Ride Diary

Virginia Tidewater Ramble

Once in a while my wife and I arrange to leave town in separate directions. This past weekend she went to visit her cousin in Chicago and I planned a motorcycle trip. Maybe because I grew up in Ohio, I've always been drawn to the mountains or where the land meets saltwater, neither of which Ohio is noted for. The Chesapeake region abounds with an infinite variety of small waterside towns as well as marshes, estuaries and rivers, all connected by rural roads. There's something attractive for me about places where the land runs out and the water begins; maybe I like being on the edge, I don't know. Besides, it's ideal motorcycling territory in my book with lots of open roads and little traffic congestion.

My M.O. in planning these excursions is to pick a point on a map, find a town to stay in, enter a web search, find an inexpensive B&B on the web and call ahead for a room. Virginia has three main peninsulas that adjoin the Bay: the Northern Neck, the Middle Peninsula and the York Peninsula. I decided to explore the Northern Neck and Middle Peninsula, two areas I had not visited before and also I wanted to take in one of the James River plantations. Also, as an architect and architectural historian, I wanted to visit some Colonial churches in the area. I chose the town of West Point for the overnight, called the B&B and got a room. Thoughtfully, I mentioned my mode of transportation to the hostess, so she was forewarned.

So I packed camera, sketchbook and a change of clothes and left after completing my chores. I did the walk around inspection on the bike, strapped down my ersatz touring luggage (a courier bag and gym bag) and slabbed in out of the city and suburbs on I-95 as fast as the Michelins, 747 c.c.s and common sense allowed. Just south of Quantico I picked up some back roads in order to skirt Fredericksburg and then headed for Port Royal, best known for its location near where John Wilkes Booth met his demise. It is a surprisingly intact colonial era village, but it is not gussied up in the Williamsburg fashion. The weather was California perfect: low eighties, low humidity and Kodachrome blue skies.

Sometimes it seems like VDOT wants to four-lane every highway in the state and tamed soporific slab is getting to be standard policy. Fortunately there is a system of through roads numbered in the 600 and 700 series. Many of them are little better than asphaltic cow paths, but a handful are very good motorcycling routes, with shoulders, marked turns, yellow lines and good pavement.

Rt. 721 through King and Queen County is just such a road: smooth, well maintained and virtually without traffic. It joins Va.14, and it too is a great route. This turned out to be the best road of the trip with a nice collection of sweepers, a few 20-30mph turns to keep you on your toes, and fast running through the straight-aways. And it's a long way from Sprawlburbia, so no pesky traffic lights. Anyone passing through this area should definitely check out the forty miles on Rt. 721 and 14 between Sparta and Shacklefords, especially as an alternate to Rt. 17.

My selected overnight destination of West Point is a sleepy town at the confluence of two rivers which form the York River, and the town is dominated by a paper mill. Unfortunately the town's only real restaurant was a crab house that caught fire a few weeks back, so I rode thirty minutes into Williamsburg and ended up eating at the Golden Corral AYCA (all you can eat). Food at this point was a purely utilitarian exercise. Williamsburg is chockablock with commercial establishments and "outlet" stores dedicated to separating tourists from their money and, outside the historic restored core, looks pretty much like the rest of suburban America. The ride back to West Point was very dark and a little spooky. I don't ride much in the country at night--criminy it's dark out here--and I didn't want any up close and personal Bambi encounters. I looked attentively ahead for any legs passing in front of oncoming headlights.

I found the B&B in West Point quiet and comfortable. I like to stay in such places, especially when travelling by myself, in order to meet local people and have conversation. I don't mind riding alone, but I absolutely loath eating by myself. I've found that, unlike in Europe where many people travel solo, in this country you're still treated like a bit of an oddity when you walk into a decent sit-down restaurant by yourself, especially in full leathers. ;) I had a nice chat with the owner and her husband (a sheriff's deputy) over an expansive breakfast. By the time I said goodbye I'm still not sure the proprietress was entirely convinced of my sanity for riding a bike from DC, or living in DC for that matter. She prepared a full Southern breakfast of eggs, ham, grits, fruit, tomatoes, and sweet rolls. I loaded up on calories, not quite sure of what awaited me down the road.

