Frank: I have seen Motorcycle Mecca and although I may not in the future face east five times a day I think I shall probably at least look that way and say “Thank you” to Mr. Barber for creating his magnificent motorsports museum. But first I should say that it is not just a collection of motorcycles. There are race cars, everyday cars, boats, outboard motors, and more. And it is not just a museum as it also has a two and a half mile professional race track. There’s something going on here just about every day.
I’ve read about the museum, seen photos of the museum, and felt that I had a pretty good idea of what it would be like when I arrived. Wrong! I was oh so wrong. There is just no way to prepare yourself for the scope and breadth of the collection and the facility. You have to see it for yourself. In a nutshell, the museum is five huge floors with hundreds of bikes and cars on display with the floors connected by a gentle ramp I dubbed, ”the yellow brick road.” There are no ropes, no defined walkways, no glass cases, no docents, no grim faced, eagle-eyed guards hovering about to keep your proletariat self away from the displays. The motorcycles are free standing at eye level and are held up only by small wires running from the bottoms of their frames into the display stands. You can get as close as you want.
Cheryl and I arrived at about 11 AM and spent an hour on the fifth floor when we were joined by my friend Brian Slark who has been with the museum since it was just a glimmer of an idea in the back of Mr. Barber’s mind and two hundred acres of woodland. Brian explained that from the very beginning the idea for the museum was to make it as open and as friendly as possible for the visitors. That’s why it is so open and unstructured with no stairs, no walls, no barriers, and no (visible) security. They really want you to be comfortable. He took us on a behind the scenes tour of the restoration areas, the machine shops, the fabrication and remanufacturing areas, and all the neat places that a gear-head like me just dreams about. Then he took us on a driving tour of the whole facility showing us the race track (Porches were racing that day), the press building, race control, facilities maintenance, and spectator areas. The grounds are beautifully grassed and treed and there are sculptures hidden everywhere, some of which display a deep sense of humor! We stayed at the museum until about 5PM. We walked it all and saw it all but in no way did we absorb even a small portion of the exhibits. There’s just too much to see for it to fit in your mind in a day. As Brian said, “It’s an ongoing, every day something new and different experience. It will never be finished.”
I took over 150 photographs. I hope the 20 I will post will give you a small idea of the museum’s scope. One thing is for sure though, before I come back here I just gotta get a bigger, better camera, preferably one with a nice big powerful flash attachment. This place is just too big for my little camera!
So, all you biker buddies, get your butts down here! You gotta see this place!
Ride Safe,
Gearhead Frank
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Red Hot Mama on the Beach
Cheryl: The not-so-good day Saturday that Frank referred to in his post began when I discovered I'd left my bathing suit in Phoenix. Ok, so no problem, I'll buy one at the beach even though it will probably cost me a fortune. Unfortunately, I couldn't find one I liked, and at $90 a pop I wasn't going to get something I didn't like. I know I could have stopped at WalMart on the way to the beach, but Frank was already running late getting to the museum. So here I am, a grandmother wearing a backpack with a large umbrella tucked under her arm running around trying to buy things in crowded little shops. I'd worn a shirt that would go nicely over a bathing suit when I bought one, but it wasn't that great for wearing on a beach all buttoned up.
Anyway, you get the picture. It was frightfully hot out on the beach and no boardwalk to hide under. So I thought, to heck with the bathing suit, I'll just get my shorts wet, and I'll be fine. NOT! I stood in the tepid water and let the waves get me wet, but when little kids started getting stung by jelly fish, I was outta there. I tried to lay on my towel under my large, but not large enough umbrella to no avail. Finally, I gave up, and retreated to the nice swings they have just off the beach - porch swings.
I called Frank (it's noon by now), and he has just arrived at the museum. So he says, he'll be back to pick me up in a couple hours. Yiikes. I'm boiling hot even in the shade on the swing, but I read my book for an hour or so and then moved over to the ramada next to the swings. I spent more time reading and boiling, so I decided to go get something to eat. I found a nice place to eat and cool off for awhile, and then back into the stores I went just to keep cool. I'm sure the salespeople thought I was an elder shop lifter. Finally, I went back into the heat, sat on a bench and read some more. At 3:00 p.m. Frank arrived to pick me up.
All this time, and I didn't even think of calling a cab! Silly me! We had placed the trailer keys at the campsite where I could find them, but my brain just wasn't functioning I guess. At any rate, let's just say my ocean longings are all quiet for the time being.
