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Dark rain clouds were coming into Frackville, PA when I left late this morning. In case
you're not familiar with Frackville, PA it is about 50 miles north of Harrisburg, PA on I-81. I
learned about this place myself when I found Frackville last night. I don't know what happening
or convention was going on in the area but motel rooms were sold out all along I-81.
I am not really sure but I'd guess most people who do this "USA Four Corners Tour" probably
try their best to avoid high traffic areas like Washington, DC. Not being like most people,
I decided to head right for the epicenter of our nation's headquarters once I remembered that
DC is considered a state in the National Park Passport Stamp program and I wanted to add it
to my book!
I also wanted to get off the interstate and so the 2 goals merged and so did I onto
US-15 towards Fredrick, MD. I was on a section of this particular road less than 2
months prior while obtaining the Gettysburg stamp though I did not ride the entire Catoctin
Scenic Byway and the others that surround it. Today, it was all mine…
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Once I made it into Frederick I took all back roads into DC. Yup, the whole way.
I am continuously amazed how little use these roads receive given the beauty they
afford the traveler willing to go the extra mile. I never knew there were so many
horse farms so close to the heart of DC. You'd never know this if you were on one
of the octopus arms of the beltway.
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I envisioned those who have direct access to my GPS tracking watching me head towards DC saying
“where is she veering to now... oh surely she's not.... she can't be going... yeah, she is
definitely going to DC!” My plan (yeah, the one that surfaced after I awoke today) was to
make the Vietnam Veterans Memorial my chosen site for collecting a stamp but upon arrival there
was a log jam of tour buses amidst construction, er, TRAVAUX! So, I headed down Pennsylvania
Ave and quickly came to the Washington Monument. Lo and behold, I found a parking place right
on PA Ave and backed in with an almost victorious feeling! When I dismounted the V-Strom I
looked up and across the street and saw that DIRECTLY in front of me was the White House:
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Even though the entrance to the monument (where I thought the stamp would be) required a hike
across the grassy grounds I was going to find a way to get a stamp from DC. This would
require I leave sight of the bike; in situations like this I find the biggest and meanest
looking person around and ask if they would be so kind to keep an eye on my bike for a few
minutes. I've never had a problem finding someone and some people seemed rather honored
to be asked. Add “Tyrone” to that list. I approached him looking up (I stand almost
6' if that gives you any idea) and started my request with “Sir” in case being disrupted from
thought would cause a reaction from him. Well, Tyrone was more than willing to watch over
the "very pretty motorcycle." In a gentle giant kind of way he said he'd "never been given
the duty to guard a motorcycle before." He suggested in all seriousness that he stand
beside it since “DC can be a rough place.” I insisted that he didn't really need to do so
(he was standing near a park bench not even 50 feet away) and that I'd only be gone a few minutes
while I walked to the monument and back. He still insisted so I left Tyrone guarding the
Strom... staggered stance, arms crossed. Let me say that I can't imagine even the
President's men across the street coming between him and the bike! So, off I go across the
grounds of the Washington Monument, in full gear of course, for a stamp. I get to the
information kiosk and am told they don't have the stamp and to go over there. So over there
I'm told to go over here and over here said to go.. crap! Ok, here I am tromping around DC
for one of the dang stamps and my phone rings and it's an old friend “Hey, how the hell are you,
what are you doing these days?!” Oh, my. Across the field in the distance I see a lone
Park Ranger (no, not the Lone Ranger) walking and I practically hang up on my old friend. I
sprint (as best I can in racing boots) over to the Ranger and ask about a passport stamp. I
explained as best I could without coming across like one of the deranged derelicts that can easily
seen in the area that I had ridden from Arizona though not directly to DC and not exactly for the
purpose of acquiring the stamp but I did however detour my route specifically today for the
stamp. He smiled, laughed, then said “Follow me.” I'm under strict double top secret
orders not to reveal the whereabouts of backup stamps but I was lead to the promise land of
stamps baby! YEE-HAW!!
