It’s day six near Lorton, Virginia, and I find myself sitting in plush travel comfort. I am barely aware of the ear worm rattling in my brain. It is an old Memphis style blues song, “Mystery Train” written by Junior Parker and made popular by The Band in 1976. The earworm keeps repeating, “The train I ride 16 coaches long. Well, that long black train carries my baby home.” My motorcycle and I are headed south for the next 18 hours to Sanford, Florida, on the Amtrak Auto Train. This is traveling in style because I eagerly parted with extra cash to be in a sleeper car.
It perplexes me how many people are unaware of this Amtrak service. This is my third Auto Train journey. When I meet other riders on tours where I have ridden the train, they inexorably ask me, “Where did you come in from?” When I explain that I rode the train, they want to know where I rented the bike. I explain my bike came with me on the train. At this point typical reaction is the same puzzled look that my dog gets when I try to explain something like disruption of global supply chains to her.
The Auto Train travels from Florida to Virginia and vice versa and will haul your vehicle at the same time. The Auto Train offers 855-mile daily train service for passengers and vehicles from Lorton near D.C. down to Sanford near Orlando. Passengers ride either in coach seats or private sleeping births while their vehicles are hauled in autoracks, enclosed freight cars. The service, the only one of its kind in the United States, has a maximum capacity of 320 vehicles. The train includes lounge and dining cars, allowing passengers to avoid navigating the slab between Florida and Virginia and all points in between while bringing their own vehicle with them. At more than three quarters of a mile long. Amtrak says it’s the longest passenger train in the world. This trip, the train pulls 18 coaches with 30 autorack cars. The conductor announces there’s also 403 passengers, 195 automobiles and five motorcycles headed to Florida.
As the train rolls south the western facing window of the roomette is a motion picture featuring the Virginia countryside. A mosaic of wetlands, rivers, deciduous forest interrupted by cultivated chlorophyl rich fields of peanuts, corn and other crops become the backdrop. In these scenes local fauna such as, nesting ospreys, wild turkeys, grazing deer, sunbathing turtles, tall wading herons, and domesticated livestock are all unwittingly characters in my imaginary film. All while the setting sun continues its illusory downward trek toward the horizon.
Five days ago, I departed my home in Tallahassee, Florida, at 6:30 a.m. running southeast to Sanford on my BMW R1250 GSA. The sun finishes its race up from behind me and the sky transitions from dark blue to light blue and pink. There is a baleful full moon in a near daylight sky. Every time I see the moon in a daytime sky, I feel a sense of foreboding that I do not understand nor am I able to explain but the anxious feeling is unwelcome. Moto-therapy is the only solution. Opening the throttle and putting the GS’s speed shifter to good use pushes the anxiety to the subconscious background. Throttle therapy gets me to the station in plenty of time to get checked in and have some lunch with an old college friend who lives nearby.
Day two begins geographically in Lorton, Virginia, at the northern Auto Train station. The primary purpose of travelling to northern Virginia is to attend the 50th BMW Motorcycle Owners of America national rally near Richmond. The rally does not begin for another 24 hours, giving me the justification I need to hastily exit the D.C. Metro area. I cannot put the sprawling urban development and congestion in my rear view fast enough. More throttle therapy ensues. The target destination is Shenandoah National Park to ride the 105-mile length of Skyline Drive. From the north gate at Front Royal going south the first 80 miles is sublime. Lush forests, alpine meadows and all the expected Appalachian Mountain landscapes seen in 180 degrees from the seat of the GS. The road is not all that technical, and the pace is relaxed.
The day ends a short ride from the southern terminus of the national park at Penmerryl Farm near Greenville, Virginia. The owners have developed a horse farm into a bed and breakfast facility that caters to equestrians and moto-travelers. This is a family-owned business managed in part by husband-and-wife team Blair Harris and Laura Pitkin.
Harris, a former employee of Eurosport Asheville, is passionate about the farm becoming a premier moto travel and training facility.
“We are trying to develop a destination where adventure motorcyclists will come to stay and train in a relaxing environment with mechanical support facilities and lodging,” he said. “One of our goals is to host GS trophy training and events.”
My stay was superb, and I would recommend Penmerryl Farm to any motorcycle traveler.
On day 3, not an hour after arriving at the rally, I insert my credit card into yet another point-of-sale device for at least the 20th time since I left home. Ever so briefly, I consider the remorse that will slap me hard in about 30 days when my overloads at Amex catch up to me. My lack of fiscal restraint is occasionally troublesome. This time it is tires that I have convinced myself I NEED. Certainly, I will need tires in the future. That is an unassailable fact. Tires wear out if you use them and I have been abusing mine for the last three days. I can probably make it home on my current tread, but I am mounting brand new rubber because I am here at the MOA and well why not? When finished the sight of new tires on my GS creates an almost euphoric sense of joy. I am reminded of a tire commercial circa 1985 that stated, “Tires ain’t pretty they just go round and round.” The memory simultaneously induces laughter and grounds me once more. How did I get enticed into this lair of crass consumerism? I need to remember to tell my wife they were on sale.
Day four begins with a pleasant 15-mile backroad ride from hotel to rally grounds and a morning of window shopping the many vendor booths. Nostalgic adolescent memories of carnivals with midway hawkers calling try your luck with me resurface (Neil Peart reference). I am confronted by a diverse array of vendors hard at work. If you can imagine a product or kit related to your BMW, then there is a high probability of finding a booth trying to sell it. See above referenced purchase of not necessarily needed tires.
