July 1, 1995, found a large group of us bound for Nova Scotia. One of our group had a young son who lived with his family near Bridgewater and we were going to spend a couple of days with him before going on to the Cabot Trail.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
35. The Raisin Bran Smugglers
Winter time doldrums had set in. Paul and I had endured as many short days as we could stand without benefit of sunshine and dry roads. We were in bad need of a fix as we were really suffering from cabin fever and needed to get ‘in the wind‘. You know what I mean?
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
Thursday, June 17, 2010
34. Melanie and the Elevator
This story really happened in a big city Hospital where I worked. The only connection to motorcyclin’ is that I occasionally rode to work. This story is simply too good to leave out.
Practical jokes are rampant in Hospitals, especially during the night shift. Some say it is a safety relief valve; others say it indicates severe mental disorders. Regardless, they are a fact of life and usually are harmless, and actually relieve the tension in long critical situations.
Let me introduce you to Melanie. Melanie is professional, competent, sweet, sensitive person who is kind to her patients; a delightful co-worker, and very attractive with blond hair and deep blue eyes.
One evening , she was called to 5 North to see a patient in respiratory distress. Since her office was on the ground level, the fastest way to the fifth floor was the elevator. So with her little bag of patent nostrums, she hurried to the elevator.
When the elevator door opened she jumped in quickly and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the door closed, she realized someone had been on there before her and had really smelled up the place. The air had taken on an unhealthy green hue and the fumes were very strong. (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means the previous occupant had farted in the elevator)
Holding her hand over her nose, she breathed very little as the elevator made it’s way up to the fifth floor. When the door finally opened, she ran out and bumped into the arms of elderly Nurse Blodgette, the house supervisor. She got part way down to her patient’s room when she suddenly realized, Nurse Blodgette would undoubtedly associate the bad smell with her! Melanie was mortified!
In due time, she treated her patient and returned to our office. I was enjoying some coffee and relaxing a bit while Melanie poured out her tale of woe. I could see the humor of the situation and suggested that I should call Blodgette and explain what had happened so she would not think ill of Melanie.
No! Melanie was adamant. Under no circumstances was I to ever mention the elevator episode to Blodgette. Ah, well; I told her I would not embarrass her further and changed the subject. I lied. Did I mention that I sometimes embellish an event to improve it’s quality? I should have.
We talked of other things and separated to make our appointed rounds. She planned to let some time go by and eventually she would find the opportunity to explain to Blodgette what really happened.
But that seemed so...incomplete. Surely I could interfere with that plan. Let us explore some of the options...
Ah, yes, my little chickadee; I have the plan right here, but I need an accomplice. The accomplice I sought was one Miss Jody, an RN working in the Intensive Care Unit with a sense of humor almost as warped as my own.
I hastened to the ICU and explained what had happened with Melanie and Blodgette. And Jody, no surprise here; immediately signed on to create more mayhem. She paged Melanie and excitedly told Melanie she was needed in the ICU right now!!
Melanie told Jody that I was covering ICU and to call me. Jody then told Melanie I was busy in the ER and she needed help right now.
Melanie then asked what the problem was. Jody said Nurse Blodgette had staggered into the ICU in serious respiratory distress holding her hands up to her throat and mumbled something about...Melanie and the elevator!
After a lengthy silence, Melanie told Jody to “You tell Pecos Bill that I said he was an a**hole!”
A**hole? Street language from such a sweet young lady?
Appalling!!
Practical jokes are rampant in Hospitals, especially during the night shift. Some say it is a safety relief valve; others say it indicates severe mental disorders. Regardless, they are a fact of life and usually are harmless, and actually relieve the tension in long critical situations.
Let me introduce you to Melanie. Melanie is professional, competent, sweet, sensitive person who is kind to her patients; a delightful co-worker, and very attractive with blond hair and deep blue eyes.
One evening , she was called to 5 North to see a patient in respiratory distress. Since her office was on the ground level, the fastest way to the fifth floor was the elevator. So with her little bag of patent nostrums, she hurried to the elevator.
When the elevator door opened she jumped in quickly and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the door closed, she realized someone had been on there before her and had really smelled up the place. The air had taken on an unhealthy green hue and the fumes were very strong. (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means the previous occupant had farted in the elevator)
Holding her hand over her nose, she breathed very little as the elevator made it’s way up to the fifth floor. When the door finally opened, she ran out and bumped into the arms of elderly Nurse Blodgette, the house supervisor. She got part way down to her patient’s room when she suddenly realized, Nurse Blodgette would undoubtedly associate the bad smell with her! Melanie was mortified!
In due time, she treated her patient and returned to our office. I was enjoying some coffee and relaxing a bit while Melanie poured out her tale of woe. I could see the humor of the situation and suggested that I should call Blodgette and explain what had happened so she would not think ill of Melanie.
No! Melanie was adamant. Under no circumstances was I to ever mention the elevator episode to Blodgette. Ah, well; I told her I would not embarrass her further and changed the subject. I lied. Did I mention that I sometimes embellish an event to improve it’s quality? I should have.
We talked of other things and separated to make our appointed rounds. She planned to let some time go by and eventually she would find the opportunity to explain to Blodgette what really happened.
But that seemed so...incomplete. Surely I could interfere with that plan. Let us explore some of the options...
Ah, yes, my little chickadee; I have the plan right here, but I need an accomplice. The accomplice I sought was one Miss Jody, an RN working in the Intensive Care Unit with a sense of humor almost as warped as my own.
I hastened to the ICU and explained what had happened with Melanie and Blodgette. And Jody, no surprise here; immediately signed on to create more mayhem. She paged Melanie and excitedly told Melanie she was needed in the ICU right now!!
Melanie told Jody that I was covering ICU and to call me. Jody then told Melanie I was busy in the ER and she needed help right now.
Melanie then asked what the problem was. Jody said Nurse Blodgette had staggered into the ICU in serious respiratory distress holding her hands up to her throat and mumbled something about...Melanie and the elevator!
After a lengthy silence, Melanie told Jody to “You tell Pecos Bill that I said he was an a**hole!”
A**hole? Street language from such a sweet young lady?
Appalling!!
Monday, May 3, 2010
33. Dangerous Bathrooms
Our good friends Ken and June were camped at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison one year while on their summer vacation. Their site was a secluded one, tucked away back in a little grove of trees far from the hustle and bustle of the busy campground. They were enjoying the peace and quiet when the Wart family circus mounted an invasion! The racket they made was enough to make the welkin ring!
Mr. and Mrs. Wart had many children, ranging in age from 3 to 12. They had been very active in the early years of their marriage having brought into this world no less than nine progeny! With all these offspring, there was no need to ask what they used to do for entertainment!
Tired of producing a new little Wart every year, Mrs. Wart, in desperation, tried to dampen the fire in the loins of Mr. Wart by placing a sharp edged pebble in his shoe; reasoning that it would make him limp. Don’t laugh, it worked, because little Jeremy is now three years old and has no younger siblings...
The Warts pulled into the campsite nearest to Ken and June and proceeded to set up camp with the 32 foot long Prowler camper towed behind a large, clattering diesel pickup truck! With the great noise from the children racing around and Mama Wart screeching directions to Papa Wart as he tried to back the big trailer into a tight spot, the peacfull tranquility was replaced by pandemonium and smelly exhaust fumes.
Ken and June looked at one another with dismay as they realized that it was too late for them to move to another campground up the road. The noise from next door continued as the kids began gathering wood for a fire so they could roast hot dogs and marshmallows. End of the restful evening.
