For several years, the Waynoka Rattlesnake Hunt was the first ride of the year for the men of the Topeka Touring Society. It always came the first weekend after Easter. Sometimes the weather was pleasant; sometimes...it was not.
One year we had many riders and needed a motel with lots of room. This turned out to be the Vista Motel on the west edge of Alva, Oklahoma, a mere thirty minutes from Waynoka. I had called the Chamber of Commerce asking for a motel such as this along with a place to get really good steaks.
The nice lady recommended the Vista Motel for lodging and the Oklahoma Bar & Grill for the steaks. As usual, we got to Waynoka early enough for the free Ham ‘n Bean dinner with sweet cornbread, sun tea, and even fried rattlesnake if you like.
After dinner, (the noon meal; remember?) we walked around town buying T-shirts, caps, belt buckles, and other mementos. Some of us entered the Den of Death for a dollar to watch the snake handlers display the snakes. For an extra buck, one could enter the butcher shop and watch the snakes become fried.
A few miles south of Waynoka are the Little Sahara Sand Dunes, a place where recreation vehicles come from all over to play. We passed a couple of hours here and finally met back at the bikes for the short ride to our motel. We cleaned up and I called the steak house for the reservation.
I told the lady there were nearly thirty of us of us and we’d like to eat steak suppers, big steaks, sometime after 1900. I also told her we were on motorcycles and wanted to have a drink or two with supper, but did not want to ride back to the motel after having the drinks. Was there a bus or cab service that could provide us with rides to and from the restaurant? Again, no problem. She was going to sell thirty big steak meals, plus drinks, plus tips, etc. Was she going to let that slip away?
She sent her niece and a couple of dancers to collect us in three cars; a yellow Cadillac convertible, a Firebird, and a big Chevy SUV. Even with all these vehicles, it required two trips to get us all down there.
April, the manager’s niece, was a very pretty girl and the other girls were certainly no less attractive. Yeah, buddy! Even today, when her name is mentioned, Jack and I take off our hats and place them over our hearts. Where the hell was she when I was 25?
If the steaks are as good as the dancers we were in great luck. They were. Long story short, the steaks were more than excellent. April told us it was a good thing we called because they had to go get more steaks!
We had our steaks, our drinks, and even played a few games of pool before heading back to the motel. Another example of how we just fell into these adventures.
Next morning, we ate at McDonald’s and headed east for I 35 north and home. As we rode past the steak house, we were shocked to see that the place had burned to the ground during the night! We later learned that the restaurant would not re-open because the owners did not have any insurance. So...back to the drawing board for next year.
Funny how time slips away. Soon it’s time for Waynoka again. During the summer, Judy and I had ridden down to Big Spring and detoured through Enid, Oklahoma. There we found a multitude of great places to eat. Of special interest was a fast Go-Kart track at the north end of town not far from the Holiday Motel. Note I did not say Holiday Inn.
The motel was a bit seedy, but since our guys were the type of people that decent folk worried about, we figured we would be okay. Let the normal people worry about us!
Across the road was a topless bar, The Enid Conservatory of Dance, and further down the street was the Tia Juana Steak House! (Tia Juana means Aunt Juanita in Spanish)
Hot damn! With all this entertainment, we could skip Waynoka and just come here! No, no, that wouldn’t seem sportin‘. Have to go to Waynoka.
On the way down, Judy and I had eaten dinner at a nice little cafe in a town about an hour away. We had asked about breakfast and they said on Sunday mornings there was a nice buffet.
So it seems we have replaced everything except the cute little motel in Alva. Ah, well. We were tired enough to sleep well on these trips so the motel didn’t matter that much.
After the ham ‘n bean dinner at the Waynoka Saddle Club, we headed east through Red Canyon country toward Enid, arriving there in the early afternoon. Imagine thirty guys crowding around a registration desk with a tiny East Indian guy trying to get everybody’s keys while explaining, in broken English, this was not the Holiday Inn, but the Holiday motel; big difference.
To stir things up, I sat down behind all the other guys and said, loudly, “Hey! This ain’t the Holiday Inn!”
Indian was nearly in tears by this time. It is not for nothing that motorcyclists are sometimes known as professional shit disturbers!
After we all got registered and rested a while, some of us walked up to the go-kart track. Wow! These babies were fast! Two engines, lots of horses, great banked track and cheap tickets meant a splendid afternoon.
With hats on backward, wearing big smiles along with gritted teeth when bumping and passing, even a casual observer could see what we looked like when we were nasty little boys. There were a few non motorcycle people riding around with us, but our group bumped them out of the way. When Scott spun a little boy off the track, and Jack t-boned him, his parents appeared like magic and rescued him and all the remaining youngsters. We now had the track all to ourselves!
We had motorcycles back at the motel that cost more than $15,000 each, yet we were spending the afternoon racing go-karts. Go figure.
As it was getting close to supper time, we headed to the motel for a quick nap and shower. Tonight we’ll see how good the Tia Juana steaks are.
In a big mob, we enter the Tia Juana steak house and get seated in the back room around two long tables and one four seater. The waitress is from Texas so we are in for a treat. She fill water glasses from a big pitcher and slams coffee cups down. In a flash, she’s back with two pots of hot coffee.
She fills Carl’s cup to within about an inch of the top. Carl looks at this and tells her he’d like to have a full cup, if you please. She tells him as long as she is waitin’ tables here, he’ll never see the bottom of the cup.
Carl then tells her that this will mess up the temperature of the coffee. When he gets it just right, she’ll dump in more hot coffee and it will be messed up again. She tells him something along the lines of’ “Bullshit, live with it!”
Carl has been a truck drive all his life and has never seen a waitress this salty. She has been a waitress all her life and never seen a truck driver she couldn’t handle! He is at a total loss for words.
She takes everyone’s order without writing anything down. Never made a mistake. From time to time, she’s back with more coffee. As she tops off Carl’s cup again, he again asks her to fill it all the way up. She says, “No! Get over it!” Carl decides to quit while he’s still behind.
Steaks are ready! They are fantastic and we are hungry! We all dig in and Carl never does see the bottom of his coffee cup. She is a very good waitress. How good?
Let’s move over to the other table that seats four of our group and compare their experience as served by the second waitress. Delbert (not part of the DePesto pair) ordered fried chicken and when it comes, it’s perfect! Except that he ordered legs and thighs and got white meat instead. Well, he did have a different waitress.
There were two older couples seated at the next table over from him. One of the ladies there had ordered white meat and got legs and thighs. The waitress had obviously mixed up their orders. This old gal complained to the waitress who then told her she must have gotten the orders mixed up and pointed over to Delbert.
“You’ve got my breasts!” the old gal shouted at Delbert. There was a stunned silence followed by an explosion of laughter when she realized what she had said. Delbert turned beet red as did the old gal. See, we never just go somewhere and come back. There’s always an adventure involved.
We head back to the motel and get ready to settle in for the night when we hear loud laughter coming from Bill and Terry’s room. Curious to see what’s going on, we all head over there to investigate. This room is easy to find as it is the one with the 45 caliber bullet hole!
Pause here for a review of what we have eaten today; big John Wayne breakfast with eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy. Dinner with ham ‘n beans, onions on top, cornbread on the side. Supper with a huge steak, onions, red beans, mashed potatoes, and more gravy. To say we were full is to understate the condition.
Now back to the entertainment. Some of the younger guys had been running each other out of each other’s rooms due to the forceful release of excess gas. (for those that live in Topeka, Kansas, this means farting!) Someone had asked the question, ‘Do farts burn?” Never ask this question of young hellions. They decided to try it.
Ka Boooom! Oh, yeah; they do ignite. One thing led to another and soon a contest was underway to see who could shoot flames the farthest.
This display was made even more impressive in the darkened room and blue green flames, sometimes more than two feet in length were not uncommon. I’ll not describe the exact method of ignition, but suffice it to say, it was a sight I do not wish to see again. The reader can use his own imagination, but suffice it to say, Jack and I disavowed any knowledge of our sons' existence.
Warning! Burns in the delicate areas and serious gastric disturbances may result.
It was time for another shower after being exposed to this pollution, then into bed for an early start in the morning. Everyone was worn out from the full day we had. Remember we started at 0600 and by now it was nearly 2300. We slept the sleep of the innocent and the just.
Upon awakening the next morning, we packed the bikes and proceeded to the parking lot to have a quick cup of coffee while awaiting the stragglers. Coming across the street were two young ladies who were dressed to the nines.
Quite attractive, they stopped and visited with Keith and Scott for a while asking all kinds of questions about the bikes, when we were going to leave, had we had breakfast yet, and a myriad of other inquiries. Keith was in his element, only too happy to show off his new bike.
Scott was trying be helpful as well, but soon he began to see things that Keith did not. Wisely he backed away and left Keith all alone with the two young ladies.
After a couple of minutes, the girls laughed loudly and took their leave, waving good bye to us all. Keith stood there alone, red faced, and embarrassed.
When asked what he said that made them laugh so hard, he said, “Well, I just commented on how nicely they were dressed and asked them if they were goin‘ to Sunday school!”
At that point one of the girls finally spelled it out for him, speaking slowly and using small words. She said, “Dude, it’s Sunday mornin’. We‘re workin’ girls, headin’ home from the Enid Conservatory of Dance. (the topless bar across the street) We just stopped by to see if we could connect with one or two more customers before going home to sleep! Get the picture?”
Hey! I got pictures!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
42. The First Blue Bell Ride
After moving away from Texas and a readily available source of Blue Bell Ice Cream, a serious cravin’ was flung upon us which moved us to get a ride scheduled for Memorial Day Weekend of 1986. This was to be the first of several annual rides that, over time, became a tradition and earned us a plaque from the Blue Bell Creamery in Brenham, Texas.
Saturday morning, 6:00 am dawned as a beautiful day, with calm winds, mild temperatures, good road, and lots of friends following along. Reservations were made at the Texian Inn near DFW Airport so if we were late, we’d still have a place to stay. Riding at a steady speed of 65 mph, we made good time, stopping every 125 miles for gas and potty breaks.
By late morning, Oklahoma City was in our rear view mirrors and we were over halfway to Dallas. As we continued south on I-35, we noticed some dark clouds to the southwest. Since this was tornado season we kept an eye on this build up and monitored the radio for updates.
As we approached Wynnewood, Oklahoma, the rain was just starting. Up ahead was a deserted gas station so we ducked in there to wait out the storm. Just in time too, because this storm had hail in it! Under the big canopy, we all stayed dry and the bikes were protected from hail damage. Besides, it was a welcome relief to stretch our legs a bit and move around.
When the storm had passed, we resumed our trip in the fresh smelling countryside. The air was crisp and clean, the skies were brilliant blue, and the roads were drying fast. Hammer down!
After a couple of hours, we crossed the Red River and were breathing real Texas air. A great feeling. Most of the folks with us had never tasted Blue Bell Ice Cream so they were in for a treat. We stopped for gas in Valley View and I went inside to inquire if they had any Blue Bell Ice Cream. The lady said they didn’t but there was a small grocery store on the little town square and she thought they might have some.
I rode over to the square, discovered that they did indeed have Blue Bell and promptly bought a pint of my favorite flavor, Cookies ‘n Cream.
Carrying my treat outside, I radioed the rest of the group and told them I was in the park on the downtown square. Notice my priorities? I bought mine before I called the gang. I could be recognized by my big smile and the pint of ice cream in my hand. I soon had company and we enjoyed the first taste of this fine product together. Some of us even went back for seconds!
The store owner and his family came out and talked with us, we took lots of pictures and promised to send extra prints to them. After a while, we saddled up and finished the ride into Dallas arriving at the Texian Inn about 90 minutes after our ice cream meal.
The folks at the motel had a huge welcome banner with a sign on the marquee that proclaimed this as Topeka Touring Society Blue Bell headquarters! How thoughtful.
But wait, there’s more! Inside, we found a huge sheet cake and all different flavors of ice cream. Still being full, we did not really do this spread justice at that time, but the night was still young. All weekend long we were treated like royalty.
Later that evening, our tour guide and concierge, Bob, loaded us up in the two Motel vans and took us to Mesquite for the Saturday Night Rodeo. There I got to see an old friend, Mac the Knife. His name came from his horns which grew down his handsome face like scimitars.
Mac was the meanest buckin’ bull on the circuit and the oldest, smartest, most cantankerous veteran in the entire corral of rough stock. The Mesquite Rodeo guys always ran him out dead last so the fans could see a good show with Mac and the clowns. Did Mac ever actually hook one of the clowns? Yep, now and then he‘d really tag somebody. Mean tempered? Yeah, he really was.
Bob and his assistant took us back to the motel for more cake and ice cream before we called it a day. And what a day it was. Tomorrow will be even better; we’re gonna see South Fork Ranch and maybe have high tea with J R Ewing his own self!
Next morning, we skipped breakfast at the Texian Inn which would have consisted of ice cream and cake, opting instead for some breakfast burritos at a local What-A-Burger before leaving out for the South Fork Ranch.
We got to South Fork early enough to avoid crowds, toured the barns and corrals, the ranch house itself, and just sat around the swimming pool. This place is just like it appears on TV, but considerably smaller; all except for the wooden steer that doubled as the desk where JR signed all his big deals.
After we took the tour of the house, we decided to have high tea on the veranda. Wait! That’s twice now high tea has been mentioned. What is high tea anyway?
It’s natural tea; brewed in a gallon jug by the sun, then served on the second story balcony of the ranch house at South Fork Ranch, hence; high tea. Got it?
For dinner, we searched for and found a great Bar B Que place and ate a passel of it. It was that good. Then we hightailed it back to the Texian Inn.
Bob had roped off a parking area for us on the back side of the motel so we could clean up the bikes, effect repairs, and just gather for good fellowship. He had provided buckets, old towels, and a water hose. Really thoughtful guy.
After cleaning the bikes, we were again eating Blue Bell ice cream while sitting in the hot tub! This is the first time we’ve had a chance to just unwind since we arrived. Tonight we’re goin’ to Mr. Catfish in Arlington for all you can eat catfish and hush puppies. More great food. I‘m beginning to think a salad would be a nice change of pace.
After supper, and stuffed to the gills, (no pun intended) we head back for the motel for a good night’s rest as we must pull out early in the morning. On the way back, I run over something in the road. I’ll have to do a detailed tire check before leaving in the morning.
Last day. This morning we’ll head for Topeka and home. It’s been quite a weekend! I’m full and tired of over eating; I must have gained seven pounds on this trip.
I put the Yamaha up on the center stand this morning and rotated the tires around looking for damage from last night’s mishap. Front and rear tires seem to be unmarked. That’s very good news because today is Memorial day and most bike shops will be closed. Most bike shops are closed on Monday anyway.
It’s a quiet, still morning in North Texas as we string out on I 820 west headin’ for I 35 north. Should be home in ten or twelve hours as the forecast is for continued great weather. We’ve been running at 65 mph for a little over an hour when I hear a loud pop.
I immediately let off on the throttle and holler at R T Newton to pull up alongside me and look over the bike to see if something fell off. He says all he can see is the front tire looks very low. At that moment, I feel the shake start in the front end. Good thing I got the speed scrubbed off before all the air left the front tire. As it was, it was very hard to control. I brought the bike to a stop and got off. The front tire was totally flat.
Judy and a couple of the girls walked across the highway to a service station and made some phone calls in an attempt to find a bike shop that was open. Good luck on that.
But, as luck would have it, she did find a Yamaha dealer where the owner had just stopped in to check on something. Someone really looks after little children, dogs, and innocent motorcycle riders. Since he was only a few minutes from us, he agreed to bring us a tire.
Rene, RT’s wife, had been elected to sit on the back of the bike to keep the front end off the ground while Danny and I removed the wheel. We got to the service station just as the Yamaha dealer drove up with the new tire. Judy paid him while Danny and I put the new tire on.
We were real lucky here in more ways than one. I did not wreck the bike, we found a new tire, and made the switch with a minimum of down time. Back on the road again, we continued uneventfully on our trip, reaching home around 6:00 pm.
Everyone was pleasantly tired, with very fond memories of this first trip; the hail storm, the ice cream in Valley View, the warm welcome at the Texian Inn, the Mesquite rodeo, South Fork Ranch, the Bar B Que, ice cream in the hot tub, the Catfish and even that unexpected flat tire. Yeah, buddy!
We'll do this again next year...and the next...and the next...
Saturday morning, 6:00 am dawned as a beautiful day, with calm winds, mild temperatures, good road, and lots of friends following along. Reservations were made at the Texian Inn near DFW Airport so if we were late, we’d still have a place to stay. Riding at a steady speed of 65 mph, we made good time, stopping every 125 miles for gas and potty breaks.
By late morning, Oklahoma City was in our rear view mirrors and we were over halfway to Dallas. As we continued south on I-35, we noticed some dark clouds to the southwest. Since this was tornado season we kept an eye on this build up and monitored the radio for updates.
