Later that same year, Rocket and Piddle took a trip down to South Texas to attend the Sparkling City Road Riders Rally in Corpus Christi.
On the way they got to arguing about Refugio, Texas. Rocket maintained it was pronounced ree-fooge--ee-o. Piddle, who hailed from Texas, insisted it was pronounced ray-furi-o. Back and forth they argued all the way down to the coast. Rocket was a real Yankee from back East and a wimpy tea sipper so what did he know about such things?
Finally they came to the bright lights of Refugio, Texas. "There's a place to eat up ahead," Rocket said. "We'll ask somebody in there. You'll see I'm right!"
"Not a chance, Rocket," Piddle growled. "You're gonna lose this bet."
They pulled in, parked the bikes, and strolled through the front door. Once inside, Rocket put on his best smile and said to the waitress, "Evenin' ma'am. Say, would you mind tellin' me how you pronounce the name of this place?"
She smiled back sweetly and said, "Why, we just call it the Dairy Queen.”
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
10. Time and Tide
Judy moved down to Big Spring after we finally found a place to live - which at that time was very hard to do. The oil boom was on! Junk houses and rathole apartments were renting for $800 to $1000 per month - many times what they were worth. Six months later the oil boom had gone bust and those same places were rentin’ for $200 and $300 a month. Such is life in the oil patch.
I introduced her around and we rode with the Big Spring Road Riders on supper rides, went to rallies with them, took any excuse to ride anywhere and really enjoyed their company. Judy, the Yankee, even developed a little drawl.
Early one spring morning we met at 7 a.m. sharp in order to ride with the group down to the annual Spring Roundup in Fort Davis, Texas, an event sponsored by the PBMA (Permian Basin Motorcycle Association) from Odessa, Texas. We always met on the dot and left promptly because this was a large group and it took longer to get them moving if late comers were waited on. So, BSRR didn't wait for anybody. I mean anybody! Ever!
On this morning, however, a curve was thrown to the ride leader, Cubby Entwhistle and he went down swinging. Sidney Shankowitz, a ne'er do well with a bad habit of being late was, in point of fact, on time! But, while today he was on time, it was only because he bypassed the gas station. No problem. We swung by The Trucker’s Buddy on the way out of town and let him fill up. In the scheme of things, it appeared no harm was done. It took only a few minutes and we all got to ride down in one big group.
Unbeknownst to us, a pair of stragglers arrived at the designated meeting place at precisely 7:04 am. Far too late to ride with the BSRR, unaware of the group's unscheduled refueling stop and being late already, these two; Howdy Piddle and Randall Rocket, took off for Fort Davis. Out on I-20 they streaked, flying low. "We'll catch 'em in 10 miles." Randall Rocket cackled. He liked nothing better than to wring out his R900RT BMW.
"Damn right!" yelled Howdy. Howdy could really ride fast this day because his wife was home sick. Without her, his light weight Suzuki GS1100 acted like a young colt. Hammer down! Get outa the way!
Meanwhile, the main body of BSRR rolled on at a sedate pace of 60 to 65 mph. Just enjoyin' the ride, Clyde! No one suspected that Rocket and Piddle were blasting westward at great speed intending to catch up with us quick!
Time has a way of passing by. After 112 miles, riding at breakneck speeds, Rocket and Piddle still had not caught up. They were getting discouraged and hungry. Also, they were running low on rocket fuel. Finally they gave up, stopped for gas and had breakfast. There, they fumed and fussed, cussin’ Entwhistle and his hardheaded insistence on leaving at precisely the appointed moment by his watch.
As they finished breakfast, Rocket glumly observed, "Time, Tide and the Big Spring Road Riders wait for no man!" Piddle nodded his head and glanced out the window of the cafe.
Suddenly, his little eyes widened as he saw the entire BSRR group passing by at that very moment. “Damnation!” he howled. “Rocket, look out there! No wonder we couldn’t catch up! We've been ahead of ‘em all this time".
I introduced her around and we rode with the Big Spring Road Riders on supper rides, went to rallies with them, took any excuse to ride anywhere and really enjoyed their company. Judy, the Yankee, even developed a little drawl.
Early one spring morning we met at 7 a.m. sharp in order to ride with the group down to the annual Spring Roundup in Fort Davis, Texas, an event sponsored by the PBMA (Permian Basin Motorcycle Association) from Odessa, Texas. We always met on the dot and left promptly because this was a large group and it took longer to get them moving if late comers were waited on. So, BSRR didn't wait for anybody. I mean anybody! Ever!
On this morning, however, a curve was thrown to the ride leader, Cubby Entwhistle and he went down swinging. Sidney Shankowitz, a ne'er do well with a bad habit of being late was, in point of fact, on time! But, while today he was on time, it was only because he bypassed the gas station. No problem. We swung by The Trucker’s Buddy on the way out of town and let him fill up. In the scheme of things, it appeared no harm was done. It took only a few minutes and we all got to ride down in one big group.
Unbeknownst to us, a pair of stragglers arrived at the designated meeting place at precisely 7:04 am. Far too late to ride with the BSRR, unaware of the group's unscheduled refueling stop and being late already, these two; Howdy Piddle and Randall Rocket, took off for Fort Davis. Out on I-20 they streaked, flying low. "We'll catch 'em in 10 miles." Randall Rocket cackled. He liked nothing better than to wring out his R900RT BMW.
"Damn right!" yelled Howdy. Howdy could really ride fast this day because his wife was home sick. Without her, his light weight Suzuki GS1100 acted like a young colt. Hammer down! Get outa the way!
