I consider myself an avid, passionate and skilled motorcyclist. I’ve been riding street and dirt bikes for more than 15 years and have compiled more than 145,000 street and approximately 8,000 off-road miles. Over the past year, I’ve been on several short and extended trips to the Adirondacks, Deals Gap, Arkansas and Wisconsin. My latest bike is a 2006 R1200GS. I made my purchase in March 2007 from Bob’s BMW and have about 22,000 miles on it.

            My rides routinely include as many logging, gravel and dirt roads as I can find. I commute daily into Washington, D.C. on the bike. Typically the weather doesn’t deter me and I’ve been told on a few occasions that I should have reconsidered riding in on certain days. This is probably right, but adventure is part of the fun.

            February 12^th was my most treacherous day of riding ever! The forecasters and Virginia Department of Transportation (VDOT) found themselves caught totally off guard regarding the weather. They didn't pre-salt the roads and freezing rain started falling at around 2 p.m. By the time they realized their error, the roads were completely full of traffic, vehicles spun out and smashed, and no way for the salt trucks to treat the roadways.

            I departed work at 4:45 p.m. and arrived home at 8:30 p.m. after my 25-mile journey. I almost dropped the bike twice and probably should have once.

            Traffic was immediately at a stand still upon departing the Pentagon. I decided cautiously riding the shoulder was my only hope of making some headway toward home. I commenced on the right shoulder up the on-ramp.

            The very first overpass I came to was icy (on the shoulder) and sloped to the left. I attempted to squeeze back on the road in front of a stopped city bus for some traction where cars had been driving and also sheltering the road from accumulating ice. As I did, the bike began to slide in front of the stopped bus. I grabbed the front brake (no back brake since my feet were the only thing keeping me from toppling over) and my rear end started sliding to the left and backwards putting me perpendicular and four feet in front of the bus.

            The driver must have been saying, "what an idiot for even being on a bike today” and “wow, he's going to drop his fancy BMW directly in front of my 50,000 pound bus!" I was trying to climb back to the shoulder, but just kept slipping backwards and almost dumping the bike. I glanced to my left and saw a full dressed Harley laying on its right side on the icy road ahead. I slid further backwards and felt a bit of traction beneath my feet. I rolled back a little more and then crept across the overpass carefully splitting lanes until I was clear of the immediate danger. A driver assisted the Harley rider and righted the big bike. The rider gave me a ‘thumbs up’ and said he was okay. This was a strong indicator of the conditions I was facing.

            Once I cleared the “overpass of death,” I pulled over in the left shoulder to gather my nerves and drop half the air out of my tires for a larger footprint and better traction. While on the side of the road, a woman passed by slowly traveling in the opposite direction. She was holding a hand written sign and telling me the road was closed ahead. What was I to do now? At this point I was committed to the sealed off HOV lanes.

            I proceeded down the left shoulder at 15 mph with flashers and high beams glowing to determine how far I could make it. With the coarseness of the rougher asphalt and debris, the shoulder was actually quite tolerable. As I approached each overpass knowing the concrete would be extremely slick I would weave back into stopped traffic and split lanes slowly until I cleared the overpass.

            Travelers and commuters alike had been stopped for so long I witnessed several men standing beside their cars relieving themselves in the road, mulling around talking to each other, engines turned off, etc. I stopped and talked with a few folks to ask what the radio was broadcasting and how long they had been stranded. There were drivers with their slugs (commuters picked up in lots to enable use of the HOV Lane) sitting in their cars and small children stuck with their mothers. I saw a few other motorcyclists just sitting in traffic as well. One guy was just sitting on his bike on its sidestand, arms crossed, full gear on, just collecting ice. He said he had already been there for two hours. From the Intel I gathered, Interstate 395 South, both HOV and regular lanes, was completely closed ahead just prior to entering the “mixing bowl.” It shut down around 2 p.m. due to sheer ice forming across the entire length of a long, sloped overpass.

            I figured that I wasn’t ready to give up yet and kept forging ahead. I made it all the way to the point where traffic was completely blocked by VDOT. I asked one of the VDOT workers if I could continue ahead to get under an overpass and out of the weather. He expressed his disapproval of me riding the shoulder and shouted, “try and keep going I dare you.” I took that as fair warning of what was in store if I continued. I stopped to walk the sloped, slick overpass to check it out. By this time it was 7 p.m. It had taken me two hours and 15 minutes to advance 12 miles!