As we approached Wynnewood, Oklahoma, the rain was just starting. Up ahead was a deserted gas station so we ducked in there to wait out the storm. Just in time too, because this storm had hail in it! Under the big canopy, we all stayed dry and the bikes were protected from hail damage. Besides, it was a welcome relief to stretch our legs a bit and move around.
When the storm had passed, we resumed our trip in the fresh smelling countryside. The air was crisp and clean, the skies were brilliant blue, and the roads were drying fast. Hammer down!
After a couple of hours, we crossed the Red River and were breathing real Texas air. A great feeling. Most of the folks with us had never tasted Blue Bell Ice Cream so they were in for a treat. We stopped for gas in Valley View and I went inside to inquire if they had any Blue Bell Ice Cream. The lady said they didn’t but there was a small grocery store on the little town square and she thought they might have some.
I rode over to the square, discovered that they did indeed have Blue Bell and promptly bought a pint of my favorite flavor, Cookies ‘n Cream.
Carrying my treat outside, I radioed the rest of the group and told them I was in the park on the downtown square. Notice my priorities? I bought mine before I called the gang. I could be recognized by my big smile and the pint of ice cream in my hand. I soon had company and we enjoyed the first taste of this fine product together. Some of us even went back for seconds!
The store owner and his family came out and talked with us, we took lots of pictures and promised to send extra prints to them. After a while, we saddled up and finished the ride into Dallas arriving at the Texian Inn about 90 minutes after our ice cream meal.
The folks at the motel had a huge welcome banner with a sign on the marquee that proclaimed this as Topeka Touring Society Blue Bell headquarters! How thoughtful.
But wait, there’s more! Inside, we found a huge sheet cake and all different flavors of ice cream. Still being full, we did not really do this spread justice at that time, but the night was still young. All weekend long we were treated like royalty.
Later that evening, our tour guide and concierge, Bob, loaded us up in the two Motel vans and took us to Mesquite for the Saturday Night Rodeo. There I got to see an old friend, Mac the Knife. His name came from his horns which grew down his handsome face like scimitars.
Mac was the meanest buckin’ bull on the circuit and the oldest, smartest, most cantankerous veteran in the entire corral of rough stock. The Mesquite Rodeo guys always ran him out dead last so the fans could see a good show with Mac and the clowns. Did Mac ever actually hook one of the clowns? Yep, now and then he‘d really tag somebody. Mean tempered? Yeah, he really was.
Bob and his assistant took us back to the motel for more cake and ice cream before we called it a day. And what a day it was. Tomorrow will be even better; we’re gonna see South Fork Ranch and maybe have high tea with J R Ewing his own self!
Next morning, we skipped breakfast at the Texian Inn which would have consisted of ice cream and cake, opting instead for some breakfast burritos at a local What-A-Burger before leaving out for the South Fork Ranch.
We got to South Fork early enough to avoid crowds, toured the barns and corrals, the ranch house itself, and just sat around the swimming pool. This place is just like it appears on TV, but considerably smaller; all except for the wooden steer that doubled as the desk where JR signed all his big deals.
After we took the tour of the house, we decided to have high tea on the veranda. Wait! That’s twice now high tea has been mentioned. What is high tea anyway?
It’s natural tea; brewed in a gallon jug by the sun, then served on the second story balcony of the ranch house at South Fork Ranch, hence; high tea. Got it?
For dinner, we searched for and found a great Bar B Que place and ate a passel of it. It was that good. Then we hightailed it back to the Texian Inn.
Bob had roped off a parking area for us on the back side of the motel so we could clean up the bikes, effect repairs, and just gather for good fellowship. He had provided buckets, old towels, and a water hose. Really thoughtful guy.
After cleaning the bikes, we were again eating Blue Bell ice cream while sitting in the hot tub! This is the first time we’ve had a chance to just unwind since we arrived. Tonight we’re goin’ to Mr. Catfish in Arlington for all you can eat catfish and hush puppies. More great food. I‘m beginning to think a salad would be a nice change of pace.
After supper, and stuffed to the gills, (no pun intended) we head back for the motel for a good night’s rest as we must pull out early in the morning. On the way back, I run over something in the road. I’ll have to do a detailed tire check before leaving in the morning.
Last day. This morning we’ll head for Topeka and home. It’s been quite a weekend! I’m full and tired of over eating; I must have gained seven pounds on this trip.
I put the Yamaha up on the center stand this morning and rotated the tires around looking for damage from last night’s mishap. Front and rear tires seem to be unmarked. That’s very good news because today is Memorial day and most bike shops will be closed. Most bike shops are closed on Monday anyway.
It’s a quiet, still morning in North Texas as we string out on I 820 west headin’ for I 35 north. Should be home in ten or twelve hours as the forecast is for continued great weather. We’ve been running at 65 mph for a little over an hour when I hear a loud pop.
I immediately let off on the throttle and holler at R T Newton to pull up alongside me and look over the bike to see if something fell off. He says all he can see is the front tire looks very low. At that moment, I feel the shake start in the front end. Good thing I got the speed scrubbed off before all the air left the front tire. As it was, it was very hard to control. I brought the bike to a stop and got off. The front tire was totally flat.
Judy and a couple of the girls walked across the highway to a service station and made some phone calls in an attempt to find a bike shop that was open. Good luck on that.
But, as luck would have it, she did find a Yamaha dealer where the owner had just stopped in to check on something. Someone really looks after little children, dogs, and innocent motorcycle riders. Since he was only a few minutes from us, he agreed to bring us a tire.
Rene, RT’s wife, had been elected to sit on the back of the bike to keep the front end off the ground while Danny and I removed the wheel. We got to the service station just as the Yamaha dealer drove up with the new tire. Judy paid him while Danny and I put the new tire on.
We were real lucky here in more ways than one. I did not wreck the bike, we found a new tire, and made the switch with a minimum of down time. Back on the road again, we continued uneventfully on our trip, reaching home around 6:00 pm.
Everyone was pleasantly tired, with very fond memories of this first trip; the hail storm, the ice cream in Valley View, the warm welcome at the Texian Inn, the Mesquite rodeo, South Fork Ranch, the Bar B Que, ice cream in the hot tub, the Catfish and even that unexpected flat tire. Yeah, buddy!
We'll do this again next year...and the next...and the next...
41. The Fast Colorado Trip
One summer we planned a group vacation ride to Colorado. Starting out, there were seven couples in all. We always looked forward to this type of trip. But, as the saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men...
First off, two couples cancelled a couple of weeks before the departure date due to work demands. No big deal, we’d miss them but we still had five couples. Oops, did I say five? For a moment there we did, but then, another couple had to cancel for illness in the family. Again, no biggie. A smaller, more manageable group would actually be more efficient. Four couples left. Just the right size for entering restaurants for quick service. We can still do this.
But the damage is not yet done. Another couple backs out because of more family illness. Now we’re down to three couples; Gary and Judy T, along with Wayne and Pat will go with us. Well, they are all superb traveling companions and we’ve ridden lots of miles with them. Good folks to ride the river with.
Monday morning before the departure time on Friday afternoon sees the final cruelty strike. I too, must cancel out because of work issues! This snowballs because Wayne and Pat then dropped out thinking Gary and Judy T were bailing too.
Damnation! What evil is being visited upon our small, round, heads? How can everybody cancel out on a great trip like this? What about all the pre trip publicity we wrote about in the Intercom Newsletter leading up to this trip?
Departure time came. Went. Nobody left. We all felt so sorry for ourselves. This surely would have been a great trip.
After a couple of weeks, Judy and I started putting together “The Intercom” which was the name of our monthly newsletter. What would have been a great trip report left a huge gaping hole in our little publication.
As I sat there suffering from writer’s block, it came to me in a flash that I should go ahead and write up a trip report any way! I would use what is called poetic license and fabricate a fantastic trip! So, what follows is the story that was printed in the monthly newsletter.
Bill and Terry, accompanied by their wives, decided to go to Neosho Honda in Neosho, Missouri on Saturday morning since the trip was cancelled. While there, they traded bikes as they had offers they couldn’t refuse. Also they learned that their reason for cancelling the trip was rescheduled so suddenly they were free to go!
Plus they had brand new bikes to ride on the long awaited trip. They called us and excitedly told us the double dose of good news; brand new bikes and the trip was on again for them!
We had good news of our own. My planning meetings scheduled for the next week had also been rescheduled. I too was suddenly free to go! So now we are three couples and four bikes. We called Gary and Carolyn, Carl and Carol, and Hugh and Carol. Since they had cancelled because most of us had cancelled, they were only too happy to load up and leave out right away. So the only ones missing are Gary and Judy T who we could not reach on the phone.
Bill and Terry said they knew a short cut from Neosho, Missouri to Colorado Springs, Colorado. Great! We’ll all meet up at the Silver Saddle Motel in Manitou Springs tomorrow. (for those who live in Topeka, look at the map. Short cut? Impossible!)
Gary and Carolyn, who owned the Bakery and Deli of Ah’s (pun on Oz, get it?) said they had planned a surprise for us and left a few hours earlier than the rest of the gang. Said they would meet us at the campsite at Dillon Lake. (I just realized how many Gary’s and Carol’s we have in our group)
Blessed with great weather, we high tailed it to WaKeeney, Kansas for our first night. Getting an early start the next morning, we made it to Manitou Springs to find Bill and Terry waiting for us. We looked at the beautiful new bikes and congratulated them on moving up. Early next morning we left for Dillon Lake.
We arrived there in mid afternoon to find Carolyn busy baking bread, pies and twice baked potatoes in rented ovens. So...this was the big surprise she had planned. No, not quite all; Gary had set out long fishing lines in the lake and caught many, many, Rainbow trout. Boy, were we going to eat good tonight!
Next morning there was a heavy frost and ice rimmed the water glasses we had left out. Carol, who is always cold, went into Dillon to buy a warm coat. Hugh went along with Carl and Carol to buy a warm hat to keep his head warm. What bargains they found.
Carol bought a splendid muskrat coat and Hugh picked up a raccoon hat with ear flaps and a tail for his head. Every one was really having a good time on this trip. While there, Carol struck up a conversation with a nice fellow that was in the store. She talked quite a while before she suddenly took a hard look at him He turned out to be; Robert Redford!! His own self!
He was on a new BMW and was accompanied by a really pretty girl named Elise, who was some kind of French film star, whatever that means. Bob and Elise followed them back to our camp and had supper with us. He had brought along several bottles of high dollar white wine to go with our trout and homemade bread supper.
Allowing our supper to settle, we chatted around the camp fire for a while and when Bob and Elise left for Aspen, they invited us up to his place in Aspen. Hey, would we turn down an invitation from the Sundance Kid? Not likely.
But the next morning dawned cool and gray, with light rain falling. We made slow time crossing Independence Pass which was so foggy visibility was reduced to less than 200 feet. We eased on down to Aspen and made our way to Bob’s place where he welcomed us in. We crowded around his huge fireplace trying to dry out and warm up.
A faint smell began to permeate the room. As we began getting warmer, the source was tracked down to Carol’s muskrat coat. After a while, it became unbearable and was taken outside. We had a nice brunch, talked with Elise and Bob for a while and then had to get headed on down to South Pass for the night.
As we crossed Slumgullion Pass, the rain hit us again. This is not a great day, but at least most of the places we stop for gas and snacks have big fireplaces which means that Carol’s coat is getting ranker by the hour.
After being thrown out of a restaurant, Carol is gettin’ more than a little testy about her coat now. No matter; soon enough, we’re on our way crossing South Pass and heading down to Salida for our last night in Colorado. Fortunately, we camp at Texas Creek on this night and Carol’s coat is not mentioned again.
Up early next day and we’re on our way before 0700. We roll into the little town of Trinidad about three hours later and descend upon a Wendy’s that has just set up the noon buffet tables. Have you ever been so fatigued that your hands are like clumsy softballs? Try riding a motorcycle for 5 hours in cool weather on sharp twisted roads and see if they don’t cramp up something bad.
With this impaired fine motor control of fingers, we made a hell of a mess of the salad and hot food bar. It looked like a pack of rats had run through. We felt bad about the mess, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. We also decorated our shirts with food particles and left Wendy’s somewhat embarrassed.
Next stop; Garden City, Kansas. We’ll stay overnight here and make it home tomorrow. We stayed at the Wheatlands Motel and trashed that restaurant as well. Damn, we sure were messy. Tomorrow will be warm and still with mostly straight roads so the fumble fingers should go away.
By 1630, we were home. Bill and Terry rode ahead as some of their accessories for their new bikes should be in and they couldn’t wait to put on all the lights, bells, and whistles. This was a good break in ride for those two bikes.
Carol parted company with her muskrat coat as the smell was really fierce and intense by now; not unlike a wet dog. It was warm enough to where she wasn’t cold any more anyway.
But, Hugh kept his raccoon cap. Seemed he would rather let his gourd get wet than to mess up his new headgear.
Gary and Carolyn headed for their bakery to see if the vacation staff had broken anything.
Judy and I went home to write up the trip report. Thus ended the story of the fast Colorado Trip. Or...did it?
The aftermath of this story had some unforeseen amusing effects. You may recall that Gary and Judy T were among the original group that were going on this ride. We had tried to contact them to see if they wanted to go along with our fictitious ride, but could not reach them.
There was an excellent reason why we couldn’t reach them. They had ridden out to Colorado and crossed the passes we only wrote about!!! They were the only ones who actually went, but sad to say they were not even mentioned in the story! They were somewhat miffed, to say the least!
But the couple that was really offended was Wayne and Pat. Wayne checked his mail that fateful day and brought the newsletter in to read with his supper. As he read about our trip to Colorado, he got real mad, stopped reading, and threw the newsletter away. He really thought we had all left without them.
Next day, Pat retrieved the newsletter and read the whole wacky story, laughing like hell when she realized what we had done and how Wayne had been taken in. Best of all, we didn’t disappoint those folks who fell for this fiction and really thought we had a great trip.
Unintended consequences. Hey, sometimes less is more!!
First off, two couples cancelled a couple of weeks before the departure date due to work demands. No big deal, we’d miss them but we still had five couples. Oops, did I say five? For a moment there we did, but then, another couple had to cancel for illness in the family. Again, no biggie. A smaller, more manageable group would actually be more efficient. Four couples left. Just the right size for entering restaurants for quick service. We can still do this.
But the damage is not yet done. Another couple backs out because of more family illness. Now we’re down to three couples; Gary and Judy T, along with Wayne and Pat will go with us. Well, they are all superb traveling companions and we’ve ridden lots of miles with them. Good folks to ride the river with.
Monday morning before the departure time on Friday afternoon sees the final cruelty strike. I too, must cancel out because of work issues! This snowballs because Wayne and Pat then dropped out thinking Gary and Judy T were bailing too.
Damnation! What evil is being visited upon our small, round, heads? How can everybody cancel out on a great trip like this? What about all the pre trip publicity we wrote about in the Intercom Newsletter leading up to this trip?
Departure time came. Went. Nobody left. We all felt so sorry for ourselves. This surely would have been a great trip.
After a couple of weeks, Judy and I started putting together “The Intercom” which was the name of our monthly newsletter. What would have been a great trip report left a huge gaping hole in our little publication.
As I sat there suffering from writer’s block, it came to me in a flash that I should go ahead and write up a trip report any way! I would use what is called poetic license and fabricate a fantastic trip! So, what follows is the story that was printed in the monthly newsletter.
Bill and Terry, accompanied by their wives, decided to go to Neosho Honda in Neosho, Missouri on Saturday morning since the trip was cancelled. While there, they traded bikes as they had offers they couldn’t refuse. Also they learned that their reason for cancelling the trip was rescheduled so suddenly they were free to go!
Plus they had brand new bikes to ride on the long awaited trip. They called us and excitedly told us the double dose of good news; brand new bikes and the trip was on again for them!
We had good news of our own. My planning meetings scheduled for the next week had also been rescheduled. I too was suddenly free to go! So now we are three couples and four bikes. We called Gary and Carolyn, Carl and Carol, and Hugh and Carol. Since they had cancelled because most of us had cancelled, they were only too happy to load up and leave out right away. So the only ones missing are Gary and Judy T who we could not reach on the phone.
Bill and Terry said they knew a short cut from Neosho, Missouri to Colorado Springs, Colorado. Great! We’ll all meet up at the Silver Saddle Motel in Manitou Springs tomorrow. (for those who live in Topeka, look at the map. Short cut? Impossible!)
Gary and Carolyn, who owned the Bakery and Deli of Ah’s (pun on Oz, get it?) said they had planned a surprise for us and left a few hours earlier than the rest of the gang. Said they would meet us at the campsite at Dillon Lake. (I just realized how many Gary’s and Carol’s we have in our group)
Blessed with great weather, we high tailed it to WaKeeney, Kansas for our first night. Getting an early start the next morning, we made it to Manitou Springs to find Bill and Terry waiting for us. We looked at the beautiful new bikes and congratulated them on moving up. Early next morning we left for Dillon Lake.
