I'm pleased to present a new post by Dylan Waugh, Janice's son. Here he shares the story of a recent solo motorcycle trip from Toronto, Ontario to Flint, Michigan – in perhaps greater detail than his Mom needed to hear.
If there are four horsemen of the motorcycle enthusiast’s apocalypse they would be: Rain, Wind, Debris, and Grooved Roads. This trip had all four, sometimes at the same time.
Usually, I would preface a story like this with, “Don’t tell my mother,” but I’m pretty sure Tracey is going to rat me out when she edits this, so I guess that cat’s out of the bag and I’ll take my talkin’ to.
It started with a text from the captain/coach of my old senior A (semi-pro) hockey team. Could I join the team for a road trip to Flint, Michigan as the backup goalie? I hadn’t actually tried out for the team this year but had made an offer to show up if they were ever short. I was so excited about the prospect of playing but one thing immediately crossed my mind. What would the weather be that weekend? You see, I had been looking for an excuse to go on an extended motorcycle trip in the fall. Given the unseasonably warm weekend ahead I knew that I had to do it.
After extensive logistical figurings, I gave my pads to a friend in Hamilton to be picked up by some teammates on their way to Flint. Then, Saturday morning I loaded up my backpack and jumped on my bike. The bike in question is a vintage Harley. If “Harley” was an adjective like “vintage” then, in this context, both would mean the same thing: unreliable.
Fall Is a Great Time for a Solo Motorcycle Trip
I knew this trip was going to challenge me. Unseasonably warm at this time of year is still cold. But I think that’s why people travel solo. It’s interesting, you have to figure it out for yourself. Maybe we like that challenge. I hadn’t even made it 3 blocks from my house before I realized just how much of a challenge this was going to be. It took that long to realize that I was freezing… already.
I was faced with my first opportunity to back out. I could just turn around, get in my car, drive to my pads and wait with them for my teammates to show up. But I decided I was going through with it and that was that.
The first decision to be made was how to get through the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). The urban sprawl is real, folks. After some deliberations I decided to take the 401 super 10 lane highway. I hate riding a motorcycle on that highway, but I figured I might as well just get through the city and then enjoy smooth ridings from there. And, honestly, it wasn’t too bad.
I made it through and decided to stop at the first rest station outside of Toronto, which was in Kitchener. From there I would figure out the rest of my route. But just as I was exiting the GTA I came across my first horseman: Grooved Roads. At higher speeds (I was doing about 110 km/h, so not crazy) they grab your tires and make small corrections to your wheels. Bear in mind that motorcycle tires are not flat on the bottom but rounded, meaning only about ¼” of surface area contacts the road. This makes motorcycle tires very sensitive to the small grooves.
The reason grooves are so hated is that they mimic the exact feeling of losing traction. Your bike keeps feeling like it wants to slide out from under you and your instinct is to fight it and hold on tighter. The real trick, though, is to let the grooves do what they’ll do to your wheel. The movements are small in the grand scheme of things and the real risk is that you will overcorrect. Not the most desirable situation on a solo motorcycle trip.
For the next few kilometers, I tried every trick I knew to not hold on too tight and make it to the rest stop. It wasn’t too bad but consider the whole “groovy” explanation to be foreshadowing.
Sunshine and Rain
While drinking a nice hot coffee and letting my knees thaw out, I started mapping out the next leg of the journey. I wanted to avoid cities and major highways like the plague. This trip was about two things: solitude and foliage. I decided to go to Sarnia and cross the border there and found a relatively straightforward route. However, after getting lost a few times I decided to put the GPS through my helmet speaker system with the music I was playing. I typically would hate to do this, but I had a schedule that day, The game was that evening, and I had to reach town, check into a hotel, and then get to the rink in time for warm-ups (ha-ha, “warm,” right?).
At first it was just cloudy. The sun would disappear, I would be freezing and praying for death. Then the sun would reappear, and everything would be the absolute best, and I couldn’t believe how happy I was to be me and on that motorcycle. This vicious cycle continued for an hour or two before the shield on my helmet started getting misty. You guessed it: Rain.
The second horseman had arrived. There had only been about a 20% chance of rain that day, but this would have been no story if I had to skip a horseman, so there it was. The rain got heavier and heavier. The only part that bothered me was that everywhere else was sunny. There was just one cloud over my head as though I was in a Shel Silverstein book.
