Kenansville FL – Dawsonville GA
Fri April 20 – Sat April 21
(~950 miles)

I awoke in Kissimmee with my alarm, after perhaps 5 hours of sleep, and quickly dressed and packed the bike, grabbing a half cup of coffee from the hotel lobby. Filled the water jug with ice and water for the day and headed south for Kenansville, following Canoe Creek Road out of St. Cloud, which parallels the Florida Turnpike. It was still dark and extremely foggy on the back roads and the ride down was punctuated with deer carcasses on the side – a vivid reminder of the local hazzards and to keep my speed reasonable. The fog was thick enough at times to force me down to under 30mph, unable to see 50 feet ahead.

The Kenansville Country Store had appeared on the maps as the only real retail establishment anywhere near the big starting bonus in that town, so I was only mildly surprised to see another rider already there with about T minus 30 minutes to go. We introduced ourselves and others began to arrive immediately thereafter. Brian, who was on a BMW with a sidecar attached, confirmed that the receipts in the store were accurate, but there were none at the pumps and they only had low-octane fuel anyway. I was glad I had filled the tank the night before in Kissimmee.

When I saw Canadian Wolfe Bonham ambling over, I did a double-take. And here I thought I had done a long staging ride to get here…he’d come down from Ontario with Robin and a small contingent of rally riders from above the border!

His explanation: “Well, this is where the points were.”  Well played, sir! I made some cracks about Canucks being unable to resist coming to Florida, and we all chatted a bit while watching the clock countdown. In all, I’d guess there were 8-10 riders who started there in Kenansville.

At T minus 8 or so, riders began gathering in the store, some with helmets on already, some small item of food or candy in hand to purchase as soon as the hour struck 07:00. The locals stopping in for their morning gas or coffee didn’t know what to make of all these space-suited invaders in their store, and they opened the register at the deli to cash out those poor folks. I grabbed some mints and waited patiently in line. When our cell phones showed the time had arrived, Wolfe was first to cash out and waved his receipt at us, “It’s on!”

The poor cashier did a good job cashing us out quickly and my fear of her running out of register paper proved unfounded. My receipt was stamped 7:01 and I shuffled quickly outside to process the receipt properly according to the rally book and get on my way. Looking now at the 73 degree temp readout, I did not regret my starting location choice for another second!

The first bonus was right around the corner at the Heartbreak Hotel (yes, of Elvis Presley fame).

With the first bonus bagged and emailed to the rally staff, time to head south to bang a right at Yeehaw Junction (couldn’t wait to use that name in the blog) and make the long run across Florida to Tampa. However, just a mile or two down US 441, a paving crew was just setting up shop for the day with one lane only and a flagman was there to prevent any further progress. I pulled up next to Wolfe in the lane and switched off the bike. We chatted a bit and danced in our pants for what ended up being about a 20 minute delay just a few minutes into the rally. Stress factor!

Finally, we were allowed to proceed and we took off like bullets, passing the few cars that had been ahead of us at the stop. I had planned a very tight route time-wise, with hopes of bagging a daylight-only bonus in Georgia that Basecamp predicted I wouldn’t see until an hour past sunset. I twisted my wrist a bit more and waved to Wolfe, knowing we’d see each other again on the route but needing to get my average speed back up as quickly as possible.

My wildcard bonus research had turned up a Jackson Street in Bartow FL, but somehow I missed adding the waypoint to my route and passed on by that town, only realizing the mistake later on. The next wildcard I’d found was a big Corvette dealership off I-4 in Plant City. I pulled in and saw this beauty right along the driveway into the dealership. About a two minute stop.

I pushed on along I-4 to Tampa, where I managed to navigate a some one-way streets successfully in the light post-rush traffic. Found a spot to park across from the pedestrian park and jogged in a couple hundred yards to find this historical marker sign.

As I did the paperwork back at my bike, I saw Wolfe ride by, then Robin pulled in behind me and looked around. I pointed her in the right direction as a friendly gesture and she returned it by mentioning that there was a Jackson Street right around the block. Thanks!

Jackson Street turned out to be right along my route to the next bonus in the city, but I might not have looked up to see it if I wasn’t clued in first.

In a few more blocks, I located the statue of John Lennon strolling amongst the palm trees at the Barrymore Hotel by the Performing Arts Center.

I quickly navigated onto I-275 out of the city to I-75 for the blast north to Ocala. I pulled in to the Drag Racing museum, where I saw Wolfe yet again, catching up on his paperwork. I pulled a U-ey, got the required photo of the jet (which was drag-raced on the deck of an aircraft carrier by professional racer Don Garlits), noted the time/ODO and was on my way in a minute or so.

In Ocala proper, I exited I-75 and headed northwest on US 27 to the small town of Bronson FL to pay respects at the grave of Bo Diddley. I spent a little too much time at this one, because I entered the cemetery at the first entrance I saw, trying to find the exact waypoint coordinates. Another 50 feet along the road would have brought the gravestone into sight, right on a hill by the road under a nice shade tree. Wolfe pulled in just as I was leaving the site.

