the road to DC

---

21 Days later.

Married, loaded and saddled up, we finally headed out of New York City in the direction of Washington DC where it wasn't raining. We left at noon, our favourite time of the day to start riding just when the heat starts to broil ones skin into a sweaty mass of pulp wrapped in kilos and multi layers of safety clothing: the joys of motorbiking. Ninety minutes to get out of the city, the sweat moving faster than us on the bike, through the broken streets of outer Brooklyn and onto the glorious heights of the Verrazano Bridge. Seven bucks for the view from a high which in turn led us to the Highway from Hell AKA I295. After one hour on this crazed trembling highway we slinked off into a gas station to let the thundering eighteen wheelers thunder on without us in spitting distance of their mudflaps. We found the alternative sleepy and rural Route 11 which basically runs south west all the way to New Orlleans after winding its way through the Blue Ridge Mountains. This was to be our masterplan, to avoid the highways at all costs and take the more scenic byways of the two lanes of asphalt that The USA has forgotten; slower, cheaper and much more our style.

Motels and strip malls.
The approach to each and every village, town and city is hailed by the omnipresence of strip malls. Here you can insert your own favourite brands of junk food: the neon lights mushrooming up advertising deep fried shit, smothered and covered and splattered crap, plus the ubiquitous auto parts shops-all mixed in with petrol stations serving all but the same; microwaved.
It is a sad place to be and yet this is where the hotels and motels are and sadder still is that this is what attracts the local population in lieu of an authentic downtown. (try asking a local just where downtown actually is and see what kind of reaction you get). Once past these malls and inside the town or so, there appears to be nothing for the soul except rows of glass fronted offices and real estate agents all fronted insurance offices and decrepit housing. These must surely be the most depressingly boring places on earth.

Washington DC.
We arrived just before the rain. Sitting in the downtown finacial distric of the nation's capital in a chain cafe, staying warm and dry. Waiting and waiting for our contact to pick up his phone; to no avail. By 9PM the cafe had closed and we were cruising around in the drizzle, still waiting for our contact. A few minutes after nine the whole electrical system on the bike failed. We seemed to be stuck in the centre of downtown DC with a non starting 250 kg motorbike plus 40kgs of baggage between the two of us; plus the rain was starting to come through our gear. Still no answer from our contact. One last desperate attempt to call him was finally answered. We left our bike in a petrol station and took a taxi to our mysterious couchsurfer.

---