We arrived there in mid afternoon to find Carolyn busy baking bread, pies and twice baked potatoes in rented ovens. So...this was the big surprise she had planned. No, not quite all; Gary had set out long fishing lines in the lake and caught many, many, Rainbow trout. Boy, were we going to eat good tonight!
Next morning there was a heavy frost and ice rimmed the water glasses we had left out. Carol, who is always cold, went into Dillon to buy a warm coat. Hugh went along with Carl and Carol to buy a warm hat to keep his head warm. What bargains they found.
Carol bought a splendid muskrat coat and Hugh picked up a raccoon hat with ear flaps and a tail for his head. Every one was really having a good time on this trip. While there, Carol struck up a conversation with a nice fellow that was in the store. She talked quite a while before she suddenly took a hard look at him He turned out to be; Robert Redford!! His own self!
He was on a new BMW and was accompanied by a really pretty girl named Elise, who was some kind of French film star, whatever that means. Bob and Elise followed them back to our camp and had supper with us. He had brought along several bottles of high dollar white wine to go with our trout and homemade bread supper.
Allowing our supper to settle, we chatted around the camp fire for a while and when Bob and Elise left for Aspen, they invited us up to his place in Aspen. Hey, would we turn down an invitation from the Sundance Kid? Not likely.
But the next morning dawned cool and gray, with light rain falling. We made slow time crossing Independence Pass which was so foggy visibility was reduced to less than 200 feet. We eased on down to Aspen and made our way to Bob’s place where he welcomed us in. We crowded around his huge fireplace trying to dry out and warm up.
A faint smell began to permeate the room. As we began getting warmer, the source was tracked down to Carol’s muskrat coat. After a while, it became unbearable and was taken outside. We had a nice brunch, talked with Elise and Bob for a while and then had to get headed on down to South Pass for the night.
As we crossed Slumgullion Pass, the rain hit us again. This is not a great day, but at least most of the places we stop for gas and snacks have big fireplaces which means that Carol’s coat is getting ranker by the hour.
After being thrown out of a restaurant, Carol is gettin’ more than a little testy about her coat now. No matter; soon enough, we’re on our way crossing South Pass and heading down to Salida for our last night in Colorado. Fortunately, we camp at Texas Creek on this night and Carol’s coat is not mentioned again.
Up early next day and we’re on our way before 0700. We roll into the little town of Trinidad about three hours later and descend upon a Wendy’s that has just set up the noon buffet tables. Have you ever been so fatigued that your hands are like clumsy softballs? Try riding a motorcycle for 5 hours in cool weather on sharp twisted roads and see if they don’t cramp up something bad.
With this impaired fine motor control of fingers, we made a hell of a mess of the salad and hot food bar. It looked like a pack of rats had run through. We felt bad about the mess, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. We also decorated our shirts with food particles and left Wendy’s somewhat embarrassed.
Next stop; Garden City, Kansas. We’ll stay overnight here and make it home tomorrow. We stayed at the Wheatlands Motel and trashed that restaurant as well. Damn, we sure were messy. Tomorrow will be warm and still with mostly straight roads so the fumble fingers should go away.
By 1630, we were home. Bill and Terry rode ahead as some of their accessories for their new bikes should be in and they couldn’t wait to put on all the lights, bells, and whistles. This was a good break in ride for those two bikes.
Carol parted company with her muskrat coat as the smell was really fierce and intense by now; not unlike a wet dog. It was warm enough to where she wasn’t cold any more anyway.
But, Hugh kept his raccoon cap. Seemed he would rather let his gourd get wet than to mess up his new headgear.
Gary and Carolyn headed for their bakery to see if the vacation staff had broken anything.
Judy and I went home to write up the trip report. Thus ended the story of the fast Colorado Trip. Or...did it?
The aftermath of this story had some unforeseen amusing effects. You may recall that Gary and Judy T were among the original group that were going on this ride. We had tried to contact them to see if they wanted to go along with our fictitious ride, but could not reach them.
There was an excellent reason why we couldn’t reach them. They had ridden out to Colorado and crossed the passes we only wrote about!!! They were the only ones who actually went, but sad to say they were not even mentioned in the story! They were somewhat miffed, to say the least!
But the couple that was really offended was Wayne and Pat. Wayne checked his mail that fateful day and brought the newsletter in to read with his supper. As he read about our trip to Colorado, he got real mad, stopped reading, and threw the newsletter away. He really thought we had all left without them.
Next day, Pat retrieved the newsletter and read the whole wacky story, laughing like hell when she realized what we had done and how Wayne had been taken in. Best of all, we didn’t disappoint those folks who fell for this fiction and really thought we had a great trip.
Unintended consequences. Hey, sometimes less is more!!
Friday, October 1, 2010
40. Deep Dish Apple Pie
Imagine, if you will, a piece of apple pie in the round, 6 inches in diameter, 4 inches tall, with tart, crispy, crunchy, Granny Smith apples, covered with a delicate buttered cinnamon crust, and topped off with a double scoop of Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. A meal unto itself.
Sitting around the bike shop in Big Spring, Texas, one Friday evening, someone suggested that we ride over to the Triple T Truck stop(actually Omar’s Hiway Chef Restaurant) in the morning and partake of this tasty treat. The more I heard about it, the more I became convinced I had to try this.
So bright and early the next morning, promptly at 6:00 am, a motley crew of six of us, headed west on I-20 bound for the only truck stop that specialized in this rare treat. The day was magnificent for West Texas, very little wind, hence no blowing sand. Mild temperatures, bikes running strong, CB chatter better than an FM radio with all the irritating commercials, we were on a super trip for deep dish apple pie! I couldn’t wait. Our destination was the Triple T truck stop. Yeah, baby, lead me on!
Over the years, on our rides, I have been conditioned to simply follow Miss Judy. As a result, I rarely look at a road map, trusting instead to the lead bike choosing the way. In this fashion, I can zone out and just enjoy the ride. I can now tell you, this was not wise today, but ignorance is bliss as the saying goes.
Everyone should know the final destination so that if the group becomes fragmented, no one will have to ride recklessly fast to catch up. Just a good safety rule, but sometimes...ah, well. That’s what makes for great stories.
After a couple of hours westbound on I 20 as we stopped at the Monahans rest area, I thought it prudent to ask Willie, the ride leader how soon we would enjoying this deep dish apple pie. Just a little while yet, but it’s really worth it. All righty, then. Hammer on down.
Pretty soon we were seeing signs that I 20 would be merging with I 10 west bound. I also noted the trip meter was showing close to 250 miles since we left Big Spring. This was becoming a damn long pie ride if you ask me.
A couple more hours go by and I’m noticing that we’re approaching El Paso on our left . As we enter New Mexico, it begins to dawn on me that there’s more to this pie ride than I am aware of. When we stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico, for gas and a quick hamburger, I grill Willie about where the hell is this truck stop.
At this point I am told it’s the Triple T truck stop that has this fine pie. Yeah, I got that before we left, but what I don’t get is where is the Triple T truck stop. I mean just where in the hell is the Triple T truck stop!!??
It’s in Tucson, Arizona.
Oh. Oh? OH!!!!
Belatedly, I get out the road atlas and discover the distance to Tucson, Arizona, one way, from Big Spring, Texas, is a mere 653 miles! Judy was fit to be tied when I called to report in and mention I would not be home till late Sunday night! Maybe even...Monday morning.
Damnation! Everybody laughs at my reaction as I realize I have been snookered and slowly accept that fact. Oh, what the hell, it’s been a grand ride so far and I am, after all, in the company of evil companions. Seeing as we’re well past the point of no return so I might as well relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.
We continue on past towns with exotic names; Dona, Akela, Deming, Lisbon Siding and as we enter Arizona, we pass Roadforks!
We ride on and on, passing Pomerene, Mountain View, and Vail. Suddenly, there it is! The Triple T truck stop is just ahead. It’s nearly 3:00 in the morning and we’ve been on the road since 7:00 am the previous day. This pie better be good.
The pies come out of the ovens at 3:00 in the morning, and are served piping hot with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. This then, was the reasoning behind the day long ride. I rode all this way to experience this phenomena, so I ate the whole thing. Was it good? Oh, yeah.
Good enough for a 1,400 mile round trip? Yes, sorta, but if I had known the distance before hand, I would have planned a longer trip to further explore southern Arizona over several days. Regardless, after we finished the pie, we headed for a rest area Willie knew about.
Under a covered pavilion, on picnic tables, we grabbed about two hours sleep, wrapped up in rain gear for warmth. Light was just breaking in the east as we pulled back on the road; hell bound for Big Spring, Texas. Gonna be a long day.
One thing about super slab travel, the miles just fall away, but the quality of the ride is not what the more sedate back roads provide. But in cases like now, we have to get back to Big Spring in time to get a little rest. The work week begins in less than 24 hours and we have 660 miles to go.
So, the speed increases, the rest stops get shorter and further apart, and meals are grab ‘n go. No one is talking on the CB as it just takes too much energy. So the trip home becomes a journey of endurance. Not really unpleasant, just sort of...empty.
But this too has it’s rewards. It’s a good place and time to think serious thoughts or just review upcoming events. This is something that is an unexpected benefit of long distance touring.
So we overcome the distance with efficient riding, limiting the frequency and duration of rest stops and finally around midnight we are approaching the Midland/Odessa exit which means we are about an hour from home.
At last I pull into the garage at home and switch off the engine. Thanks to this trip I will have to change the oil and filter again and do a major clean up before the next ride. Judy wants to know all about the trip, where did we go, was the pie that good. Arrgh! I can’t talk now. I collapse on the couch and am asleep in nano seconds.
A few weeks later, I’m back at the bike shop on a Friday evening. Guys are setting around talking about setting up a schedule of rides when a newcomer, Randall Rocket enters the shop to purchase some items. He’s offered coffee, we introduce ourselves and learn that he’s from back east; New Jersey, for cryin’ out loud. A real pettyfoggin’ Yankee! He even rides a wimpy BMW!!
Then someone casually mentions how nice it would be to ride over in the morning and get some Deep Dish Apple Pie. Randall asks all the right questions about this ride and before you know it, he’s hooked! Yeah, buddy! Randall thinks this sounds like fun.
Ah, yes, Randall, m’ boy. It will be fun. Welcome to Texas!
Sitting around the bike shop in Big Spring, Texas, one Friday evening, someone suggested that we ride over to the Triple T Truck stop(actually Omar’s Hiway Chef Restaurant) in the morning and partake of this tasty treat. The more I heard about it, the more I became convinced I had to try this.
So bright and early the next morning, promptly at 6:00 am, a motley crew of six of us, headed west on I-20 bound for the only truck stop that specialized in this rare treat. The day was magnificent for West Texas, very little wind, hence no blowing sand. Mild temperatures, bikes running strong, CB chatter better than an FM radio with all the irritating commercials, we were on a super trip for deep dish apple pie! I couldn’t wait. Our destination was the Triple T truck stop. Yeah, baby, lead me on!
Over the years, on our rides, I have been conditioned to simply follow Miss Judy. As a result, I rarely look at a road map, trusting instead to the lead bike choosing the way. In this fashion, I can zone out and just enjoy the ride. I can now tell you, this was not wise today, but ignorance is bliss as the saying goes.
Everyone should know the final destination so that if the group becomes fragmented, no one will have to ride recklessly fast to catch up. Just a good safety rule, but sometimes...ah, well. That’s what makes for great stories.
After a couple of hours westbound on I 20 as we stopped at the Monahans rest area, I thought it prudent to ask Willie, the ride leader how soon we would enjoying this deep dish apple pie. Just a little while yet, but it’s really worth it. All righty, then. Hammer on down.
Pretty soon we were seeing signs that I 20 would be merging with I 10 west bound. I also noted the trip meter was showing close to 250 miles since we left Big Spring. This was becoming a damn long pie ride if you ask me.
A couple more hours go by and I’m noticing that we’re approaching El Paso on our left . As we enter New Mexico, it begins to dawn on me that there’s more to this pie ride than I am aware of. When we stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico, for gas and a quick hamburger, I grill Willie about where the hell is this truck stop.
At this point I am told it’s the Triple T truck stop that has this fine pie. Yeah, I got that before we left, but what I don’t get is where is the Triple T truck stop. I mean just where in the hell is the Triple T truck stop!!??
It’s in Tucson, Arizona.
Oh. Oh? OH!!!!
Belatedly, I get out the road atlas and discover the distance to Tucson, Arizona, one way, from Big Spring, Texas, is a mere 653 miles! Judy was fit to be tied when I called to report in and mention I would not be home till late Sunday night! Maybe even...Monday morning.
Damnation! Everybody laughs at my reaction as I realize I have been snookered and slowly accept that fact. Oh, what the hell, it’s been a grand ride so far and I am, after all, in the company of evil companions. Seeing as we’re well past the point of no return so I might as well relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.
We continue on past towns with exotic names; Dona, Akela, Deming, Lisbon Siding and as we enter Arizona, we pass Roadforks!
We ride on and on, passing Pomerene, Mountain View, and Vail. Suddenly, there it is! The Triple T truck stop is just ahead. It’s nearly 3:00 in the morning and we’ve been on the road since 7:00 am the previous day. This pie better be good.
The pies come out of the ovens at 3:00 in the morning, and are served piping hot with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. This then, was the reasoning behind the day long ride. I rode all this way to experience this phenomena, so I ate the whole thing. Was it good? Oh, yeah.
Good enough for a 1,400 mile round trip? Yes, sorta, but if I had known the distance before hand, I would have planned a longer trip to further explore southern Arizona over several days. Regardless, after we finished the pie, we headed for a rest area Willie knew about.
Under a covered pavilion, on picnic tables, we grabbed about two hours sleep, wrapped up in rain gear for warmth. Light was just breaking in the east as we pulled back on the road; hell bound for Big Spring, Texas. Gonna be a long day.
One thing about super slab travel, the miles just fall away, but the quality of the ride is not what the more sedate back roads provide. But in cases like now, we have to get back to Big Spring in time to get a little rest. The work week begins in less than 24 hours and we have 660 miles to go.
So, the speed increases, the rest stops get shorter and further apart, and meals are grab ‘n go. No one is talking on the CB as it just takes too much energy. So the trip home becomes a journey of endurance. Not really unpleasant, just sort of...empty.
But this too has it’s rewards. It’s a good place and time to think serious thoughts or just review upcoming events. This is something that is an unexpected benefit of long distance touring.
So we overcome the distance with efficient riding, limiting the frequency and duration of rest stops and finally around midnight we are approaching the Midland/Odessa exit which means we are about an hour from home.
At last I pull into the garage at home and switch off the engine. Thanks to this trip I will have to change the oil and filter again and do a major clean up before the next ride. Judy wants to know all about the trip, where did we go, was the pie that good. Arrgh! I can’t talk now. I collapse on the couch and am asleep in nano seconds.
A few weeks later, I’m back at the bike shop on a Friday evening. Guys are setting around talking about setting up a schedule of rides when a newcomer, Randall Rocket enters the shop to purchase some items. He’s offered coffee, we introduce ourselves and learn that he’s from back east; New Jersey, for cryin’ out loud. A real pettyfoggin’ Yankee! He even rides a wimpy BMW!!
Then someone casually mentions how nice it would be to ride over in the morning and get some Deep Dish Apple Pie. Randall asks all the right questions about this ride and before you know it, he’s hooked! Yeah, buddy! Randall thinks this sounds like fun.
Ah, yes, Randall, m’ boy. It will be fun. Welcome to Texas!
39. The XS Eleven - Part Two
As mentioned earlier, this wonderful little bike came to a bad end when I took my eyes off the road for a moment to wave at one of the Administrative secretaries.
The front wheel T-boned a Fire Bird, sending me flying over the hood and inflicting severe damage to the XS Eleven.
The front fork tubes were bent, the framed was tweaked, the fairing was destroyed, and the rider was whacked around by the owner. We sent out the fork tubes to be straightened; and after a period of recovery from my battle wounds, I used a porta power device to push back the angle of the forks from 25 degrees to 27.5 degrees. Factory specs call for 29 degrees.
I picked up a cheap fairing for $50 and slid the rebuilt fork tubes into the triple tree. Hmmm, something seems to be amiss. When installed properly in the recessed grooves and tightened to the specified torque, the bike somehow seemed...taller. That’s a serious deflection for a mere 1.5 degree change.
I raised the tubes up to compensate for the changed angle and took it for a ride. It still had the pavement scorching performance and it tracked true, but the reduced angle made the bike much quicker to handle. Just think about changing lanes and you were there.
