I left early Sunday morning in hopes of getting to my destination, the Owen Lovejoy Homestead in Princeton, IL, well before lunch. If I could get there early, I'd make a a side trip to one of the nearby state parks. As usual, I always end up taking the long route rather than the shorter, more direct route. If time is on my side, the one with the greatest saddle time, tends to be the best way to go.
My route would allow me to travel sections of Rt.66, which begins in Chicago at the corner of Jackson Blvd. and Lake Shore Drive. I leave downtown Chicago and make my way to Ogden Avenue, where I would ride many miles through diverse city neighborhoods of varying economic makeup and continue through some vastly contrasting and fairly affluent suburbs. Lots of traffic lights along this route, but I don't mind much. At8:15 a.m. on this Sunday morning few people are out and about.
As part of my interest in the Underground Railroad stations, I am heading to see the home of Owen Lovejoy and his family and uncover more about the contributions they made to eradicting the United States of that "peculiar" institution called slavery. The Lovejoys paid the ultimate price for their abolition activities: the oldest brother, Elijah Lovejoy, jounalist, newspaper owner and minister was murdered by an angry white mob in Alton, IL for his anti-slavery views and activities.
The weather was perfect--clear sky, hardly a breeze. The wind would pick up later and a couple of times I felt Jesse wiggle a bit in the rear at a couple of robust gusts that caught me a bit off guard.
My unhurried route was perfectly suited to what I needed. I've been stressed by work demands and needed an escape. One of my favorite sections of this day trip was traveling along IL 71--those 15 or so miles were varied, scenic (both in a urban and non-urban way) and lightly traveled. Jesse leans easily and I am mindful (now) to be careful of too much of a good thing.
A little after 11:00 I arrived at the well-marked Lovejoy Homestead, located off Main Street on Peru Street, where IL-26 and St/US-6 meet. I wanted to take exterior pics of the home and skidaddle. I knew that the tour started at 1pm but I planned to be long gone by then. Afterward, I wanted to venture to the Red Covered Bridge and snap a few pics and get home in plenty of time to put in a few hours of work before the day ended.
After I pulled into the Lovejoy lot, I got off the bike, removed my helmet and prepared to retrieve my camera. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw a small red car across the street. It had been sitting waiting to turn onto Peru Street, or so I thought. But there were no cars preventing it from turning. It just sat. Then it happened.
The car drove straight across the street into the Lovejoy lot. I've said this before. I have a tendency to enter these small, homogeneous towns and soon thereafter someone usually summons the police--or they just happen to show up. When I remove my helmet, "Outsider" is written all over me.
The car drives up to me and the person inside, an ancient little lady with snow white hair, says, "Can I help you?" I tell her "No," that I'm there to take some pictures of the homestead and that I plan to leave afterwards. She asks me where I'm from. I tell her. She tells me that the tours begin at 1pm. I tell her I will only take some photos. She says, "that's too bad" and asks me if I want her to call the tour leader and have her open the place early for me. I tell her that is not necessary. She seems disappointed. I then mention that I might come back. I am lying. Once I leave, there is no coming back.
She tells me that "We want you to see it." She emphasizes the "you" like it is critical for me to know this history. She is adamant in a nice way. I begin to soften and ask her where the Red Covered Bridge is located. I tell her that I might return after I visit the bridge and have lunch. Before driving off, she reminds of the tour time.
After picture taking, I head over to the Red Covered Bridge. I am impressed. I especially love the sign above it. I don't know much about single lane bridge etiquette. I parked off the path to the bridge but when cars drove up, they queued up behind me even though I was not on the bike and was simply standing along the road. I wished I had taken a picture of the bike nearer the opening of the bridge. I could have as not many cars came by. But in small towns I obey each and every rule as I have morbid thoughts of being jailed in one of these places for any number of reasons. I admit to a degree of paranoia.
I passed over the bridge a couple of times and eventually found a nice gravely spot to park. On foot, I explored the Red Covered Bridge Park, hoping to find a great spot from which to capture some creative photos. I went pretty far on the park's path and when I returned I saw someone on a motorcycle drive off. By the time I reached the bike, this individual had returned. He was riding a really nice black, red, and white Suzuki GSX 650. He gave me a hearty, friendly greeting.
We both did ventured off to do the photo thing and eventually met up at the 'cycles at the same time. He was out enjoying his new bike and the good weather. We talked motorcycles for a bit and before departing, he gave me the address to a sport-touring website with a familiar looking address. I would later learn that I had once registered at that very sight. The other 'cyclist, "Hickey" is his moniker, is from Peoria, IL. It is always nice running into another passionate motorcyclist.
I missed lunch but munched on some gorp and had a milk shake, which hit the spot. By then it was about 15 minutes until tour time. I headed in toward the homestead and waited in the parking lot. At exactly 1pm, a woman on foot strolled on the Lovejoy grounds and asked if I was there for the tour. I registered, paid the $3 fee and chatted with the guide. Another woman was in the house too and when a Grandma and her three grandchildren came for the tour, they were led by the other woman. My private tour allowed me to ask many questions about Owen Lovejoy, his brothers, and his family.
