Labor Day weekend again, 1993 this time, and a much larger group headed for the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, Texas. This time out no one was up to the challenge of the big meal, but the trip down and the good food is well worth the time and effort.
There were nearly thirty of us on this trip. We had split up in groups of four and five bikes so we wouldn’t be a traffic hazard for faster cars as well as for ourselves. Because of this defensive move, we all got to the motel at different times. Again we stayed at the adjoining motel where Judy had requested all ground floor rooms and had procured group discount rates for us all.
One couple arrived quite a bit later than the rest of us and, even with the late arrival, their room wasn’t ready! Not good. It ain’t wise to irritate a road weary couple with needless delay; especially when they’ve been on the road all day. Better have a damn good reason why this room ain’t ready.
June, the female component of this couple, lodged a modest but firm complaint. The young lady behind the counter explained that the maids were working feverishly and the room should be ready post haste.
June went outside and relayed this news to her husband, Ken. Ken is real quiet, but the kind of quiet you don’t want to push. And this situation was pushing all the wrong buttons! Together, they re-entered the lobby just in time to hear the clerk give a room to a couple at the same rate that was reserved for us as a group! That did it! June didn’t have time to attack; Ken did it for her. He blistered the air and stormed out highly peeved that their room was not only delayed, but was upstairs and on the other side of the motel, far away from the group!
On their way out the door, they nearly knocked me over as I was headed in for more complimentary coffee. Inside, I found the young lady crying. She told me she didn’t even work here. She was just helping her brother for the weekend. She further stated that those were the rudest people she had ever met! Knowing this to be untrue and that Ken and June were merely tired and frustrated. I spent a little time drinkin’ her free coffee and offering a little aid and comfort before leaving.
Moments later, the clerk called out to Ken and June that their room was at last ready for occupancy. Now, they thought, that’s more like it!
After a good shower they rejoined us on the parking lot and we all went in to supper. Again, the meal was excellent and the service was equal to the food. We wandered around the gift shop and eventually found chairs around the Texas-shaped swimming pool and enjoyed each other’s company under the bright clear West Texas night sky.
June said rather apologetically, “I don’t know what came over me this afternoon. I just never get mad and lose my temper like that.” She thought a minute and continued with a little giggle, “Sure got results though. I’ll have to remember that in the future.”
“June,” I said. “There’s a little more than that to the story. Do you remember that I was on the way in when you stormed out? Well, the girl was crying and upset so I comforted her a little and told her she should be a little more understandin’. I told her Ken had just been released from prison and was tryin’ to re-adjust to normal society! That’s why you got the room so fast!”
June cringes every time I tell this story, mildly protesting that it didn’t happen just that way. Still, it illustrates that there is more than one way to communicate clearly!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
24. The Big Texan Steak Ranch
Just east of Amarillo, Texas, on Interstate 40 East, out near the International Airport, you’ll find the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Originally, the Big Texan was located right on Route 66, but a fire that destroyed the business made a rebuilding project necessary. Since the new Interstate 40 was nearly complete, the thinking was, ''Why not move south just a little bit and rebuild there?" That's exactly what they did. And to make it even better, a Big Texan Motel was added; complete with boarding facilities for the horses! See why Texans are just naturally smarter than the average bear?
The specialty of the house is the big, and I do mean BIG, 72 ounce sirloin; looks mighty like a big old roast. It comes with four large Texas Gulf shrimp, a dinner salad, a baked potato, and a loaf of sourdough bread. Can you eat all this in one setting? In one hour or less? Good! Then you eat free! And your name will go on the wall and in the record book as a consumer of note! You may even achieve Honorary Texan Status!
Labor Day weekend, 1988, Rootin’ Tootin’ Newton, decided he could eat this steak and we all accompanied him to serve as witnesses. On the way down we all ate lightly, especially R.T. as he was the one who had the task to perform. We arrived early in the afternoon and after checkin’ in at the adjoining motel, some of us headed out to Palo Duro Canyon for a ride on the Sad Monkey Railroad Line.
This is a narrow gauge train that runs along the floor of the Canyon. It’s named for a particular rock formation that looks like the face of a large sad monkey. Hence...the name. We piddled around there for a while with some of us eating light on hot dogs and small ice cream cones.
Returning to the motel for a quick clean-up, we assembled on the parking lot and strolled over to the big cafe. There we were met by our special waitress, Brandi, who was a senior at Baylor University and was working her last weekend before returning to classes on Tuesday. Brandi seated us, took drink orders, and returned to help R.T. understand the rules. She then announced to the crowd that a challenger had ordered the Specialty and wished him well. Did I mention that Brandi was a hottie? I should have.