Meanwhile, the main body of BSRR rolled on at a sedate pace of 60 to 65 mph. Just enjoyin' the ride, Clyde! No one suspected that Rocket and Piddle were blasting westward at great speed intending to catch up with us quick!
Time has a way of passing by. After 112 miles, riding at breakneck speeds, Rocket and Piddle still had not caught up. They were getting discouraged and hungry. Also, they were running low on rocket fuel. Finally they gave up, stopped for gas and had breakfast. There, they fumed and fussed, cussin’ Entwhistle and his hardheaded insistence on leaving at precisely the appointed moment by his watch.
As they finished breakfast, Rocket glumly observed, "Time, Tide and the Big Spring Road Riders wait for no man!" Piddle nodded his head and glanced out the window of the cafe.
Suddenly, his little eyes widened as he saw the entire BSRR group passing by at that very moment. “Damnation!” he howled. “Rocket, look out there! No wonder we couldn’t catch up! We've been ahead of ‘em all this time".
Saturday, November 21, 2009
9. What Size Checks?
My first meeting with the wild bunch known as the Big Spring Road Riders came at the Bonanza Steak House in Big Spring, Texas. I'd been in town about a week having just started a new job at the Cut n' Shoot Medical Center. I didn't really know anybody yet and when I saw all those bikes pull up, I wandered over and started talking. I was invited to attend the business meeting of the BSRR and then stay for social hour afterward.
Unfortunately, I was introduced as a Yankee and had to fix that dreadful misconception right away. You see, in Texas anybody north of the Red River is considered a "Yankee" and a wimpy tea sipper! These folks acted like I had just rode into town in the back of a cantaloupe truck!
I watched with amazement as the meeting got under way using a radically modified version of Robert's Rules of Order. The President waded through the various committee reports, the Road Captain's report, the Treasurer's report and so on and so on....
Things got pretty lively when the Uniform Committee Chairman got up to speak. He was some upset! Some members were out of uniform and seemed unrepentent to boot!
It seems that two sets of uniforms, with minor variations on each, were in conflict. Members from both sides were reluctant to accept each other’s shirts because they had already bought one shirt and didn't want to buy more till this mess got fixed. The basic uniform consisted of:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/4 inch squares
White pearl snaps
The non-approved version:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/2 inch squares
Red pearl snaps
Both versions were nicely contrasted with a blue denim vest. But wait, there was a problem here also. Some of these vests had blue buttons; others had brown buttons, and still others had brass snaps. This is nowhere near uniform in appearance and something must be decided or this Chairman was goin' to kick some real butt!
At this point reason prevailed in the form of a soft spoken elder statesman who asked for recognition from the President.
The President, with obvious relief, recognized the gentleman and sat down to remove himself from any hurled invectives or flying objects. The elder statesman intoned, "I move we have one size check." Having made his motion, he sat back down.
Immediately an antagonist asked for recognition, got it and asked, "What size check?" He sat down.
The statesman sought recognition, got it, and said, "One size." Sat down.
Antagonist: "What size?"
Statesman: "One size!"
Antagonist: "Yes, I know! But WHAT size?!!"
Statesman: "One size! One size! I don't care which size, settle on JUST ONE SIZE!"
This battle could have raged on till morning had not a wise lady behind me asked for recognition, got it and made the following motion. "Mr. President, I move we table this subject till next meeting so our guest will not think we are all plumb loco!" This was accepted, seconded and the vote for adjournment was unanimous. So much for first impressions.
This topic came up many times over the next two years and was never resolved and today you can still find evidence of mixed uniforms.
And the final irony? Some of these good folks have started wearing short sleeved shirts!
Unfortunately, I was introduced as a Yankee and had to fix that dreadful misconception right away. You see, in Texas anybody north of the Red River is considered a "Yankee" and a wimpy tea sipper! These folks acted like I had just rode into town in the back of a cantaloupe truck!
I watched with amazement as the meeting got under way using a radically modified version of Robert's Rules of Order. The President waded through the various committee reports, the Road Captain's report, the Treasurer's report and so on and so on....
Things got pretty lively when the Uniform Committee Chairman got up to speak. He was some upset! Some members were out of uniform and seemed unrepentent to boot!
It seems that two sets of uniforms, with minor variations on each, were in conflict. Members from both sides were reluctant to accept each other’s shirts because they had already bought one shirt and didn't want to buy more till this mess got fixed. The basic uniform consisted of:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/4 inch squares
White pearl snaps
The non-approved version:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/2 inch squares
Red pearl snaps
Both versions were nicely contrasted with a blue denim vest. But wait, there was a problem here also. Some of these vests had blue buttons; others had brown buttons, and still others had brass snaps. This is nowhere near uniform in appearance and something must be decided or this Chairman was goin' to kick some real butt!
At this point reason prevailed in the form of a soft spoken elder statesman who asked for recognition from the President.
The President, with obvious relief, recognized the gentleman and sat down to remove himself from any hurled invectives or flying objects. The elder statesman intoned, "I move we have one size check." Having made his motion, he sat back down.
Immediately an antagonist asked for recognition, got it and asked, "What size check?" He sat down.
The statesman sought recognition, got it, and said, "One size." Sat down.
Antagonist: "What size?"
Statesman: "One size!"
Antagonist: "Yes, I know! But WHAT size?!!"
Statesman: "One size! One size! I don't care which size, settle on JUST ONE SIZE!"
This battle could have raged on till morning had not a wise lady behind me asked for recognition, got it and made the following motion. "Mr. President, I move we table this subject till next meeting so our guest will not think we are all plumb loco!" This was accepted, seconded and the vote for adjournment was unanimous. So much for first impressions.
This topic came up many times over the next two years and was never resolved and today you can still find evidence of mixed uniforms.
