The motto of our group is “Ride to eat, eat to ride!” We just buy bigger pants and shirts as needed. We’ve eaten every thing from howlers to raw oysters to pasties in our travels. Along with the great adventures we’ve had, some of our best memories come from the supper table. It takes a certain amount of concentration to avoid social gaffes like drinkin’ out of the little square finger bowl thinkin’ the lemon wedge is there to make complimentary lemonade at the table! Standing out in my memory is the night our ol’ pal Gary Tee was so impressed with a waitress that he forgot his station in life...
We had gone to this place called the Luau Inn for some great food from our 50th state. Everyone who worked there wore Island garb. There were brightly colored shirts, flower leis, and even swishy grass skirts and skimpy sea shell tops on the waitresses. We got lucky. We drew the very best of the lot! She would have made Christie Brinkley look a bit drab and colorless! Not by a wide margin, but still she was...spectacular!
Gary Tee had a daughter that was nearly the same age as this little morsel. Besides, he was a little long in the tooth for this type of behavior. He was not a spring chicken himself any more, yet he acted more like a schoolboy chasing his first love than the distinguished gentleman that he normally was! He plumb forgot that Mrs. Tee was sitting right by his side takin‘ all this in. He was so fixated that he missed her urgent signals to straighten the hell up. Her dark looks and intense mutterings were warning signs that were lost on him as he dug himself deeper into a hole from which he could never hope to escape.
After the meal, we adjourned to the parking lot to kick tires and shoot the breeze before ridin’ back home. Gary, of course, could speak of nothing but the cute little waitress. Did I mention that he was highly infatuated with this beauty? I should have.
“Boys,” he said. “I’m here to tell you that is a real hottie in there and you can bet she knows it! She actually brushed her bosom across the back of my head several times during supper and I’m sure it was done on purpose!”
“Sure it was, dearie!” said Mrs. Tee who had come out in time to hear his last comment. “I noticed you had to lean way back!”
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
21. The Spider
In our travels across the country, we shared our camp sites with some pretty strange tent mates. No one really minds a few bugs now and then and the sound of birds chirpin’ is not the worst way to wake up and greet the new day. But sharing our food and drink with wild creatures is where we draw the line.
Judy is very fastidious about this and while she has very strict, clean, personal habits, she does not extend this courtesy to me; having once allowed me to drink coffee out of a cup that Daisy the dog had used for a water bowl! To her, this was hilarious entertainment. She knew Daisy had drunk water out of my coffee cup because she gave that water to the dog! Did I mention Judy has a mean streak? I should have.
We were ridin’ two up on this trip. Headed for Topeka from the Rocky Mountains. We had picked the worst possible conditions for the trip. In the flats of western Kansas, temperatures were hitting 110 to 115 degrees. It was more than hot! We were drinking water by the jug, refilling it with ice every 50 miles or so.
It was a thirsty business crossing the state on this day. During the hottest part of the day, when we could go no further without a break, we pulled into a roadside park near Kingman, Kansas to rest and cool off. The water pump at this park had a sign that advised travelers not to partake. Serious gastric disturbances may result, the sign read.
“Well,” Judy said. “I’ll have a few little chunks of ice from the jug and I think I can make it on in to Wichita.”
Dutifully, I removed the lid from our water jug and poured out some water with a few little ice chunks. And a few pieces of a SPIDER! Judy shrieked! Remaining calm, I industriously rearranged the pieces and brilliantly deduced that all the spider parts were not here. Since we had been drinking from this jug all day, we had no doubt consumed at least some of the missin’ sections!
Judy shuddered and said, “That’s it! No more water for me till we get this jug washed out!”
I tried to reassure her that it probably wasn’t that harmful and pointed out that we still had a ways to go before we could get fresh water and ice. Nope! She adamantly refused to drink any more water.
As for me, having been raised in the great Southwest American Desert of West Texas, I had no such high minded notions and drank enough water to get me to the next stop in comfort. I did filter out the remaining spider parts.
As we rode away, she said, “You don’t think it will hurt to drink that water?”
“Nope.” I said. “The little spider died a long time ago. He didn’t feel a thing!
Judy is very fastidious about this and while she has very strict, clean, personal habits, she does not extend this courtesy to me; having once allowed me to drink coffee out of a cup that Daisy the dog had used for a water bowl! To her, this was hilarious entertainment. She knew Daisy had drunk water out of my coffee cup because she gave that water to the dog! Did I mention Judy has a mean streak? I should have.
We were ridin’ two up on this trip. Headed for Topeka from the Rocky Mountains. We had picked the worst possible conditions for the trip. In the flats of western Kansas, temperatures were hitting 110 to 115 degrees. It was more than hot! We were drinking water by the jug, refilling it with ice every 50 miles or so.
It was a thirsty business crossing the state on this day. During the hottest part of the day, when we could go no further without a break, we pulled into a roadside park near Kingman, Kansas to rest and cool off. The water pump at this park had a sign that advised travelers not to partake. Serious gastric disturbances may result, the sign read.
“Well,” Judy said. “I’ll have a few little chunks of ice from the jug and I think I can make it on in to Wichita.”
Dutifully, I removed the lid from our water jug and poured out some water with a few little ice chunks. And a few pieces of a SPIDER! Judy shrieked! Remaining calm, I industriously rearranged the pieces and brilliantly deduced that all the spider parts were not here. Since we had been drinking from this jug all day, we had no doubt consumed at least some of the missin’ sections!
Judy shuddered and said, “That’s it! No more water for me till we get this jug washed out!”
I tried to reassure her that it probably wasn’t that harmful and pointed out that we still had a ways to go before we could get fresh water and ice. Nope! She adamantly refused to drink any more water.
As for me, having been raised in the great Southwest American Desert of West Texas, I had no such high minded notions and drank enough water to get me to the next stop in comfort. I did filter out the remaining spider parts.
As we rode away, she said, “You don’t think it will hurt to drink that water?”
“Nope.” I said. “The little spider died a long time ago. He didn’t feel a thing!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
20. That's Not The Way To Topeka
July 1982 found me on the Kansas Turnpike once again; headed for Topeka coming up from Big Spring, Texas. I pulled in at one of the Hardee’s rest areas that service both north and south bound traffic for a much needed break and some sustenance. Inside, I bought a hamburger, fries, and coffee returning to the bike as quickly as possible because I had many possessions strapped on the luggage rack. There are ladronnes everywhere. I spread out my little meal on the sidewalk and sat down beside the bike to eat. I was tired. I had ridden hard and fast all night, covering nearly 700 miles and I was really tired! Topeka was now only 90 miles away.
I was sitting not far from the Hardee’s entrance, lost in thought, when an elderly lady wandered out alone and approached me, saying what a pretty bike that was. I told her it was actually Judy’s bike and I was headed home for a long weekend. She asked where I was going and I pointed to the north and said, “Topeka.”
“Oh, young man!” she exclaimed. (See how long ago this was?) “You’re going the wrong way! Topeka’s that way.” She pointed down south.
“No, ma’am.” I said. “I’m pretty sure it’s this way.” Again I pointed north.
About that time her husband, an elegant appearing little gentleman, appeared on the scene and said. “Mildred, let’s go.”
Stubbornly, she resisted his instructions and asked him to stop me from making a terrible mistake. He gently took her by the arm and began easing her away when she again told him. “Floyd, tell him how to get to Topeka!”
“Mildred!” he said sharply. “Let’s go!”
“But, Floyd!” she said. “He’s going the wrong way!” Suddenly, she stopped! Their car was not where she expected to it to be. Someone must have stolen their car!
She screamed, “Floyd, our car’s been stolen! Someone stole our car!”
Turning to strangers coming out of the restaurant, she screamed, “Help! Help! Our car‘s been stolen!” Did I mention she was getting some strange looks? I should have.
Husband Floyd continued to guide her around the building, trying to explain to her what was happening. She said, “Now you just listen, Floyd. You don’t understand! Our car’s been stolen!”
In exasperation, Floyd said, “Mildred, I understand that you came out the wrong door! Our car’s over on the southbound lot!”
Hey, gettin' old ain't for sissies!
I was sitting not far from the Hardee’s entrance, lost in thought, when an elderly lady wandered out alone and approached me, saying what a pretty bike that was. I told her it was actually Judy’s bike and I was headed home for a long weekend. She asked where I was going and I pointed to the north and said, “Topeka.”
“Oh, young man!” she exclaimed. (See how long ago this was?) “You’re going the wrong way! Topeka’s that way.” She pointed down south.
“No, ma’am.” I said. “I’m pretty sure it’s this way.” Again I pointed north.
About that time her husband, an elegant appearing little gentleman, appeared on the scene and said. “Mildred, let’s go.”
Stubbornly, she resisted his instructions and asked him to stop me from making a terrible mistake. He gently took her by the arm and began easing her away when she again told him. “Floyd, tell him how to get to Topeka!”
“Mildred!” he said sharply. “Let’s go!”
“But, Floyd!” she said. “He’s going the wrong way!” Suddenly, she stopped! Their car was not where she expected to it to be. Someone must have stolen their car!
She screamed, “Floyd, our car’s been stolen! Someone stole our car!”
Turning to strangers coming out of the restaurant, she screamed, “Help! Help! Our car‘s been stolen!” Did I mention she was getting some strange looks? I should have.
Husband Floyd continued to guide her around the building, trying to explain to her what was happening. She said, “Now you just listen, Floyd. You don’t understand! Our car’s been stolen!”
In exasperation, Floyd said, “Mildred, I understand that you came out the wrong door! Our car’s over on the southbound lot!”
Hey, gettin' old ain't for sissies!
Monday, January 25, 2010
19. Canes and Oil and Gas
From time to time, we find ourselves in the presence of true greatness! When this happens, it’s best to sit back breathlessly and enjoy the privilege of just watching.
Since our return to Kansas, we had located a replacement group for the Big Spring Road Riders in the form of the Topeka Touring Society. One member was Wally Wilkerson, an evil companion worthy of the name! As a teenager, his evil mind came up with the idea of cutting his grandfather’s cane off one quarter of an inch every week or so, replacing the rubber tip after each amputation! As time went on, Grandpa found he was bending over more and more with each passing month. Joyfully, the old gentleman came to the logical conclusion that he was growing again! Wally enjoyed this scenario for some time before his father found out what he was doing and administered a thrashing of monumental proportions! He beat Wally like a cheap steak! Wally shared this story with us on a ride one day and it gave us the idea of visiting evil upon the small, round, head of our young son, Scott. We came up with our own version of the dwindling cane. We called it, “The oil leak.”
Scott had just bought a brand new Kawasaki. Riding it to his first supper ride with the group, he was so proud of it’s shiny paint, clean wheels, CB radio, stereo, cruise control, and all the bells and whistles. He had just changed the break-in oil and, being inexperienced, he had made a little mess in his garage and had gotten oil on the undercarriage of the new bike. Some oil was still dripping off the frame in the parking lot and he was industriously wiping up every little drop. Yep! We had just identified our next victim.
The next trip was the Waynoka Rattlesnake Hunt, a men only, male bonding trek to the wilds of Oklahoma for snake hunting, go-cart racing, big steak eating, and other raucous behavior. As always we met at the South Entrance of the Kansas Turnpike in Topeka and left promptly at 6:00 am. Our first stop was for breakfast at the Hardee’s rest stop 115 miles away. At this designated stop, I stayed back while Scott and some of the other guys went in for breakfast.
Moving fast, I took the special little container of oil I had brought along and squirted some on the ground just under his engine. For good measure, I put a couple of drops on the frame where he had been cleaning since his recent oil change. Have you ever seen the huge stain only a few drops can produce? It’s spectacular!
