Belching Farmers
by Linda Carruth

Saturday, May 21, 2005
My longest day trip to date is 165 miles. My VLX is in the shop having modifications made before I graduate back up to it. In the meantime, I'm riding an '03 Yamaha Virago 250.

Right now I need 26 miles for my 5,000 miles on the Virago. I said something to my husband yesterday about stopping at State8 (where the VLX is being worked on), but he was not enthused. He thinks phone call, I think presence. I will skip pushing it for today as I really don't feel like dealing with them today anyway.

I feel better today, although my stomach might still be a little upset. We had talked about going down to Mrs. Yoder's today. I asked him how he's fixed for maps, and can we go some way other than 241, sometimes referred to as the buggy rutted road. We decided we will bear left below Mt. Eaton. We cleaned up our bikes a bit. I checked my tire pressures and lubed my chain with some silicone chain lube. We got gas and headed down State Rd.

It is an absolutely beautiful day! I'm keeping up well, and kind of aggressive today. The pines near Hinckley reservation smelled so good and cleared up my sinuses. I never smell the tall pines, just the ones closer down to my nose. They do me no good if I can't smell them.

Crossing 18 was a trip because where I stopped I was on Scott's right, with a big hole in front of me. So I had to wait for him and then go so I could go around it. We scooted over to the median area and then I was on Scott's left, but very close to him. Then we had to scoot over the rest of the way, and again I had to let him go to give me some room to proceed. Lots of traffic today, too.

It really was a nice ride going down. We came into Wadsworth and stopped at our old Dairy Mart. Scott is hungry. I'm open to whatever; we don't have to eat at Mrs. Yoder's. It's not like we never go there. If I eat ANYTHING, it'll be a while before I can eat dinner, but then I'm in no real big hurry. He mentions McDonald's, or Burger King, or Wendy's. The first two don't really agree with me but Wendy's is fine. They always seem to have real food (or something closer to it) and I never feel bad after eating there. Just don't ever go to the one on Brookpark;however, the one on Broadview in Parma is exceptional. I go there often before evening classes. So we went over to Wendy's, just about across the street. Scott had a single hamburger combo and I just had fries and a root beer. I couldn't eat much; I just wasn't hungry.

We continued on 94, through Wadsworth and Rittman and on past 585. I kept up much better, even on the curves. We made no stop in Dalton. We made a stop at Mt. Eaton, in a parking lot on the right side of the road just before 94 ends. Right there, there is a cemetery and there were a couple people doing some hedge clipping and trimming. Scott was reading a sign labeled "Honor Roll" that listed deceased occupants who had served in the armed forces. Vietnam, World War II, and I, were prominent listings of course, but Scott noticed that they had names listed for the Civil War and the War of 1812. He said he wouldn't have thought anyone would have been there that long ago, but there had to be some farms or something. I took a look and then gazed at the scenery behind me. Rolling hills and farm land as far as the eye could see. It was just beautiful. I felt so lucky to be out like this.

We continued on, past the intersection where 241 curves sharply to the right. We bore left, almost going straight to find a way around the buggy rutted road with holes almost as big as my bike. This road had some nasty holes, and some bumpy carpets. You really had to watch. It wound around, and up and down. It was all paved but had no lines or markings on the pavement. There was quite a bit of traffic on this road for being so off the beaten track, but even with its bumps and bad spots, it was preferably to the buggy rutted stretch of 241. There was one disturbing thing though. At one point, there was a pasture on the right with some horses, and one tan and white horse was lying on the ground. His head wasn't even up. Now I know very little about horses, but that looked to me to be a bad sign. Even Scott did a double take. I keeping forgetting to ask him what he thought about that. I know he saw it. Don't horses even sleep standing up? Or is that a myth? Anyway, this one was down for the count.

This road wound on for a while and Scott had suggested earlier that it might end up on 39 or something in the Berlin vacinity. It veered over to to the right and I could see a highway up ahead with fast moving cars. The road curved around and ended at 62, at a sharp angle, much like a freeway ramp merging. There was a stop sign at the end though, and a car with some elderly people in front of us that really took their time about pulling out. We pulled onto the road behind them and they were just crawling. We had a single yellow, so Scott kicked it and went around them. There were no cars coming in the other direction, so I got around them alright, too.