And the final irony? Some of these good folks have started wearing short sleeved shirts!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
8. The April Fool's Bike
April Fool’s Day of 1983 dawned in Big Spring, Texas, with a scary, ugly orange/brown sunrise accompanied by a howling, moaning wind clocked at 88 mph. A Greyhound bus stopped on I-20 due to poor visibility and was promptly rear ended by 18 cars. And this was the day Judy decided which new bike she would buy.
A few weeks before this sand storm, the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company had petitioned the International Trade Commission to levy an import tax of $l,500 on all bikes with an engine displacement size greater than 700 cc. This tax was scheduled to become effective on or around April 5, 1983. The objective was to give the last American motorcycle manufacturer a little breathing room.
After several years of perceived mismanagement by AMF, Harley Davidson had beaten the odds by surviving. Although AMF has come in for a large chunk of criticism, they must be given some credit for the survival; but Harley Davidson survived largely because of a fiercely loyal customer base.
Riders were quick to separate the machine from the company. If it was a pre-1969, it was a Harley. Post-1969 models were cited as AMFs - a rather insulting term. Those most critical and vocal of AMF's shortcomings during this time were the loyal Harley riders and the assembly line employees of the company!
Today, of course, Harley has improved the quality of their product. The import tax that gave them time to solve assembly line, supply, and quality problems was scheduled to run for five years. H-D ended that assistance voluntarily thirteen months early due to listening to the employee on the line! But, the tax increase on imports was not reduced back to previous levels!!?
While Judy and I don't buy Harleys, we still enjoy the success they earned because we like the idea of the last American motorcycle company still being in business. Besides, it’s fun to tweak the udder of the sacred cow. They are so serious! In fact, some of our best friends ride Harleys. Meanwhile, back at the sandstorm...
It was time for Miss Judy to get a new bike. "Someone" had T-boned a Pontiac Firebird while waving at one of the secretaries and broke her swift little Yamaha XS 1100. Also, his hard head! I had just honked and waved at one of the administrative secretaries, a handsome lass in her own right. (ah, you are surprised it was me?) My attention returned to the road just in time to see the front tire of Judy's XS1100 disappearing into the wheel well of the Firebird.
One microsecond later my thin, but wiry body flew over the handlebars and the hood of the car. I came to an abrupt stop on the pavement. Wasn't hurt bad thanks to the helmet I was wearing, but I nearly lost a tooth and my face looked like Alfred E. Neumann for a few weeks. After a brief period of recovery we parted company with the fastest bike in West Texas and headed for the Yamaha shop. The date was April 1, 1983.
Still shopping around, we thought maybe we'd look at some other brands and see if a Honda Interstate or a big Suzuki was a better purchase. We were reluctant to buy another first year model because of the bad experiences we were still having with the infamous KZ 1300.
The Big Spring dealer, Honest John Tweaker, persuaded us with this gentle reminder. "Thanks to our friends at the International Trade Commission, next week this bike will cost you $6700 instead of $5200. You've had Yamahas a long time. You know how strong they are!" A brief, but intense, consultation followed. When it was over, Judy told Tweaker to wrap it up. This became the famous Lady-J that graced the cover of the Venture Road magazine two years later. ( I still can't figure out how that bike's price could go up $1500 as it sat on the showroom floor just because some bureaucrat in Washington passed a tax! )
But what happened to the little XS 1100? Why did it get sold? And what about that T-bone incident? Ah, they form the basis for more stories like these!
And the secretary who caused it all? Boys, I really "flipped" for her!
A few weeks before this sand storm, the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company had petitioned the International Trade Commission to levy an import tax of $l,500 on all bikes with an engine displacement size greater than 700 cc. This tax was scheduled to become effective on or around April 5, 1983. The objective was to give the last American motorcycle manufacturer a little breathing room.
After several years of perceived mismanagement by AMF, Harley Davidson had beaten the odds by surviving. Although AMF has come in for a large chunk of criticism, they must be given some credit for the survival; but Harley Davidson survived largely because of a fiercely loyal customer base.
Riders were quick to separate the machine from the company. If it was a pre-1969, it was a Harley. Post-1969 models were cited as AMFs - a rather insulting term. Those most critical and vocal of AMF's shortcomings during this time were the loyal Harley riders and the assembly line employees of the company!
Today, of course, Harley has improved the quality of their product. The import tax that gave them time to solve assembly line, supply, and quality problems was scheduled to run for five years. H-D ended that assistance voluntarily thirteen months early due to listening to the employee on the line! But, the tax increase on imports was not reduced back to previous levels!!?
While Judy and I don't buy Harleys, we still enjoy the success they earned because we like the idea of the last American motorcycle company still being in business. Besides, it’s fun to tweak the udder of the sacred cow. They are so serious! In fact, some of our best friends ride Harleys. Meanwhile, back at the sandstorm...
It was time for Miss Judy to get a new bike. "Someone" had T-boned a Pontiac Firebird while waving at one of the secretaries and broke her swift little Yamaha XS 1100. Also, his hard head! I had just honked and waved at one of the administrative secretaries, a handsome lass in her own right. (ah, you are surprised it was me?) My attention returned to the road just in time to see the front tire of Judy's XS1100 disappearing into the wheel well of the Firebird.
One microsecond later my thin, but wiry body flew over the handlebars and the hood of the car. I came to an abrupt stop on the pavement. Wasn't hurt bad thanks to the helmet I was wearing, but I nearly lost a tooth and my face looked like Alfred E. Neumann for a few weeks. After a brief period of recovery we parted company with the fastest bike in West Texas and headed for the Yamaha shop. The date was April 1, 1983.