Time to head on. Scott came out and recoiled in horror at the big spread of oil under his bike! This is terrible! A bike with an oil leak or a cosmetic ding is like super model Christie Brinkley with a wart on the end of her nose! It ruins the whole effect.
We helped him check the oil, then hurried him into the saddle promising to check it again at the next gas stop. Reluctantly, he agreed to ride on with us, clearly fretting about his unexpected problem with his new bike. At the next stop, he hovered around his bike and we had no chance to administer a second dose. As no further oil was present, Scott began to feel better about everything, and since the day was warm and the companions were great, he loosened up and began to enjoy the ride.
In Waynoka we all split up and went our own ways agreeing to meet at the bikes at 2:00 p.m. for the ride over to the motel and the go kart track in Enid. Guess who got back to the bikes a little bit early? Yep. Me and Jackman. Together, we made a real mess this time. Then we left. Even Harley riders going by did double takes to look at the huge puddle of oil under a “rice grinder”.
When Scott returned, he choked to see his prize possession peeing oil like a rat bike! Then he spotted the empty oil bottle nearby and realized he had been the subject of a practical joke. He was so relieved that his bike was OK, he forgot to get mad!
Over the next few weeks, I had the opportunity to get a second key made so we could ‘adjust’ the amount of gas in his tank. As you may know, new engines rarely perform at optimum levels until they have had a chance to “break in”. All moving parts change tolerances in the first several hundred miles and the engine sort of gets used to itself if you follow what I’m saying. So as the engine breaks in, it becomes more efficient and actually runs stronger and more economically. In most cases. In Scott’s case, economy was going to be elevated to the next level...and beyond!
The key to Scott’s bike gave us access to his locking gas cap. Jackman had purchased a small siphon kit with extension hoses long enough to reach from bike to bike. Our plan was simple...add a gallon of gas here and there till his mileage became spectacular! We calculated he should be getting 70 to 80 miles per gallon. What a hoot!
Then after he had enjoyed this great economy for a while, and started braggin’ about his mileage, we planned to reverse the process and take out a gallon here and there! More hoot!! So the pattern for the summer’s entertainment was set. Soon Scott began reporting a whopping 73 miles per gallon! (Normal is 40-45) He was so pleased. Scott enjoyed superior economy for several weeks.
As time went on however, he began to notice that when he went on rides alone his mileage suffered. He began to suspect that all was not well, but rather that tumbling to our prank, he began thinking of complaining to the bike shop Service Manager. Fortunately, we got to Larry first and headed off a premature end to our frolic.
So now plan “B’ went into effect. We began taking gas out of his tank and transferring it to another bike. Scott was strangely silent about his unexpected and rapidly plummeting gas mileage. Something must be wrong. When cornered, he admitted 24-28 mpg and would lapse into a blue funk. In the final stages of despair, he presented himself at the Tour-n-Trail Motorcycle Dealership and prayed for help.
Larry came up with a new wrinkle that was just the topping needed for this long running prank. He kept the bike all week while Scott was working. His story for Scott was...Kawasaki had mistakenly allowed one of it’s experimental, high performance, high economy fuel systems to be installed on a bike destined for the retail market. They only learned of their mistake when Larry called for technical assistance. Kawasaki insisted on all parts being returned and agreed to replace those parts with standard issue at no cost. Larry advised Scott to keep quiet about this or else Kawasaki would have to bill him for the parts and service done to return the fuel system to normal.
Soon Scott noticed his mileage was averaging only about 40 to 45 mpg. After his experience with averages of 73 mpg, this was highly irregular and unacceptably low. Today, Scott sometimes talks about calling Kawasaki to learn how the new system is coming along. He intends to buy one as he knows how effective they will be once they get all the bugs worked out.
Our next project is a Gold Wing that has caused it’s owner fits with the front suspension! He finally got it perfect by meticulously adjusting spring tension and air pressure in the individual fork legs. Jack and I intend to change the spring tension and put a lot of air in one fork leg and completely deflate the other one. This should cause the victim much mischief, complete with wailing, renting of garments, and spreading of ashes on the forehead. The summer‘s entertainment is already scheduled but, Jackman and I will need to borrow our victim’s special air pump to adjust the air pressure in his front forks.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention; we’ll also need his special tool to adjust the tension of the front suspension and...
Since our return to Kansas, we had located a replacement group for the Big Spring Road Riders in the form of the Topeka Touring Society. One member was Wally Wilkerson, an evil companion worthy of the name! As a teenager, his evil mind came up with the idea of cutting his grandfather’s cane off one quarter of an inch every week or so, replacing the rubber tip after each amputation! As time went on, Grandpa found he was bending over more and more with each passing month. Joyfully, the old gentleman came to the logical conclusion that he was growing again! Wally enjoyed this scenario for some time before his father found out what he was doing and administered a thrashing of monumental proportions! He beat Wally like a cheap steak! Wally shared this story with us on a ride one day and it gave us the idea of visiting evil upon the small, round, head of our young son, Scott. We came up with our own version of the dwindling cane. We called it, “The oil leak.”
Scott had just bought a brand new Kawasaki. Riding it to his first supper ride with the group, he was so proud of it’s shiny paint, clean wheels, CB radio, stereo, cruise control, and all the bells and whistles. He had just changed the break-in oil and, being inexperienced, he had made a little mess in his garage and had gotten oil on the undercarriage of the new bike. Some oil was still dripping off the frame in the parking lot and he was industriously wiping up every little drop. Yep! We had just identified our next victim.
The next trip was the Waynoka Rattlesnake Hunt, a men only, male bonding trek to the wilds of Oklahoma for snake hunting, go-cart racing, big steak eating, and other raucous behavior. As always we met at the South Entrance of the Kansas Turnpike in Topeka and left promptly at 6:00 am. Our first stop was for breakfast at the Hardee’s rest stop 115 miles away. At this designated stop, I stayed back while Scott and some of the other guys went in for breakfast.
Moving fast, I took the special little container of oil I had brought along and squirted some on the ground just under his engine. For good measure, I put a couple of drops on the frame where he had been cleaning since his recent oil change. Have you ever seen the huge stain only a few drops can produce? It’s spectacular!
Time to head on. Scott came out and recoiled in horror at the big spread of oil under his bike! This is terrible! A bike with an oil leak or a cosmetic ding is like super model Christie Brinkley with a wart on the end of her nose! It ruins the whole effect.
We helped him check the oil, then hurried him into the saddle promising to check it again at the next gas stop. Reluctantly, he agreed to ride on with us, clearly fretting about his unexpected problem with his new bike. At the next stop, he hovered around his bike and we had no chance to administer a second dose. As no further oil was present, Scott began to feel better about everything, and since the day was warm and the companions were great, he loosened up and began to enjoy the ride.
In Waynoka we all split up and went our own ways agreeing to meet at the bikes at 2:00 p.m. for the ride over to the motel and the go kart track in Enid. Guess who got back to the bikes a little bit early? Yep. Me and Jackman. Together, we made a real mess this time. Then we left. Even Harley riders going by did double takes to look at the huge puddle of oil under a “rice grinder”.
When Scott returned, he choked to see his prize possession peeing oil like a rat bike! Then he spotted the empty oil bottle nearby and realized he had been the subject of a practical joke. He was so relieved that his bike was OK, he forgot to get mad!
Over the next few weeks, I had the opportunity to get a second key made so we could ‘adjust’ the amount of gas in his tank. As you may know, new engines rarely perform at optimum levels until they have had a chance to “break in”. All moving parts change tolerances in the first several hundred miles and the engine sort of gets used to itself if you follow what I’m saying. So as the engine breaks in, it becomes more efficient and actually runs stronger and more economically. In most cases. In Scott’s case, economy was going to be elevated to the next level...and beyond!
The key to Scott’s bike gave us access to his locking gas cap. Jackman had purchased a small siphon kit with extension hoses long enough to reach from bike to bike. Our plan was simple...add a gallon of gas here and there till his mileage became spectacular! We calculated he should be getting 70 to 80 miles per gallon. What a hoot!
Then after he had enjoyed this great economy for a while, and started braggin’ about his mileage, we planned to reverse the process and take out a gallon here and there! More hoot!! So the pattern for the summer’s entertainment was set. Soon Scott began reporting a whopping 73 miles per gallon! (Normal is 40-45) He was so pleased. Scott enjoyed superior economy for several weeks.
As time went on however, he began to notice that when he went on rides alone his mileage suffered. He began to suspect that all was not well, but rather that tumbling to our prank, he began thinking of complaining to the bike shop Service Manager. Fortunately, we got to Larry first and headed off a premature end to our frolic.
So now plan “B’ went into effect. We began taking gas out of his tank and transferring it to another bike. Scott was strangely silent about his unexpected and rapidly plummeting gas mileage. Something must be wrong. When cornered, he admitted 24-28 mpg and would lapse into a blue funk. In the final stages of despair, he presented himself at the Tour-n-Trail Motorcycle Dealership and prayed for help.
Larry came up with a new wrinkle that was just the topping needed for this long running prank. He kept the bike all week while Scott was working. His story for Scott was...Kawasaki had mistakenly allowed one of it’s experimental, high performance, high economy fuel systems to be installed on a bike destined for the retail market. They only learned of their mistake when Larry called for technical assistance. Kawasaki insisted on all parts being returned and agreed to replace those parts with standard issue at no cost. Larry advised Scott to keep quiet about this or else Kawasaki would have to bill him for the parts and service done to return the fuel system to normal.
Soon Scott noticed his mileage was averaging only about 40 to 45 mpg. After his experience with averages of 73 mpg, this was highly irregular and unacceptably low. Today, Scott sometimes talks about calling Kawasaki to learn how the new system is coming along. He intends to buy one as he knows how effective they will be once they get all the bugs worked out.
Our next project is a Gold Wing that has caused it’s owner fits with the front suspension! He finally got it perfect by meticulously adjusting spring tension and air pressure in the individual fork legs. Jack and I intend to change the spring tension and put a lot of air in one fork leg and completely deflate the other one. This should cause the victim much mischief, complete with wailing, renting of garments, and spreading of ashes on the forehead. The summer‘s entertainment is already scheduled but, Jackman and I will need to borrow our victim’s special air pump to adjust the air pressure in his front forks.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention; we’ll also need his special tool to adjust the tension of the front suspension and...
Sunday, January 24, 2010
18. Fall Down...Go Boom
In the early fall of 1985 we moved from Texas (bad mistake) back to Topeka and had fallen in with evil companions once more. Just lucky that way, I suppose. Judy had her beautiful black 1983 Yamaha Venture all cleaned up and it was striking! She had spent hours working with toothbrushes and Q-tips cleaning every little crevice and seam. Jet black, spotless, with rose red pin striping and loaded with tasteful chrome accessories, the effect was striking! Combined with this and completing her ensemble was a new black and tan riding suit with a ruby red helmet. A good looking motorcycle chick!
We rode through the colorful Kansas countryside with a group of our new acquaintances and had just crossed the Clinton Dam headed for the south end of Lawrence for a coffee stop. We came to the intersection where we would turn left and, of course, there was the obligatory stop sign. Judy pulled up to the intersection and came to a complete stop, looked both ways and just fell over! Just like the little guy on Laugh-In with his tricycle! I heard Scott say, “Oh, no! That beautiful bike!”
I put the kickstand down and parked. Scott and I were off like a shot...dashing to the intersection! Others did the same, all converging on Judy and her bike, which was lying on it’s side. Several of us immediately righted the bike and began to inspect it for damage. About that time we heard a testy shout from Judy. “Excuse me! Would someone please help me get up? I may be hurt too, you know!” Oops. Guess this illustrates where the priorities are.
