Much of Alabama’s hidden history still exists in many places.

The goal was to uncover the mysteries that surround this abandoned hospital that has a controversial and somewhat tainted past.

Most people don’t even know this place exists. The few that do often refer to it incorrectly.

I wanted to understand the history of this forgotten location that was built for the purpose of housing society’s misunderstood population of the mentally deranged.

This Neo-Colonial Style building sits on what was originally known as the Cherokee Plantation.

The plantation was owned by a wealthy southern industrialist, Robert Jemison.

The first Alabama Insane Hospital was built in 1861. The name was changed in 1900 after its first superintendent to Bryce Hospital.

With the end of the Civil War and the pressures of segregation looming, the number of African American patients increased dramatically at Bryce Hospital.

In the 1920s, Bryce Hospital became segregated and this building, the Jemison Mental Institution, was built to house the increasing numbers of African American mentally insane.

It is believed that many of the patients were not insane, but resided at this facility due to the impossible conditions brought on after the abolishment of slavery.

Many had nowhere to go. They became residents right along side of the mentally insane.

The souls of many  of them are still here.

Today, the hospital is in terrible shape.

Due to fire damage from years ago, the structure is tremendously deteriorated. With the roof collapsed, access to the third floor is next to impossible.

Back then little was understood about treatment of the mentally ill.

The cruelty of treatments performed here can be really hard to imagine.

Electroshock — “electroconvulsive therapy” or ECT — was used on patients of all ages for every type of disorder including depression, mania, schizophrenia and even homosexuality and truancy.

Frontal and prefrontal lobotomies were common practice here.

While looking around the property and the buildings I get the sense of being watched. I’m alone, but a creepy feeling comes over me.

The old boiler house to heat this tainted institution.

Due to constant underfunding by the state of Alabama, other means became necessary in order for the Hospital to function.

Farming these fields was the primary “therapy” for the residents/patients.
However, critics thought the institution had more of a “plantation” arrangement.

You see, the hospital became self-sufficient by having the patients do all the work in its fields.

The system seemed to benefit the health of the patients despite long, hard hours and little (or no) pay. The Alabama hospital expenses were paid for by the harvests produced.

Some of these poor residents/patients found themselves back in the same plantation environment they had previously tried to escape.

The overall environment continued to deteriorate at Jemison Mental Institution.

This facility became part of the longest running mental health lawsuit in U.S. history.

By 1970 conditions had become intolerable.

The 33-year long battle for the humane treatment of people with mental illness and mental retardation lead to sweeping reforms in the way this country acknowledges and treats mental illness.

Jemison Mental Institution was closed in the early 1970s and completely abandoned.

Reflecting on my visit to Jemison Mental Institution, I have to wonder what or who is actually still there.

That feeling of constantly being watched was always there.

While this old institution may be abandoned, it is by no means empty.

I soon started making plans for such a desire.  First, I enlisted the help of a “local escort” (LE). The compensation for such duties included but were not limited to food and drinks for the entire time we’re together.  The LE had to know just a bit about the area, so naturally the LE had to be of legal drinking age.  It was also a must that the LE be female.  It was not a requirement or restriction that the LE be nice, intelligent, good looking, economical, or prompt (We will cover these as we go).  The only stipulation was that if the LE drank too much to remain upright while on the motorcycle, the LE was dropped off where we were and had to find an alternate ride home.  Such action also negated and voided any and all previously made or insinuated promises.

The LE contacted me on Thursday night while I was driving south on highway 75 in Georgia.  I was at least 90 miles south of Macon Georgia.  We had small talk and I assured the LE that I was not a goofball or a freak.  She assured me that she knew her way around town, and would be pleased to perform such duties, provided I was who I said I was.  She immediately thanked me for contacting her and I questioned that response.  It was a job offer, not a marriage proposal.

Well, I arrived at the LE’s home at about 10:45 the next day.  We had agreed on 10 to 11, so I picked somewhere in between.  The place where I was staying was 45 minutes from the LE’s house.  I rode up to the house and proceeded to remove protective gear as I knew we’d have some conversation before departing on our adventure.  I had called to warn the LE of my arrival and the LE stated that she was just getting out of the shower and that she needed some time (prompt).  I told the LE that it would take me 10 minutes to get there, and I would certainly wait outside for her to get ready.  As I turned around to greet the LE she went right past my outreached hand and put her arms up around my neck and kissed me.  Hmmm, not what I’m paying for.

She invited me into her home so she could finish getting ready.  As I walked in, she had suggested I follow her into her bedroom.  I assure you that it did not happen.  As the gentlemen that I am, I do not venture into the bedroom of a business associate.

Small talk and grooming took about 20 minutes (prompt).  The time was ticking away as I only had 2 days for the venture.

We were on the road as the LE explained that her previous nights ride was less than thrilling and somewhat dangerous as the operator “asshole”, dropped his motorcycle while she was getting on it.  I don’t doubt the fact that it happened, I doubt the fact the LE wasn’t even close because although she warned me when she was getting on, the thunderous energy and speed to which she “jumped” on almost took me and the bike to the ground.  The LE described herself on the internet as “average” in weight.  I wondered at which height she was average (good looking).  Certainly not her own.