R.T. had certainly given this some thought. Not wanting to fill up prematurely, he decided the sourdough bread would be his last entree because it would take on water and swell up in his tummy! Physically, mentally, and physiologically, he was ready!
In due time, the main course arrived, Brandi made the announcement to the crowd and the timer was started. He attacked the steak quickly, taking small bites of baked potato every now and then along with portions of salad and shrimp. He was Mr. Science Guy and well on his way. To give you an idea of just how big this steak is, Judy and I ordered one, just one, and shared it with two other couples and Scott! And we had plenty left over!
Was R.T really expecting to consume all this volume by himself? Can it really be done? We shall see, Watashi, we shall see.
Forty minutes later, R.T. was slowing down considerably! He was nearing the end of the big steak, but beginning to falter. He unbuttoned his levis, raised up on one cheek, and made a funny noise with his hiney! Then he allowed himself a polite little belch, took a sip of cold water, and bravely continued on. Did I mention he had this down to a science? Oh yeah, he really did.
At the forty seven minute mark, he was nearly done, but struggling mightily. Something extra was needed. Judy came up with a challenge that she would buy him a strawberry short cake with whipped cream if he could just finish the remaining few bites! That did it! He called Brandi over to inspect the plate. She took his plate to the cook, who, naturally, found one more tiny sliver of steak that R.T. had missed! Sorry, R.T. You gotta eat this one last morsel. He did. And then...and then!!! Then he ate the strawberry short cake that Judy had promised him! Now, that’s a true Texas Champion!
And as advertised, his name was duly entered on the wall and in the record book with an official time of 48 minutes and 22 seconds. Rootin’ Tootin’ Newton...Honorary Texan! Hot damn! It don’t get no better than that!
Well done, lad!
The specialty of the house is the big, and I do mean BIG, 72 ounce sirloin; looks mighty like a big old roast. It comes with four large Texas Gulf shrimp, a dinner salad, a baked potato, and a loaf of sourdough bread. Can you eat all this in one setting? In one hour or less? Good! Then you eat free! And your name will go on the wall and in the record book as a consumer of note! You may even achieve Honorary Texan Status!
Labor Day weekend, 1988, Rootin’ Tootin’ Newton, decided he could eat this steak and we all accompanied him to serve as witnesses. On the way down we all ate lightly, especially R.T. as he was the one who had the task to perform. We arrived early in the afternoon and after checkin’ in at the adjoining motel, some of us headed out to Palo Duro Canyon for a ride on the Sad Monkey Railroad Line.
This is a narrow gauge train that runs along the floor of the Canyon. It’s named for a particular rock formation that looks like the face of a large sad monkey. Hence...the name. We piddled around there for a while with some of us eating light on hot dogs and small ice cream cones.
Returning to the motel for a quick clean-up, we assembled on the parking lot and strolled over to the big cafe. There we were met by our special waitress, Brandi, who was a senior at Baylor University and was working her last weekend before returning to classes on Tuesday. Brandi seated us, took drink orders, and returned to help R.T. understand the rules. She then announced to the crowd that a challenger had ordered the Specialty and wished him well. Did I mention that Brandi was a hottie? I should have.
R.T. had certainly given this some thought. Not wanting to fill up prematurely, he decided the sourdough bread would be his last entree because it would take on water and swell up in his tummy! Physically, mentally, and physiologically, he was ready!
In due time, the main course arrived, Brandi made the announcement to the crowd and the timer was started. He attacked the steak quickly, taking small bites of baked potato every now and then along with portions of salad and shrimp. He was Mr. Science Guy and well on his way. To give you an idea of just how big this steak is, Judy and I ordered one, just one, and shared it with two other couples and Scott! And we had plenty left over!
Was R.T really expecting to consume all this volume by himself? Can it really be done? We shall see, Watashi, we shall see.
Forty minutes later, R.T. was slowing down considerably! He was nearing the end of the big steak, but beginning to falter. He unbuttoned his levis, raised up on one cheek, and made a funny noise with his hiney! Then he allowed himself a polite little belch, took a sip of cold water, and bravely continued on. Did I mention he had this down to a science? Oh yeah, he really did.
At the forty seven minute mark, he was nearly done, but struggling mightily. Something extra was needed. Judy came up with a challenge that she would buy him a strawberry short cake with whipped cream if he could just finish the remaining few bites! That did it! He called Brandi over to inspect the plate. She took his plate to the cook, who, naturally, found one more tiny sliver of steak that R.T. had missed! Sorry, R.T. You gotta eat this one last morsel. He did. And then...and then!!! Then he ate the strawberry short cake that Judy had promised him! Now, that’s a true Texas Champion!
And as advertised, his name was duly entered on the wall and in the record book with an official time of 48 minutes and 22 seconds. Rootin’ Tootin’ Newton...Honorary Texan! Hot damn! It don’t get no better than that!