I bagged 19 total stamps filling up 3 pages in my book, here's two of the pages:
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Since they are backup stamps the date is not kept current. He was trying to adjust them as
he was handing them to me upside down which explains why the dates are not all accurate; what
matters the most for me regarding the stamps is the month and year anyway. He was in a hurry
so it didn't seem quite right for me to delay him further by trying to correct the dates.
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I came back to Tyrone who looked like he hadn't moved since I left him. I couldn't thank
him enough. I was so excited with all the stamps that I didn't think to take a picture of
Tyrone until after he had left. Here's one of the Washington Monument though:
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As I was regearing to make a blitzing exit out of DC a man approached me. The best word
to describe him was “monk-ish” looking. His calm and gentle voice matched his simple
looks. An eloquent man, he spoke of being impressed with the fact I was “a female with
a grand independent spirit to embark on such travels” and wished that other women "could find
such a spirit within." (I gathered he came to this conclusion because of my Arizona "AGIRL"
license plate. He inquired about my travels and asked if he could “Bless you and the bike
for a safe journey.” My response was “By all means, we need all the help we can get.” I
wanted to ask if he could add a little extra for the ailing fuel pump but it didn't seem quite
appropriate and neither did asking to take his picture beside the Strom.
So, I departed DC blessed, with a passport book full of stamps, and with a myriad of
memories. It was after 4pm when I left DC and I was confident I could negotiate the snarl of
traffic. I also knew if I was held up in traffic I could likely pass the time by watching
what I call “the running of the squids.”
Yes, I've spent enough time in the DC/beltway area to understand that a DC squid is never
far. As a general observation these type of DC sportbike riders are very different from
their West Coast counterparts. (Remember, I said in general, so if you're a squid of
either coast don't send me hate mail). See, in CA lane-splitting prevents the need to use,
say, the median or shoulder to pass a line of vehicles and do so at 3 times the posted speed limit.
No need for squid entertainment while I waited in traffic since I zipped through the heart of
DC! My entrance was just as smooth as my exit—sweet! Outside the city limits I
sailed onto US-50 towards Annapolis which led me to what locals call “the Bay Bridge” (being a
left coaster this always sounds odd) so I could then hit the eastern shore of Maryland.
Here's my crossing of the Bay Bridge after paying the $1.50 toll:
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There's just something about these bridges that I really like – more so than previous rides. Once over the bridge
I found another scenic byway to run...
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... then continued on US-50 to Pocomoke City, MD, crossing a neat draw bridge:
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The eastern shore of MD is like a different state compared to the western section
(I covered both extensively last year). One thing is the same... CRABS. What
corn is to Iowa and lobster is to Maine, so is crabs to Maryland. Signs will inform
you they are available in just about every variety... small, large, x-large, baked,
steamed, fried, boiled, soft shell, etc. One of the roadside crab shacks I passed
even said “free bag of fireworks with purchase." Hmmm, a crab in one hand and a
sparkler in the other... man, what bliss!
I'm staying in Pocomoke City, MD tonight which is on the MD-VA line and features the
Atlantic Ocean to the east and the Chesapeake Bay to the west. When I checked in
to this WiFi-less place they insisted I pull the Strom right up next to my door thus
“purtectin' it frum da wuther.” I know, I'm originally from the South and I had
a hard time understanding too. After putting the cover (aka “Strom tent”) on the
bike, and while I was checking tire pressures - of course right outside my door - a
jolly “retiree from South Carolina” strolled over and asked where I was headed. When
I said Key West he responded “oh, my, you have a damn long way to go!” Confused, I
thought his reaction was interesting since he had no knowledge of where I've been in the
last 2 weeks (or 52 weeks for that matter). He didn't ask and I didn't say, opting
to just reply "yeah, I hope I can ride that far." Just another reminder everything
is relative and individually defined.
Tomorrow I'm heading to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Ok, so the “Outer Banks”
of North Carolina. Hey, at least it's in the direction of Key West!
AGirl
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