The afternoon, at least for me, was the highlight of the rally. Weeks earlier I signed up for the half-day Street Authority clinic put on by the folks from the BMW U.S. Rider Academy. The clinic is a taste of the full two-day course offered at BMW’s training facility in Greer, South Carolina. The challenges presented are exercises in slow maneuvering and turning techniques requiring finessed clutch control, focused line of sight placement and momentum management. Having participated, I believe I am a better rider. I now want to do the full two-day course in Greer, which I am confident is the desired outcome for BMW. Lead instructor and famous Oregon BDR conqueror Ricardo Rodriguez said the half-day clinics give riders both novice and experienced some training for the adventures ahead and lifesaving skills.
“Even a half day clinic is a worthwhile self-investment, that will sharpen skills, and open your eyes to training you need,” Rodriguez said. “Every rider is susceptible to becoming complacent in the saddle. Riders often fall into a mindset of thinking years of experience and miles are all that is needed. But I’ll share a secret with you. Experience is no measure of skill or ability. Be sure to take the time at least once a year to train. Keep your skills sharp, because if you depend on experience to keep you out of danger when it counts, you and your family may end up being sorely disappointed.”
Via personal experience, I can testify that training has made me a better and safer rider.
I was also impressed with how many female riders participated in the clinic. In the session I attended, 6 of 22 riders were women.
Lisa Catarineau from Clearwater, Florida, was one of the participants. She bought her first bike in 2009. Her initial moto-inspiration was watching the motorcycle stunt riding in “The Matrix.” A few years after watching the movie, she took an MSF course and was hooked. I reckon she took the red pill. She has been riding different bikes over the years, but recently purchased her first big ADV bike a 2018 BMW R1200 GS.
“I gained additional confidence handling a bigger bike going from the 650 GS to the 1200 GS,” Catarineau said after just a couple of hours of instruction. “I am a firm believer in regular training. It makes riding more fun. I rode up with others because I was nervous about the new, bigger bike. The clinic strengthened previous training and removed hesitations about riding solo back to Florida.”
Former professional motorcycle racer-turned-instructor Richie Few offered the class valuable instruction. He’s somewhat of a motorcycle savant. At the end of the clinic, he put on an impromptu demonstration thrilling a small crowd by performing multiple wheelies and even a front wheel “stoppie” on a big BMW GS. Highly entertaining.
“As we see the ADV segment continue to gain popularity the Rider Academy is seeing increased interest from women riders investing in themselves,” Few said. “This trend is not only good for the sport, it also opened the opportunity for the U.S. Rider Academy to offer one-, two- and three-day women-only classes. The more any rider, gender notwithstanding, invests in themselves the more they get out of the ownership experience.”
One of the more interesting facets of MOA membership is the Anonymous Book. When joining the MOA, members are given an option to be registered in the Anonymous Book. For those of us old enough to remember analog telephone books, the Anonymous Book is a small version of an old fashion telephone directory. Organized by state and city the main difference from a telephone directory is there are no names (hence anonymous) just phone numbers and codes that indicate what resources you are willing to offer fellow moto-wanderers.
In my case, a traveler would see my cell phone number with corresponding codes indicating that I am willing to provide a place to camp, tools, emergency trailer assistance or simply meet for coffee and conversation. The book provides contacts in every state and five Canadian provinces. As an experiment, I contacted five numbers in the book. I received a response from three within two hours. The first incoming call was from Reesha Gruender.
I told her I was testing the anonymous network, and she said she has used the book and its robust support network several times over the years when in need of assistance.
“I have used the Anonymous Book more than once. When you are on the road and need help local knowledge is invaluable,” Gruender said.
An estimated 8,000 people attended this year’s MOA rally. Some attendees dressed top to bottom in expensive ADV gear, reminding me of passionate Trekkies dressed as Klingons. The Beamer-geeks are the Trekkies of the moto-world. They bring the same exuberance for their hobby as Trekkies have for sci-fi. The commonality of BMW ownership, MOA membership and an enthusiasm for riding drew all of us together, and the overall experience has me daydreaming about a possible run to the 51st national rally in Redmond, Oregon, next year. Hmmm.
After participating in the riding clinic, I noticed my rear brake caliper was both dirtier and shinier in places it should not be. I had been wrangling with the BWM warranty team for a few weeks prior and finally had the rear caliper, pads and rotor replaced the week before I left home. With no small amount of disappointment, I spotted brake fluid coating the new caliper. Thankfully, my temper tantrum was only witnessed by a travel buddy who knows me well.
I still had many miles of riding ahead to return home and this issue needed to be addressed post haste. On a Saturday morning, I called a nearby dealer in Fredericksburg, Virginia. The service guys at Morton’s BMW listened to my narrative of brake drama and warranty frustrations and told me to bring it in without delay. When I arrived, they were slammed with MOA rally-generated business. No matter, they got the GS right in and solved the simple issue before I could sit down and eat a snack. Morton’s BMW has a long-standing sterling reputation among the region’s BMW riders. I can’t argue with that assessment.
The final day, my train pulls back into Sanford. My overactive subconscious is again singing railroad themed songs. This time it is Gary Clark Jr.’s “When My Train Pulls In.”
“Well, I’ll be ready now I’ll be ready when my train pulls in. I know my time ain’t long and I can’t live this life again.”
The MOA rally and ancillary side trips proved long and rewarding. At 57-years-old, every day moves me closer to aging out of the adventure riding world. We only get one life, and no one gets out alive. I no longer take my health, physical or cognitive abilities for granted. I am thankful to have had the experiences of the last week, but happy to reunite with family.
It is hot as Hades in central Florida. I have five hours of hard, fast, and hot travel home. The only reasonable course of action is to set my GPS, which I designated the thousand-dollar compass, to “home quickest way.”