Sometime later, the oldest daughter came running back to the trailer, cutting through Ken and June’s campsite screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick. Jeremy’s gotten himself stuck in the bathroom and can’t get out!”
Mama Wart yelled back, “You get him unstuck and come in for the evening. It’s gettin’ dark and supper’s almost ready.”
The girl yelled again, “Mama, you don’t understand. Jeremy fell down in the bathroom. He’s down inside the big toilet and can’t get out!” Jeremy was the little three year old and at this point, Mama Wart did not yet realize that this was a chemical toilet and that her little darlin’ had fallen down into the holding receptacle!
When she finally understood what her daughter was telling her, Mama Wart looked sadly over at June and said, “Lord, I think it would be easier to just have another one than to go get this boy!”
June didn’t elaborate on whether or not she helped with the clean up of young Jeremy.
Vacations. Sometimes great, sometimes not.
Mr. and Mrs. Wart had many children, ranging in age from 3 to 12. They had been very active in the early years of their marriage having brought into this world no less than nine progeny! With all these offspring, there was no need to ask what they used to do for entertainment!
Tired of producing a new little Wart every year, Mrs. Wart, in desperation, tried to dampen the fire in the loins of Mr. Wart by placing a sharp edged pebble in his shoe; reasoning that it would make him limp. Don’t laugh, it worked, because little Jeremy is now three years old and has no younger siblings...
The Warts pulled into the campsite nearest to Ken and June and proceeded to set up camp with the 32 foot long Prowler camper towed behind a large, clattering diesel pickup truck! With the great noise from the children racing around and Mama Wart screeching directions to Papa Wart as he tried to back the big trailer into a tight spot, the peacfull tranquility was replaced by pandemonium and smelly exhaust fumes.
Ken and June looked at one another with dismay as they realized that it was too late for them to move to another campground up the road. The noise from next door continued as the kids began gathering wood for a fire so they could roast hot dogs and marshmallows. End of the restful evening.
Sometime later, the oldest daughter came running back to the trailer, cutting through Ken and June’s campsite screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick. Jeremy’s gotten himself stuck in the bathroom and can’t get out!”
Mama Wart yelled back, “You get him unstuck and come in for the evening. It’s gettin’ dark and supper’s almost ready.”
The girl yelled again, “Mama, you don’t understand. Jeremy fell down in the bathroom. He’s down inside the big toilet and can’t get out!” Jeremy was the little three year old and at this point, Mama Wart did not yet realize that this was a chemical toilet and that her little darlin’ had fallen down into the holding receptacle!
When she finally understood what her daughter was telling her, Mama Wart looked sadly over at June and said, “Lord, I think it would be easier to just have another one than to go get this boy!”
June didn’t elaborate on whether or not she helped with the clean up of young Jeremy.
Vacations. Sometimes great, sometimes not.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
32. The Homemade Trailer
Three and a half couples took off one fine summer day, bound for a fun vacation in Yellowstone National Park. As is common with all riders, economy is high on the list of priorities, probably because everything else concerned with motorcycling is quite costly, except for fuel economy, so one economizes where one can.
For example, riders save up all old socks and underwear with holes for long trips such at this. After use, they can be discarded. Disposable underwear! You heard it here first! Who wants to pack around soiled undies and smelly socks when space is at a premium?
I know of one couple who carry explanations in their pockets in case they are in a mishap. Wouldn’t do to have the medical personnel think ill of them for wearing frayed personals. Another couple had discarded their holey socks and underwear in the waste basket in their room. The meticulous maid recovered them, folded them neatly, and replaced them on the counter!
Our story’s hero du jour is named Chuck and his long suffering wife is Miss Frances. They were accompanied by Carl and Carol and Gary and Carolyn. The half of this group was Mike, who is Gary’s brother. This story begins some weeks before the trip when an specialist in wiring trailers to bikes (he once watched someone) helped Chuck put on lights and make the connections.
Chuck had come up with a lightweight sturdy box and a set of wheels on a single axle. Naturally, he put the parts together and made a neat little cargo trailer to pull behind his motorcycle. He could now carry many more camping supplies, groceries, clothes, an ice chest, along with various and sundry items as he toured the country.
This adventure became a pre-destined disaster when he presented himself at Frickley’s garage and prayed for help in wiring up the lights. It helps if you understand that these two likable goofs are a few French Fries short of being a Happy Meal!
Electricity 101 teaches us that electricity will flow like water to various circuits as long as a proper ground wire exists to attract the current onward. A short circuit is a condition where current does not flow where you want it to go, but takes the path of least resistance. Therefore a bare rubbed spot on the insulation creates an unwelcome ground and the current takes a short cut, i.e. a short circuit. Get it? Frickley did not. He was a Charter member of the “Bungle it Yourself” association for home and auto repairs.
Frickley began the connection process by stating, “First thing we gotta do is establish a ground.” Chuck looked at the red, black, white, yellow, and green wires in his hand and asked, “Which one’s ground?”
“Don’t make no difference, Chuckie!” said Frickley. “Just pick one and we’ll get on with it!”
They worked industriously for twenty minutes and then began to identify turn signal wires, brake wires, and tail light wires. There’s not very many and so the task moved right along. Eventually they were ready to connect all the wires and hook up the trailer to the bike.
When they made the connection, the fuse promptly blew. Hmmm. Let’s try a little bigger fuse. Hey, the lights kinda work! SNAP! Another blown fuse. “Ah ha!” cried Frickley. “I see the problem. We need a bigger fuse!”
He took the next size fuse, wrapped it in tin foil and inserted it into the fuse holder. Again, everything worked! Kinda. Hurray! Time now for a cold drink and a review of the upcoming trip. Darkness fell as Chuck hopped on his bike and made his way home.
He was so proud of his trailer and his lights and then...he slammed on the brakes and stopped under a street light, quickly shutting the engine off!
Smoke was boiling out from under the gas tank and he feared a fire was imminent! Opening the fuse panel, he saw a congealed mass of melted wires. Worse, the little computer that monitored lights, oil pressure, engine temperature, and battery was fried! All this damage occured because of the tin foiled fuse. Chuck limped on home and went to bed in a blue funk. Frickley was some surprised when he heard about this later.
Next afternoon Chuck contacted Jackman and Tee Wide for help. These guys are magicians when it comes to electrical work, but this job was beyond even the reach of these experts. Oh, they got his trailer wired up again and the lights worked with a normal fuse, but the little computer that watched over Chuck’s engine was history. Cost of a new one? More than $400! Damnation! He could have bought a brand new trailer for that! Well, can’t afford the computer and go on the trip too. So, Yellowstone, look out! Here come da Chuckster!
Take off day arrives and soon the friends are off on a glorious Saturday morning in mid-summer. The trailer pulls nicely, lights are working fine, and soon the sparkling day lifts Chuck’s spirits. Anticipation of the good times to come is evidenced by the happy CB chatter between friends.
In total harmony, they make their way to North Platte, Nebraska for the first overnight stop. They don’t feel like camping tonight, so they search for a motel only to discover that all rooms are taken due to a regional softball tournament. They finally take the last two rooms in a rundown motel.
Next morning they take off once more, hummin’ little songs and just bein’ joyful motorcycle folk. Suddenly, Chuck hears a loud clunk! This is followed by sparks flying, a deafening grinding sound and Carl hollering on the CB, “Chuck, I think you got a problem!” Boy, did he ever?!!
When Chuck looked in the rear view mirror, he saw a rooster tail of sparks shooting up from the pavement! He slowed the big Yamaha, watching in horror as his left rear wheel disconnected and went bounding across the prairie! It cleared a five strand barbed wire fence and continued on its merry was down a long hill in waist high prairie grass!
