…sure!

“If I bought a motorcycle, would you go and get it for me?”

…same answer, sure, but why don’t we both go and get it!

“It’s in Louisiana, but it’s close to your friend’s house.”

…Ok, what are you buying?

“A Honda Super Cub.”

…No problem, then it dawns on me what she just said…whoa hold on a minute, isn’t that a moped, why don’t we just ship it?

“I thought you’d say that so I checked shipping prices, and it would cost less to ride it back than ship it, and I thought you’d find that fun?”

…and this is how a random adventure begins…

We live in phoenix Arizona and the motorcycle she wants to buy in Louisiana is just a mere 1500 miles/ 2400km away and its January.

I fly into Lake Charles, Louisiana and my friend picks me up from the airport, “firstly hi, secondly are you completely mad, it’s like a bicycle with a chainsaw motor?”

…and I explain…probably, yes, or at least a little bit and I think it’s a little bigger than a chainsaw motor. I did think I was out of my mind for a while and thought about paying the extra to ship, but then I found the Southern Route.

What?”

The southern route is a ride developed by cyclists to cross the country from the Atlantic to the Pacific though the southern states and use almost all tiny backroads, no freeways or highways and go through little towns people have forgotten about.

It was late Friday afternoon –

“so when are you leaving?”

…I was thinking Sunday morning.

“good, tonight we get drunk, tomorrow you can recover from your hangover and then Sunday you can go be a madman!”

Sunday morning rolled around sooner than expected and before I knew it, I was on a tiny little backroad just outside the sleepy little town of Dequincy, Louisiana and as I stared down the road, I thought to myself, only 1500 miles to go and 9 hp to get me there!

I had looked at the route reasonably closely and found fuel stations at least every hundred miles (160km) and I’d read on the internet that I should expect to get over 150 miles per gallon from the one-gallon tank of the Super Cub.

Nearly two hours later I looked down to see I was on reserve and had only covered 60 miles, I pulled into the next fuel station and filled up with 0.8 gallons.

I knew I might need some extra fuel in certain areas of Texas, so I’d brought a spare tank with me, but now it needed filling because I might need it sooner than expected!

The anxiety of my fuel situation distracted me the first day from the cold and the 9hp, and by the time I crossed the Texas state line I was looking for a fuel station for fill up number two already. The logistics of the ride had shifted dramatically.

I finished the day somewhere in East Texas, found a small hotel and asked the owner if he’d mind me putting the bike in my room. I explained how light it was and potentially easy to steal. He saw no problem with this, and I’d repeat this daily the whole way home and every time I was happy to hear, yes!

I sat that night in the hotel room and zoomed in a little closer on the route and looked to see if there was a fuel station every 50 miles/ 80km or so and it looked good, except for west Texas the gap between fuel was growing to 80 miles or more. I was glad I had the extra fuel for sure.

The weather even though it was cold didn’t rain on me for three days, but it looked ominous each day. Riding this flat ground, you can see so far ahead and the horizon on a few occasions didn’t look appealing at all, but I had no choice but to ride towards it.

Into the Texas hill country though towns that time had forgotten. Flags seemed to adorn every ranch and house entrance and I looked at each one closely hoping to see I would have a tailwind to help me and my fuel mileage along just a little easier.

Leaving Marfa Texas was the first time I was reminded of how far the next fuel was, but a roadside tribute to the 1956 James Dean/Liz Taylor film, "Giant." Parts of the movie were filmed at this spot, was a distraction.

The bike was almost new when I collected it, 140 miles/ 225km on the clock, and by now it had broken in and was going a little further between fill ups, so that threat of 74 miles to go wasn’t as bad as would have been on day 1.

I rolled into New Mexico, just a few miles from the Mexican border and skirted along it until I needed to turn north and head for Arizona.

The hills began now and each one was a slow climb but at this point I didn’t care; it was fun riding slower seeing more. It was like being a cyclist without having to expel any real energy.

I reached Arizona after 4 days right as the sun was setting, I contemplated riding home in the dark and then swiftly talked myself out of it.

I woke in the morning refreshed, rolled the bike out of the room and it wasn’t long before I saw a sign that showed ‘Phoenix’ for the first time. A sign I would normally look at and think just over two hours to go…now I looked and thought; ‘that’s half a day!’

Near the little town of Globe there’s a small airfield with abandoned planes and murals on the sides of buildings, stopping is easier when you are going slowly.

I know this area and know there are a few hills to climb so I filled up for the last time and grab a handful of throttle and set off…slowly!

The rolling hills at the base of the Superstition Mountains told me I was getting close to the finish line, then the enormous “PHOENIX” arrow that pilots used in the 50’s to let them know to put their landing gear down came into view…Just an hour to go now.

As I rode the last couple of miles to my house, I passed a familiar motorcycle shop and a long fork chopper was sitting outside, it was my friend Charlie aka ‘Traveling Chopper’. He’s ridden his bike over 235,000 miles/ 380,000km through 18 countries and 48 states.

We welcome each other with a big hug and laugh about how riding inappropriate motorcycles is utter ridiculousness, but it sure is fun!

I get home, and my girlfriend is super happy, immediately grabs the keys and disappears for a few hours…mission accomplished, the Southern Route conquered with 9hp.

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