We proceeded downtown to the action.  Main Street.  The place where dreams come true and hearts are broken every March, of every year since the 40’s.

We took the scenic long way that traversed the neighborhoods and actually cut out about 45 minutes of stop and go traffic on our way the the Action.  The LE knew her way around town.  As we got closer to the Action, we talked and she became comfortable and started to relax just a bit.  She draped her arms over my shoulders and leaned up against me.  This made riding through traffic difficult and troublesome (nice/intelligent).  I would have to shift my seat to get her to back away.  I shifted every ten minutes or so (nice/intelligent).

We went up Main Street twice, parked and walked the streets popping in and out of vendor shops and stores along the boulevard.  I took pictures of motorcycles and the crowd.  I just needed to walk up and down the street once to satisfy my needs.  The LE made several references to leather goods and tee shirts she would like “if she only had the money” (economical).

The secondary part of this trip down town was to visit the custom motorcycle displays on Beach Street.  We found the motorcycle and headed back across the bridge to Beach Street.  As we toured the neighborhoods trying to find a parking spot, she would continually try to fix her hair just as we were slowing down at stop lights and stop signs.  This is very distracting as it causes the weight to shift when the motorcycle is hardest to control.  At slow speeds, especially while slowing, it is customary and essential that the passenger maintain some balance to assist the operator (intelligent).

We finally parked and proceeded to the vendor/display area.  We walked around as I took pictures and we talked about the tee shirts and leathers she so desperately needed (economic).  I wanted to see the Tuttles (OCC) and their bikes.  They are world famous builders.  End of story.  We needed to leave this area and go down the street another 10 or so miles to see the OCC display.  We left the custom bike area and went to see the OCC.

We saw the boys and their toys on display.  I took pictures and she explained how she needed tee shirts and leathers to complete her wardrobe.  We left there and went down the road for dinner. We had a great meal at Bob Evans.

We met a guy at the bar at Bob Evans that was eating a chicken salad that looked just right.  The meal I was after wasn’t going to weigh me down.  We both decided to have the chicken salad, with bread and all the fixins.  Soon after our meal arrived, “what’s your favorite food”?, she asked.  Huh oh…

Some friendly banter that included the reference to her obsession with her yearly tribute to tee collectibles.  My god did I hire the tee collector from hell?  So far though, our deal was working real good and I was having a nice time riding around with her.

We left the restaurant and headed towards the Cabbage Patch.  I had been there 5 years ago and wanted to see the action.  We arrived just as the freestyle motocross bikes were flying through the air.  The crowd was smaller than I had anticipated, and the vendors looked overstocked for the last two days of Bike Week.  We got a beer (normally won’t drink more than two while on the bike).  The LE noted on several occasions that I’d rather be with “that one” because of the skinny waste and lack of legal attire.  I noted that I was doing fine and she needed to be nice.  (Much too personal I was to find out).

We stayed there for awhile and took some pictures.  She noted how cheap the tees were.

We headed back to Main Street but on the way I decided to go to where I was staying, take a shower, and change clothes for the evening.  I asked her since she too wanted to add clothing for the evening ride, we would part and join up later.  She agreed and we headed to her house.  It was a nice 30 minute ride that included the hair adjustments and the shoulder weights the entire length of the trip.

Oh, I got two neck kisses.  One for each intersection that I guess was special to her.  I ignored the affront to my independence and business relationship status.  I got a real nice kiss as she departed the bike and she noted how nice a time she was having.  I thanked her for having an equally good time, and that I would be back ASAP.

I went and took a shower, changed clothes, and added layers for the freezing nights.  The ride back was very nice and relaxing.  Joined up with about 40 bikes coming in from Ocala (I think).  I hit her house about 8pm and we headed to Main Street for the Molley Hatchet concert.

It was very crowded downtown.  We walked around and shopped.  She was earnestly looking for a vest this time.  She went into a shop as I waited at the curb scoping the traffic.  She emerged from the leather goodies boutique with a vest.  Hmmm…I stalled enough that she just had to buy.

I had agreed to catch up with some friends of hers down town.  We met them at Dirty Harry’s.  Her and him, not their real names, were obviously in love.  He is married from Michigan and she is a bar tender that needs flesh more than a pit bull.  They groped as we watched the Bliss Band.  The band was OK, and the groping was ok too.

Soon the LE was moving and grinding and I felt somewhat like her boy toy.  A bit of emotional eye batting and the occasional hug and kiss.  LE no longer meant Local Escort, but Loose and Eager.  I danced a little with her and let her hug me and kiss.  This place was so crowded, I was getting groped and I have no idea from who.  I thanked both him and her (not their real names)…they both denied the  advancements.

The two ladies wanted new vest chains so we left Dirty Harry’s and wondered about looking for the chains.  I offered to buy the chains, but she needed to break her 20 she said.  I was totally confused now.  I offered and she refused, relieving me of any obligatory investment in her wardrobe.

At 11 or so, Molley Hatchet was to start and we were going to be there for the festivities.  The Naked Angels (not their real names), opened for MH. They danced around the stage and my LE kept turning me away, planting kisses, and generally trying to catch my attention.  It didn’t work and she got a little bothered.  She was my LE….hmmm.