Finally, Chuck got the bike stopped and pulled off the side of the road. Mike, the youngster, began running across the field chasing the errant trailer wheel, while Chuck had a delayed, but decidedly hysterical laughing reaction! Upon closer inspection, they could see that the axle itself had broken off just inside the hub of the wheel. This would require the services of a welder and there was nothing in sight, but miles of gently rolling plains with pre-cut cow food and amber waves of grain.
By and by, Mike returned with the wheel and they could see how the repair could be effected, but out here...? How to get this mess to town?
And where was town? Outside assistance and intervention was needed and they were discussing sending some one for help when providence intervened.
In the distance, a chugging sound gradually became louder. Soon a tiny speck appeared on the horizon behind them, growing larger and louder with each passing moment. Indeed, help was on it’s way.
“Providence" arrived in the form of some good old boys and a couple of good old girls in a beat up truck. The driver spotted Chuck and pulled in ahead of him. Making several attempts to get out of the truck, the driver eventually got the door open and lurched out on the highway. Clearly, these happy folks had been drinking since breakfast and were now in the most amiable state of helpfulness and just full of good intentions and brotherly love!
Engaging the driver in conversation, Chuck learned that the next town was Valentine, a little place about 60 miles away. But alas, that was out of the way for the rescuers as they were headed for the reservoir for an action packed day of fishing, floating, and imbibing! Could they be prevailed upon to haul Chuck’s trailer to a settlement where a welder could be found. On a Sunday?
The partiers held a brief discussion among themselves and decided they were runnin’ a little low on refreshments and if they could help a brother and themselves, why...that’s the thing to do.
Together, they lifted the trailer and parts into the back of the truck. With a cheerful yell of “follow us!”, the good old boys took off for Valentine, Nebraska at a high rate of speed.
Chuck and the gang had no choice but to follow as all their camping supplies and worldly possessions for the next ten days were in the back of a beat up truck, rocketing along the road weaving in and out of the yellow lines.
One of the good old girls in the back kept waving at Chuck in a suggestive manner as she was obviously taken with him. This had the potential to turn ugly if her significant other noticed her amorous behavior. The spice of life! Ain’t motorcyclin’ grand?!!
They reached the outskirts of Valentine and pulled into a truck stop. Chuck and the driver went into the cafe to find a welder for repairs while the other tarnished good Samaritans unloaded the trailer. This final act of kindness put our hero in touch with a welder who said he’d be down after dinner.
Back outside, Chuck and the gang bid their farewells to the happy inebriates, narrowly avoiding a three way fight when the two good old girls kissed Chuck goodbye. As the truck pulled away, Chuck joined his friends in the cafe to eat and await the arrival of the next “helper”.
Two hours later, the trailer has been repaired, the group has been fed and the trip resumes. Only $15 to weld the axle to the hub and they were off with some great memories. Good to see that old Chuck, even at his age, can still titillate the ladies!
The early euphoria of being on the road in good weather has returned. The adventure continues with light hearts as the miles melt away. A few hours ahead is the Badlands National Park.
As they approach the Park entrance, Mike’s voice cracks over the CB, “Hey guys, I’ve lost my shifter arm! I can’t shift gears!” Chuck gets everybody off the road safely and together they inspect this new challenge. Yep! No doubt about it! The shifter arm is...gone!
Leaving the ladies with Mike and the disabled bike, the guys slowly backtrack the way they came, looking for a bright chrome handle, about eight inches long, with a black rubber L shaped bend. Not a big item, hard to see, and it could be anywhere.
Miles go by and just as they decide that vice grips will have to be used as a shifter arm to reach the next town, Gary spots a shiny object in the road ahead. Hooray! It’s the lost arm! Retrieving the invaluable part, they hightail it back to the entrance of the Park and replace the shifter arm.
Carl always carries a good supply of extra bolts and nuts; it’s a moment’s job to find one the right length and size. Done! And once more, they’re off !
Again, the happy feeling returns and they enjoy what turns out to be three days of untroubled and uninterrupted enjoyment amid the great scenic backdrop of the rugged Badlands National Park.
Moving on, they approach Rapid City where Mike leaves the group and trudges home to get ready for work. Hey, somebody’s got to be responsible! The others head for Yellowstone where more adventures await them.
As they entered Yellowstone from the east, the first thing they notice is the roads are in terrible shape. Winter freezes the roadbed, spring thaws the roadbed. As the seasons overlap, this takes place...daily. Roads suffer.
This road is rough! Deep holes, loose rock, gravel, and a jarring washboard surface gets to the other wheel of Chuck’s trailer! This time, the wheel goes bounding off the road, down a steep decline where it hits a big rock, shoots straight up in the air and disappears over a cliff! Gone!
Chuck is not laughing now and this wheel will not be so easy to retrieve. This road is narrow and winding, with heavy traffic of the motor home variety. Unhooking the trailer, they pull it as far off the road as they can while the rest of the group goes ahead to a safe place.
Chuck and Carl begin a hazardous journey down into the canyon to locate the errant wheel and then climb back up. This take a mere three hours! Just as they reach the summit with the wheel, they see Gary coming to get them, pulling a little flat bed K-Mart type trailer behind his bike. Quickly, they load the one wheeled trailer on the flat bed and proceed to the next town of Fishing Bridge.
Here is a complete machine shop with all the welding tools and torches one could ask for. Chuck approaches the welder and arranges to have the repairs done. Not so easy. The welder is obstinate and inebriated. And worse, a slow drizzling rain with small flakes of snow begin to fall. The welder can’t get to the trailer just now, won’t let Chuck use it, won’t sell his flat bed trailer to Chuck, nor will he sell the axle off the flat bed. Damnation! This vacationing is hard work.
Four hours later, the axle has been welded for the second time. The weld doesn’t look very strong and the weight of the trailer and its contents may cause another failure up the road. They decided to lighten up and send the excess baggage home on a Greyhound bus. This should improve their chances of avoiding yet another breakdown.
Things go well the next few days as they ride through very pretty country in and out of Yellowstone.
Finally, it was time to head for home. They decided to re-enter Yellowstone, ride to Old Faithful, and then head for Kansas. The west road was not much better that the east road, but since Chuck had lightened the load, he thought the axle would take the strain. Oh, gentle reader, how can I break the news to you that Chuck was wrong?!! Yes, indeed. More trouble is coming when the axle breaks for the third and final time.
As the wheel again went flying down the mountain, he slowly began unloading the trailer. Borrowing Carl’s tools, he began unbolting lights, trailer hitch, ice chest carrier and luggage rack. The bad luck, the damage to his bike, even before they started, combined with the jerk at the machine shop was more than he could stand. He decided to salvage all the parts he could, parcel out the load among the survivors and leave the trailer to it’s own end.
Picking up the tongue of the one wheeled, empty trailer, he drug it over to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over the side! Crash! Bang! Down the mountainside it tumbled, breaking into many small pieces as it picked up speed. When the dust settled, and the trailer was reduced to a pile of kindling, Chuck dusted off his hands and said, “Let’s go see Old Faithful and get the hell outta here!”
Next day, they were briskly runnin’ down Poudre Canyon, the last of the twisties on the way out of Colorado. Slowing for a very sharp bend to his right, Chuck was nearly run over by a little old blue haired lady in a big Buick.
Driving way left of center, she yanked her car back to the right, narrowly missing Chuck! As she went by, she yelled out at him, “Pig!”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back! Chuck yelled right back at her, ”Hussy!”