We had essentially turned right on 62, and on down the road a piece, we turned right into a Citgo station, up an inclined driveway, pulling up next to some picnic tables. I recognized the car wash behind the station, as well as the beautiful view before us. This was the look out place we accidentally found last fall, when we made a stop and had a snack. Well, now I know how to get there, IF we take that unlined back road.

We stopped and stretched a bit, taking in the view. It was gorgeous. While we were there we saw two seasoned looking gals on bikes over at the pumps. One was on a Heritage, and she looked like she could handle it. Probably riding for years. These women intimidate ME, with my little bike, and with my lousy 5,000 miles under my belt. Yes, I passed it somewhere. I should have looked at the trip odometer when we were in Wadsworth because I probably had it back then. No biggie, I've got it now.

I know I must look ridiculous on my little Virago, but I FEEL cool. I'm so happy to be out like this. I just love it. But I'm noticing I get a lot of looks and too many of them are amused. Amused as in happy for me? No, I don't think so. It's more like disbelieve that anyone would have nerve enough to go out, dressed like a biker, on that little goofball of a bike. I know why I'm dressed the way I am. Leather protects, AND it breaks the cold. The wind goes right through anything knit or woven. But, when I didn't ride, I thought the biker wear was a show-offy uniform for kooks. So if I'm a kook now, at least I'm a warm-enough kook.

We pottied, saddled up, and decided to buy gas as we were leaving; we had ridden 60 miles at this point so we figured this would be a good time. Scott did a u-turn to go over to the pumps. I pulled up and did the same. Whew! I did it! Gotta remember head and eyes. We turned left out of there and just down the road a bit, we turned right on 515. I thought that was the little road that just circled back, but Scott said that was another one. We took 515 over to 39; it wound around with some pretty back and forth curves. By that, I mean they were not your usual can't-see-around-the-bend curves. There were on somewhat level ground where you could see the road snake quickly right before your eyes. We passed some buggies along the way. It was a very pretty ride.

Towards the end of 515, we went through Walnut Creek, which is another tourist shopping center with all kinds of shops. More "antiques" made in Taiwan. If memory serves, we turned right on 39, and it eventually took us through Berlin. We had to ride a piece though. We passed a big flea market and I wondered if that was the same one we went to a few years ago. It was essentially a big building that you had to pay to get into, or pay for parking, I can't remember which, and there were several floors of stands in this giant cavern of a building. There were some good places in there, but it was too much like being in a big discount store. It takes all the charm out of it. I prefer the little houses with treasures placed all about, even in narrow strairwayed, small upstairs bedrooms, hotter than hell because there's no air condonditiong. They even smell like old houses, and it tends to remind me of the one I grew up in, or that my friends lived in. Old houses. Homey houses.

Being such a nice day, the shoppers were out in droves. Traffic slowed to a crawl going through town, so we had to do the slow race. I did very well at that. We got going again but it wasn't long before we came to another gas station. This was the Citgo across from the East of Chicago Pizza place, where we've gotten gas many times before. (I think it's a Citgo.) The gas station is actually on a corner and this time we turned right onto that little road. You could almost miss it. It took us down through another residential section. Lots of downhill and many ninety degree curves. The road would bend one way, actually turning a corner, and then another, just like some of these back roads down here, or anywhere else out in the country, I suppose. The road ended and we turned left, wondering what was down that way. After some more ninety degree turns, we came out on 201. We turned right and it didn't take me long to figure out why 201 was familiar. I saw some familiar sights and soon we came to a stop at 241. There was a cemetary across the road on the left corner that was a familiar landmark. We crossed 241 and continued on.

We putted along 201, passing more familiar landmarks; a house we remembered, a produce stand we've stopped at, etc. I knew there would be two ninety degree turns ahead, one left and then one right. I had a car behind me, but I had to slow to my speed for these tight turns. Soon after, up on the right, was Gilead's Balm Manor, a very posh bed and breakfast we've stayed at for getaways. Many happy memories there. Scott pointed, like I wouldn't know where we were, and I nodded. We haven't been there since November of 2001; we really need to plan a stay there again. Soon.

We rode on a piece and eventually turned right into a Mennonite church parking lot. Scott did a u-turn to turn around and I tried but didn't do so well. And he was too close, so my feet went down. He didn't say anything though. He asked when I would be hungry and said he'd leave it up to me since I ate less than he did at Wendy's. I was just starting to get hungry and I needed more time. At the same time, I realized that this was just making our trip longer. I hoped that I'd be okay to ride after dinner. Wear yourself out and have a big meal, and it's sleepy time.