Sadly, I knew the bike had come to the end of it’s time with us. Judy would never trust it again, nor could I so we sold it cheap, telling the new owner about the bent frame. He told us he was going to have that straightened on a frame machine over in Odessa and it should be good as new. Sad day for all concerned.
Motorcycles have individual personalities and this one for sure had a fine spirit. Let‘s hope it‘s happy in its’ new home.
The front wheel T-boned a Fire Bird, sending me flying over the hood and inflicting severe damage to the XS Eleven.
The front fork tubes were bent, the framed was tweaked, the fairing was destroyed, and the rider was whacked around by the owner. We sent out the fork tubes to be straightened; and after a period of recovery from my battle wounds, I used a porta power device to push back the angle of the forks from 25 degrees to 27.5 degrees. Factory specs call for 29 degrees.
I picked up a cheap fairing for $50 and slid the rebuilt fork tubes into the triple tree. Hmmm, something seems to be amiss. When installed properly in the recessed grooves and tightened to the specified torque, the bike somehow seemed...taller. That’s a serious deflection for a mere 1.5 degree change.
I raised the tubes up to compensate for the changed angle and took it for a ride. It still had the pavement scorching performance and it tracked true, but the reduced angle made the bike much quicker to handle. Just think about changing lanes and you were there.
Sadly, I knew the bike had come to the end of it’s time with us. Judy would never trust it again, nor could I so we sold it cheap, telling the new owner about the bent frame. He told us he was going to have that straightened on a frame machine over in Odessa and it should be good as new. Sad day for all concerned.
Motorcycles have individual personalities and this one for sure had a fine spirit. Let‘s hope it‘s happy in its’ new home.
Monday, August 30, 2010
38. The XS Eleven
Earlier I mentioned briefly that Judy’s XS Eleven was the fastest bike in West Texas. This begs the question, "Just what was it that made this little bike so special?"
Well, for one thing, it looked just like the little XS 400’s we started out with. Judy was riding a Suzuki 750 at that time and that was not a good fit for her. So we began looking for a bike with shaft drive rather than chain drive. I called the Kawasaki dealer to see what the Kaw’s were selling for and turned ashen at the price! $3,895 for the KZ 1100! Ach, himmel!!
He said if I wasn’t particular, the dealer up the street was selling off left over XS Eleven’s for $2,995. I’m sure he meant this a cheap shot, but I seized upon this nugget and called the Yahama dealer. Yes, he was selling them and had three left; two Indigo Blue ones and a Tobacco Brown one. Price; $2,995.
That afternoon, right after work, Judy and I headed for Shawnee Mission, Kansas on my KZ 1300 as the dealer was open till 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. We got there around 7:30 pm, rolled out the blue XS Eleven and took it for a test ride. Oh boy, was this a responsive bike. Judy liked it too. We went back in and bought it for $2,900 with a set of case guards thrown in.
What a neat bike! On the turnpike ride home, Judy throttled up and this bike nearly popped a wheelie at 60 mph. It was torque personified!
On Saturday, we sold the GS 750 and the pick up truck, so the Yamaha was suddenly free and clear. I bought a frame mounted fairing for it but no one in Topeka had a mounting bracket. I had to make a fast trip to Manhattan for that.
After assembling all the parts, it was a simple job to mount the fairing and the case guards. The bike was Indigo Blue and the fairing matched the colors of the bike perfectly. Judy took it for a ride and loved it! As she rode the bike more and more, she began to accessorize it with a radio, a tape player, a CB, color matched saddle bags and a leftover white tail trunk. This fast little machine just made itself right at home. I liked it too, very much, as it was a real hot rod.
A couple of years later, we moved to Big Spring, Texas, which was not far from Abilene, where I was raised. Judy did not share my enthusiasm for West Texas, but she did love the early morning sunrises and the spectacular sunsets. She did not love cleaning sand out of her refrigerator after one of the frequent sand storms
Excuse me for a moment while I bring you up to date on West Texans and women. Down here, women are considered to be helpful, handy, little servants...as long as they do not interfere in the business of men.
Expectations are that the little darlin’s are happiest when doing something useful for a man. Hmmm. While that would be an alternative to the northern customs, I could not see a strong willed personality like Judy fitting in this restrictive structure.
But, for the first few meetings and rides with the Big Spring Road Riders, she was somewhat laid back until one of the guys, Bubba, I think his name was, remarked about her little motorcycle and asked her if she thought it could keep up with the big bikes like the Gold Wings, Harleys, and Kawasaki machines. Hoo boy, these were fighting words.
Judy said she didn’t know, (she lied) but then asked him if he was familiar with the 55 mph roll on tests. Naturally, being a redneck from West Texas, Bubba had no clue as to what she was talking about.
She explained that in the roll on tests, two bikes run side by side on the Interstate at 55 mph in top gear. At a given signal, both riders would crank the throttle wide open and see which bike was the fastest. It was a test of extreme performance and a measurement of torque.
Hey, sounded good to him. What could Judy’s diminutive little motor scooter do against his big strong KZ-1100? I knew. I had read the same article in Rider magazine about the exhaustive performance tests of the XS Eleven. This particular test had firmly established the XS Eleven as the world champion.
Another of the performance tests was the quarter mile drag race. Where do you think the name, XS Eleven came from? Right, it was the elapsed time in the quarter mile, Maynard! That‘s right, eleven seconds to cover a quarter mile from a dead stop. Bubba was about to get a rude education.
One bright morning we all went out to I-20 west of Big Spring and the test began. Bubba called us on his CB and reported that the bikes were running side by side at 55 mph.
Cubby, the Road Captain, counted off...3, 2, 1, GO!!! It was over in a moment; Judy had beaten the KZ 1100 by 20 bike lengths. Bubba howled that he was not ready and wanted to repeat the race. Judy was more than agreeable. Sure, let’s go.
Again, the two bikes lined up. On the signal, the throttles were cranked wide open. Again, Judy walked off and left him. Bubba came back a changed man. He looked the little bike over and still could not believe it.
Next up, a hot rod in it’s own right, the Suzuki GS 1100 L challenged the XS Eleven. This competition was a bit stiffer as the Suzuki had a high performance rating as well. Close, but not nearly enough. Once again the little Yamaha won easily.
Bubba, with his KZ 1100, came back and wanted to race Judy again, but this time he would run in fourth gear while she stayed in fifth. Again, Cubby set them off and again Judy beat him. Although the race was closer it still was no contest.
Frustrated now, Bubba wanted to try one more time, but this time he would be in third gear while Judy stayed in fifth. This time the KZ 1100 stayed close for about 50 yards, then fell behind as the XS Eleven roared away.
The aftermath of this display of performance was that other riders came forward on our weekend rides and asked Judy if she’d like to ride their big comfortable (read slow) bikes. They wanted to see just what this little fellow could do. Seems everyone enjoyed the unlimited performance of Judy’s bike and it was never beaten in the highway roll on contests.
Over time, this established Judy as an equal which generated some resistance among the other wives, but several of them decided to buy bikes and ride their own! Judy the trendsetter. Look what she started.
Judy’s 1979 Yamaha XS Eleven...the fastest bike in West Texas!
Well, for one thing, it looked just like the little XS 400’s we started out with. Judy was riding a Suzuki 750 at that time and that was not a good fit for her. So we began looking for a bike with shaft drive rather than chain drive. I called the Kawasaki dealer to see what the Kaw’s were selling for and turned ashen at the price! $3,895 for the KZ 1100! Ach, himmel!!
He said if I wasn’t particular, the dealer up the street was selling off left over XS Eleven’s for $2,995. I’m sure he meant this a cheap shot, but I seized upon this nugget and called the Yahama dealer. Yes, he was selling them and had three left; two Indigo Blue ones and a Tobacco Brown one. Price; $2,995.
That afternoon, right after work, Judy and I headed for Shawnee Mission, Kansas on my KZ 1300 as the dealer was open till 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. We got there around 7:30 pm, rolled out the blue XS Eleven and took it for a test ride. Oh boy, was this a responsive bike. Judy liked it too. We went back in and bought it for $2,900 with a set of case guards thrown in.
What a neat bike! On the turnpike ride home, Judy throttled up and this bike nearly popped a wheelie at 60 mph. It was torque personified!
On Saturday, we sold the GS 750 and the pick up truck, so the Yamaha was suddenly free and clear. I bought a frame mounted fairing for it but no one in Topeka had a mounting bracket. I had to make a fast trip to Manhattan for that.
After assembling all the parts, it was a simple job to mount the fairing and the case guards. The bike was Indigo Blue and the fairing matched the colors of the bike perfectly. Judy took it for a ride and loved it! As she rode the bike more and more, she began to accessorize it with a radio, a tape player, a CB, color matched saddle bags and a leftover white tail trunk. This fast little machine just made itself right at home. I liked it too, very much, as it was a real hot rod.
A couple of years later, we moved to Big Spring, Texas, which was not far from Abilene, where I was raised. Judy did not share my enthusiasm for West Texas, but she did love the early morning sunrises and the spectacular sunsets. She did not love cleaning sand out of her refrigerator after one of the frequent sand storms
Excuse me for a moment while I bring you up to date on West Texans and women. Down here, women are considered to be helpful, handy, little servants...as long as they do not interfere in the business of men.
Expectations are that the little darlin’s are happiest when doing something useful for a man. Hmmm. While that would be an alternative to the northern customs, I could not see a strong willed personality like Judy fitting in this restrictive structure.
But, for the first few meetings and rides with the Big Spring Road Riders, she was somewhat laid back until one of the guys, Bubba, I think his name was, remarked about her little motorcycle and asked her if she thought it could keep up with the big bikes like the Gold Wings, Harleys, and Kawasaki machines. Hoo boy, these were fighting words.
Judy said she didn’t know, (she lied) but then asked him if he was familiar with the 55 mph roll on tests. Naturally, being a redneck from West Texas, Bubba had no clue as to what she was talking about.
She explained that in the roll on tests, two bikes run side by side on the Interstate at 55 mph in top gear. At a given signal, both riders would crank the throttle wide open and see which bike was the fastest. It was a test of extreme performance and a measurement of torque.
Hey, sounded good to him. What could Judy’s diminutive little motor scooter do against his big strong KZ-1100? I knew. I had read the same article in Rider magazine about the exhaustive performance tests of the XS Eleven. This particular test had firmly established the XS Eleven as the world champion.
Another of the performance tests was the quarter mile drag race. Where do you think the name, XS Eleven came from? Right, it was the elapsed time in the quarter mile, Maynard! That‘s right, eleven seconds to cover a quarter mile from a dead stop. Bubba was about to get a rude education.
One bright morning we all went out to I-20 west of Big Spring and the test began. Bubba called us on his CB and reported that the bikes were running side by side at 55 mph.
Cubby, the Road Captain, counted off...3, 2, 1, GO!!! It was over in a moment; Judy had beaten the KZ 1100 by 20 bike lengths. Bubba howled that he was not ready and wanted to repeat the race. Judy was more than agreeable. Sure, let’s go.
Again, the two bikes lined up. On the signal, the throttles were cranked wide open. Again, Judy walked off and left him. Bubba came back a changed man. He looked the little bike over and still could not believe it.
Next up, a hot rod in it’s own right, the Suzuki GS 1100 L challenged the XS Eleven. This competition was a bit stiffer as the Suzuki had a high performance rating as well. Close, but not nearly enough. Once again the little Yamaha won easily.
Bubba, with his KZ 1100, came back and wanted to race Judy again, but this time he would run in fourth gear while she stayed in fifth. Again, Cubby set them off and again Judy beat him. Although the race was closer it still was no contest.
Frustrated now, Bubba wanted to try one more time, but this time he would be in third gear while Judy stayed in fifth. This time the KZ 1100 stayed close for about 50 yards, then fell behind as the XS Eleven roared away.
The aftermath of this display of performance was that other riders came forward on our weekend rides and asked Judy if she’d like to ride their big comfortable (read slow) bikes. They wanted to see just what this little fellow could do. Seems everyone enjoyed the unlimited performance of Judy’s bike and it was never beaten in the highway roll on contests.
Over time, this established Judy as an equal which generated some resistance among the other wives, but several of them decided to buy bikes and ride their own! Judy the trendsetter. Look what she started.
Judy’s 1979 Yamaha XS Eleven...the fastest bike in West Texas!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
37. Are You A Taurus?
Following our delightful day in Boston, we departed early the next morning bound for Portland, Maine, where we would board the ferry boat for the night sail to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.
Once on board I took the Dramamine and became horizontally dormant for the entire trip. I can’t relate much about the crossing except I did not get sick which was the main objective. Can’t get used to this Canadian accent. Some lady was talking about ‘troat’ fishing. Finally I realized she meant trout fishing. They thought our accents were different too.
Riding out of Yarmouth, we headed for Bridgewater where we would spend the next couple of days spending time with Gary and Carolyn’s family.
While there, I decided to go to a music store and purchase a Pink Floyd CD. I had recently heard this group on my way home from work early one morning. The cut I heard was from the album “The Wall” and I told Judy about this new group I had just learned about.
She shook her head sadly and informed me that this was not a new group or a new song. This album first hit the stores in the mid 70’s, this was now the mid 90’s! Ah, well; I may be slow but I sure am cute.
I walked up to the counter and asked the young lady there for a CD of “The Wall”. As she was making my change she asked, “Are you a Taurus?”
I said, “No, I’m a Gemini.”
She said, “Where’s that?”
"What? I said.
Hmm, I don’t know where this conversation is going. Judy, who knows all, sees all, stepped forward and said. “It’s the accent, Dude! She’s asking if you’re a tourist!”
Yeah, I’m still slow, and maybe...not so cute any more.
Once on board I took the Dramamine and became horizontally dormant for the entire trip. I can’t relate much about the crossing except I did not get sick which was the main objective. Can’t get used to this Canadian accent. Some lady was talking about ‘troat’ fishing. Finally I realized she meant trout fishing. They thought our accents were different too.
Riding out of Yarmouth, we headed for Bridgewater where we would spend the next couple of days spending time with Gary and Carolyn’s family.
While there, I decided to go to a music store and purchase a Pink Floyd CD. I had recently heard this group on my way home from work early one morning. The cut I heard was from the album “The Wall” and I told Judy about this new group I had just learned about.
She shook her head sadly and informed me that this was not a new group or a new song. This album first hit the stores in the mid 70’s, this was now the mid 90’s! Ah, well; I may be slow but I sure am cute.
I walked up to the counter and asked the young lady there for a CD of “The Wall”. As she was making my change she asked, “Are you a Taurus?”
I said, “No, I’m a Gemini.”
She said, “Where’s that?”
"What? I said.
Hmm, I don’t know where this conversation is going. Judy, who knows all, sees all, stepped forward and said. “It’s the accent, Dude! She’s asking if you’re a tourist!”
Yeah, I’m still slow, and maybe...not so cute any more.
36. The Magic Of Boston
July 1, 1995, found a large group of us bound for Nova Scotia. One of our group had a young son who lived with his family near Bridgewater and we were going to spend a couple of days with him before going on to the Cabot Trail.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
35. The Raisin Bran Smugglers
Winter time doldrums had set in. Paul and I had endured as many short days as we could stand without benefit of sunshine and dry roads. We were in bad need of a fix as we were really suffering from cabin fever and needed to get ‘in the wind‘. You know what I mean?
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
Thursday, June 17, 2010
34. Melanie and the Elevator
This story really happened in a big city Hospital where I worked. The only connection to motorcyclin’ is that I occasionally rode to work. This story is simply too good to leave out.
Practical jokes are rampant in Hospitals, especially during the night shift. Some say it is a safety relief valve; others say it indicates severe mental disorders. Regardless, they are a fact of life and usually are harmless, and actually relieve the tension in long critical situations.
Let me introduce you to Melanie. Melanie is professional, competent, sweet, sensitive person who is kind to her patients; a delightful co-worker, and very attractive with blond hair and deep blue eyes.
One evening , she was called to 5 North to see a patient in respiratory distress. Since her office was on the ground level, the fastest way to the fifth floor was the elevator. So with her little bag of patent nostrums, she hurried to the elevator.
When the elevator door opened she jumped in quickly and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the door closed, she realized someone had been on there before her and had really smelled up the place. The air had taken on an unhealthy green hue and the fumes were very strong. (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means the previous occupant had farted in the elevator)
Holding her hand over her nose, she breathed very little as the elevator made it’s way up to the fifth floor. When the door finally opened, she ran out and bumped into the arms of elderly Nurse Blodgette, the house supervisor. She got part way down to her patient’s room when she suddenly realized, Nurse Blodgette would undoubtedly associate the bad smell with her! Melanie was mortified!
In due time, she treated her patient and returned to our office. I was enjoying some coffee and relaxing a bit while Melanie poured out her tale of woe. I could see the humor of the situation and suggested that I should call Blodgette and explain what had happened so she would not think ill of Melanie.
