Taking the Long Way Home: Ohio, Kentucky, and Indiana Motorcycle Ride

March 19, 2026

It was almost noon as I rolled into Zanesville, Ohio, and my stomach reminded me that all I had for breakfast was black coffee and a granola bar. I had a decision to make, but there’s only one decision that should be made on an empty stomach. An hour later, after a delicious lunch of Jamaican jerk chicken, fried plantains, and island-style homemade ginger ale, I spread out my trusty Butler Map to decide how I was going to get home.

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Sure, I could bounce between Interstate 70 and U.S. Route 40 and be in my Indiana home by dark on that long summer day, but where’s the fun in that? My finger traced the squiggly lines south and then west. State Route 555, aka the Triple Nickel, the crown jewel of Ohio’s Windy 9 routes, was a no-brainer. Then I figured I’d follow the Ohio River Scenic Byway for a while, perhaps ducking north into the hills now and again to shake things up a bit, before eventually crossing into northern Kentucky and then seeing how it went from there. Such niggling details were a tomorrow decision though, and freshly fueled I was ready to tackle the Triple Nickel and be on my way.

Many stories have been written about what is arguably Ohio’s most famous motorcycling road, including Greg Drevenstedt’s “All Roads Lead to Athens,” so I will only say that our editor-in-chief described the Triple Nickel as Mister Toad’s Wild Ride, and after my first experience on it, I concur. The fresh tar snakes – the slippery kind – were an added “bonus” on the rollicking ride, and by the time I reached the southern terminus at U.S. Route 50, I had a new respect for those who ride pillion on the Nickel, especially after a big lunch.

After being shaken and stirred in the thick afternoon heat, I was ready for some airflow and a pleasant cruise. After a brief stint on U.S. 50, I turned left onto State Route 124, the Ohio River Scenic Byway. In its entirety, the byway spans 943 miles across Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio and hugs its namesake closely enough to offer river views along much of the mostly quiet two-lane route. The Byway’s SR-124 section reminded me of its Indiana stretch: relaxing with little traffic and the occasional small town to slow down and drift through.

When SR-124 took a turn to the north to join up with wider, busier State Route 7, I stubbornly stuck to what was the town of Pomeroy’s Main Street, drifting on to Middleport before finally being forced to rejoin SR-7. Just a few miles downriver, I paused in Cheshire to marvel at the power station’s two massive cooling towers. My first thought was, I didn’t know there was a nuclear power plant here! As it turns out, there isn’t. The Cheshire plant is coal-fired, and coal is a common theme on the Ohio River. Although the river is used for recreational purposes, including hosting impressive fireworks displays in cities like Cincinnati and Louisville, and boat races like the Madison Regatta, the Ohio is a “working river.”

It’s the third largest river by discharge volume in the United States and flows from Pittsburgh to where it empties into the Mississippi River at the junction of Illinois, Missouri, and Tennessee. Along the way it hosts (and cools) 49 coal-fired and two nuclear power plants; some 20% of the nation’s coal-fired power generation capacity is provided by Ohio River plants. All that coal (as well as gravel, sand, lumber, iron, steel, chemicals, and grain) is transported on barges, which are aggregated together into 1,000-foot-long flotillas that are pushed up- and downriver day and night through the river’s 20 locks.

For the most part, the towns along the Ohio stretch of the river seem to match its working personality – except for Gallipolis. As I rolled into town, I was struck by two things. One, there was some sort of festival going on, and the riverfront City Park was packed with people and pop-up tents. Two, the architecture had a distinctly French flavor that any visitor to New Orleans would recognize. As it turns out, there is a reason for both the village’s personality and its appearance: It was settled in 1790 by aristocrats, artists, and merchants fleeing the French Revolution. Gallipolis (which means “French city”) was never intended to be a hardscrabble working town, and today it is a diamond in the rough of the Ohio River Valley.

I would’ve enjoyed staying in Gallipolis for the night, but it was still too early to stop, so after a brief visit, I thumbed the starter and throttled west. I had a hotel room waiting for me across the river in Huntington, West Virginia, where I procured a delicious dinner and contemplated the next day’s long ride home.

Shortly after setting out in the morning, U.S. Route 52 joined SR-7, and suddenly my peaceful cruise transformed into four lanes of people trying to get somewhere rather than enjoying the journey as I was. Whenever I could, I ducked off the highway and back into the river towns. Ironton, with its charming brick streets; Portsmouth, with its floodwall mural and where I stopped for a much-needed coffee at the Market Street Cafe; Manchester and Aberdeen and Ripley, working towns on this working river.

Knowing I wanted to bypass the traffic of Cincinnati and sample some of northern Kentucky’s roads, near the tiny burg of Higginsport I queued up for the Brown-Augusta Ferry. There are still a handful of ferries that cross the Ohio River, and this one is particularly popular with riders from the Cincinnati and Dayton areas, as it not only offers easy and convenient access to Kentucky’s roads, but it also drops you within steps of the famous Beehive Augusta Tavern. As it often goes with the motorcycling community, I made quick friends on the ferry with a group of riders from Dayton, and together we enjoyed lunch on the Beehive’s balcony overlooking the river.

When it came time to part ways, they wished me luck. I still had quite a way to go, and in typical Midwestern summer fashion, weather was brewing. I wasted no time and headed south on Kentucky’s State Route 435 then west on State Route 10, looking forward to what my Butler Map hinted would be an enjoyable ride on State Route 22. It did not disappoint. I floated across hilltops and dove into and out of valleys, all on one side of the tires or the other. This blissful portion of the ride was everything a road-going motorcyclist could ask for: Traffic was nearly nonexistent, sightlines were good, and the pavement was smooth. At every curve and bend, I swore to myself I’d be back – and soon.

After crossing Interstate 75, I angled onto State Route 467 and a somewhat more rural experience. The road narrowed and plunged in and out of steep valleys before dumping me onto U.S. Route 127. From north of Glencoe, I picked up State Route 455 and then State Route 35 for a curvy, scenic drop back to the Ohio River and the town of Warsaw, Kentucky. I paused at Warsaw’s City Park and listened to a five-piece bluegrass band playing in the gazebo. After a wistful glance at the band – and a sniff of smoky barbeque – I accepted the fact that the weather was now a potent concoction, though still concentrated over Illinois. I needed to keep moving.

U.S. Route 42 sped me along the Kentucky side of the river for a while, before two-lane State Route 36 carried me past tobacco farms and a sand-and-gravel plant where river barges gathered like yellowjackets at a picnic. I finally crossed into Madison, Indiana, on U.S. Route 421 and took a break to enjoy this beautifully restored city. All 133 blocks of the city center are listed as a National Historic Landmark District, and if you’ve got the time, I recommend stretching your legs and taking a self-guided walking tour of the many gorgeous homes, dating from the 1830s to the turn of the century.

If your timing is right, you’ll also catch one of Madison’s many festivals, such as the famous Madison Regatta hydroplane race or the lesser-known Play Music on the Porch Day, when bands – no surprise – play music on people’s wide front porches. While it may sound small-town simple, it’s actually part of an international music movement that Madison joined and introduced locally two years ago, another lively note in the city’s already vibrant music scene.

From Madison, it was a fairly straight shot back to my home in Bloomington on familiar and often scenic roads. Did I get wet? Yes, thoroughly, and I had to stop and wait out what turned out to be a tornado-spawning cell under the shelter of a Speedway gas station, but it was worth it to take the long way home.

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