We asked her what happened that caused her to fall over in such a way? Well, it was this cursed new riding suit! It had a strap that went under her boot to keep the pant legs secured and the one on the left was loose enough to work it’s way under the foot peg. When she tried to raise her foot off the peg and place it on the ground, it held her foot fast on the peg! Hence...the fall. Fortunately, she wasn’t injured, but the bike suffered a few minor scratches and required some cosmetic repair which Judy applied as soon as we got home.
What they say about riders loving their bikes is 100% true. Listen, folk! Scratches and broken body parts will heal up; injuries to the bike don’t heal! The first thing a rider will ask after a mishap is “How’s my bike?” And this is clearly documented in our next story. Read on...
We rode through the colorful Kansas countryside with a group of our new acquaintances and had just crossed the Clinton Dam headed for the south end of Lawrence for a coffee stop. We came to the intersection where we would turn left and, of course, there was the obligatory stop sign. Judy pulled up to the intersection and came to a complete stop, looked both ways and just fell over! Just like the little guy on Laugh-In with his tricycle! I heard Scott say, “Oh, no! That beautiful bike!”
I put the kickstand down and parked. Scott and I were off like a shot...dashing to the intersection! Others did the same, all converging on Judy and her bike, which was lying on it’s side. Several of us immediately righted the bike and began to inspect it for damage. About that time we heard a testy shout from Judy. “Excuse me! Would someone please help me get up? I may be hurt too, you know!” Oops. Guess this illustrates where the priorities are.
We asked her what happened that caused her to fall over in such a way? Well, it was this cursed new riding suit! It had a strap that went under her boot to keep the pant legs secured and the one on the left was loose enough to work it’s way under the foot peg. When she tried to raise her foot off the peg and place it on the ground, it held her foot fast on the peg! Hence...the fall. Fortunately, she wasn’t injured, but the bike suffered a few minor scratches and required some cosmetic repair which Judy applied as soon as we got home.
What they say about riders loving their bikes is 100% true. Listen, folk! Scratches and broken body parts will heal up; injuries to the bike don’t heal! The first thing a rider will ask after a mishap is “How’s my bike?” And this is clearly documented in our next story. Read on...
Saturday, January 23, 2010
17. Phoenix In November
Sometimes the best trips are the ones where you encounter unusual experiences; for example, bad weather, mechanical troubles, running out of gas, no vacancy signs at motels at midnight, getting lost and other assorted ills. If you combine all these mishaps, you’ll have the great, overly ambitious, ill advised trip we took to Phoenix in November of 1991. It all started when we got tickets to the Phoenix International Raceway...
MONDAY, 10-28-1991 FORT SCOTT, KANSAS TEMP 60 DEGREES RAIN
We left Topeka and rode to Fort Scott, Kansas, on a beautiful early fall day. Trees were showing off their brilliant colors of red and yellow. The air was fresh and clean with clear skies and just a hint of crispness. Perfect motorcycling weather. But this was on Friday, not Monday. We had spent a nice weekend with Judy’s folks and were now contemplating the trip to Phoenix on bikes. A light rain was falling and seemed to set in for a while. I thought that if we could just get started, we could run into another weather system just past El Dorado.
Reluctantly, Judy agreed to start out and see how it went. If the rain didn’t let up, we could always cut north to Topeka and get the car. So with rain suits on, we headed west for the trip of a lifetime. This would be the last trip of the year and we were pushing it a bit, but since we were going west and south, I thought we would be okay.
By the time we reached Iola, Kansas, the sun was out and the skies were clearing. The great weather of the previous Friday had returned and we were makin’ good time. We peeled off the rain suits and headed on with high spirits. It really was a great day to be on the road. Mid-afternoon found us nearing Pratt, Kansas where we stopped for a late lunch at the local KFC.
After lunch and a gas stop, we continued west on 54 highway toward our planned overnight stop at Liberal, Kansas. From Liberal we planned to hit the Interstate at Tucumcari, New Mexico and zip across the mountains, arriving in Phoenix on Wednesday.
As we came into the little town of Meade, Kansas, all this changed. Suddenly, the temperature dropped 30 degrees, the north wind was howling, and the easy part was over. Oh, well, we were not too far from Liberal so we put on warmer clothes and continued west. It was mighty cold when we rode into Liberal a couple of hours later. No matter. We’d be going south in the morning and we knew it would be warmer on the way down to I-40.
We checked into the neat little Budget Motel and unloaded. Since this was an economy trip, we then went to the grocery store for sandwich fixin’s, cookies, fruit and stuff like that. Hurrying back to the motel, Judy commented on how grey the sky looked. Maybe we should check in with the Weather Channel at the Motel.
We made up a picnic supper and settled down to watch the Kansas City Chiefs on Monday Night Football. We kept seeing a note along the bottom of the screen advising of a major winter storm due to hit Liberal early Tuesday morning.
We switched to the weather channel and what we saw there was not good news. A major storm was indeed heading toward Liberal carrying along with it freezing rain and bitter cold temperatures! As we viewed this grim news, we learned that the mountain road was going to close early the next day which meant we had to go even further south before cutting back west. No big deal. South is warm, right?
So, early next morning we headed south intending to cross the mountain range at Cloudcroft in the afternoon.
TUESDAY, 10-29-1991 LIBERAL, KANSAS TEMP 17 DEGREES PRE-FREEZING RAIN CONDITIONS
It was cold! We skipped breakfast to get a jump on this storm and headed south in a bright sunshine that belied the frigid conditions. The engines coughed and sputtered, complaining about the cold air rushing into delicate internal parts. Took a long time to warm up. Rode 60 miles this way, arriving in Perryton, Texas 90 minutes later and stopped at Hardee’s for breakfast.
Talking with some local motorcycle folk, they encouraged us to eat fast and hightail it south as the storm was only a short ways behind us. Temperature is now hovering around 25 degrees, but at least the wind is at our backs.
From Perryton, we angled southwest, dropping into Pampa about an hour later. Temperature...a balmy 34 degrees. But at least it’s bearable and we’re headed south for warmer weather yet.
When we turned west, we realized that the wind from the north was pretty strong and very cold as it beat us up good on the way to Amarillo. Here we turned south again and got great gas mileage, better than 52 mpg and coincidentally, that was the ambient temperature as well. We thought it was a heat wave!
We really enjoyed the next two hours as we had a good tailwind and the day was lukewarm; not too bad. We stopped at a rest stop south of Lubbock and used the motorcycle floorboards as a table for our picnic lunch. Judy is gettin’ a little testy about the conditions and mentions several times that we should have taken the car. She’ll thank me when we reach the warm sunny weather of Arizona and have our bikes for the mountain roads there, I told her.
We got gas at Levelland and continued on west toward Hobbs, New Mexico where we would spend the night. As we came through the pretty little town of Seminole, Texas, we spied a cute little motel with carports and pecan trees and decided to stop early since we were stiff with the cold and had the worst part of the trip behind us now.
We ate a good supper at a nearby cafe, and returned to the room to check the weather channel. Not real great, but we’re far enough south now where we can head for Cloudcroft, New Mexico in the morning and be in the desert by early afternoon tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY, 10-30-1991TEMP 28 FREEZING RAIN AND SNOW
No travel today! Fine mist, freezing as it touches the ground; ice covers everything in sight. Walked downtown slowly for breakfast. Bought a Big Chief tablet to use as a diary. Judy again mentions the words I’ll hear many times; “We should have taken the car.” Seminole is a very small place. Population 3800. Situated about twenty miles from New Mexico, it’s the last town in Texas. Not much to do here. Hindsight note; we should have gone on to Hobbs yesterday, and then went south to Carlsbad for the night. We could have avoided this delay, but...
In the afternoon we hiked up the road to Wal-Mart. Bought chemical hand warmers and other stuff to help pass the time. Back to the motel where a Jenny Jones marathon was on. Watched the weather channel too. Maybe we can get out tomorrow.
THURSDAY, 10-31-1991 SEMINOLE, TEXAS TEMPERATURE 21 ICE AND SNOW
Parking lot covered with a fine dusting of snow. Ice still coats everything, but at least the sun’s out. Maybe we can get out this afternoon. By 11:00 am the sun’s been working and although the parking lot is icy, the road is clearing off due to heavy truck traffic. Maybe after dinner...
After yet another West Texas hamburger, we check out of the motel and walk each bike out of the lot and over to the side of the road where we start the engines and let them warm up. We ease out onto the road and carefully make our way westward.
Once again we’re off! The great adventure continues. Now we’ll cross the mountains at Carlsbad and be only two days late getting to Phoenix. We’re only runnin’ 35 to 40 mph but, hey! At least we’re movin’! Beats another day of that annoying pest, Jenny Jones.
At times we have to ride on the gravel alongside the road to avoid slick, icy pavement, and so we slowly negotiate the last few miles of Texas and enter New Mexico at Hobbs. These guys got even more snow and ice than Seminole! We gingerly ease our way through the town and head south down towards Carlsbad where the sun is just starting to shine.
We’ve been able to use the cruise controls for a while and it sure keeps your hands warm to be able to sit on one hand to warm it up while driving with the other. Switching every five minutes, it works well. But as we head down into Carlsbad, my cruise control breaks! Now I have no way to keep my hands warm!
The temperature is now around 40 and we’re feeling a little better. We stop at Mickey D’s and Judy gets dinner and hot coffee for me as I check out the broken cruise control. Good news and bad news. It’s only a disconnected cable. I can make a temporary repair now with my hands and get on it with a wrench when we get to the motel tonight.
Cruise control patched, we eat and study the map. Talking with a local resident, he advises us to go through Guadelupe State Park in Texas instead of trying to cross the mountains at the little traveled passes. The Rockies end just north of El Paso and we don’t have to do any mountain riding on slick roads if we go this way!
We leave Carlsbad with full tummies and warm feet. The temperature is getting better and a warm southern wind is picking up. We are not complaining. We meet an on-coming Gold Wing pulling a trailer and he cautions us to watch for the wind on the hill. It’s the first bike we’ve seen for three days now other than our own. Where is everybody?
Now we’re back in Texas, riding in Guadelupe State Park near the area known as McKittrick Canyon where the wind blows strong and gusty! I relax and start telling Judy we’ll be fine from here on and aren’t you glad we brought the bikes now and....
Suddenly, Judy’s bike swerves across the wide four lane road as she fights for control! I’m having troubles of my own as this cross wind must be 80 miles per hour! We are nearly off the road! So this is what the Gold Wing rider meant by “the wind on the hill”. Too late we see the wind socks standing straight out from the poles. Greyhound buses and semi’s have been blown over here. I remember reading about that now that we’re in it past the point of no return!
The “hill” is just before you reach El Capitan; a famous landmark used by stagecoach drivers in the early days. We finally regain control and agree that if we have to detour on the way home, we’ll go all the way to Fort Worth and turn left! Ain’t crossing this road again in this lifetime!
As we come down onto the salt desert, we really fly. Gotta get gas and find a place to stay before it gets dark. We enter El Paso at the peak of the 5:00 o’clock rush hour, miss our Interstate entrance and find ourselves in the barrio at near sundown, nearly out of gas and nobody here hablos ingles none too good. We are in big trouble.
Then up ahead is a brightly lit gas station where we fill up and meet a friendly senor who speaks our language. He graciously leads us back to the Interstate and all ends well. We race westward to Las Cruces where we find a nice motel with hot showers and warm beds. We collapse. It’s been a tough day.