No! Melanie was adamant. Under no circumstances was I to ever mention the elevator episode to Blodgette. Ah, well; I told her I would not embarrass her further and changed the subject. I lied. Did I mention that I sometimes embellish an event to improve it’s quality? I should have.
We talked of other things and separated to make our appointed rounds. She planned to let some time go by and eventually she would find the opportunity to explain to Blodgette what really happened.
But that seemed so...incomplete. Surely I could interfere with that plan. Let us explore some of the options...
Ah, yes, my little chickadee; I have the plan right here, but I need an accomplice. The accomplice I sought was one Miss Jody, an RN working in the Intensive Care Unit with a sense of humor almost as warped as my own.
I hastened to the ICU and explained what had happened with Melanie and Blodgette. And Jody, no surprise here; immediately signed on to create more mayhem. She paged Melanie and excitedly told Melanie she was needed in the ICU right now!!
Melanie told Jody that I was covering ICU and to call me. Jody then told Melanie I was busy in the ER and she needed help right now.
Melanie then asked what the problem was. Jody said Nurse Blodgette had staggered into the ICU in serious respiratory distress holding her hands up to her throat and mumbled something about...Melanie and the elevator!
After a lengthy silence, Melanie told Jody to “You tell Pecos Bill that I said he was an a**hole!”
A**hole? Street language from such a sweet young lady?
Appalling!!
Practical jokes are rampant in Hospitals, especially during the night shift. Some say it is a safety relief valve; others say it indicates severe mental disorders. Regardless, they are a fact of life and usually are harmless, and actually relieve the tension in long critical situations.
Let me introduce you to Melanie. Melanie is professional, competent, sweet, sensitive person who is kind to her patients; a delightful co-worker, and very attractive with blond hair and deep blue eyes.
One evening , she was called to 5 North to see a patient in respiratory distress. Since her office was on the ground level, the fastest way to the fifth floor was the elevator. So with her little bag of patent nostrums, she hurried to the elevator.
When the elevator door opened she jumped in quickly and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the door closed, she realized someone had been on there before her and had really smelled up the place. The air had taken on an unhealthy green hue and the fumes were very strong. (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means the previous occupant had farted in the elevator)
Holding her hand over her nose, she breathed very little as the elevator made it’s way up to the fifth floor. When the door finally opened, she ran out and bumped into the arms of elderly Nurse Blodgette, the house supervisor. She got part way down to her patient’s room when she suddenly realized, Nurse Blodgette would undoubtedly associate the bad smell with her! Melanie was mortified!
In due time, she treated her patient and returned to our office. I was enjoying some coffee and relaxing a bit while Melanie poured out her tale of woe. I could see the humor of the situation and suggested that I should call Blodgette and explain what had happened so she would not think ill of Melanie.
No! Melanie was adamant. Under no circumstances was I to ever mention the elevator episode to Blodgette. Ah, well; I told her I would not embarrass her further and changed the subject. I lied. Did I mention that I sometimes embellish an event to improve it’s quality? I should have.
We talked of other things and separated to make our appointed rounds. She planned to let some time go by and eventually she would find the opportunity to explain to Blodgette what really happened.
But that seemed so...incomplete. Surely I could interfere with that plan. Let us explore some of the options...
Ah, yes, my little chickadee; I have the plan right here, but I need an accomplice. The accomplice I sought was one Miss Jody, an RN working in the Intensive Care Unit with a sense of humor almost as warped as my own.
I hastened to the ICU and explained what had happened with Melanie and Blodgette. And Jody, no surprise here; immediately signed on to create more mayhem. She paged Melanie and excitedly told Melanie she was needed in the ICU right now!!
Melanie told Jody that I was covering ICU and to call me. Jody then told Melanie I was busy in the ER and she needed help right now.
Melanie then asked what the problem was. Jody said Nurse Blodgette had staggered into the ICU in serious respiratory distress holding her hands up to her throat and mumbled something about...Melanie and the elevator!
After a lengthy silence, Melanie told Jody to “You tell Pecos Bill that I said he was an a**hole!”
A**hole? Street language from such a sweet young lady?
Appalling!!
Monday, May 3, 2010
33. Dangerous Bathrooms
Our good friends Ken and June were camped at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison one year while on their summer vacation. Their site was a secluded one, tucked away back in a little grove of trees far from the hustle and bustle of the busy campground. They were enjoying the peace and quiet when the Wart family circus mounted an invasion! The racket they made was enough to make the welkin ring!
Mr. and Mrs. Wart had many children, ranging in age from 3 to 12. They had been very active in the early years of their marriage having brought into this world no less than nine progeny! With all these offspring, there was no need to ask what they used to do for entertainment!
Tired of producing a new little Wart every year, Mrs. Wart, in desperation, tried to dampen the fire in the loins of Mr. Wart by placing a sharp edged pebble in his shoe; reasoning that it would make him limp. Don’t laugh, it worked, because little Jeremy is now three years old and has no younger siblings...
The Warts pulled into the campsite nearest to Ken and June and proceeded to set up camp with the 32 foot long Prowler camper towed behind a large, clattering diesel pickup truck! With the great noise from the children racing around and Mama Wart screeching directions to Papa Wart as he tried to back the big trailer into a tight spot, the peacfull tranquility was replaced by pandemonium and smelly exhaust fumes.
Ken and June looked at one another with dismay as they realized that it was too late for them to move to another campground up the road. The noise from next door continued as the kids began gathering wood for a fire so they could roast hot dogs and marshmallows. End of the restful evening.
Sometime later, the oldest daughter came running back to the trailer, cutting through Ken and June’s campsite screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick. Jeremy’s gotten himself stuck in the bathroom and can’t get out!”
Mama Wart yelled back, “You get him unstuck and come in for the evening. It’s gettin’ dark and supper’s almost ready.”
The girl yelled again, “Mama, you don’t understand. Jeremy fell down in the bathroom. He’s down inside the big toilet and can’t get out!” Jeremy was the little three year old and at this point, Mama Wart did not yet realize that this was a chemical toilet and that her little darlin’ had fallen down into the holding receptacle!
When she finally understood what her daughter was telling her, Mama Wart looked sadly over at June and said, “Lord, I think it would be easier to just have another one than to go get this boy!”
June didn’t elaborate on whether or not she helped with the clean up of young Jeremy.
Vacations. Sometimes great, sometimes not.
Mr. and Mrs. Wart had many children, ranging in age from 3 to 12. They had been very active in the early years of their marriage having brought into this world no less than nine progeny! With all these offspring, there was no need to ask what they used to do for entertainment!
Tired of producing a new little Wart every year, Mrs. Wart, in desperation, tried to dampen the fire in the loins of Mr. Wart by placing a sharp edged pebble in his shoe; reasoning that it would make him limp. Don’t laugh, it worked, because little Jeremy is now three years old and has no younger siblings...
The Warts pulled into the campsite nearest to Ken and June and proceeded to set up camp with the 32 foot long Prowler camper towed behind a large, clattering diesel pickup truck! With the great noise from the children racing around and Mama Wart screeching directions to Papa Wart as he tried to back the big trailer into a tight spot, the peacfull tranquility was replaced by pandemonium and smelly exhaust fumes.
Ken and June looked at one another with dismay as they realized that it was too late for them to move to another campground up the road. The noise from next door continued as the kids began gathering wood for a fire so they could roast hot dogs and marshmallows. End of the restful evening.
Sometime later, the oldest daughter came running back to the trailer, cutting through Ken and June’s campsite screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick. Jeremy’s gotten himself stuck in the bathroom and can’t get out!”
Mama Wart yelled back, “You get him unstuck and come in for the evening. It’s gettin’ dark and supper’s almost ready.”
The girl yelled again, “Mama, you don’t understand. Jeremy fell down in the bathroom. He’s down inside the big toilet and can’t get out!” Jeremy was the little three year old and at this point, Mama Wart did not yet realize that this was a chemical toilet and that her little darlin’ had fallen down into the holding receptacle!
When she finally understood what her daughter was telling her, Mama Wart looked sadly over at June and said, “Lord, I think it would be easier to just have another one than to go get this boy!”
June didn’t elaborate on whether or not she helped with the clean up of young Jeremy.
Vacations. Sometimes great, sometimes not.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
32. The Homemade Trailer
Three and a half couples took off one fine summer day, bound for a fun vacation in Yellowstone National Park. As is common with all riders, economy is high on the list of priorities, probably because everything else concerned with motorcycling is quite costly, except for fuel economy, so one economizes where one can.
For example, riders save up all old socks and underwear with holes for long trips such at this. After use, they can be discarded. Disposable underwear! You heard it here first! Who wants to pack around soiled undies and smelly socks when space is at a premium?
I know of one couple who carry explanations in their pockets in case they are in a mishap. Wouldn’t do to have the medical personnel think ill of them for wearing frayed personals. Another couple had discarded their holey socks and underwear in the waste basket in their room. The meticulous maid recovered them, folded them neatly, and replaced them on the counter!
Our story’s hero du jour is named Chuck and his long suffering wife is Miss Frances. They were accompanied by Carl and Carol and Gary and Carolyn. The half of this group was Mike, who is Gary’s brother. This story begins some weeks before the trip when an specialist in wiring trailers to bikes (he once watched someone) helped Chuck put on lights and make the connections.
Chuck had come up with a lightweight sturdy box and a set of wheels on a single axle. Naturally, he put the parts together and made a neat little cargo trailer to pull behind his motorcycle. He could now carry many more camping supplies, groceries, clothes, an ice chest, along with various and sundry items as he toured the country.
This adventure became a pre-destined disaster when he presented himself at Frickley’s garage and prayed for help in wiring up the lights. It helps if you understand that these two likable goofs are a few French Fries short of being a Happy Meal!
Electricity 101 teaches us that electricity will flow like water to various circuits as long as a proper ground wire exists to attract the current onward. A short circuit is a condition where current does not flow where you want it to go, but takes the path of least resistance. Therefore a bare rubbed spot on the insulation creates an unwelcome ground and the current takes a short cut, i.e. a short circuit. Get it? Frickley did not. He was a Charter member of the “Bungle it Yourself” association for home and auto repairs.
Frickley began the connection process by stating, “First thing we gotta do is establish a ground.” Chuck looked at the red, black, white, yellow, and green wires in his hand and asked, “Which one’s ground?”
“Don’t make no difference, Chuckie!” said Frickley. “Just pick one and we’ll get on with it!”
They worked industriously for twenty minutes and then began to identify turn signal wires, brake wires, and tail light wires. There’s not very many and so the task moved right along. Eventually they were ready to connect all the wires and hook up the trailer to the bike.
When they made the connection, the fuse promptly blew. Hmmm. Let’s try a little bigger fuse. Hey, the lights kinda work! SNAP! Another blown fuse. “Ah ha!” cried Frickley. “I see the problem. We need a bigger fuse!”
He took the next size fuse, wrapped it in tin foil and inserted it into the fuse holder. Again, everything worked! Kinda. Hurray! Time now for a cold drink and a review of the upcoming trip. Darkness fell as Chuck hopped on his bike and made his way home.
He was so proud of his trailer and his lights and then...he slammed on the brakes and stopped under a street light, quickly shutting the engine off!
Smoke was boiling out from under the gas tank and he feared a fire was imminent! Opening the fuse panel, he saw a congealed mass of melted wires. Worse, the little computer that monitored lights, oil pressure, engine temperature, and battery was fried! All this damage occured because of the tin foiled fuse. Chuck limped on home and went to bed in a blue funk. Frickley was some surprised when he heard about this later.
Next afternoon Chuck contacted Jackman and Tee Wide for help. These guys are magicians when it comes to electrical work, but this job was beyond even the reach of these experts. Oh, they got his trailer wired up again and the lights worked with a normal fuse, but the little computer that watched over Chuck’s engine was history. Cost of a new one? More than $400! Damnation! He could have bought a brand new trailer for that! Well, can’t afford the computer and go on the trip too. So, Yellowstone, look out! Here come da Chuckster!
Take off day arrives and soon the friends are off on a glorious Saturday morning in mid-summer. The trailer pulls nicely, lights are working fine, and soon the sparkling day lifts Chuck’s spirits. Anticipation of the good times to come is evidenced by the happy CB chatter between friends.
In total harmony, they make their way to North Platte, Nebraska for the first overnight stop. They don’t feel like camping tonight, so they search for a motel only to discover that all rooms are taken due to a regional softball tournament. They finally take the last two rooms in a rundown motel.
Next morning they take off once more, hummin’ little songs and just bein’ joyful motorcycle folk. Suddenly, Chuck hears a loud clunk! This is followed by sparks flying, a deafening grinding sound and Carl hollering on the CB, “Chuck, I think you got a problem!” Boy, did he ever?!!
When Chuck looked in the rear view mirror, he saw a rooster tail of sparks shooting up from the pavement! He slowed the big Yamaha, watching in horror as his left rear wheel disconnected and went bounding across the prairie! It cleared a five strand barbed wire fence and continued on its merry was down a long hill in waist high prairie grass!
Finally, Chuck got the bike stopped and pulled off the side of the road. Mike, the youngster, began running across the field chasing the errant trailer wheel, while Chuck had a delayed, but decidedly hysterical laughing reaction! Upon closer inspection, they could see that the axle itself had broken off just inside the hub of the wheel. This would require the services of a welder and there was nothing in sight, but miles of gently rolling plains with pre-cut cow food and amber waves of grain.
By and by, Mike returned with the wheel and they could see how the repair could be effected, but out here...? How to get this mess to town?
And where was town? Outside assistance and intervention was needed and they were discussing sending some one for help when providence intervened.
In the distance, a chugging sound gradually became louder. Soon a tiny speck appeared on the horizon behind them, growing larger and louder with each passing moment. Indeed, help was on it’s way.
“Providence" arrived in the form of some good old boys and a couple of good old girls in a beat up truck. The driver spotted Chuck and pulled in ahead of him. Making several attempts to get out of the truck, the driver eventually got the door open and lurched out on the highway. Clearly, these happy folks had been drinking since breakfast and were now in the most amiable state of helpfulness and just full of good intentions and brotherly love!
Engaging the driver in conversation, Chuck learned that the next town was Valentine, a little place about 60 miles away. But alas, that was out of the way for the rescuers as they were headed for the reservoir for an action packed day of fishing, floating, and imbibing! Could they be prevailed upon to haul Chuck’s trailer to a settlement where a welder could be found. On a Sunday?
The partiers held a brief discussion among themselves and decided they were runnin’ a little low on refreshments and if they could help a brother and themselves, why...that’s the thing to do.
Together, they lifted the trailer and parts into the back of the truck. With a cheerful yell of “follow us!”, the good old boys took off for Valentine, Nebraska at a high rate of speed.
Chuck and the gang had no choice but to follow as all their camping supplies and worldly possessions for the next ten days were in the back of a beat up truck, rocketing along the road weaving in and out of the yellow lines.
One of the good old girls in the back kept waving at Chuck in a suggestive manner as she was obviously taken with him. This had the potential to turn ugly if her significant other noticed her amorous behavior. The spice of life! Ain’t motorcyclin’ grand?!!
They reached the outskirts of Valentine and pulled into a truck stop. Chuck and the driver went into the cafe to find a welder for repairs while the other tarnished good Samaritans unloaded the trailer. This final act of kindness put our hero in touch with a welder who said he’d be down after dinner.
Back outside, Chuck and the gang bid their farewells to the happy inebriates, narrowly avoiding a three way fight when the two good old girls kissed Chuck goodbye. As the truck pulled away, Chuck joined his friends in the cafe to eat and await the arrival of the next “helper”.
Two hours later, the trailer has been repaired, the group has been fed and the trip resumes. Only $15 to weld the axle to the hub and they were off with some great memories. Good to see that old Chuck, even at his age, can still titillate the ladies!
The early euphoria of being on the road in good weather has returned. The adventure continues with light hearts as the miles melt away. A few hours ahead is the Badlands National Park.
As they approach the Park entrance, Mike’s voice cracks over the CB, “Hey guys, I’ve lost my shifter arm! I can’t shift gears!” Chuck gets everybody off the road safely and together they inspect this new challenge. Yep! No doubt about it! The shifter arm is...gone!
Leaving the ladies with Mike and the disabled bike, the guys slowly backtrack the way they came, looking for a bright chrome handle, about eight inches long, with a black rubber L shaped bend. Not a big item, hard to see, and it could be anywhere.
Miles go by and just as they decide that vice grips will have to be used as a shifter arm to reach the next town, Gary spots a shiny object in the road ahead. Hooray! It’s the lost arm! Retrieving the invaluable part, they hightail it back to the entrance of the Park and replace the shifter arm.
Carl always carries a good supply of extra bolts and nuts; it’s a moment’s job to find one the right length and size. Done! And once more, they’re off !