Well done, lad!
Monday, February 1, 2010
23 Supper Rides; Part Two
As mentioned before, supper rides are set up to allow for good friends to interact over great and sometimes not so great meals. We are constantly on the lookout for new and different dishes. Some of the best meals we had were accidentally stumbled upon in some of the most out of the way places. Take one of the best for example, Dollar Bill’s fine little cafe in Wapanucka, Oklahoma.
We were headed for Denison, Texas to attend an all mule rodeo using the lightly traveled back roads of south central Oklahoma. We prefer this route over the super slab as it gives us a chance to experience life at a slower pace. It had been some time since we had put on the morning feed bag and we were way overdue for a fuel stop combined with a potty break and something good to eat.
We entered the neat little town of Wapanuka shortly after the dinner hour. As we topped off our tanks, we asked about a good place to eat. We were told we had already found it! Just walk around the corner of the station and go to Dollar Bill’s cafe and buffet line. Best food in Wapanucka, the fellow said. Yeah? Well, Wapanucka is a small place, but in the final analysis, how bad could a hamburger be messed up?
Boy, were we in for a surprise!!! The first thing we saw were tender and flakey cat head biscuits with red eye gravy and generous chunks of sausage. Following immediately on the serving line were real southern fried chicken, roast beef, meat loaf, catfish, real mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, a crisp salad, and a great selection of pies and cobblers that would make an aesthetic weep with joy. It was all very, very good! We could not have planned a better place to eat.
Another time, another trip, another place. We were on our way to Portland, Maine to catch the Blue Nose Ferry over to Nova Scotia and were taking the Lighthouse Tour along the rocky New England Coastline. This was highly scenic, but very slow going. Finally, we had to abandon the scenic route and hit the main road. Dinner time was late and gettin’ later. We came through a populated area and started looking for a place to eat; anyplace, even a McDonalds would do. Did I mention we were gettin’ desperate? I should have.
About this time we got stuck in a traffic jam due to an accident up ahead. As we crawled along, Judy noticed a place just ahead with a big parking lot. She radioed back to the rest of the gang that she was going to pull in here. Surely we could find some place to eat up here in this roadside shopping center. The parking lot she pulled in to was the exclusive designated parking lot for customers of ...ready now? The Original Road Kill Cafe!!
Laughing at our great good fortunate, we dismounted and went in for a dining experience that we still remember fondly. Maybe it was because we were real hungry or maybe it was really that good. Regardless, we still remember it.
This type of experience happened so often on our travels we came to expect it. But if we tried to wing it, or force the issue, it never turned out the same way. The food was good, expensive, but very good, and the waitresses were very sassy in a most enjoyable way.
But I’m getting away from the story about strange and exotic dishes we have found. The narrative continues...
Elsewhere in our travels we have run across varous and sundry delicious items...Howlers are jalapeño peppers, hollowed out and filled with cream cheese and a small bit of steak, turkey, chicken, or pork. To fix these at home, coat the peppers with a good onion ring batter, fill the insides, deep fry till they float, and eat hot!
For another tasty treat, take these same jalapeño peppers, fill ’em with cream cheese, put a Lil’ Smoky sausage in the center, wrap the whole mess in a strip of bacon, top it all off with a small chunk of pineapple and grill it outside for 30 to 40 minutes over low heat.
Caution! If you must go to the bathroom after handling these peppers, wash your hands very well before going. Failure to do so will cause serious heat to collect in your delicate nether regions and you will spend several long, unpleasant minutes tearing up the sod in your neighbor’s yards.
Continuing on with the recipes, may I now highly recommend pasties? These were discovered on yet another trip to Michigan. Every restaurant sports a sign advertising "pasties" so, of course, we had to try 'em. What are pasties, you ask? Pasties are nice little meat pies filled with onions, rutabagas, turnips, celery, chicken, beef, turkey, pork or whatever else you may like. Baked like pies, they stay hot a long time and are mighty tasty! These were brought here by the Finnish immigrants in the late 1800‘s. The Michigan miner's wives baked these dishes in the wee early morning hours, They were packed in the miner's lunch buckets and they stayed warm clear up until lunch time. A hearty meal...you won't need dessert after eatin' one of these things.
A final taste treat was discovered by Carol Sue one night at a dinner buffet at Michelle’s cafe in Osage City, Kansas. She observed the chocolate pudding had a rather tart taste. She was puzzled by the strange taste for a while but a second trip through the line revealed the cause. Right behind the pudding, was the source of the unusual taste; whole dill pickles soaking in brine! When a diner speared a pickle and transported it across the serving line to his plate, the brine dripped off the pickle and landed right in the middle of the chocolate pudding! Strange taste? Not to me, I. thought the taste was...interesting.
