The motorbike trip from Hell

1996 Kawasaki ZX6R. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

11-13 years ago, at about this time, I set out on what turned into the worst motorcycle trip I have ever taken.
Seems everything that could go wrong did, except I didn’t break down.
I ran out of gas, but before reserve, which meant I could find a gas-station.
And that was coming back, which meant it wasn’t the motorbike trip from Hell.
My trip was to northern Delaware, my brother, a trip I had made before on motorbike.
It was also since my stroke, but not my first.
I remember my stroke rehab people telling me my motorbike days were over, but I would hear none of that.
I told my driving instructor to not clear me unless she thought I could ride motorcycle.
When I finally tried it, it was slightly different, but not much.
I set out in my rainsuit. It was dry, but cloudy, and looked like it might rain.
Apparently a vicious thunderstorm blew through at home after I left, but I never saw it.
My first drama was about 2-3 hours into the trip, a monstrous parking-lot traffic-jam south of Blossburg, PA.
The road was four-lane Interstate expressway, but it was blocked solid, even out in the middle of nowhere.
I finally had to shut off.
We’d advance maybe 15 feet, and then sit for five minutes.
Finally after about an hour, the way cleared.
I stopped south of Williamsport to eat a sandwich I had packed.
Then into another lock-solid traffic-jam south of Selinsgrove.
Some of Route 15 west of the Susquehanna River was still three-lane, so the jam appeared to be where four lanes merged into three.
It appeared to be Labor Day traffic.
I’ve been over that road hundreds of times, and it never was that bad. (I lived as a teenager in northern Delaware.)
I continued south toward a bridge over the Susquehanna at Duncannon north of Harrisburg.
I expected the ramp to this bridge to be just that, a ramp; but instead it was a cloverleaf.
I was quickly off the road, into the weeds.
I was sure I was gonna drop my motorbike, but didn’t.
I came to a stop in the weeds, still erect.
I rode back to the cloverleaf.
In 30+ years of riding motorbike, that’s the only time I’ve gone off the road.
Thankfully there were no culverts, drainage-ditches, or Armco guardrail.
I crossed the bridge and continued south toward Harrisburg, but missed my turn east onto the Harrisburg Bypass.
I was headed directly into Harrisburg.
My street narrowed, and I was on streets I didn’t know.
I was also running out of gas.
I turned east (left) onto a main cross-street, hoping it would eventually intersect with the Bypass.
I pulled into a gas-station and tanked up. The owner was incensed I wanted to pay by credit-card. It was only a $12 purchase.
The street did indeed intersect with the Bypass, so I got on and continued on.
It’s somewhat challenging.
I almost got sideswiped by a front-wheel-drive Pontiac.
I don’t think the guy ever saw me. He just merged without looking.
But having driven bus I expect such things.
It was beginning to get dark; it was pushing 7:30.
By the time I got to Strasburg Railroad it was dusk.
Strasburg is a rural bypass around busy U.S. 30 through Amish country.
I’m also a railfan, so I always hit Strasburg.
Strasburg is also a rest-stop.
I continued into the gathering gloom.
By the time I got to Gap, PA, it was pitch-dark.
Night comes quicker in September.
Gap is where I turn toward Delaware on Route 41. It’s also where the old Pennsylvania Railroad surmounted a gap in hills; Philadelphia to Harrisburg.
I crossed Pennsy headed for Route 41.
I’d have to turn right (south).
The intersection was unlighted, and my headlight only got what was in front.
I turned right and sideswiped a curb, which I never saw in the gloom.
I managed to keep standing, so I stopped and put my sidestand down.
That killed the motor, and it wouldn’t keep running if I put it in gear.
I of course couldn’t see anything.
An enraged Chevy pickup went around me, honking its horn.
I also was atop a drainage-grate that could swallow my sidestand.
I paddled past that, blind as a bat, and restarted.
I continued down 41 toward Delaware, but it started raining.
I decided it was better to get on a main highway, U.S. Route 1, instead of continue on 41.
When I finally got to my brother’s house in northern Delaware, I just parked on his porch — which was the same level as his driveway.
It was 9:30.
I called my wife, who was worried sick.
My motorbike stayed on his porch until I had to ride back home; at least three days.
The motorcycle pictured is the one I rode.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs. My stroke ended that.
• I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child.