In the next instant, he’s hittin’ the brakes hard, making an evasive move to avoid a massive 400 pound hog ambling across the highway! Didn’t the little old blue haired lady try to warn him?
Ol' Chuck goes ‘hog wild’ on vacation!
PB
For example, riders save up all old socks and underwear with holes for long trips such at this. After use, they can be discarded. Disposable underwear! You heard it here first! Who wants to pack around soiled undies and smelly socks when space is at a premium?
I know of one couple who carry explanations in their pockets in case they are in a mishap. Wouldn’t do to have the medical personnel think ill of them for wearing frayed personals. Another couple had discarded their holey socks and underwear in the waste basket in their room. The meticulous maid recovered them, folded them neatly, and replaced them on the counter!
Our story’s hero du jour is named Chuck and his long suffering wife is Miss Frances. They were accompanied by Carl and Carol and Gary and Carolyn. The half of this group was Mike, who is Gary’s brother. This story begins some weeks before the trip when an specialist in wiring trailers to bikes (he once watched someone) helped Chuck put on lights and make the connections.
Chuck had come up with a lightweight sturdy box and a set of wheels on a single axle. Naturally, he put the parts together and made a neat little cargo trailer to pull behind his motorcycle. He could now carry many more camping supplies, groceries, clothes, an ice chest, along with various and sundry items as he toured the country.
This adventure became a pre-destined disaster when he presented himself at Frickley’s garage and prayed for help in wiring up the lights. It helps if you understand that these two likable goofs are a few French Fries short of being a Happy Meal!
Electricity 101 teaches us that electricity will flow like water to various circuits as long as a proper ground wire exists to attract the current onward. A short circuit is a condition where current does not flow where you want it to go, but takes the path of least resistance. Therefore a bare rubbed spot on the insulation creates an unwelcome ground and the current takes a short cut, i.e. a short circuit. Get it? Frickley did not. He was a Charter member of the “Bungle it Yourself” association for home and auto repairs.
Frickley began the connection process by stating, “First thing we gotta do is establish a ground.” Chuck looked at the red, black, white, yellow, and green wires in his hand and asked, “Which one’s ground?”
“Don’t make no difference, Chuckie!” said Frickley. “Just pick one and we’ll get on with it!”
They worked industriously for twenty minutes and then began to identify turn signal wires, brake wires, and tail light wires. There’s not very many and so the task moved right along. Eventually they were ready to connect all the wires and hook up the trailer to the bike.
When they made the connection, the fuse promptly blew. Hmmm. Let’s try a little bigger fuse. Hey, the lights kinda work! SNAP! Another blown fuse. “Ah ha!” cried Frickley. “I see the problem. We need a bigger fuse!”
He took the next size fuse, wrapped it in tin foil and inserted it into the fuse holder. Again, everything worked! Kinda. Hurray! Time now for a cold drink and a review of the upcoming trip. Darkness fell as Chuck hopped on his bike and made his way home.
He was so proud of his trailer and his lights and then...he slammed on the brakes and stopped under a street light, quickly shutting the engine off!
Smoke was boiling out from under the gas tank and he feared a fire was imminent! Opening the fuse panel, he saw a congealed mass of melted wires. Worse, the little computer that monitored lights, oil pressure, engine temperature, and battery was fried! All this damage occured because of the tin foiled fuse. Chuck limped on home and went to bed in a blue funk. Frickley was some surprised when he heard about this later.
Next afternoon Chuck contacted Jackman and Tee Wide for help. These guys are magicians when it comes to electrical work, but this job was beyond even the reach of these experts. Oh, they got his trailer wired up again and the lights worked with a normal fuse, but the little computer that watched over Chuck’s engine was history. Cost of a new one? More than $400! Damnation! He could have bought a brand new trailer for that! Well, can’t afford the computer and go on the trip too. So, Yellowstone, look out! Here come da Chuckster!
Take off day arrives and soon the friends are off on a glorious Saturday morning in mid-summer. The trailer pulls nicely, lights are working fine, and soon the sparkling day lifts Chuck’s spirits. Anticipation of the good times to come is evidenced by the happy CB chatter between friends.
In total harmony, they make their way to North Platte, Nebraska for the first overnight stop. They don’t feel like camping tonight, so they search for a motel only to discover that all rooms are taken due to a regional softball tournament. They finally take the last two rooms in a rundown motel.
Next morning they take off once more, hummin’ little songs and just bein’ joyful motorcycle folk. Suddenly, Chuck hears a loud clunk! This is followed by sparks flying, a deafening grinding sound and Carl hollering on the CB, “Chuck, I think you got a problem!” Boy, did he ever?!!
When Chuck looked in the rear view mirror, he saw a rooster tail of sparks shooting up from the pavement! He slowed the big Yamaha, watching in horror as his left rear wheel disconnected and went bounding across the prairie! It cleared a five strand barbed wire fence and continued on its merry was down a long hill in waist high prairie grass!
Finally, Chuck got the bike stopped and pulled off the side of the road. Mike, the youngster, began running across the field chasing the errant trailer wheel, while Chuck had a delayed, but decidedly hysterical laughing reaction! Upon closer inspection, they could see that the axle itself had broken off just inside the hub of the wheel. This would require the services of a welder and there was nothing in sight, but miles of gently rolling plains with pre-cut cow food and amber waves of grain.
By and by, Mike returned with the wheel and they could see how the repair could be effected, but out here...? How to get this mess to town?
And where was town? Outside assistance and intervention was needed and they were discussing sending some one for help when providence intervened.
In the distance, a chugging sound gradually became louder. Soon a tiny speck appeared on the horizon behind them, growing larger and louder with each passing moment. Indeed, help was on it’s way.
“Providence" arrived in the form of some good old boys and a couple of good old girls in a beat up truck. The driver spotted Chuck and pulled in ahead of him. Making several attempts to get out of the truck, the driver eventually got the door open and lurched out on the highway. Clearly, these happy folks had been drinking since breakfast and were now in the most amiable state of helpfulness and just full of good intentions and brotherly love!
Engaging the driver in conversation, Chuck learned that the next town was Valentine, a little place about 60 miles away. But alas, that was out of the way for the rescuers as they were headed for the reservoir for an action packed day of fishing, floating, and imbibing! Could they be prevailed upon to haul Chuck’s trailer to a settlement where a welder could be found. On a Sunday?
The partiers held a brief discussion among themselves and decided they were runnin’ a little low on refreshments and if they could help a brother and themselves, why...that’s the thing to do.
Together, they lifted the trailer and parts into the back of the truck. With a cheerful yell of “follow us!”, the good old boys took off for Valentine, Nebraska at a high rate of speed.
Chuck and the gang had no choice but to follow as all their camping supplies and worldly possessions for the next ten days were in the back of a beat up truck, rocketing along the road weaving in and out of the yellow lines.
One of the good old girls in the back kept waving at Chuck in a suggestive manner as she was obviously taken with him. This had the potential to turn ugly if her significant other noticed her amorous behavior. The spice of life! Ain’t motorcyclin’ grand?!!
They reached the outskirts of Valentine and pulled into a truck stop. Chuck and the driver went into the cafe to find a welder for repairs while the other tarnished good Samaritans unloaded the trailer. This final act of kindness put our hero in touch with a welder who said he’d be down after dinner.
Back outside, Chuck and the gang bid their farewells to the happy inebriates, narrowly avoiding a three way fight when the two good old girls kissed Chuck goodbye. As the truck pulled away, Chuck joined his friends in the cafe to eat and await the arrival of the next “helper”.