FRIDAY, 11-1-1991 LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO TEMPERATURE 26 DEGREES COLD AND CLEAR
Can’t escape this record cold. Everywhere we stop, the cold catches up with us. Forecast for today is better as we are now on the floor of the Great Southwest American Desert. Early this morning I disassembled the headlight housing and permanently repaired the cruise control. In point of fact, it never came loose again over the next 5 years!
Bundled up against the cold, we hurry west at great speed. We’ve lost three days. We don’t have time to go to the Grand Canyon, and if we’re going to Old Mexico, we’d better do it today! Our problem has been a weather system that drives us south and there are no more southern routes to take, so we are going to Nogales. The weather is warming up nicely now, but the heavy leather jacket still feels good.
At Lordsburg, Arizona we leave the Interstate and head south again down toward Nogales. Lots of cactus and low altitude mountains off in the distance. It is good to be warm. We get in to Nogales around mid-afternoon. Judy flags down a policeman and he directs us to safe parking on the American side. Right next door is... Mickey D’s! The parking lot is called Ed’s. We walk over to Old Mexico and enjoy bargaining with the natives. They are better at this than we are as you shall soon see. We drink real Coca-Cola, strong stuff, the original recipe. Remember how it used to come roarin’ back through your nose when you were a kid? Well, it still does, but it does go well with hot Mexican food!
We bought some Baja Jackets for about six bucks apiece. In the USA, they are called Senor Lopez shirts and sell for $21.95! Little ironwood figures are $3.00 each or three for $10.00. Naturally, I go for the group discount.
Also, I bought a genuine Clint Eastwood Poncho like he wore in “Hang ‘em High”! A big blanket with a hole in the center. Again I searched for the El Toro Negro that I should have bought in San Miguel some years ago. Ah, well. It does keep me coming back to Mexico. All too soon, we gotta go. We’re three days and twelve hours late in meeting our friends up in Apache Junction. And do we have stories to tell??!!
Out on I-17 North to Phoenix. 97 miles to go. Oops, that kilometers, not miles. Sure makes a difference in the speed in which the signs change. Stop in Tucson for gas and call Scott to wish him a happy birthday on Tuesday. We reach Paul and Jeannie in Apache Junction and tell them we’re still coming.
This is pretty good riding for an Interstate Highway. The weather’s warm, traffic’s light and the mountains are showcasing a long, spectacular and beautiful sunset off to our left. About now it strikes me that I screwed up big time buying three ironwood figures for $10. I could have bought them individually for $3 each! Judy laughs gleefully! She really is a sadistic, kinky, little...!
We arrive a little before 10:00 p.m. that night in Apache Junction and we’re starved for some decent meals. Enough, already with the quarter pounders. Though it’s late, I want a big steak, with eggs, and gallons of hot coffee. Gotta wash the taste of McDonald’s out of my mouth.
The late supper done with, we head to the cashier to settle up. Hands still numb from the cold, I collect my change and reach for a toothpick, knocking over the dispenser. I watch in horror as the entire display comes crashing down. Toothpicks scattered all over the place. I take one, just one, and mumble, “I’m sorry” and become a blacksmith; making a bolt for the door!
We catch a little of the race news and go to bed, sleeping hard. Been a tough week and we just got here! Tomorrow, we’ll move to a motel that’s closer to the track and go see the sights of Sedona up in Oak Creek Canyon. Then, on Sunday, it’s race day!
SATURDAY 11-2-1991 APACHE JUNCTION TEMPERATURE 68 DEGREES CLEAR SKIES
Today we moved to a new motel, closer to the track and decide not to go to the Busch Race, but to tour the area a little. We head for Sedona, a pretty little tourist trap where lots of genuine Indian artifacts are available. But, not cheap! Nope, these are first class treasures at maximum prices. Paul found a neat coffee cup, Judy bought a gold edged plate, but Jeanne and I found nothing worth buyin’ here today.
We stopped at a Texaco station in Flagstaff to gas up the car and I found a special pottery vase made by Betty Selby for about half of what they wanted in Oak Creek Canyon! Best of all, I put it on the Texaco credit card!
Oh, we did eat some fake Texas bar-b-que, but it was middlin’ and there weren’t very many beans with the order. And the range coffee was anemic. Headed back to the new motel and a good night’s rest. Tomorrow is Race Day and it will be long and hot. Can’t wait!
SUNDAY 11-3-1991 PHOENIX INTERNATIONAL RACEWAY TEMPERATURE 81 DEGREES CLEAR SKIES
Up real early. Out to the track in the rental car. Lots of traffic, but the Arizona Highway Patrol does a good job of getting a lot of cars into one small place with great skill. We park in a nondescript area, take a landmark of the cactuses (cacti?) and head for the souvenir stands. We buy caps, t-shirts, and shiny things while Judy gets in a fight with the Maalox Man.
The Maalox people had a booth where they gave away samples of their fine product and periodically, like every hour or so, the Maalox Man gave away five T- shirts. They were quite handsome. Bright, red letters, torn in half and spelling out “I’m having a Maalox moment!”, Judy was quite taken with this T-shirt and just had to have one. Alas, the Maalox Man quit giving them away just as it was her turn to get one. “Sorry,” he said. “Come back in an hour and try again.” Oops, he shouldn’t have said that. Judy went ballistic! Grabbin’ him by the shirt front, she screamed, “Listen to me, pilgrim! My husband has nearly killed me on icy roads, I was snowed in for two days with nothing to do but watch Jenny Jones, the wind nearly blew me off a mountain, and we got lost in the barrio of El Paso! I rode a motorcycle 1800 miles to get here and I still have to ride it to get back home. Now, give me that shirt!”
Without a word he handed one over. Still wide eyed, he croaked, “Lady, I’m not supposed to do this, but you scare me worse than my boss! Here! If anybody asks, you’re my best customer!”
Judy smiled sweetly and quietly said, “Thank you.” She really has a nice smile, especially when she wins!
After that, the race was anti-climatic, with Davey Allison winning easily. A couple got married on the track, and paratroopers landed on the infield. We sat in the stands while the crowd filed out, in no hurry to leave as this was a warm 80 degree day. Tomorrow, we head for Kansas and we may run into more cold weather. For now just let us enjoy this day. We left later, ready for a good meal and a good night’s rest.
MONDAY 11-4-1991 PHOENIX, ARIZONA TEMPERATURE 63 SUNNY AND CLEAR
Loaded and ready to go by 6:00 am. Paul and Jeannie took back the rental car. Judy and I headed north and east up through the mountains in perfect weather. An hour of easy runnin’ brought us to the little mountain pueblo of Payson and yet another Egg McMuffin. Climbing higher now, it’s clear, sunny and the wind is slowly freshening. Soon, we notice a decided chill in the air. Yep! It’s gettin’ colder. This is where we came in. We pull into a roadside park and put on the cold weather gear. Another hour and a half and we pulled out on I-40 and dropped the hammer. We have to make good time today since the road is open. The cold is nothing as to what it was on the way down, so we’re makin’ good time.
In mid-afternoon we see signs that announce Gallup is a few miles ahead. We can gas up there and eat before headin’ on. But, there’s something about Gallup that I should remember, but just can’t. A message tryin’ to get through. Maybe it’ll come to me later.
We gassed up at an Interstate gas station that sold pottery and here Judy bought a real neat little jug with gold trim. Funny how our best items on this trip have come from gas stations. We pull into a Gallup restaurant and park. Immediately we’re attacked by drunk people! Now I remember about Gallup, New Mexico! Gallup has the highest motor vehicle mortality rate in the nation, due to drunk driving on the road in and out of the reservation!
Well, we gotta eat, so we fight our way through the growing crowd and enter the warm, fragrant cafe. Several of the more opportunistic inebriates crawl in behind us, tryin’ to get warm and this triggers an alarming response from the manager.
Swinging into action, he thumps the vagrants about the head and shoulders with a heavy cardboard tube, makin’ short work of clearing them out of his place. Then turning to us as if nothing unusual happened, he smiled and said, “Two? Smoking or non-smoking?” Cool dude.
Back on the road, we continue making good time till we reach Albuquerque and stop for gas before checking into the local Motel 6. Hey, look who’s here. It’s Paul and Jeannie in their nice warm car. They have to be home tomorrow and so they gotta go. Our trip will take two more days.
TUESDAY 11-5-1991 ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO TEMPERATURE 30 DEGREES OVERCAST AND COLD
Today’s is Scott’s birthday. Other than that, this is a real dull day. Hard travelin’, not much conversation from Judy as the weather is still real cold and will not get any warmer. She is not pleased with this trip.
At Tucumcari, we head north again, into the wind. We see lots of old snow and slush near the road from the big storm that chased us south last week. Stopping at an ATM machine for “supplies” we continue on to Liberal arriving around mid-afternoon. We decide to stop early as we’re only six hours from home and we’d like to stay at this nice Budget Motel again. Can you say...big mistake? The lady at the Motel recognizes us as there are not too many bikers this time of year.
We have more Mexican food for an early supper. We retire to the room for a weather check. In disbelief we see yet another major winter storm that will be approaching Topeka from the west and should arrive in the early afternoon. Damnation, we really seem to pay the price for these early stops. This means a very early start and a hard ride tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY 11-6-1991 LIBERAL, KANSAS TEMPERATURE 20 DEGREES CLOUDY AND FOGGY
Up at 5:00 am. Walk across the street for a quick bowl of oatmeal. No coffee. No time for pee stops later down the road. We ease out of the parking lot that is covered with a thick frost. It’s still dark. Every time we exhale, our face shields fog up and we quit seein’. Gonna be a long day.
We head east on 54 hoping to get a little more light after the sun comes up. It’s not even 6:00 am yet and we’re in a race with this storm. After 10 miles we encounter a new obstacle...fog! This slows us down. Can’t see 20 feet in front of us most of the time. After an hour or so, the fog lifts and we’re able to pick it up. Headin’ east, the north wind is really beatin’ us up. We’re cold and cranky. This is not fun.
At Pratt, we stop at McDonald’s. We hear an old lady gripin’ about her motor home bein’ so cold she had to put on a sweater! I thought Judy was goin’ to repeat her Maalox Man act. We decide to head into the north wind, up to Newton; we really need a break from this vicious cross wind. And it is indeed more comfortable with a head wind.
As we near Newton, Kansas, Judy dials in a strong FM radio station so we can track this storm. After gas and snacks in Newton, we’re back at it again, headed for the Kansas Turnpike at Emporia.
As we enter the turnpike, we hear on the radio that the storm is just west of Manhattan. We gotta stop one more time for bathroom business, snacks, and then it’s hammer down time. We pull into the first rest stop and do all this for the last time. Pulling back on the turnpike, we hear that the storm is now east of Manhattan, about 45 miles from Topeka. We’re 50 miles out. We gotta go!
We drop down to the trucker’s Channel 19 on the CB. We’re runnin’ 80-85 and worried that we may not make it. While at the rest area, I placed my hand on the pavement and it was still slightly warm. Even if it starts snowing we should have a little time before it sticks. Logical deduction would lead us to believe that we can still navigate, but not for long and not very far. It’s really very important to keep moving.
The sky is white now. A trucker tells us when he came through Wamego, it had just started snowing there and that was forty five minutes ago. On we go at greater and greater speed. If we get stuck out here, we’ll have to stay with the bikes till someone finds us. Don’t even want to think about that.