Molly Hatchet sucked.  We took off for the Iron Horse.  That place was empty for 1am.  We had a steak sandwich, and called it an evening.

I returned her to her place and we kissed goodbye.  I told her 10 to 11 am I would be back.

I froze my arse off on the way to my place.  In Florida, I seems that when you leave the street lights, the temperature drops by 20 degrees.  I got to bed at 3:30 am.

I was somewhere in middle Texas riding a bull.  I was surrounded by cheering crowds, the timer coming close to 8 seconds.  The bull was a fierce beast towering 10′ at the shoulders and full of anger and muscle.  The horns were coming within inches of my cheeks at every jump.  I was being tossed like mouse being attacked by a barn cat.  The noise was deafening and I thought that was strange. I live alone and there shouldn’t be any noises.  What the f**k!  I sat up in bed, total darkness, strange smells, and a bit cold.

Wow.  I wasn’t at home, I was in Crescent City Florida.  Other people live here and they’re up.  I looked at the clock and it’s 7:00am.  Time to get my ass up.  3 1/2 hours sleep, need to start another day.  It’s Bike Week.

I got up and went down stairs.  The lady of the house was sitting in front of her computer.  She had a printout from CompUSA.  “Should I just buy another computer, this ones so messed up”?, she asked.  “Let me see”, said as I poured my coffee and sat at the helm.

90 minutes of deleting files, useless software, and rearranging her virus and spyware settings, she was clean and ready to go.  She hugged me.  The man, who was paying for the new computer, also hugged me, as she no longer was in need of newer more expensive problems.  I packed for a full evening this time.  Overnight goodies such as toothbrush, deodorant, petroleum and rubber goods.  Clean underwear and of course extra layers of clothes.  You never can tell.  I took off at about 10 am and stopped a the local store for an orange juice.  I called the LE and alerted her of my plans.  I also called my 16 year old son and wished him a happy birthday.  I laughed at him because he’s in Indiana, with snow on the ground.  He was not amused.  On the way in on hiway 40, I caught up with about 20 bikes.  We weaved our way in and out of traffic for the next 20 miles or so.  I pulled up to the LE house and honked my horn.  No need, she was walking out as I pulled up.  The smile on her face warned me of the impending kiss. Accurate.

The only plan for this day was a preplanned visit to Smileys.  An internet group of harley owners had planned a gathering.  We took off and stopped for a coffee and packed donuts.  Eatin on the cheap.  You see, the agreement for the food and drink had no minimum or maximum.

The next couple of hours was a blur.  I rarely show up to an occasion  and shake the hands of 30 or so people I don’t know.  I tried to keep track, I really did.  There were a few notables that made their mark, but I’m hesitant to call out those few and then offend the others that will or likely will become friends or acquaintances.  Those that were tall, bald, matching shoes, or able to eat a small chicken in one sitting were remembered.

The rest need to do more.  Wear something outrageous or something.   Oh, there was a newly retired SOB that laughed way too much and told how wonderful it is to be retired.  I hope your next flat is at a Wing Ding Thing.  Not really.  Have a nice time, you probably deserve something for the years you put in.

The food, all you can eat side bar, was excellent.  The Portapotties (I don’t call them port-a-johns) were as clean as could be expected.  The cokes were cold.  The weather was beautiful.  I saw nothing but handshakes and smiles.  The occasional whoop and holler broke the midday sound of bikes continuously roaring by.  I had no idea that the RMH women could whoop like that…LMAO.

We met those two love birds in the afternoon at Smiley’s for a ride up 1A to St. Augustine.  We weren’t on the road for 200 yards before I saw her hand reach around and start petting Mr. Happy.  Penthouse Magazine article here it comes.  And It’ll be in front of me.

But the weather was nice.

We cruised up hiway 1 to Bunnell.  Took 100 over to 1A.  It wasn’t long until we were passing awesome beachhouses and roadside cafes.  What a beautiful road.  Not like Deals Gap.  Not like Market Street in San Francisco, and certainly not like CR13 in Blount County Alabama, but it was nice.  We traveled at 45 MPH for quite a long time without any traffic to bother us.  The sun was at the right spot, and a breeze was coming off the land so it was nothing but nice.  I forgot.  As we traveled, every time I turned my head to talk about a house, tree, bike, cafe, or anything of interest the arms came and flopped on the my shoulders.  She was breast fed.

I got so many ear kisses I know she’s accidentally got my earring and didn’t want to admit it until I was gone.  How do you explain a cheek full of earring. The LE suggested we take this trip and she was right.  I thoroughly enjoyed the trip.  We stopped in old town and went to a bar across from the fort.

The waitress there had a blue tongue knob that caught my attention.  She also thinks the fort is a castle.  Maybe the two are a coincidence?

As the evening progressed and the four of us walked old town and laid card at 2 more stops, the LE began the normal escalation of hugging and rubbing somewhat akin to the previous evening.  We met a very nice couple in front of O’Malleys.  They’re from Michigan, they said.  Funny the Romeo and I are from Michigan also.  We ventured inside and found they had no hard liquor so we decided to keep going.  Of course we alerted the nice couple outside that we were in fact kicked out because we’re from Michigan.  We had a good laugh about it.  We went around the corner and found a little bar right off the bridge.  I’m sorry the name escapes me but it was a nice little joint.  The James Taylor look-alike sang for Georges and did a rather good job.  The light conversation turned to “would I ever consider moving to the area”?

