It was 1974 or there about, the Age of Aquarius had already
dawned, those of us boys that could wore our hair long, the rest of us were envious.
I fell into the envious group, still at school and subject to school rules, an
inch above the collar and no lock to touch the ears, my standing in the cool
group was at an all-time low. I attended a strict boarding school, bit of a
borstal in fact, that brooked no shit at all, beatings were as regular as
clockwork and more often than not administered by a prefect. Happily getting
buggered was not… it was not that sort of school. Mike, on the other hand suffered from none of
these drawbacks, he had long blond hair that hung down to his shoulders, was
gainfully employed, owned a car and a motorcycle. He was also my elder sister’s
boyfriend, the coolest guy I knew and a definite departure from the bad choices
in men my sister had been exercising up to that point in time. The motorcycle
was indeed the quintessential bike of the era, a 650 cc Triumph Bonneville that
he had built up from a scrapped bike with love, care and attention to detail.
It was the sort of machine that, had he kept it, would have been worth a small
fortune to a serious collector today. It was the first bike that I ever rode
on, passenger only, I hung onto that pillion for dear life as Mike carved
through the twisties of the Magaliesburg Mountains on a breakfast run one
Sunday morning during a school holiday.
Mike - still a cool guy
Today, forty odd years later Mike is still a cool guy and
still has more hair than I have, which does not say much because I’m a natural
bald – to be honest his is considerably thinner and wispier than the long
blonde locks of yore. He and my sister were married before I finished high
school and shortly after that happy event they moved to Hong Kong. We have
spent most of our adult lives with only sporadic contact, sometimes years have
passed with no more than a telephone conversation or two. Many, many gallons of
water have passed under the bridge since that breakfast run in the Magaliesburg
Mountains, but finally I get to repay the favor. Circumstances have brought us
to the same continent and time zone for a few weeks, so we decided to meet-up
in Savannah Georgia, which is how, right now, he is riding behind me on the
passenger seat of a rented Harley Davidson Softail Heritage.
You can say whatever you like about Harley Davidson, but if
you are going to ride two-up on a motorcycle and you are two sizable guys, a
large Harley is definitely the bike to do it on. The stock Harley 103 cubic
inch v-twin motor has enough torque to plow a corn field and plenty of horses,
so there is absolutely no problem with the hardware we are riding. The software
is perhaps not quite as good as it once was and mounting the bike for both of
us is an inelegant affair, I had to take care not to kick Mike in the balls as
I contorted myself to get my leg over the saddle whilst minimizing the pain in
my (slightly) arthritic hips .The first few slow maneuvers to get onto the route, which includes doing a
few U-turns, are admittedly quite ropey, getting used to a different center of
gravity takes a bit of practice, but as soon as we get going and the power of
the bike puts me in control, I start to feel more confident and comfortable.
Not only does the Softail deliver considerable brute force and the sheer amount
of steel gives it stability, it really is a high spec machine – ABS brakes,
cruise control, fuel gauge as well as miles to empty indicator. On the comfort
side the seat is as easy on the ass as any seat I’ve ridden on, Mike claims
that the passenger seat is not too bad either, but perhaps he is just saying
that to make me feel better about his ordeal, and it does have a backrest. The
bike has a pair of roomy black leather panniers that on this trip are nearly
empty, but would be very useful on a longer trip, or if I owned this machine
I’d fill them with the junk I like to carry on a ride. Thank goodness it of
course does have a windshield; I am a total whoopsy where windshields are
concerned – it is a must have. The suspension is excellent and despite the
weight hasn’t bottomed out over any of the bumps we have traversed, oh yes, no
false neutrals, not a single one – I really like that. This actually is a very
easy bike to ride.
The first few miles are not entirely what you would call
picturesque, it is typical of the outskirts of any North American city, even
one as lovely as Savannah, cookie cutter strip malls, car dealerships and ugly
warehousing. We are heading south down USA highway 17 to Jekyll Island, just
south of Brunswick. Mike is doing a course at the Gulf Steam facility in
Savannah which has kept him occupied until two in the afternoon which is why
I’ve chosen a route that I expect will get us home before nightfall.
Fortunately, the scenery improves quite quickly, soon we are riding through
marshy plains. Rivers, both small and large meander through the marches that
are covered in tall reeds or grasses. I assume that as summer gets going these
will change from grey to green, which probably improves the view... still it is
pleasing enough on the eye. The Savannah River traverses just such plains on its
route from Savannah Harbor to the Atlantic Ocean, so when you look across the
plain to a ship sailing up the river you get the illusion of a ship sailing
through the reeds. The route we are on, however, is more the province of small
pleasure craft and we pass several little lakes with boat houses and jetties. This
is not an area that I would gladly take a swim in and definitely wouldn’t walk the
Dachshund through, I suspect that it is well and truly infested with ‘gators.
Not that I have any issue with alligators, they were here long before us so I
wish them well, will not buy shoes made from their skins, but I will give them
a considerable wide berth.