Must tell you that the picture of the big, beautiful bridge I posted connects Georgia with South Carolina. There was another identical bridge in Savannah connecting it with it's neighbor city, Mount Pleasant, where we were camped. I thought both bridges were stunning. Hope you enjoyed my pictures. I've got lots more, and it sure takes a lot of time to decide which ones to post.
Love and hugs,
Ms Mishap
Anyway, you get the picture. It was frightfully hot out on the beach and no boardwalk to hide under. So I thought, to heck with the bathing suit, I'll just get my shorts wet, and I'll be fine. NOT! I stood in the tepid water and let the waves get me wet, but when little kids started getting stung by jelly fish, I was outta there. I tried to lay on my towel under my large, but not large enough umbrella to no avail. Finally, I gave up, and retreated to the nice swings they have just off the beach - porch swings.
I called Frank (it's noon by now), and he has just arrived at the museum. So he says, he'll be back to pick me up in a couple hours. Yiikes. I'm boiling hot even in the shade on the swing, but I read my book for an hour or so and then moved over to the ramada next to the swings. I spent more time reading and boiling, so I decided to go get something to eat. I found a nice place to eat and cool off for awhile, and then back into the stores I went just to keep cool. I'm sure the salespeople thought I was an elder shop lifter. Finally, I went back into the heat, sat on a bench and read some more. At 3:00 p.m. Frank arrived to pick me up.
All this time, and I didn't even think of calling a cab! Silly me! We had placed the trailer keys at the campsite where I could find them, but my brain just wasn't functioning I guess. At any rate, let's just say my ocean longings are all quiet for the time being.
Must tell you that the picture of the big, beautiful bridge I posted connects Georgia with South Carolina. There was another identical bridge in Savannah connecting it with it's neighbor city, Mount Pleasant, where we were camped. I thought both bridges were stunning. Hope you enjoyed my pictures. I've got lots more, and it sure takes a lot of time to decide which ones to post.
Love and hugs,
Ms Mishap
A Good Day, a Not Good Day on HHI
The following was written yesterday, Saturday. We're now in a little town just outside Birmingham, AL, called Pelham. Tomorrow we'll see the m/c museum.
Love, Cheryl
Frank: The locals refer to Hilton Head Island as “HHI”. I would prefer H2I, but that’s just me.
I had a good day. Cheryl not so good.
I took Cheryl down to the beach at Coligny Plaza at about 11 AM and I then went north to RT.95 and hung a left and went down to the “Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum.” I hadn’t planned on going to that particular museum but my buddy Jeremy from England emailed and said it was well worth seeing. So I did. And he was right. I expect he was particularly interested in the Mighty Eighth as it was formed to be deployed to England during WWII and a lot of the old remnants of the air bases are still accessible, if you know where to look, which he does.
The Mighty Eighth was so large that they were launching strikes against Germany that included over 2000 aircraft on an almost daily basis. Two thousand aircraft including bombers, fighters, reconnaissance, and other planes, that’s huge!
The best part of the museum for me was an audio-visual exhibit where you were inserted into and included in a raid over Germany. The theater had nine video screens situated ahead of you, to the left and right, and up and down so you had a complete view of the bomber formation you were in. All the video footage was real from WWII updated with proper synchronized sound and lights.
The video started out with a young boy climbing on some high rocky cliffs while his mother stood below in a beautiful green field calling, “Bobby, come home!” The narration then introduces us to the grown up “Bobby” the pilot of our plane, the adventure seeker from the rocks. The video starts at pre-flight and takes you through take off, forming up in the bomber groups, flying over Germany through anti-aircraft fire with appropriate flashes of lights and booming sounds, getting attacked by German fighters, and making the bombing runs. It even included a huge rush of wind through the theater when the bomb bay doors were opened. After dropping the bombs the formation turns back toward England having successfully completed the mission. But wait! We are suddenly attacked by more fighters. They’re all around us! There’s a blinding light and suddenly all the screens are filled with roaring flames! Fade to black. And then, on the center screen is the beautiful field again and the mother calling, “Bobby, come home.”
I gotta tell you I had to “man-up” real quickly as there were tears forming in my eyes. Yeah, it was a hell of a video experience.
I picked Cheryl up at the beach about 3 PM. She didn’t have a real good day, but I will let her tell you about it later.
I took some photos but they are all way too dark to be used. Sorry.
PS: We went and saw the new movie, “The Help” last night. We had both read the book and are pleased to say the film follows it perfectly. It’s a great movie. Don’t miss it, even if you can.