Two hours later, the trailer has been repaired, the group has been fed and the trip resumes. Only $15 to weld the axle to the hub and they were off with some great memories. Good to see that old Chuck, even at his age, can still titillate the ladies!
The early euphoria of being on the road in good weather has returned. The adventure continues with light hearts as the miles melt away. A few hours ahead is the Badlands National Park.
As they approach the Park entrance, Mike’s voice cracks over the CB, “Hey guys, I’ve lost my shifter arm! I can’t shift gears!” Chuck gets everybody off the road safely and together they inspect this new challenge. Yep! No doubt about it! The shifter arm is...gone!
Leaving the ladies with Mike and the disabled bike, the guys slowly backtrack the way they came, looking for a bright chrome handle, about eight inches long, with a black rubber L shaped bend. Not a big item, hard to see, and it could be anywhere.
Miles go by and just as they decide that vice grips will have to be used as a shifter arm to reach the next town, Gary spots a shiny object in the road ahead. Hooray! It’s the lost arm! Retrieving the invaluable part, they hightail it back to the entrance of the Park and replace the shifter arm.
Carl always carries a good supply of extra bolts and nuts; it’s a moment’s job to find one the right length and size. Done! And once more, they’re off !
Again, the happy feeling returns and they enjoy what turns out to be three days of untroubled and uninterrupted enjoyment amid the great scenic backdrop of the rugged Badlands National Park.
Moving on, they approach Rapid City where Mike leaves the group and trudges home to get ready for work. Hey, somebody’s got to be responsible! The others head for Yellowstone where more adventures await them.
As they entered Yellowstone from the east, the first thing they notice is the roads are in terrible shape. Winter freezes the roadbed, spring thaws the roadbed. As the seasons overlap, this takes place...daily. Roads suffer.
This road is rough! Deep holes, loose rock, gravel, and a jarring washboard surface gets to the other wheel of Chuck’s trailer! This time, the wheel goes bounding off the road, down a steep decline where it hits a big rock, shoots straight up in the air and disappears over a cliff! Gone!
Chuck is not laughing now and this wheel will not be so easy to retrieve. This road is narrow and winding, with heavy traffic of the motor home variety. Unhooking the trailer, they pull it as far off the road as they can while the rest of the group goes ahead to a safe place.
Chuck and Carl begin a hazardous journey down into the canyon to locate the errant wheel and then climb back up. This take a mere three hours! Just as they reach the summit with the wheel, they see Gary coming to get them, pulling a little flat bed K-Mart type trailer behind his bike. Quickly, they load the one wheeled trailer on the flat bed and proceed to the next town of Fishing Bridge.
Here is a complete machine shop with all the welding tools and torches one could ask for. Chuck approaches the welder and arranges to have the repairs done. Not so easy. The welder is obstinate and inebriated. And worse, a slow drizzling rain with small flakes of snow begin to fall. The welder can’t get to the trailer just now, won’t let Chuck use it, won’t sell his flat bed trailer to Chuck, nor will he sell the axle off the flat bed. Damnation! This vacationing is hard work.
Four hours later, the axle has been welded for the second time. The weld doesn’t look very strong and the weight of the trailer and its contents may cause another failure up the road. They decided to lighten up and send the excess baggage home on a Greyhound bus. This should improve their chances of avoiding yet another breakdown.
Things go well the next few days as they ride through very pretty country in and out of Yellowstone.
Finally, it was time to head for home. They decided to re-enter Yellowstone, ride to Old Faithful, and then head for Kansas. The west road was not much better that the east road, but since Chuck had lightened the load, he thought the axle would take the strain. Oh, gentle reader, how can I break the news to you that Chuck was wrong?!! Yes, indeed. More trouble is coming when the axle breaks for the third and final time.
As the wheel again went flying down the mountain, he slowly began unloading the trailer. Borrowing Carl’s tools, he began unbolting lights, trailer hitch, ice chest carrier and luggage rack. The bad luck, the damage to his bike, even before they started, combined with the jerk at the machine shop was more than he could stand. He decided to salvage all the parts he could, parcel out the load among the survivors and leave the trailer to it’s own end.
Picking up the tongue of the one wheeled, empty trailer, he drug it over to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over the side! Crash! Bang! Down the mountainside it tumbled, breaking into many small pieces as it picked up speed. When the dust settled, and the trailer was reduced to a pile of kindling, Chuck dusted off his hands and said, “Let’s go see Old Faithful and get the hell outta here!”
Next day, they were briskly runnin’ down Poudre Canyon, the last of the twisties on the way out of Colorado. Slowing for a very sharp bend to his right, Chuck was nearly run over by a little old blue haired lady in a big Buick.
Driving way left of center, she yanked her car back to the right, narrowly missing Chuck! As she went by, she yelled out at him, “Pig!”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back! Chuck yelled right back at her, ”Hussy!”
In the next instant, he’s hittin’ the brakes hard, making an evasive move to avoid a massive 400 pound hog ambling across the highway! Didn’t the little old blue haired lady try to warn him?
Ol' Chuck goes ‘hog wild’ on vacation!
PB
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
31. Tall Paul and the Big Spring Road Riders
Winter of 1983 was spent preparing for the first ever Big Spring Road Riders Rally. This is an enormous undertaking and not one that Judy and I would ever tackle again. There are so many details making up the mountainous volume of work that a large team is required to complete the project.
Some of these details include advance notice in motorcycle magazines, newspapers, radio, TV, flyers and, not the least of which,is plain old word of mouth. That’s right; talk to everybody you see and spread the word.
Most times the host club provides a meeting place, information about camping and motels, registrations, event pins, T-shirts, refreshments, poker rides, bike events, supper, an award ceremony, medical care, and a send off breakfast on Sunday morning. We even had a dynamite Country/Rock Band on Saturday night that blew the boots off the dancers!
Usually folks start arriving on Friday evening with the main rally day being Saturday. Sunday is devoted to an early morning church service provided by the Christian Motorcycle Association and followed by a clean up of the entire grounds. A big job!
We had a core group of about eight couples who worked long and hard hours to put this show together. For a first time event, with no history, we drew over 600 attendees! This in a riding area where club officials were tickled if they got 150 to show up! We even had two guys from Canada who read about the rally in Rider Magazine and one guy from Alaska who found our ad in the BMW News.
Paul Bierman from Alaska won the long distance trophy. How in the world does an aircraft mechanic from Anchorage wind up in a dusty, little West Texas town, make a big hit with the local press, ride up to the mid-west with new friends, and polish it all off by going to California with traveling journalists from Rider Magazine? Well, now the story can be told so get yourself comfortable and read on. This is Paul’s story.
Details of our rally were nearly done. Preparations were made to put on a dance after the event which was something no other rally in West Texas had provided at that time. About a week before the rally, our son Scott who was 12 then, said he got a phone call from Alaska asking for information about the event. Scott read the brochure to the caller and told us later. Judy dismissed it as a joke that someone was playing and promptly forgot it.
On Thursday of Rally week, our Topeka friends, Jeannie and Paul, left Topeka and headed down to attend the party. They were scheduled to arrive in mid-afternoon on Friday. Shortly after dinner on Friday, Judy called me in somewhat of a panic, telling me that Scott had called and a guy from Alaska was at the house asking about the rally! He was in full leathers, real tall, and lanky and somewhat road worn.
I left work and headed for home and as I pulled into the driveway, I got my first look at him! There he was! Tall Paul, 7 foot, 2 inches, 150 pounds, dressed in leathers and wearing a big smile. I liked him right away. Some people you just know are trustworthy and this was certainly one of them. I invited him in, fed and watered him. He asked about a place to tidy up and change clothes.