As nightfall came and went we donned the bikes and headed south on 95 back to the Iron Horse.  We exited 95 at the first hiway 1 exit which put us 8 or so miles north of Bunnell.  The ride down 1 could not have been better.  I liked the smooth windy two lane road.  The traffic was just heavy enough to make passing interesting and our take mind off the cold.  This was the first time I actually thought about how much I trusted Romeo and his side-by-side riding style.  The side-by-side is generally reserved for close friends or trusted riding partners.  We did that style of riding when we left Smiley’s but since it was light and the road was nice I felt comfortable enough to choose the outside and straddle the white line.  That style is not so comfortable on an unfamiliar road, sub-zero temperatures, and at night.  As we passed cold spots in the road, the arms came again and plopped down on my shoulders.  By this time I knew when her knees clenched, the hands were coming.  We faired good and made it back just as our  stomachs were screaming for steak plates at one of the roadside side greasy spoons.  The meal was actually OK.

I decided the Tee time had come.  We were close to our bikes, the lines weren’t long, the Tees were the same as all those others we’d seen….so what the hey.  She got her Tee shirt.  The two girls started calling people and before we knew it, there were four other groups in various stages of bonding.  We had newbies, flirts, old hags, secretary types, and just a few tattoos.  The lies started immediately.  I always catch fish that exceed the limit, and always get 1 mile per gallon better than the next guy, and they always saw more skin and nipples than me.  How did my Daytona trip turn to fish lies?

My LE thought it best not to bring me to the tittie expose’s, butt contests, and bar top strip joints.  How  pleasantly ladylike of her.  Shit.  Have thoughts of hiring a two-way next time that’s not affected by, but enjoys the company of, those that generally patronize the tittie shows.  No, don’t think so.  I’ll stick with the fish stories.

We stood atop the skywalk for what seemed hours waiting for the world famous burnouts.  We waited and took pictures and talked about the lousy band while we waited for the world famous burnouts.  We drank beer as we waited for the world famous burnouts.  We peed while….you know the story.  I did have a very funny moment while using the local facilities.  While I was performing the bodily function, the lady in charge of traffic flow was checking for empty units.  She was opening the doors to check.  I heard a man just a few units down scream out, “Hey please, leave me alone, I’m married”!…laughter came from every unit there and most that were waiting.

We finally saw the burnouts.  I took pictures of smoke.

Sorry folks….I took my LE home, sat at her kitchen table, had two cups of coffee…and took off into the frozen tundra like a true gentlemen.  The contract fulfilled, and the experience a truly good one.  I made few new friends, a few good friends, and a new good friend.

The internet connection was from Yahoo Personals.  I searched the Daytona area and sent out a dozen of so emails…that read… “1 in a million shot…I’m in town 2 days…Friday and Saturday…you show me around town and I buy everything we need.  We have a good time and we part friends.
(phone number).

Thanks to all and all have a safe ride.

First, lets talk about the good points:

• Waterproof case
• Nice crisp, clear image
• Stable image (no obvious vibration)
• lots of mounting hardware
• easy to use

Now, the bad stuff:

• Camera does not come with media (SD cards not included)
• Wide angle lens only good for close range images <50 ft.  (preference)
• Large files, that are difficult to render and even view on a computer
• lack of support from GoPro (no response from emails, terrible FAQ section)
• Codec (software to decode video) is not included, and cannot be obtained legally (this is the deal-killer)

Now the SD card issue is not a huge deal, and the wide-angle lens is certainly a preference thing (but it is really not that great of an idea for street riding).  The missing codec is a REALLY BIG DEAL!  Basically, now you only have 2 options: watch the video on your TV, directly from the camera, or “watch” the video on your PC using Apple’s Quicktime player.  Having no codec means you cannot interpet the video, edit the video, or manipulate it in any way.  And that SUX!  With no codec, you really have NO options as  far as editing, and showcasing the best of your videos.  With a price tag of $299, I would expect much more from GoPro.  My advice is to save your money, or go with one of the earlier models using semi-standard codecs, and maybe even a standard lens.  Stay away from this one folks, I think you will be disappointed.

I got downtown and I road good streets, bad streets, straight-level roads, downtown streets with multiple stoplights, up-hill starts that required right simultaneous brake / throttle… I covered any and every hard situation that I could think of before heading back the way I came.  I stopped at Hill University Center for a pit stop, lit a cigarette and started to gear up again when a young guy approached me, smitten with the bike.  The discussion that took place was a replay of the one I had several months ago with a rider who’s bike I was admiring except this time I was on the rider’s end of the conversation.  He inquired about the cost… is it hard to learn to ride?  What made me want to ride?  I shared with him everything that I knew, which isn’t much - only what I’ve been through and experienced thus far, sharing the truth about my own riding experience and encouraging him as I had been.  When I got back to Leeds on 78, I took a last minute turn right by the Chevron and into Barber Motorsports where sport bike riders were enjoying track-day.  I pulled into a parking lot where I could see people watching a turn in the track.  I joined them for a few minutes and watched these bikes and took in the sight and sound of the various high-powered engines that labored effortlessly down the hill and into the turn, where they accelerated.  I’ve never seen bikes on a track before.  It was exhilarating.