I suggested we take a long way around to Mrs. Yoder's. Scott said we could do that, no problem. We would continue north up to Fredericksburg, and turn left to go over to Rt 83. We did that, but we made several turns left and right before coming to 83. One was Wayne County Road 90; the others, I have no idea. We eventually came to 83 and turned left. Route 83 was a nice ride; it was very scenic and seemed to travel along a guardrailed ledge at times. It was mostly 55 mph, and we'd like to travel more of it some time. We came into Millersburg and turned left on 241. This little cut off looks like a side street off the main drag. It takes you up a hill, curves sharply to the right and emerges as a country road. Lots of curvy hills to navigate, eventually taking us to Mrs. Yoder's, but from the other direction. We turned in and parked in our usual spot at the bottom of a hill in the back parking lot. My swing around into the spot was not my best, but then it wasn't my worst either. Scott didn't say anything except what a nice ride we just had. Maybe he's learning to keep the peace.

NOT FOR PUBLIC CONSUMPTION

We got into the restaurant and it was later than our usual, so it was more crowded. I headed for the ladies room first. I always wash my hands first anyway. Okay, I'm a germophobe. We're seated at a little two-place table just the other side of the kitchen wall and we were able to order right away. We went and got our salads and sat down. I'm hungry now, but not starved. Just a little empty.

We're eating our salads and I hear a loud belch to my right. I tried not to flinch, and then I hear another. And another. And another. There was a couple seated at the far side of the four-place table to our right. They were an older couple. It's odd saying that because my husband is over fifty and I'm almost, but these people seemed older. I thought it was the man doing the belching, but it was both of them. I'd say her score was higher than his. He would belch loudly and say "Ahhhhhh", like it was such a relief. Then she would belch and say "Ohhh, that was a good one." Now, I can take a lot, and I'm no stranger to adolescent behavior, even from so-called adults, but knowing this was real, plus not feeling the greatest today, not being terribly hungry, it was starting to get to me. And I can eat through the goriest movie or whatever else is happening around me, but this was too much. It was sickening and I was having trouble swallowing my food already. I finally looked over and got a good look at them. They were very shabbily dressed and unkempt. Their manners, or lack thereof, were a mandate that they should not be eating in a restaurant. Any restaurant.

They finally left and we starting talking about it. Scott said he got a kick out of it because they obviously were just backwoods farmers (as oppposed to regular everyday farmers who I am certain are not anything like this) that didn't know any better and they were ENJOYING it. He added that they were probably brought up in an environment where this was just accepted behavior around the dinner table. I thought it was a disgrace and that management should have stepped in. If you're going to cavort with civilization, act civilized! He then said there was a lady in pink on the other side of them that did not look happy, and he felt sorry for her because she and her companion were even closer to the belching farmers. I think they (pink lady and friend) heard him say that and I said I didn't blame her for being upset. You go out, maybe even travel some distance, looking forward to a nice relaxed dining experience, and then have it spoiled by ignorant pigs. "Come as you are" suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.

I tried to move on and put the whole thing behind me as I sat there and looked around. I think I just wanted the reassurance of seeing normal, nicely behaving people. I realized that the large tables in the back always have Amish families seated there and that there are no tablecloths. I think I remember hearing that they don't use tablecloths. I noticed an older couple at one of those tables with one little boy. The poor little boy didn't seem right. He had exaggerated facial features and the couple seemed to have to do a lot for him for his age. I first I thought maybe he was inbred, because I've heard they do that, too. I assumed that they were the grandparents, but you know, that might be way off. Think about it. They don't use birth control, but some people can't have children, or least have difficulty conceiving. Maybe this couple didn't get pregnant until later in life. What happens when you have a first child later in life? There is an increased chance of having a Mongoloid baby. The physical features are very distinct, and he had those kinds of features. Poor little boy. In contrast, we saw a dad come in with another little boy, clutching his blankie. The boy, not the dad. It reminded us of when ours were little. Sometimes we just don't know how lucky we are.

As we drank our coffee, the conversation turned to how we would go home. I almost didn't need the coffee, but we had already traveled 105 miles today. I wasn't that tired, not like the last time we did some extra riding down there. He said that any other way is really taking the long way around and I said that I don't mind taking the usual way if we take it easy.