Again, the happy feeling returns and they enjoy what turns out to be three days of untroubled and uninterrupted enjoyment amid the great scenic backdrop of the rugged Badlands National Park.
Moving on, they approach Rapid City where Mike leaves the group and trudges home to get ready for work. Hey, somebody’s got to be responsible! The others head for Yellowstone where more adventures await them.
As they entered Yellowstone from the east, the first thing they notice is the roads are in terrible shape. Winter freezes the roadbed, spring thaws the roadbed. As the seasons overlap, this takes place...daily. Roads suffer.
This road is rough! Deep holes, loose rock, gravel, and a jarring washboard surface gets to the other wheel of Chuck’s trailer! This time, the wheel goes bounding off the road, down a steep decline where it hits a big rock, shoots straight up in the air and disappears over a cliff! Gone!
Chuck is not laughing now and this wheel will not be so easy to retrieve. This road is narrow and winding, with heavy traffic of the motor home variety. Unhooking the trailer, they pull it as far off the road as they can while the rest of the group goes ahead to a safe place.
Chuck and Carl begin a hazardous journey down into the canyon to locate the errant wheel and then climb back up. This take a mere three hours! Just as they reach the summit with the wheel, they see Gary coming to get them, pulling a little flat bed K-Mart type trailer behind his bike. Quickly, they load the one wheeled trailer on the flat bed and proceed to the next town of Fishing Bridge.
Here is a complete machine shop with all the welding tools and torches one could ask for. Chuck approaches the welder and arranges to have the repairs done. Not so easy. The welder is obstinate and inebriated. And worse, a slow drizzling rain with small flakes of snow begin to fall. The welder can’t get to the trailer just now, won’t let Chuck use it, won’t sell his flat bed trailer to Chuck, nor will he sell the axle off the flat bed. Damnation! This vacationing is hard work.
Four hours later, the axle has been welded for the second time. The weld doesn’t look very strong and the weight of the trailer and its contents may cause another failure up the road. They decided to lighten up and send the excess baggage home on a Greyhound bus. This should improve their chances of avoiding yet another breakdown.
Things go well the next few days as they ride through very pretty country in and out of Yellowstone.
Finally, it was time to head for home. They decided to re-enter Yellowstone, ride to Old Faithful, and then head for Kansas. The west road was not much better that the east road, but since Chuck had lightened the load, he thought the axle would take the strain. Oh, gentle reader, how can I break the news to you that Chuck was wrong?!! Yes, indeed. More trouble is coming when the axle breaks for the third and final time.
As the wheel again went flying down the mountain, he slowly began unloading the trailer. Borrowing Carl’s tools, he began unbolting lights, trailer hitch, ice chest carrier and luggage rack. The bad luck, the damage to his bike, even before they started, combined with the jerk at the machine shop was more than he could stand. He decided to salvage all the parts he could, parcel out the load among the survivors and leave the trailer to it’s own end.
Picking up the tongue of the one wheeled, empty trailer, he drug it over to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over the side! Crash! Bang! Down the mountainside it tumbled, breaking into many small pieces as it picked up speed. When the dust settled, and the trailer was reduced to a pile of kindling, Chuck dusted off his hands and said, “Let’s go see Old Faithful and get the hell outta here!”
Next day, they were briskly runnin’ down Poudre Canyon, the last of the twisties on the way out of Colorado. Slowing for a very sharp bend to his right, Chuck was nearly run over by a little old blue haired lady in a big Buick.
Driving way left of center, she yanked her car back to the right, narrowly missing Chuck! As she went by, she yelled out at him, “Pig!”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back! Chuck yelled right back at her, ”Hussy!”
In the next instant, he’s hittin’ the brakes hard, making an evasive move to avoid a massive 400 pound hog ambling across the highway! Didn’t the little old blue haired lady try to warn him?
Ol' Chuck goes ‘hog wild’ on vacation!
PB
For example, riders save up all old socks and underwear with holes for long trips such at this. After use, they can be discarded. Disposable underwear! You heard it here first! Who wants to pack around soiled undies and smelly socks when space is at a premium?
I know of one couple who carry explanations in their pockets in case they are in a mishap. Wouldn’t do to have the medical personnel think ill of them for wearing frayed personals. Another couple had discarded their holey socks and underwear in the waste basket in their room. The meticulous maid recovered them, folded them neatly, and replaced them on the counter!
Our story’s hero du jour is named Chuck and his long suffering wife is Miss Frances. They were accompanied by Carl and Carol and Gary and Carolyn. The half of this group was Mike, who is Gary’s brother. This story begins some weeks before the trip when an specialist in wiring trailers to bikes (he once watched someone) helped Chuck put on lights and make the connections.
Chuck had come up with a lightweight sturdy box and a set of wheels on a single axle. Naturally, he put the parts together and made a neat little cargo trailer to pull behind his motorcycle. He could now carry many more camping supplies, groceries, clothes, an ice chest, along with various and sundry items as he toured the country.
This adventure became a pre-destined disaster when he presented himself at Frickley’s garage and prayed for help in wiring up the lights. It helps if you understand that these two likable goofs are a few French Fries short of being a Happy Meal!
Electricity 101 teaches us that electricity will flow like water to various circuits as long as a proper ground wire exists to attract the current onward. A short circuit is a condition where current does not flow where you want it to go, but takes the path of least resistance. Therefore a bare rubbed spot on the insulation creates an unwelcome ground and the current takes a short cut, i.e. a short circuit. Get it? Frickley did not. He was a Charter member of the “Bungle it Yourself” association for home and auto repairs.
Frickley began the connection process by stating, “First thing we gotta do is establish a ground.” Chuck looked at the red, black, white, yellow, and green wires in his hand and asked, “Which one’s ground?”
“Don’t make no difference, Chuckie!” said Frickley. “Just pick one and we’ll get on with it!”
They worked industriously for twenty minutes and then began to identify turn signal wires, brake wires, and tail light wires. There’s not very many and so the task moved right along. Eventually they were ready to connect all the wires and hook up the trailer to the bike.
When they made the connection, the fuse promptly blew. Hmmm. Let’s try a little bigger fuse. Hey, the lights kinda work! SNAP! Another blown fuse. “Ah ha!” cried Frickley. “I see the problem. We need a bigger fuse!”
He took the next size fuse, wrapped it in tin foil and inserted it into the fuse holder. Again, everything worked! Kinda. Hurray! Time now for a cold drink and a review of the upcoming trip. Darkness fell as Chuck hopped on his bike and made his way home.
He was so proud of his trailer and his lights and then...he slammed on the brakes and stopped under a street light, quickly shutting the engine off!
Smoke was boiling out from under the gas tank and he feared a fire was imminent! Opening the fuse panel, he saw a congealed mass of melted wires. Worse, the little computer that monitored lights, oil pressure, engine temperature, and battery was fried! All this damage occured because of the tin foiled fuse. Chuck limped on home and went to bed in a blue funk. Frickley was some surprised when he heard about this later.
Next afternoon Chuck contacted Jackman and Tee Wide for help. These guys are magicians when it comes to electrical work, but this job was beyond even the reach of these experts. Oh, they got his trailer wired up again and the lights worked with a normal fuse, but the little computer that watched over Chuck’s engine was history. Cost of a new one? More than $400! Damnation! He could have bought a brand new trailer for that! Well, can’t afford the computer and go on the trip too. So, Yellowstone, look out! Here come da Chuckster!
Take off day arrives and soon the friends are off on a glorious Saturday morning in mid-summer. The trailer pulls nicely, lights are working fine, and soon the sparkling day lifts Chuck’s spirits. Anticipation of the good times to come is evidenced by the happy CB chatter between friends.
In total harmony, they make their way to North Platte, Nebraska for the first overnight stop. They don’t feel like camping tonight, so they search for a motel only to discover that all rooms are taken due to a regional softball tournament. They finally take the last two rooms in a rundown motel.
Next morning they take off once more, hummin’ little songs and just bein’ joyful motorcycle folk. Suddenly, Chuck hears a loud clunk! This is followed by sparks flying, a deafening grinding sound and Carl hollering on the CB, “Chuck, I think you got a problem!” Boy, did he ever?!!
When Chuck looked in the rear view mirror, he saw a rooster tail of sparks shooting up from the pavement! He slowed the big Yamaha, watching in horror as his left rear wheel disconnected and went bounding across the prairie! It cleared a five strand barbed wire fence and continued on its merry was down a long hill in waist high prairie grass!
Finally, Chuck got the bike stopped and pulled off the side of the road. Mike, the youngster, began running across the field chasing the errant trailer wheel, while Chuck had a delayed, but decidedly hysterical laughing reaction! Upon closer inspection, they could see that the axle itself had broken off just inside the hub of the wheel. This would require the services of a welder and there was nothing in sight, but miles of gently rolling plains with pre-cut cow food and amber waves of grain.
By and by, Mike returned with the wheel and they could see how the repair could be effected, but out here...? How to get this mess to town?
And where was town? Outside assistance and intervention was needed and they were discussing sending some one for help when providence intervened.
In the distance, a chugging sound gradually became louder. Soon a tiny speck appeared on the horizon behind them, growing larger and louder with each passing moment. Indeed, help was on it’s way.
“Providence" arrived in the form of some good old boys and a couple of good old girls in a beat up truck. The driver spotted Chuck and pulled in ahead of him. Making several attempts to get out of the truck, the driver eventually got the door open and lurched out on the highway. Clearly, these happy folks had been drinking since breakfast and were now in the most amiable state of helpfulness and just full of good intentions and brotherly love!
Engaging the driver in conversation, Chuck learned that the next town was Valentine, a little place about 60 miles away. But alas, that was out of the way for the rescuers as they were headed for the reservoir for an action packed day of fishing, floating, and imbibing! Could they be prevailed upon to haul Chuck’s trailer to a settlement where a welder could be found. On a Sunday?
The partiers held a brief discussion among themselves and decided they were runnin’ a little low on refreshments and if they could help a brother and themselves, why...that’s the thing to do.
Together, they lifted the trailer and parts into the back of the truck. With a cheerful yell of “follow us!”, the good old boys took off for Valentine, Nebraska at a high rate of speed.
Chuck and the gang had no choice but to follow as all their camping supplies and worldly possessions for the next ten days were in the back of a beat up truck, rocketing along the road weaving in and out of the yellow lines.
One of the good old girls in the back kept waving at Chuck in a suggestive manner as she was obviously taken with him. This had the potential to turn ugly if her significant other noticed her amorous behavior. The spice of life! Ain’t motorcyclin’ grand?!!
They reached the outskirts of Valentine and pulled into a truck stop. Chuck and the driver went into the cafe to find a welder for repairs while the other tarnished good Samaritans unloaded the trailer. This final act of kindness put our hero in touch with a welder who said he’d be down after dinner.
Back outside, Chuck and the gang bid their farewells to the happy inebriates, narrowly avoiding a three way fight when the two good old girls kissed Chuck goodbye. As the truck pulled away, Chuck joined his friends in the cafe to eat and await the arrival of the next “helper”.
Two hours later, the trailer has been repaired, the group has been fed and the trip resumes. Only $15 to weld the axle to the hub and they were off with some great memories. Good to see that old Chuck, even at his age, can still titillate the ladies!
The early euphoria of being on the road in good weather has returned. The adventure continues with light hearts as the miles melt away. A few hours ahead is the Badlands National Park.
As they approach the Park entrance, Mike’s voice cracks over the CB, “Hey guys, I’ve lost my shifter arm! I can’t shift gears!” Chuck gets everybody off the road safely and together they inspect this new challenge. Yep! No doubt about it! The shifter arm is...gone!
Leaving the ladies with Mike and the disabled bike, the guys slowly backtrack the way they came, looking for a bright chrome handle, about eight inches long, with a black rubber L shaped bend. Not a big item, hard to see, and it could be anywhere.
Miles go by and just as they decide that vice grips will have to be used as a shifter arm to reach the next town, Gary spots a shiny object in the road ahead. Hooray! It’s the lost arm! Retrieving the invaluable part, they hightail it back to the entrance of the Park and replace the shifter arm.
Carl always carries a good supply of extra bolts and nuts; it’s a moment’s job to find one the right length and size. Done! And once more, they’re off !
Again, the happy feeling returns and they enjoy what turns out to be three days of untroubled and uninterrupted enjoyment amid the great scenic backdrop of the rugged Badlands National Park.
Moving on, they approach Rapid City where Mike leaves the group and trudges home to get ready for work. Hey, somebody’s got to be responsible! The others head for Yellowstone where more adventures await them.
As they entered Yellowstone from the east, the first thing they notice is the roads are in terrible shape. Winter freezes the roadbed, spring thaws the roadbed. As the seasons overlap, this takes place...daily. Roads suffer.
This road is rough! Deep holes, loose rock, gravel, and a jarring washboard surface gets to the other wheel of Chuck’s trailer! This time, the wheel goes bounding off the road, down a steep decline where it hits a big rock, shoots straight up in the air and disappears over a cliff! Gone!
Chuck is not laughing now and this wheel will not be so easy to retrieve. This road is narrow and winding, with heavy traffic of the motor home variety. Unhooking the trailer, they pull it as far off the road as they can while the rest of the group goes ahead to a safe place.
Chuck and Carl begin a hazardous journey down into the canyon to locate the errant wheel and then climb back up. This take a mere three hours! Just as they reach the summit with the wheel, they see Gary coming to get them, pulling a little flat bed K-Mart type trailer behind his bike. Quickly, they load the one wheeled trailer on the flat bed and proceed to the next town of Fishing Bridge.
Here is a complete machine shop with all the welding tools and torches one could ask for. Chuck approaches the welder and arranges to have the repairs done. Not so easy. The welder is obstinate and inebriated. And worse, a slow drizzling rain with small flakes of snow begin to fall. The welder can’t get to the trailer just now, won’t let Chuck use it, won’t sell his flat bed trailer to Chuck, nor will he sell the axle off the flat bed. Damnation! This vacationing is hard work.
Four hours later, the axle has been welded for the second time. The weld doesn’t look very strong and the weight of the trailer and its contents may cause another failure up the road. They decided to lighten up and send the excess baggage home on a Greyhound bus. This should improve their chances of avoiding yet another breakdown.
Things go well the next few days as they ride through very pretty country in and out of Yellowstone.
Finally, it was time to head for home. They decided to re-enter Yellowstone, ride to Old Faithful, and then head for Kansas. The west road was not much better that the east road, but since Chuck had lightened the load, he thought the axle would take the strain. Oh, gentle reader, how can I break the news to you that Chuck was wrong?!! Yes, indeed. More trouble is coming when the axle breaks for the third and final time.
As the wheel again went flying down the mountain, he slowly began unloading the trailer. Borrowing Carl’s tools, he began unbolting lights, trailer hitch, ice chest carrier and luggage rack. The bad luck, the damage to his bike, even before they started, combined with the jerk at the machine shop was more than he could stand. He decided to salvage all the parts he could, parcel out the load among the survivors and leave the trailer to it’s own end.
Picking up the tongue of the one wheeled, empty trailer, he drug it over to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over the side! Crash! Bang! Down the mountainside it tumbled, breaking into many small pieces as it picked up speed. When the dust settled, and the trailer was reduced to a pile of kindling, Chuck dusted off his hands and said, “Let’s go see Old Faithful and get the hell outta here!”
Next day, they were briskly runnin’ down Poudre Canyon, the last of the twisties on the way out of Colorado. Slowing for a very sharp bend to his right, Chuck was nearly run over by a little old blue haired lady in a big Buick.
Driving way left of center, she yanked her car back to the right, narrowly missing Chuck! As she went by, she yelled out at him, “Pig!”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back! Chuck yelled right back at her, ”Hussy!”
In the next instant, he’s hittin’ the brakes hard, making an evasive move to avoid a massive 400 pound hog ambling across the highway! Didn’t the little old blue haired lady try to warn him?
Ol' Chuck goes ‘hog wild’ on vacation!
PB
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
31. Tall Paul and the Big Spring Road Riders
Winter of 1983 was spent preparing for the first ever Big Spring Road Riders Rally. This is an enormous undertaking and not one that Judy and I would ever tackle again. There are so many details making up the mountainous volume of work that a large team is required to complete the project.
Some of these details include advance notice in motorcycle magazines, newspapers, radio, TV, flyers and, not the least of which,is plain old word of mouth. That’s right; talk to everybody you see and spread the word.
Most times the host club provides a meeting place, information about camping and motels, registrations, event pins, T-shirts, refreshments, poker rides, bike events, supper, an award ceremony, medical care, and a send off breakfast on Sunday morning. We even had a dynamite Country/Rock Band on Saturday night that blew the boots off the dancers!
