Thursday, January 12     The rain never let up as I sat in Denny's yesterday after coming to my senses by spending a night on the front stoop. As I was looking over the maps though, an older gentleman in the next booth must have noticed the bike outside the window dripping wet, looked at me, all wet, my, we match!     "I used to ride too," he said with a far off smile, "my wife and I in the 1950's. Had to give it all up though. Kids and family..." He took a sip of his iced tea with no lemon, paused for a moment, then continued. "We had some real adventures riding back then. It wasn't like it is today on that fancy machine you've got... but boy did we have some adventures..." Then he went back to his iced tea, no lemon, with a far off smile and a renewed warm look upon his face.     As I paid for the meal, the young kid behind the counter taking my money looked through the rain at the bike and then at me.     "Is that your motorcycle?" He asked and I replied that it was. "I used to have a dirt bike but I broke my arm on it and mom made me sell it."     I replied that I had broken a bone on a bike too. My brothers and I had put an enduro tire on an old Honda standard and used it as a dirt bike around our farm. One time I wiped the bike out and it landed on my right leg. Now 4 bikes and 7 years later here I am touring around the United States on one. His face spells wonder as he takes my money. He asks what happened after the leg healed.

"As soon as my busted leg mended, I hopped back on that 'ole Honda. My brothers and I rode it into the ground," I said to him smiling. Then holding my maps in one hand, helmet in the other, I turned and walked out into the pouring rain.     After tugging on my yellow rainsuit, which is never easy when it's already raining, I fire up the bike and let it idle in the rain. Steam rises from the motor and mufflers as everything heats up.     The gulf coast turns out to be only 15 minutes away. An arced bridge appeared, up and over the channel that is the coastal waterway. A blast of wind and rain slammed into me as I crested the bridge and rode into Surfside Beach. There it was, the Gulf of Mexico. One more ocean that mine eyes have seen.

My rainy arrival at the Gulf Coast

I rode the bike out on to the beach. Salty waves pummeled the shore. Wind roared over cresting waves as I leaned into the sea, and canted my head into the wind. What a glorious feeling! I wanted to do like Christopher Columbus and drop to my knees in the sand, taste the salt, roll in the surf, and stare into the falling sky eyes ablaze. Instead, I just shut the bike off and laughed to myself sticking my tongue out to taste the rain. I peeled off my helmet long enough to snap a picture to record my landing on the southerly edge of the United States. There wasn't another person in sight.     I decide to drive up the coast awhile, east as good a heading as any. Galveston Island presents an entirely new scene. All the houses are on stilts at least 8 to 10 feet off the ground. Some of the houses are modern and new. Others are just tattered graying boards clinging desperately to frames sitting over idle ponds of stale water.     The temperature was around 50 degrees. I go without gloves to avoid getting them soaked, sorry, don't have any rain covers. This keeps my gloves dry tucked away in the hard bags but the rain hits my hands and travels up my wrists to my clothing underneath the rain suit. Drips fell off the back of the helmet and hit my neck as I pulled my scarf tighter. Even with the rain suit, I get wet in this downpour.     The road trails right at the very edge of the coast and the crashing waves are a few feet away. Spotting a good picture, I pull over and hop off the bike parking it along the road. Rain is still falling and the wind is blowing gusty blasts from the sea. I think I can snap a quick one before everything is soaked.

Headed into Galveston, Texas in the pouring rain.

The very first car that passes by stops to see if I am all right. It's a Caravan and a fatherly looking man pokes out his head.     "Is everything ok? Do you need any help?" He asks.     "No," I say walking up to his window, "but thanks for stopping, just taking a picture."     "Oh, well you never know, nasty weather we're having, especially to get stuck out here," he says looking at me then up at the dark gray clouds then at the pounding surf to his left. He drives on and the next car slows but doesn't stop as I search for just the right angle. Then the next car stops and the gentleman inside asks if I'm all right. I better get out of here or I will have the entire town coming out ensuring my safety. With a grin I assure the driver all is well. Rather friendly people.     As I reach the middle of the island, I come to a toll bridge at San Luis Pass. As I climb the long arcing path of the bridge, I discover that below is a wide open expansive beach and beyond that only the crashing waves. In the spirit of picture taking, I turn around to pull out onto the beach. The sand of the beach is hard packed from the rain so the bike glides along. I look for a spot and the right angle against the boiling sea.     I find a small dune and place it between the tires so the kickstand will sink in but the bike will stay upright. It works and the bike balances. I hop off careful not to upset it and step back. No good, I think. Doesn't look right. Mounting the bike, I'm careful starting off not to spin the rear tire. That would be a disaster. Then I would need the townspeople to rescue me. I circle around to come in from the other direction. I'm not careful enough though and the front wheel plows, down the bike plops into the sand.     It balances at an angle on the crash bars that protect the bike from things like this so I hop off, plant my feet, and grunt the bike up. I suppose any touring purist would be aghast at me dumping the bike but bikes come and go, the picture lasts forever. I dump it two more times circling around looking for the right angle and dune. Finally I get it right, hop off the bike and decide there's too little light since it is now dusk. So I didn't get either picture.     While riding through Galveston, I've decided this would be an interesting place to live, on an island along the gulf coast. Because of the storm, I decide to get a room for the night since there is no way I can sleep out in this weather. I can't even feel my hands anymore. The rushing wind and rain have slowly sucked out all their warmth. So upon finding an inexpensive motel at the water's edge, I settle in chatting with the mom and pop couple that run the place.     They're curious where I'm from and where in the world could I be heading in this weather. They seem surprised at the motorcycle parked outside the front window. The bike just sits there, steam rolling off the motor in the steady rain. After all, this is January. They tell me a little about the island. It's 32 miles long and only 2 miles wide at it's widest point. There's a couple cool museums here and even an off-shore oil rig. Lotsa retired people round here.     They hand me a portable heater to help dry my things. They also say there is an unusually large cold front coming down from the north that's expected to reach quite far south into America's midsection. Not much I can do about that. So I don't give it a second thought. Just as long as it doesn't rain I feel confident.     Nothing could be worse than this last Monday out in New Mexico. I am amazed still at the temperature the other day. 22 degrees? Nothing could be as much of a hardship as that was.     I've settled into the spartan little room here, and I can see the storm on the weather channel. Hopefully it'll be gone by morning. The weatherman seems to be as confident as I am. I also see the cold front good 'ole mom and pop were talking about. Seems that where I am originally from up in Wisconsin, temperatures are in the single digits.      It can't get that bad, not this far south.

Galveston Island, Texas to  Conecuh National Forest, Alabama    Day 1     Day 2    Day 3    Day 4    Day 5    Day 6    Day 7    Day 8

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