As you can see, motorcycle riders never go hungry if they can help it; but, WARNING! Serious gastric disturbances may result! And speaking of serious gastric disturbances...
We were headed for Denison, Texas to attend an all mule rodeo using the lightly traveled back roads of south central Oklahoma. We prefer this route over the super slab as it gives us a chance to experience life at a slower pace. It had been some time since we had put on the morning feed bag and we were way overdue for a fuel stop combined with a potty break and something good to eat.
We entered the neat little town of Wapanuka shortly after the dinner hour. As we topped off our tanks, we asked about a good place to eat. We were told we had already found it! Just walk around the corner of the station and go to Dollar Bill’s cafe and buffet line. Best food in Wapanucka, the fellow said. Yeah? Well, Wapanucka is a small place, but in the final analysis, how bad could a hamburger be messed up?
Boy, were we in for a surprise!!! The first thing we saw were tender and flakey cat head biscuits with red eye gravy and generous chunks of sausage. Following immediately on the serving line were real southern fried chicken, roast beef, meat loaf, catfish, real mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, a crisp salad, and a great selection of pies and cobblers that would make an aesthetic weep with joy. It was all very, very good! We could not have planned a better place to eat.
Another time, another trip, another place. We were on our way to Portland, Maine to catch the Blue Nose Ferry over to Nova Scotia and were taking the Lighthouse Tour along the rocky New England Coastline. This was highly scenic, but very slow going. Finally, we had to abandon the scenic route and hit the main road. Dinner time was late and gettin’ later. We came through a populated area and started looking for a place to eat; anyplace, even a McDonalds would do. Did I mention we were gettin’ desperate? I should have.
About this time we got stuck in a traffic jam due to an accident up ahead. As we crawled along, Judy noticed a place just ahead with a big parking lot. She radioed back to the rest of the gang that she was going to pull in here. Surely we could find some place to eat up here in this roadside shopping center. The parking lot she pulled in to was the exclusive designated parking lot for customers of ...ready now? The Original Road Kill Cafe!!
Laughing at our great good fortunate, we dismounted and went in for a dining experience that we still remember fondly. Maybe it was because we were real hungry or maybe it was really that good. Regardless, we still remember it.
This type of experience happened so often on our travels we came to expect it. But if we tried to wing it, or force the issue, it never turned out the same way. The food was good, expensive, but very good, and the waitresses were very sassy in a most enjoyable way.
But I’m getting away from the story about strange and exotic dishes we have found. The narrative continues...
Elsewhere in our travels we have run across varous and sundry delicious items...Howlers are jalapeño peppers, hollowed out and filled with cream cheese and a small bit of steak, turkey, chicken, or pork. To fix these at home, coat the peppers with a good onion ring batter, fill the insides, deep fry till they float, and eat hot!
For another tasty treat, take these same jalapeño peppers, fill ’em with cream cheese, put a Lil’ Smoky sausage in the center, wrap the whole mess in a strip of bacon, top it all off with a small chunk of pineapple and grill it outside for 30 to 40 minutes over low heat.
Caution! If you must go to the bathroom after handling these peppers, wash your hands very well before going. Failure to do so will cause serious heat to collect in your delicate nether regions and you will spend several long, unpleasant minutes tearing up the sod in your neighbor’s yards.
Continuing on with the recipes, may I now highly recommend pasties? These were discovered on yet another trip to Michigan. Every restaurant sports a sign advertising "pasties" so, of course, we had to try 'em. What are pasties, you ask? Pasties are nice little meat pies filled with onions, rutabagas, turnips, celery, chicken, beef, turkey, pork or whatever else you may like. Baked like pies, they stay hot a long time and are mighty tasty! These were brought here by the Finnish immigrants in the late 1800‘s. The Michigan miner's wives baked these dishes in the wee early morning hours, They were packed in the miner's lunch buckets and they stayed warm clear up until lunch time. A hearty meal...you won't need dessert after eatin' one of these things.
A final taste treat was discovered by Carol Sue one night at a dinner buffet at Michelle’s cafe in Osage City, Kansas. She observed the chocolate pudding had a rather tart taste. She was puzzled by the strange taste for a while but a second trip through the line revealed the cause. Right behind the pudding, was the source of the unusual taste; whole dill pickles soaking in brine! When a diner speared a pickle and transported it across the serving line to his plate, the brine dripped off the pickle and landed right in the middle of the chocolate pudding! Strange taste? Not to me, I. thought the taste was...interesting.
As you can see, motorcycle riders never go hungry if they can help it; but, WARNING! Serious gastric disturbances may result! And speaking of serious gastric disturbances...
Thursday, January 28, 2010
22. Supper Rides
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!”
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!”
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...
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