You know you’re having a good road trip when the first thing that comes to mind the day after an excellent day is “this one was even better!”

Yesterday we awoke to a foggy and cold morning, and it looking like miserable riding due to the frigid temperatures. I walked around the park we were staying at, Bald Eagle State park to warm up a bit, and marveled at the “moving hotel rooms” that some of our neighbors were sporting. RVs with satellite dishes, and even elaborate fake lampposts with the family name and roster of family members were scattered about, making our tent and two motorcycles look all the more unimpressive.

Around 11am the sun started to peek through and burn off the fog, and it became a surprisingly warm day. We followed Route 150 to Lock Haven, PA., where we met up with Route 120, which turned out to be the best ride of my relatively short motorcycling career. The road alternated between scenic vistas through old forests, to small towns where the only landmark was a local pub, and perhaps a gas station in the larger ones.

Lured in by a sign indicating the presence of ice cream, we stopped at one of the local hangouts. While outside removing gear and stretching in the hot 3pm sun, two gentlemen came outside visibly a little “wobbly.” One put a bottle of whisky in his car “for later” as he indicated to his buddy, then whet back into the pub. The other hobbled over to his half-ton pickup, spend 5 minutes searching for the right country station at ear splitting volume, then burned out of the parking lot. I can imagine there isn’t much to do in rural PA., so I guess your Saturday morning consists of getting nicely sauced up, then tearing down the roads to the next spot. Steve and I shared a look, and suddenly the hundreds of DUI signs we had seen on our route all made sense.

We rolled into a small town that marked the end of Route 120, and consulted the GPS to find a home for the evening. We picked the nearest state park in the list, which was about 5 miles away, and followed the path divined by Mr. Garmin and his army of satellites. Signs indicating the park closed at sunset did not bode well for our accommodations, but a helpful park ranger pointed us in the direction of another park a couple miles down the road. With the warning that “it’s Federal land,” which we never figured out, we rolled into East Branch Lake Park.

Everything about this park was nicer than our previous evening’s home. We were one of the only groups staying, and the park had more rugged campsites with no RVs, making it more like “real” camping rather than a trailer park. There was also an abundance of fallen wood, which contributed nicely to the large fire we had later in the evening.

After setting up camp and informing the wives that we were still alive and well, we returned to a small restaurant we had passed, for a reasonably tasty dinner. We had hoped for some local color at the bar, but it seemed relatively quiet, and we could only assume the folks on the “3pm plan” we safely tucked in for the night. Taking advantage of PA’s strangle liquor laws, for desert we took a six-pack to go, and returned to camp.

The evening was once again rather chilly, but warm sleeping bags and a touch too much Yuengling made for a pleasant night’s sleep. Steve made an appearance and apparently the night’s festivities did not treat him very well and he’s disappeared back into the tent.

The sun is already slowly starting to warm cold bones, and in an hour or two it will be time to point the Burgman and Beemer towards our respective homes. It’s been great to live my own version of Easy Rider for a weekend, and hopefully we’ll make this an annual event (and perhaps even convince the wives to join us next time!)

Categories: Travel
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