Still shopping around, we thought maybe we'd look at some other brands and see if a Honda Interstate or a big Suzuki was a better purchase. We were reluctant to buy another first year model because of the bad experiences we were still having with the infamous KZ 1300.
The Big Spring dealer, Honest John Tweaker, persuaded us with this gentle reminder. "Thanks to our friends at the International Trade Commission, next week this bike will cost you $6700 instead of $5200. You've had Yamahas a long time. You know how strong they are!" A brief, but intense, consultation followed. When it was over, Judy told Tweaker to wrap it up. This became the famous Lady-J that graced the cover of the Venture Road magazine two years later. ( I still can't figure out how that bike's price could go up $1500 as it sat on the showroom floor just because some bureaucrat in Washington passed a tax! )
But what happened to the little XS 1100? Why did it get sold? And what about that T-bone incident? Ah, they form the basis for more stories like these!
And the secretary who caused it all? Boys, I really "flipped" for her!
Monday, November 9, 2009
7. The Boyfriend
In 1982, we moved to Big Spring, Texas; near Abilene, where I grew up in the early 50’s. Judy hated it out here, but I loved being able to look out the window and see Texas any time I wanted to. While we lived here, we became involved with the Big Spring Road Riders, a mixed bag of riders if there ever was one.
All were hard working, decent people. Some were very rich from oil holdings while others just barely scraped by. There was a police chief, a CEO, oil field welders, nurses, and other assorted professionals and non-professionals. Some were even...organic.
All had in common a love of independence, a wild sense of adventure and, of course, the motorcycles. Some wore old faded Levis with rope belts and others wore fancy silk shirts and designer denims.
The boyfriend appeared sometime around our second year out there. He came by the house to ask me to look at his bike, a 1979 Honda Hawk 400. The Hawk suffered from leaky forks, bad valves, dirty carbs, an air filter that weighed nine pounds and spark plugs that were original equipment four years ago! It was a case of extreme neglect!
Somebody sent him my way because I worked on my own bike - a 1979 Kawasaki KZ1300. I worked on my own bike because none of the shops in Big Spring would touch it. Folks figured if I could keep this 6 cylinder, overweight, top heavy beast running, I could fix anything.
So here he came one Bender Upgood. (name stolen from Keith Wilson's wacky character in Rider magazine from years before.) The name seemed to fit for reasons that will become clear soon. And I'll call him The Boyfriend because he was struck dumb by the lovely and talented Miss Judy. Yep, ol' Judy's still got it! Bender could think of more reasons to park next to her and talk to her than any love struck cowboy I ever knew.
Well, I fixed up the Hawk as good as I could, even putting on a luggage rack so he could carry his carpenter tools off to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I charged him a reasonable fee and sent him on his way. I thought that was the last of him, but true love is a damn strong magnet!
Two weeks later he was back. He wanted to get a bigger bike and asked me about a Suzuki GS 1100. This is the big one; with the shaft drive.
Now Bender was a little guy - only about 5 feet 4 inches tall with real short little old legs. Even on the Hawk he tiptoed around running into our car on the driveway and falling down on a couple of occasions. Every stop was a semi-controlled lurch and fall. No part of this bike was unscratched or undented. At each stop he'd seek Judy out and park next to her. What damage would he do to her bike with a bigger, heavier machine?!
Judy was concerned that he would fall over into her new bike, a beautiful black 1983 Yamaha Venture. She did everything she could to discourage him yet he continued to follow her and he continued to fall over - although luckily not on her bike. Some of the other riders also began calling him Bender Upgood and today I can't remember his real name!
Bender provided a great source of amusement to the Big Spring Road Riders. Every trip required a group effort to help him pick up the big Suzy. We even put a "shiny side up" sticker on it. He fell over one time in a small ditch and all we could see were his little feet wavin' in the breeze!
One day we learned the law was after him for writing hot checks, income tax evasion and teaching certain cute little tricks to an underage female! Yes, he was quite the lady’s man! He disappeared for good shortly after the law came to town and started asking questions concerning his whereabouts.
Then the IRS people showed up.
Following that, the outraged father of the underaged teeny bopper appeared. He was willing to pay good cash money to lay hands on one Bender Upgood, that little crap weasel! "Just for a minute," the fellow said.
Now it was said that Bender did not make good decisions, but he certainly made fast ones. After learning of the sudden interest in him, he immediately changed his occupation from a carpenter to a blacksmith, making a bolt for the state line!
Although we never saw Bender again after that but, in our own ways, we all sorta missed him a lot more than we expected. I think even Judy liked him a little.
She always did seem to attract odd types!
All were hard working, decent people. Some were very rich from oil holdings while others just barely scraped by. There was a police chief, a CEO, oil field welders, nurses, and other assorted professionals and non-professionals. Some were even...organic.
All had in common a love of independence, a wild sense of adventure and, of course, the motorcycles. Some wore old faded Levis with rope belts and others wore fancy silk shirts and designer denims.
The boyfriend appeared sometime around our second year out there. He came by the house to ask me to look at his bike, a 1979 Honda Hawk 400. The Hawk suffered from leaky forks, bad valves, dirty carbs, an air filter that weighed nine pounds and spark plugs that were original equipment four years ago! It was a case of extreme neglect!
Somebody sent him my way because I worked on my own bike - a 1979 Kawasaki KZ1300. I worked on my own bike because none of the shops in Big Spring would touch it. Folks figured if I could keep this 6 cylinder, overweight, top heavy beast running, I could fix anything.