The story of Owen Lovejoy deserves a post on its own. That's the second installment as I have a bit more research to do before I post something about these amazing anti-slavery brothers.
The return trip was delightful. I hopped on I-80 East and enjoyed superslabbing it to I-55, which leads into Rt. 41 North (aka Lake Shore Drive). Doing so, I shaved more than an hour off the trip and arrived in plenty of time to get some work done.
Observation: I need handle bar risers! My elbows are too straight and there is a bit more of a lean toward the tank than I am WANT. It's one thing to lean when you want to and another to be fored into that position. After 200 miles I begin to feel the force. While not a sport bike in the truest sense, Jesse is also not a standard, like my beloved Suzuki SV650. It's in that in-between zone, where it's like a sport bike "wannabe" with more \ respect for the lower back. The problem for me is the reach. A reach that locks your elbows is not good. It's like standing with your knees locked, rather than a more relaxed unlocked, more efficient stance.
I ended this trip as I did my Canada trip, that is, with more ache in my arms and pressure on my wrists than I care to repeat. Twisted Throttle tells me the handlebar risers and pull backs will be here on Friday! Jesse has more toys than Mattel!
Until next time, ride safe.
Day trip: 265 miles
Erie a stone's throw away. Given that all my emails had been returned by the museum and I couldn't get through via phone, I worried that I'd find the place close. It was, at one time, a small operation run primarily by volunteers. Still, I thought the ride would be worth the risk.
I had two choices. I could go the 5 hour, 300 miles route or the 7 hours and 51 minutes, 288 miles route. Instead, I ended up doing neither. It took me 9 hours to reach Amherstburg, Ontario. It seemed to take forever to get out of Chicago. Leaving on the Fourth of July forced me to wait for two parades to do their thing. Even that didn't bother me, however. I traveled via Rt. 41 south. It's a familiar route. One rides along beautiful Lake Shore Drive with its amazing views of Lake Michigan on the right. Rt. 41 snakes its way into Indiana, traveling through the industrial areas of steel and factories and extant smoke stacks. Next comes Gary, Indiana, parts of which are desolate and remind me of rural Mississippi--at least what I've read about rural Mississippi.
staying with Carolyn was magnificent. The breakfast meals were sensational (and I can be a picky e
The guy had a rather nice voice but like many of the impersonators I've seen they always look like caricatures mocking Elvis in his last days. This area along Lake Erie
For me, the biggest thing required to ride with someone else was a mental adjustment that basically told me you're riding with someone else but for the most part ignore the person. Not in the sense that I disregarded Lucas entirely. I didn't miss any signals he gave and I caught all the sights he pointed out. But when it came to watching his riding at the expense of watching my own, I ignored him and concentrated on my own perfor-
mance, as if I were riding alone. In riding back to Amherstburg, I tried to be careful not to make any sudden turns or signal too late. I think I missed on both accounts a couple of times. Leading does require being more aware of who is behind you as you don't want to surprise the rider. I followed the GPS back, which meant we returned via a different, less scenic route. But less scenic was still picturesque to me and because we went through fewer of the small town centerss, our speed was a bit faster (or was I just riding faster?). It was a spirited ride that was totally fun. I have few pics of spots along the ride route as there were few safe places to pull over for photos.
The ride home took nearly nine hours. I thought I'd take the interstate much of the way but construction zones of bumper to bumper traffic created a lot of crazy-making drivers. I hate being bunched up with cars all around me, itching to gain one car length over someone else and overly zealous about protecting their space. I also resented the slow pokes who wanted to ride adjacent to me to look at Jesse. Yeah, it's a beautiful bike, but the slowing down was risky as others tried to jump lanes for tiny lane openings. For many miles, in some spots, it was like watching a game of auto-Pac Man. I persevered until I couldn't take another driver stopping virtually on my tail! Thank goodness for the vario-levers as there was considerable stop and go in first and second gear and my hands didn't cry out in pain as they would have before the change in levers. Ended up that about half of the return trip was interstate and the other half non interstate, which is pretty much how the trip began.
Today's ride goal was to see how it felt to ride the bike long. I had no real destination in mind but ended up in Champaign, IL, approximately 140 miles from my start. I made one stop getting there, not because I needed to, but because I felt I should. While at a gas station a man pulled up next to me and said, "I saw you on the highway, so what is that you're riding." I stepped back from the bike so he could see. "Oh, a BMW?. How do you like it?" I told him. He asked a gazillion questions (thank goodness I had read the manual and had done a year's worth of research) all of which I could answer (e.g., "What is the drive on it?", "Is that a single swing arm?", the weight, the cc, etc.). He told me about his new bike, a Harley, that he should have been out riding. We chatted some and said our goodbyes. I must confess, when he pulled off, I waited some extra time as fears of him bumping me off the road from behind ran through my head. Ugh!