Eight miles to go to the turnpike exit. Huge snowflakes are falling and snow is blowing across the road. We slow momentarily, till we realize this is it; the make it or break it choice point. Hammer down, Judy! This is a dry snow and the road’s still warm so we got a good chance. There’s the exit up ahead. What a pretty sight! We live only two miles from the turnpike so we are lookin’ good. I pay for both bikes and leave the change. Can’t take the time to remove the gloves for measly quarters.
Here the snow is building up and we can feel how slick the road is. The bikes don’t want to turn and we dare not lean them over. Closer to home now, we turn east on 45th and go toward Adams street. As we approach our intersection, we hear someone on the CB directing a double wide mobile home to get ready to turn right on Adams. Hey, we can’t have this! In desperation I yell on the CB, “Comin’ through!”
Fortunately, they heard us and backed off as we slid around the corner in front of them. We heard them talking about nuts riding in a blizzard. Oh, what the hell? We bought our first bikes in a blizzard, remember?
Down the hill to the bridge, a dicey turn to the left and a greasy ride up the hill where we turn right for one block. Just one more block! Don’t quit now. At last we creep into the driveway. We nearly collapse with relief, but it ain’t over yet. Don’t let’s drop a bike now. We raise the garage door, gently move the bikes inside and cut the engines. Man, it’s quiet all of a sudden. We made it! Outside, it’s snowing harder.
We had absolutely no window of time left. Judy never did say she was glad we took the bikes. We just barely got home after covering nearly 4,000 miles, most of them were detours to avoid storms, we used a floorboard for a picnic table, watched Jenny Jones ad nauseum, nearly got blown off a mountain, almost ran out of gas, got lost in the barrio of El Paso, got bargains in Mexico, robbed a Maalox Man, saw a great NASCAR race and still managed to get home safely in spite of great odds! Ain’t motorcyclin’ grand!!??
After hot showers, we went out for a good supper. In the car. With a heater. And a roof. Windows that close. And...
Hey, Judy! Wanna take a ride next weekend?
MONDAY, 10-28-1991 FORT SCOTT, KANSAS TEMP 60 DEGREES RAIN
We left Topeka and rode to Fort Scott, Kansas, on a beautiful early fall day. Trees were showing off their brilliant colors of red and yellow. The air was fresh and clean with clear skies and just a hint of crispness. Perfect motorcycling weather. But this was on Friday, not Monday. We had spent a nice weekend with Judy’s folks and were now contemplating the trip to Phoenix on bikes. A light rain was falling and seemed to set in for a while. I thought that if we could just get started, we could run into another weather system just past El Dorado.
Reluctantly, Judy agreed to start out and see how it went. If the rain didn’t let up, we could always cut north to Topeka and get the car. So with rain suits on, we headed west for the trip of a lifetime. This would be the last trip of the year and we were pushing it a bit, but since we were going west and south, I thought we would be okay.
By the time we reached Iola, Kansas, the sun was out and the skies were clearing. The great weather of the previous Friday had returned and we were makin’ good time. We peeled off the rain suits and headed on with high spirits. It really was a great day to be on the road. Mid-afternoon found us nearing Pratt, Kansas where we stopped for a late lunch at the local KFC.
After lunch and a gas stop, we continued west on 54 highway toward our planned overnight stop at Liberal, Kansas. From Liberal we planned to hit the Interstate at Tucumcari, New Mexico and zip across the mountains, arriving in Phoenix on Wednesday.
As we came into the little town of Meade, Kansas, all this changed. Suddenly, the temperature dropped 30 degrees, the north wind was howling, and the easy part was over. Oh, well, we were not too far from Liberal so we put on warmer clothes and continued west. It was mighty cold when we rode into Liberal a couple of hours later. No matter. We’d be going south in the morning and we knew it would be warmer on the way down to I-40.
We checked into the neat little Budget Motel and unloaded. Since this was an economy trip, we then went to the grocery store for sandwich fixin’s, cookies, fruit and stuff like that. Hurrying back to the motel, Judy commented on how grey the sky looked. Maybe we should check in with the Weather Channel at the Motel.
We made up a picnic supper and settled down to watch the Kansas City Chiefs on Monday Night Football. We kept seeing a note along the bottom of the screen advising of a major winter storm due to hit Liberal early Tuesday morning.
We switched to the weather channel and what we saw there was not good news. A major storm was indeed heading toward Liberal carrying along with it freezing rain and bitter cold temperatures! As we viewed this grim news, we learned that the mountain road was going to close early the next day which meant we had to go even further south before cutting back west. No big deal. South is warm, right?
So, early next morning we headed south intending to cross the mountain range at Cloudcroft in the afternoon.
TUESDAY, 10-29-1991 LIBERAL, KANSAS TEMP 17 DEGREES PRE-FREEZING RAIN CONDITIONS
It was cold! We skipped breakfast to get a jump on this storm and headed south in a bright sunshine that belied the frigid conditions. The engines coughed and sputtered, complaining about the cold air rushing into delicate internal parts. Took a long time to warm up. Rode 60 miles this way, arriving in Perryton, Texas 90 minutes later and stopped at Hardee’s for breakfast.
Talking with some local motorcycle folk, they encouraged us to eat fast and hightail it south as the storm was only a short ways behind us. Temperature is now hovering around 25 degrees, but at least the wind is at our backs.
From Perryton, we angled southwest, dropping into Pampa about an hour later. Temperature...a balmy 34 degrees. But at least it’s bearable and we’re headed south for warmer weather yet.
When we turned west, we realized that the wind from the north was pretty strong and very cold as it beat us up good on the way to Amarillo. Here we turned south again and got great gas mileage, better than 52 mpg and coincidentally, that was the ambient temperature as well. We thought it was a heat wave!
We really enjoyed the next two hours as we had a good tailwind and the day was lukewarm; not too bad. We stopped at a rest stop south of Lubbock and used the motorcycle floorboards as a table for our picnic lunch. Judy is gettin’ a little testy about the conditions and mentions several times that we should have taken the car. She’ll thank me when we reach the warm sunny weather of Arizona and have our bikes for the mountain roads there, I told her.
We got gas at Levelland and continued on west toward Hobbs, New Mexico where we would spend the night. As we came through the pretty little town of Seminole, Texas, we spied a cute little motel with carports and pecan trees and decided to stop early since we were stiff with the cold and had the worst part of the trip behind us now.
We ate a good supper at a nearby cafe, and returned to the room to check the weather channel. Not real great, but we’re far enough south now where we can head for Cloudcroft, New Mexico in the morning and be in the desert by early afternoon tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY, 10-30-1991TEMP 28 FREEZING RAIN AND SNOW
No travel today! Fine mist, freezing as it touches the ground; ice covers everything in sight. Walked downtown slowly for breakfast. Bought a Big Chief tablet to use as a diary. Judy again mentions the words I’ll hear many times; “We should have taken the car.” Seminole is a very small place. Population 3800. Situated about twenty miles from New Mexico, it’s the last town in Texas. Not much to do here. Hindsight note; we should have gone on to Hobbs yesterday, and then went south to Carlsbad for the night. We could have avoided this delay, but...
In the afternoon we hiked up the road to Wal-Mart. Bought chemical hand warmers and other stuff to help pass the time. Back to the motel where a Jenny Jones marathon was on. Watched the weather channel too. Maybe we can get out tomorrow.
THURSDAY, 10-31-1991 SEMINOLE, TEXAS TEMPERATURE 21 ICE AND SNOW
Parking lot covered with a fine dusting of snow. Ice still coats everything, but at least the sun’s out. Maybe we can get out this afternoon. By 11:00 am the sun’s been working and although the parking lot is icy, the road is clearing off due to heavy truck traffic. Maybe after dinner...
After yet another West Texas hamburger, we check out of the motel and walk each bike out of the lot and over to the side of the road where we start the engines and let them warm up. We ease out onto the road and carefully make our way westward.
Once again we’re off! The great adventure continues. Now we’ll cross the mountains at Carlsbad and be only two days late getting to Phoenix. We’re only runnin’ 35 to 40 mph but, hey! At least we’re movin’! Beats another day of that annoying pest, Jenny Jones.
At times we have to ride on the gravel alongside the road to avoid slick, icy pavement, and so we slowly negotiate the last few miles of Texas and enter New Mexico at Hobbs. These guys got even more snow and ice than Seminole! We gingerly ease our way through the town and head south down towards Carlsbad where the sun is just starting to shine.
We’ve been able to use the cruise controls for a while and it sure keeps your hands warm to be able to sit on one hand to warm it up while driving with the other. Switching every five minutes, it works well. But as we head down into Carlsbad, my cruise control breaks! Now I have no way to keep my hands warm!
The temperature is now around 40 and we’re feeling a little better. We stop at Mickey D’s and Judy gets dinner and hot coffee for me as I check out the broken cruise control. Good news and bad news. It’s only a disconnected cable. I can make a temporary repair now with my hands and get on it with a wrench when we get to the motel tonight.
Cruise control patched, we eat and study the map. Talking with a local resident, he advises us to go through Guadelupe State Park in Texas instead of trying to cross the mountains at the little traveled passes. The Rockies end just north of El Paso and we don’t have to do any mountain riding on slick roads if we go this way!
We leave Carlsbad with full tummies and warm feet. The temperature is getting better and a warm southern wind is picking up. We are not complaining. We meet an on-coming Gold Wing pulling a trailer and he cautions us to watch for the wind on the hill. It’s the first bike we’ve seen for three days now other than our own. Where is everybody?
Now we’re back in Texas, riding in Guadelupe State Park near the area known as McKittrick Canyon where the wind blows strong and gusty! I relax and start telling Judy we’ll be fine from here on and aren’t you glad we brought the bikes now and....
Suddenly, Judy’s bike swerves across the wide four lane road as she fights for control! I’m having troubles of my own as this cross wind must be 80 miles per hour! We are nearly off the road! So this is what the Gold Wing rider meant by “the wind on the hill”. Too late we see the wind socks standing straight out from the poles. Greyhound buses and semi’s have been blown over here. I remember reading about that now that we’re in it past the point of no return!
The “hill” is just before you reach El Capitan; a famous landmark used by stagecoach drivers in the early days. We finally regain control and agree that if we have to detour on the way home, we’ll go all the way to Fort Worth and turn left! Ain’t crossing this road again in this lifetime!
As we come down onto the salt desert, we really fly. Gotta get gas and find a place to stay before it gets dark. We enter El Paso at the peak of the 5:00 o’clock rush hour, miss our Interstate entrance and find ourselves in the barrio at near sundown, nearly out of gas and nobody here hablos ingles none too good. We are in big trouble.
Then up ahead is a brightly lit gas station where we fill up and meet a friendly senor who speaks our language. He graciously leads us back to the Interstate and all ends well. We race westward to Las Cruces where we find a nice motel with hot showers and warm beds. We collapse. It’s been a tough day.
FRIDAY, 11-1-1991 LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO TEMPERATURE 26 DEGREES COLD AND CLEAR
Can’t escape this record cold. Everywhere we stop, the cold catches up with us. Forecast for today is better as we are now on the floor of the Great Southwest American Desert. Early this morning I disassembled the headlight housing and permanently repaired the cruise control. In point of fact, it never came loose again over the next 5 years!
Bundled up against the cold, we hurry west at great speed. We’ve lost three days. We don’t have time to go to the Grand Canyon, and if we’re going to Old Mexico, we’d better do it today! Our problem has been a weather system that drives us south and there are no more southern routes to take, so we are going to Nogales. The weather is warming up nicely now, but the heavy leather jacket still feels good.