Usually folks start arriving on Friday evening with the main rally day being Saturday. Sunday is devoted to an early morning church service provided by the Christian Motorcycle Association and followed by a clean up of the entire grounds. A big job!
We had a core group of about eight couples who worked long and hard hours to put this show together. For a first time event, with no history, we drew over 600 attendees! This in a riding area where club officials were tickled if they got 150 to show up! We even had two guys from Canada who read about the rally in Rider Magazine and one guy from Alaska who found our ad in the BMW News.
Paul Bierman from Alaska won the long distance trophy. How in the world does an aircraft mechanic from Anchorage wind up in a dusty, little West Texas town, make a big hit with the local press, ride up to the mid-west with new friends, and polish it all off by going to California with traveling journalists from Rider Magazine? Well, now the story can be told so get yourself comfortable and read on. This is Paul’s story.
Details of our rally were nearly done. Preparations were made to put on a dance after the event which was something no other rally in West Texas had provided at that time. About a week before the rally, our son Scott who was 12 then, said he got a phone call from Alaska asking for information about the event. Scott read the brochure to the caller and told us later. Judy dismissed it as a joke that someone was playing and promptly forgot it.
On Thursday of Rally week, our Topeka friends, Jeannie and Paul, left Topeka and headed down to attend the party. They were scheduled to arrive in mid-afternoon on Friday. Shortly after dinner on Friday, Judy called me in somewhat of a panic, telling me that Scott had called and a guy from Alaska was at the house asking about the rally! He was in full leathers, real tall, and lanky and somewhat road worn.
I left work and headed for home and as I pulled into the driveway, I got my first look at him! There he was! Tall Paul, 7 foot, 2 inches, 150 pounds, dressed in leathers and wearing a big smile. I liked him right away. Some people you just know are trustworthy and this was certainly one of them. I invited him in, fed and watered him. He asked about a place to tidy up and change clothes.
While he was completing his ablutions, Jeannie and Paul from Topeka arrived. I told them about our visitor and commented on the fact that it would be a hoot keeping the two Pauls separate. Paul from Topeka knew before he met Tall Paul that he was OK! Why? Because Tall Paul rode a BMW, just like Jeannie and Paul! Instant brotherhood!
When Judy came home, we all went out to supper and then rode down to Rally Headquarters to greet the early arrivals. Trooper Luke, a Texas DPS officer, had prepared a big pot of ham and beans along with his famous sweet cornbread. Served with iced tea, this was food fit for kings.
Others brought more tea, coffee, lemonade and even homemade ice cream! What a thoughtful idea and a neat way to welcome riders who had been on the road all day and were hot, tired, thirsty and hungry. A free meal with the best of West Texas. We even ate a second supper late in the night and it was excellent. This was shaping up to be a magical weekend.
Tall Paul had tried to find a motel room earlier only to find “no vacancy” signs in great proliferation! Oh, what the hell. He seemed OK to us, and he did ride a BMW, so, the question of where he would sleep was settled. We had plenty of camping gear and offered this to him to make the living room floor more comfortable.
Meanwhile he was endearing himself to many Texans by sharing his unique sense of humor. He had many one liners and amused the Texans when he teased them about Alaska being the biggest state in the Union.
He said, “Why, there’s enough gold in Alaska to build a fence 14 feet tall completely surrounding the state of Texas!” This got a big laugh from everybody except for one steely eyed old settler.
He told Paul, “That’s OK, sonny. We got a little gold of our own down here, although ours is black and in liquid form. Go ahead and build your gold fence. And...if we like it, we’ll buy it!” What an uproar! These guys entertained the crowd for a long time.
Tall Paul, when describing West Texas, said. “Everywhere you look, there’s just nothing!” Or when describing his car, a 1973 Rolls Canardly, said, “It rolls down one hill and canardly make it up the other!”
And how about, “Hey, it may be slow, but it’s ugly!” He was the hit of the rally for us. Everybody wanted to talk to him and the local press soon got word that a cool guy from Alaska was holding court and may make a good story. He did.
The press and TV folks all came out. They filmed and photographed him, put him on the front page and the lead in story on the televised evening news. He gave rides to the reporterettes and endeared himself to all by his open and friendly manner. Finally at the end of a long day, we all trooped wearily over to our place and retired for the night, taking the big visitor with us.
The Big Spring Road Riders first ever rally had been a huge success, far exceeding even our optimistic expectations. Games for the kids went well, the door prizes were numerous and extravagant, the meal of fried chicken and fried catfish was served quickly and was mighty tasty. And the band was dynamite!
One of our members used to travel with this group and he was able to convince them to donate their services in exchange for a good meal and lots of fans. This really was a team effort and one can easily see how one couple can not put this on themselves. All of the Committee Chairmen excelled in going the extra mile to put a real flourish on the first rally.
All that remained was the morning breakfast of do-nuts, orange juice and coffee, followed by a worship service provided on Sunday morning by the members of the Christian Motorcycle Association. And with so many hands available, the clean up tasks were quickly finished.
After the services, the Alaskan and the two Canadians, helped us with the massive clean up job. Many hands make light work and soon we were through. As folks left, we sat under the shelter in Comanche Trail Park and reflected on what a great time everybody seemed to have.
Since the day was mild and not windy, we decided to take a ride. We’d show our visitors some rugged West Texas canyons and wild country not seen from the Interstate.
We toured a few of the smaller canyons and came upon a long straight stretch of road where Tall Paul, Judy, Paul and Jeannie opened up the throttle. Soon they were just specks in the distance.
From out of nowhere, a Texas Highway Patrolman swooped down and nailed Miss Judy, somehow allowing the others to continue on; which they did; at even greater speed because they didn’t want a ticket! And seeing as how Judy was in his clutches, they escaped with great alacrity!
As the rest of us pulled in behind the Patrol car, Sidney Shankowitz yelled over to Judy, “Make him show you the radar print out. You got rights!”
The trooper growled and said, “Violators got no rights!” She was gettin’ into serious trouble but, maybe when Trooper Luke arrived, he could save the day.
Alas, Judy had been shrieking too loud and too long about how unfair it was to single her out. When Luke arrived, the trooper pulled him off to one side and told him, “If that woman doesn’t shut her mouth, I’m goin’ to arrest her and impound her pretty new motorcycle!”
Shankowitz and Judy had already ruined any chance for her to get off with just a warning. The challenge now was to keep Judy from goin’ to jail!
Sullenly she accepted the ticket and rode away in a huff. Our friends who had abandoned her were in the first cafe up the road sippin’ iced tea and enjoying a good laugh at Judy’s expense. Sorry, Judy did not laugh! She had to go to the remedial driving school for four hours a night for three nights! Did I mention she was not a happy camper? I should have.
Next morning was Monday and time for our guests to head home. Paul and Jeannie were bound for Topeka, just as Paul and Tall Paul were discussing highly technically involved periodic maintenance procedures on the BMW’s. Since Tall Paul was goin’ north anyway, he offered to do this highly technical maintenance work on Paul and Jeannie’s bikes.
They quickly offered him room and board and invited him to attend the National BMW Rally on the next weekend way up in Billings, Montana. Quickly, he took them up on the offer. I rode north with them as far as Snyder, Texas where we enjoyed one more meal of Gill’s Fried Chicken, and as I returned to Big Spring, they headed on north to Topeka.
A few week’s later, we got a report from Paul and Jeannie. All maintenance work had been done very professionally. Tall Paul was a professional aircraft mechanic from Anchorage as you may recall and very skillful.
His adventures touring the “lower 48” were just beginning as he next connected with journalists from Rider Magazine. Naturally he got himself invited along with them and headed off to sunny California. He was a gregarious person, never meeting a stranger. He certainly enriched the lives of all those he met in West Texas.
And judging from the articles in Rider Magazine, he’s still at it!
Some of these details include advance notice in motorcycle magazines, newspapers, radio, TV, flyers and, not the least of which,is plain old word of mouth. That’s right; talk to everybody you see and spread the word.
Most times the host club provides a meeting place, information about camping and motels, registrations, event pins, T-shirts, refreshments, poker rides, bike events, supper, an award ceremony, medical care, and a send off breakfast on Sunday morning. We even had a dynamite Country/Rock Band on Saturday night that blew the boots off the dancers!
Usually folks start arriving on Friday evening with the main rally day being Saturday. Sunday is devoted to an early morning church service provided by the Christian Motorcycle Association and followed by a clean up of the entire grounds. A big job!
We had a core group of about eight couples who worked long and hard hours to put this show together. For a first time event, with no history, we drew over 600 attendees! This in a riding area where club officials were tickled if they got 150 to show up! We even had two guys from Canada who read about the rally in Rider Magazine and one guy from Alaska who found our ad in the BMW News.
Paul Bierman from Alaska won the long distance trophy. How in the world does an aircraft mechanic from Anchorage wind up in a dusty, little West Texas town, make a big hit with the local press, ride up to the mid-west with new friends, and polish it all off by going to California with traveling journalists from Rider Magazine? Well, now the story can be told so get yourself comfortable and read on. This is Paul’s story.
Details of our rally were nearly done. Preparations were made to put on a dance after the event which was something no other rally in West Texas had provided at that time. About a week before the rally, our son Scott who was 12 then, said he got a phone call from Alaska asking for information about the event. Scott read the brochure to the caller and told us later. Judy dismissed it as a joke that someone was playing and promptly forgot it.
On Thursday of Rally week, our Topeka friends, Jeannie and Paul, left Topeka and headed down to attend the party. They were scheduled to arrive in mid-afternoon on Friday. Shortly after dinner on Friday, Judy called me in somewhat of a panic, telling me that Scott had called and a guy from Alaska was at the house asking about the rally! He was in full leathers, real tall, and lanky and somewhat road worn.
I left work and headed for home and as I pulled into the driveway, I got my first look at him! There he was! Tall Paul, 7 foot, 2 inches, 150 pounds, dressed in leathers and wearing a big smile. I liked him right away. Some people you just know are trustworthy and this was certainly one of them. I invited him in, fed and watered him. He asked about a place to tidy up and change clothes.
While he was completing his ablutions, Jeannie and Paul from Topeka arrived. I told them about our visitor and commented on the fact that it would be a hoot keeping the two Pauls separate. Paul from Topeka knew before he met Tall Paul that he was OK! Why? Because Tall Paul rode a BMW, just like Jeannie and Paul! Instant brotherhood!
When Judy came home, we all went out to supper and then rode down to Rally Headquarters to greet the early arrivals. Trooper Luke, a Texas DPS officer, had prepared a big pot of ham and beans along with his famous sweet cornbread. Served with iced tea, this was food fit for kings.
Others brought more tea, coffee, lemonade and even homemade ice cream! What a thoughtful idea and a neat way to welcome riders who had been on the road all day and were hot, tired, thirsty and hungry. A free meal with the best of West Texas. We even ate a second supper late in the night and it was excellent. This was shaping up to be a magical weekend.
Tall Paul had tried to find a motel room earlier only to find “no vacancy” signs in great proliferation! Oh, what the hell. He seemed OK to us, and he did ride a BMW, so, the question of where he would sleep was settled. We had plenty of camping gear and offered this to him to make the living room floor more comfortable.
Meanwhile he was endearing himself to many Texans by sharing his unique sense of humor. He had many one liners and amused the Texans when he teased them about Alaska being the biggest state in the Union.
He said, “Why, there’s enough gold in Alaska to build a fence 14 feet tall completely surrounding the state of Texas!” This got a big laugh from everybody except for one steely eyed old settler.
He told Paul, “That’s OK, sonny. We got a little gold of our own down here, although ours is black and in liquid form. Go ahead and build your gold fence. And...if we like it, we’ll buy it!” What an uproar! These guys entertained the crowd for a long time.
Tall Paul, when describing West Texas, said. “Everywhere you look, there’s just nothing!” Or when describing his car, a 1973 Rolls Canardly, said, “It rolls down one hill and canardly make it up the other!”
And how about, “Hey, it may be slow, but it’s ugly!” He was the hit of the rally for us. Everybody wanted to talk to him and the local press soon got word that a cool guy from Alaska was holding court and may make a good story. He did.
The press and TV folks all came out. They filmed and photographed him, put him on the front page and the lead in story on the televised evening news. He gave rides to the reporterettes and endeared himself to all by his open and friendly manner. Finally at the end of a long day, we all trooped wearily over to our place and retired for the night, taking the big visitor with us.
The Big Spring Road Riders first ever rally had been a huge success, far exceeding even our optimistic expectations. Games for the kids went well, the door prizes were numerous and extravagant, the meal of fried chicken and fried catfish was served quickly and was mighty tasty. And the band was dynamite!
One of our members used to travel with this group and he was able to convince them to donate their services in exchange for a good meal and lots of fans. This really was a team effort and one can easily see how one couple can not put this on themselves. All of the Committee Chairmen excelled in going the extra mile to put a real flourish on the first rally.
All that remained was the morning breakfast of do-nuts, orange juice and coffee, followed by a worship service provided on Sunday morning by the members of the Christian Motorcycle Association. And with so many hands available, the clean up tasks were quickly finished.
After the services, the Alaskan and the two Canadians, helped us with the massive clean up job. Many hands make light work and soon we were through. As folks left, we sat under the shelter in Comanche Trail Park and reflected on what a great time everybody seemed to have.
Since the day was mild and not windy, we decided to take a ride. We’d show our visitors some rugged West Texas canyons and wild country not seen from the Interstate.
We toured a few of the smaller canyons and came upon a long straight stretch of road where Tall Paul, Judy, Paul and Jeannie opened up the throttle. Soon they were just specks in the distance.
From out of nowhere, a Texas Highway Patrolman swooped down and nailed Miss Judy, somehow allowing the others to continue on; which they did; at even greater speed because they didn’t want a ticket! And seeing as how Judy was in his clutches, they escaped with great alacrity!
As the rest of us pulled in behind the Patrol car, Sidney Shankowitz yelled over to Judy, “Make him show you the radar print out. You got rights!”
The trooper growled and said, “Violators got no rights!” She was gettin’ into serious trouble but, maybe when Trooper Luke arrived, he could save the day.
Alas, Judy had been shrieking too loud and too long about how unfair it was to single her out. When Luke arrived, the trooper pulled him off to one side and told him, “If that woman doesn’t shut her mouth, I’m goin’ to arrest her and impound her pretty new motorcycle!”
Shankowitz and Judy had already ruined any chance for her to get off with just a warning. The challenge now was to keep Judy from goin’ to jail!
Sullenly she accepted the ticket and rode away in a huff. Our friends who had abandoned her were in the first cafe up the road sippin’ iced tea and enjoying a good laugh at Judy’s expense. Sorry, Judy did not laugh! She had to go to the remedial driving school for four hours a night for three nights! Did I mention she was not a happy camper? I should have.
Next morning was Monday and time for our guests to head home. Paul and Jeannie were bound for Topeka, just as Paul and Tall Paul were discussing highly technically involved periodic maintenance procedures on the BMW’s. Since Tall Paul was goin’ north anyway, he offered to do this highly technical maintenance work on Paul and Jeannie’s bikes.
They quickly offered him room and board and invited him to attend the National BMW Rally on the next weekend way up in Billings, Montana. Quickly, he took them up on the offer. I rode north with them as far as Snyder, Texas where we enjoyed one more meal of Gill’s Fried Chicken, and as I returned to Big Spring, they headed on north to Topeka.
A few week’s later, we got a report from Paul and Jeannie. All maintenance work had been done very professionally. Tall Paul was a professional aircraft mechanic from Anchorage as you may recall and very skillful.
His adventures touring the “lower 48” were just beginning as he next connected with journalists from Rider Magazine. Naturally he got himself invited along with them and headed off to sunny California. He was a gregarious person, never meeting a stranger. He certainly enriched the lives of all those he met in West Texas.
And judging from the articles in Rider Magazine, he’s still at it!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
30. Snakes, Hawks and Kitties
Since the beginning of our time together, Judy has been deathly afraid of snakes. Not only the poisonous rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouths, but the harmless and helpful little mouse snakes as well. Naturally, with this morbid fear, she attracts these critters like a magnet!
We were riding the Talihina Skyline Drive down in Oklahoma one bright day when a hawk spotted Judy’s sparkling red helmet and decided to come down for a closer look. He dove right in front of Judy, about eye level and each of them got a good look at each other. Scared Judy pretty bad because in addition to not wanting to run into him, she noticed that he had something clutched in his claws. Yep, it was a snake! Still wiggling!
Really intrigued now, the hawk circled and came back down again. This time he nearly became a hit and run victim himself. Just as he flew back up, he dropped the snake and it hit the road right in front of Judy! Her tires actually squiggled as she ran over it! She was so shaken up by this that she pulled into a grove of trees to get away from him.
When we moved to Big Spring, Texas, we bought a new house right across the street from the Big Spring Elementary School. The house sat on a corner of a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and cactus.
