fiancé Greg. Nice surprise. Quinn rides a Wing, but is otherwise normal. After
a bit of encouragement just before departure time, we got Doc Steve and Dan
Flowers to ride with us back toward Greensboro through the country. It was
perfect, no traffic, fresh blacktop, scent of honeysuckle and wild roses
overlaid with fresh cut hay. At the planned gas and goodbye stop at I-40, we
prevailed upon Doc and Dan to join us for lunch. Trish put together a sumptuous
chicken salad, and there came a ring of the bell and there stood Rick and Tree,
good friends (VFR; Wing; CB450) who had been invited but had indicated prior
commitments. Another pleasant surprise.
Monday morning dawned clear, a little warm, and Brian had already suffered a
bit from the heat on Sunday. A proper Spring in his isle tops out at 50 degrees,
so 80+ was equivalent to Broil with the oven door closed. I rode with him down
to the entrance to I-40 at Whitsett, east of Greensboro, gassed up the bikes,
then off he went with Union Jack flying and his best wide-eyed stammer fully
practiced for the anticipated encounters with the fuzz. I envied him a bit but
never worried about the bike, just hoped he wouldn't have to swerve too soon in
his conversion to right side of the road and all that. The brain would serve up
the wrong swerve, down he would go, all scuffed Cordura and busted motorcycle.
He was off to meet Clyde in Richmond, VA for lunch, thence to chez Chen for
dinner and snooze. As I found out later, he rode through a strong thunderstorm
after lunch.
The week went by, a little oddly because the rally had already begun and
here I was at work. Snuck in a small ride midweek, just to keep the tush in
shape don't'cha know. Doc Steve arrived Thursday night from Fayetteville, and
soon after that it was time for bed. Bikes were ready and packed, weather
forecast was for Good to Superb, and routes were decided on. Trish wanted to
ride her own ride, do some back roads on the way. Doc Steve and I had planned to
meet Fowler in Hickory, but he was deep into a volts shortage by way of a failed
coil. We met Charlie and Julie in Mocksville and headed for TWO, much
disappointed but not as much as Fowler, who wanted to go last year but felt his
experience was insufficient. We were intent on making the Pisgah Inn on the Blue
Ridge Parkway by lunch time, there to meet the DC and Northeast contingents.
It's a tradition, see. A landslide had closed part of the BRP so we had to slog
through Asheville and a bit of motorcycle-unfriendly Rt 23 through Enka before
getting onto NC151, which eventually becomes quite entertaining as it climbs the
mountain's flank in the tradition of such things. Even got to ride that happy
confluence of curves and inclines in the complete absence of 4-wheeled
stink-bugs, most of which are piloted by decent human beings but who are not
welcome when it's time to lean
the bike, apply throttle,
and grin. To those who have been blooded on Hwy 180, 151 is much like that.
At the top was the Blue Ridge Parkway, even less trafficked because of the
closure and thus pleasant indeed. On arrival at the Inn, there were anonymous
motorcycles to be seen but no VX's with smiling friends aboard. We discussed it
for a long microsecond, then decided to eat instead of waiting. I hoped Trish
was OK, because she was on her own. Just as lunch was winding down, there
arrived Jim Chen, Clark Ball, Bill Lawrence, and Tom Baldauf. It appeared that
Glen F. had suffered an electrical problem and was in the midst of a repair
odyssey. I have long warned Glen that he had a perfectly good VX to ride and
that the GS650 was just bad karma, so felt he deserved to be stranded. Just too
many cylinders, too many carburetors, and not enough cylinder angle. Perhaps
Glen feels that Della's ownership of a VX covers him as well. OK, it does, but
tell that to a GS stator.
The barrister-led contingent soon left with the NC wobblers and headed off
down the BRP, but the NC group soon warmed the tires left 'em behind. It's too
beautiful on the BRP to hammer down it without looking around, but the ones
who've seen the sights before tend to take advantage and focus on the road. Hope
Jim and associates had a pleasant ride, and took time to stop and smell the
sights.
The NC riders re-entered the real world at US23, headed toward Franklin and
the scenic mountain crossing on US64. Left on East Vineyard (old 64, takes you
back 40 years) when the mountain faded into flats, down to Lake Chatuge and the
Georgia border, then through Hiawassee, Rt 75 to 180, 180 to TWO, yee-haaaaa. No
Trish, but I had not expected her. A pretty sight it was, VX's to the horizon in
the parking lot and old friends to greet and shake hands with. Brian and Giselle
soon arrived, as did the DC group. A pleasant surprise awaited: Hugh Bisco. No
Fowler, no way to know if he would shuffle off his mortified coil and find his
way but knowing him, it would come to pass. He did arrive about 9:00, cold and
less than enamored of a dark, twisty, unfamiliar road that did have one
redeeming feature: it got him to TWO.
The Cavalcade that pulled in just before dark contained our list owner,
Farokh, after a short jaunt from NY. His mount was forgiven him in view of his
ownership of a VX.
The ride home on Sunday started late as I could make it, partly because it
was COLD. We watched VX'rs heading out, some for long distances, and envied 'em
all. They were going places we had never been. It was about 60 deg. at departure
time, 1:30 pm, and Brian, Fowler, Doc Steve, Trish and I hit the road. The
Keefes had decided to take a few extra days and properly celebrate their
anniversary, and put in some miles in Tennessee.
Over 180, perfect conditions, but in no rush this time. There actually IS a
beautiful forest surrounding 180. It was chilly climbing over the mountain on
US64, but we pushed on to Waynesville and stoked the boilers at Arby's. Decided
to do the BRP again and layered up with all we had brought, but it was a chilly
ride. Stopped for coffee and relief about 4:00 in a truck stop sort of place on
I-40 near Black Mountain, tacky gifts and all, and a little Dairy Queen at one
end. Brian captivated the young lady behind the counter, and she was just one
invitation away from jumping on the back and riding off with this suave
stranger. She kept asking him to "say something".
Back on 40, drone drone buffet buffet. Doc Steve and Fowler never
complained, but they were cold the whole time and as daylight faded, they were
still two hours from home. We watched Fowler peel off at NC321 on his way to
Charlotte, couldn't do anything for him but hoped he'd make it before
hypothermia set in. Soon afterward Steve decided to take another route, so we
waved 'bye to him but were later mystified to see his blaze orange bike and
helmet in the mirrors as we got off the Interstate onto 64 east of Statesville.
It was about 8:30 and we knew he had two hours to go, and had to be in surgery
at 7:00 the next morning.
One last stop for gas about 30 miles from warm and quiet, then pulled into
the driveway about 9:40 pm. 330 miles. We thought about all the other riders on
the road and hoped they had arrived home safe. A bit of conversation, then it
was off to bed.