The next stop was to the northeast in Jacksonville, at the high school attended by the band members of Lynyrd Skynyrd. Apparently, the band was named to poke fun at their high school gym teacher. I had some trouble finding a level parking spot on the road on the same side as the school, so ended up pulling a U-ey to park directly across. Funny enough (funny queer, not ha-ha), I found out later Wolfe parked where I did, but still had a tip-over.

I pulled in for a fuel stop at the end of the street and saw Wolfe go buzzing by toward the school. That would be the last I would see of him during the rally.

Now it was a blast north on I-95 into Georgia, with a stop in former ship-building hub, Brunswick. The Liberty Ship Memorial is in a nice little park by the water. These cargo vessels were apparently used during WWII with no identifying names or markers painted, to help avoid outright attacks by the enemy at sea.

I continued north and grew concerned when 95 began to look like a parking lot approaching Savannah. With only a couple miles before my exit, I forced myself to be patient while losing precious minutes. At a half-mile to go, I took the breakdown lane to the exit and didn’t feel bad about it at all. Readers may recall my last foray into Savannah resulting in no small amount of frustration and lost time. Luckily, today was NOT St. Patrick’s day and the good weather continued to hold out so it was a much easier sortie than back in March. Still a lively city, with lots of folks out and about, the lack of roadblocks and gridlock allowed me to get in to the center of the city with little trouble, and I pulled over to snag the required photo of the Bay Street Blues blue moon signage.

I zoomed west out of Savannah on I-16 to 95 for one more exit, and hit the suburb of Bloomingdale to snag this bonus at a music shop. This instrument craftsman has made guitars for many famous axe-wielders including Elvis and Eric Clapton.

I-16 would carry me further westward toward Macon, with a stop in Statesboro GA in recognition of the famous song “Statesboro Blues”. I had my GPS searching for nearest “Radio Station” in hopes of locating an official station van for the wildcard bonus, but nothing ever popped up that seemed within reasonable distance from my route.

I pushed on toward Macon, which would be my turning point north and the start of a large half-circle around the Atlanta area, following a trail of bonuses. Though I was making good time while moving, I never fully recovered that 20 minutes from the early morning flagman stop. I knew the daylight bonus in Athens was lost to me, but tried to keep up the pace to ensure I’d have time to hit a complex bonus in Chattanooga the following day.

In Centerville, a southern suburb of Macon, I located this jet plane (“Leaving On a Jet Plane”) by the municipal office complex, almost stopping and going against the GPS when I passed an aviation museum on the way in, which would have wasted precious minutes. After all, how many jet planes do you normally see by the side of the road?

Next stop was in Macon and was a photo of the boyhood home of the Allman Brothers (aka. “the Big House”). Now it is a museum dedicated to the band.

With twilight coming on, I took this opportunity to layer-up to be ready for some cool night riding ahead.

I followed US 129 north from Macon as night gradually fell and the temperatures chilled down a bit. I reached Madison GA after dark and was concerned about the photo requirement of getting yourself in the picture riding a tricycle. I would need not only enough light (which I had pretty well covered) but either a willing passer-by photographer or use of my little portable tripod with timer set appropriately. Remember the number placard must be readable in the photo, which can be hard at night due to glare and color contrasts.

Lucky for me, I pulled up to see another rider with lights blazing finishing up their shot, and it turned out to be a familiar face and ST rider, Ashley, whom I’d met and ridden with at the IBA Jacksonville party last month! We greeted each other and he offered to take my photo. I quickly positioned my bike to add to the virtual daylight being projected onto the industrial-sized tricycle that someone had constructed, and hopped on to do my best track-day leaning impression (without falling off).

Ashley left while I processed the bonus and got moving, rejoining US 129 again for several miles before turning off onto some dark back roads to locate a single-lane covered bridge on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere. Someone had left their rally placard there and perhaps it was that distraction or just the process of setting up the shot in the dark that caused my eventual sadness – for you see, my bike was supposed to be in this photo! For the moment, however, I was blissfully ignorant, so I left the other placard there (per standard courtesy in case the rider were to return looking for it) and continued across the bridge and back out to a main road.

Another 10 miles or so brought me into Athens sometime after 22:00. Someone told me later there had been a big sports event at the university that night, but I must have (luckily) missed the traffic. I didn’t bother looking for the daylight bonus location that I’d missed out on, but proceeded directly to Weaver D’s small cafe in a quiet little corner of the city by the river. The sign on this establishment inspired the album title of REM’s “Automatic for the People”, and I needed a photo of it. Unfortunately, I had my own mishap before being able to get that picture.

I approached the restaurant on a side street slanting downhill to my right. I saw what appeared to be a curb cutaway to the side of the place with brickwork pavement and prepared to lean in to make the right turn into the lot. Too late, I realized it wasn’t a driveway, but just a low sidewalk curb for pedestrians and hit the brakes. Already leaned over and now without momentum and unable to touch ground on the downhill slope, the bike and I tipped over! We landed pretty well, all considered, and I stepped away with my adrenaline starting to pump and thoughts starting to race. A brief glance told me the bike appeared to be well supported by the rear crash guard (SO worth the money) and the front engine guard. None of the plastics appeared to have hit, miraculously, though the right flip-out highway blade had snapped off in the course of protecting the rest of the bike. Now I had a 700+ pound motorcycle, plus probably another 60+ pounds of gear lying downslope, right next to the curb. There was absolutely nobody around.