So here he came one Bender Upgood. (name stolen from Keith Wilson's wacky character in Rider magazine from years before.) The name seemed to fit for reasons that will become clear soon. And I'll call him The Boyfriend because he was struck dumb by the lovely and talented Miss Judy. Yep, ol' Judy's still got it! Bender could think of more reasons to park next to her and talk to her than any love struck cowboy I ever knew.
Well, I fixed up the Hawk as good as I could, even putting on a luggage rack so he could carry his carpenter tools off to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I charged him a reasonable fee and sent him on his way. I thought that was the last of him, but true love is a damn strong magnet!
Two weeks later he was back. He wanted to get a bigger bike and asked me about a Suzuki GS 1100. This is the big one; with the shaft drive.
Now Bender was a little guy - only about 5 feet 4 inches tall with real short little old legs. Even on the Hawk he tiptoed around running into our car on the driveway and falling down on a couple of occasions. Every stop was a semi-controlled lurch and fall. No part of this bike was unscratched or undented. At each stop he'd seek Judy out and park next to her. What damage would he do to her bike with a bigger, heavier machine?!
Judy was concerned that he would fall over into her new bike, a beautiful black 1983 Yamaha Venture. She did everything she could to discourage him yet he continued to follow her and he continued to fall over - although luckily not on her bike. Some of the other riders also began calling him Bender Upgood and today I can't remember his real name!
Bender provided a great source of amusement to the Big Spring Road Riders. Every trip required a group effort to help him pick up the big Suzy. We even put a "shiny side up" sticker on it. He fell over one time in a small ditch and all we could see were his little feet wavin' in the breeze!
One day we learned the law was after him for writing hot checks, income tax evasion and teaching certain cute little tricks to an underage female! Yes, he was quite the lady’s man! He disappeared for good shortly after the law came to town and started asking questions concerning his whereabouts.
Then the IRS people showed up.
Following that, the outraged father of the underaged teeny bopper appeared. He was willing to pay good cash money to lay hands on one Bender Upgood, that little crap weasel! "Just for a minute," the fellow said.
Now it was said that Bender did not make good decisions, but he certainly made fast ones. After learning of the sudden interest in him, he immediately changed his occupation from a carpenter to a blacksmith, making a bolt for the state line!
Although we never saw Bender again after that but, in our own ways, we all sorta missed him a lot more than we expected. I think even Judy liked him a little.
She always did seem to attract odd types!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
6. It's Only A Few Miles!
One summer we took a vacation with another couple that perhaps we didn't know as well as we should have. It seemed like a great trip we had planned -- across Kansas to Colorado, up through the northeast corner into Wyoming, on up to Yellowstone and over to Sturgis, South Dakota.
Since we were scheduled to leave town right after lunch, Judy and I appeared at their house at the appointed hour. We soon discovered that they were running a little late. We had to wait for their kids to be taken to grandma's, the dog taken to the vet, the trailer to be hooked up, etc., etc. Finally, by 4 p.m. we were on our way. We then had to ride all night so we could get to the special cabin in the mountains that was scheduled to be our first stop.
This couple was known as the DePesto’s, consisting of Delbert and Brunhilda. Because of our late start, Delbert ran out of steam around Burlington, Colorado and decided to call a rest stop for a nap. We pulled in to a city park, spread our sleeping bags on the grass and intended to sleep a while.
After a mere 45 minutes' rest, Delbert leaped up, announced to the world he couldn't sleep any more and that we were going to hit the road. By 10 am next morning, we were completely lost up in the mountains as Delbert cruised from one back road to another looking for the cabin. After what seemed to be an eternity, Delbert stumbled on to the right road. The very steep road, winding, full of chuckholes and gravel, dead ended at a surprisingly nice cabin. No one was home when we arrived. As we had only 45 minutes' sleep in over 24 hours Judy and I began to set up our tent with the idea that we could at least get some much needed rest.
Delbert squelched that idea saying we needed to wait and ask permission before making ourselves at home. Judy began calming me down. I think my little eyes were narrowing in the distinctive Texas squint and she feared I would lose control and bounce a flint rock off his head! After a couple of hours or containing myself , the absentee owners appeared and invited us to pitch our tent, come in, clean up and eat. Thus ended the first really long day of this unholy alliance.
Next morning we took off bright and early. Well, for Delbert and Brunhilda (his lovely wife) it was bright and early. For us it was more like mid to late morning. Delbert set the tone for the day by starting his bike and letting it idle as he walked around saying his good-bye’s to our hosts.
Judy warned him that idling in neutral, on this steep grade, the bike may roll off the side stand. "Naw." Delbert said, "I've done this lots of times." As he concluded this pontification, he turned to see his bike roll off the side stand and fall on its side. The late start was made even later as he had to effect repairs. He even took off the guard rails and changed sides so the blemishes would be on the inside and wouldn't show.
Finally, we got underway. Delbert wanted to be in Rawlins, Wyoming for the night and he began his famous line of "It’s only a few miles." Needless to say, we came nowhere near Rawlins on this day. We camped in Craig, Colorado that evening and Judy fixed chicken fried steak over an open fire with real baked potatoes. It seemed that at least we were going to enjoy this trip. But, wait! It gets worse!
Delbert swung into action again the next morning; disdaining breakfast in Craig and wanting to get an early start. "We'll eat somewhere up the road near Rawlins," he said. "It’s only a few miles."
As we headed northwest, I began thinking that Rawlins was a good ways east of our current position. Being geographically challenged as I am, I asked Judy, the navigator, and she said she had not looked at a map since Delbert was leading the way, but she recalled that Rawlins was indeed east of us. We decided that when we stopped for breakfast we'd better consult our own maps and see exactly where we were. In the meantime, there were hundreds of deer and antelope along the road and I commented to Delbert that there were so many I couldn’t count them all. He didn’t know what I was talking about, couldn’t see them even when I pointed them out! Aiee! This guy is makin’ me crazy!