The road is very straight, it’s a bit disappointing as there
are so few twisties, but that is the nature of the area, it is flat so when
engineers build roads there is no motivation to add a bunch of curves, a
lamentable tendency not to consider the motorcycle fun factor and focus only on
the cost of building the road. As a break from the marshy reed plains we do get
to ride through some forest. There are a lot of pine plantations, but some
patches of deciduous forest remain. Here the new leaves are making a light
green appearance. It is mid-March, at least six weeks ahead of the schedule that
the forests of Southern Ontario are following, but then it is 26 degrees Celsius
here and people are wearing shorts and T-shirts, back home it is still overcoat
weather.
We make our first stop in the little town of Eulonia at the
Piggly Wiggly, yes for all the fans of ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ not privileged to
visit the South, there actually is a chain of grocery stores called Piggly
Wiggly. We park under a massive oak tree, liberally hung with Spanish moss,
dismount with all the dignity we managed when getting on, and buy a couple of
Coke Zeros and sugar free Red Bulls which we suck down our patched throats – it
has been a warm afternoon ride so far.
Next stop Jekyll Island.
Piggly Wiggly and Oak tree we parked under
View from Piggy Wiggly
It isn’t long before we pass through the western side of
Brunswick, not hugely attractive with the main feature being a large factory
with a smoke stack that belches a constant belch of white smoke, it smells like
a paper mill, but I’m not quite sure. I know that the town has a whole lot more
to offer, with pretty squares in an old town center and the several islands
attached to it are serious tourist attractions, but that smelly smoke stack
does detract form it’s many virtues. A
short way beyond the town we cross over a lovely graceful suspension bridge.
Americans certainly know how to build bridges and as you know, if you have been
following this blog, that I love bridges, especially suspension bridges. This
one is a decent height to allow for shipping to reach the Port of Brunswick a
few miles inland along the oddly named ‘Fancy Bluff Creek’ which is no mere
creek at all, but a sizable piece of water. We get a glimpse of a great view as
we cross, but there is just no place to stop. Memo to bridge building engineers,
would it add that much to the cost to make a few lookout points where a chap
can stop and admire the view and your brilliant work? Shortly after crossing the bridge we turn
right to Jekyll Island.
Along the USA Highway 17
There is a $6 toll to get in which is fine, only we are not
planning to stay long, possibly just long enough to have an early supper before
heading back the way we came. I’m not entirely sure what I had hoped to find,
perhaps something a little more rustic, maybe a seaside village like Tybee on
Tybee Island close to Savannah, with little greasy spoon diners, bistros and
shops that sell beach crap like belly boards, postcards and flip flops – I like
that sort of thing though I wouldn’t actually buy that stuff. Instead Jekyll
Island is very upmarket, manmade and a little clinical, it’s nice for sure, but
just not what we are looking for. We stop and take walk around, mosey onto the
beach which is pretty empty.
Tybee Island
Best T-shirt ever - don't know why I didn't buy it
Mike mentions that he spotted an interesting place
a few miles before the bridge that we could have supper at, it sounds like the
sort of place that would suit my mood. The Marshside Grill turns out to be a
pleasant, busy, noisy place that serves good food at reasonable prices. I have
fish and chips, which is grouper, washed down with copious glasses of diet
coke, no Scotch for me, no sir, not while riding a motorcycle. We eat inside,
although there is a verandah overlooking a river which looks pleasant, already
the midges are becoming a nuisance, I bet the mosquitoes here are something
awful in summer. While we eat I notice that the sun is setting at an alarming rate
so chivvy the proceedings along a bit. I want to minimize the distance that we
will ride in the dark. It’s the critters
I’m worried about, nocturnal forest animals, I’m not sure if skunks are common
here, but I’m sure raccoons and coyotes are plentiful. Hitting one of these
creatures would probably undo us in a spectacular way. The wrath of my elder
sister for returning Mike in a less than pristine condition does not bear
thinking about.
In the end I drop Mike off at his hotel in one piece, we rode
the last third of the distance in the dark, but without incident. I ride the
final few miles to my hotel, a little closer to downtown Savannah, but still
outside the area that would be classified as the historic center of town. I’m
booked into a crappy Days Inn hotel/motel and lucky to be there, Savannah is
busting at the seams with visitors. This is March break and St. Patrick’s day
week to boot. Savannah is the second most popular city for this drunken street
party in America, second only to Chicago, apparently bigger even than Boston,
this is a piss-up that goes on all week. I wonder what St. Patrick, a sober
character by all accounts, would have thought about this boozy annual
celebration in his name that takes place more than a millennium and a half
after his death, on a continent that hadn’t even been imagined by the Irish
people he had supposedly converted to Christianity. I guess most of what he is
thought to have done is more modern myth than real history, certainly he did
not banish snakes from Ireland and did no better than anyone else to shoehorn a
polytheistic doctrine into a monotheistic mold…. and he wasn’t even Irish at
all.
Party gearing up for lift off - time to get outa there - River Street Savannah, St Patrick's Day week