On Sunday morning I visited another Colonial era church, St. Peter's in New Kent County, and then headed south to the James River and Berkeley Plantation. There are a bunch of Colonial plantation houses up the down the river and I only had time to visit one. Union General George B. McClellan made Berkeley his HQ during the Peninsula Campaign of 1862. {Trivia: "Taps" was written and first performed here, by a Yankee bugler.} I expect as an uninvited "guest" McClellan had the pick of the litter and he chose Berkeley, so that was good enough for me in deciding which plantation to visit. A sign on the very rough washboard approach road said the road was designed for 18th-century carriage traffic (and dual sport motorcycles I might add). The presto-chango, parking lot strip tease came next. Zip, zip, pull, pull. Off with the gloves, boots, cordura pants, and jacket. I'm getting more proficient at the costume changes for, unlike Saturday, it was getting too hot and humid to wear any of my riding gear off the bike.

Leaving Berkeley, I got back on Rt. 5 along the James River. This route is another great cruising road with nice long curves to lean into. Area riders must agree, because I passed lots of bikes and exchanges lots of waves heading into Williamsburg.

I pressed on into Yorktown and then north on Rt. 17, and encountered way too much stop and go baked asphalt. This stretch is probably the worse part of the trip. It's taking forever getting through here and there's a toll backup too. "2 axles" - this is a pet peeve. Why do the toll booth signs say "two axles" when referring to cars? Someone needs to point out to them that motorcycles are the only two-axle vehicles on the roads these days. Most cars and horseless carriages have not had two axles since about 1907. It's very hard to steer a four wheeled two-axle vehicle.

I pushed on to visit Christ Church in Lancaster, at the southern tip of the Northern Neck. It was one of my main objectives for the trip and it is an absolute knockout, although perhaps my response was augmented by hunger and thirst. Still, for me it's one of the top-ten awe inspiring buildings in America.

The Northern Neck is dotted with very small towns, which are charming at one level, but they do present some touristic limitations, principally the preponderance of mom and pop restaurants and Sunday closings. I was very hungry by this point (the grits and ham had worn off) and there were several tantalizing barbecue and crab joints in the town of Kilmarnock, all closed. ARRGH. You could starve to death out here on the Sabbath. If you see a good restaurant that's open, stop there, don't pass it up. I had to settle for a pre-packaged convenience store sandwich. Yum.

After Kilmarnock I didn't stop once in the Northern Neck and I found the roads a bit dull, maybe it's because I was getting tired and wanted to get home.

I turned north on US 301 to use the "Gov. Nice Bridge" over the Potomac that serves as the back door to the Nation's Capital. I can't believe the State of Maryland has the audacity to charge a toll for this two-lane bumper-to-bumper relic. Luckily, the toll is collected southbound only, so not much traffic back up for me. Stopping at the rest stop just north of the bridge, I heard "angry bees" in the distance, the sure sign of squids on the move. After being passed by one pack, I encountered another group of said squids going north on 301, decked out in regulation tee shirt and shorts. Maybe the word's gotten out that mild mannered guys wearing full leathers on UJM's are cops in disguise, because these guys held it to the double-nickel around me. After a couple of back roads and a ride up 295 into DC and I was home.

Lessons learned: get real touring luggage (wearing a heavy courier bag was killing my back and shoulders), pack windshield cleaner (bugs are everywhere and the crappy gas station window cleaner is dirty and no good for a Plexiglas windshield), avoid fatigue (if you're debating getting off the bike for a break, opt for the safe course, especially if you have no clear recollection of having ridden the last several miles), and fight dehydration (drink water lots of water at stops). In the case of the latter, I'm thinking about a Camelback that bicyclists use. It makes taking a sip of water easy without taking off the helmet. To help with the leg fatigue, stand up on the pegs (only at low speed), or stick your legs straight out. It ensures funny looks from passersby and stretches your muscles. Oh, and watch out for those "tar snakes" that they use to seal cracks in the road. Those things are slippery in the heat.

It was a great trip at some 430 miles in all. The Nighthawk performed flawlessly, of course, although the pilot was dog tired at the end.