Frank
Love, Cheryl
Frank: The locals refer to Hilton Head Island as “HHI”. I would prefer H2I, but that’s just me.
I had a good day. Cheryl not so good.
I took Cheryl down to the beach at Coligny Plaza at about 11 AM and I then went north to RT.95 and hung a left and went down to the “Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum.” I hadn’t planned on going to that particular museum but my buddy Jeremy from England emailed and said it was well worth seeing. So I did. And he was right. I expect he was particularly interested in the Mighty Eighth as it was formed to be deployed to England during WWII and a lot of the old remnants of the air bases are still accessible, if you know where to look, which he does.
The Mighty Eighth was so large that they were launching strikes against Germany that included over 2000 aircraft on an almost daily basis. Two thousand aircraft including bombers, fighters, reconnaissance, and other planes, that’s huge!
The best part of the museum for me was an audio-visual exhibit where you were inserted into and included in a raid over Germany. The theater had nine video screens situated ahead of you, to the left and right, and up and down so you had a complete view of the bomber formation you were in. All the video footage was real from WWII updated with proper synchronized sound and lights.
The video started out with a young boy climbing on some high rocky cliffs while his mother stood below in a beautiful green field calling, “Bobby, come home!” The narration then introduces us to the grown up “Bobby” the pilot of our plane, the adventure seeker from the rocks. The video starts at pre-flight and takes you through take off, forming up in the bomber groups, flying over Germany through anti-aircraft fire with appropriate flashes of lights and booming sounds, getting attacked by German fighters, and making the bombing runs. It even included a huge rush of wind through the theater when the bomb bay doors were opened. After dropping the bombs the formation turns back toward England having successfully completed the mission. But wait! We are suddenly attacked by more fighters. They’re all around us! There’s a blinding light and suddenly all the screens are filled with roaring flames! Fade to black. And then, on the center screen is the beautiful field again and the mother calling, “Bobby, come home.”
I gotta tell you I had to “man-up” real quickly as there were tears forming in my eyes. Yeah, it was a hell of a video experience.
I picked Cheryl up at the beach about 3 PM. She didn’t have a real good day, but I will let her tell you about it later.
I took some photos but they are all way too dark to be used. Sorry.
PS: We went and saw the new movie, “The Help” last night. We had both read the book and are pleased to say the film follows it perfectly. It’s a great movie. Don’t miss it, even if you can.
Frank
Friday, August 12, 2011
Sweet Tea, Hot Wings, and Sand in my Shoes
Cheryl: Yes, we spent another hot humid morning running around Savannah on Thursday, but after a short ride to Tybee Beach the ocean shore wind blew away my clammy disposition. Beach people are the best! Among the faithful were the young, the very, very young, the tweens and teens, the 30 somethings, and middle-agers along with super seniors and baby-boomers like me. Sometimes I forget just how leveling being on a beach proves to be. For instance, who cares what you’re wearing unless it’s nothing at all. There were teens there however, who wore next to nothing, showing off an amazing number of tattoos. The girls seemed to have more skin art than the guys. Go figure. I found a shady spot under the boardwalk, plunked myself down on my back and opened my ears to the pounding of the surf, some great music from the pavilion above, happy shrieks of children and what sounded like the frequent sound of the life guard’s whistle sending out warnings to errant swimmers. That sound turned out to be from some grackles, who had learned to mimic the sound of the whistle, clever birds.
Frank has never learned the art of doing absolutely nothing, which I try to explain to him is what you actually do on an ocean beach, along with making an attempt to read or running around wildly chasing after a football or Frisbee. Anyway, he waited for me up on the boardwalk, using my hour and a half of nothingness to make a few necessary phone calls. The water at Tybee Beach rolled up in surprisingly warm, gentle, slow breakers. Sandy and shallow for quite a distance from the shoreline, the water drew in even the most timid. Kids were playing on small surf boards as mothers introduced their infants to the salt and sun. What a picture of perfect tranquility. I’m not a sun worshipper because of my fair skin, so my spot under the boardwalk allowed me to people watch in the shade and also catch a nap after spending the morning walking around hot, humid Savannah. In my book, there’s no better way to unwind, and I had settled into a beach-wise frame of mind by the time I returned to the truck and found Frank asleep in the front seat.