Two hours and a hundred miles or so later, we came to Interstate 80 and a little cafe. We ate a big breakfast, checked our maps and pointed out to Delbert that Rawlins was about 70 miles back to the east! If we were going to make Yellowstone on this trip, we'd better stay on the superslab and drop the hammer!
Reluctantly, he agreed. "You lead," he said. "I'll follow." I figured he wanted me to get the speeding ticket. No matter, I took off anyway.
Soon I was up around 90 mph and Delbert's headlight was just a small dot miles behind us. I mentioned to Judy that this provided a great opportunity for us to exit, hide out beneath the highway and be finished with Delbert. She accused me of unsociable tendencies and forced me to continue on.
We came in to Rock Springs miles ahead of our nemesis. While I gassed up the bike Judy went inside to get us something to drink. I could hear Delbert calling us on the CB, but I didn't answer. When Judy came out he was still calling for us so she answered. Now we're all together again. Isn't this nice? Judy pointed out that we're still a long way from Yellowstone and, since it was getting late, we'd better find a campground pretty quick. "Oh, yes," Bruny chimed in. "I want a site with evergreen trees, a small stream, hot showers and a pool." Delbert was all for going on to Yellowstone. "After all," he said, "It's only a few miles."
Ignoring Delbert's comments, we stopped at a ranger station to inquire about camping spots. The ranger told us there were only a few places left at Gros Ventre and that we'd better hurry. He also said that we wouldn't find a thing toward Yellowstone. All campgrounds are full and have been since 1:00 p.m.. So, we headed back to Gros Ventre and found two nice level sites open. Although both sat on a gravel parking area next to a bathroom/shower facility, we took them any way. Not exactly the perfect spot, but a spot nonetheless.
We began pitching our tent when Delbert and Bruny announced, "We're going on to Yellowstone." Judy reminded them that the Ranger had just informed us that all sites were full.
"No, we don't believe that.” they said. “We're going on. We’ll see you in Cody."
I politely kept my mouth shut not wishing to interfere with this wonderful decision that would give us peace of mind and get rid of them!
They rode away saying, "Better come with us. It's only a few miles to Yellowstone." We bid them farewell, looked at each other and laughed... for we had consulted the map! We decided to clean up and go into Jackson Hole for a rainbow trout supper. After all it's only a few miles.
We had a fine supper, walked around town, talked to some locals who directed us to a spot where we could watch eagles and antelope in the morning. Eventually we went home to our tent trailer and sacked out for the night, planning to stay in this neat area for a day or two and enjoy our privacy. But, wait! What's that I hear? Sounds like a Yamaha to me. Yes, Delbert and Brunhilda have returned and they are bickering bitterly, nearly coming to blows when Delbert knocked Brunhilda’s helmet off the bike and it crashed onto the gravel parking lot.
They had ridden all the way to the entrance to Yellowstone Park - grand total of 109 miles one way -- on top of the 500 mile day they had already completed. They checked out every campground along the way ... there were no vacancies! Hmmm! Where have I heard that before? Exhausted they then rode 109 miles back to us, arriving at 1:00 am. Wearily, they pitched their tent next to ours and settled down for a short night.
Early next morning, Delbert and Bruny were up and ready to go at first light. "Goin' to Cody today." they said. "What? You guys aren't coming?
We declined.
“Well...so, we'll meet you at the KOA campground in Cody on Thursday. OK?" Sure, Delbert. We’ll be there. (Chuckle, chuckle.)
And with that, they were off with Delbert's famous last words..."We'll be in Cody today, by noon at the latest. It's only a few miles."
Now, gentle reader, I must ask you...this fellow had just ridden 109 miles to the entrance of Yellowstone the previous evening. From the entrance around to the Cody entrance was another 120 miles or so, then another 80 miles on from that entrance to Cody, most of this in heavy traffic and very slow going. Do you really think he’ll make it to Cody by noon?
Judy and I spent the day touring the local attractions, bathing in the river and sitting by the campfire. Two days later we got into Cody in the late afternoon. We found a neat campground ...but, it wasn't the KOA! That one we avoided like the plague. We cleaned up and went to the Buffalo Bill Cody Museum. There was a painting there done by H.H. Cross in 1878 that I had waited years to see. It’s entitled "The Victor". It‘s nine feet tall and six feet wide, depicting a buffalo shot full of arrows. But...at the buffalo’s feet is an Indian, trampled pretty good and obviously done in. Hence the name...”The Victor”. Your choice.
We spent a couple of days in the Cody area seeing the historical sights before going out to Devil's Tower, camping there for the night. How peaceful it was without the bickering De Pesto’s.
After two more nights we reluctantly started toward home. We rode through Custer State Park, the Needle’s Highway with the neat pigtails.
Suddenly, when we rounded a curve, there they were! Again! Delbert and Brunhilda! Sitting alongside the road talking about a new side trip they wanted to take before heading for home. Judy pointed out that it would take quite a while for us to get back and we'd better decline.
Delbert looked at us in his strange way and said, "But there’s plenty of time. After all, it's only a few miles!"
Since we were scheduled to leave town right after lunch, Judy and I appeared at their house at the appointed hour. We soon discovered that they were running a little late. We had to wait for their kids to be taken to grandma's, the dog taken to the vet, the trailer to be hooked up, etc., etc. Finally, by 4 p.m. we were on our way. We then had to ride all night so we could get to the special cabin in the mountains that was scheduled to be our first stop.