I usually take 78 to and from work because the interstate generally scares the hell out of me.  Semi trucks are my nightmare.  When I approached the light, I found myself turning left, then right heading towards the on-ramp to I-20.  Traffic was moderate for a Saturday and there were a few trucks up there.  I felt a bit empowered by those bikes on the track and decided that I was ready to cautiously approach and encounter another fear, after all - that is precisely what’s enabled me to progress so far in my riding.  As the on-ramp ended and I was head-checking my entry point I realized that there were no cars occupying any of the lanes and that those that had gone by were already disappearing into the curve ahead.  I laid into it and when I did, I crossed a threshold.  This may inspire a few giggles but that’s ok - I saw the shift light for the first time as I stepped through the gears (the former owner of this bike obviously set it at over 10,000 RPM’s and I’ve never pushed the bike that hard before).  The power I felt was absolutely amazing and I understand now why Yoshimura exhaust is so popular because it screamed like a banshee.  The hair stood up on my arms because the bike went rigid and into the curve, I pushed slightly and leaned and it laid down with me… I swear, it almost felt like sex.

I exited at 144-B, and back toward home I drove, cruising the speed limit.  I took one hand off the bar and sat upright as I moved down the highway, all the time exercising what I’ve read and learned - cushion of space, two-second lead-time between vehicles, number one position of the lane for higher visibility, staying out of driver’s blind spots, scanning the road surface, mirrors and side streets.  I passed by my neighborhood and laid back into the gas and cruised towards Odenville, doubled back to Kelly-Creek Road and cruised the moderate twisties on my way back to the house.  I could not bring myself to stop the ride until I decided that my wrists and my right thumb were sore and it was time to shut it down.

I am a ball of stress but I experienced several hours worth of Zen this afternoon.  All of this may be just another rider’s good afternoon but for me, it was the freedom, relaxation and fun that I’ve been working toward since I first climbed on my motorcycle.  I’m truly one of the happiest people on the face of this planet right now and I still have a beautiful, sunny day tomorrow to look forward to.

- FreqnLoDown

• AHRMA Racing
• Century Race
• Vintage Swap Meet
• Auction
• Wall of Death
• Aeroshell Aerobatic Team
• Technical Seminars
• Motorcycle Classics Magazine Café Bike Show

-pinkspeeder

Turns out I over packed. All I really needed was the 2 pairs of jeans, bandanna, GTex jacket, vest, socks , underwear t-shirts and gloves.

Drove (yuck) to the Atlanta airport. parked. strapped on my MX boots and walked to the terminal.   No checked baggage.

Land in Miami. Almost miss my connecting flight.   Miami’s airport sucks… hell Miami in general sucks - just flush the f*kn place.

Decided to remove my boots on the flight to Lima.. he he.  My feet stank like wet cheddar.  Hell, I even put deodorant on them before i left - didn’t work.   There were two mama sitas in the seats next to me.   I don’t speak much Spanish but I know what two women look like when they are saying something like “dear f*kn God that guys feet smell like sh1t !”.   Sure was nice to get some air one em’

Land in Lima. Exchange some Dollars for Nuevo Sols.   Who the hell designed our money - friggin lame compared to everyone else’s money.   One of Peru’s bills has a dude flying upside down in a bi-plane over lake Titikaka. .. ours has some guy named Abraham on it.  Have to pay a $30 “airport fee” before going through security.

Arrive in Cusco

Alejandro Luna Castro meets me at the airport exit.   He knows its me maybe cause I’m the only one with a motorcycle helmet and MX boots.. maybe.   There is always that chance that you will get severely screwed when traveling to different countries and its always in the back of your head.   LUCKILY these guys are legit.

“Alex” has a crutch.   He is the owner of Peru Moto Tours.   I find out later that he broke his hip in an MX accident. He has trophies above his desk. Turns out I lucked out and hit Cusco in the dry season.   They have 2 seasons there - dry and wet.   It will begin to rain nonstop in October.   We roll into town.   I’m staying next door to the bike shop which about a 2 minute walk to the center of the city of  Cusco.   I’m supposed to meet them at 18:00 to go over the route and meet my guide Jose.   So I have some time to relax.

First off I get myself a cup of Coca Tea.   The hotel has a basked full of dried Coca leaves next to some hot water.

The Cusco Plaza is cheap and clean.

The altitude bothers some people. It bothers me…. The only thing that I forgot to bring was my ALTITUDE SICKNESS PILLS. ahem… So I  went to the doctor and had him write me a prescription to these damn things… oh well, just have to tough it out.   I feel tired,  kind of like i’m getting the flu.   Drink more Coca Tea.

This is the Altitude of Cusco. The altitude outside my house in B’ham is 550ft.

Walking around Cusco City

It was on one of these streets…that I found THIS joint ! … WTF ?