At Lordsburg, Arizona we leave the Interstate and head south again down toward Nogales. Lots of cactus and low altitude mountains off in the distance. It is good to be warm. We get in to Nogales around mid-afternoon. Judy flags down a policeman and he directs us to safe parking on the American side. Right next door is... Mickey D’s! The parking lot is called Ed’s. We walk over to Old Mexico and enjoy bargaining with the natives. They are better at this than we are as you shall soon see. We drink real Coca-Cola, strong stuff, the original recipe. Remember how it used to come roarin’ back through your nose when you were a kid? Well, it still does, but it does go well with hot Mexican food!
We bought some Baja Jackets for about six bucks apiece. In the USA, they are called Senor Lopez shirts and sell for $21.95! Little ironwood figures are $3.00 each or three for $10.00. Naturally, I go for the group discount.
Also, I bought a genuine Clint Eastwood Poncho like he wore in “Hang ‘em High”! A big blanket with a hole in the center. Again I searched for the El Toro Negro that I should have bought in San Miguel some years ago. Ah, well. It does keep me coming back to Mexico. All too soon, we gotta go. We’re three days and twelve hours late in meeting our friends up in Apache Junction. And do we have stories to tell??!!
Out on I-17 North to Phoenix. 97 miles to go. Oops, that kilometers, not miles. Sure makes a difference in the speed in which the signs change. Stop in Tucson for gas and call Scott to wish him a happy birthday on Tuesday. We reach Paul and Jeannie in Apache Junction and tell them we’re still coming.
This is pretty good riding for an Interstate Highway. The weather’s warm, traffic’s light and the mountains are showcasing a long, spectacular and beautiful sunset off to our left. About now it strikes me that I screwed up big time buying three ironwood figures for $10. I could have bought them individually for $3 each! Judy laughs gleefully! She really is a sadistic, kinky, little...!
We arrive a little before 10:00 p.m. that night in Apache Junction and we’re starved for some decent meals. Enough, already with the quarter pounders. Though it’s late, I want a big steak, with eggs, and gallons of hot coffee. Gotta wash the taste of McDonald’s out of my mouth.
The late supper done with, we head to the cashier to settle up. Hands still numb from the cold, I collect my change and reach for a toothpick, knocking over the dispenser. I watch in horror as the entire display comes crashing down. Toothpicks scattered all over the place. I take one, just one, and mumble, “I’m sorry” and become a blacksmith; making a bolt for the door!
We catch a little of the race news and go to bed, sleeping hard. Been a tough week and we just got here! Tomorrow, we’ll move to a motel that’s closer to the track and go see the sights of Sedona up in Oak Creek Canyon. Then, on Sunday, it’s race day!
SATURDAY 11-2-1991 APACHE JUNCTION TEMPERATURE 68 DEGREES CLEAR SKIES
Today we moved to a new motel, closer to the track and decide not to go to the Busch Race, but to tour the area a little. We head for Sedona, a pretty little tourist trap where lots of genuine Indian artifacts are available. But, not cheap! Nope, these are first class treasures at maximum prices. Paul found a neat coffee cup, Judy bought a gold edged plate, but Jeanne and I found nothing worth buyin’ here today.
We stopped at a Texaco station in Flagstaff to gas up the car and I found a special pottery vase made by Betty Selby for about half of what they wanted in Oak Creek Canyon! Best of all, I put it on the Texaco credit card!
Oh, we did eat some fake Texas bar-b-que, but it was middlin’ and there weren’t very many beans with the order. And the range coffee was anemic. Headed back to the new motel and a good night’s rest. Tomorrow is Race Day and it will be long and hot. Can’t wait!
SUNDAY 11-3-1991 PHOENIX INTERNATIONAL RACEWAY TEMPERATURE 81 DEGREES CLEAR SKIES
Up real early. Out to the track in the rental car. Lots of traffic, but the Arizona Highway Patrol does a good job of getting a lot of cars into one small place with great skill. We park in a nondescript area, take a landmark of the cactuses (cacti?) and head for the souvenir stands. We buy caps, t-shirts, and shiny things while Judy gets in a fight with the Maalox Man.
The Maalox people had a booth where they gave away samples of their fine product and periodically, like every hour or so, the Maalox Man gave away five T- shirts. They were quite handsome. Bright, red letters, torn in half and spelling out “I’m having a Maalox moment!”, Judy was quite taken with this T-shirt and just had to have one. Alas, the Maalox Man quit giving them away just as it was her turn to get one. “Sorry,” he said. “Come back in an hour and try again.” Oops, he shouldn’t have said that. Judy went ballistic! Grabbin’ him by the shirt front, she screamed, “Listen to me, pilgrim! My husband has nearly killed me on icy roads, I was snowed in for two days with nothing to do but watch Jenny Jones, the wind nearly blew me off a mountain, and we got lost in the barrio of El Paso! I rode a motorcycle 1800 miles to get here and I still have to ride it to get back home. Now, give me that shirt!”
Without a word he handed one over. Still wide eyed, he croaked, “Lady, I’m not supposed to do this, but you scare me worse than my boss! Here! If anybody asks, you’re my best customer!”
Judy smiled sweetly and quietly said, “Thank you.” She really has a nice smile, especially when she wins!
After that, the race was anti-climatic, with Davey Allison winning easily. A couple got married on the track, and paratroopers landed on the infield. We sat in the stands while the crowd filed out, in no hurry to leave as this was a warm 80 degree day. Tomorrow, we head for Kansas and we may run into more cold weather. For now just let us enjoy this day. We left later, ready for a good meal and a good night’s rest.
MONDAY 11-4-1991 PHOENIX, ARIZONA TEMPERATURE 63 SUNNY AND CLEAR
Loaded and ready to go by 6:00 am. Paul and Jeannie took back the rental car. Judy and I headed north and east up through the mountains in perfect weather. An hour of easy runnin’ brought us to the little mountain pueblo of Payson and yet another Egg McMuffin. Climbing higher now, it’s clear, sunny and the wind is slowly freshening. Soon, we notice a decided chill in the air. Yep! It’s gettin’ colder. This is where we came in. We pull into a roadside park and put on the cold weather gear. Another hour and a half and we pulled out on I-40 and dropped the hammer. We have to make good time today since the road is open. The cold is nothing as to what it was on the way down, so we’re makin’ good time.
In mid-afternoon we see signs that announce Gallup is a few miles ahead. We can gas up there and eat before headin’ on. But, there’s something about Gallup that I should remember, but just can’t. A message tryin’ to get through. Maybe it’ll come to me later.
We gassed up at an Interstate gas station that sold pottery and here Judy bought a real neat little jug with gold trim. Funny how our best items on this trip have come from gas stations. We pull into a Gallup restaurant and park. Immediately we’re attacked by drunk people! Now I remember about Gallup, New Mexico! Gallup has the highest motor vehicle mortality rate in the nation, due to drunk driving on the road in and out of the reservation!
Well, we gotta eat, so we fight our way through the growing crowd and enter the warm, fragrant cafe. Several of the more opportunistic inebriates crawl in behind us, tryin’ to get warm and this triggers an alarming response from the manager.
Swinging into action, he thumps the vagrants about the head and shoulders with a heavy cardboard tube, makin’ short work of clearing them out of his place. Then turning to us as if nothing unusual happened, he smiled and said, “Two? Smoking or non-smoking?” Cool dude.
Back on the road, we continue making good time till we reach Albuquerque and stop for gas before checking into the local Motel 6. Hey, look who’s here. It’s Paul and Jeannie in their nice warm car. They have to be home tomorrow and so they gotta go. Our trip will take two more days.
TUESDAY 11-5-1991 ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO TEMPERATURE 30 DEGREES OVERCAST AND COLD
Today’s is Scott’s birthday. Other than that, this is a real dull day. Hard travelin’, not much conversation from Judy as the weather is still real cold and will not get any warmer. She is not pleased with this trip.
At Tucumcari, we head north again, into the wind. We see lots of old snow and slush near the road from the big storm that chased us south last week. Stopping at an ATM machine for “supplies” we continue on to Liberal arriving around mid-afternoon. We decide to stop early as we’re only six hours from home and we’d like to stay at this nice Budget Motel again. Can you say...big mistake? The lady at the Motel recognizes us as there are not too many bikers this time of year.
We have more Mexican food for an early supper. We retire to the room for a weather check. In disbelief we see yet another major winter storm that will be approaching Topeka from the west and should arrive in the early afternoon. Damnation, we really seem to pay the price for these early stops. This means a very early start and a hard ride tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY 11-6-1991 LIBERAL, KANSAS TEMPERATURE 20 DEGREES CLOUDY AND FOGGY
Up at 5:00 am. Walk across the street for a quick bowl of oatmeal. No coffee. No time for pee stops later down the road. We ease out of the parking lot that is covered with a thick frost. It’s still dark. Every time we exhale, our face shields fog up and we quit seein’. Gonna be a long day.
We head east on 54 hoping to get a little more light after the sun comes up. It’s not even 6:00 am yet and we’re in a race with this storm. After 10 miles we encounter a new obstacle...fog! This slows us down. Can’t see 20 feet in front of us most of the time. After an hour or so, the fog lifts and we’re able to pick it up. Headin’ east, the north wind is really beatin’ us up. We’re cold and cranky. This is not fun.
At Pratt, we stop at McDonald’s. We hear an old lady gripin’ about her motor home bein’ so cold she had to put on a sweater! I thought Judy was goin’ to repeat her Maalox Man act. We decide to head into the north wind, up to Newton; we really need a break from this vicious cross wind. And it is indeed more comfortable with a head wind.
As we near Newton, Kansas, Judy dials in a strong FM radio station so we can track this storm. After gas and snacks in Newton, we’re back at it again, headed for the Kansas Turnpike at Emporia.
As we enter the turnpike, we hear on the radio that the storm is just west of Manhattan. We gotta stop one more time for bathroom business, snacks, and then it’s hammer down time. We pull into the first rest stop and do all this for the last time. Pulling back on the turnpike, we hear that the storm is now east of Manhattan, about 45 miles from Topeka. We’re 50 miles out. We gotta go!
We drop down to the trucker’s Channel 19 on the CB. We’re runnin’ 80-85 and worried that we may not make it. While at the rest area, I placed my hand on the pavement and it was still slightly warm. Even if it starts snowing we should have a little time before it sticks. Logical deduction would lead us to believe that we can still navigate, but not for long and not very far. It’s really very important to keep moving.
The sky is white now. A trucker tells us when he came through Wamego, it had just started snowing there and that was forty five minutes ago. On we go at greater and greater speed. If we get stuck out here, we’ll have to stay with the bikes till someone finds us. Don’t even want to think about that.
Eight miles to go to the turnpike exit. Huge snowflakes are falling and snow is blowing across the road. We slow momentarily, till we realize this is it; the make it or break it choice point. Hammer down, Judy! This is a dry snow and the road’s still warm so we got a good chance. There’s the exit up ahead. What a pretty sight! We live only two miles from the turnpike so we are lookin’ good. I pay for both bikes and leave the change. Can’t take the time to remove the gloves for measly quarters.
Here the snow is building up and we can feel how slick the road is. The bikes don’t want to turn and we dare not lean them over. Closer to home now, we turn east on 45th and go toward Adams street. As we approach our intersection, we hear someone on the CB directing a double wide mobile home to get ready to turn right on Adams. Hey, we can’t have this! In desperation I yell on the CB, “Comin’ through!”
Fortunately, they heard us and backed off as we slid around the corner in front of them. We heard them talking about nuts riding in a blizzard. Oh, what the hell? We bought our first bikes in a blizzard, remember?