While he was completing his ablutions, Jeannie and Paul from Topeka arrived. I told them about our visitor and commented on the fact that it would be a hoot keeping the two Pauls separate. Paul from Topeka knew before he met Tall Paul that he was OK! Why? Because Tall Paul rode a BMW, just like Jeannie and Paul! Instant brotherhood!
When Judy came home, we all went out to supper and then rode down to Rally Headquarters to greet the early arrivals. Trooper Luke, a Texas DPS officer, had prepared a big pot of ham and beans along with his famous sweet cornbread. Served with iced tea, this was food fit for kings.
Others brought more tea, coffee, lemonade and even homemade ice cream! What a thoughtful idea and a neat way to welcome riders who had been on the road all day and were hot, tired, thirsty and hungry. A free meal with the best of West Texas. We even ate a second supper late in the night and it was excellent. This was shaping up to be a magical weekend.
Tall Paul had tried to find a motel room earlier only to find “no vacancy” signs in great proliferation! Oh, what the hell. He seemed OK to us, and he did ride a BMW, so, the question of where he would sleep was settled. We had plenty of camping gear and offered this to him to make the living room floor more comfortable.
Meanwhile he was endearing himself to many Texans by sharing his unique sense of humor. He had many one liners and amused the Texans when he teased them about Alaska being the biggest state in the Union.
He said, “Why, there’s enough gold in Alaska to build a fence 14 feet tall completely surrounding the state of Texas!” This got a big laugh from everybody except for one steely eyed old settler.
He told Paul, “That’s OK, sonny. We got a little gold of our own down here, although ours is black and in liquid form. Go ahead and build your gold fence. And...if we like it, we’ll buy it!” What an uproar! These guys entertained the crowd for a long time.
Tall Paul, when describing West Texas, said. “Everywhere you look, there’s just nothing!” Or when describing his car, a 1973 Rolls Canardly, said, “It rolls down one hill and canardly make it up the other!”
And how about, “Hey, it may be slow, but it’s ugly!” He was the hit of the rally for us. Everybody wanted to talk to him and the local press soon got word that a cool guy from Alaska was holding court and may make a good story. He did.
The press and TV folks all came out. They filmed and photographed him, put him on the front page and the lead in story on the televised evening news. He gave rides to the reporterettes and endeared himself to all by his open and friendly manner. Finally at the end of a long day, we all trooped wearily over to our place and retired for the night, taking the big visitor with us.
The Big Spring Road Riders first ever rally had been a huge success, far exceeding even our optimistic expectations. Games for the kids went well, the door prizes were numerous and extravagant, the meal of fried chicken and fried catfish was served quickly and was mighty tasty. And the band was dynamite!
One of our members used to travel with this group and he was able to convince them to donate their services in exchange for a good meal and lots of fans. This really was a team effort and one can easily see how one couple can not put this on themselves. All of the Committee Chairmen excelled in going the extra mile to put a real flourish on the first rally.
All that remained was the morning breakfast of do-nuts, orange juice and coffee, followed by a worship service provided on Sunday morning by the members of the Christian Motorcycle Association. And with so many hands available, the clean up tasks were quickly finished.
After the services, the Alaskan and the two Canadians, helped us with the massive clean up job. Many hands make light work and soon we were through. As folks left, we sat under the shelter in Comanche Trail Park and reflected on what a great time everybody seemed to have.
Since the day was mild and not windy, we decided to take a ride. We’d show our visitors some rugged West Texas canyons and wild country not seen from the Interstate.
We toured a few of the smaller canyons and came upon a long straight stretch of road where Tall Paul, Judy, Paul and Jeannie opened up the throttle. Soon they were just specks in the distance.
From out of nowhere, a Texas Highway Patrolman swooped down and nailed Miss Judy, somehow allowing the others to continue on; which they did; at even greater speed because they didn’t want a ticket! And seeing as how Judy was in his clutches, they escaped with great alacrity!
As the rest of us pulled in behind the Patrol car, Sidney Shankowitz yelled over to Judy, “Make him show you the radar print out. You got rights!”
The trooper growled and said, “Violators got no rights!” She was gettin’ into serious trouble but, maybe when Trooper Luke arrived, he could save the day.
Alas, Judy had been shrieking too loud and too long about how unfair it was to single her out. When Luke arrived, the trooper pulled him off to one side and told him, “If that woman doesn’t shut her mouth, I’m goin’ to arrest her and impound her pretty new motorcycle!”
Shankowitz and Judy had already ruined any chance for her to get off with just a warning. The challenge now was to keep Judy from goin’ to jail!
Sullenly she accepted the ticket and rode away in a huff. Our friends who had abandoned her were in the first cafe up the road sippin’ iced tea and enjoying a good laugh at Judy’s expense. Sorry, Judy did not laugh! She had to go to the remedial driving school for four hours a night for three nights! Did I mention she was not a happy camper? I should have.
Next morning was Monday and time for our guests to head home. Paul and Jeannie were bound for Topeka, just as Paul and Tall Paul were discussing highly technically involved periodic maintenance procedures on the BMW’s. Since Tall Paul was goin’ north anyway, he offered to do this highly technical maintenance work on Paul and Jeannie’s bikes.
They quickly offered him room and board and invited him to attend the National BMW Rally on the next weekend way up in Billings, Montana. Quickly, he took them up on the offer. I rode north with them as far as Snyder, Texas where we enjoyed one more meal of Gill’s Fried Chicken, and as I returned to Big Spring, they headed on north to Topeka.
A few week’s later, we got a report from Paul and Jeannie. All maintenance work had been done very professionally. Tall Paul was a professional aircraft mechanic from Anchorage as you may recall and very skillful.
His adventures touring the “lower 48” were just beginning as he next connected with journalists from Rider Magazine. Naturally he got himself invited along with them and headed off to sunny California. He was a gregarious person, never meeting a stranger. He certainly enriched the lives of all those he met in West Texas.
And judging from the articles in Rider Magazine, he’s still at it!
Some of these details include advance notice in motorcycle magazines, newspapers, radio, TV, flyers and, not the least of which,is plain old word of mouth. That’s right; talk to everybody you see and spread the word.
Most times the host club provides a meeting place, information about camping and motels, registrations, event pins, T-shirts, refreshments, poker rides, bike events, supper, an award ceremony, medical care, and a send off breakfast on Sunday morning. We even had a dynamite Country/Rock Band on Saturday night that blew the boots off the dancers!
Usually folks start arriving on Friday evening with the main rally day being Saturday. Sunday is devoted to an early morning church service provided by the Christian Motorcycle Association and followed by a clean up of the entire grounds. A big job!
We had a core group of about eight couples who worked long and hard hours to put this show together. For a first time event, with no history, we drew over 600 attendees! This in a riding area where club officials were tickled if they got 150 to show up! We even had two guys from Canada who read about the rally in Rider Magazine and one guy from Alaska who found our ad in the BMW News.
Paul Bierman from Alaska won the long distance trophy. How in the world does an aircraft mechanic from Anchorage wind up in a dusty, little West Texas town, make a big hit with the local press, ride up to the mid-west with new friends, and polish it all off by going to California with traveling journalists from Rider Magazine? Well, now the story can be told so get yourself comfortable and read on. This is Paul’s story.
Details of our rally were nearly done. Preparations were made to put on a dance after the event which was something no other rally in West Texas had provided at that time. About a week before the rally, our son Scott who was 12 then, said he got a phone call from Alaska asking for information about the event. Scott read the brochure to the caller and told us later. Judy dismissed it as a joke that someone was playing and promptly forgot it.