I had to go inside. They had loads of cool motorcycle stuff in there. old gas tanks old posters, stickers and stuff. None of the staff spoke English.   Ate a burger that tasted like trash.

Some Farmer ladies that came down from the hills with their baby lamas

Oh yea. The Peruvian Weapon of choice…. the Uzi.  also a requirement is the Macho leather gloves

Ok,  so I meet up with Jose at 18:00 to go over the route. I would get to know him pretty well over the next couple of days. Good guy. We would leave Cusco at 9:00. Head into Urubamba Valley,  then up into the Andes mountains.

“It gets cold, do you have enough warm clothes?”

Yes.

“OK.”

Then we will take off road here to Santa Teresa then to Hydroelectric.  We look over the bikes. Instead of the Hondas we decide to take the Yamaha XT-Z 250s . Hell yea. Ill choose a Yamaha over a Honda any day.   These are fuel injected.   Euro-restricted,  so I can barely tell that its running. Ive never ridden a fuel injected dirt bike before.

“ok, sounds great. see you at 9:00.”
Get dinner. Eat alpaca - awesome.   Drink Hot Chocolate - never had hot chocolate that tasted like that before,  very good.

Ride to Santa Teresa and Agua Callientes:

6:00AM -  People throwing bowling balls down wooden stairs on top of my ceiling. Throw away my sox, underwear, t-shirt. Rummage in bag until I feel content with the “order” of it.   Eat 1/2 bag of airport brand trail mix.   Meet up with Jose.   Mount up and roll out into the morning Cusco traffic.   Cobblestone streets. chasing dogs, lane splitting, bus dodging.   Only passing law is that ya’ gotta mash the Hooter button.

woo! f*kn hell. The way I figure it is that the closer I am to Jose the better. The city doesn’t seem to last very long (thank the mighty condor-totum spirit) .   We hit  dirt roads off and on as we head towards Urumbamba Vally.

Urubamba Vally

Now. The scenery is just mind blowing. Its hard to keep my eyes on the road. The roads are switch backs,  esses, sweepers and every now and then a mountain stream will cross the road or a landslide will be all over it.  The roads are bad to the bone,  the best I have ever ridden or seen. I cant describe the views.   Just constantly picture perfect. Ansel Adams pictures everywhere I point my eyes. We ride through Urubamba town and start climbing in altitude through the Andes.

Riding the twisted twisties in the Peruvian Andes

yea, that is a road

this.. this is like some kind of strange moon or something right ?

Remember the picture of the farmer ladies dressed in red?
well as we were going up into the mountains we started seeing people dressed like that. just plopped down next to the road looking out at the mountains. Jose told me that each farmer “owns” a mountain. There are more mountains than people out here. they live off the land. drink water from the streams. grow potatoes and have lamas and alpacas.

Riding twisties in the Peruvian Andes: Headed towards Santa Teresa

We just rode. kept going. I didnt want to stop but just had to take pictures. Had to wring the neck of the XT. Using all of the gear box the whole time. The air was getting thin. We topped out on the road at 14000ft and some change according to my altimeter which Jose said was pretty spot on. Started wanting to race Jose up the mountain (wanted to stuff him in the corners ) but caught myself thinking about being in a Peruvian hospital. Been in a Chinese hospital 2 times before (once for alcohol poisoning and another for dysentery), not good experiences, so I stayed safe and let him control the pace.  Probably a good idea.

Pictures at the top:

The pavement ends

Just stops.  Runs out.   I ask Jose how long it took to build the road we were just on. He tells me they just finished that section about 4 years ago. His brother worked on it.   The Dirt roads here go from hard pack to loose to hard pack with golf ball size rocks to hard pack with jagged rocks sticking out.   All of them have a “wake” in the middle that is usually thick and powdery dirt… er.. that will make your front end wash out if you hit it just right.. more on that later.  The edges of the mountain roads are sheer.   If you fall off you WILL die.   Jose told me that the tour companies lose about 4 buses per year on these roads.  The tour companies pay the government lots of money so that they can stay in business.

This next video picks up just after we put a new tube in the front tire of Jose’s bike. It was an easy job.  Both of us knew how to do the job,  and he had packed a tire change kit… but he forgot an extra valve stem core and he didnt have a valve stem core remover. Jose jumped on my bike and pulled over a big truck.  Flats are common out here so lots of people carry them.  We had er’ fixed in no time. Actually I was kind of glad we had a flat!! I like being tested like that.  Only bad thing about it was that we stopped at a little stream crossing - MO-FUGGIN-SQUITOS!!. The mosquitos here work as a team. One group flies around your face and tries to enter your nose, tear ducts and ears while the other group bites the stank out of every exposed piece of gringo they see.   At first I see them and hey… “those aren’t mosquitos, those are fruit flies”.  Jose tells me “I hate mosquitos. Too many here”.   I tell him “man I don’t think these are the biting kind”.  Was I wrong.   These things draw BLOOD,  seriously.   They look like fruit flies but they have some kind of hard shell around them.  Damn.  Then come the thoughts of “jeez are these amazonian mosquitos going to lay larvae under my skin?  Yellow fever? ”

We rode in the dirt for a long time after that.  We needed to get the old tube patched just in case we had another flat, so we stopped in a little town.  There was a shop with tires piled up out front. “Hola !” , “Eh!?”.   Big moma sita taking a shower behind a plastic roof cover puts a green towel on.  Spanish flurry between Jose and moma sita.   She comes over with the towel on and grabs the tube, looks at it,  puts some clothes on.  Then she  starts to apply cold patches to the two holes in the tube.  Jose and I look at each other.  Spanish flurry.  Jose grabs the tube and peels off the patches and hands them to her.  We leave.  We need a hot patch.  Cold ones will not hold up more than 10 minutes here.