Down the hill to the bridge, a dicey turn to the left and a greasy ride up the hill where we turn right for one block. Just one more block! Don’t quit now. At last we creep into the driveway. We nearly collapse with relief, but it ain’t over yet. Don’t let’s drop a bike now. We raise the garage door, gently move the bikes inside and cut the engines. Man, it’s quiet all of a sudden. We made it! Outside, it’s snowing harder.
We had absolutely no window of time left. Judy never did say she was glad we took the bikes. We just barely got home after covering nearly 4,000 miles, most of them were detours to avoid storms, we used a floorboard for a picnic table, watched Jenny Jones ad nauseum, nearly got blown off a mountain, almost ran out of gas, got lost in the barrio of El Paso, got bargains in Mexico, robbed a Maalox Man, saw a great NASCAR race and still managed to get home safely in spite of great odds! Ain’t motorcyclin’ grand!!??
After hot showers, we went out for a good supper. In the car. With a heater. And a roof. Windows that close. And...
Hey, Judy! Wanna take a ride next weekend?
Friday, January 22, 2010
16. Got Any Toilet Paper, Ma'am?
Two of us were on a trip that took us through the Panhandle of Texas. We camped overnight for free in the city park of Quitaque; a quaint little town on the High Plains of Texas about 40 miles south of Palo Duro Canyon. Hey! The price can’t be beat!
Quitaque, Texas, (pronounced kitty kway) got it’s unusual name back in 1852 when a dude got off the stage from the east to stretch his legs and asked an old Indian what he called all this, sweeping his arm around to encompass the town, the street, the corrals, and the Wells Fargo stage stop. Indian thought he had pointed at the empty corral with all the mounds of horse manure and replied, “Quitaque”, which is Comanche for ‘horseshit’!
In the morning we headed over to the local cafe for breakfast. My companion du jour was none other than Sterdan Frickley of the famous sunflower seed story. As we entered the cafe we were greeted by a large number of religious artifacts -- crosses, pictures, quotations and even a plaque stating "Repent now! Hell is hot!" We also got our first glimpse of the waitress who was none other than Granny, obviously a rigid church lady type, complete with Mother Hubbard dress, no make up, and grey hair rolled in a tight bun. Granny was also the proprietress of The Lord‘s Cafe. Did I mention she was not a fox? I should have.
We looked over the menu and when Granny came to take our orders, I asked for steak and eggs with black coffee. Frickley ordered the steak and eggs combo as well, but when Granny asked what he wanted to drink he said, "Whiskey!". The silence was deafening as she fixed him with a cold stare. He withered and mumbled, "Just bring me some coffee without cream." Her reply was sharp and waspish. “We don’t have any cream. You’ll have to take it without milk!” I knew right then that evil in some form was about to be visited upon his small round head.
After a few minutes, nature called and Frickley headed for the bathroom. Seconds later, he came back with a distressed look on his face. Going over to Granny, he asked, “Got any toilet paper, Ma'am?" She nodded absently and wiped her hands on her apron. Frickley came slinking back to the booth. He fidgeted around a while, giving her a couple of minutes to place a fresh roll of toilet paper in the bathroom, and tried again. Frickley returned to the table in a state of near apoplexy.
Soon, he tried yet again. As he returned from the bathroom a third time, he was clearly uncomfortable. He again approached Granny praying for some toilet paper. He needed to spend some quality time on a thunder mug. And quick!
Again, she promised to get it right away, but...she got busy...and forgot! Did she really forget?...or was my prediction about evil about to come to fruition?
All the while the cafe was filling up with local patrons. Frickley left the table rapidly heading for the water closet one more time. Again, he was...bitterly disappointed. Five more minutes of agony go by. Now the place is filled to capacity and Frickley is getting desperate. He’s considering napkins! Suddenly, Granny’s shrill voice is heard above the room noise as she shrieks, “Young man! Young man!” He froze. When Frickley turned around to look at her, all eyes were riveted on his simple but handsome young countenance. Every person in the cafe was staring at him and it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
Granny fixed him with a serious glare and loudly exclaimed for all to hear, “You can go to the bathroom now. I just put some toilet paper in there for you!
Paybacks are hell.
Quitaque, Texas, (pronounced kitty kway) got it’s unusual name back in 1852 when a dude got off the stage from the east to stretch his legs and asked an old Indian what he called all this, sweeping his arm around to encompass the town, the street, the corrals, and the Wells Fargo stage stop. Indian thought he had pointed at the empty corral with all the mounds of horse manure and replied, “Quitaque”, which is Comanche for ‘horseshit’!
In the morning we headed over to the local cafe for breakfast. My companion du jour was none other than Sterdan Frickley of the famous sunflower seed story. As we entered the cafe we were greeted by a large number of religious artifacts -- crosses, pictures, quotations and even a plaque stating "Repent now! Hell is hot!" We also got our first glimpse of the waitress who was none other than Granny, obviously a rigid church lady type, complete with Mother Hubbard dress, no make up, and grey hair rolled in a tight bun. Granny was also the proprietress of The Lord‘s Cafe. Did I mention she was not a fox? I should have.
We looked over the menu and when Granny came to take our orders, I asked for steak and eggs with black coffee. Frickley ordered the steak and eggs combo as well, but when Granny asked what he wanted to drink he said, "Whiskey!". The silence was deafening as she fixed him with a cold stare. He withered and mumbled, "Just bring me some coffee without cream." Her reply was sharp and waspish. “We don’t have any cream. You’ll have to take it without milk!” I knew right then that evil in some form was about to be visited upon his small round head.
After a few minutes, nature called and Frickley headed for the bathroom. Seconds later, he came back with a distressed look on his face. Going over to Granny, he asked, “Got any toilet paper, Ma'am?" She nodded absently and wiped her hands on her apron. Frickley came slinking back to the booth. He fidgeted around a while, giving her a couple of minutes to place a fresh roll of toilet paper in the bathroom, and tried again. Frickley returned to the table in a state of near apoplexy.
Soon, he tried yet again. As he returned from the bathroom a third time, he was clearly uncomfortable. He again approached Granny praying for some toilet paper. He needed to spend some quality time on a thunder mug. And quick!
Again, she promised to get it right away, but...she got busy...and forgot! Did she really forget?...or was my prediction about evil about to come to fruition?
All the while the cafe was filling up with local patrons. Frickley left the table rapidly heading for the water closet one more time. Again, he was...bitterly disappointed. Five more minutes of agony go by. Now the place is filled to capacity and Frickley is getting desperate. He’s considering napkins! Suddenly, Granny’s shrill voice is heard above the room noise as she shrieks, “Young man! Young man!” He froze. When Frickley turned around to look at her, all eyes were riveted on his simple but handsome young countenance. Every person in the cafe was staring at him and it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
Granny fixed him with a serious glare and loudly exclaimed for all to hear, “You can go to the bathroom now. I just put some toilet paper in there for you!
Paybacks are hell.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
15. The Forty Year Old Hardee's Girl
Early one spring, four of us were headed for Waynoka, Oklahoma for the Annual Rattlesnake Hunt. This is the traditional first ride of the season for the men of the Topeka Touring Society. On this trip we enjoyed great weather along with a 400 percent increase in participation.
For years this ride had been a solo journey for me. Then for a couple of years our young son Scott, who was not quite 21 then, rode along and became hooked as well. So when four people attend where only one used to go...it’s a 400 percent increase!
We met at the South Turnpike entrance in Topeka, Kansas, and left promptly at 6 am in order to reach Waynoka in time for the ham n' bean dinner with fantastic cornbread. One of our gang says he can make better cornbread...but I'll wait and see! Usually we'll run about 115 miles and then stop for a quick breakfast at Hardee’s on the Turnpike and gas up for the rest of the trip.
We'd made really good time this morning. We placed our order and the waitress said it would be a few minutes before the biscuits were done. She was young and cute so we didn't mind the wait. Besides, we had coffee and good traveling companions. What more do you need?
Bill Griff, one of the traveling companions, noticed our little waitress flitting around the dining room delivering late orders. He also noticed that not only was she a cute little thing, but that she was blessed with an ample bosom. And one of the finer points of this blessing included the fact that the ample bosom was unrestrained!
She brought our order with a big smile, gently bouncing and swaying as she came our way; like little animals in a sack. All of us were very quiet. Hey, when you're in the presence of greatness, be respectful and appreciative. As little Nefretiti walked away, I said to Terry Wide, "I'll bet she's at least 40!" Terry nodded sagely.
And then Scott, my own son, over whose youthful head the true meaning of the previous conversation had lightly passed, said, "Aw, come on, Dad! She can't be a day over 21!"
For years this ride had been a solo journey for me. Then for a couple of years our young son Scott, who was not quite 21 then, rode along and became hooked as well. So when four people attend where only one used to go...it’s a 400 percent increase!
We met at the South Turnpike entrance in Topeka, Kansas, and left promptly at 6 am in order to reach Waynoka in time for the ham n' bean dinner with fantastic cornbread. One of our gang says he can make better cornbread...but I'll wait and see! Usually we'll run about 115 miles and then stop for a quick breakfast at Hardee’s on the Turnpike and gas up for the rest of the trip.
We'd made really good time this morning. We placed our order and the waitress said it would be a few minutes before the biscuits were done. She was young and cute so we didn't mind the wait. Besides, we had coffee and good traveling companions. What more do you need?
Bill Griff, one of the traveling companions, noticed our little waitress flitting around the dining room delivering late orders. He also noticed that not only was she a cute little thing, but that she was blessed with an ample bosom. And one of the finer points of this blessing included the fact that the ample bosom was unrestrained!
She brought our order with a big smile, gently bouncing and swaying as she came our way; like little animals in a sack. All of us were very quiet. Hey, when you're in the presence of greatness, be respectful and appreciative. As little Nefretiti walked away, I said to Terry Wide, "I'll bet she's at least 40!" Terry nodded sagely.
And then Scott, my own son, over whose youthful head the true meaning of the previous conversation had lightly passed, said, "Aw, come on, Dad! She can't be a day over 21!"
14. The Best Salesman In Texas
Living in Houston sure requires a change in your thinking process. The humidity is thick, it frequently rains every afternoon, and grocery stores have paper sacks with maritime maps and charts so you can track the numerous hurricanes that start up out in the Gulf of Mexico.
We'd been in Houston about three months having moved from the dry heat and dust of West Texas to the oppressive heat and humidity of the Texas Gulf Coast. I was still fighting with the old Kawasaki KZ1300 as I had since the day I bought it. This irritating bike had a nasty habit of "vapor lockin’". When 100 miles rolled around on each tank of gas, the engine just up and died. No amount of crankin', chokin', beatin', cussin', or threatenin' would make it start till it was good and ready. The social workers at the Hospital told me it probably had low self esteem!
After a particularly busy week and an especially bad Friday, I headed home on this beast in heavy 5 o'clock traffic. I'd gone about four miles up the Eastex Freeway when the engine just died. As I coasted to a stop, it began to rain; not just a little rain, but a real hurricane-induced downpour. For 45 minutes I sat by the side of the road getting soaked from the rain as well as the overspray from the traffic. I cussed that bike and vowed to get rid of it this very weekend!
Finally, it started. When I reached home I pulled into the garage, put it up on the center stand and went in for a late supper. After supper (in Texas there are three main meals - breakfast, dinner and supper) I went to the garage, took off every accessory I wanted to keep and prepared this bike for an emergency divorce! Hell with it’s low self esteem!
Bright and early next morning, Judy followed me to Kay’s Humble Yamaha where I spoke with Ron Ripper; yet another honest bike dealer. "I wanna trade this in on that blue Venture over there, Ron.”, I said . “Let’s talk turkey!”
