Six Days South - Part 1

Winter has a way of convincing you that nothing moves anymore. The roads are buried, the sky hangs low, and even the idea of riding feels like something that belongs to another life.

So when the chance comes to escape it, even briefly, you take it.

I left work on Saturday at 2pm, packed the last of my gear into the truck, and started heading south. The plan was simple enough: drive through the night with my good friend and riding partner, Jesse. We headed to my sister’s place in Tennessee to leave our truck and trailer and start the trip from there. The route took us through New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky, and finally into Tennessee, sometime around 8 a.m.

Back home, it was five degrees and snowing.

Here it was seventy.

That kind of temperature swing doesn’t just warm your body, it resets something in your head. Winter feels far away almost immediately.

We visited with my sister for about an hour before the bikes came off the trailer. After the overnight drive, the temptation to nap was strong, but the weather was too perfect to waste. Within minutes, we were on the road, heading out of Covington toward Whiteville, TN on a series of backroads that immediately reminded me why these trips matter.

Lunch was at the Country Cafe in Whiteville, the kind of small-town spot that feels unchanged for decades. The food was exactly what you’d expect—simple, filling, and perfect after the first few hours on a motorcycle.

From there, the road carried us through Chickasaw State Park and eventually into the town of Finger, Tennessee. Finger had all the things you’d hope a town called Finger might have: the Finger Church of Christ, the Finger Family Dance, and a few other oddly named landmarks that made us laugh every time we passed another sign.

It’s funny how those little absurd moments stick with you on trips like this. They break up the rhythm of the road and remind you that travel isn’t just about the destination—it’s about the strange little details along the way.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with us.

At some point after riding through the park, we both hit the wall at the same time. Between the overnight drive and the first full day of riding, we had been awake for roughly thirty-six hours. The smart move was obvious: head straight for Muscle Shoals, find a hotel, and call it a day.

So that’s exactly what we did.

The bikes were parked, the gear was dropped in the room, and by six o’clock that evening, we were already in bed watching Lifetime movies like a couple of middle-aged guys who had finally accepted their limits.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was exactly what we needed.

The trip had barely begun, but winter already felt far away.

Somewhere between the overnight drive, the first warm miles on the bike, and the strange little towns of rural Tennessee, something had shifted. The road has started doing what it always seems to do, quietly working on whatever is going on in the back of your mind.

If the last few years have taught me anything, it’s the importance of paying attention to my mental health and taking time to reset before burnout. The long, cold winters of the northeast are bound to wear down even the strongest soul. And even though I tend to ride through the cold, it’s not the same as long days in the saddle exploring.

For now, though, the only thing that mattered was sleep.

Tomorrow, the real riding would begin.

This is part 1 of the Six Days South series. Next up is The Museum and the Sunset.

Leave a comment