However, I was then greeted with the evidence that I had actually missed the worst of the rain. The roads in my path were absolutely drenched. Of course, I slowed my speed significantly. This didn’t prevent me from doing an accidental burnout at a stop sign. A good reminder of the third horseman I would encounter: Debris.
Obviously, some debris is more dangerous than others. But this particular version of debris was benign by itself but when combined with rain could be lethal: fallen leaves. Usually beautiful and scenic for a late fall motorcycle ride, once they’re wet you have absolutely no traction while driving on them. So then, you’re caught in the unenviable place of having to dodge leaves.
Fortunately, this unholy union didn’t last long. Just as the sun was back to full glare and my pants were starting to dry out, I got hit with the fourth and final horseman: Wind.
More Challenges
At first it was just a gust that caught me by surprise and pushed me a few feet from my usual track in the left tire lane of the road. I had assumed that it was just because of the temperature rising again, it would be temporary and then go away. Instead, it got worse and worse, until I reached this one plane where I was riding with the bike leaning about 5 degrees to my left just to stay moving in a straight line. It was then that I noticed a large number of wind turbines. Perhaps wind was not so uncommon to this area.
The wind kept up until the end of the ride. The only time it got particularly scary on this solo motorcycle trip was while crossing the large bridge over the Canadian/American border. As I approached the bridge, I braced myself for the fact that the wind would be extra strong up there and it would be harder to control myself. It was at this point I thought that I could take comfort in the guard rails.
Upon seeing the guard rails, I realized that there was no comfort to be had there. They were the perfect height to stop my bike from going over while my body, still controlled by inertia, would just keep going. Then, with a brief thought about who would be forced to fish out the body (Canadian or US authorities), I had an uneventful crossing.
Once across the border I was just over an hour from my hotel. I thought it was interesting that the GPS was saying that despite it being a fair distance away. After getting on the I69 to Flint I realized why that was. The speed limit was 75 mph, meaning I was doing 80 in the slow lane.
Now, three of the horsemen were ganging up on me. The I69 is grooved, the wind hadn’t let up, and there were dead animals and blown-out tires all over the place.
Eventually, I arrived at my hotel. It was atrocious. The name of the place was redacted. It was so bad that if it were a location in Breaking Bad it would have taken away from the realism for being “a bit much”. That’ll show me for booking the cheapest place and reading exactly no reviews. When I walked into my room and discovered it smelled like crack, I decided that I should stay somewhere else. So, I made up an excuse, checked out, and went to Appleby’s to use their Wi-Fi.
I booked a room at a Days Inn across the street, rode over, and checked in. It was also in rough shape, but the sheets were clean, the towels fluffy, and the shower had hot water, so I was set. At this point I went to the game, our team won, and I returned to the Days Inn to sleep.
One More Surprise on this Solo Motorcycle Trip
Waking up the next morning, I opened my blinds to greet the day. Instead, what greeted me was two bullet holes in the window. I had to chuckle to myself because the fact was, it still felt far safer than the first hotel.
The temperature was -2°C that morning, which presented its own problems. Motorcycles are summer machines, and so they use summer tires. This means that they have less and less traction when it’s cold, not to mention the windchill factor when doing 80 mph.
Knowing it was going to get warmer, I wanted to wait. But I didn’t want to wait too long or else I would be getting home when it was dark and cold. So, I grabbed a quick breakfast, a shower, and hit the road when it was slightly warmer (though still freezing cold).
After 8 hours on backroads in conditions that remained sunny, and mostly wind and rain free, I made it home. I was exhausted from being on the road for nearly 20 hours all told, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. This solo motorcycle trip was probably best summed up by The Wheel by the Grateful Dead, which perfectly landed in my shuffled playlist as I got on the road that morning. “Small wheel turn by the firing rod, big wheel turn by the grace of God, every time that wheel turn ‘round, bound to cover just a little more ground.”
To avoid accommodation adventures like Dylan's, read Best Accommodation for Solo Travelers: How to Choose the One for You. And don't forget insurance: Travel Insurance for Solo Travelers: How to Make Sure You’re Protected.