            Cars were stranded partially out on the overpass and it was so slippery and severely sloped to the left I could not walk on it without hugging the Jersey Barrier on the left shoulder. I sat there for several moments collecting ice all over my helmet, riding suit, gloves, tank bag and bike thinking that this was not much fun. It was 32 degrees and I was standing outside in freezing rain with no relief in sight. Also with my poor vision and wearing glasses, I could barely see in front of me with my foggy, wet spectacles on. I texted my wife real quick to let her know I was alive, just stuck on a closed highway. I even had trouble unzipping my tankbag to get my cell phone out with all the ice building up on it. The start button on my GS (positioned at the top of the controls) began accumulating so much ice it became difficult to press down and fire up the bike.

            I stood there for a bit contemplating what to do. I even considered asking someone if I could sit in their car with them to get out of the freezing rain for a while. For those who have not witnessed the “mixing bowl” in Washington, D.C., it's a mammoth concoction of raised cloverleaves rising up to several hundred feet. It’s generally circular in shape and shuffles traffic in, out, above, below and around the multiple highways and local roads just south of the city. As I looked upward and outward into the pitch black rain, all I could see were tractor trailers and emergency vehicle flashing lights all around the raised highways. You actually can't see the automobile traffic since the barriers are so high. These raised roads were apparently all frozen over as well.

            After several minutes, a guy came up behind me on a big old Goldwing. We talked for a bit and learned a few things about each other. I told him I was in the Navy, have been stationed here for three years, and was looking forward to transferring back to sunny San Diego this summer. I found out he was originally from Milwaukee, lived near me in Northern Virginia, and did two tours in Vietnam back in '68 an '69. We enjoyed some small talk and strategized how we were going to make it home that night. Traffic was moving slowly in the northbound lanes so I offered the idea of turning around, riding in the shoulder against stopped traffic, and slipping through one of the emergency entrance/exits. At times like these, laws are somewhat non-applicable or at least unenforceable. We could then navigate side roads until meeting back up with the highway south of our position.

            After some discussion, he suggested and I agreed to try and walk my bike across the treachery. I feathered my clutch and straddled the bike beneath me with my feet down as he steadied the rear end walking behind me. I kept my left foot planted against the right angle created where the Jersey Barrier met the roadway. We covered the nearly 100 yard overpass with minimal effort. Not too bad considering the wet weight of my bike is around 460 pounds or so. I thanked him and asked if he wanted to give his beast a try. He said why not and we walked gingerly back across toward his bike.

            Just before we started with his bike, another rider arrived on a large Yamaha cruiser. He approached us and asked if we needed a hand. We positioned ourselves between the Jersey Barrier and his behemoth as he feathered it along. Believe it or not, that Gold Wing kept sliding toward the barrier as we struggled to keep it from making contact or dropping to the ground. At one point, as we were all losing our footing, he accidentally revved the engine and scraped his mirror slightly. We stopped several times to stabilize and catch our breath. We had to keep manhandling this 900 pound monster back up the slope to get some distance from the wall. We also had to squeeze it between a parked car and the barrier.

            As we rolled by the car at 1 mph the driver rolled her window down and said, “don't scratch my car!” I though to myself, “come on lady, we're trying like crazy to keep our bikes mangle-free!” We were hunched over holding and walking that bike was tough work, but we finally made it. We all took a breather and went back for the third bike. By now we were getting pretty good at this business, plus his bike was probably 300 pounds lighter than the Gold Wing.

            Would you believe that as soon as we all made it across, the salt truck showed up driving in reverse spraying rock salt everywhere? It would be quite some time before that salt would take effect. How were they going to cover the overpass with cars scattered all over it? We caught our breath, hopped on, and slowly rode the rest of the way home. We reduced to a snail’s pace crossing each overpass. Other than that, it was not too bad.

            After 25 miles and almost four hours, I finally arrived at home. The bike and I were covered in ice and feeling pretty soggy. I was actually warm and sweaty from all the exertion. I took some photos of myself, the bike, and gear to help preserve the moment.

            My wife and I watched the news later that night and again early the next morning. As I mentioned previously, VDOT admitted fault that they didn't pre-treat the roads in a timely manner. Some people interviewed said it took them eight or nine hours to get home that evening. One of my co-workers who lives about seven miles south of me left work at 4 p.m. and got home at 10:30 that night. His team of driver and slugs took the back roads.

            By the way, I chickened out and drove the car in to work the following day!