We went the regular way, and as we neared the big bend on 241, I could see a black ribbon and orange cones. Naw, it couldn't be. Did they? Yes! They repaved 241. It was beauteous all the way up to the Wayne County Line. That was the stretch with the bad patching and buggy ruts.

We encountered some buggies and at one point came up behind a slow one that just wouldn't move over. We had to slow to a crawl behind a panel truck, which was first in line behind the buggy. And uphill, yet. I stalled out because it was really hard to creep so slow and uphill. I managed to move and then I would put my feet down for a while. And then I'd move and then put my feet down. Scott didn't have it so easy either and I noticed him checking on me in his mirror. Hey, I was doing the best I could.

I lagged a little going back, but I tried not to let Scott get out of my sight, even on the dippier hills. I told him I would have to stop to pee in Dalton. We stopped at that new Citgo on Rt 30. I asked if we should buy gas because we'd be up around ninety or so miles before we got home. He said that was okay. Later on down the road, Scott asked if we could ride on through Wadsworth and I said no, that I would have to stop. He didn't seem happy about it. Too bad. I want to be comfortable the rest of the way home. He said we might as well get gas then. We had put on another 78 miles since gassing up on Route 62. So we pulled up to the pumps, after a wait, and he topped us off. I went over and parked so I could go in and use the facilities. I asked how he wanted to go home from there. I suggested we could try going all the way back on 94 and he shrugged. We pulled out and stayed in the right lane. Then we turned right and then left to head on up State Rd. I was still doing well and keeping up, and I wasn't as tired as I usually am coming back on one of these kinds of trips.

I had to stop for a red light at Ridgewood (up in Parma); Scott waited up ahead and pulled out of a side street as I came along. I did think for a bit that I would be heading home alone from there, but no, there he was. I had to stop at another light at Pershing, by the Post Office. This is pretty close to home, and then Scott was one car ahead of me at next light where we had to stop, which was Lincoln. I had shifted over to the left side of the lane so the driver in front of me had more opportunity to see me back there. Scott looked in his mirror to make sure I wasn't far behind.

We had to slow to a crawl at the corner of Russell, I tapped it down to second gear and did just fine, as I was being watched by a driver stopped at the stop sign. He stared right at me, I could tell out of the corner of my eye, as I crept crept crept and then turned, looking where I wanted to go, and getting back up to speed. Yeah buddy, a chick who can ride!

I did a rolling right into our driveway, going too slow, which is much better than going too fast, but I was going so slow I had to put my feet down for a quick moment. I got my balance and then corrected, and continued up the driveway. How embarrassing! I was pretty tired and stiff by now.

We had put on 27 more miles since Wadsworth, totaling 165 miles for today's trip. My record for a single day was 148 or 149; I've never ridden 150 miles (myself) in one day before. Also, at the end of today's ride, I've put 5,140 miles on the Virago so far. I need to ride 16 miles more and the bike will have 6000 miles on it. Scott laughs as I figure this stuff out; he gets a kick out of my mile fetish because he used to do the same thing when he was new at it. At least now he's comparing ME to him instead of someone ELSE to him. I won't name names. I neglected to mention to him that I do it, the mileage thing, for my journal. I have mentioned the journal to him, but I don't do it very often. Afterall, he might want to read it then. Probably not a good idea, since I express feelings here as I am feeling, or felt, them at the time. It is no reflection on him--- he's as good as gold to me, but he might not take it that way if he reads my personal feelings and comments. I'm writing this to be able to look back and see how far I've come. His comments and my feelings of frustration, anger, and triumph are part of that whole experience. Many times this last winter, I read back over some of it and sure, some parts made me uncomfortable, but some just made me beam with joy. Same goes for the winter before, but I didn't have nearly as much to read and I did it then to keep my confidence up. I needed that.

Once home, we sat on the porch for a while, and then I came in to change into my flannels and get comfy. Again, 165 miles today. A new day record.

I think this was the trip that started the problem with my hand. I've been wearing boys baseball gloves that I bought the day of the bike show. The intense vibration of the throttle continually buzzed along a seam on the palm of my right glove, causing a numb area and what felt like a swollen vein. The numbness and ache would cause much discomfort in riding for some time to come.

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