This guy was another kook. He kept asking me about local things: some scandal the mayor was doing and news about a huge sand pile near the road when he turned onto US13. He kept asking me which exit to use and I didn't know; I kept telling him the directions I had read in the phone book.
We finally got off at the exit and he drove right by the joint. I had him pull into a gas station, since Virginia Beach Boulevard has a huge median in it right there. I figured it would take him another $20 to turn around. I walked along a fence to get into the dealership, but the fence had no breaks in it. I almost tripped over a bum sleeping in the weeds. I walked into a clump of trees and leaned up one to help me get over the fence. I used my jacket to cover the tines on the fence as I got over.
I went in and the first salesman was disappointed that I had already bought a bike. Boots, jeans, a jacket, and a helmet—he thought he had an easy sale. I asked for Dave, my salesman, and waited around for him to show up. He never did. I talked with the neurotic service guys for about twenty minutes before the mechanic came around with my bike.
The service guys were full of advice; "It'll be a tough ride. It's always the other guy; just keep that last bullet in the chamber!" One of the guys went on about his concealed weapons permit and private detective's license. I was distracted by a picture glued to a piece of cardboard on the counter. It had some scruffy men behind a plain building. One of the guys was circled, and the cardboard had "If you see this wine-o call Dave" written on it.
What a story that must have been.
The dealership (Honda of Norfolk—not "Norfolk Honda" like it would be anywhere else) was a dump. They had no equipment, and fewer bikes. This was only the second VFR they've sold this year, even though University Honda has sold a few dozen.
The mechanic was okay. He didn't know where to store the sissy handles, so I had to read the manual while he went to get the solo cowl. He seemed surprised that I asked for the cowl. I asked him about his advice for beak-in, and he thought I said "breaking". He thought I wqas going to ride across country on a new bike without ever having ridden before. What an awkward little moment that was!
The machine was just beautiful. The salesman didn't offer any advice for adjustments, but I knew I could spend some time figuring them out. Red, red, and red.
I got a leg over; I felt really awkward. I stalled a couple of times before leaving the parking lot. Aside from riding two or three bikes at work around the parking lot, I've not ridden since my wreck. I took a few laps of the long parking lot and then went out onto the local roads. I rode a big loop around the dealership and then got on the highway going the wrong way. I saw a huge empty-looking warehouse, so I went into the parking lot and dug around for a while.
Things were just starting to come back to me when some suit came out screaming at me. I felt sorry for the guy, wearing a suit on a hot Saturday, so I took off.
The highway was fun, too. I was watching cars and driving carefully, and I had to do the break-in rules so I wasn't really winding things up. There was a big section of grooved pavement, but it didn't cause me any problems at all. I got back to John's place and began to set the bike up with all of my luggage.
I had to repack all of my bags so things would fit. I felt huge in my leathers and my helmet. I called John one more time before I left.
I rode down Great Neck Road and stopped at a hardware store to buy a small screwdriver for the bolts on the cowling and a little bolt and nut to fasten the other side of my bags to a hole in the passenger peg bracket. I nailed everything on and got going. I finally found Virginia Beach Honda and stopped in to buy a disk-brake lock. I had my comprehensive insurance all set up, but I just didn't feel too safe about riding this thing across country without it getting ripped off.
I got a bungee cord to hold down the loose end of the bags, too. It was a total of $60. Cripe: the lock was more than twice what it was mail order.
After that, I was on my way. Virginia Beach Boulevard turns into US58, and then that turns into US13. I rode that down through Chessapeake, and then I got stopped. I stopped to cross a railroad crossing, and then immediately stopped for a stop-sign. As soon as I took the stop-sign, the cop came up behind me close and nailed the lights.
He told me that he wouldn't take me to jail; that he could, since I was going so fast. He said I was going 57 in a 25. I saw that the speed went down near the little town, but I didn't see the speed got that slow. And I certainly didn't see a cop.
He ran my license and registration, and let me go with a warning. He was a real tightass, but I'm glad he let me off. I did keep it down for a while, but before too long I was buzzing at 65 on the highway.
I took US13 until it hit US158 in North Carolina. I cut West on US158 and ride it all the way down to I-85. I stayed on US158, which sometimes thought it was US1, until I ended up near Durham, North Carolina.
Coming down the hill there, I could see huge clouds over the horizon. Since the stop-and-go traffic in Tidewater made me hot, I decided to stop and find a room. The fourth game of the Stanley Cup was on, and it would be nice to stop some place and watch it.
The woman at the hotel let me park my bike under the canopy; that was very nice of her. The room was terrible; Days Inn's are just not any good. Only an hour after I checked in, though, the skies opened up and it started raining fiercely.
Finished on 17 August, 1996.