Since Frank and I each have our own cameras, my photos tend not to make the cut when it comes to blog posting time. We’re usually in a hurry and with the Internet being fickle with the WiFi connections, we’re content to use whatever turns up on Frank’s camera. I’ll post some of my pics of Charleston and Savannah so you can see though my eyes as well as Frank’s. I tend to take the artsy shots for use later in my computer’s screen saver. That way I can relive our present year’s vacation over and over again until the next time we’re out on the road.
I know there must be a thousand things I’ve wanted to tell you that I can’t think of right now, but my mind seems to be in pack-up and get-down-the-road-mode to Hilton Head. So, I’ll just say I miss you guys, and I promise to write more when we’re settled in at Hilton Head Marina and RV Park. I definitely want to return to Savannah and learn to enjoy it Slow-vannah style next time. Oh, by the way, I’ve been drinking the southern sweet tea since we arrived in the South, and it takes me back to lazy summer days of drinking my mother’s wonderful iced tea in Indiana. She was a southern girl at heart with her father’s roots in southern Virginia. Yesterday before going out on the beach I ordered yummy hot wings at a funky little pizza place. Of course, when I got back to the truck my shoes were full of southern sand, which I deposited on the trailer floor and must now vacuum.
So until next time, from the sunny beach “where the boys are,” love, Connie Francis
Frank has never learned the art of doing absolutely nothing, which I try to explain to him is what you actually do on an ocean beach, along with making an attempt to read or running around wildly chasing after a football or Frisbee. Anyway, he waited for me up on the boardwalk, using my hour and a half of nothingness to make a few necessary phone calls. The water at Tybee Beach rolled up in surprisingly warm, gentle, slow breakers. Sandy and shallow for quite a distance from the shoreline, the water drew in even the most timid. Kids were playing on small surf boards as mothers introduced their infants to the salt and sun. What a picture of perfect tranquility. I’m not a sun worshipper because of my fair skin, so my spot under the boardwalk allowed me to people watch in the shade and also catch a nap after spending the morning walking around hot, humid Savannah. In my book, there’s no better way to unwind, and I had settled into a beach-wise frame of mind by the time I returned to the truck and found Frank asleep in the front seat.
Since Frank and I each have our own cameras, my photos tend not to make the cut when it comes to blog posting time. We’re usually in a hurry and with the Internet being fickle with the WiFi connections, we’re content to use whatever turns up on Frank’s camera. I’ll post some of my pics of Charleston and Savannah so you can see though my eyes as well as Frank’s. I tend to take the artsy shots for use later in my computer’s screen saver. That way I can relive our present year’s vacation over and over again until the next time we’re out on the road.
I know there must be a thousand things I’ve wanted to tell you that I can’t think of right now, but my mind seems to be in pack-up and get-down-the-road-mode to Hilton Head. So, I’ll just say I miss you guys, and I promise to write more when we’re settled in at Hilton Head Marina and RV Park. I definitely want to return to Savannah and learn to enjoy it Slow-vannah style next time. Oh, by the way, I’ve been drinking the southern sweet tea since we arrived in the South, and it takes me back to lazy summer days of drinking my mother’s wonderful iced tea in Indiana. She was a southern girl at heart with her father’s roots in southern Virginia. Yesterday before going out on the beach I ordered yummy hot wings at a funky little pizza place. Of course, when I got back to the truck my shoes were full of southern sand, which I deposited on the trailer floor and must now vacuum.
So until next time, from the sunny beach “where the boys are,” love, Connie Francis
Bank Robbers?
It's Friday morning and we're packing up to move to Hilton Head.
A while ago I was taking a shower and Cheryl suddenly yelled, "That's the van!"
She was watching the local news when they showed a white van with something tucked under the driver's side windshield wiper. It turns out the van was used by a bank robber who had been apprehended. I never saw the van on the TV and couldn't find any further coverage. The only story I could find on the web said the vehicle was a white pickup with a camper shell. Hmmm. I wonder if the web story was correct, or if the TV story was correct?
Oh well, It makes my story even more interesting, don'tcha think?
Frank
A while ago I was taking a shower and Cheryl suddenly yelled, "That's the van!"
She was watching the local news when they showed a white van with something tucked under the driver's side windshield wiper. It turns out the van was used by a bank robber who had been apprehended. I never saw the van on the TV and couldn't find any further coverage. The only story I could find on the web said the vehicle was a white pickup with a camper shell. Hmmm. I wonder if the web story was correct, or if the TV story was correct?
Oh well, It makes my story even more interesting, don'tcha think?
Frank
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