Ron sighed heavily and said, "Bill, there's a slow market for used bikes just now. How about you leave it with me, I'll display it for you and when it sells, I'll apply the money to your new Venture. I can sell it easy. You know I'm the best salesman in Texas." What he was really saying was that he didn't want my "turkey"!
I was so burned out on the Kawasaki that I didn't want to ride it anymore anyway. Besides, I reasoned, would it not sell faster in a high volume store with the "best salesman in Texas" to push it?
After a couple of weeks went by, I started gettin' a little itchy to ride. Surely something could be worked out to speed up this impending trade. We stopped at Kay’s to see what we could do. Still no deal. As we left, Judy pointed out that there were 27 other Yamaha dealers in the Greater Houston area. Why not try some of them? Good idea!
Westbury Yamaha was about 20 miles from Kay’s, so we headed over there in the car that beautiful Saturday morning. There I talked with the owner, Honest Homzie Horowitz, about a blue Venture. The price was about the same. Time to spring the big question on him.
Holding my breath, I asked, "How much trade-in will you allow for a 1979 Kawasaki KZ 1300? Just a ball park figure. Use the lowest figure till you see it." "Well," Homzie said. "Without seeing it and if it's as clean as you say, I could probably allow at least $1800 trade-in." SHAZAM!!!!!
I was ready to give it away by this time. $1800 was pure gravy! "I'll be back this afternoon!" I screamed. "Just hold that thought."
"Wait a minute," Homzie said. "Here's a cap and T-shirt for the boy... and ma'am," he said to Judy, "You can have that Yamaha jacket for only $20.00. Hurry back now. I'll start the paperwork and get the bike serviced for you."
Heart pounding and breathing fast we flew back to Kay’s to get the old Kawasaki. Ron was very busy with a large bunch of customers when we arrived. Excitedly, I told him I needed to get the bike out. Since the old Kaw was in the middle of a bunch of used bikes and difficult to reach, he said, "Bill, we're really busy with customers right now. If you want to ride, why not take one of my demonstrators?"
"Ron, my pard. You don't understand. I'm bound for Westbury Yamaha to trade in this *&%#@*& on a new blue Venture", I said with a grin. "I'm in a real big hurry."
"Matilda!" Ron yelled. Matilda was his wife, business partner and a most handsome woman. "Come take care of these other customers while I talk to Bill and Judy." Looking at us he said, "You two! Come with me."
Once in his office he looked at us and said bitterly, "Damnation, y'all learned to play this game real fast. What's his offer?"
Thirty minutes later we rode away on the blue 1984 Venture that would become known as "The Sidewinder" (also my old CB handle) and would carry me nearly 100,000 miles before giving way to a 1995 Gold Wing GL1500 SE. in 1996.
Some weeks later we were back in Kay’s talking about service intervals when I commented to Wesley Whittlestone, the service manager, that I really felt bad about not getting back to old Homzie over at Westbury. I told Wesley, “ I really intended to trade with Westbury. Hated to do him that way, but Ron moved faster with better numbers after a little external stimulation."
"Things tend to even out, Bill," Whittlestone said. "Ron got nailed again this morning at the sales meeting. He was berating the sales staff for not selling as many units as he did." He told the staff, "It’s pretty damn bad when the owner of the store sells the most bikes and is the best salesman in Texas!"
"But, Ron, you're certainly not the best salesman in Texas anymore!” responded one of the sales reps with a wicked glint in his eye.
"I'd like to know who you think is better!!!" Ron sputtered.
"Why, it’s Ole Pecos Bill, hisself! He sold you that beat up old Kawasaki!”
We'd been in Houston about three months having moved from the dry heat and dust of West Texas to the oppressive heat and humidity of the Texas Gulf Coast. I was still fighting with the old Kawasaki KZ1300 as I had since the day I bought it. This irritating bike had a nasty habit of "vapor lockin’". When 100 miles rolled around on each tank of gas, the engine just up and died. No amount of crankin', chokin', beatin', cussin', or threatenin' would make it start till it was good and ready. The social workers at the Hospital told me it probably had low self esteem!
After a particularly busy week and an especially bad Friday, I headed home on this beast in heavy 5 o'clock traffic. I'd gone about four miles up the Eastex Freeway when the engine just died. As I coasted to a stop, it began to rain; not just a little rain, but a real hurricane-induced downpour. For 45 minutes I sat by the side of the road getting soaked from the rain as well as the overspray from the traffic. I cussed that bike and vowed to get rid of it this very weekend!
Finally, it started. When I reached home I pulled into the garage, put it up on the center stand and went in for a late supper. After supper (in Texas there are three main meals - breakfast, dinner and supper) I went to the garage, took off every accessory I wanted to keep and prepared this bike for an emergency divorce! Hell with it’s low self esteem!
Bright and early next morning, Judy followed me to Kay’s Humble Yamaha where I spoke with Ron Ripper; yet another honest bike dealer. "I wanna trade this in on that blue Venture over there, Ron.”, I said . “Let’s talk turkey!”
Ron sighed heavily and said, "Bill, there's a slow market for used bikes just now. How about you leave it with me, I'll display it for you and when it sells, I'll apply the money to your new Venture. I can sell it easy. You know I'm the best salesman in Texas." What he was really saying was that he didn't want my "turkey"!
I was so burned out on the Kawasaki that I didn't want to ride it anymore anyway. Besides, I reasoned, would it not sell faster in a high volume store with the "best salesman in Texas" to push it?
After a couple of weeks went by, I started gettin' a little itchy to ride. Surely something could be worked out to speed up this impending trade. We stopped at Kay’s to see what we could do. Still no deal. As we left, Judy pointed out that there were 27 other Yamaha dealers in the Greater Houston area. Why not try some of them? Good idea!
Westbury Yamaha was about 20 miles from Kay’s, so we headed over there in the car that beautiful Saturday morning. There I talked with the owner, Honest Homzie Horowitz, about a blue Venture. The price was about the same. Time to spring the big question on him.
Holding my breath, I asked, "How much trade-in will you allow for a 1979 Kawasaki KZ 1300? Just a ball park figure. Use the lowest figure till you see it." "Well," Homzie said. "Without seeing it and if it's as clean as you say, I could probably allow at least $1800 trade-in." SHAZAM!!!!!
I was ready to give it away by this time. $1800 was pure gravy! "I'll be back this afternoon!" I screamed. "Just hold that thought."
"Wait a minute," Homzie said. "Here's a cap and T-shirt for the boy... and ma'am," he said to Judy, "You can have that Yamaha jacket for only $20.00. Hurry back now. I'll start the paperwork and get the bike serviced for you."
Heart pounding and breathing fast we flew back to Kay’s to get the old Kawasaki. Ron was very busy with a large bunch of customers when we arrived. Excitedly, I told him I needed to get the bike out. Since the old Kaw was in the middle of a bunch of used bikes and difficult to reach, he said, "Bill, we're really busy with customers right now. If you want to ride, why not take one of my demonstrators?"
"Ron, my pard. You don't understand. I'm bound for Westbury Yamaha to trade in this *&%#@*& on a new blue Venture", I said with a grin. "I'm in a real big hurry."
"Matilda!" Ron yelled. Matilda was his wife, business partner and a most handsome woman. "Come take care of these other customers while I talk to Bill and Judy." Looking at us he said, "You two! Come with me."
Once in his office he looked at us and said bitterly, "Damnation, y'all learned to play this game real fast. What's his offer?"
Thirty minutes later we rode away on the blue 1984 Venture that would become known as "The Sidewinder" (also my old CB handle) and would carry me nearly 100,000 miles before giving way to a 1995 Gold Wing GL1500 SE. in 1996.
Some weeks later we were back in Kay’s talking about service intervals when I commented to Wesley Whittlestone, the service manager, that I really felt bad about not getting back to old Homzie over at Westbury. I told Wesley, “ I really intended to trade with Westbury. Hated to do him that way, but Ron moved faster with better numbers after a little external stimulation."
"Things tend to even out, Bill," Whittlestone said. "Ron got nailed again this morning at the sales meeting. He was berating the sales staff for not selling as many units as he did." He told the staff, "It’s pretty damn bad when the owner of the store sells the most bikes and is the best salesman in Texas!"
"But, Ron, you're certainly not the best salesman in Texas anymore!” responded one of the sales reps with a wicked glint in his eye.
"I'd like to know who you think is better!!!" Ron sputtered.
"Why, it’s Ole Pecos Bill, hisself! He sold you that beat up old Kawasaki!”
Sunday, January 17, 2010
13. The Wistful Young Mom
Summer of 1986 found Judy, Scott and me returning home from one of the very best vacations we'd ever had. We'd just spent two weeks making a big swing through Colorado during which time we had crossed every major pass and quite a few of the lesser known ones. This was one trip where everything had gone perfectly. We'd stopped at a small motel in Colby, Kansas for the night. Next morning we packed up and rode to the local McDonalds by the Interstate for breakfast. It was real early. We were one of the first to be served and this just fell in the magic of the trip.
After breakfast we went to the parking lot where I was checking out the bikes when I heard a sweet voice say, "That looks like so much fun. I've always wanted to travel like that." I turned and saw an attractive young woman in a brand new Audi station wagon. I smiled. Attractive young women always make me smile.
I said, “It really is a lot fun. We've traveled all over the USA, Mexico and Canada. We don’t even think of goin’ on vacation without our bikes.”
She went on to tell us that they were headed home early having had a miserable trip. Her three little kids had gotten sick and thrown up in the back seat of the brand new car. Then they got caught in a hail storm that dented the brand new car. After that her husband got a speeding ticket in the brand new car. They argued every day; he was still mad about the hail damage and the kids were irritable. She would just be glad to get this trip behind her. She couldn't wait to get away from her husband and the kids for a while.
We sympathized, wished her well and pulled out on to I-70 East for the last leg of our journey. Not long after, I looked in the mirror and saw the Audi coming up fast; distinctive hail dents shining in the sun. As the car whipped around me I saw the young woman look at the bike with a wistful expression of longing in her eyes. I radioed ahead for Judy and Scott to be sure to smile and wave when she went by.
It was one of those poignant moments when you have a sense of a significant opportunity lost. I wish we had offered her a ride around town or been able to invite her on a supper ride, or at least told her some funny stories to cheer her up! Ah, well, maybe next time...
After breakfast we went to the parking lot where I was checking out the bikes when I heard a sweet voice say, "That looks like so much fun. I've always wanted to travel like that." I turned and saw an attractive young woman in a brand new Audi station wagon. I smiled. Attractive young women always make me smile.
I said, “It really is a lot fun. We've traveled all over the USA, Mexico and Canada. We don’t even think of goin’ on vacation without our bikes.”
She went on to tell us that they were headed home early having had a miserable trip. Her three little kids had gotten sick and thrown up in the back seat of the brand new car. Then they got caught in a hail storm that dented the brand new car. After that her husband got a speeding ticket in the brand new car. They argued every day; he was still mad about the hail damage and the kids were irritable. She would just be glad to get this trip behind her. She couldn't wait to get away from her husband and the kids for a while.
We sympathized, wished her well and pulled out on to I-70 East for the last leg of our journey. Not long after, I looked in the mirror and saw the Audi coming up fast; distinctive hail dents shining in the sun. As the car whipped around me I saw the young woman look at the bike with a wistful expression of longing in her eyes. I radioed ahead for Judy and Scott to be sure to smile and wave when she went by.
It was one of those poignant moments when you have a sense of a significant opportunity lost. I wish we had offered her a ride around town or been able to invite her on a supper ride, or at least told her some funny stories to cheer her up! Ah, well, maybe next time...
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