We rode on. Down to just T-shirts and jeans now.  Hot.
We stop for gas in another little town.  People outside smile at us when we ride up. Woman keeps gas in 3 big barrels inside a small shop with a porch out front.  She fills up a bucket with fuel, brings a big funnel with a t-shirt stuffed inside it and a length of water hose cut and attached to the spiggot of the the funnel.  I love it here. One bucket goes into Jose’s bike.  We top it off using a little sheet metal watering bucket like one you would use to water a house plant with.  Then we go through the same fill-up routine with my bike.  I love it.   I wanted to take pictures of the gas barrels and the fill up procedure but I was feeling a little GRINGO at the time and didn’t want to start poking my camera around the place - know what I mean?  We found a guy to hot patch the tube. He finished in about 15 minutes. did a good job.

These roads lead us to the town of Santa Teresa. Jose tells me that this town was destroyed by a huge land slide not too long ago. Many people died. The people rebuilt the town on top of the wash and old rubble from the town.  Jose pointed at the mountain next to the town to show me a line in the earth.  That was where the mountain dropped off and slid down on to Santa Teresa.
Here is the second video of the road going to Santa Teresa,  followed by pictures taken upon arrival in Santa Teresa and along the road to Santa Teresa.

Stopped in Santa Teresa for a little while:
After the stop in Santa Teresa we were off to Hydroelectric. Its on a big river that they use to generate electricity. More dirt roads.  These are leaning towards the “in shambles” variety - pulverized grey stuff,  powder with softball and golf ball size stuff scattered around.  The middle will wash the front out. I’ve almost lost it a couple times already.  The front tire on the bike worked good for everything but this.  I’m just moving to quick.  We pass an old white Mercury with roof racks., first Jose then me.  I pass on the left,  get a ways ahead of them . As I cross the center of the lane that has all of the powder build up my front tire just goes.  I have no idea why it went like that, just like i hit a slab of ice or something. Fell on my right side.  Lucky I didn’t fall off the mountain.  I stand up and the Mercury is pulling up behind me as I’m lifting the bike up.  The woman comes running at me with toilet paper wanting to wipe off my arm.  It’s bloody and covered with grey grit and dust.   “I’m ok, its ok, ok”,  I tell her.  Jose has pulled around by this point.  By the way he is talking to them I can tell he thinks they clipped me.  I hear him tell them that I don’t speak Spanish.  They look at me. “Its ok”  I tell them.   I’m smiling as I work my arm to make sure I can use it.  It checks out -  good to go.  Front brake lever is jammed against the bark buster,   screw it Ill use the rear brake.

We make it to the bridge that crosses the river at Hydroelectric.  The guards won’t let us across because we are on bikes.. hmm… OK.  So we get on the bikes and backtrack a few miles to a little house with chickens running around outside.  We park the bikes and ask the owner of the house if we can park our bikes there for 1 day. He is OK with it. We hike back to the bridge and up to the little shanty train depot.  There are vendors all along the tracks that have strung together lots of blue tarps which are used to sell goods out of:  water,  ‘nanners,  cola, beer. Jose asks one of the vendors if we can leave our helmets in his wheelbarrow for 1 day. He is ok with it. hmm. OK, sounds good to me.

The train company makes the Peruvian nationals ride in separate train cars than  the foreigners.  As I sat down there are two Spanish hikers seated next to me, the chick sees my arm and winces, talks to her boyfriend, they agree.   She pulls some iodine out of her bag along with some sterile gauze.  I rinse off my arm with some water. Then wipe it off with the Iodine and the gauze. Sh1t that stuff is strong.  I say gracias a bunch,  and then give them my pack of gum.    They didn’t want it.   I had to make them take it.

The train arrives in Aguas Callientes. Its about 17:00 but dark because the sun is behind the mountains.

Aguas Callientes is in a deep valley.  Its a jungle.  Bananna trees, MO-FUGGIN-squitos, lots of green leafy plants, thick, avacado trees. Shit its’ the Vally of the Incas man. Cant find the hotel.  Takes us about an hour to track it down.  We find it.  Nice place.  We will stay here tonight and tomorrow night. Good, enough time for me to clean my arm up and go check out Machu Picchu.

I get up to my room and see the mirror. Ive got dirt all over my face from the ride here. no wonder people were looking at me funny.   I’ll use the bandanna on the ride back to Cusco. Clean up my arm a little then take some time to snap some photos of my road rash before hitting the shower.

I sleep bad because im trying to keep my arm from sticking to the bed sheets the whole night.