This couple was known as the DePesto’s, consisting of Delbert and Brunhilda. Because of our late start, Delbert ran out of steam around Burlington, Colorado and decided to call a rest stop for a nap. We pulled in to a city park, spread our sleeping bags on the grass and intended to sleep a while.
After a mere 45 minutes' rest, Delbert leaped up, announced to the world he couldn't sleep any more and that we were going to hit the road. By 10 am next morning, we were completely lost up in the mountains as Delbert cruised from one back road to another looking for the cabin. After what seemed to be an eternity, Delbert stumbled on to the right road. The very steep road, winding, full of chuckholes and gravel, dead ended at a surprisingly nice cabin. No one was home when we arrived. As we had only 45 minutes' sleep in over 24 hours Judy and I began to set up our tent with the idea that we could at least get some much needed rest.
Delbert squelched that idea saying we needed to wait and ask permission before making ourselves at home. Judy began calming me down. I think my little eyes were narrowing in the distinctive Texas squint and she feared I would lose control and bounce a flint rock off his head! After a couple of hours or containing myself , the absentee owners appeared and invited us to pitch our tent, come in, clean up and eat. Thus ended the first really long day of this unholy alliance.
Next morning we took off bright and early. Well, for Delbert and Brunhilda (his lovely wife) it was bright and early. For us it was more like mid to late morning. Delbert set the tone for the day by starting his bike and letting it idle as he walked around saying his good-bye’s to our hosts.
Judy warned him that idling in neutral, on this steep grade, the bike may roll off the side stand. "Naw." Delbert said, "I've done this lots of times." As he concluded this pontification, he turned to see his bike roll off the side stand and fall on its side. The late start was made even later as he had to effect repairs. He even took off the guard rails and changed sides so the blemishes would be on the inside and wouldn't show.
Finally, we got underway. Delbert wanted to be in Rawlins, Wyoming for the night and he began his famous line of "It’s only a few miles." Needless to say, we came nowhere near Rawlins on this day. We camped in Craig, Colorado that evening and Judy fixed chicken fried steak over an open fire with real baked potatoes. It seemed that at least we were going to enjoy this trip. But, wait! It gets worse!
Delbert swung into action again the next morning; disdaining breakfast in Craig and wanting to get an early start. "We'll eat somewhere up the road near Rawlins," he said. "It’s only a few miles."
As we headed northwest, I began thinking that Rawlins was a good ways east of our current position. Being geographically challenged as I am, I asked Judy, the navigator, and she said she had not looked at a map since Delbert was leading the way, but she recalled that Rawlins was indeed east of us. We decided that when we stopped for breakfast we'd better consult our own maps and see exactly where we were. In the meantime, there were hundreds of deer and antelope along the road and I commented to Delbert that there were so many I couldn’t count them all. He didn’t know what I was talking about, couldn’t see them even when I pointed them out! Aiee! This guy is makin’ me crazy!
Two hours and a hundred miles or so later, we came to Interstate 80 and a little cafe. We ate a big breakfast, checked our maps and pointed out to Delbert that Rawlins was about 70 miles back to the east! If we were going to make Yellowstone on this trip, we'd better stay on the superslab and drop the hammer!
Reluctantly, he agreed. "You lead," he said. "I'll follow." I figured he wanted me to get the speeding ticket. No matter, I took off anyway.
Soon I was up around 90 mph and Delbert's headlight was just a small dot miles behind us. I mentioned to Judy that this provided a great opportunity for us to exit, hide out beneath the highway and be finished with Delbert. She accused me of unsociable tendencies and forced me to continue on.
We came in to Rock Springs miles ahead of our nemesis. While I gassed up the bike Judy went inside to get us something to drink. I could hear Delbert calling us on the CB, but I didn't answer. When Judy came out he was still calling for us so she answered. Now we're all together again. Isn't this nice? Judy pointed out that we're still a long way from Yellowstone and, since it was getting late, we'd better find a campground pretty quick. "Oh, yes," Bruny chimed in. "I want a site with evergreen trees, a small stream, hot showers and a pool." Delbert was all for going on to Yellowstone. "After all," he said, "It's only a few miles."
Ignoring Delbert's comments, we stopped at a ranger station to inquire about camping spots. The ranger told us there were only a few places left at Gros Ventre and that we'd better hurry. He also said that we wouldn't find a thing toward Yellowstone. All campgrounds are full and have been since 1:00 p.m.. So, we headed back to Gros Ventre and found two nice level sites open. Although both sat on a gravel parking area next to a bathroom/shower facility, we took them any way. Not exactly the perfect spot, but a spot nonetheless.
We began pitching our tent when Delbert and Bruny announced, "We're going on to Yellowstone." Judy reminded them that the Ranger had just informed us that all sites were full.
"No, we don't believe that.” they said. “We're going on. We’ll see you in Cody."
I politely kept my mouth shut not wishing to interfere with this wonderful decision that would give us peace of mind and get rid of them!
They rode away saying, "Better come with us. It's only a few miles to Yellowstone." We bid them farewell, looked at each other and laughed... for we had consulted the map! We decided to clean up and go into Jackson Hole for a rainbow trout supper. After all it's only a few miles.
We had a fine supper, walked around town, talked to some locals who directed us to a spot where we could watch eagles and antelope in the morning. Eventually we went home to our tent trailer and sacked out for the night, planning to stay in this neat area for a day or two and enjoy our privacy. But, wait! What's that I hear? Sounds like a Yamaha to me. Yes, Delbert and Brunhilda have returned and they are bickering bitterly, nearly coming to blows when Delbert knocked Brunhilda’s helmet off the bike and it crashed onto the gravel parking lot.