On Thursday of Rally week, our Topeka friends, Jeannie and Paul, left Topeka and headed down to attend the party. They were scheduled to arrive in mid-afternoon on Friday. Shortly after dinner on Friday, Judy called me in somewhat of a panic, telling me that Scott had called and a guy from Alaska was at the house asking about the rally! He was in full leathers, real tall, and lanky and somewhat road worn.
I left work and headed for home and as I pulled into the driveway, I got my first look at him! There he was! Tall Paul, 7 foot, 2 inches, 150 pounds, dressed in leathers and wearing a big smile. I liked him right away. Some people you just know are trustworthy and this was certainly one of them. I invited him in, fed and watered him. He asked about a place to tidy up and change clothes.
While he was completing his ablutions, Jeannie and Paul from Topeka arrived. I told them about our visitor and commented on the fact that it would be a hoot keeping the two Pauls separate. Paul from Topeka knew before he met Tall Paul that he was OK! Why? Because Tall Paul rode a BMW, just like Jeannie and Paul! Instant brotherhood!
When Judy came home, we all went out to supper and then rode down to Rally Headquarters to greet the early arrivals. Trooper Luke, a Texas DPS officer, had prepared a big pot of ham and beans along with his famous sweet cornbread. Served with iced tea, this was food fit for kings.
Others brought more tea, coffee, lemonade and even homemade ice cream! What a thoughtful idea and a neat way to welcome riders who had been on the road all day and were hot, tired, thirsty and hungry. A free meal with the best of West Texas. We even ate a second supper late in the night and it was excellent. This was shaping up to be a magical weekend.
Tall Paul had tried to find a motel room earlier only to find “no vacancy” signs in great proliferation! Oh, what the hell. He seemed OK to us, and he did ride a BMW, so, the question of where he would sleep was settled. We had plenty of camping gear and offered this to him to make the living room floor more comfortable.
Meanwhile he was endearing himself to many Texans by sharing his unique sense of humor. He had many one liners and amused the Texans when he teased them about Alaska being the biggest state in the Union.
He said, “Why, there’s enough gold in Alaska to build a fence 14 feet tall completely surrounding the state of Texas!” This got a big laugh from everybody except for one steely eyed old settler.
He told Paul, “That’s OK, sonny. We got a little gold of our own down here, although ours is black and in liquid form. Go ahead and build your gold fence. And...if we like it, we’ll buy it!” What an uproar! These guys entertained the crowd for a long time.
Tall Paul, when describing West Texas, said. “Everywhere you look, there’s just nothing!” Or when describing his car, a 1973 Rolls Canardly, said, “It rolls down one hill and canardly make it up the other!”
And how about, “Hey, it may be slow, but it’s ugly!” He was the hit of the rally for us. Everybody wanted to talk to him and the local press soon got word that a cool guy from Alaska was holding court and may make a good story. He did.
The press and TV folks all came out. They filmed and photographed him, put him on the front page and the lead in story on the televised evening news. He gave rides to the reporterettes and endeared himself to all by his open and friendly manner. Finally at the end of a long day, we all trooped wearily over to our place and retired for the night, taking the big visitor with us.
The Big Spring Road Riders first ever rally had been a huge success, far exceeding even our optimistic expectations. Games for the kids went well, the door prizes were numerous and extravagant, the meal of fried chicken and fried catfish was served quickly and was mighty tasty. And the band was dynamite!
One of our members used to travel with this group and he was able to convince them to donate their services in exchange for a good meal and lots of fans. This really was a team effort and one can easily see how one couple can not put this on themselves. All of the Committee Chairmen excelled in going the extra mile to put a real flourish on the first rally.
All that remained was the morning breakfast of do-nuts, orange juice and coffee, followed by a worship service provided on Sunday morning by the members of the Christian Motorcycle Association. And with so many hands available, the clean up tasks were quickly finished.
After the services, the Alaskan and the two Canadians, helped us with the massive clean up job. Many hands make light work and soon we were through. As folks left, we sat under the shelter in Comanche Trail Park and reflected on what a great time everybody seemed to have.
Since the day was mild and not windy, we decided to take a ride. We’d show our visitors some rugged West Texas canyons and wild country not seen from the Interstate.
We toured a few of the smaller canyons and came upon a long straight stretch of road where Tall Paul, Judy, Paul and Jeannie opened up the throttle. Soon they were just specks in the distance.
From out of nowhere, a Texas Highway Patrolman swooped down and nailed Miss Judy, somehow allowing the others to continue on; which they did; at even greater speed because they didn’t want a ticket! And seeing as how Judy was in his clutches, they escaped with great alacrity!
As the rest of us pulled in behind the Patrol car, Sidney Shankowitz yelled over to Judy, “Make him show you the radar print out. You got rights!”
The trooper growled and said, “Violators got no rights!” She was gettin’ into serious trouble but, maybe when Trooper Luke arrived, he could save the day.
Alas, Judy had been shrieking too loud and too long about how unfair it was to single her out. When Luke arrived, the trooper pulled him off to one side and told him, “If that woman doesn’t shut her mouth, I’m goin’ to arrest her and impound her pretty new motorcycle!”
Shankowitz and Judy had already ruined any chance for her to get off with just a warning. The challenge now was to keep Judy from goin’ to jail!
Sullenly she accepted the ticket and rode away in a huff. Our friends who had abandoned her were in the first cafe up the road sippin’ iced tea and enjoying a good laugh at Judy’s expense. Sorry, Judy did not laugh! She had to go to the remedial driving school for four hours a night for three nights! Did I mention she was not a happy camper? I should have.
Next morning was Monday and time for our guests to head home. Paul and Jeannie were bound for Topeka, just as Paul and Tall Paul were discussing highly technically involved periodic maintenance procedures on the BMW’s. Since Tall Paul was goin’ north anyway, he offered to do this highly technical maintenance work on Paul and Jeannie’s bikes.
They quickly offered him room and board and invited him to attend the National BMW Rally on the next weekend way up in Billings, Montana. Quickly, he took them up on the offer. I rode north with them as far as Snyder, Texas where we enjoyed one more meal of Gill’s Fried Chicken, and as I returned to Big Spring, they headed on north to Topeka.
A few week’s later, we got a report from Paul and Jeannie. All maintenance work had been done very professionally. Tall Paul was a professional aircraft mechanic from Anchorage as you may recall and very skillful.
His adventures touring the “lower 48” were just beginning as he next connected with journalists from Rider Magazine. Naturally he got himself invited along with them and headed off to sunny California. He was a gregarious person, never meeting a stranger. He certainly enriched the lives of all those he met in West Texas.
And judging from the articles in Rider Magazine, he’s still at it!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
30. Snakes, Hawks and Kitties
Since the beginning of our time together, Judy has been deathly afraid of snakes. Not only the poisonous rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouths, but the harmless and helpful little mouse snakes as well. Naturally, with this morbid fear, she attracts these critters like a magnet!
We were riding the Talihina Skyline Drive down in Oklahoma one bright day when a hawk spotted Judy’s sparkling red helmet and decided to come down for a closer look. He dove right in front of Judy, about eye level and each of them got a good look at each other. Scared Judy pretty bad because in addition to not wanting to run into him, she noticed that he had something clutched in his claws. Yep, it was a snake! Still wiggling!
Really intrigued now, the hawk circled and came back down again. This time he nearly became a hit and run victim himself. Just as he flew back up, he dropped the snake and it hit the road right in front of Judy! Her tires actually squiggled as she ran over it! She was so shaken up by this that she pulled into a grove of trees to get away from him.