Wake up at 3:00 to the sound of people f*king .  It would be OK,  if I could just hear the woman.  But I hear no woman.  Just a male climax.  Heinous!! That totally ruined any chance of rest full sleep I may have had.  Get out of bed early, head to Machu Picchu.

There were some Lamas chillin’ out at Machu Pichu. Doing Lama things like eating grass and looking at mountains.

This is the road up to Machu Picchu:
It is used by buses and maintenance vehicles only.  Machu Picchu is a “sacred” place so they try to protect it from cars and evil motorcycle diablos.   Still a crazy road none the less.

After I came back down to Aguas Callientes my arm was feeling er.. not right.  I kept finding mosquitos eating it.  It had puss and was oozing. I started walking around the town trying to find a drug store.  I wanted some hydrogen peroxide.  Should be easy to find right? It comes in “the brown bottle”, easy to spot and point.

SCORE! found what I needed after walking around for a couple of hours.
I headed back to the hotel to clean up my arm.

The hotel had a crappy computer that I used to post an update with.  It took forever.

At around 17:00,  I went down to the desk and there was a message for me.  Gave me the name of Jose’s hotel.   I went to find him, found him.  Then we went and drank Pisco Sours for a while.   Jose has 4 brothers and 7 sisters.  His father was murdered in the 1980’s. His sister lives in Arizona.  He tried to go to Mexico on a boat illegally one time to marry an older woman but the authorities caught him in Panama and made him go home.  The guy has done a lot of riding.  He also takes people out into the Amazon jungle … in the rainy season.  Tough SOB.  Good guy. Great job he has.

We talk about when we are going to leave.  Jose tells me that the first train out of Aguas Callientes leaves at 12:30.  The trains that come before that are only for Peruvian nationals…. screw that! That’s too late for me. We are going to meet at my hotel at 6:00, have breakfast then Hike down the Rail Road Tracks to get our bikes. It will take us 2hrs and 30 minutes. .  In MX boots.

Great decision. A beautiful hike and long talks.

We meet one of the “nationals only” trains on our way down.

When we get back to the train depot at Hydroelectric we buy some water and head back to pick up our bikes.   I use Jose’s tool kit and fiddle with the bark buster until I can move the front brake lever again. good. OK.  Ready to go, bandana on.  I like the bandanna, covers the face,  really useful thing.  Kind of like the Swiss army knife of cloth.

We ride to Santa Maria taking a different route than before. Pass some ghost towns.

From here on its over the mountains , through the Urubamba Vally then back into Cusco.

It was a once in a lifetime ride. Epic.

Riding gnarly roads in a foreign country.

Exposing myself to the unfamiliar.

Playing with the elements in a way that only motorcycles can allow. Crunchy grit in the teeth, bloody-puss, luck and a big sh*t eating grin.

Christ what a beautiful f*king country.

- donovangravlee

 Arriving at the Greenhorn I met up with Matt and Dianne, owners of this fine establishment. For those of ya’ll not in the know, Greenhorn is a bar in Jasper catering to folks who like to have a good time. On Wednesday night they have a hump day bike night featuring drink specials, free hot-dogs and karaoke with Jimmy C.. This run is a way for Matt and Dianne to show thanks to the riders who help keep the doors open. There’s not many business owners who will dig into their own pockets to throw a party for their customers. That’s just the way Matt and Dianne are, friendly folks who appreciate their customers as friends. If you find yourself in Jasper stop in and have a beer, you will not find a better place or nicer folks.

 After getting the herd assembled (about 50 bikes and 70 something folks) we headed out for the first leg of the trip, a quick blast down corridor X. Not much to say about that, if you have ran one freeway you have ran them all. Getting off the super slab at the Oakman exit we headed out to Tuscaloosa on 69. 69 is a great way to go from Walker county to Tuscaloosa, good pavement, nice scenery to look at, and enough curves to make it all interesting. If I had been naked, with my lady friend on the back, I could have lived my dream. Stopping in Northport gave us a chance to refill the bikes and shoot the bull for a few minutes. Heading back out we hit the freeway again, 359 to 59/20 and getting off at the Eutaw exit. Taking 14 into Eutaw we roared into the Front Porch hungry but happy.

 Matt and Dianne had rented the place for our private party and we pretty much took over the establishment. As the grill was fired up we headed in to the restaurant to quench our parched throats. It was not long before the smell of steak’s on the grill filled the air. It drew us out of the A.C. like moths to a flame. (Actually it was more like wolves to a kill)  The way we fell on the food you would have thought we were a herd of refuges instead of a bunch of slightly plump middle aged folks. It was not pretty, but it sure was good. I do not not know what Ron did to that meat but it was so tender you didn’t need a knife. It just melted in your mouth. Ron’s Front Porch will be my place to eat in Greene county from now on. 

 After letting my food digest I was able to saddle up for the ride back. Not much to say about that as I took 59/20 back to Hueytown. The only thing interesting I saw was a convention of State Troopers taking our roads back. ( Welcome to Alabama, here’s your ticket ) Much thanks to Matt and Dianne for putting all this together. It was a good ride and I had fun. A big shout out to Ron and all the folks at the Ron’s Front Porch, home of the best steaks around.

                                                                Later,

                                                                          springer