It was a late evening in October when we finished moving in. We were headed back to the house with the last load when we first saw the big snake! He was right in our back yard, buzzin’ up a storm! Our new friend from the Big Spring Road Riders dispatched him with a plastic pipe. Judy started her litany of wanting to go home right then and there. Willie just laughed and cut off the eleven rattles and handed them to me.
He said, “Judy, what you need is a cat to patrol your yard. He’ll keep all the snakes away!” Judy thought this was a good idea. We knew that school kids had to cross this field morning and evening. It amazed us that the bare legged little girls could run across this field and not get bitten.
Next evening, we drove out to Willie’s to select a snake fighter in the form of a just weaned kitten. That’s a lot of responsibility to place on a youngster! Judy had a tough time selecting one, feeling she was sending him to certain death in our back yard. She couldn’t choose between a pretty black and white, a tortoise shell and a neat little gray and white. Decisively, she made up her mind. She would take all three! If one’s good, three’s gotta be better! Right?
Off we went with the new protectors of the turf. We named them Patches, Tiger, and No-Name. They stayed in the garage at night and we fed them on the patio where the big rattler had been lurking. In this way they learned where the food and water came from and it also put them in prime hunting territory.
From time to time, we’d see them out in the field stalking something. Since we saw no more snakes, Judy liked to think that they were doing a good job. And so the winter passed and spring was well under way with no more snake encounters.
Next spring as I was getting the bikes ready for the upcoming riding season, I heard a dry rustling sound and looked over to see a horned toad scurrying across the driveway. I was not the only one who saw him. Patches, by now a big, fully grown tomcat, also spotted him. Horned toads are actually reptiles, and can best be described as an elongated pancake with a leg at ten, two, four and eight on the face of a clock.
The head, which looks like a goat, is on the opposite end of a short pointy tail. Harmless little guys, they keep the red ant population under control throughout West Texas.
As soon as the horned toad stopped, Patches was on him in a flash, grabbing him behind the neck and biting down hard! Sounded like someone eating a crisp apple! He hung on, tail swishing and growling deep in his chest. I watched for a while and went back to the bike I was working on.
It was nearly an hour before Patches decided he was through. He simply stood up, released the horned toad and walked away. This convinced Judy for sure that the cats were doin’ the job on snakes as well.
In fact, we never saw a snake again as long as we lived there. We didn’t see very many horned toads either.
J. Frank Dobie wrote a book entitled, “Rattlesnakes” and described a fight between a snake and a cat thusly. “When the battle is joined, the snake is tightly coiled and rattling furiously. The cat stays just out of range and entices the snake to strike. As the snake lunges forward, the cat leaps straight up in the air and hits the snake on the back of the head quickly, then leaps away. This fight continues till the snake is exhausted and then the cat finishes him off, biting him behind the head.” These life and death battles can take hours to play out if the snake is big and the cat is experienced. Usually, it’s over in about an hour.
While Judy knew our cats were doing the job, she had no desire to see such a contest.
Just before we moved to Kingwood, Texas, we lost Patches. He was sure pretty and lots of kids came to play with him. Maybe he just went off to be with someone else. We took Tiger and No-Name back to Willie’s so they could remain free. They had provided a valuable service to us by being protective and were good companions as well.
They had risked their little lives for us every day in a most dangerous game. We sure miss ‘em.
We were riding the Talihina Skyline Drive down in Oklahoma one bright day when a hawk spotted Judy’s sparkling red helmet and decided to come down for a closer look. He dove right in front of Judy, about eye level and each of them got a good look at each other. Scared Judy pretty bad because in addition to not wanting to run into him, she noticed that he had something clutched in his claws. Yep, it was a snake! Still wiggling!
Really intrigued now, the hawk circled and came back down again. This time he nearly became a hit and run victim himself. Just as he flew back up, he dropped the snake and it hit the road right in front of Judy! Her tires actually squiggled as she ran over it! She was so shaken up by this that she pulled into a grove of trees to get away from him.
When we moved to Big Spring, Texas, we bought a new house right across the street from the Big Spring Elementary School. The house sat on a corner of a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and cactus.
It was a late evening in October when we finished moving in. We were headed back to the house with the last load when we first saw the big snake! He was right in our back yard, buzzin’ up a storm! Our new friend from the Big Spring Road Riders dispatched him with a plastic pipe. Judy started her litany of wanting to go home right then and there. Willie just laughed and cut off the eleven rattles and handed them to me.
He said, “Judy, what you need is a cat to patrol your yard. He’ll keep all the snakes away!” Judy thought this was a good idea. We knew that school kids had to cross this field morning and evening. It amazed us that the bare legged little girls could run across this field and not get bitten.
Next evening, we drove out to Willie’s to select a snake fighter in the form of a just weaned kitten. That’s a lot of responsibility to place on a youngster! Judy had a tough time selecting one, feeling she was sending him to certain death in our back yard. She couldn’t choose between a pretty black and white, a tortoise shell and a neat little gray and white. Decisively, she made up her mind. She would take all three! If one’s good, three’s gotta be better! Right?
Off we went with the new protectors of the turf. We named them Patches, Tiger, and No-Name. They stayed in the garage at night and we fed them on the patio where the big rattler had been lurking. In this way they learned where the food and water came from and it also put them in prime hunting territory.
From time to time, we’d see them out in the field stalking something. Since we saw no more snakes, Judy liked to think that they were doing a good job. And so the winter passed and spring was well under way with no more snake encounters.
Next spring as I was getting the bikes ready for the upcoming riding season, I heard a dry rustling sound and looked over to see a horned toad scurrying across the driveway. I was not the only one who saw him. Patches, by now a big, fully grown tomcat, also spotted him. Horned toads are actually reptiles, and can best be described as an elongated pancake with a leg at ten, two, four and eight on the face of a clock.
The head, which looks like a goat, is on the opposite end of a short pointy tail. Harmless little guys, they keep the red ant population under control throughout West Texas.
As soon as the horned toad stopped, Patches was on him in a flash, grabbing him behind the neck and biting down hard! Sounded like someone eating a crisp apple! He hung on, tail swishing and growling deep in his chest. I watched for a while and went back to the bike I was working on.
It was nearly an hour before Patches decided he was through. He simply stood up, released the horned toad and walked away. This convinced Judy for sure that the cats were doin’ the job on snakes as well.
In fact, we never saw a snake again as long as we lived there. We didn’t see very many horned toads either.
J. Frank Dobie wrote a book entitled, “Rattlesnakes” and described a fight between a snake and a cat thusly. “When the battle is joined, the snake is tightly coiled and rattling furiously. The cat stays just out of range and entices the snake to strike. As the snake lunges forward, the cat leaps straight up in the air and hits the snake on the back of the head quickly, then leaps away. This fight continues till the snake is exhausted and then the cat finishes him off, biting him behind the head.” These life and death battles can take hours to play out if the snake is big and the cat is experienced. Usually, it’s over in about an hour.
While Judy knew our cats were doing the job, she had no desire to see such a contest.
Just before we moved to Kingwood, Texas, we lost Patches. He was sure pretty and lots of kids came to play with him. Maybe he just went off to be with someone else. We took Tiger and No-Name back to Willie’s so they could remain free. They had provided a valuable service to us by being protective and were good companions as well.
They had risked their little lives for us every day in a most dangerous game. We sure miss ‘em.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
29. A Tin of Aspirin, Por Favor
Long, long ago, in the summer of 1980, Judy and I were in Southern Colorado, camping and touring around this relatively unspoiled area of the state. Our friends, the Frickley’s, had gone on to Amarillo to visit old school chums, leaving us with a few days to ourselves.
We spent the good warm days touring the lightly traveled back roads, (somebody oughta write a book about ridin’ these back roads) shopping in quaint little stores, and just smellin’ the roses. Late one afternoon we came through this charming little town and decided to stop at the Mexican Cantina at the end of a dusty street.
We entered this spotlessly clean little cafe and decided this would be a good place for supper. So, we ordered the house specialty. Hot, spicy, authentic Mexican food. As our little hostess took our order, we realized that she did not habla ingles none too good.
But, I do hablo espanol! Well, a little anyway. Easily enough to get into trouble. “No problema, Senorita. Yo hablo espanol con el accento de Tejas!” I said with a big smile. Loosely translated, this means “No problem, honey. I speak a little Spanish with a Texas accent!” Right then she knew I had no more Spanish than she had English. Ah, well. That’s the fun of trying to communicate in another’s language. Everyone enjoys the mistakes!
Later in life, I would use this linguistic skill to order a hamburger for everybody in the world! What I meant was a hamburger with everything!
My worst gaffe was, “No tan de prisa, Gordita!” which means “Not so fast, fat woman!” That comment earned me a rap on top of my gourd that made my ears ring!
Another favorite of mine was picked up on a sign in the bathroom of a West Texas Wal-Mart store. “Buenos tardes, ladronnes!” While this rolls off the tongue and sounds romantic, it really means “Good evening, shoplifters!” But, I digress.
After a great meal, (true Mexican food has a fine, delicate flavor), we went to the counter to settle up. I was stiff and sore from all the ridin’ we had done and as we got our change back, I asked for a tin of aspirin. Aspirin is the great pain reliever, dramatically reducing joint inflammation and stiffness quickly.
Our little hostess smiled and said, “Si! Yo tengo aspirin aqui!” (“Yes, I have aspirin right here!”) See how easy Spanish is to learn? She was back in a flash, with a bottle of aspirin and a napkin. She opened the bottle, laid the napkin on the counter and began, “uno, dos, tres,.......” While she could easily count to ten in English, she did not pick up on the difference between tin and ten!
She was very sincere and very charming so I graciously accepted the napkin full of aspirin and we left. And...each of us still had our dignity intact!
Home again at the end of the trip, Patience and Judy got together to compare notes on what happened after they left us for Amarillo. Judy laughed when she heard the story of Frickley asking for aspirin in a Mexican Cafe.
It seems the little hostess didn’t speak much English and brought Frickley some aspirin wrapped in a tissue. She began counting, “uno, dos, tres...”
We spent the good warm days touring the lightly traveled back roads, (somebody oughta write a book about ridin’ these back roads) shopping in quaint little stores, and just smellin’ the roses. Late one afternoon we came through this charming little town and decided to stop at the Mexican Cantina at the end of a dusty street.
We entered this spotlessly clean little cafe and decided this would be a good place for supper. So, we ordered the house specialty. Hot, spicy, authentic Mexican food. As our little hostess took our order, we realized that she did not habla ingles none too good.
But, I do hablo espanol! Well, a little anyway. Easily enough to get into trouble. “No problema, Senorita. Yo hablo espanol con el accento de Tejas!” I said with a big smile. Loosely translated, this means “No problem, honey. I speak a little Spanish with a Texas accent!” Right then she knew I had no more Spanish than she had English. Ah, well. That’s the fun of trying to communicate in another’s language. Everyone enjoys the mistakes!
Later in life, I would use this linguistic skill to order a hamburger for everybody in the world! What I meant was a hamburger with everything!
My worst gaffe was, “No tan de prisa, Gordita!” which means “Not so fast, fat woman!” That comment earned me a rap on top of my gourd that made my ears ring!
Another favorite of mine was picked up on a sign in the bathroom of a West Texas Wal-Mart store. “Buenos tardes, ladronnes!” While this rolls off the tongue and sounds romantic, it really means “Good evening, shoplifters!” But, I digress.
After a great meal, (true Mexican food has a fine, delicate flavor), we went to the counter to settle up. I was stiff and sore from all the ridin’ we had done and as we got our change back, I asked for a tin of aspirin. Aspirin is the great pain reliever, dramatically reducing joint inflammation and stiffness quickly.
Our little hostess smiled and said, “Si! Yo tengo aspirin aqui!” (“Yes, I have aspirin right here!”) See how easy Spanish is to learn? She was back in a flash, with a bottle of aspirin and a napkin. She opened the bottle, laid the napkin on the counter and began, “uno, dos, tres,.......” While she could easily count to ten in English, she did not pick up on the difference between tin and ten!
She was very sincere and very charming so I graciously accepted the napkin full of aspirin and we left. And...each of us still had our dignity intact!
Home again at the end of the trip, Patience and Judy got together to compare notes on what happened after they left us for Amarillo. Judy laughed when she heard the story of Frickley asking for aspirin in a Mexican Cafe.
It seems the little hostess didn’t speak much English and brought Frickley some aspirin wrapped in a tissue. She began counting, “uno, dos, tres...”
Friday, February 26, 2010
28. Out On Parole
The 1995 riding season was an exceptionally good one. So good in fact, that we all were reluctant to put the bikes away. Thus it came to pass that we squeezed in one more weekend trip at the last possible moment back to the Ozark Mountains for a last look at the late fall colors before winter set in and relegated us to fireplaces and cafes. And of course, as on all rides, we finished up with a visit to...Wal-Mart!
I had picked up something from the automotive department and was entering the check out line just behind Jackman. Jack, as you may recall, is my partner in crime for the evil that we do to other folk’s bikes. His mind is quick, and his wit is sharp. Today, however, it would be my turn to be on the receiving end of this double edged sword. As I came up behind him I said, jokingly, “So, parolee, how did you get back out on the street so soon?”
He caught on right away and replied, “Oh, hello Officer. Why, I’m in the criminal reimbursement program now. I’ve got a little job and I’m making restitution to all my victims.”
I was the one now that was caught off guard. I said something like, “Well...that’s good. That’s good. Glad to hear you’re stayin’ out of trouble.”
“Oh, yes, sir.” he said. “I’ve learned that I can’t just take things that don’t belong to me and hurt people any more. I’m doin’ real good long as I take my medication regular. That and observing the other conditions of my parole.”
Meanwhile the clerk has his head down and was rapidly stuffing Jack’s purchases in a plastic sack. Clearly, he wanted Jack out of his line and outta the store! The people in line behind me are shifting uncomfortably as well!
But Jack wasn’t done yet. He continued, “Just want to let you know there’s no hard feelin’s on my part. I know now that you were just doin’ your job!”
All I could come up with was more head nodding, hoping he would hurry up and leave before I had to think of something to say. But he was really on a roll and I wasn’t about to get off that easy.
On his way out the door he turned for one parting shot. Speaking louder, he said, “Oh, by the way. I’m tryin’ to get in the early work release program startin’ next week. I’ve got my psychiatric criminal evaluation appointment set up for Monday. I’ll double up on my medication the night before so I’ll be sure and pass. I just gotta get outside again! I’ll sure be seein’ YOU!” His voice went way up the scale on that last word.
Everybody in the store heard him. And I had to stand there with all the questioning stares of strangers as he swaggered out the door, more than just a little pleased with his performance.
When I got to the bikes, he was already tellin’ the others about how my little joke had backfired. He was laughing so hard the tears were streaming down his face. Did I mention he got me good? I should have.
He, too, has a good time at Wally World!
I had picked up something from the automotive department and was entering the check out line just behind Jackman. Jack, as you may recall, is my partner in crime for the evil that we do to other folk’s bikes. His mind is quick, and his wit is sharp. Today, however, it would be my turn to be on the receiving end of this double edged sword. As I came up behind him I said, jokingly, “So, parolee, how did you get back out on the street so soon?”
He caught on right away and replied, “Oh, hello Officer. Why, I’m in the criminal reimbursement program now. I’ve got a little job and I’m making restitution to all my victims.”
I was the one now that was caught off guard. I said something like, “Well...that’s good. That’s good. Glad to hear you’re stayin’ out of trouble.”
“Oh, yes, sir.” he said. “I’ve learned that I can’t just take things that don’t belong to me and hurt people any more. I’m doin’ real good long as I take my medication regular. That and observing the other conditions of my parole.”
Meanwhile the clerk has his head down and was rapidly stuffing Jack’s purchases in a plastic sack. Clearly, he wanted Jack out of his line and outta the store! The people in line behind me are shifting uncomfortably as well!
But Jack wasn’t done yet. He continued, “Just want to let you know there’s no hard feelin’s on my part. I know now that you were just doin’ your job!”
All I could come up with was more head nodding, hoping he would hurry up and leave before I had to think of something to say. But he was really on a roll and I wasn’t about to get off that easy.
On his way out the door he turned for one parting shot. Speaking louder, he said, “Oh, by the way. I’m tryin’ to get in the early work release program startin’ next week. I’ve got my psychiatric criminal evaluation appointment set up for Monday. I’ll double up on my medication the night before so I’ll be sure and pass. I just gotta get outside again! I’ll sure be seein’ YOU!” His voice went way up the scale on that last word.
Everybody in the store heard him. And I had to stand there with all the questioning stares of strangers as he swaggered out the door, more than just a little pleased with his performance.
When I got to the bikes, he was already tellin’ the others about how my little joke had backfired. He was laughing so hard the tears were streaming down his face. Did I mention he got me good? I should have.
He, too, has a good time at Wally World!
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