When we moved to Big Spring, Texas, we bought a new house right across the street from the Big Spring Elementary School. The house sat on a corner of a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and cactus.
It was a late evening in October when we finished moving in. We were headed back to the house with the last load when we first saw the big snake! He was right in our back yard, buzzin’ up a storm! Our new friend from the Big Spring Road Riders dispatched him with a plastic pipe. Judy started her litany of wanting to go home right then and there. Willie just laughed and cut off the eleven rattles and handed them to me.
He said, “Judy, what you need is a cat to patrol your yard. He’ll keep all the snakes away!” Judy thought this was a good idea. We knew that school kids had to cross this field morning and evening. It amazed us that the bare legged little girls could run across this field and not get bitten.
Next evening, we drove out to Willie’s to select a snake fighter in the form of a just weaned kitten. That’s a lot of responsibility to place on a youngster! Judy had a tough time selecting one, feeling she was sending him to certain death in our back yard. She couldn’t choose between a pretty black and white, a tortoise shell and a neat little gray and white. Decisively, she made up her mind. She would take all three! If one’s good, three’s gotta be better! Right?
Off we went with the new protectors of the turf. We named them Patches, Tiger, and No-Name. They stayed in the garage at night and we fed them on the patio where the big rattler had been lurking. In this way they learned where the food and water came from and it also put them in prime hunting territory.
From time to time, we’d see them out in the field stalking something. Since we saw no more snakes, Judy liked to think that they were doing a good job. And so the winter passed and spring was well under way with no more snake encounters.
Next spring as I was getting the bikes ready for the upcoming riding season, I heard a dry rustling sound and looked over to see a horned toad scurrying across the driveway. I was not the only one who saw him. Patches, by now a big, fully grown tomcat, also spotted him. Horned toads are actually reptiles, and can best be described as an elongated pancake with a leg at ten, two, four and eight on the face of a clock.
The head, which looks like a goat, is on the opposite end of a short pointy tail. Harmless little guys, they keep the red ant population under control throughout West Texas.
As soon as the horned toad stopped, Patches was on him in a flash, grabbing him behind the neck and biting down hard! Sounded like someone eating a crisp apple! He hung on, tail swishing and growling deep in his chest. I watched for a while and went back to the bike I was working on.
It was nearly an hour before Patches decided he was through. He simply stood up, released the horned toad and walked away. This convinced Judy for sure that the cats were doin’ the job on snakes as well.
In fact, we never saw a snake again as long as we lived there. We didn’t see very many horned toads either.
J. Frank Dobie wrote a book entitled, “Rattlesnakes” and described a fight between a snake and a cat thusly. “When the battle is joined, the snake is tightly coiled and rattling furiously. The cat stays just out of range and entices the snake to strike. As the snake lunges forward, the cat leaps straight up in the air and hits the snake on the back of the head quickly, then leaps away. This fight continues till the snake is exhausted and then the cat finishes him off, biting him behind the head.” These life and death battles can take hours to play out if the snake is big and the cat is experienced. Usually, it’s over in about an hour.
While Judy knew our cats were doing the job, she had no desire to see such a contest.
Just before we moved to Kingwood, Texas, we lost Patches. He was sure pretty and lots of kids came to play with him. Maybe he just went off to be with someone else. We took Tiger and No-Name back to Willie’s so they could remain free. They had provided a valuable service to us by being protective and were good companions as well.
They had risked their little lives for us every day in a most dangerous game. We sure miss ‘em.
We were riding the Talihina Skyline Drive down in Oklahoma one bright day when a hawk spotted Judy’s sparkling red helmet and decided to come down for a closer look. He dove right in front of Judy, about eye level and each of them got a good look at each other. Scared Judy pretty bad because in addition to not wanting to run into him, she noticed that he had something clutched in his claws. Yep, it was a snake! Still wiggling!
Really intrigued now, the hawk circled and came back down again. This time he nearly became a hit and run victim himself. Just as he flew back up, he dropped the snake and it hit the road right in front of Judy! Her tires actually squiggled as she ran over it! She was so shaken up by this that she pulled into a grove of trees to get away from him.
When we moved to Big Spring, Texas, we bought a new house right across the street from the Big Spring Elementary School. The house sat on a corner of a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and cactus.
It was a late evening in October when we finished moving in. We were headed back to the house with the last load when we first saw the big snake! He was right in our back yard, buzzin’ up a storm! Our new friend from the Big Spring Road Riders dispatched him with a plastic pipe. Judy started her litany of wanting to go home right then and there. Willie just laughed and cut off the eleven rattles and handed them to me.
He said, “Judy, what you need is a cat to patrol your yard. He’ll keep all the snakes away!” Judy thought this was a good idea. We knew that school kids had to cross this field morning and evening. It amazed us that the bare legged little girls could run across this field and not get bitten.
Next evening, we drove out to Willie’s to select a snake fighter in the form of a just weaned kitten. That’s a lot of responsibility to place on a youngster! Judy had a tough time selecting one, feeling she was sending him to certain death in our back yard. She couldn’t choose between a pretty black and white, a tortoise shell and a neat little gray and white. Decisively, she made up her mind. She would take all three! If one’s good, three’s gotta be better! Right?
Off we went with the new protectors of the turf. We named them Patches, Tiger, and No-Name. They stayed in the garage at night and we fed them on the patio where the big rattler had been lurking. In this way they learned where the food and water came from and it also put them in prime hunting territory.
From time to time, we’d see them out in the field stalking something. Since we saw no more snakes, Judy liked to think that they were doing a good job. And so the winter passed and spring was well under way with no more snake encounters.
Next spring as I was getting the bikes ready for the upcoming riding season, I heard a dry rustling sound and looked over to see a horned toad scurrying across the driveway. I was not the only one who saw him. Patches, by now a big, fully grown tomcat, also spotted him. Horned toads are actually reptiles, and can best be described as an elongated pancake with a leg at ten, two, four and eight on the face of a clock.
The head, which looks like a goat, is on the opposite end of a short pointy tail. Harmless little guys, they keep the red ant population under control throughout West Texas.
As soon as the horned toad stopped, Patches was on him in a flash, grabbing him behind the neck and biting down hard! Sounded like someone eating a crisp apple! He hung on, tail swishing and growling deep in his chest. I watched for a while and went back to the bike I was working on.
It was nearly an hour before Patches decided he was through. He simply stood up, released the horned toad and walked away. This convinced Judy for sure that the cats were doin’ the job on snakes as well.
In fact, we never saw a snake again as long as we lived there. We didn’t see very many horned toads either.
J. Frank Dobie wrote a book entitled, “Rattlesnakes” and described a fight between a snake and a cat thusly. “When the battle is joined, the snake is tightly coiled and rattling furiously. The cat stays just out of range and entices the snake to strike. As the snake lunges forward, the cat leaps straight up in the air and hits the snake on the back of the head quickly, then leaps away. This fight continues till the snake is exhausted and then the cat finishes him off, biting him behind the head.” These life and death battles can take hours to play out if the snake is big and the cat is experienced. Usually, it’s over in about an hour.
While Judy knew our cats were doing the job, she had no desire to see such a contest.
Just before we moved to Kingwood, Texas, we lost Patches. He was sure pretty and lots of kids came to play with him. Maybe he just went off to be with someone else. We took Tiger and No-Name back to Willie’s so they could remain free. They had provided a valuable service to us by being protective and were good companions as well.
They had risked their little lives for us every day in a most dangerous game. We sure miss ‘em.
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