I am Iron Butt (Part 9)

"Buuuurp, flitch, schlup, schlup, schlup", says Phase 1 reluctantly.

"Err, that's no help", says I.

The mile markers to Roanoke are ticking down like the shot clock in an NCAA Final 4 cinderella game, and I needed to pick my shot.  I was nursing a lead but my opponent was showing signs of life.  Computers usually help me out of these kind of binds.  Teetering above my tiger  there was no hope of that familiar crutch helping now.  Phone a friend wasn't an option.  Even if phone a friend was an option, I would have gotten a "My suggestion is to have a PBR and find a 24 hr strip club" in response.  I was alone on this fools errand.  I guess that's the whole point.  Can you keep your shit together in good times and bad?  Not a bad lesson to be learned regardless of the final grade.

Phase 1 had been in solid hibernation now for almost 5 hours.  It was as slow to awaken as it was this morning in the confines of my shower.  Irish Spring hadn't made much of a dent. Flashing dotted centerlines and wind-noise wasn't helping the rejuvenation process at the moment.  Come on buddy, you can do it.  I could really use some help here.  What the heck am I supposed to do?

Two diametrically opposed options were on the table. "Plan your ride, ride your plan" or "Improvise, Modify, Adapt and Overcome"? I always found it fascinating that the latter is attributed to the United States Marine Corps.  Military organizations for 3,000 years have been founded on the principles of do what you are told, when you are told, how you are told according to a strict chain of command. Leap without looking. My old man and brother were both US Navy men and knew this chain well.  My father floated above the seas and my brother below. The battlefields of Gettysburg, to which I passed so closely this morning, and countless other stretches of farm land in this great state where my current journey has led me have seen 100's of thousands of my forefathers meet their end in this way both for and against this Union.  The Lee-Jackson Highway which I passed this morning was a good attempt to keep their memories alive, but a paltry reward in comparison to the price paid by the men who served under them. History seems to canonize the Atilla's, Green Mountain Boys, George Washington , Erwin Rommel and his arch nemesis and my own personal hero, Gen. G.S. Patton. All had a knack for improvisation and were attuned to the art of guerrilla tactics.   When the global fan starts spinning out of control due to some poopie buildup on the blades, who gets called?  The Marines who honorably wear the Stars and Bars of their fathers.  Thank you to all who serve, regardless of branch, or flag, so I, and your countrymen and women, can undertake silly journeys of 1000 miles in 24 hours on their motorcycle.

I digress... but I am the author so suck it.

I needed to pull off of this ribbon of quandary my tax dollars have subsidized, and Improvise, Modify, Adapt and Overcome.  Good to have you back old friend.  Decision made.

Roanoke traffic was building, but I could dutifully keep to the speed limit or just below as I steamed through.  Not so bad, minor crisis averted.  I need some grub and a plan for the daddy mac.

I leave the city limits of Roanoke without incident and begin to see the signs for my current terror as I look for an exit where I can get a McBurrito.  Blacksburg, VA serves as the gateway to hell, and 81 has become my solid version of Styx.  In the distance I catch a glimpse of the first big 8x6 ft square orange roadside trailer that the DOT uses to let travelers know they are screwed beyond all recognition.  I had 3 miles to my exit and now I am stuck in the left lane with JB Hunt's finest to my right.  I need to see this sign to aid in my planning stop and make this nightmare a reality I can dissect with facts, not fears.  The GPS affixed to my handlebars will set the mark for max speed for the trip at this juncture.  I apologize to the LEO community for what I have done, it only lasted about 10 seconds.  Err, it wasn't me, I'm holding it for a friend? Just between you and I, that Kenworth didn't have a snowball's chance...

As I clear the fender of the Kenworth and make my calculations to get over to the right I see it.  I blink my eyes and shake my head to be sure what I think I saw is actually there and not some mirage of fatigue.  The message remained the same.

NO BLASTING TODAY.  NO BLASTING TODAY it screamed in 900 font every 4 seconds in all of its amber glory. A message conveyed as eloquently as Kate Smith belting out God Bless America.  I was 7 years old and still remember Kate's performance on UHF like it was yesterday.  That started a losing streak for my Flyers which continues to this day.  As I type this today, the message from that Virgina Department of Transportation sign is my most vivid of the trip, by a mile.   I was wound up tighter than a banjo for the last hour or 2, time no longer matters except for 02:36 tomorrow which was just a hair over 18 hours away. The pressure release delivered by that sign was tremendous.

I screamed back at that most beautiful of inanimate objects.  Pretty much...well...EXACTLY like Henry Hill in the Shower in Goodfellas .  I didn't look at myself in my mirrors, but I can guarantee that's what my facial expression looked like as I rounded that Kenworth's  fender.

After all the worrying, I decide to delay the breakfast stop and get through the construction before the sign changed its mind.  I never did cut that Kenworth off and good thing too as my mind was where it should be to mess with that much iron.  I had enough gas to make it to Bristol, now that I wouldn't waste it in neutral.  The construction was really a site to behold.  They were taking a pretty good sized mountain they had cut through to lay the original road and were widening it another 20-30 yards.  Caterpillar had some serious profits on the books from this job.  There were massive yellow vehicles swarming everywhere, but the lanes were clear and it's all I cared about.

At 08:55 I found my McBurrito and a cup of pansy-ass decaf in Dublin VA, mile marker 96.  I felt fantastic as I lubed the chain on the tiger who was running without a hitch, as it has done for the last 8 months and 10,000 miles.  How the PO only put 5K on her in 4 years I don't know, he was pretty busy farkeling though.  His loss and my gain.  At McDonalds, there was a guy riding across country on his bicycle. He covered in religious prison tattoos, and his bike trailer covered in "Jesus Saves" signs.  I was curious about what made this dude tick, but sensed there was no hope it would be a 2 minute conversation.  His iron was tougher than mine I am sure and I wish him luck.

After a 20 minute respite and some bodily fuel only, then it was back at it.  Get busy living, or get busy dieing were some pretty famous words uttered by Red in Shawshank Redemption.  Today I was choosing to live, and live on my own terms.  No one will care if I make it or fail miserably. Today, only I care about the outcome and that was enough.

As I merged back on to southbound 81, I sensed the half-way turnaround was now well within my sites.  Bristol, TN is just over the border  I tried to temper the foolish sense of invincibility that was growing inside me to no avail.  I had no idea what the rest of this adventure had in store for me today, but I relished the opportunity to experience it.

"Southbound" by the Allman Brothers was the song stuck in my head most of the morning, guiding me down the highway in dark and in light.  I missed a lot of classes in college and more than a few days of work seeing them more than 50 times in concert over the years.  I just put an acoustic version of those sweet sounds on now to put me back in the moment of this incredible (for me) journey to allow me to finish this installation of the story, while remembering both periods of my life with great fondness.

Giddy up.