They had ridden all the way to the entrance to Yellowstone Park - grand total of 109 miles one way -- on top of the 500 mile day they had already completed. They checked out every campground along the way ... there were no vacancies! Hmmm! Where have I heard that before? Exhausted they then rode 109 miles back to us, arriving at 1:00 am. Wearily, they pitched their tent next to ours and settled down for a short night.
Early next morning, Delbert and Bruny were up and ready to go at first light. "Goin' to Cody today." they said. "What? You guys aren't coming?
We declined.
“Well...so, we'll meet you at the KOA campground in Cody on Thursday. OK?" Sure, Delbert. We’ll be there. (Chuckle, chuckle.)
And with that, they were off with Delbert's famous last words..."We'll be in Cody today, by noon at the latest. It's only a few miles."
Now, gentle reader, I must ask you...this fellow had just ridden 109 miles to the entrance of Yellowstone the previous evening. From the entrance around to the Cody entrance was another 120 miles or so, then another 80 miles on from that entrance to Cody, most of this in heavy traffic and very slow going. Do you really think he’ll make it to Cody by noon?
Judy and I spent the day touring the local attractions, bathing in the river and sitting by the campfire. Two days later we got into Cody in the late afternoon. We found a neat campground ...but, it wasn't the KOA! That one we avoided like the plague. We cleaned up and went to the Buffalo Bill Cody Museum. There was a painting there done by H.H. Cross in 1878 that I had waited years to see. It’s entitled "The Victor". It‘s nine feet tall and six feet wide, depicting a buffalo shot full of arrows. But...at the buffalo’s feet is an Indian, trampled pretty good and obviously done in. Hence the name...”The Victor”. Your choice.
We spent a couple of days in the Cody area seeing the historical sights before going out to Devil's Tower, camping there for the night. How peaceful it was without the bickering De Pesto’s.
After two more nights we reluctantly started toward home. We rode through Custer State Park, the Needle’s Highway with the neat pigtails.
Suddenly, when we rounded a curve, there they were! Again! Delbert and Brunhilda! Sitting alongside the road talking about a new side trip they wanted to take before heading for home. Judy pointed out that it would take quite a while for us to get back and we'd better decline.
Delbert looked at us in his strange way and said, "But there’s plenty of time. After all, it's only a few miles!"
5. Cottonwood Pass
Late summer of 1978 found us on the way to tackle Cottonwood Pass. The new KZ 900 Kawasaki was so overloaded that the luggage rack bent before we rode fifty miles.
On the way to Colorado we stopped at the Dairy Queen in Jetmore, Kansas. Two riders pulled in from the west. We watched them take off helmets, gloves, scarves and jackets thinking something was odd about their appearance. As the riding gear came off it finally dawned on us that they were little old ladies -- retired school teachers from Dimmitt, Texas. They were on their way to visit a sister in Admire, Kansas. We visited a little while and then went our separate ways. You really do meet some interesting folks when you ride!
Two days later.....here we are at the blueberry pie shop at Taylor Reservoir - the jumping off place for hardy souls who are brave enough (or cheerfully inexperienced enough) to challenge Cottonwood Pass. Actually, I rode across Cottonwood Pass...Judy walked! The grades were a little steeper, the gravel a little deeper and the turns a little tighter than we had expected. At each switchback we'd stop, get off the bike, walk around the turn and survey the road. Then I'd get on the bike, negotiate the turn, go up to a level spot and wait for Judy to catch up. Together we turned a simple 45 minute climb into a day long test of endurance and fortitude.
When Judy finally got to the summit we rested a while, took the obligatory pictures, saddled up and headed down the other side. What a difference! I can truly say that this is when I learned to ride -- not from skill or ability but from sheer panic. There are no brakes made that can hold back your forward progress on this steep descent. It was either make the turns at speed or go off the mountain. After a dozen or so “skillful” negotiations of the downhill switchbacks I relaxed and became more comfortable with the bike and quite pleased with my new-found skills. Judy remembers this trip somewhat differently, but then she has more nerve that I do.
No way would I have ridden behind me up and down that mountain!
On the way to Colorado we stopped at the Dairy Queen in Jetmore, Kansas. Two riders pulled in from the west. We watched them take off helmets, gloves, scarves and jackets thinking something was odd about their appearance. As the riding gear came off it finally dawned on us that they were little old ladies -- retired school teachers from Dimmitt, Texas. They were on their way to visit a sister in Admire, Kansas. We visited a little while and then went our separate ways. You really do meet some interesting folks when you ride!
Two days later.....here we are at the blueberry pie shop at Taylor Reservoir - the jumping off place for hardy souls who are brave enough (or cheerfully inexperienced enough) to challenge Cottonwood Pass. Actually, I rode across Cottonwood Pass...Judy walked! The grades were a little steeper, the gravel a little deeper and the turns a little tighter than we had expected. At each switchback we'd stop, get off the bike, walk around the turn and survey the road. Then I'd get on the bike, negotiate the turn, go up to a level spot and wait for Judy to catch up. Together we turned a simple 45 minute climb into a day long test of endurance and fortitude.
When Judy finally got to the summit we rested a while, took the obligatory pictures, saddled up and headed down the other side. What a difference! I can truly say that this is when I learned to ride -- not from skill or ability but from sheer panic. There are no brakes made that can hold back your forward progress on this steep descent. It was either make the turns at speed or go off the mountain. After a dozen or so “skillful” negotiations of the downhill switchbacks I relaxed and became more comfortable with the bike and quite pleased with my new-found skills. Judy remembers this trip somewhat differently, but then she has more nerve that I do.
No way would I have ridden behind me up and down that mountain!
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