I got a bit angry, summoned my inner Hulk, and after a couple false starts managed to get the bike upright again, reaching over to put the kickstand down to steady the bike (should have done that BEFORE dummy!) while I walked back around it to the uphill side. I lifted the bike in completely the wrong fashion, using mostly the handlebars, and was lucky not to have snapped them off the bike. As it was, the left side bar-end weight DID break off during this operation. Taking a short breather and scoping out the situation, I managed to roll the bike down to the intersection, around the corner and up onto the sidewalk, which was the only level ground in the immediate vicinity.

I took some time now to catch my breath and stop shaking from the adrenaline, tossing the broken off parts into my saddlebag for later assessment. The left handlebar grip was still on and seemed usable. I got out some duct tape and wadded up a ball of it inside the end of the handlebar, to keep any stray loose pieces in there until I could deal with the matter post-rally. The bike started fine and there still appeared to be nothing interfering with the steering, brakes, or wheels. Satisfied that I could now continue the rally, I turned my attention to the bonus at hand.

I addressed the paperwork and mailed off the photo and carefully rolled the bike backwards down into the street. As I was preparing to mount up, a local strolled up.

“You having trouble with your motorsickle??”

“Yes, well I just had a tip-over.”

“What’s a tip-over?”

Once I made it clear I was OK, the gentleman proceeded to launch into what seemed to be a well-rehearsed monologue about how he was trying to get his GED by selling something that was in a plastic shopping bag in his hand. I couldn’t hear everything he said, as I had earplugs in and my heart was still racing a bit, but I got the gist of what he was trying to do.

“Look man, I’ve been riding my motorcycle for about 15 hours now and I really can’t understand what you’re saying to me right now. I have to go, so good luck.”

He backed off and wished me good evening. I got on the bike and got going as soon as I could, before the “shoe salesman” from Jacksonville could show up (see previous trip).

A mile or so down the road, was the Piggly Wiggly I’d targeted for the wildcard bonus. The lot was completely empty at this hour and I made quick work of this one.

I finally left Athens after what seemed an eternity, the sweat from my unexpected workout still cooling me down. My path took me northeast on SR 72 to the hamlet of Dewey Rose GA, to the Stonehenge-like guide stones placed there as a tourist attraction. As I entered the gravel parking lot, I saw another rally bike parked with a pillion perched atop. It was a Goldwing and I saw New York plates. It had to be my friends Ken and Felicia…but what the hell were they doing down here in Georgia when my wife had told me earlier they were scooping up bonuses around Virginia?

The bonus scatter had a huge void of bonuses across North Carolina and I hadn’t spotted any efficient-looking routes that included crossing that wasteland. Knowing Ken’s abilities to put in monster miles to achieve his routes, I was a little concerned that I had missed something big. And I knew they’d been laid up for almost an hour with a bad starter on the bike and were continuing the rally by keeping the bike running and bump-starting when stopping was absolutely necessary.

Regardless, it was great to come upon them unexpectedly like that in the middle of the night. (Of all the gin joints…)  We exchanged a few words about our intended routes and where we’d be staying that night and realized we’d be on a similar track in the morning, though I intended to go a bit further than them before stopping for my rest bonus. I told them about my tip-over and we said our farewells. They took off while I finished up at the bonus, and I received a call from Ken a few minutes later warning me of a LEO taking cover along the route, so to watch my speed. Encounters like this and the one with Ashley earlier are extremely refreshing and help stave off the mental and emotional fatigue that comes after a long day in the saddle.

I navigated the back roads and found my way to SR 17 in Bowersville, which brought me northwest to the next bonus in Toccoa, where James Brown apparently served prison time and did community service by entertaining military troops who arrived by train at this station.

Now after midnight, I wasn’t really in the most observant frame of mind. This was unfortunate, as I was told later that if I had just turned around and looked across the street there was a radio station with a logo’d van parked right there! Oh well.

I continued on SR 17 northwest to Helen GA. Though I couldn’t see much in the dark, I knew I was in north Georgia hill country now, from the road twistiness and elevation gains/changes. Arriving in Helen, with it’s Bavarian architecture and brightly lit streets, was a bit surreal and unexpected after having gone through the curvy national forest lands in the wee hours. I knew Ken, Felicia and Ashley all planned to stop here tonight, so I had the roads to myself. I got the required photo of Hofer’s bakery and reversed course back out of town.

I took SR 75 and SR 115 southwest for another 34 miles to my hotel in Dawsonville, punching in for my REST bonus at 01:46. I attempted to start the rest by purchasing a 6-pack of beer for the 6PACK bonus, but the clerk told me in a sympathetic tone that alcohol can only be purchased between certain hours in Georgia. I checked in to my hotel down the road, spent minimal time reviewing my route options for the next day, and got myself to sleep for a glorious full four hour REST.